by Joan Hohl
Katherine went rigid. Of all the arrogant...even in her mind she couldn't find words strong enough to describe him. He'd almost done it again. Almost lulled her with his lovemaking. But to treat Carol's happiness so carelessly, that was too much. She looked him squarely in the eyes and said icily, "I will relay your suggestion to both Carol and Paul when I see them tomorrow night. Now, if you will excuse me, I did tell her I'd call back tonight and I imagine she is beginning to wonder why I haven't done so."
'Then you still intend going with them tomorrow night?" His arms still held her tight, although his voice matched hers for coldness.
"Yes, of course, you also suggested that, remember?"
His arms dropped from her as if she'd suddenly become repulsive to him and, as he turned away, he grated between clenched teeth, "Do what the hell you like, I don't care if you go out every night for the next week. Just make damned sure you're back at the house by the twenty-fourth."
Carol was disappointed that Matt couldn't make it, but she assured James he made a delightful stand-in. They laughed and enjoyed themselves so much the first night that they stretched the celebration to two and then three nights. Katherine told herself repeatedly that she was only taking Matt at his word and was having a wonderful time without him. However, she didn't do a very good job of convincing herself and at the end of the third night, when Carol and Paul suggested they at least have dinner together the following night, Katherine found herself lying outrageously to get out of it. "I'm sorry, I must go back to the house tomorrow morning. I have so much to do to get ready for Christmas, I don't know how I'll finish everything on time as it is." In truth, she had nothing to do at the house, and dreaded the thought of going back.
James came back to the apartment with her, as he had the two previous evenings, but when she asked if she should have Clyde make coffee as before, he answered, "No coffee, thank you. If you don't mind, I'll make myself a drink."
"Help yourself." She smiled, then went in search of Clyde to tell him she wouldn't want anything else. Then
she added chidingly, "Go to bed, Clyde, and stop fussing over me like a mother hen." In wonder, she saw him smile somewhat sadly at her before saying gently, "Whatever you say, Mrs. Martin. Goodnight."
Shaking her head at his strange attitude, she went back to the living room, joining James, who was standing at the window wall.
Katherine stood in silence, savoring the panoramic view spread out before her. The lights, some of them the decorative colored ones of the season, gave the city the look of a scene dreamed of in fairy stories. When James said her name softly, she had to force her way back to reality. The words that followed her softly spoken name jerked her fully alert.
"How long do you intend living like this before you do something about it?"
Confused, feeling she must have missed something he'd said, she asked, "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about the fact that I'm in love with you. Divorce Matt, marry me, let me take care of you." As he was speaking he sat his drink down and on the last word he drew her into his arms and kissed her lingeringly. She felt nothing. James was handsome, charming and fun to be with, but his kiss brought not a spark of response. She pulled herself from his arms as gently as she could, saying equally gently, "I'm six years older than you are."
He drew her back into his arms, his hold, like his voice, more forceful this time. "What does age have to do with it? Katherine, leave him before he gets back from Scotland. Come with me somewhere, anywhere. I promise you I won't let him hurt you."
Completely shocked, she cried, "James, Matt is your brother!" His hold loosened, but he did not let her go, and
his voice held very real pain. "I know that." Then more softly, in a tone that revealed the pain more openly, he went on. "Oh, God, don't I know it. I love him, Kather-ine, very much. He has always been my idol, I never outgrew it. I have never met another man I could respect as much. As far as I was concerned he could do no wrong. He has always been tough, but he has always been fair. Until lately, with you. Katherine, I can't stand by and watch him destroy you. And he is. He might try and stop any other man, but I don't think he will put up a fight with me. Come with me, please, before he gets back."
"I can't," she whispered.
"Why?" he asked angrily. "He has no hold on you."
Simply, clearly, without inflection she said, "I love him."
His arms dropped to his sides and he stared at her in disbelief. "I don't believe you. If ever a woman seemed less in love with her husband, I'm damned if I can bring her to mind. And he sure as hell doesn't act like he's in love with you." She winced at his last words and he added quickly, "I'm sorry, Katherine. It's true? You really are in love with him?"
"Yes, I really am." Her voice broke on a sob, as she added, "Oh Lord, James, do you think I could stay with him, put up with Beth and DeDe, if I wasn't?" She was crying openly before she'd finished and once again he drew her into his arms. But this time in a different way. Gone was the tight hold of the longing to possess, replaced with comforting compassion. "I'm sorry, Katherine. Sorry for you and sorry for myself. Hell, I'm even sorry for Matt, for the fool doesn't know what he's missing. I wish there was some way I could help you, but there isn't, is there?"
Words muffled against his chest, she whispered, "Oh James, you have helped me from the very first time Matt brought me here. By acting as a buffer. Not only between Beth, and then DeDe, and me, but between Matt and me as well. I almost wish it could be you. But it can't be, ever. I belong to him, completely and absolutely. I always will."
and Carlos were taking their daughter for her first visit with Carlos' parents.
Some of his high spirits were dimmed when he learned of Matt's being stranded and, on observing the look of strain on Katherine's face, offered smoothly, with a hug, "Come on, Mom. Matt's a smart man. He hires nothing but the best. I know the man who pilots the Lear, he knows his business. He won't take any risks. If Matt doesn't make it home by tomorrow, we'll wait and have Christmas the next day. Big deal, Jon's too young to know the difference anyway."
Some of Tom's optimism, his unshakable belief in Matt's judgement, rubbed off on Katherine and, with determination, she pushed her fears to the very back of her mind. She remained downstairs that evening until she could no longer bear the sound of Christmas carols mingled with Beth and DeDe's obvious and vocal concern. With a hasty goodnight, she fled to her room, to lie wide-eyed with fright until she fell asleep from pure exhaustion.
Christmas morning passed with all the gifts unopened under the tree. Late in the morning, Katherine was getting dressed, in the walk-in closet dressing-room, when she thought she heard the phone ring. Leaving her blouse hanging open, she grabbed up her shoes and ran into the bedroom, dived across the bed, and snatched up the receiver, only to hear the dull, monotonous sound of the dial tone. Scrambling off the bed she quickly buttoned her shirt, stuffed it into the waist band of her skirt, and slid on her shoes as she hopped to the door. Finally dressed, she hurried down the stairs, coming to a dead stop when she heard Beth say her name with a laugh. Not
wanting to eavesdrop, yet unable to move, she listened as Beth went on.
"He will have no trouble at all divorcing her now. Or getting full custody of Jon. Will you mind, very much, raising another woman's child, DeDe?"
"No, I don't think so," DeDe answered, after a moment's consideration. "He does look like Matt, and he is a little darling. Still, I think I'd like at least one of my own. Oh, Beth, I hope Matt can hurry the legal process along. I'd like a spring wedding."
Badly shaken, Katherine spun on her heel. Violet eyes, wide with shock, stared into another pair of eyes, the exact color as her own, blazing with fury. All traces of the boy were gone. The face that stared back at her belonged to a very angry man. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and moving jerkily she walked to him, hand outstretched, as if for support.
He walked toward her quickly, clasping her hand in his while he slid his
other arm around her waist. "Mother." The anger on his face now mingled with concern as he studied her wide eyes, white face.
Swallowing convulsively, she choked, "Not here, please." And breaking from him she ran up the stairs and into the bedroom, to glance around, frantically thinking, I suspected there was another woman, somewhere. But never, never would I have believed he'd do this. Not in his own home. What in the world am I going to do? The sound of the door closing with a soft click broke her thoughts. For the first time ever Tom's voice had an ugly sound. "That S.O.B. We sit here worrying about him while he's planning a divorce, and his bird-brained tramp sits in your home planning a lousy spring wedding."
The nasty, hurt sound of Tom's voice brought a measure of calm to Katherine. Taking a deep breath, she said quietly, "Tom, that's enough, name-calling will solve nothing. You have to help me, now."
They were so very alike and as the day before some of his confidence had been transmitted to her, now some of her calm stole into him. Sighing deeply, he said, "Okay, Mom, what do you want me to do?"
She was quiet a long time, planning furiously, then she answered dully. "I have got to get out of this house. We'll get ready and go to Grandma's as planned. We'll take your car, I don't want Jack along to report to Matt when he gets back. But I can't stay at Grandma's. Grandma and Gramps would be wise in next to no time. Let me see—I've got it. I'll tell them Matt's called and asked me to meet him somewhere for a short holiday in private." At his sour look she pleaded, 'Tom, please, I've got to make it convincing for them and you're going to have to carry the ball once you're there. I won't have Mother and Dad's Christmas spoiled. Oh, good grief, Dan and Dave will be there, I'd forgotten that. Oh, honey, can you pull it off?"
"In that pandemonium? It's a lay back. But where will you go? Janice is in Argentina so you can't go there. Can you go to Carol for a few days?"
"No," Katherine stated flatly. "Carol is spending the holidays with Richard and Anne and they were Matt's friends first. I don't want to put them in the position of having to choose sides."
Tom pushed his hand through his hair. "Well, can you go with Mary when she leaves?"
Katherine had insisted Mary spend the holidays with
her own children and she knew Mary was at that minute getting ready to leave.
Shaking her head slowly, Katherine answered, "I probably could, but I won't. No, Tom, I'm not about to ruin anyone else's holiday. There is only one place I can go. I'll go up to the house in the Poconos."
Tom stared at her incredulously. "You're going to drive to Lancaster, make your excuse, then drive all the way up there today? Mom, you can't."
"Tom," her voice soothed, "I've been taking care of myself a long time. I will be all right. Now, come on, we've got to throw some clothes in a suitcase, get Jon and get out of here. Please hurry."
"But—"
'Tom, please."
A few hours later, driving north in Tom's Trans-Am, Katherine was amazed at the ease with which they'd pulled it off. Her parents had believed her story completely, even going as far as saying it would do both Katherine and Matt good to get away together. She had stayed at her parents' home long enough to greet and exchange gifts with her brothers, their wives and assorted offspring, have a bite to eat and be assured and reassured that Tom and Jon would be well looked after, then she had left, feeling for the first time in her life like a deceitful daughter.
It was dark long before Katherine drove the car into the garage in the mountains and she was thinking that all she wanted was to fall into bed and sleep the clock around as she made her way up the stairs to the kitchen door.
As she fumbled in her bag for her door key the door of the Darcys' apartment over the garage was flung open and a very surprised Mr. Darcy exclaimed, "Mrs. Mar-
tin, why didn't you let us know you were coming? Where's the boss?"
Katherine sighed wearily. Was there no getting away from the boss and his spies? Didn't these people have family or something to visit on Christmas?
Her voice thinning with impatience she said, "It was a spur of the moment decision. Mr. Martin—" damned if she'd call him the boss "—will be here in a—ah—day or so. I don't want to be disturbed before noon tomorrow. Good night and Merry Christmas." And with that she had the door open, slipped inside and closed it firmly behind her. Mr. Darcy's "Merry Christmas" echoed inside her head. Oh, you bet, Merry Christmas indeed.
Katherine's eyes opened and she lay staring into the pale dimness of the moonlit room. Something had wakened her, but what? Turning her head she glanced at the digital clock on the night stand. Eleven-ten, she'd only been in bed a few hours. At a noise on the stairs she felt her blood run cold. Someone was in the house! Had someone managed to force the sliding glass doors at the ground level or the living room? The sound of soft footsteps stopping on the other side of the bedroom door brought her head swiveling on the pillow. Eyes wide with fright she stared at the door, panic gripped her throat, closing off any scream or sound she may have made. Eyes fastened on the door, body taut with fear, she watched as the door opened and a man stepped inside. A soft sigh of relief whispered past her lips for even in the shadowy room the large outline of Matt's frame was unmistakable. Katherine's voice was not much more than a strangled whisper. "Oh, Matt, you frightened me."
His head jerked sharply to the sound of her voice. His voice was gruff, sounding more tired than she'd ever heard.
"I'm sorry, Katherine, I tried not to waken you."
Automatically, without thinking, she moved to get up. "Are you hungry? Can I get you some coffee or something to—"
"Stay where you are," he ordered gruffly. "I don't want anything but the feel of that bed. I'm tired and I'm cold. The damned car heater quit halfway up here and the night turned bitter."
"I'm sorry," she murmured, feeling vaguely responsible somehow.
"Yeah." The reply wasn't much more than a grunt and she glanced at him quickly noting with surprise that he was already undressed and moving to the bed. Apprehension stirred inside her as he slid under the covers, then calmed when he lay still, exhaling a long, weary sigh. He lay, unmoving, for some time then, as if he suddenly reached a decision, his long arms grabbed her, dragged her across the small distance separating them, held her tightly against him. The chilled skin of his body sent a shiver through her warm one. He was cold. The raspy stubble of a day's growth of beard scratched her cheek when his face brushed hers. His lips found hers and clung. What am I doing? Katherine thought wildly, pulling her mouth away. "Matt—" she began, only to be cut off by his raggedly whispered, "Katherine, shut up. My God, woman, can't you see I'm starving?"
"But you said—" she started, then the real meaning of his words registered. "You said you were tired," she went on, lamely.
"I said I was tired, not dead." His mouth caught hers
again in a hungry, devouring kiss, his arms tightened convulsively, molding her to him.
Again she tore her mouth from his. "Matt, stop." What she had meant to be a firm order, came out as a feeble plea. Her reeling senses, urgent for the feel of him, the touch of him, pushed away the memory of the outrage and hurt that had cut into her the day before.
"Katherine," he groaned. "I'm cold, warm me. I'm so tired, help me rest." His hands moving slowly, caressingly over her set her skin on fire wherever he touched. Her body, of its own volition, arched eagerly against his hard one.
"Oh, Matt." The whisper was lost against the mouth that crushed hers, the words swirling around his probing tongue. In sweet surrender, her arms crept around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair to grasp and hold his head more tightly to her own.
The room was bright when she opened her eyes and she blinked several times to adjust her eyes to the early morning sunlight. Shifting her gaze, her eyes came to rest on Matt's broad back framed between the partially opened folding doors, where he stood staring out the windows, smoking a cigarette. In hungry desperation, she allowed her eyes to roam slowly over him, imprinting
the look of him on her mind. His big frame was clad in a mid-thigh-length dark-brown-and-white kimonolike robe, which concealed little of his long, muscular, straight legs. The sash was belted tightly, outlining his narrow waist, the robe's material lay smooth and taut against his back and over his shoulders. The bell-like sleeves fell to his elbows revealing forearms, strong wrists and broad, long fingered, sensitive hands. As her eyes stopped on his hands she felt a shiver slide down her spine in memory of their touch. The events of last
night, the day before, washed over her, devastating in the hard light of reality. Her thoughts a chaotic jumble, she thought, he had no right, I had no right. She did not feel well or rested, in fact, she felt on the edge of exhaustion, defeated.
As if he felt her eyes on him, he made a half turn, his cool, calculating eyes pinning hers. He was freshly showered and shaved and the alert, watchful look of him made her feel rumpled, foggy.
Before he could speak, without a word of her own, she jumped from the bed, caught up her robe and dashed for the bathroom.
She had hoped the stinging spray of the shower would banish some of her weariness but it hadn't worked. In a deepening depression she walked back into the bedroom, drawing the belt to her robe into a firm knot around her too slender waist.
Matt still stood at the window drawing deeply on a fresh cigarette. But he had moved during the intervening minutes for he now held a steaming mug in his hand.
"There's fresh coffee," he said quietly, nodding his head at the pot resting on the low table in front of the fireplace.
His eyes followed her relentlessly, as she moved to the table and in her growing nervousness she spilled the milk she was adding to her coffee. He waited until she straightened, cradling the mug in her hands, before he questioned too softly, "So you're on the run again. What is it you want this time, besides a divorce, that is?"
