Searching for Cate

by Marie Ferrarella

  Desire raced through her body like a raging forest fire. Everywhere that desire touched ignited her. Just the way his hands were setting fire to her as they brushed over her. As they found their way to her breasts, her hips, her flesh.

  Cate moaned, wanting more.

  This was too much to hold out against. For at least one moment, she wanted desperately to feel whole again. To feel that final intense burst within her body, bathing her in euphoria.

  She couldn’t, wouldn’t think beyond that. Beyond the fact that this was, after all, a single moment in time. She didn’t want to think about consequences. She wanted to think about him, about Dr. Christian Graywolf. She twisted against him as he kissed her, sinking deeper and deeper into the hallowed ground he’d created for her.

  For them.

  Desire so consumed her that she was only vaguely aware of stripping his shirt from him, or that she was running her fingers along his smooth, hard chest, feeling the taut biceps, the muscles that were as hard as rocks. And she was only vaguely aware that he had pulled her sweater up over her head and thrown it to the side. She had no memory at all of helping him. Of lifting her arms up over her head so that he could yank the sweater away.

  And she was only marginally aware that she’d held her breath as he undid the hook at her back, allowing the soft fabric to sigh away from her breasts and fall to the floor. She was focused only on the feeling that he was bringing out of her, only on the light that burned brighter and brighter within her.

  The fire grew.

  Clothing flew right and left, his, hers, a strip-poker exhibition caught up in a fast-forward mode until there was nothing between them except for the people they had been before this moment had overtaken them.

  Lost in his embrace, feeding on the incredible surges that vibrated through her, Cate blocked out everything—the newly born insecurities that plagued her, the past that had once seemed so good before it was destroyed—everything but the feelings running through her.

  Everything but the man who had brought them all unexpectedly to fruition. And even as she wanted to race to the climax, to feel that wondrous explosion within her, she dearly wanted to prolong the journey that would take her there.

  With sweeping fingers she explored his body, employing the tenacity of an investigator who knew that rewards lay at the end of a job well done. And when he matched her, stroke for stroke, or outdistanced her, bringing her to the brink of the precipice, pleasure screamed through her body, begging for release.

  Begging for more.

  To her everlasting surprise, he turned her body into an instrument, playing songs upon it she’d never heard before, never been aware of before. As they echoed through her, Cate realized that the corners of her eyes had become moist.

  Damn, she couldn’t cry at a time like this. Crying made one more vulnerable and she was already far more vulnerable, far beyond any line in the sand she’d ever drawn for herself.

  A ray of determination suddenly flashed within her.

  She couldn’t just take without giving. Couldn’t be at his mercy without bringing him to hers.

  Breathing heavily, trying to focus her eyes on his face, Cate wrapped her fingers around his thickened shaft, striking a rhythm of her own.

  Surprise imprinted itself on his features. A sense of triumph marched through her. The next moment, his hand was closing over hers. But instead of urging her to continue, Christian was drawing her fingers away.

  She didn’t understand. Was she doing it wrong? But before she could protest or question, he’d parted her legs with his own. The next moment, he drove himself into her. Her breath caught in her throat, standing still.

  The rhythm never began slowly. It was frantic right from the start and she rushed to embrace it with determination and joy. At one point, her hips were moving so quickly, so urgently, she managed to push them both up off the ground.

  She thought she felt his smile against her mouth, but she wasn’t sure.

  And then there was no space for thought, no space for anything but this huge bonfire raging within her.

  The earth and sky disappeared. The room faded. Everything vanished except for the tiny sphere within which they were captured.

  And when the final climax came, stars rained all around her, bathing her in the most wonderful sensation of euphoria, of hope, she’d ever experienced.

  She held on to him as tightly as she could, afraid of falling back to earth alone.

  Chapter 26

  Slowly, like someone coming out of a half dream, Cate became conscious of her surroundings. Of the rug beneath her back. Of the slight press of weight hovering just above her body.

  She realized that Christian was balancing himself on his elbows, mindful of her even at the most intimate, most crucial of moments. And then he shifted. He lay beside her, their union dissolved.

  The earth and sky came rushing back to her much too quickly.

  Oh, God, what had just happened here? What had she done? Pinpricks of panic jabbed her skin like icicles in a macabre dance. She felt naked, exposed.

  He felt her stiffen beside him. Could almost feel the warmth draining away from her. Was regret burrowing in, creating a space between them so quickly? And was that his regret or hers?

  Part of him wished that she would leave. Just disappear. Taking all traces of what just happened with her. But that wasn’t possible. And even if it were, he wasn’t completely convinced that he truly did want that. Because just for a moment back there, he’d felt alive again. More alive than he had in a long time.

  Christian had to admit, being alive was far better than the alternative. The feeling was also seductive.

  Cate moved. He could swear that she was trying to withdraw into herself.

  “Cold?” he asked.

  He glanced at the blanket draped over the back of his sofa and contemplated getting it for her. The brightly woven fabric depicted a history of the Navajo people. His mother had made the blanket for him when he came out here to live, so that he would never forget where he came from. As if that was ever possible.

  Cate pressed her lips together. No, she wasn’t cold. If anything, the opposite was true. Heat emanated from her every pore. He’d brought her body temperature up so high, she could probably warm a small Third World village for a year.

  “Not cold. Bewildered,” she finally said.

  He looked at her thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I have a blanket for that.”

  Her mouth twitched as a hint of a smile surfaced, then faded.

  Lying flat, Cate stared at the ceiling, her mind going at the speed of light. She tried to harness her thoughts. She admitted she’d wanted this to happen. Wanted to stop feeling this paralysis, this overwhelming malaise when it came to her personal life.

  Wanted to feel alive.

  But right now, she felt guilt and fear. Guilt because she’d betrayed Gabe’s memory. And fear was taking on a life of its own within her. She never, ever wanted to feel so bereaved as she had that September morning.

  There was no danger of that, she reminded herself. Christian had indicated that he didn’t want anything to come of this. And in a strange way, that was comforting to her. Because it meant no risks were involved. She had all the benefits of a campfire without needing to know how to tend it. Without the fear of accidentally burning the campgrounds down.

  But she still had to deal with the impression she had probably made. This might have been a one-time thing, but she worked with his sister-in-law. Because of that, they were bound to run into each other again. She didn’t want him getting the wrong idea.

  Clearing her throat, Cate turned her head, forcing herself to look at him. He was too close. Her thoughts scrambled a little. So much for remaining cool under fire. “I just want you to know that despite modern mores, I, um, don’t do this kind of thing.”

  Humor shone in his eyes as he regarded her. He went from solemn to incredibly appealing. She could feel her pulse accelerating. Cate pinned the blame to the l
ack of proper attire.

  “For a novice—” his eyes were skimming over her “—you have a hell of a natural talent.”

  She found it difficult not to respond to Christian, to keep her body from flowing into his again. She did her best. “No,” she tried again, “I mean that I don’t sleep around.”

  His smile deepened. He had been struggling with his own conscience, but Cate’s apparent dilemma had pushed that into the background. “We weren’t sleeping.”

  Was it her imagination or were his eyes teasing her?

  She took a deep breath and became alarmed as her breasts brushed against his arm. “I don’t make love with someone I don’t know, either,” she replied tersely.

  He appeared to take in what she was saying, but at the last moment, his serious demeanor failed him. “If that’s the case, then whatever they slipped me in that restaurant, I am definitely going back for seconds.”

  For a moment, she said nothing. The quiet stretched between them, allowing small sounds to make their way in. The ticking of his wristwatch close to her head. The sound of his breathing.

  Finally, drawing in a deep breath, she tried to explain. “I had a fiancé.”

  “Had?”

  Cate pressed her lips together, afraid that a sob might betray her. But when she spoke, her voice was incredibly calm given the turmoil she felt inside. “He died in Tower Number Two.”

  No more of an explanation than that was needed. The tragedy had captured an entire nation, holding them transfixed before their television sets for hours, for days. Trembling in anger and disbelief that this had happened to them.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She nodded, accepting the words that had echoed within her own soul so often since that day. Summoning her courage, she turned her face toward Christian again. Something quickened inside of her as it reached out to him.

  “And I haven’t been with anyone since.” She wasn’t even sure why she was telling him this and what, if anything, it actually meant. To him. To her. She couldn’t sort it out now. Her mouth was dry. “I just wanted you to know,” she repeated.

  This was where he told her about Alma, Christian thought. It was the perfect opening. He either told her about his wife’s suicide, or he said something flippant and distanced himself.

  Bonded or retreated.

  He did neither.

  Instead, he chose a third path. Sympathy. He slipped his arm around her and drew her closer to him. Not to make love with her, but to hold her. And to offer her whatever mute comfort he could.

  She dealt very well, very efficiently with anger, both her own and what was aimed at her. Kindness was another matter. Kindness undid her. Cate could feel tears forming again. She blinked hard, trying to push them back, to erase them. This wasn’t fair. She’d expected him to say some trivial thing, or even suggest that perhaps she’d want to leave. All the ingredients for an awkward moment were there, to intensify her regret over what she’d done with him.

  That he just held her, that he gave her mute solace in memory of her grief, was almost too much for her to bear. She wanted to pull away from him.

  Instead, this pulled her to him.

  Cupping his cheek, Cate kissed him. In gratitude and in need.

  The single kiss built, until it flowered into another. And another. Growing until the passion that they both had thought had been quenched suddenly rose up again, full-bodied and demanding. They had no choice but to give in to it and each other. And found themselves being swept out further into the night.

  Dawn dragged itself in at six-fifteen. Rays of light probed the corners of his bedroom. They had ended up here last night, after making love one more time in the living room. He’d sensed she’d wanted to leave, but he hadn’t wanted her to go. It took almost nothing on his part to get her to change her mind.

  As he watched her fall asleep against him, he remembered thinking that some of the jagged edges had come off the pieces of his life. He’d fallen asleep with his arm around her. His arm was empty now as he pulled consciousness tightly to him.

  She was gone.

  Lying flat on his back, Christian dragged his hands over his face, as if wiping away the last traces of sleep. He strained to hear a sound, something to indicate that she was still here, roaming through another room in the apartment.

  There was nothing. He was alone.

  In a way, he was relieved. If she was gone, he could simply blot out last night as if it had never happened. But it had. In truth, he wasn’t sure exactly what it was that he had experienced. Maybe it was just a combination of physical needs and—

  And what?

  He’d never been a player. For some reason, he’d never gone through that rampaging hormonal stage that afflicted almost every adolescent male to a greater or lesser degree. Sex for sex’s sake had never interested him. He placed a higher value on male-female interaction than that. His friends had mercilessly kidded him about his values.

  Throwing back the sheet that clung to his body, he sat up, moving his shoulders and stretching. Last night had been a workout all its own.

  He realized that her scent was still lingering on his skin. He needed coffee and a shower. And something to do.

  As if in response, his pager went off. The small blue item vibrated along the nightstand, coming close to the edge. He picked it up before it fell, looking at the numbers that were displayed.

  Christian smiled to himself. It looked like Mrs. Scalli was finally ready to have her twins. It couldn’t have happened at a more opportune time. Drawing the phone over to him on the bed, he dialed the number on the pager. A minute later, he was assuring a very distraught Mr. Scalli that he was already on his way to the hospital.

  The summer she had turned seven, as a special treat her mother had taken her to a local production of Peter Pan. It was her first play. She could remember sitting in the audience, completely enthralled as she watched Peter fly around the stage.

  But what had really stuck out in her mind over the years was one of the musical numbers: Peter, posturing and singing “I Won’t Grow Up.” The tune went through her head now as Cate sat in her car, parked across the street from a sprawling, custom-made house. Except that in this case, the words were “I Won’t Get Involved.” But even as the refrain repeated itself over and over again in her head, Cate knew she was in danger of doing just that. Of getting involved.

  Last night she and Christian had had hot, cleansing, teeth-jarring sex. And she wasn’t the type to do that casually. Not even with a gorgeous, full-blooded Navajo doctor.

  Cate sighed, shaking her head. Ever since she’d found out she wasn’t who she thought she was, nothing made sense to her anymore.

  She’d left his bed early, wanting to avoid any conversation. Wanting to avoid the disappointment she felt certain to come. So she’d quickly gathered up her things, dressed hurriedly in the bathroom—so hurriedly that she didn’t realized she’d left behind her thong underwear until she was halfway home—and left. Rushing toward sanctuary.

  Finding none.

  Once in her apartment, she’d showered, changed and faced the dawn with a cup of poorly made coffee and so many questions ricocheting inside of her, she didn’t know where to start. So she hadn’t.

  She didn’t need this extra complication in her life. So she did what she always did when she didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts. She got busy.

  A call to the hospital had told her that “Jane” was still unresponsive, still unconscious. She decided to go into the office despite the fact that it was Saturday. But somewhere between getting into her car and arriving at the Santa Ana building, she’d turned her vehicle to the more exclusive region of Bedford.

  Specifically toward the development called Spy Glass Hill. It was an older community, secure in its affluence amid a city known for its rich citizens.

  It was where Joan Cunningham lived with her family.

  Spy Glass Hill was aptly named since the developer had placed his lots on a hilly region tha
t allowed for a breathtaking view of the surrounding area and the ocean that lay just beyond. It was said that on a clear day, the island of Catalina could be seen sunning itself like a contented, tame whale.

  Cate drove up the hills slowly, looking at the signs, searching for where she needed to make turns. She took a wrong street once and had to go down the entire length before she could backtrack. She tried to enjoy the scenery and unique buildings, but in her present frame of mind, it wasn’t possible. There was too much going on in her head.

  Joan’s house was almost at the top of one of the hills. The white-columned residence looked as if the architect had had it lifted straight out of the history books. Or a movie.

  She half expected Scarlett O’Hara to come racing out the front door, holding her skirt high and laughing as she flirted her way through innocence.

  Cate turned off the ignition and settled back to wait for someone to come out of the house. She needed to catch a glimpse of her mother’s family. More than that, she needed something to tie her to an existence other than the one she had.

  Chapter 27

  The minutes moved slowly, pulled along on a wagon with square wheels. Eventually, an hour passed, drunkenly meandering its way into the second one.

  Cate could feel every one of those minutes as they catatonically inched by. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d told herself to start the car again and leave.

  Something made her stay.

  The morning sun had risen and begun to warm the interior of the car, forcing her to first crack, then roll down the window on her side. Monotony hovered over her like an oppressive cloud. She didn’t dare play the radio for fear of calling attention to herself. Like a sneak thief casing his next job, she remained enshrouded in silence.

  What was she doing here? Cate demanded of herself impatiently. Had she gone completely off the deep end? She was behaving irrationally. Last night certainly proved that. Making love with a stranger. And all this nonsense about searching for her identity was just that. Nonsense.