As they finished off their meal and worked on their third cups of coffee, Kate glanced at her watch. Eight forty-five. She really should have called Trent. He was probably wondering about her, maybe even worrying about her. He has your cell number, she told herself. He could call you. But why should he? Hadn't she all but told him she wanted him out of her sight?
"You're awfully quiet," Moran said.
"Just thinking."
"About your ex?"
A denial was on the tip of her tongue, but why lie to Moran? She nodded. "Man to woman, what would you do if you were in my shoes?"
"My feet wouldn't fit in your shoes." Moran's lips curved into a smirking grin.
"Dammit, will you be serious."
His smile vanished. He reached across the table and clasped her hand, then focused on her face. "If I were in your shoes, I'd go to the guy, tell him how I felt and then drag him off to the nearest bed and make love all night."
Mouth agape, eyes wide, Kate stared at Moran, utterly surprised by his reply. Of all the things she'd expected him to say, that hadn't been one of them. "If that's how you feel, then why haven't you done just that? Why haven't you—"
"I can't. She's dead."
Kate felt as if she'd been slapped. Hit hard with the painful truth. "Oh, God. I'm sorry. I had no idea. I mean…" Shut up before you dig yourself in deeper, an inner voice warned.
Moran picked up the check, then scooted out of the booth and said, "Are you ready?"
She nodded, then got up and followed him. She didn't even protest when he paid for her dinner. They walked in silence to his car.
After they got in the car, he asked, "Where to?"
"Drop me off at the Peabody."
"Going to take my advice?"
"Maybe."
Moran started the engine and backed out of the parking space. And all the while Kate thought about how she'd feel if Trent was dead. She'd be devastated. Even though she hadn't seen him in ten years, in all that time apart, she'd known he was alive and well and possibly even happy. Had she, in her heart of hearts, always believed that someday they might get a second chance? Just as she never gave up hope that Mary Kate was alive and eventually they'd be reunited, had she secretly hoped that she and Trent would get back together?
* * *
Trent paced the floor in his suite. It was nearly nine-thirty. Where the hell was she? Why hadn't she had the common courtesy to call him? After they'd given their DNA samples, Kate had all but told him to get out of her sight and leave her the hell alone. He could have protested, could have told her that he wasn't leaving her side, but what good would that have done? They'd have wound up in an argument and he didn't want that. Those last few months when their marriage had been dying, that's all they'd done—argue. Day and night. About everything. About anything. It had been easier to stay angry and fight and fume than to face the agonizing pain that had been eating them both alive.
When Kate had suffered a nervous breakdown right after Mary Kate's abduction, he'd done all he could to take care of her, to comfort her, but she'd rejected him time and time again. After a while it became too difficult to endure yet one more rejection. She'd turned away from him, neither wanting nor needing him. At least that was the way it had seemed to him. Instead of clinging to each other, sharing their sorrow, they'd each retreated into their own private hell. When Kate had asked him for a divorce, he'd agreed without a word of protest. His gut instincts had told him he would regret his decision not to fight for his marriage. At the time not only had he been numb with grief over Mary Kate's disappearance, but his damn masculine pride had gotten in the way. A man doesn't hold on to a woman who no longer wants him.
The only problem was that he'd still wanted his wife. He'd wanted her on the day their divorce became final. He'd wanted her a year later. And two years later.
What about ten years later? he asked himself.
The door opened and Kate walked in, her cheeks flushed from the nighttime chill. "It's freezing out there. It's already twenty-eight degrees and feels more like eighteen."
She shrugged out of her coat, then removed her knit gloves and hat and stuffed them into her coat pocket. "Ooh, it's toasty warm in here."
He wanted to rant at her, to demand to know where she'd been, what she'd been doing, and who she'd been with all this time. Moran? Had she been with the sleek, handsome FBI agent since this morning?
"Have you had dinner?" he asked. He'd grabbed a quick lunch in the Capriccio Restaurant there in the hotel. He hadn't eaten a bite since.
"Yes, thanks. Moran and I—"
"You had dinner with Moran?"
"At the River City Café." Kate moved slowly toward her bedroom. "It's not far from the FBI field office."
"You and Moran seem to be awfully friendly." That's it, act like a jealous husband! Remember, you do not want to get into an argument with her.
"He's a nice guy." Kate halted by her bedroom door. "He has bent some rules and regulations for me because—"
"Because he's got the hots for you." Trent stomped across the room toward her. "God, Kate, I thought you were smarter than you used to be about people, that you weren't as naive. Moran's being nice and helpful because he wants to get in your pants."
Kate slapped him. Her open palm hit squarely against his left cheek. He wasn't sure who was the most startled by her action—him or her. She stared at him in shock. He rubbed his stinging cheek.
"I—I'm sorry, Trent. I didn't mean to do that. It was a knee-jerk reaction."
He rubbed his cheek for a couple more seconds, then eased his hand to his side. "It's okay. I deserved it. That was jealousy you heard talking."
She tilted her head to one side and stared at him. "You're jealous?"
Trent grimaced. "Yeah. It's those old feelings we talked about. That leftover lust."
"Moran and I had dinner together. That's all."
"I don't have a right to be jealous and I know it, but—"
Kate dropped her coat to the floor and moved toward Trent, closing the three-foot gap between them. He held his breath as she came near. "What are we going to do about it? About those old feelings? About that leftover lust?"
Using every ounce of willpower he possessed he balled his hands into fists and managed to stop himself from grabbing her. "What do you think we should do?"
She lifted her arms up and around his neck, then pressed her body intimately against his. "I think we should diffuse the ticking time bomb."
His sex grew hard and heavy. He tightened and released his balled fists. Sweat popped out on his upper lip. "Having sex could turn out to be a big mistake."
"Yes, it could, but it might also relieve all this tension between us. Afterward, we could find out that the only thing left between us really was just some unresolved feelings from the past. We have to do something. We can't go on this way. I'm willing to risk making a big mistake, if you are."
His willpower vanished. With his body fast taking control, his rational thoughts became fewer and fewer. Trent reached down, cupped her buttocks and lifted her up and against his erection. When she whimpered, he lowered his head and claimed her mouth. She clung to him, her breasts crushed against his chest, her mound pressing into his pulsing sex.
"If you're having any second thoughts, you'd better tell me now." He swept her up into his arms and carried her through the lounge and into his bedroom. Without missing a beat, he laid her on the bed and came down over her, his mouth still devouring hers, his hands ripping at her clothes.
* * *
Chapter 7
« ^ »
Kate couldn't remember the last time she'd felt this way—on fire, burning with an all-consuming desire. She'd known other men, had enjoyed the sex and the friendship they'd shared, but only with Trent had she experienced true passion. A passion of the senses, of the heart, of the very soul. Swept away by an unexplainable hunger, by a need so strong that it overpowered everything else, she surrendered herself to her primeval needs. Her bod
y instantly recognized Trent's touch, his smell, his taste. And aroused beyond all reason, she responded instinctively. It had always been like this for them—no holding back, giving and taking with every breath, no rational thought, only an overwhelming desire for appeasement.
She could stop him. It wasn't too late. Not yet. She should call a halt, shouldn't she? This was madness. But heaven help them both, it was such sweet madness.
She had managed to unbutton his shirt while he'd yanked her sweater over her head. As they kissed, they tossed and tumbled on the bed. When she was breathless, Trent ended the kiss and lifted his head. Panting, her heart racing, she stared up into his brown eyes, shimmering with dark, uncontrollable desire. She reached out and touched his face. The light beard stubble scraped her fingertips like a fine sandpaper. Trent rose to his knees, drawing her up with him so that they faced each other. Gripping her shoulders, he let his gaze travel over her face, down her throat, and across her breasts. He reached behind her and unhooked her bra, then eased the straps down her arms and slipped the beige-satin garment off. His hot gaze and the cool air attacked her skin, tightening her nipples to pebble-hard points.
She rubbed her fingers over his chest, her nails raking his tiny male nipples and inching through the vee of curly dark hair. She loved the feel of him. The hardness of his muscular body and the softness of his chest hair. Touching him titillated her, bringing long-dormant emotions to the surface.
After cupping both of her breasts, he flicked his thumbs over her nipples. A tingling, clenching sensation shot through her, sensitizing her breasts and moistening her femininity. The achiness between her thighs grew more intense by the moment. Her body tightened and released. The process repeated itself, preparing her, moistening her.
Wanting, needing, hungry for all of him, Kate undid his belt and unbuttoned his slacks, then lowered the zipper. Her movements eager, yet patiently deliberate, she tugged on his trousers, bringing them down over his hips. He pulled away from her and stood so that he could shrug out of his pants. She scooted to the edge of the bed, reached out and jerked down his black briefs, but they caught on his impressive erection. Gently she eased the material over his sex and down his legs. He kicked the briefs aside, sending them to join his discarded slacks.
An unbearable yearning urged her into action. Still on her knees at the edge of the bed, she grasped his hips and pulled him closer. Her right hand circled him. Caressed. Pumped. Trent groaned. Kate smiled.
He reached down and eased her hand away, then dragged her off the bed and onto her feet to stand in front of him. With less finesse and more urgency than she had displayed in disrobing him, he removed her slacks and panties, leaving her completely naked. With labored breaths, sexual hunger raging inside them, they came together. Bare breasts to hairy chest. Flat belly to hard, pulsating sex. They kissed, tender need soon turning to heated passion. They touched each other, hands petting, clutching, exploring.
He rubbed her buttocks as if he was feeling and appreciating the finest silk. While she deposited damp, adoring kisses on his chest, he forked his fingers through her hair and grasped tightly. Yanking her head up so that she faced him, he stared at her for a millisecond. After releasing his tenacious hold on her head, he pushed her back onto the bed. Before she had a chance to catch her breath, he positioned her hips on the edge, then dropped to his knees, parted her thighs and placed her legs on either side of his hips.
"Trent?"
"Shh."
He kissed first one inner thigh and then the other, repeating the back and forth process from just above her knees to the apex of her legs. Trent was the only man who'd ever realized that her inner thighs were an extremely sexually sensitive area of her body. He added long, wet licks to the kisses, interchanging the two actions until Kate thought she'd climax on the spot. But when she came close to losing it, Trent changed tactics. He kissed her intimately. She shivered. When his tongue touched her throbbing nub, she cried out, pleasure rippling through every nerve in her body.
As he continued loving her with his mouth and tongue, he reached up over her stomach and tweaked her nipples, adding pressure to the pulsating tension drumming through her body. Minutes later, she came. Crying out, undulating her hips, she went wild. And Trent continued, not letting up until she was totally spent, until he'd drained every ounce of satisfaction from her release. As tiny aftershocks fluttered through her, Trent swung her around into the bed and joined her, coming down over her, straddling her hips.
She reached out for him, touching his sex. He shuddered. She longed to give him the kind of pleasure he'd given her. Without asking his permission, she shoved him over onto his back. He flopped over and without protest, let her take charge.
"You don't have to—"
"I want to," she told him.
She kissed his lips, his chin and his throat. Then she licked a moist line from shoulder to shoulder, across his chest and down his belly. With tender caresses and long, all-day-sucker licks, she put her desire into action. He threaded his fingers through her hair and urged her to take him into her mouth. She gave him exactly what he wanted. The taste of him excited her. Giving herself over completely to mindless, exhilarating wantonness, she brought him to an earth-shattering release.
Trent roared, the sound loud and animalistic. As fulfillment wound itself around him, shaking him from the inside out, he pulled her up and over his damp, hot body, until their lips met once again. When they kissed deeply and their tongues mated, they tasted themselves as well as each other. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close. Neither of them spoke, just lay there for endless moments. Finally, Kate shivered.
"Are you cold?" he asked.
"A little chilly," she replied.
He slipped off the bed and pulled down the cover, allowing her to crawl beneath the sheet, blanket and spread before he slid in beside her. She snuggled close to him. He eased one arm under her neck so that her head rested on his shoulder.
"Trent?"
"Mmm, hmmn?"
What should she say? Should she admit that she still cared about him? Or should she act as if their having sex was no big deal? While she was trying to form the right sentence, to put together the correct words, the telephone rang. Kate tensed. Trent grunted.
"Any chance that's Moran?" Trent asked as he reached toward the phone on the bedside table.
"Not unless there's been a major new development in the case."
Trent yanked the receiver from the hook. "Yeah?"
Kate felt an instant change in Trent. He eased his arm away, leaving her head resting on his pillow, and then he rose to a sitting position.
"No, I'm sorry. I forgot about calling. It's been a long day and—"
"Who is it?" Kate spoke quietly, more mouthing the question than uttering it out loud.
Trent shook his head.
"No, we don't know much more than we did. We gave DNA samples for testing that will compare our DNA to the three little girls. Look, would you hold on a minute? I want to change phones." Trent laid the phone down on the table, slipped out of bed, walked over to the closet and removed a robe.
Kate watched him as he put on the robe and walked into the lounge, not once looking back at her or speaking to her. Had Aunt Mary Belle called him? Probably. But why did he need privacy to talk to his aunt? What could he have to say to her that he couldn't say in front of Kate?
It's not Aunt Mary Belle, an inner voice told her. It's Molly Stoddard, his almost fiancé. And Trent's feeling guilty because he just made love with his ex-wife. She eyed the phone lying on the bedside table. The temptation to pick up the receiver and listen nearly got the best of her.
Don't do it, she warned herself. She reached out, lifted the receiver and set it down on the base. Temptation resisted. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Kate got out of bed, gathered up her clothes and marched through the lounge, not even acknowledging Trent's presence as she rushed to her bedroom. She slammed the door as loud as she could. There
, let him think whatever he wants to about that.
Well, hell, what had she expected to happen? Even if Trent's lady love hadn't called tonight, where'd she think that sexual interlude she'd shared with him would lead? Trent has built a new life for himself back in Prospect. He has a career he loves and a woman he wants to build a future with, a woman his aunt knows is good enough for him. Kate didn't even know Molly Stoddard, but right this minute, she hated the woman.
* * *
"Yes, Kate and I are getting along all right," Trent said, realizing that was the understatement of the decade. They were getting along better than all right. Hell, they'd just shared some really great oral sex. And he didn't have a doubt in his mind that Kate had enjoyed it as much as he had.
"I know this must be terribly difficult for you, darling, but once you learn if one of those poor children is or is not Mary Kate, then you can move on," Molly said. "After all, before this happened, you'd been certain your daughter was dead. And if she isn't one of the little girls, then your assumption has probably been right all along. On the other hand, if she is one of the girls, then you and your ex-wife can hardly take her away from the only parents she's ever known."
"Yes, of course, you're right." He didn't want to discuss this with Molly. Not tonight. Maybe not ever. Although she was a parent—a good parent—she couldn't begin to understand how he felt. Only Kate understood. Only Kate felt the same anguish.
Trent eyed the closed door to Kate's bedroom. Only halfway listening to Molly, he thought about his ex-wife, about what had just happened between them. He could still see her, totally naked and toting her discarded clothes, tromping angrily through the lounge, ignoring him completely. And he could still hear the door slamming. She was mad as hell and wanted him to know it.
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