September Morning

by Diana Palmer

  “Don't be angry with me,” she pleaded in a husky voice. Her fingers went to his broad chest, touching the bronzed skin nervously, feeling the sensuous masculinity in those muscles that clenched under her soft touch.

  “Don't,” he said harshly, catching her hands roughly.

  “Why not, Blake?” she asked recklessly. “Don't you like for me to touch you? I'm just a baby, remember,” she taunted, moving her fingers under his deliberately. She could feel his heartbeat quicken until it was heavy and hard, hear the rough intake of his breath as she moved closer and let her body rest against him. The naked brush of her thighs against the hair-roughened muscles of his was intoxicating, and the feel of his hard chest against the softness of her body caused her to sigh.

  “Blake,” she whispered achingly. The alcohol she'd consumed made her uninhibited; she'd never been so dangerously relaxed with him before. But now she touched his shoulders and the muscles of his big arms in a desperate surge of longing, drowning in the nearness of him, the feel of his big, warm body under her exploring hands.

  Her head moved forward, and she pressed her mouth against his chest, drinking in the tang of his cologne and the smell of some spicy soap on his bare skin.

  He caught his breath sharply, and his hands suddenly gripped her bare waist. “Don't, Kate,” he whispered roughly. “You'll make me do something we'll both regret. You don't know what you're doing to me!”

  Her body moved sensuously against his, and she heard the hard groan that broke from his throat. “I know,” she moaned, lifting her face to meet his blazing eyes. “Oh, Blake, love me!”

  “On a public beach?” he growled huskily, before bending his head to take her mouth.

  Her arms lifted around his neck, and his hands dropped to her thighs, lifting her body abruptly against his so that it was molded to every masculine line of him in a joining that tore a moan from her lips. His fingers contracted, and she felt the shudder rip through his body with the force of a blow, felt the arms holding her begin to tremble as his mouth invaded hers, devouring it in the silence of the night.

  They swayed together like palm trees in a hurricane, tasting, touching, burning with a hunger that seemed incapable of satisfaction. Her fingers buried themselves in his thick, dark hair, ruffling it as she yielded to the violent passion she'd aroused.

  She felt his fingers at the strings that held her bikini top in place, and she was too lost in him to notice what was happening until she felt with a sense of wonder the curling hair of his chest against the bare softness of her own, and she cried out with pleasure.

  “This is how it felt that day in the gazebo, isn't it, Kate?” he breathed roughly at her ear as he pressed her breasts against the thickness of the dark hair that matted his muscular chest. “I want all of you against me like this, I want to lie down on the beach with you and let you feel every delicious difference between your body and mine.”

  Her thighs trembled where his broad fingers caressed them, drawing her hips to his. Her nails bit deeply into his hard back and she sobbed at the wave of emotion that trembled over her weak body.

  “Kate, Kathy, sweet, sweet love,” he whispered as his mouth touched her lips again and again, brief, hard kisses that aroused her almost beyond bearing so that she pressed even closer against his big, warm body and felt the shudder that went through it.

  His mouth moved down her throat and her body arched as he found the thrust of her breasts and let his lips brush warmly, moistly, against flesh that had known no man's touch except his.

  “Blake,” she whispered achingly. I love you, she thought, I love you more than my own life, and if I have nothing else, I'll have this to remember when I'm old, and you and Vivian have children and I'm alone with my memories…Her fingers tangled in his hair and pressed his exploring mouth closer.

  “God, you're soft,” he breathed, lifting his head at last to move his mouth sensuously over hers. “Soft, like silk, like velvet against my body…Kathy, I want you. I want you like I want air to breathe, I want to make love to you…” His mouth took hers again, deeply possessive, his arms swallowing her, rocking her while the waves pounded rhythmically against the white sand, the sound just penetrating her mind while she got drunker on pleasure than she ever had on wine.

  “We've got to stop this,” he groaned, dragging his mouth away to look down at her in the darkness that wasn't darkness at all, his eyes black and tortured as they met hers. “I can't take you here!”

  Her hands ran lovingly over his hair-matted chest, feeling the roughness of it, the strength of those well-developed muscles. She wanted to touch all of him, every sensuous inch of him.

  “We could go inside,” she suggested in a husky whisper.

  “Yes, we could,” he said roughly. “And you'd wake in my arms hating me. Not like this, Kate. Damn it, not like this!”

  He pushed her away, and for just an instant, his eyes possessed the small high curve of her breasts like a thirsty man gulping water. Then he swooped and retrieved the bikini top. He dropped it into her shaking hands and turned his back.

  “Put it on,” he said harshly. His fingers dug into his shirt pocket for his crushed cigarette package and matches. “Let me cool off for a minute. My God, Kate, do you see what you do to me?” he growled, half-laughing as his fingers fumbled with the cigarette.

  She tied the top back in place with trembling fingers, avoiding his direct gaze. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the orange tip of his cigarette glow suddenly as he took a draw from it.

  “I'm sorry, Blake,” she said miserably. “I…I didn't mean to…to…”

  “It's all right, Kate,” he said gently. “You had too much to drink, that's all.”

  Her eyes closed and she folded her arms around her trembling body. “I'm so ashamed,” she ground out.

  He stiffened. “Ashamed?”

  She turned away. “I can't think what got into me,” she laughed harshly. “Maybe it's my age, maybe I'm going through my second childhood.”

  “Or maybe you're just plain damned frustrated,” he said, a whip in his deep voice. “Is that it, Kate? Can't Phillip give you what you need?”

  Shocked, she turned, lifting her puzzled eyes to his across the distance. She'd never seen his face so hard. “What?”

  He laughed shortly. “You make no secret of your preference for his company, honey,” he reminded her. “But he isn't passionate. You're just finding that out, aren't you? Can't he satisfy those wild hungers in you, Kate? Can't he give you what I can?”

  “I don't…I don't feel that way about Phil,” she stammered.

  “Don't expect me to stand in for him again,” he shot back. “I draw the line at being used for a damned substitute.”

  “But I wasn't…!”

  He turned away. “Go back inside and sober up,” he said, stripping off his shirt.

  She stared after him, watching as he walked forward, flicking the cigarette away, and abruptly dived into the moonlit water.

  Kathryn wanted desperately to follow him, to make him understand how she felt. To tell him that she loved him, not Phillip, that she'd give anything to be to him what Vivian was. But she knew he'd never listen to her in his present mood. He might never listen to her again, regardless of his mood. She wanted to hit herself for putting away all that wine. She'd killed Blake's respect for her, and along with it, every chance she'd ever had of making him love her. With a sigh, she turned away and picked up her beach towel. She trailed it aimlessly behind her as she walked past the gnarled sea-grape trees back to the house, the flower-scented breeze making sultry whispers at her ear.

  ***

  She overslept the next morning, and when she awoke it was with a bursting headache. She got to her feet to get an aspirin, glancing toward the rain-blasted window and the darkness of the clouds.

  Phillip was the only one in the living room when she went downstairs.

  “Where is everybody?” she asked, lifting a hand to her throbbing head as she sat down with the
coffee she'd poured herself from the tray in front of the sofa.

  “They drove Blake to the airport,” he replied, watching her closely. “He was bent on flying to Haiti today, despite the storm warnings. He left before this started; I guess they stopped to do some shopping on the way back.”

  Her eyes stared blankly out the window at the pouring rain, whipped by the wind. “It looks bad out there,” she remarked, her heart aching when she remembered what had happened last night and why Blake might have decided to take a risk like this. Had she made him reckless? Had her stupidity caused him to lose his temper so badly that he had to get away from the island, from her, at any cost?

  “Yes, it does,” he said. He raised his cup of coffee to his lips, watching her over the rim of it. He sipped some of the hot liquid and then abruptly put the cup down with a clatter. “What happened?”

  The question was so unexpected that she stared at him for several seconds before she spoke. “What?”

  “What happened last night?” he asked again. “Blake looked like a thunderhead when he came downstairs this morning, and he didn't say a word all through breakfast. He didn't ask where you were, but he kept watching the stairs, as if he expected you to come down them any second. He looked like a starving man with his eye on a five-course meal.”

  Tears formed in her own eyes, ran down her cheeks. She put her cup down and buried her face in her hands, crying brokenly.

  He sat down beside her and patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “What did you do to him, Kathy?”

  “I'd had too much to drink,” she whispered through her fingers, “and he'd said I was a child—”

  “So you went out and proved to him that you weren't,” he said softly, smiling at her.

  A nagging suspicion formed in the back of her mind and she raised her tear-wet eyes to his with the question in them.

  “It's a very public beach, Kathryn Mary,” he said with a mischievous grin. “And the moon was out.”

  “Oh, no,” she whispered, going red. She buried her face in her hands a second time. “You saw us.”

  “Not only me,” he replied drily. “Vivian. Watch yourself, little one. I got a look at her face before she stormed off upstairs.”

  She swallowed. “Did anyone else…?”

  He shook his head. “No. Mom and Dick were arguing politics. I'd taken Vivian for a stroll along the porch to see the view…and what a view we saw. Whew!”

  The blush got hotter. “I could die,” she moaned. “I could just die!”

  “It's nothing to be embarrassed about,” he said gently. “I'd give anything to have a woman care that much about me. And if you wondered how Blake really felt, I imagine you found out.”

  “I found out that he wants me,” she replied miserably. “I knew that before. It's not enough, Phillip.”

  “How do you know that's all he feels?” he asked quietly. He leaned forward, studying the coffee table. “Blake's deep, Kathryn. He keeps everything to himself.”

  “I couldn't have faced him this morning,” she said bitterly. “Not after what I did. Oh, Phillip, I'll never have another glass of wine as long as I live, I'll never touch another drop.”

  “Don't give up, girl,” he said.

  “Phillip, I don't have anything to give up,” she reminded him.

  “Don't you?” he asked, frowning. “I'm not so sure about that.”

  ***

  Vivian and Kathryn were left alone briefly while Maude supervised the evening meal and Dick and Phillip talked shop on the long porch. The rain had finally vanished, but the wind had only let up a little, and Kathryn couldn't help wondering if Blake was all right. He wasn't due back until the next morning, but that didn't stop her from worrying.

  “You really did get smashed last night, didn't you?” Vivian asked, shooting a quick glance at Kathryn's subdued expression as she poured herself a small sherry at the bar.

  Kathryn stiffened. “I'm not used to alcohol,” she said defensively, eyeing the coffee cup she was holding.

  “What a pity you had to overdo it,” the blonde said with a pitying glance. “Blake was utterly disgusted.”

  Her face flamed. “Was he?” she choked.

  “I saw you, of course,” she sighed. “Poor man, he didn't stand a chance when you absolutely threw yourself at him like that. Any man would be…stirred,” she added. Her eyes sharpened. “For my part, I'm furious with you. Blake and I…well, I've told you how things are. And I should think you'd have enough pride not to offer yourself to an engaged man.”

  The coffee cup crashed to the floor. Kathryn got up and ran for the stairs. She couldn't bear to hear any more.

  ***

  Blake was due by mid-morning, but when Phillip came back from the airport his face was grim.

  “What's wrong? What happened?” Kathryn asked frantically.

  “He left Haiti at daylight,” Phillip said through tight lips. “And filed a flight plan. But he hasn't been heard from since takeoff.” He caught her hand and squeezed it warmly. “They think he's gone down in some rough winds off the coast of Puerto Rico.”

  Chapter Ten

  She couldn't remember a time in her life when she'd been so afraid. She paced. She worried. She cried. When Phillip finally took pity on all of them and agreed to let them wait it out at the airport, she hugged him out of sheer relief. At least they'd be a little closer to the communications network.

  The airport wasn't crowded, but it wasn't as comfortable as the restaurant in the adjoining motel, so the five of them waited there. Vivian was worried, but it didn't deter her from flirting with Phillip or casting a wandering eye around the restaurant for interested looks. There were several Europeans staying in the motel, and a good many of the customers were men.

  Kathryn had eyes for no one. Her worried gaze was fixed on her lap while she tried not to wonder how she could go through life without Blake. She'd never thought about that before. Blake had always seemed invincible, immortal. He was so strong and commanding, it didn't occur to her that he was as vulnerable as any other man. Now, she had to consider that possibility and it froze her very blood.

  “I can't stand it,” she whispered to Phillip, rising. “I'm going out to the airfield.”

  “Kathryn, it may be hours,” he protested, walking with her as far as the door, only to cast a concerned look back at Maude, who was deep in conversation with Dick Leeds, her thin face drawn and taut with fear.

  “I know,” she said. She managed a wan little smile. “But if he…when he comes back,” she corrected quickly, “I think one of us should be there.”

  He clenched her shoulders hard. His face was older, harder. “Kate, it's not definite that he's coming back. You're got to face that. His plane went down, that's absolutely all I know. The rescue crews are searching, but heaven only knows what they'll find!”

  She bit her lower lip, hard, and her eyes were misty when she raised them, but her jaw was set stubbornly. “He's alive,” she said. “I know he's alive, Phillip.”

  “Honey…” he began piteously.

  “Do you think I'd still be breathing if Blake were dead?” she asked in a wild, choked whisper. “Do you think my heart would be beating?”

  He closed his eyes momentarily, as if searching for words.

  “I'm going outside,” she said gently. She turned and left him there.

  ***

  The skies were still gray, and the sun hadn't come out. She paced the apron with an impatient restlessness, starting every time she heard a sound that might be a plane.

  Minutes later, Maude came out to join her, her thin arms folded, her eyes pale and troubled. “I wish we knew something,” she murmured. “Just whether or not they think he could be alive.”

  “He's alive,” Kathryn said confidently.

  Maude studied the brave little face, and a dawning light came into her eyes. “I've been very dense, haven't I, Kathryn?” she asked gently, studying the younger woman's face.

  Kathryn watched the ground,
reddening. “I…”

  Maude put an arm around her shoulders comfortingly. “Come in and have another cup of coffee. It won't make that much difference.”

  “They found him!” Phillip yelled from the doorway of the terminal, his face bright, his voice full of sunlight. “The rescue plane's on its way in now!”

  “Oh, thank God,” Maude murmured prayerfully.

  Kathryn let the tears run silently down her face unashamedly. Blake was safe. He was alive. Even if she had to give him up to Vivian, if she never saw him again, it was enough to know he'd be on the same planet with her, alive. Alive, praise God, alive!

  Maude stayed outside with her, while Phillip went back inside with the others after they'd all been told the news. Kathryn couldn't be budged, and Maude stood quietly with her, waiting. Minutes passed quietly until there came the drone of a twin-engine plane. It circled the landing strip and dropped down gently, its wheels making a squealing sound briefly, lifting, then settling onto the runway.

  Kathryn watched the plane with tears shimmering in her eyes, until it stopped, the engine cut off, the door opened.

  A big, dark man in an open-necked shirt stepped out of it, and Kathryn was running toward him before his feet ever touched the ground.

  “Blake!” she screamed, oblivious to the other members of the family coming out of the terminal behind her. She ran like a frightened child seeking refuge, her face tormented, her legs flying against the skirt of her white sundress.

  He opened his arms and caught her up against him, holding her while she ground her cheek against his broad chest and wept like a wind-tossed orphan.

  “Oh, Blake,” she whimpered, “they said you'd gone down, and we didn't know…oh, I'd have died with you! Blake, Blake…I'd have died with you, Blake,” she whispered, over and over, her voice muffled, almost incoherent, her nails stabbing into his back as she clung to him.

  His big arms tightened around her, his cheek scrubbing roughly against her forehead. “I'm all right,” he said. “I'm fine, Kate.”