After The Storm (Men Made in America-- Mississippi)

by Flanders, Rebecca

  It wasn't until after he had gone that Kate realized she had forgotten to ask him whether or not he had room for a houseguest for a few days. Impatient with herself for having allowed intangibles to overshadow more pragmatic matters, however briefly, she decided to simply surprise her father with her presence. She might even fix him dinner. First, however, she had to stop by her house and try to rescue some of her clothes.

  The sight that greeted Kate as she pulled up to the curb outside the remains of her house was simply astonishing. Three pickup trucks and at least a dozen workmen filled her front lawn. A tow truck was tugging her crushed car down the driveway, while a chain saw noisily reduced to firewood the tree that had been resting on top of it. Another chain saw was busy on the tree that had gone through the roof, and the sounds of busy hammering and shouted orders added to the cacophony.

  Kate got out of the car slowly, dodging two-by-fours and squares of Sheetrock that were being carried up the walk, her eyes wide with amazement. She spotted one man in denim overalls and a green eye-shield cap who looked more authoritative than the others, and she approached him, moving carefully around sawhorses and generators.

  "Excuse me."

  He looked at her.

  "Who are you?"

  He returned, "Who are you?"

  "I'm Dr. Larimer," she replied in undisguised distress, "and this is my house you're tearing down!"

  "Ain't tearing down," he answered implacably. "We're putting it back together." Then he shouted, "Joe! Hey! You make sure that roof's got some support before you go ripping into the walls!"

  She tugged at his arm, protesting, "But I didn't order this! I tried everyone and—"

  Impatiently he dug in his pocket and came up with a work order. He scanned it efficiently. "This is two-eighty Applewood, ain't it? You're Kate Larimer?" She nodded to both questions, and he stuffed the order back into his pocket smugly. "You got any problems, talk to Mr. Dawson. We got work to do, lady."

  Kevin. Of course. She could have searched until next spring for someone to do the job; she could have wheedled, cajoled and demanded until she was breathless, but Kevin's specialty was moving mountains. She had never thought of asking him, but he had thought of doing it. And something sweet and lovely and light began to sing through her veins as she looked around at the miracle he had wrought, not because of what he had done but simply because he had thought of doing it. For her.

  She tugged on the man's arm again, shouting over the sound of the chain saw, "Can I go inside?"

  He looked at her blankly, mouthing the word "What?''

  "I need some things '* But he obviously couldn't hear her over the racket. She made an impatient gesture, shouted, "Never mind!" and picked her way through the rubble into the front door.

  It was like negotiating an obstacle course, and it quickly became apparent that this was the last trip she would be able to make here for several days. Everything she owned had either been wrapped in heavy-duty plastic or swept away into the trash pile, and she knew that this was her only chance to salvage what she could. Blithely, she stuffed as many clothes and toiletries as possible into two suitcases and left with a cheerful backward wave to the scowling foreman.

  She never made the conscious decision to turn toward Kevin's house instead of her father's; she simply did it. And having done it, the solution to her quandary became amazingly simple. She was in love. It might be no more than chemical reaction, stress-induced hysteria or the aftermath of sexual intimacy, but it was definitely there, and there was no point in arguing with what her body told her was true. This state of physical and emotional euphoria had come upon Kate too rarely—if ever—for her to turn her back on it now. It might not be permanent or destiny-changing or even right, but her only course was to enjoy it while she could. After all, love was not supposed to make sense.

  KEVIN'S BORROWED CAR was out front when Kate arrived at his house, but there was no answer to her knock. She let herself in, and her heart was tripping with a light patter of excitement, perhaps even trepidation, as she called his name. There was no answer, and she was puzzled until she went to the picture window and looked out. Kevin was sitting on the gentle hill that looked out over the lake, absently tossing pebbles into the water.

  A warm and secret thrill went through her as she watched him, solitary and lost in thought, the picture of romance on this soft spring evening. A gentle breeze ruffled his curls and caressed the light material of his shirt as low sunlight danced across his skin. His eyes were narrowed slightly upon the horizon, giving his profile a brooding, slightly Byronic look. Kate wondered if he was thinking about her.

  Of course he was thinking about her. After her unprecedented behavior of the past twenty-four hours, what else would he be thinking about? On a ripple of tenderness and chagrin, she moved toward the door to join him, and then she stopped, a wave of unexpected shyness prickling her. She still didn't know what she would say to him. And she wasn't as confident as she would have liked to have been that he would welcome her just then.

  She turned back into the house, needing a bit more time before she faced Kevin again, and she took her bags into the guest room to unpack. Kevin had invited her to use his house while hers was under construction; of that much she was certain. Everything else was still unresolved between them.

  She discovered, to her delight, that Kevin had electricity. She took a load of laundry to his utility room and dumped it in the washer, thinking all the while how comfortable she felt in Kevin's house and how rare it was that despite the strain that had developed between them since last night, she had never felt as at ease with anyone as she did with Kevin. She helped herself to a shower and then put on the maroon robe Kevin had loaned her this morning. A faint scent of Kevin clung to it, and inhaling, Kate felt a warm and contented thrill.

  In the kitchen she found a crumpled package of instant soup mix on the counter and a cup with a bit of broth left in it—obviously the remnants of Kevin's dinner. She thought he must be desperate indeed to have forced down such a culinary disaster and have called it dinner, and that made her smile. She heated water for her own cup of soup and then went back into the living room, sitting on the demisofa that faced the picture window, sipping her soup and watching Kevin.

  It was full twilight when he began to climb the hill back to the house. Kate had switched on a small lamp beside the sofa and sat waiting for him, a wonderful, calm anticipation filling her now that she was actually here. It had never been complicated at all. She wanted to be with Kevin. Now she was with Kevin. It felt good, and for as long as that good feeling lasted, she would not fight it.

  Kevin must have seen the light as he approached, for when he slid open the door and stepped inside, there was no surprise on his face, just a carefully controlled question mixed with anticipation, much like what she was feeling. He closed the door behind him with a click and said, "Katie."

  She smiled at him. "I'm moving in. Although—" her brow quirked with amused uncertainty "— the way you got those men to working on my house, I'm beginning to wonder how much I'm welcome. The way they're going, they'll have it done in record time. Maybe that's a hint."

  Kevin came toward her, his eyes alight with quick awareness but his stance still cautious and unsure. ''I'll tell them to take longer coffee breaks," he assured her, "if it means you'll stay longer."

  Kate said simply, "Thanks, Kevin, for taking care of that for me. No one else could have done it."

  He shrugged, a little self-consciously. ''Like you said, it's amazing how fast people will jump for a celebrity. You've got to use what you've got."

  "Did I say that?"

  "Words to that effect."

  He stopped only a few feet before her, and unspoken questions hummed between them with static alertness. His eyes were busy on her face, his body taut and suspended, and she could feel uncertainty emanating from him, the same kind of uncertainty she had felt only a few moments before but strangely felt no longer.

  At last, he said soft
ly, "Well, Katie. What now?"

  Her voice was mild and steady as she relied. "Your choices are: A—watch television; B—play cards; C—tell ghost stories; D—take off your clothes and lie down on the floor."

  His eyes sparked with immediate relaxed surprise, just as she had known they would. "Why, Dr. Larimer," he exclaimed in a soft and exaggerated Southern drawl, "your boldness finds me completely at a loss! Whatever can you have in mind?"

  "I owe you a massage, remember?" she responded promptly.

  He looked at her with feigned consideration, though his eyes were bright with pleasure and amusenent. "Are you any good?"

  "Top of my class in Massage 101."

  He gave her another moment of thoughtful hesitation. "In that case," he decided finally, "my choice is D."

  "Wise decision, Mr. Dawson." She stood up and began to drag the cushions off the sofa and onto the floor, deliberately refusing to let her eyes stray to the movement his fingers were making with the buttons of his shirt or to the way his eyes were watching hers. "Lie down there when you're finished," she instructed, and went into the kitchen.

  When she returned, he was sitting on the cushions on the floor, tugging off his shoes. His chest was bare, his shoulders, marred only by the white patch of bandage near his left collarbone, gleaming goldenly in the lamplight. His lines were beautiful, sleek and taut and lean, and Kate was surprised that with all her clinical detachment toward the human body, she could become so aroused by merely the sight of Kevin's.

  He glanced up at her suspiciously. "What is that?"

  She held up the bottle of olive oil for his inspection. "For lack of anything better—salad oil."

  "I'm not sure I like the idea of being basted like a turkey," he objected warily.

  She laughed. "You're going to love it." Then, looking at him meaningfully, she added, "I meant everything, Mr. Dawson."

  His grin was fleeting and shy and deliberately endearing as he got to his feet, his fingers moving to the button of his pants. "You still intimidate me. Dr. Larimer."

  She watched as he unzipped his pants and slid them down over his hips with movements that were curiously erotic, and Kate's pulse speeded slightly as she followed the lines of tanned muscled thighs and hard masculine calves. He left on his underwear, and Kate teased him gently, "Shy?"

  "Always have been," he assured her blithely, and lowered himself with easy grace to lie facedown on the sofa cushions. "There's the reason you've never seen me as a pinup centerfold."

  Kate knelt beside him and poured a bit of the oil into her hand, warming it between her palms. His shoulders were tense beneath her hands, and Kate could well imagine why. For all her bravado, Kate had never been a sexually aggressive person, and her sudden change of personality had caught him off guard. Only with Kevin would she have dared it. Kevin, whom she knew so well and with whom she had always been so comfortable... Kevin, who was coaxing her each day into new discoveries not only about him but about herself.

  Her oiled hands glided gently over the hard musculature of his back, using special care near his injured shoulder. "If this position is uncomfortable for you," she said, "just tell me."

  "It's uncomfortable," he admitted, his voice muffled by the pillows, "but not the way you mean."

  She smiled a little and warmed more oil in her hands. She worked his biceps, stretching his arm out as she moved her hand down over the long, strong lines of his forearm, giving attention to each separate finger. His hands were wonderful, she noticed for not the first time, strong but uncallused, the fingers lean and graceful and artistically shaped, like the rest of him. She resisted the urge to kiss those fingers, to draw each tip into her mouth, tasting them and caressing them.

  Kate tucked the folds of the robe between her legs and straddled his hips, returning to work with more energy on his neck and shoulders. She noted with satisfaction that the hard muscles beneath her hands had become pliant and relaxed, and he moaned drowsily. "Katie, this is wonderful. Why didn't I ever talk you into doing this for me before?"

  She chuckled softly, moving her hands in long, firm strokes from his waist to his neck. ''Probably because you didn't think of it."

  He sighed and shifted his head slightly. His eyes were closed. "You're a magician," he murmured. "I think I'm going to fall asleep."

  Kate smiled and moved downward, sliding her fingers with firm, smooth kneading motions over his thighs and his calves, and at last with concentrated attention on his feet. He moaned again, drowsy with pleasure, and Kate felt a languorous contentment that matched his own, enjoying the sensation of his planes and curves beneath her fingers, warm slippery flesh and pliant, responsive muscles.

  She felt his soft catch of breath as she slipped her fingers beneath the elastic of his briefs and slowly tugged downward, over his thighs and off his legs. Her own heart began to pound with his awareness as she positioned herself near his ankles and moved her hands upward over his oiled and naked flesh. The muscles that once had been supple grew strong with a different type of tension as her fingers shaped his calves and whispered against his inner thighs. Memorizing by touch alone, she moved with gentle massaging motions over his taut buttocks, the spareness of his waist, the gradual flare of his back and his shoulders. She could feel his breathing, and it echoed her own. His skin was warm and gleaming beneath her hands, and her fingers registered the smooth sensation of the sheathed muscles of his back, the slight roughness of hair on his legs, the strength of bone and tendon of his feet. She loved touching him, knowing him, discovering him. Each succeeding moment was a new delight to be stored against the time of emptiness she knew would come.

  She moved to sit beside him, her hand curling slightly around his waist. She whispered, "Turn over, Kevin." He complied, slowly. His eyes were dark and brilliant with alert anticipation, his body strong and demanding in its arousal. And yet he made no move except to stroke her fingers lightly with his own, allowing her to set her own pace and explore her own pleasures. He smiled faintly, and his voice was husky. "Would this, perchance, be one of your fantasies?"

  She stifled a throaty laugh and shook her head, moving her legs to rest on either side of his knees, supporting her weight on her heels. "I don't even dream this good."

  "Don't be shocked," he murmured, and closed his eyes with a soft release of breath as her oiled hands moved against his chest, ''but this has always been one of mine."

  She explored the texture of soft hair and defined muscles on his chest with the pressure of her palms and then the caress of her fingers. She saw his face tighten with pleasure as her fingertips traced the shape of his dark, flat nipples and then moved downward, whirling the light pattern of hair on his chest. She watched the play of emotions on his face, exquisite pleasure bordering near pain, as she discovered with growing wonder and shimmering delight his most responsive areas, and a deep possessive joy filled her, simply for the pleasure she was giving him. By allowing her the freedom to give, he pleasured her, and she loved him, simply and intensely, for understanding that.

  Her own heart was pounding with need and expectancy when at last she slid upward to straddle his thighs. Her fingertips smoothed his face, tracing the firm, masculine angles there. His eyes opened, heavy with desire and alive with an inner fire, and his hand lifted to tug at the sash of her robe. The heavy material parted, and his large, warm hand moved against her naked abdomen, curled around her waist, urged her gently downward.

  They kissed with lightly darting tongues and gently nibbling lips, tasting and promising and building upon pleasures to come. Urgency was a warm, demanding flow released in steady measures, something too exquisite to be unleashed at once. When Kate lifted her face, Kevin smiled and lightly, adoringly, traced the shape of her moist, parted lips with his fingertip. Then he lifted his hand to the shoulder of her robe, and she straightened her arms, allowing him to tug the garment off and discard it on the floor.

  He cupped her breasts with his hands, and lifting himself a little, brought his mouth to
cover one breast, his hand imitating the massaging, drawing motions of his lips and tongue upon the other. Rippling waves of mindless pleasure went through Kate; her body grew weak and fluid beneath the caresses of his hands and his lips, molding itself to him. A gentle pressure of his fingers against her hips positioned her against him, a heated, demanding hardness between her thighs. She was breathless and aching when he moved his hands beneath her arms, bringing her forward to meet his kiss, and when she felt him slide inside her, the joining was effortless, natural, an emptiness being filled, a blending of entities too long separate.

  He kissed her long and deeply, holding her to him with his hand encircling the back of her neck, giving full rein to a passion that had been too long restrained. And then, slowly, he encouraged her to straighten, watching her with eyes that were bold and gentle and alert to her every sensation.

  Kate gasped as he sank deep into her, deeper than he had ever been before. He soothed her with gentle stroking motions on her back and her arms, whispered caresses, worshiped her with brilliant, hypnotic eyes. Kate had never imagined it could be like this. She had never known what it could be to look into her lover's eyes and share the emotions, the urgency, the delight, just as thoroughly as they shared the physical sensations they were creating within each other. Never had there been such openness, such complete and thorough knowledge, such uninhibited sharing. They learned of each other wordlessly, gave to each other selflessly, and when the pinnacle of desire was reached and surpassed, the bond that was forged between them was more than physical. Much more.

  Low-level electricity still pulsed through Kate as she lay against Kevin, one leg thrown over his hip, her hand curved around his waist, her cheek against the steady, powerful beat of his heart. Her veins felt stripped and washed, her muscles liquid, her mind a composite of floating colors and languorous dizziness. She felt filled with him, her very essence inundated with him, and all she could think was Kevin... And every time she thought it, she was swept afresh with a surge of contentment and wonder that was too intense to define, even to herself.