He hugged her close, knew exactly what she meant. For now, he was exactly where he wanted to be. Despite their pact, he felt like a love-struck adolescent out with his girl. Sex later on was a given, an erotic subtext to the evening. But for the moment there was a magic to standing in the cool air, arms entwined.
She turned to look across the darkened water at the lighted Christmas trees in Alamitos Bay. He stood behind her, his arms around her waist. Above them, a patch of fog hung like a shawl over a slender crescent moon. The plaintive wail of a saxophone from a party across the bay drifted in the air.
“It’s beautiful,” she said. “It must be nice living here on the water. Very romantic.”
“Gardening’s a bit tricky though,” he said. “Very difficult to put down roots.” The thought of the marina as romantic hadn’t occurred to him but, through her eyes, he experienced it as though for the first time. The fugue of waterfront sounds, the damp salt tang to the air.
She leaned back against him, and he ran his hands across her belly, up and down her thighs, the soft velvet of her short dress sensuous under his palms, inching up between his fingers.
“Do you think…” She covered his hands with her own, guiding them along the lines of her body. “That those people in the houses across the water are sitting there with binoculars watching us?”
“No.” He nuzzled her neck, inched the dress higher. Except for the distant lights, they were cocooned in the concealing blackness. “They’re all old and blind and go to bed at six. We could take off all our clothes and dance a jig and none of them would know.”
“Might be a little cold though.” She leaned into his body, her bottom pressed against his groin. “What exactly is it you’re doing with your hand?”
“Checking to see if your new underwear includes panty hose.”
“And?”
He felt smooth, warm skin above the top of her stockings.
She smiled.
He edged a finger between her thighs, felt her slight tremor. A breeze blew strands of her hair across his face. Out in the bay, a lighted pleasure boat rocked the dark water, left a churning wake. Sounds of laughter, revelry, floated out to them. With his mouth, he parted her hair, kissed the back of her neck. The prospecting finger explored, she squirmed against it, gave a low moan.
“I think,” she said softly, “that you’ve just struck gold.”
He slid his finger higher, stroked her until she slumped against him, her breath coming in short gasps. A few moments later, he turned her around, kissed her and led her to the boat. With one fluid movement, he jumped aboard then held out his hand for her.
HER BODY STILL HOT and swollen from his hand, her legs shaking with desire, she watched Martin pull off his jacket and tie. Then he lit a candle, put a jazz CD on the stereo and drew her into his arms.
“Let’s see,” he said. “Where were we?”
“You were doing something wicked to me.” Her arms around his neck, she swayed against him to the soft beat of the music. Smiling into his eyes, she ran her fingertips inside the collar of his shirt, massaged the muscles at the base of his neck. The saxophone throbbed and wailed and they kissed and swayed some more in the candlelight.
“I think…” He located the zipper at the back of her velvet dress. “That you’re wearing far too many clothes.” With the palms of his hands, he pushed the dress off her shoulders and down her body. It slid to the floor and she stood there, clad only in black lace bra and panties and the sheer stockings that clung to the tops of her thighs. Torn between wanting to get naked on the bed with him and the sensual thrill of the slow striptease, she watched him kiss the tops of her breasts. Through the portholes, the marina lights blinked golden in the dark night; beneath their feet, the boat gently rocked. With one hand he unclasped the front of her bra, tossed it off and took her breast in his mouth.
She shuddered at the touch of his teeth on her nipple, at his hands on her body, at the sheer eroticism of the evening. They kissed again and, without taking her mouth from his, she removed his shirt and they swayed together, her breasts against his chest, skin against skin. No matter what they’d told each other, no matter what happened after tonight, she knew without a doubt that she loved him. Loved him and wanted him with an intensity that stunned her. Slowly, savoring the moment, she unbuckled his pants, lowered them over his hips, then hooked her fingers in the waist of his shorts and pulled them down. For a moment she just looked at him: Martin, naked in front of her. Tall, lean and fully erect in the flickering candlelight.
“Where’s your bedroom?” she whispered.
“I’ll show you in a minute. First though, we still need to get rid of some more clothes.”
With one hand, he pushed her onto the padded bench that ran down one side of the cabin, stripped off the sheer black stockings and touched his lips to the black lace at her crotch. The kiss sent a tremor through her body that left her trembling and weak. Head thrown back, knees spread wide, she gave herself up to sensation. Nothing existed but this hot center of her and Martin’s mouth against it. His teeth tugged at the lace, pushed it aside. His tongue lapped and probed, darted up inside her, hotter and higher, faster, chasing the heat. Some part of her brain registered the silver ribbons of moonlight on his hair, the lap of water against the sides of the boat, but the heat kept building inside her, building and growing until the tension finally broke and she cried out.
ON CHRISTMAS MORNING, she woke to the creak of the boat against the dock, the raucous cawing of a couple of gulls and Martin beside her. She lay on her back, eyes still closed, lulled by the sway of the boat on the water. In the distance, she heard the rumble of traffic across the Alamitos Bay Bridge, the same sounds she heard from her own bedroom every morning. Less than a mile away, but it seemed a different world.
He lay with one hand loose on her breast, a leg sprawled across hers. Early-morning sunlight shimmered over their bodies, fell in patches on his chest and stomach, her thighs.
Disentangling herself, she turned onto her side to face him, her head raised on one elbow. In sleep, his head thrown back against the pillow, the intensity of expression gone, he seemed younger, vulnerable. She gazed at him, absorbing details. Unruly hair that, depending on the light, seemed either red or brown. A small scar by his mouth. His body long and spare, chest and arms faintly tanned.
Memories of the night before filtered in, and she imagined seeing him at the hospital now. The way she had first seen him. Dr. Connaughton tearing down the corridors, white coat flapping behind him. In the NICU, examining an infant, his face serious and intent. It would be different now. And then she remembered she would never see him at Western again. The thought brought a lump to her throat.
He stirred, opened his eyes and smiled lazily at her. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She leaned across to kiss him, felt his beard graze her breast. “Merry Christmas.”
“You, too.” He rolled over to face her. “By the way, that was a fantastic gift you gave me last night.”
She smiled. “As good as the one this morning?”
“Almost.” With his thumb, he traced the outline of her jaw. “Are there more where that one came from?”
“Lots.” Still smiling, she rolled over on her back. “God, this is fantastic. Just being here with you like this. It’s all a new experience. Not hearing cartoons on somewhere. I feel as though I should jump up and start pouring the milk and Cheerios. Go look for schoolbooks or something.”
“I’m glad you’re here instead.”
“Me, too.” She smiled into his eyes, thinking how terrific he looked. I am so nuts about you, I can’t see straight. She held his face in her hands, looked into his eyes. Reminded herself that they’d made a pact. No thought beyond the moment. But she would never feel quite this way again. She knew that. Martin filled her body, her heart, her brain. Her soul. Even now, after they’d made love half the night, she felt weak with desire for him.
“Hey you…” She brought his hand to her mouth
. “What was that you said last night about waking up in the morning and doing it all over again?”
“We did.”
“That was hours ago.” She climbed astride him. “It doesn’t count.”
“SO WAS SHOWERING à deux one of the new experiences you were seeking?” Martin asked some time later that morning. His hair still damp, he was barefoot, in jeans and a white T-shirt.
“It was and I liked it.” She grinned. “That and everything else.”
She stood in the small galley scrambling eggs for breakfast. The day was sunny and unseasonably warm for Christmas and she wore an old pair of Martin’s denim cutoffs and a loose red cotton shirt that she’d packed in an overnight bag. No bra. The straps had slid down her shoulders, so she’d abandoned it in keeping with the unfettered spirit of their day together. Eventually, she would have to return to the real world, but for now she was living out her fantasy.
“So the plan is…” Martin peeled an orange, broke it off into sections and put one in her mouth. “No plan. We just lounge around here all day like a couple of indolent sloths.”
“Sounds good to me,” she said through a mouthful of orange. “Too bad you have to go in tonight.”
“Right, but you’ll be here waiting for me and it’s the last day of on-call.” A shadow passed across his face and he frowned at the piece of orange peel in his hand. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but there was a message on the machine. The phone must have rung while we were—busy.” His mouth twitched. “Anyway, it was Tim Graham wanting to let me know that Grossman is back from Europe.”
“Which means?”
“That he’ll undoubtedly want to do the surgery. Probably in the next day or so. After today, I’m gone. There’ll be nothing standing in Grossman’s way.”
Catherine wrapped her arms around his waist, leaned her face against his back. Whatever objectivity he might have gained, the emotional torment he felt over Holly was clearly still close to the surface. She felt an enormous surge of tenderness and an almost equal feeling of helplessness.
He ran his hands across his face. “Listen, let’s not talk about Western. Today is our time to be together.” His face brightened. “I’ve got an idea. Let’s take the boat out, okay? I don’t have to be at the hospital until five, so we’ll have a few hours to ourselves.”
“Fine.” She met his eyes. “But if you want to talk about it, I’m here.”
“CALL THE HOSPITAL and tell them you have a serious malady and you won’t be in.” She said that later, after the boat was back in the marina. They were in the rear bunk, lying naked on rumpled sheets and drinking champagne when her cell phone rang. Catherine sat up. “Uh-oh. It’s in my purse in the other cabin. I better go see what’s going on.”
Martin nodded, but felt a stab of resentment at the intrusion. She’s got kids, he reminded himself. Responsibilities. He watched as she padded, naked, into the main cabin, then he closed his eyes. From her end of the conversation, he realized something had happened to Peter. Immediately, he reached for his clothes on the floor.
“Gary,” she said a few minutes later. She sat down on the edge of the bed. “Peter’s in the emergency room at Western. He fell off his bike. It’s nothing serious, no broken bones, but…” She bit her lip hard. “Gary says he’s kind of upset.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“No, Gary wouldn’t let me. He just started laying this guilt trip on me.”
“Guilt trip? What do you have to feel guilty about?”
“That I’m out screwing around, as he put it, while my son is in the hospital.” She pulled on her shirt, buttoned it up. Bent to retrieve her shorts and underpants. “He said I’m always going on about how important the kids are, but when one of them needs me, I’m more interested in getting laid.” Her eyes filled and brimmed over. “God, Martin, I feel terrible. I’m going to have to go. Gary’s furious.”
“Catherine.” He looked at her. “What right exactly does Gary have to be furious? He’s their father. The agreement was that they stay with him for a few days. He’s perfectly capable of looking after them.”
“I know.” She wiped her knuckle across her eyes. “I just think I should be with them.”
He sat up, swung his legs off the bed to sit beside her. Shoulders hunched, she held the jeans and underwear bunched up in her lap. With one finger, he brushed back a lock of long brown hair from her shoulder. “I know you want to be with Peter right now, Catherine. But don’t let Gary bully you into feeling guilty. It’s pretty obvious he’s jealous of the idea of you being with me.”
“That’s not it. If Peter hadn’t had an accident—”
“Peter’s fine now. You heard that yourself. Kids fall off their bikes all the time. Gary just needed an excuse. What you’re doing is letting him come between us. You need to stand up to him—”
“Don’t tell me what I need to do, Martin, okay? I’m sorry if you can’t understand that my first priority is to my kids, but that’s the way it is.”
He studied her face for a minute. “I’m trying to understand what’s going on here. I feel as though the rules have suddenly been changed, but no one’s told me what they are. Is there something else I’m not picking up on?”
“I don’t know.” She wouldn’t look at him. “Maybe I just got a dose of reality. Being here with you was great, but now it’s time to go back to the real world.”
“The perfect excuse to leave. Is that it?”
“Martin, stop, okay?” She finished dressing. “We both agreed that this was just an in-the-moment thing and…well, the moment’s passed. Gary’s threatened before to take custody of them. I’m not giving him any ammunition—”
“So you’ll let him blackmail you.”
“Look, I’m not going to get into this with you.” She picked her way across the clutter of his discarded clothes and the empty champagne glasses. “Can you just take me home?”
He followed her into the main cabin. “Remember what we said about hiding behind walls?”
She shook her head. “This is different. Let’s just drop the subject, okay? We both got what we wanted—”
“No.” He grabbed her arms, forced her to look at him. “Dammit, Catherine, you know it’s more than that. I don’t care what we agreed on. I love you. Can’t you see that?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to think. Right now, I just want to go home.”
The phone rang again. His phone. Grossman had scheduled Holly’s surgery for tomorrow. He looked at Catherine. “Do you have your things together?”
She nodded, her expression uncertain. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going back to the hospital. I think I have a better grasp of the parameters there than I do here.” He picked his keys up off the table. “Ready?”
They drove back to her house in silence. He pulled up outside, stunned at how quickly the euphoria of the day had dissolved into this. Catherine, clearly fighting back tears, rubbed her sleeve across her eyes.
“I’m sorry about the way things turned out,” she said.
“So am I.” He left the engine running. He drove away before she’d even reached the front door.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
AS SHE STOOD at the refrigerator eating a Christmas dinner of cold spaghetti from a Tupperware container, Catherine decided that this would probably go down as one of the loneliest, most depressing Christmas Days she’d ever had.
After effectively ruining her time with Martin, Gary had decided the kids would stay with him after all. When she’d finally managed to talk to Peter, he’d seemed fine. More interested in the video game he was playing than talking on the phone to her. Julie, busy helping Nadia bake sugar cookies, had been only slightly more conversational. After Catherine hung up, she’d felt almost miserable enough to consider driving over to her mother’s house for the low-fat, low-cholesterol, low-calorie dinner her mother was preparing for a few friends in her wellness support group.
Almost. Instead, she
finished the spaghetti and opened the freezer. Caramel pecan ice cream wouldn’t make her feel any better about Martin, but it couldn’t make her feel much worse. Twice she’d started to call him at the hospital then hung up. What was the point? Seeing him would only weaken her resolve. And nothing he could say would rid her of the fear of what could happen if she allowed herself to really need him.
By the time the phone rang at 4:45 a.m., she’d drifted off into a fitful doze. She picked it up on the first ring, sank back against the pillow.
“Martin. Hi.”
There was a pause. “No. It’s Derek.” Another pause. “Listen, sorry to wake you at this hour, but we’ve got a major crisis. A baby in the NICU was found dead just before midnight. It’s unofficial at this point, details are still coming in, but they’re calling it an apparent homicide.”
“Oh my God.” Catherine reached for the pen and notebook she kept on her nightstand. She sat up. “Who is it? Do we have a name?”
“Yeah. Holly Hodges.”
“Holly.” Catherine’s hand shot to her mouth. “What happened? Does Martin know?”
“He’s the main suspect, kiddo.”
THE DETECTIVE HAD a wide, florid face, thinning gray hair, gold-rimmed glasses and a paunch that strained the fabric of his white shirt. Martin glanced at the clock on his desk. Not quite noon. The man had been questioning him for more than an hour. The phone on the desk rang, and Martin ignored it, not wanting to conduct a conversation in front of the detective. The previous call had been from Gary Prentice who’d made a thinly veiled threat about Catherine losing custody of the kids if she continued the relationship. Martin turned his attention to the detective.
“According to a number of people in the medical center, Dr. Connaughton, you have an explosive temper.” The detective’s voice was casual, conversational. “Would you agree with that assessment?”
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