A harsh, ragged moan escaped him as his lips fell lightly on her forehead, then her lips. And she felt the soft hair on his chest and the warm ripple of muscle beneath her fingers.
Kaitlin felt his lips on her own, his hands on her nakedness.
He rose and looked at her, then swore at the tension that gripped his body.
She was so damn beautiful, curled on the bed.
He swallowed hard, then tucked in his shirttails and did up his buttons. Her lashes were thick and lustrous against her cheeks, her hair a wild tangle. There was a stray lock over her cheek, and he reached tenderly to move it. His hand hovered, then he stroked her cheek gently again.
“Yes, we should have made it, Kaitlin. We should have made it.”
Then he bent and kissed her lips once again. A soft sigh escaped her, and she smiled as she slipped into sleep.
Then he smiled as he pulled the sheet over her. She was going to have one hell of a morning.
He knew her well. And she was definitely going to have one hell of a morning.
Chapter 5
Kaitlin’s head was spinning, and her tongue felt like sandpaper.
For the first few minutes as she began to wake up, all she could do was feel the subtle tortures within her body.
And from there on it only got worse.
There was a sheet covering her to her neck, but she felt funny beneath it.
She was naked.
And she wasn’t one of those people who naturally slip naked into bed.
A groan escaped her, and she tried to remember the evening.
Brendan.
It could all be explained with a single word. He had arrived, and she had drained a glass of champagne in a fraction of a second. And more had followed. Then there had been dinner and cake and coffee. Irish coffee.
She groaned aloud again. She should have been born a devout Muslim. Muslims didn’t drink at all, did they? She would never have tasted champagne in the first place.
Never, never again.
She tried to sit up, her head pounding. She wanted someone to shoot her and put her out of her misery.
To shoot her…
Someone had said something about that last night. That she would wake up with a headache so bad that she would want to be shot.
Brendan…
Oh, no. There had been dinner, then conversation and Irish coffee. That was where she had stopped before. Because she didn’t really want to go on.
She had stood at the door. She had kissed Gram and Barbara good night. She had hugged Joe. She had waved to her almost step-grandfather. Then she had closed the door, and…
Brendan.
He had still been inside. He had brought her to the couch. He had said something about the dishes and coffee, and she had closed her eyes, and he had come back.
A very, very loud groan broke from her lips.
She hadn’t been able to keep herself from telling him how good he looked. How well he had weathered time. He’d promised not to seduce her, but he’d also warned her that he couldn’t be responsible if she seduced him.
And, oh! The things she could remember! Curling her fingers into his hair, welcoming—inviting—his kiss. And feeling his touch on her.
She could even remember that he had carried her in here, already half naked, and removed her skirt.
What else had happened?
Her memory was blanking out on her. It was as if she had forgotten everything after reaching the darkness of the room.
Rather evident, isn’t it, Kaitlin? she tormented herself in silence, her head crashing painfully to the pillow. Then she rose, wishing she could just stay in bed forever. If only her head would stop pounding so badly! No, no, maybe it was good that her head was pounding, because she really didn’t want to think.
She had to take something for her head.
She realized that she was naked and wrapped the sheet around herself.
Her clothing was tossed over the big wicker chair in the corner of the room. Her shoes were beneath it.
She staggered into the kitchen and discovered that everything was as neat as a pin. The coffeepot was cleaned out, with coffee measured into it so all she had to do this morning was flick a switch. She didn’t. Not yet. She didn’t want to wake up.
She fumbled through the cabinets for a packet of bicarbonate, mixed it with water and swallowed the concoction in seconds. She set the glass on the counter, her thoughts suddenly all too clear.
What a fool I am, she thought derisively. I meet him every four years and hop into bed, then spend the rest of my life dreaming. How could I have done such a thing! I’m thirty years old. Mature. I should be able to handle this, to pretend it never happened.
But she couldn’t. Because there would be dinner Wednesday. And Gram’s wedding. And parties. And more weddings.
She could beg out of dinner. She could be deathly ill all week. She felt as if she was deathly ill already.
With another moan, she staggered to the bedroom and crawled into bed, praying for sleep to claim her again. It did, but it was anything but restful, because she began to dream.
It was years ago, almost four years ago. She was home, and one of her cousins mentioned that another cousin had gotten an annulment so she could be married again in the church. Kaitlin’s mother had been there, and she had mentioned softly that if only Kaitlin and Brendan had gotten an annulment, they both could have looked forward to marrying again within the church.
Her father had suggested that her mother lead her own life, but Kaitlin had seen the hurt and the hope in her mother’s eyes.
Then Joe, good old Joe, had known where to find Brendan. He had set up a meeting, and she had driven down to the Keys to see Brendan.
He’d been surprised to see her. Cold, aloof. Then he’d made an about face, asking her to stay for dinner. He’d cooked for her at his house on the water, and she’d had to admit that the surroundings were really elegant. And there had been candlelight, and wine….
She could remember everything in her dream. The room had been beautifully paneled in light wood. There had been a rose on the table, a snowy cloth and beautiful crystal. And Brendan. When she saw him, she started drinking the wine too quickly. The food was delicious, but she barely touched it. He was charming, his green eyes ablaze in the candlelight. He asked about her family, and she asked about his. They talked about his latest venture, and she told him she was thinking about breaking away from her firm to form her own company. She flirted—outrageously, probably. But it was so easy to do, so natural. And then she began to explain why she had come, and why an annulment would benefit both of them. He listened, and she didn’t notice his eyes narrowing. Then he suggested a stroll along the deck, over the water.
In the dream the mist was all around him, but she could still feel the balmy salt air, smell the rich scent of the sea—and the man. She didn’t know when she stopped talking, except that it must have been when he kissed her. When he moved his lips over her bare shoulders. And she knew that she wasn’t talking when he lifted her into his arms. And she knew what was happening, but she had no desire to stop it. He was seducing her, and the torment was sweet. Suddenly they were inside, and there was moonlight streaming into the room. She held her breath against the feel of his lips moving slowly over the glow-bathed length of her, until the longing became so strong that she was unable to endure it. The desperate desire for fulfillment, for the raw tempest and passion, rose within her, and she touched him, whispering incoherent words against his flesh. It was so good to feel him inside her again that tears came to her eyes.
He touched her again during the night. And again.
But in the morning she woke up alone. He had left a note saying that she should come back when all she wanted was him. And she had known then that he had played her so damn well that she didn’t dare go back, ever.
The mist faded. She could hear a clock ticking. She was awake, but the dream had been so real that patches of it remained.
; No, the dream only seemed to have been so real because of everything that had happened last night.
At least her head wasn’t pounding so badly. She cracked one eye open.
She was going to live.
Then she realized that she could smell coffee. And she sensed that she was not alone. She sensed it so strongly that she screamed when she rolled over and discovered that there was a figure in the doorway.
“For God’s sake, Kaitlin, it’s me.”
“Brendan!”
The sheet had fallen. It was down to her waist, and she was gaping at him.
She grabbed madly for the sheet.
What for? He had apparently gotten her into her present state of undress. Or else she had done it herself because of him.
She swore and leaped out of bed, trying to cloak herself in the sheet. “Damn it, Brendan, of all the nerve! I should call the police. After everything you did—”
One ebony brow shot up. “Everything I did?” he interrupted politely.
“Oh!” She spun around and stamped into her bathroom, locking the door behind her. She should have gotten rid of him. She should have told him to leave the house.
All she wanted now was a shower. To soak herself. To drown.
No, no, she had to get a grip on herself. He was in her house. Maybe he’d never left. No, she’d been awake, and he’d been gone. Besides, he was dressed in tennis shorts and a sweatshirt, and he had that just bathed and shaved look about him. He’d been gone, but he’d come back. Why?
She let the water pour over her, easing her tension. Then she panicked again.
He had promised her that he wouldn’t seduce her.
And he hadn’t, she reminded herself. She had to be honest with herself. With him. She had to be cold and firm and dignified. She had to admit that it had been her fault, but that it could never, never happen again.
She turned off the water with a jerk and left the shower, then rigorously toweled her hair dry. She met her reflection in the large mirror over the sink. Her eyes were huge.
And bloodshot.
She reached into the cabinet for her makeup and did a quick repair job. Her fingers were trembling, and she was certain that she was going to have mascara down her nose, but it wasn’t so bad.
She tied her terry robe around herself and stepped into the bedroom.
He wasn’t there, and her door was closed. She bit her lower lip, then dressed quickly in jeans and a soft knit shirt. She brushed her hair, convinced herself that she didn’t look nearly as green as she felt and turned toward the door.
She had to stand there for several seconds before she could bring herself to twist the knob. She was going to be strong, mature, aloof. She was going to—oh, hell.
She managed to leave the room at last. Brendan was at the dining room table, sipping coffee and reading the morning paper. He looked exceptionally awake and aware. Clean and fresh and masculine.
And surely he was gazing at her in a condescending fashion.
She walked to the table and curled her fingers around the wooden frame of one of the chairs.
“Why did you come back?” she asked him sharply.
“Why are you so angry?” he questioned in return, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.
“I’m not angry.”
His eyes widened in disbelief, and he lifted her keys from the table. “The only way I could bolt your door was from the outside. But I thought you might like these back.”
“Oh,” she said numbly. “Well, thank you.” I think, she added in silence.
“The coffee is hot.”
She nodded. Coffee. Maybe after one cup she could get rid of him. She walked into the kitchen, poured herself a cup, added sugar and milk generously and drank it right there in the kitchen. She poured herself another cup and went more lightly on both the cream and the sugar, then squared her shoulders and swung around to return to the dining room to face him again.
Except that she didn’t have to return to the dining room. He was leaning on the doorway, watching her, smiling.
“You’re gulping that stuff down just like you were inhaling the champagne last night,” he commented.
“Thank you for noticing,” she said.
He was still smiling. “You really shouldn’t be mad at me.”
Mad? She was pale white and wanted to crawl under a rock. She lifted her chin. Mature, dignified. “I’m not angry with you, Brendan. Really. You did…you did promise me…”
“Yes?”
She wasn’t white anymore. She was flaming red. If only she could speak! She was never going to manage mature and dignified if she couldn’t talk.
“You did promise not to seduce me.”
“Yes, I did.”
“And I know…”
“Yes?” he asked.
“Well, I know that what happened was my fault. That I, uh…”
He leaned more comfortably against the door frame.
“You’re not making this easy, you know.”
“No, I wouldn’t think of it. I’m enjoying it way too much.”
“It can’t happen again!” she cried desperately.
“What can’t happen? I didn’t do anything.”
She set her coffee cup down and curled her fingers around the countertop behind her. “Brendan, I’ve admitted that. And I’m not angry, really I’m not.”
“You shouldn’t be. You should be grateful.”
“Grateful!”
“I picked up the place. I locked you in all nice and sound.”
“Yes, yes, you locked the door. Thank you. Great. It was before you locked the door that I’m talking about.”
“Yes?”
Damn it. He was having a good time. At her expense.
“I was responsible. It was my fault. But it isn’t going to happen again.”
“Just exactly what is it that isn’t going to happen again?”
“Brendan, please!”
He arched his brows. “Seriously. I’d like to know.”
She swore softly, picked up her coffee and pushed past him to take a seat at the table. He followed and stood behind her, making her very uneasy.
“Let’s see. My memory is probably better than yours.”
“Brendan, stop.”
“Not on your life. Let’s see, I got you to the sofa, I got the dishes in the dishwasher, and I put the coffee on. And then I came out and sat next to you. And then…” His husky whisper teased her ear as he leaned behind her, putting his hands on the table. “And then, wow. Kaitlin, you have a kiss that singes the hair.”
“Brendan…”
“And then, you know what?”
“I don’t want to know what!”
“Then your hands were all over me. In my hair, on my shoulders, touching me…and I was trying so hard to be noble, but you’ve got a great smile. And great eyes. And really great—”
“Brendan!”
“And I just couldn’t resist. So there we were on the couch, and the next thing I knew, half your clothing was off. And you were ripping at my shirt—”
“I was not!”
“You were, I swear it. And your fingers were all over my chest and across my shoulders, then down my back. It was the most incredible, exquisite torture!” He slid around beside her and set his hand over hers. She tried to pull away, but he took her fingers between his hands, his thumb rubbing over her palm. “Just thinking about it right now, this very second…there’s a cold sweat breaking out on my skin, and a hot rush sweeping through me—”
“Stop it!”
But he ignored her, pressing on. “I got you into the bed. And I kept telling myself that I had promised—promised!—not to seduce you. But you’re such a flirt. Hot and sexy—and sweet. So there you were in bed, half dressed. I couldn’t leave you that way.”
Her eyes were wide on his, her expression one of absolute horror. She wanted to pull her hand away, but she couldn’t. She wanted to scream, to hide beneath the table, but she could
n’t do that, either.
“I touched you, and oh, Kaitlin, you moved so nicely. Your skirt just slid free in my hand. And your stockings came off, and then I…”
His voice trailed away as he shuddered. She stared at him, open-mouthed and paralyzed.
Then he dropped her hand and grinned disarmingly. “Then I threw the sheet over you, locked up and left.”
“What!” She gasped.
He stood, still grinning. “I really did have to try very hard to be noble. But that was it, Kaitlin. I undressed you, put you to bed and left. You haven’t sold your soul—or anything else, for that matter. For the moment, at least.”
She stared at him blankly for a second; then her temper soared, and she stood to face him, her fingers wound so tightly into her palms that her nails were clawing into her flesh.
“What?”
“Kaitlin, I said that you didn’t—”
She approached him in a fury, her left fist flying. He caught her wrist, swearing at her strength as he struggled to capture her tightly against him.
“Kaitlin, I said—”
“You said! You let me sit there and talk and stumble and nearly die of humiliation and shame. And you knew all along—”
“Well, of course, I knew! I wasn’t the inebriated one. And, as a matter of fact,” he added, his green gaze dangerously alight, “I was rather insulted that you could even imagine that we had gone through with anything. I could never have forgotten a single one of our sexual encounters. No matter what I’d been drinking.”
“Oh!” She gritted her teeth and tried to free her wrists. When she couldn’t, she tried to kick him, but he stepped back quickly, maintaining his grip on her.
“Come on, Kaitlin.”
“You just sat there and let me think—”
“Kaitlin, you were thinking about a lot that was true! You did try damn hard to seduce me. And it was hard to resist you, too. But I did.”
“Congratulations!” she snapped.
He laughed, brought her wrists together and pushed her into her chair.
“Want to know why I did?” he asked her.
“I’m just dying to hear!”
Wedding Bell Blues Page 9
