by Helen Conrad
But he made the attempt, because he really did want to understand her. And to understand her, he knew he would have to reveal something of himself. That wasn't his usual way. Jokes and offhand remarks usually covered up what he was really feeling. But with Kathy . . somehow he felt as though he could tell her things he'd never even told himself.
“I swam for the fun of it. I was lucky. I had a lot of natural talent, and things fell into place for me. But I never went after it with anything like a driving ambition. It just sort of happened.”
Kathy glanced back at him, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “Well, it's always been different for me. Hard. A struggle. But totally necessary for my own survival.”
He couldn't quite credit that. It still didn't make sense to him. “Is it just Jim? Your loyalty to him? The fact that he's in a wheelchair and you somehow feel it's your job to make it up to him?”
She rose from the stream and turned to face him. “No, it's nothing like that. Jim was in a wheelchair when I met him. His accident had nothing to do with me.”
“How did you meet him?”
“At an old-timers' meet. I came to swim exhibition.” She shrugged. “I missed it so much. Don't you ever miss it?”
“The swimming world?” He shook his head slowly. “No,” he said flatly. “Not really.”
She drew her knees up in front of her on the rock. “I do,” she said simply. “All the time.”
His dark gaze searched hers, looking for clues to something he still didn't understand. “Haven't you found anything in your life to replace what you had with swimming?”
“As a matter of fact ... I haven't.” She lifted her chin, facing him bravely with the truth. “When I was swimming, I felt I was living a golden life. It seemed like the sun was always shining. When I went to the nationals—and won—I don't think I'll ever have that feeling again, no matter what I do. My team was so proud. My family even came to watch me. My father…” She hesitated.
That surprised him. “You mean they usually didn't?”
“Oh no. They were much too busy. My father is a heart specialist. He…he works very hard. And my mother is heavily involved in international poetry competitions. It takes all her time.”
“I see.” But he didn't. His family came to every meet he ever swam in from the time he was ten years old. Family life for the Harpers had revolved around Jace and his swimming.
He glanced up at her face. She had that faraway look in her eyes. There was more. He thought he might know why.
“What happened at the Olympics?” he asked.
Her face turned from him. “I don't know what happened. I'd met Greg—my future husband—by that time and somehow . . .the focus just went off of my swimming. I couldn't get it back.”
“You were expected to win the gold medal in the butterfly.”
“I know. The pressure was incredible. It wasn't like the nationals, where everyone was behind me. This time . . .” She gazed at him, wondering if he could understand how she'd felt. “It seemed as if everyone secretly wanted me to lose. Every newspaper article was critical, tearing me apart, finding every little chink in my armor, downgrading my abilities, saying I'd won before on a fluke. It was horrible.”
He shrugged. “They always do that. Makes better copy, sells more newspapers. You have to ignore it.”
To her own surprise, she found her voice trembled when she tried to answer. “I ... I couldn't. It…it really hurt me.” Even now the pain lingered. The wounds had never fully healed.
He looked up. He wanted to hold her, but he'd promised. “So you came away with the bronze.”
She couldn't meet his gaze. “I was a big disappointment to everyone.” Especially her father. “I failed.”
He ached for her, and when he spoke again, his voice was gruff, suppressing the emotion. “I wouldn't call it a failure. How many people get to the Olympics, anyway? You're one of the few.”
She drew in a breath and tried to smile. “You know I failed. You won golds yourself.”
He was silent. This time he couldn't dispute her. He knew what it was like in the sports world. Being number one was winning. Everything else was losing.
“Everybody thought I was a failure, even Greg. But he married me anyway. That was my big mistake. I never should have married him.”
“Why?”
She laughed. “That failed too.” She waited, but the old pain didn't come on that one. Funny. She'd realized right away that she didn't really love Greg. But the way he cast her off had hurt anyway. Maybe she was finally over it.
“But you didn't fail,” she said, smiling at Jace. “You went after the gold and you got it.”
“My life was very different from yours. My parents supported me, everybody supported me. Winning came easily to me. From the moment I first jumped into the water, I was a great swimmer. I always beat everybody in sight. It just happened for me.”
Her eyes had a haunted look. “You're so lucky.”
“No.” His own eyes were dark and clouded with some old bitterness. “No, not really. I wouldn't call it lucky. I don't feel lucky. There are times when what I feel is damned.”
CHAPTER FIVE:
Into the Woods
The bleakness in his tone startled her, but it immediately brought back memories of the night before: the letter, his despair.
Kathy hesitated, not knowing what to say, but his unhappiness immediately wiped her own regrets from her mind. She wanted to know more, but she wasn’t sure of how to ask him.
“Hey.” His face was suddenly bright again. He took her hand, grinning at her. “Let's have our picnic.”
Sudden changes in mood always bothered her. She needed time to work through emotions before abandoning them. Jace, it seemed, didn't have those requirements. “Now?”
“Sure. We don't have that much time left.”
She rose with him, her hand in his, and they made their way back to the spot where the helicopter had left them. Jace was an enigma to her. The night before it had upset her that a man so strong and heroic-seeming could be so weak. But once she'd seen the evidence of a reason for his drinking, she'd been ready to overlook it. Then, at lunch, when he'd avoided anything alcoholic, she'd decided she’d been much too hard on him. Unfair, even.
And yet, the paradoxes still remained. He was big and strong and . . . well, maybe not heroic, exactly, but surely one of the good guys. But he was also vulnerable and moody. And now and then, from flashes of something behind his eyes, something in his voice, something in a movement he made with his hands, she got the distinct impression that –even beyond his current troubles about his son, he was not a happy man.
She wished she knew why. She wished she could help him.
They found their way back to the landing site, and there was the basket, waiting on a rock. She looked at him to see if he were brooding, or if he might be open to a little fun. His face looked blandly unruffled. She decided to take a chance.
“Let's eat at the lodge,” she said, poking him with an elbow. “Why not?”
He thrust out his lower lip, pretending to look skeptical. “I don't know if they can take us without reservations.”
“Oh, let's try,” she said, smiling up at him. “After all, you should have some pull with the management.”
“Maybe,” he said, his smile lighting his blue eyes. “It's worth a stab anyway.”
They walked back, each holding one handle of the basket. Daisies bobbed at their feet, and the call of birds was in the air.
“It's so lovely here,” Kathy sighed, looking about them, drawing in the pine-fresh scent. “I wish we could stay forever.”
“Unfortunately,” Jace lamented, putting down the picnic basket in a likely spot, “our reservations are only for the afternoon.”
Kathy grinned. “And we were lucky to get that, from what I hear. This is getting to be the most popular resort in Utah.” She helped him spread out the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth on the ground. “What's it called, again? Pa
radise?”
He laughed softly. “Harper's Folly is probably more like it.”
He helped her down onto the cloth and sat beside her, reaching for the basket. “We've got everything here but a guitar for me to strum. I should be singing you love songs.”
She began to lay out the bread and cheese. “What a good idea. I'll take the songs without the guitar.”
“Nah.” He pulled out the champagne and two glasses. “It wouldn't be the same.” The sparkling golden liquid filled the glasses, and they raised them in a toast. “To Harper's Folly,” he murmured.
“To Paradise,” she countered.
His deep eyes watched her over the rim of his glass. “Take down your hair,” he said suddenly.
Her hand went to her braid. “What? Why?”
“Because I want to see you with the breezes tossing your golden hair around.”
His eyes were so deep, limitless. She found herself tugging on the band that held the braid together. In a moment the band was free, and she ran her fingers through her hair. Loose, it flowed onto her shoulders, and a few strands wafted about her face. “Like this?”
He nodded. “Like that.” His voice was husky, and he stared at her. Something in his face made her feel beautiful.
“Come on over here,” he invited, moving to make a space for her. “Here we are in our own little mountain condo and we're not even snuggling in front of the fire.” He pulled her to him, his arm around her shoulders, and she felt thoroughly at home, tantalized by the solid feel of him, the masculine scent.
“Just picture this scene,” he said. “The wind is howling about the rooftops. Snow is falling, forming drifts everywhere. But here inside, our fire is roaring, and we're warm and secure.”
She chuckled, her cheek resting against his shoulder. “We're tired, of course,” she said, joining in. “We've been out skiing all day and we're aching all over.”
“All over,” he agreed. His large hands went to her shoulders. “Which is why I must give you a rub-down. You're sore from all that skiing, but it's nothing my miracle cure can't fix.”
She sighed as his strong hands manipulated her shoulders. It did feel good, relaxing. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the feel of his strong hands on her tense body.
“Listen to that cold wind,” he murmured very near her ear. “And here we are inside, all alone, with nothing much to do”—he dropped a slow kiss on her neck—”but to satisfy the yearning that has kept us apart for so long.”
A deep sea of relaxation began to flow through her. She wanted to sink into it, but the still-rational part of her mind told her that if she did, she would be lost. Struggling, she kept herself afloat.
But just barely. And when he began to nuzzle her neck, she knew she wouldn’t last.
“Uh, don't, Jace.”
Ignoring her protest, he rubbed his face against her skin, nibbling, tracing patterns and searching for her ear.
“Oh.” She shivered, gasping a little at the sensations he was creating. “Jace, please ...”
“Anything you want,” Jace answered, “only don't tell me to stop.”
Stop was the word. Why couldn't she say it? Before she knew what was happening, she was on her back on the red-and-white-checkered cloth, her silvery hair spread all around her, and he was leaning over her, his eyes full of hunger, and she was reaching up to touch his face.
“You look like a wood nymph,” he whispered. “You've got pine needles in your hair.”
“And you look like a satyr,” she breathed in return. “You've got fire in your eyes.”
Her heart was beating so wildly, the world seemed to be spinning around her, the blue sky, the singing pines, the granite mountain, and all she could really see was his thick dark hair radiating sunbeams, his cerulean eyes alight with burning embers, and his full, sensual lips, lips that were so close.
She closed her eyes, held her breath, and he teased her, gently touching her lips with his own, but not kissing her. Sighing restlessly, she half-frowned and opened her mouth, flicking her tongue against his lips to encourage him. The sound she heard was half a laugh, half a growl, and he came down on top of her, his mouth hard and hot on hers.
It was as though she'd grasped a live electric wire. The excitement shot through her, and she couldn't let go. She was trembling. It had been so long since she'd felt a man this way. She wanted to feel more of him, harder, hotter. He filled her mouth, exploring, caressing, coaxing, teasing, and she answered him with a need so pure, it took his breath away.
“Oh, Kathy,” he said huskily against her mouth. “You taste like aged brandy, like golden cognac.” He rubbed his lips to hers and sighed. “I could get drunk on you.”
Her hands slid down his sides, enjoying his hardness and the life she could sense beneath the fabric of his shirt. His kiss was hard and more demanding. He was pushing up her sweater, and his hand slipped around and undid her bra.
Her mouth felt cold and abandoned as he drew away. He'd bared her breasts to the teasing high mountain breeze. She knew it was time to stop this wild careening ride they were on. Things were going too far too fast. It was time to say something, do something, to make sure he knew she wouldn't —couldn't—give herself to him fully.
Just a moment more, her sensation-drugged mind whispered. Just a moment more to feel his arousing touch, the scrape of his rough fingers trailing against the tender skin of her breast, his breath across her softness, and then the hot excitement of his mouth, first on one nipple, then the other, tongue arousing, teeth gently tugging, until she whimpered and tried to roll away.
“Kathy, don't go,” he whispered. “Not now. Not when it feels so right.”
He shifted so that his hips slid down into the cradle of hers, and desire shot through her, so fierce and hot she cried out. “Oh! No, no . . .”
His head came up and he glared down at her. “Do you really want me to stop?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Yes,” she gasped, clenching herself like a fist to hold back the surges of passion that threatened to engulf her. “Please, Jace. Please.”
He swore profanely, but he rolled away from her and pulled himself up to sit cross-legged and watch her try to pull herself together, rehooking her bra, struggling back into her sweater, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes to regain her equilibrium.
“You and your firm resolve are beginning to get on my nerves,” he said at last.
She shot him a scathing look. “You're not used to it, I know.” She shivered and spoke quickly again, to cover her still-active desire. “Look, I'm sure you usually get what you want. I mean, I imagine not many women turn you down. But I don't want to make love with you.”
“Why not?”
She took a deep breath. “For the same reason that I won't ever . . . oh, try drugs, for instance.”
He gazed at her, incredulous. “What . . . you think I might be addictive?” He laughed, though there wasn't much humor in the sound, and when he went on, his voice was sharp with cynicism. “Honey, my style isn't so very different from any other man's, believe me. It's all the same.”
Stung, she retorted, “If it's so much the same, why not go make love with some woman who wants you.”
Jace stared at her. Her point was made. He didn't want any other woman. He wanted her, with her huge gray eyes and her golden hair that swept around her like an enchanted cloud, with her slim, lithe body and her keep-your-distance smile. Wanting her was burning a hole in his already fragile peace of mind.
If he were smart, he would get up and go wait for the helicopter and forget all about this crazy woman who thought she was going to conquer the swimming world when she was obviously a good ten years past her time. He squinted at her. Let's be honest, he told himself. She's not the most beautiful woman you've ever been with. She's not exactly a laugh a minute. She doesn't exude sexuality. So what the hell keeps you here, staring at her, wanting her to want you? You're pretty crazy yourself, Harper.
“I don't know wh
y I put up with you, woman,” he said at last, and she was vastly relieved to hear the humor return to his voice.
Things were getting back to normal. Her pulse was returning to a pace she could live with. Her breath was coming more evenly too. But the thick mist of sensuality between them- wouldn't evaporate. She hardly dared to look into his eyes.
He sighed as though he could feel it too. “If only I hadn't needed a wife last night.”
She raised her face to his again. Yes, his eyes were smiling. He wasn't horribly angry with her. She felt weak with gratitude for that. Did he realize how difficult it had been for her to stop?
“I was a very good wife,” she said shakily. “Wasn't I?” She lifted her chin, and her voice got stronger. “I made sure you got home okay. I put you to bed. I turned off the light.”
His grin was crooked. “That's just it. You were the wife I've always dreamed of.” His smile faded. “Actually, you did a lot more than my real wife ever did for me.”
That was the ticket. Talk about his ex-wife, the old days, swimming, anything to fan away some of the excitement that still trembled between them.
“What was she like?” Kathy asked innocently, leaning back and trying to relax.
“Who? Beverly?” He looked surprised to find that he'd brought the subject up himself. “I forget.” His grin had a bitter twist. “That issue is dead. Let's leave it in peace.”
Kathy sat up. “No,” she said firmly. “That's not fair. I told you about myself. You have to tell me about your life now.”
He shrugged. “Okay, okay. My life has been like ... a ride on a surfboard. Long and easy, with a lot of splash and not much to show for it once you're done.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that good enough for you?”
She shook her head, her lips pursed. “No,” she said again. “I want details. What happened when.”
His groan came from his heart. “That's woman's stuff. Real men don't talk about that kind of thing.”
He said it like a joke, but she could tell it was what he really felt.
