Night Music

by BJ James

  Twice more he suffered the whetting, enticing, punishment of her kiss and caress. And when he could stand no more, he drew her down and beneath him.

  “My turn,” he growled roughly, softly, gently.

  This time it was Kate who would speak, and Devlin who stopped her words with a shake of his head and a kiss. This time it was she who was held in gentle restraint for the sweet torture of his lovemaking.

  This time it was he who rose over her to trace the elegant line of her brows, to stroke the butterfly brush of her lashes, and the angle of her cheek. When a knuckle grazed lightly over the corner of her mouth, her indrawn breath was a slow, shuddering gasp.

  Devlin heard and his body responded, but he neither paused nor altered the course of his delightful, meandering quest. The roughened but gentle fingertips stroked the line of her jaw and the length of her throat. Then rested for a moment at the throbbing, shadowed hollow at its base.

  As he watched, her gaze dropped and her lashes fluttered yet again. Her breathing grew slow and shallow, as if waiting. He hoped needing and wanting, as much as he.

  Slowly, never taking his gaze from her shielded eyes, he let his touch glide lazily from her throat. Halting abruptly, his hand poised and ready, he heard the uneven rhythm of her labored breaths, and saw the darkness of eyes with pupils dilated until irises diminished to slender bands of gold.

  He thought she would speak her desire, revealing her needs. But she kept silent, watching him, waiting for him.

  Instead it was he who spoke, but with a suckling kiss as he cupped her breasts and lifted the tight budding nipples to the reverent stroke and gentle pull of his lips.

  With each touch, each stroke of his tongue, each intimate revelation, she sighed and wept. Clasping him closer, she writhed against him, needing that she be a part of him, and he of her.

  When that moment came, when passion so carefully guarded would not be contained, with bodies in concert, they rode the storm together. Together, ever together, until Kate’s shuddering cry was joined by his.

  This was the first and, as he promised, the perfect time. The time for all to follow.

  Long into the night he held her, watching her drowse and wake, and drowse again. When a clock struck the hour of a new day, she roused and turned to him. With petals of the shattered rose filling the bed with their scent, he made love to her.

  And longer still into the night, at the chime of another hour, again.

  Sated and spent, and deliciously weary, as the flame of the last candle guttered and died, Kate turned her face into the hollow of his throat. With the taste of the sea on her lips and the weight of his hand at her breast, she whispered simply, “Devlin.”

  When she woke, he was gone.

  Raising her head from the pillow, with her body supported by her bent arms, Kate looked around the room. Nothing had changed. Somehow, she thought it would. After the night with Devlin, she expected the whole world would have changed.

  But the light of day still slanted through open doors. The sea still whispered in harmony with crying gulls. Palmettos stirred by a passing breeze still rustled against windows. If she looked out, the sky would still be blue. The beach would be silver sand. And Sea Watch still sat securely on massive beams.

  As her look ranged over the room, she realized the candles had been taken away. No sea-swept towel lay on the floor where it had been dropped heedlessly. The orange nightshirt draped circumspectly over a chair. Nothing was as it had been in the last minute before Devlin had taken her in his arms.

  Beyond a mild fatigue and a few tender, achy body parts, and the fact that she’d never slept so well or so long, there was no evidence the interlude ever happened.

  Interlude.

  Was that all it was?

  Sitting up, Kate studied her reflection through luminous eyes. Her hair was in appalling disorder, a casualty of repeated masculine caresses. Her face seemed pale, but her cheeks were flushed with the light abrading of a day-old beard. And her lips…

  Staring at the stranger in the mirror, Kate touched her swollen mouth, tracing the shape as he had traced it, feeling again the kisses. Some tender and some not. Remembering his sweet, gentle touch, the driving desperation of his passion. His whispered words breathed against her skin, saying so little, yet so much. The vow Devlin made time and again, but never voiced.

  Why? And why not? Kate’s questions echoed hollowly in her thoughts. But she knew there were no answers within these walls.

  Throwing back the sheet Devlin had gallantly drawn over her bare body before he left her, Kate glimpsed rose petals. Pink rose petals. Catching up a shattered few in her hands, she drew them to her face. Breathing deeply of their fragrance and their memories, she relived a night too wonderful. Then she smiled, letting each fall again to the rumpled sheets like blushing snowflakes.

  The sun would still rise, and it would set. The rushing tides of the sea would ebb. The wind would blow and be still. Birds would sing, than fall silent. The order of the world would go on.

  In a single night, only she had changed. Only Kate Gallagher, in a scattering of petals from Devlin’s rose.

  Rising from the bed, she went to the bath. Pausing before the long mirror there, she inspected her body, finding it was as always. Even her eyes. But Devlin had touched her and made love to her. And, no matter what might come of a single night, she would never be the same. In mind, in body, in heart.

  Especially her heart, Kate believed as she stepped into a shower warmed again, as she made ready for a new day, and Devlin.

  Eight

  The house was empty. Silence resounded through each room, bearing her down in loneliness that weighed heavily on her mind and heart.

  Strange, Kate thought as she wandered the house. Being alone rarely bothered her. For, in her memories, she’d always been alone, standing on the outside of close-knit circles looking in.

  She’d never doubted she was a much beloved child. Yet, with precocious perception, she’d always known the love her parents shared was so all-consuming she was the extra. Deeply cherished as the expression of their singular devotion, indulged and adored, but always with the constant awareness of being the outsider.

  Modeling and the cloak of protection provided by the Spaniard’s armada of duennas reinforced her detachment. In those two years she was a child who had never been a child, living a life of sophistication far beyond her years.

  By the time she entered college, the pattern was inherent. Law school, a short stint as mediator, then the separateness and secrecy of The Black Watch only compounded old habits. Habits that had become custom. Until Devlin.

  Devlin who barged into her life, smiling his wicked smile, looking at her tenderly through sad, beautiful eyes. Devlin, whose absence made her ache with this new and uncommon loneliness.

  Kate wandered the house, dressed in white jeans, a purple shirt, no makeup and no shoes. The hour was late and the morning spent. Now, the day was bright as it slid into afternoon. And though she wasn’t hungry, or thirsty, the path of her wandering had taken her to the kitchen. Everything was exactly as she’d left it, except a cup had been rinsed then set by another on the counter. To await a refill? With a cup for her?

  In her distraction, Kate hadn’t given much thought to the restored electricity. Until now, when both heat and the scent of coffee wafted from the coffeemaker. Touching a drop of water clinging to the rim of the cup, drawing upon pleasant memories, she could see Devlin drinking from it. His arm flexing, his hand, broad, yet with long, tapered fingers, circling the cup as he lifted it to his mouth. His lips touching the smooth edge. His eyes watching her.

  Abandoning the thought she feared might lead where she wasn’t ready to go, Kate wandered to the windows. The tide was high and still angry. Debris from the storm lay helter-skelter over the shore and the lawn of Sea Watch.

  And he was there, working in the yard.

  “Devlin.”

  As she hadn’t admitted she was seeking him, or hoped he ha
dn’t left Sea Watch, Kate didn’t stop to think at all as she hurried to the deck and down the steps. The pad of her bare feet masked by the rumbling surf, it wasn’t until she touched him, laying her hand on the curve of his shoulder, that he knew she was there.

  As he turned, his face was solemn. His piercing look ranged over her as if inspecting for damages. After a time, he laid aside the broken frond he’d taken from a palmetto and stripped off his gloves. Tossing them away, in the same motion he reached for her, drawing her to him, touching his lips to her forehead.

  “Morning, darlin’. Or should I say, good afternoon, sleepyhead?” As he held her against his bare chest, his head dipped until his chin rested against her hair. He said nothing else, nor did Kate, as they embraced in the sun.

  Beyond the rise and fall of their breathing, neither moved. Until Devlin sighed, and his fingers convulsed, clutching at her shirt. In the manner of a man who feared she would vanish if he let go, he gathered the knitted cloth in his fists.

  Pressing her cheek to his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart, Kate let her hands skim over the corded muscles of his back and shoulders. With her fingers trailing in the wake of her palms, she soothed and quieted a concern she didn’t understand. When he gradually relaxed, she stepped away. Not beyond his embrace, but enough to seek an answer for his mood.

  When she looked up at him, he touched her face. His gaze followed the path of his thumb as it strayed over her flushed cheek. Something fierce and troubled flickered in his expression as his voice roughened. “I did this?”

  Kate couldn’t find the right words, the subdued and angry concern in his look swept them away. Turning her face into his hand, she stroked her cheek against his palm. Drawing a breath at last, she answered quietly, “It doesn’t hurt.” Her voice dropped lower, her hand covered his, keeping it at her face as she looked into his eyes. “Roses in my bed, roses on my cheeks…”

  “Don’t.” Devlin caught her fingers in his as he eased back a step. He didn’t want to hear or think about the night. For what he’d been pondering as he worked, and for what he had to say, he needed a cool head. As it was, he’d barely managed to leave her this morning. When he’d wakened, he’d lain by her side remembering. And wanting her again so badly he was in torment.

  The only answer for his state was work, grueling and long. At least he’d hoped so. Now he was discovering nothing sufficed. As he looked at her, barefoot and tousled, watching him through heavy-lidded eyes, with the mark of his lovemaking on her, he knew only Kate or distance would be the remedy.

  Even as badly as he wanted her, until both had dealt with and resolved some issues, the wisest course was that there be no risk of encounters like the night before.

  Distance. He needed to give her that. He needed it as much for himself. And for time to think.

  “Kate.” Pausing, he looked away. She was too lovely in the sun, with her hair catching the light. Too lovely in a shirt many sizes too large, and nothing underneath. Too lovely with her moist and parted lips swollen from his kisses. “Sweetheart…”

  Sweetheart. Somehow the word rankled, when it hadn’t before. Perhaps it was his tone. Or that she anticipated what he meant to say. Suddenly the day wasn’t so bright, and the scent of roses lingering in her mind grew cloying. Watching him solemnly, with her arms hanging loosely by her side, she bided her time while he searched again for the right words.

  “How?” he muttered, “How do I make you understand?”

  Kate’s mouth went dry. Of all the things she might have expected, a brush-off wasn’t one of them. But that explained his reaction earlier. When he’d embraced her, and clutched at her, he’d seemed to be in distress. And if last night had been a mistake, it would hurt him to say it. She knew him that well, at least.

  “You don’t have to make me understand anything, Devlin. We made no promises.” Kate reached for strengths that had served her all her adult life. Today she found them lacking, but Devlin would never know. “Last night was a pleasant encounter. A product of the heat of the moment. I don’t think either of us realized at the time that it would be only a passing fancy, an interlude.”

  Interlude. The word seemed to haunt her as her tongue almost tripped over it. Reaching deeper into reserves, she continued. “In that, I suppose we misjudged. But that we’re here on the island at all is proof we’ve both been wrong before.”

  Kate felt the prickle of tears at the backs of her eyes. Tears as much for kind, gallant Devlin as for herself. Tears that hadn’t fallen in years, and wouldn’t now.

  “Devlin.” Without thinking she touched his arm, and watched as the color fled from his face. Softly, as if she comforted a child, she said, “You don’t owe me anything. You’ve been a friend. The best in my life. If there’s anything to regret about last night, it’s losing that.

  “I’m sorry, I…” Kate couldn’t say any more, the spasm in her throat wouldn’t allow it.

  With the heat of her touch burning him like a brand, Devlin had forced himself to listen to her pretty speech. A speech meant to let him escape an unspoken commitment he never wanted to escape. Not so long as Kate looked at him as she did now, or wanted him as she had long into the night.

  “Are you all through?” The guttural edge in his voice surprised even Devlin. And as Kate’s expression went blank, he wished he could soften his tone. But if he did, if he let down his guard at all, she would be in his arms and both of them in her bed before she knew what happened. “I liked your speech, I’m glad I’m your friend, and nothing this side of hell is ever going to change that. Just as nothing is ever going to change last night. It happened, and it was beautiful. Too beautiful not to be honest.

  “That’s what we need to do, Kate. Be honest. I promised the perfect lovemaking, the wonder for all our lovemaking to follow. I hope it was that. But before we go any deeper into this, we both have issues to resolve, guilt to face and put to rest before we move on.

  “You called it the heat of a moment.” He looked toward the horizon, and the point where sea and sky blended seamlessly and perfectly into one. As Kate and he. Perfectly. Two blending into one. Turning his gaze back to her, he slid his hand over hers, keeping her clasp at his wrist. “I suppose it was that, and the storm and the rain, and the dark, that made us get ahead of ourselves.”

  “Ahead of ourselves?” she echoed quietly.

  “Yeah, ahead.” The trace of his fingers over hers recalled other caresses, and other moments. “Making love last night wasn’t a mistake, sweetheart. It was just out of order.”

  Kate hadn’t looked away from him, nor did she now, but her eyes narrowed. Devlin could almost see her lawyer’s mind begin to absorb, to analyze, and to speculate on the order of things.

  “Ahead of ourselves,” she murmured, testing both words and theory, and coming to an understanding. “Because we both have issues to resolve, and guilts to deal with…in order to bring a whole heart into what is between us.”

  “Is there any other way for us, Kate?” Even knowing that he shouldn’t touch her again, that he shouldn’t tempt fate, he brushed the curve of her throat and then her lips with his knuckles. Turning his hand, repeating the caress with his fingertips, he watched as her eyes darkened and her lips parted on a softly caught breath.

  Steeling himself against the responses he knew he’d deliberately provoked, he asked in quietly thoughtful words, “Would you want less than an unfettered heart?”

  Mesmerized by the tone of his voice and by his touch, Kate spoke her denial with only an incalculable shake of her head.

  However small, it was not lost on Devlin. Nothing about Kate was lost on Devlin. Driving his point home, he asked gently, “Beyond the heat of a moment, could you give less, my love?”

  Kate struggled to be honest and logical. With logic the greatest problem when he was touching her. But when she could think in her best lawyerly manner, she knew Devlin had defined the secret tragedy of Kate Gallagher and Paul Bryce.

  Succinctly
and gently, with words of wisdom she’d been too blind to see, he’d set her free.

  “Give less…?” She began, then knew she hadn’t the words for more than the truth. “No.” Again that small shake of her head. “Never. In the heat of the moment, or any moment.” Not even to Paul.

  Especially and never so little to Paul.

  Catching the hand that had teased and provoked, she brought it back to her mouth. Over that joined clasp she watched him as her parted lips moved over each fingertip. Fingers, scented pleasantly by leather. Gentle fingers that had known her in sweet, daring intimacy, teaching her much of herself, and more of love.

  With her lips stroking each work-worn tip, she remembered their rough caress across her forehead and down her face. Most of all, she remembered their rasping path skimming from her throat, down the slope of her breasts.

  “Kate.”

  In her name, she heard the equal of desire that quickened with her first glimpse of her warm and tender lover. As he worked, his skin marked by the sweat of his labor and glistening in the sun, he was wonderfully, splendidly male. He was power and smoldering sexuality, the primal aphrodisiac that once made no sense to her, drawing her to him. When she touched him and he’d turned to take her in his arms, she knew there could be but one end to this day.

  “Kate, no.” He saw in her eyes the defeat of his protest.

  “Devlin, yes.” Though her voice teased, Kate was solemn. She’d misinterpreted in the beginning, then had understood that he meant to suggest a time apart. An interval of reflection and resolution. She needed such a time. So did he. But this day after the storm was too glorious to forfeit to the past.

  “There are things I need to say to you.” Devlin’s face was grim in concentration as she abandoned one focus for another.

  Stepping close, lifting both hands to his chest, she let them drift slowly with excruciating care down the lean, muscular lines of his abdomen. Her fingers hovering at the low riding band of his jeans, she tossed back her disheveled mane and rose on tiptoe to stroke his lips with hers. As her breasts grazed his chest, with the flimsy knit of her shirt as nothing between them, she let the tip of her tongue touch the underside of his clenched lips.