by Joan Hohl
“Paul?” Incredulity lent a hollow note to Karen’s voice. “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”
The hammer paused in midswing. Paul slanted a smile at her before following through. “Good morning to you, too.” The hammer made contact with a resounding bang. Paul relaxed against the ladder with negligent ease. “And I don’t think I’m doing anything—I am fixing the shutters.” His smile widened.
“In fact,” he continued, indicating his work with a motion of his head, “this is the last of the lot. I’ll be finished shortly.”
“Finished?” Karen frowned. “How long have you been at it?”
“Since first light.” He grinned at her look of astonishment. “I’m a creature of habit, and I always wake at dawn.” His grin grew decidedly suggestive. “Regardless of how, ah, active my night happened to be.”
Karen felt a sting of color on her cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with the sharpness of the tangy sea breeze. Feeling unequal to the rakish gleam brightening his dark eyes, she lowered her glance.
“Did you, er—” she paused to clear her suddenly dry throat “—have you eaten anything?” Karen glanced up to catch a tender smile curving his lips.
“No.” He shook his head and arched one dark eyebrow. “Are you offering to cook me breakfast?” “Well, the sign out by the road does advertise bed and breakfast.”
“I seem to recall dinner, as well.” Paul’s tone was low, shaded sensuously by the memory of the bed that had followed rather than preceded the meal.
The warmth in Karen’s cheeks intensified. Her voice was low and tinged with uncertainty. “Since you’re the only guest, I—I decided to include lunch and dinner in the reduced fall room rate.”
“I’ll try to earn my meals.” Though Paul’s tone was somber, his eyes gleamed with devilry.
He had certainly earned his breakfast!
Karen’s face flamed as the thought flashed into her head. As if he could actually read her mind, Paul burst out laughing and nearly lost his precarious perch on the ladder. With a muffled exclamation, he grabbed for the windowsill and caught Karen’s hand. His position once again reasonably secure, Paul grinned into her frightened eyes.
“Unless you want a severely injured guest on your hands,” he said, still grinning, “I suggest you withdraw from this window and let me get on with the work.” Moving carefully, he shifted his hand to the sill alongside hers.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Karen frowned with concern.
“I was doing fine until you popped your head out and distracted me.” As he stared into her anxious eyes, Paul’s grin slowly faded. “Karen,” he said in a low, chiding voice, “I am not the complete dilettante. I assure you I will be fine.” He paused an instant, then continued even as she began to protest, “Unless, of course, I starve to death first.”
“Paul—”
“Go,” he ordered, hefting the hammer. “I’ll be finished in a few minutes.”
Wanting to argue but deciding she’d better not, Karen withdrew her head and closed the window. Gathering up the bundle of laundry, she left the bedroom and went downstairs, half expecting to hear a cry followed by a crash.
His expression pensive, Paul ignored the cold sea wind biting at every inch of exposed skin on his body and stared at the windowpane that reflected the sparkling sunlight.
Had he come on too strong? he mused. His lips curved in self-derision. Yes, of course he’d come on too strong; he had been coming on to Karen much too strongly from the beginning. He was, in fact, behaving like a wild-eyed pubescent boy subservient to his hormones.
But damn, Karen did have the strangest effect on him! Paul’s smile acquired a sensuous tilt. Gripping the hammer in his right hand, he slammed a nail into the shutter hinge with commendable accuracy. The similarity between the act and his performance the night before was not lost on Paul. Without warning, his body tightened and the muscles in his thighs quivered with taut readiness. Laughing aloud from the sheer joy of the almost painful arousal, Paul hammered another nail home.
Okay, he had come on too strong, and much too soon, Paul admitted to himself. But Karen had responded so warmly, so sweetly, and it had been so long, so very long since he’d felt even the most minute twinge of need for a woman’s warmth and sweetness, that he could not dredge up a hint of regret for his impetuosity.
Paul let his arm drop to his side. The hammer and the shutter, indeed even his precarious position on the ladder, were momentarily forgotten. Closing his eyes, he savored the revived heat of passion rushing through his body.
Lord, it felt good to experience the life quickening his body after nearly six years of feeling dead sensually. Relishing the tightness in his loins, Paul opened his eyes, tossed back his head and laughed into the chill autumn breeze. He felt young and strong and equal to anything life had to offer. He wanted to make love to Karen all day and then all night.
But first... Paul laughed again. First he had to finish repairing the shutters. The hammer struck the nail with a resounding bang.
Although she strained to hear the slightest sound as she loaded the washer before hurrying into the kitchen to start breakfast, Karen’s fears for Paul went unrealized.
Tension coiled within her as she automatically prepared the meal. Paul should be making an appearance in the kitchen at any moment. What could she say to him? Karen swallowed around a tight knot forming in her throat. Feeling awkward and inept, she overbeat the eggs and clattered the cutlery as she set the table. The eggs she’d scrambled were ready to be served when Paul sauntered into the kitchen. Coming to a stop near the sink, he struck an elegant pose and held his arms out.
“There, you see? I’m still in one piece.”
“I’m sorry.”
“That I’m still in one piece?”
“No, of course not!” Karen frowned at his teasing smile. “I’m sorry about insulting your capabilities.”
Paul’s smile turned wry. “It wasn’t so much my capabilities that were insulted as much as my intelligence,” he informed her in a dry tone. He didn’t notice her deepening frown as he turned to the sink to wash his dusty hands.
Karen mulled over his words as she filled two plates with the steaming food and carried them to the table. “Will you bring the toast?” she asked, indicating the breadbasket on the countertop with a distracted motion of her head.
“Certainly.” Eyeing her narrowly, Paul picked up the linen-covered basket and strolled to the table. “What’s the problem?” He raised one brow as he sat down opposite her.
“I’m not sure I understand,” she confessed, frowning at the stream of coffee she was pouring into his cup.
“Understand what?” Paul asked, his knife poised over the sausage nestled next to the home-fried potatoes on his plate.
Karen finished filling her own cup with the aromatic coffee before glancing up at him. “I’m not sure I understand exactly how I’ve insulted your intelligence.”
“Oh.” Enlightenment brought a tiny smile to his lips. “It’s quite basic, really.” Paul’s shoulders moved in a half shrug. “Any person with a modicum of intelligence can perform almost any task. All that’s required is a willingness to do the work and application of common sense.” He smiled. “And although I’ll readily admit that my life’s work was not of the physical variety, I do consider myself a reasonably intelligent person, and fastening shutter hinges hardly requires all that much brain- or muscle-power.” He smiled slightly. “Now do you understand?”
“Oh, yes, I understand now.” Karen didn’t return his smile. Inside she was simmering. What a condescending son of a— Fortunately, Paul interrupted her thoughts before she blurted them aloud.
“Since I was only teasing to begin with, it’s really unimportant, anyway.”
Karen blinked. “You were teasing?”
“Yes, of course.” Paul smiled wryly. “Karen, I face myself in a mirror every day. I know exactly how I look.”
“Look?” she repe
ated blankly, so confused she forgot her feeling of awkwardness. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”
“I’m a banker, and I look it,” he said, his voice flat with self-knowledge. He raised one hand for her inspection; it was not the hand of a day laborer. The fingernails were short, blunt and clean, as was the entire hand. Karen couldn’t detect a hint of callus on his palm. “Hardly the hand of a man accustomed to hard physical work, is it?”
“No.” Karen frowned. “So what?” She had never been enthralled by dirty fingernails and rough calluses.
“So I fully understood your skepticism concerning my capabilities with a hammer, let alone a ladder.” Paul’s gentle smile contradicted the savage knife thrust he made into the innocent sausage.
“ItMothers you!” she exclaimed, astounded by the realization.
“It never did before, but lately, yes, it bothers me.”
“Why?” Karen stared at him, her breakfast forgotten. Her eyes revealing the confusion she felt, she slowly lowered her gaze to the upper half of his body. Though slender, Paul was by no stretch of the imagination spare. His chest and shoulders were not those of a professional athlete but were broad enough to draw admiring glances. He was muscular without appearing overdeveloped. Mr. America he wasn’t, and thank heaven for that, Karen thought, smiling as she lifted her gaze to his slightly narrowed eyes. “There’s nothing wrong with the way you look,” she declared in a tone of utter conviction.
“Thank you.” A flush tinted the taut skin over Paul’s high cheekbones. “But if that’s true, why were you so amazed to discover me repairing the shutters?” His dark eyes gleamed challengingly.
“You didn’t answer my question about why the way you look bothers you,” Karen said evasively.
Paul slanted an arch look at her. “Ladies first,” he insisted in a teasing tone.
Suddenly impatient with the discussion, Karen swept his torso with a cool, calculating glance. “Okay, I’ll confess,” she said, meeting his gaze. “You have the appearance of a born-with-the-silver-spoon aristocrat. There’s an aura of breeding and elegance about you that conflicts with the idea of any kind of physical labor. Not that you look incapable of labor—it’s just that you’ve never had to perform it. And that’s why I was surprised to find you repairing the shutters.”
“I see.” His breakfast forgotten, Paul stared at her for a few tense moments. Then a smile twitched his sculpted male lips. “An aura of elegance, hmm?” He arched one dark eyebrow very effectively. Karen gave way to a grin.
“Yes. A definite aura of elegance.”
“You find this, er... aura attractive?”
Karen’s grin curved into a wry smile. “I always believed that actions speak louder than words,” she murmured, obliquely referring to her eager response to him the night before.
“You were satisfied with my nocturnal labor?”
A warm flush began at the base of Karen’s throat and crept upward to her cheeks. Yet, even flustered, she caught the hint of uncertainty in Paul’s tone. Could he possibly harbor doubts about his own prowess? she wondered, examining him more closely.
Paul’s expression could only be described as austere, but there was a tenseness about him, as if... Karen searched her mind for a fitting phrase that would define the emotion she sensed emanating from him. Then it hit her. It was as if he was waiting for a life-or-death verdict to be handed down!
Forgetting her embarrassment, Karen obeyed an impulse to reach across the table and slide her hand over his. “Yes, Paul, I was satisfied, deeply satisfied,” she admitted in a soft, steady voice.
The slow movement of Paul’s chest revealed the soundless sigh he expelled. “So was I,” he said, turning his hand to glide his palm against hers. “I was deeply satisfied in more ways than you can imagine.”
Karen was both intrigued and confused by his cryptic statement. Satisfied in more ways? she repeated to herself. What— The forming question was washed from her mind by a flood of sensations activated by the feel of his fingers lacing with hers. Biting back an exclamation of pleasure, she raised her gaze to his darkening eyes.
“Paul?”
“I want very much to experience the satisfaction again.” His voice was low and warm and fantastically sexy. Excitement warring with trepidation inside her, Karen blurted out the first thought that jumped into her mind.
“But we haven’t even finished breakfast!”
“Karen..Paul’s voice dropped to a crooning, heated whisper. “The hunger clawing at me cannot be appeased by food.” Lifting her hand, he bent to brush his lips across her fingers, and Karen felt the heat from his mouth in every nerve ending in her body.
“It’s...it’s morning!” Karen’s voice was reedy, her breathing uneven.
“Yes.” Paul’s lips explored her knuckles.
“The sun’s shining!”
“Yes.” His tongue slid provocatively between her fingers.
“Paul.” His name sighed through her slightly parted lips.
“I want to be with you, a part of you, now, in the morning, and here, in the sunshine.”
Karen surrendered, simply because she wanted to. “Yes.”
Retaining his hold on her hand, Paul stood and moved around the table to her. Smiling into her widened eyes, he dropped to his knees. With a gentle tug, he drew her down next to him. Moving carefully, as if she were constructed of the most delicate spun glass, he lowered her to the carpet. Looming over her, he captured her gaze with his dark eyes and the hem of her sweatshirt with his fingers. Swiftly, smoothly, he drew the shirt from her body, exposing her unfettered breasts to his heated gaze. A shiver rocketed the length of her spine as he lowered his head to her breasts.
“Paul. Oh, Paul!” Karen cried his name huskily, twisting and arching her back in response to the pleasure he created by flicking his tongue over one tingling crest. As his lips closed around the aroused peak, his hands slid to the snap on her jeans.
“Help me.” Paul’s voice held an enchanting mixture of plea and command as he released the zipper and tugged on her jeans.
Helpless against the sensuous excitement rushing through her body, Karen kicked the loafers from her feet and lifted her hips from the carpet. In the next instant she was naked and vulnerable to Paul’s eyes and touch. But within moments she was not alone in her vulnerability. Pushing upright, Paul literally tore the clothes from his body. Noticing her smoky-eyed gaze, he stood over her, quivering as she examined him.
Karen stared at his tall form with fascinated curiosity. In the unforgiving light of day, Paul’s body was even more appealing than when cloaked by darkness. His well-muscled shoulders and chest tapered to a flat abdomen and narrow hips. His lightly haired legs were long and well formed. And, in full arousal, he presented a breathtaking image of the primal male. And the primal male excited the primitive female inside Karen. Obeying a life drive as old as time, she opened her arms in silent invitation.
“Karen.” Paul groaned as he dropped to his knees between her thighs. “You don’t know,” he murmured tightly, grasping her hips to lift her to him. “You can’t possibly know...” His words were drowned by the harsh breath he inhaled as he joined his body with hers.
For an instant, Karen was confused, wondering what he had started to say. Then it no longer mattered; nothing mattered but the spiraling tension luring her toward the edge of reason.
* * *
Paul’s chest felt constricted from lack of air. His entire body felt tightly wired, and he held on to the last of his control with grim determination. Beneath him, Karen twisted and arched and whimpered his name; her panting voice was the sweetest sound he had ever heard. Never had a woman, any woman, responded to him so freely or given herself to him so completely. In these few moments of possession, Karen was his in an incomprehensible way that transcended the merely physical. In an effort to maintain that exquisite if inexplicable sense of ownership, Paul fought to contain the fire of desire consuming his mind and body. He would pleasure Karen before he
sought his own ecstatic release.
Paul was hovering on the brink of sensual discovery, gritting his teeth, when Karen gave herself to soaring completion. Buried deeply in her warmth, holding her tightly to him, Paul shuddered, then followed her over the edge of reason.
He didn’t want to move. As his breathing returned to normal, Paul decided he could happily spend the rest of his life as he was at that moment: his body still joined with Karen’s, his head pillowed on her soft breasts.
It was not be be. The phone rang.
“I must answer it,” Karen said softly.
“Why?”
“It’s one of my quirks,” she confessed, pushing against his chest. “I can’t stand not answering a ringing phone.”
Paul sighed but moved to untangle their bodies, stretching out on the carpet beside her. The instant she was free, Karen scrambled to her feet.
“Aren’t you going to dress?” she asked, scooping her clothing from the floor before heading toward the kitchen and the shrilling wall phone.
“Eventually,” Paul murmured, stretching.
Clutching her rumpled garments to her chest with one hand, Karen reached for the receiver with her other hand and turned to glance back at Paul. His long body lay sprawled in a patch of bright morning sunlight. His eyes were closed. A tiny smile of satisfaction curved his lips. At that moment, Karen wanted nothing more than to ignore the persistently ringing phone and run into the dining alcove to cuddle next to him on the floor.
Indecision held her hand motionless in midair for a moment. Then, sighing softly, she grasped the receiver and brought it to her ear.
“Hello?” she said with barely concealed impatience.
“Karen?”
Karen frowned as she identified the anxious strain in the voice of her former mother-in-law. “Yes. Judith?” Her frown deepened. “Is something wrong?” Immediately after asking, she thought of her boys, who were in prep school in Vermont. Panic tightened her throat at the muffled sound of a sob at the other end of the line. “Judith, what is it?”
