For All of Her Life

by Heather Graham

  She suddenly stopped humming and looked at the girls. Her eyes were twinkling. “Girls! Your own instructors would be appalled! You should never have encouraged Tara to attempt diving!”

  “But we didn’t...” Bren began. She seemed to give up and just sighed. “Right, Gram,” she murmured.

  “It was a horrible and dangerous thing to do to her.”

  “We didn’t intend for her to dive in,” Alex said.

  “Ummm,” Sally murmured. “Well, whatever. No more tricks. Your mother is just going to have to compete on her own.”

  “Against a thirty-year-old beauty queen,” Alex said dolefully.

  “Thanks.” Kathy smiled.

  “Have some faith, girls, Kathy really can compete on her own. She has a higher I.Q.—”

  “But what about bust size?” Bren asked.

  “Bren!”

  “Your mother’s chest is quite nice,” Sally said. She grinned at Kathy and added with a mischievous innocence, “and it’s still almost exactly where it’s supposed to be!”

  “Mother!” Kathy gasped.

  “Excuse me,” Sally said, “the poor little dear needs some ice and a nice cool drink.” She obtained a glass from a cabinet and put ice and soda in it, humming once more. Then, without looking at them again, she left the kitchen. Kathy stared after her, then spun around as she heard her daughters discussing her once more.

  “Mom’s boobs are still in the right place,” Bren assured Alex. “Well, almost. No one can totally defy gravity.”

  “Would you ladies please worry about your own anatomies?” Kathy demanded. “I believe you didn’t mean any harm to Tara, but I’m warning you—behave! And quit talking about my boobs! There will be dire consequences if you do not!”

  With that, she walked out of the kitchen herself, and headed for the pool.

  Fourteen

  KATHY WAS STRETCHED OUT in the bathtub, surrounded by a mound of bubbles. Her head rested against the cool porcelain of the tub while she stretched out an arm to keep a manuscript page from the bubbles while she read. The bulk of the manuscript sat on a wicker foot stool about eighteen inches from the tub.

  The story was excellent. Though by a new author and definitely in need of some cleaning up, the writing was fast paced, lucid, and exciting. The plot was based on an actual Texas murder case in which all the circumstantial evidence had pointed toward the woman’s lover. He had been given the death penalty, but literally hours before his execution, a forensic scientist had proven that the dark hairs found in the woman’s body bag had belonged to the corpse who had previously occupied it, rather than the lover-condemned-as-a-murderer. The case was fairly old and none of the players had been well known, so it had received little notoriety; the author had used that to her advantage.

  Kathy rose enough to exchange the pages she had been reading for the next few and settled back again.

  She heard a tapping on her outer door.

  “Who is it?” she asked, thinking that it might easily be one of her daughters and hoping that her voice would carry through the bedroom beyond the bath.

  “Jordan. May I come in?”

  She started to sit up, calling out, “No! I’m in the bath—” Then she broke off with a sigh, gritting her teeth as she leaned back again.

  He’d already entered the bedroom and was striding on into the bathroom.

  “I’m in the tub.”

  “So I see.”

  “You shouldn’t be in here.”

  “I might have missed something before?” he asked politely.

  “Jordan, it’s one thing to... er, reminisce about the past when no one else is present—”

  “The bathroom doesn’t look crowded to me. Where is that handsome young hunk?”

  “Jeremy is sleeping.”

  “Ah.”

  “Shouldn’t you be with Tara?”

  “Not at the moment. I’m here. I want to speak with you.”

  “Jordan, speaking with me is one thing, but I don’t want to hurt other people—and I know you don’t.” There, that was mature and dignified. “Tara is here now. The poor child you’re dating has already had a traumatic enough day.” She could have bitten her tongue.

  “Tara. Hmmm. Are we worrying about my child right now or your musclebound toddler?”

  “Cute. Seriously, when I left you—”

  “Tara is fine. I just came to make sure we’re still on for dinner. Mickey is coming by at seven. We’re going to go to a friend’s steakhouse. They’ve got small private rooms where we can talk and be alone. You still feel all right about going?”

  She nodded, frowning. “But I don’t see how you—”

  “Tara knew from the beginning that I had things to do this weekend.”

  “But—”

  “Naturally, security for the benefit and our daughter’s party concerns the two of us.”

  “But why wouldn’t it concern Tara?”

  “Kathy, why are you defending her?”

  “Instinct. I always protect children.”

  His mouth curled in a rueful half-smile. She should have been getting used to him again, but the oddest sensation stirred within her, as if her heart thudded and fell within her chest. She was suddenly grateful to be a woman. The room had grown very warm. It might have been the slick feel of the bubbles, the ripple of the water. It might have been the fact that she just hadn’t had enough sex in years. And then again, it might just be Jordan, but hot, sweet flashes of desire were streaking through her and had she had a portion of anatomy that might rise in a telltale salute, it would be doing so now.

  At any rate she was covered with bubbles. And her hand was falling, the bubbles encroaching on her manuscript pages.

  “Just what are you doing?” Jordan demanded, still half smiling as he hunkered down beside her and the manuscript.

  “Reading,” she murmured, flushing. She should put down the threatened pages. She didn’t want to rise from the water enough to do so, not and reveal nipples hard as little acorns. The water, of course. The coolness of the air against the heat of the water, surely.

  Not to Jordan. He’d know right off.

  “Reading?”

  “Yes.”

  “Here? Now?”

  “Yes! What’s the problem? Jealous because I can still read small print?”

  “Can you?”

  “Well, fairly small.”

  “Good for you.”

  “Put these pages back for me, please?”

  He obligingly took them, studying them curiously as he returned them to the manuscript. Then he stared at her, elbows resting upon his knees as he remained hunkered down and very close.

  “What are you really doing with these?”

  “A read-through.”

  “Pardon?”

  “It’s just a copy of a manuscript. I’m reading it to make a decision on whether we should buy it or not.”

  “You’re working—now? You’re on vacation, out of your office.”

  “Editors seldom get to edit in the office.”

  “I see. Ummm. I’m humbled. A week at your ex-husband’s home, a reunion with your old group, threats due to a possible murder in the past—and you’re reading!”

  She sighed, folding her arms over her chest. The bubbles were suddenly melting too rapidly. “Editors read everywhere,” she said defensively. “We keep tiny flashlights for reading in the backs of cabs and on subways. When the batteries die, we stretch our necks out every time we pass a street light. It’s part of the job. Besides, this novel is quite compelling.”

  He arched a brow, that rueful smile still in place. “More so than this place, it seems.”

  “It’s filled with suspense.”

  “And life isn’t?”

  “Well, my biggest suspense at the moment is to see that it doesn’t fall into the tub.”

  “And what if it were to fall in?” He leaned closer to her. Bubbles seemed to be popping by the billions. She tightened her arms over her chest.

/>   “Such things have happened. One of the major houses lost out on a New York Times bestseller because the only copy of the author’s first manuscript was swept away in his Jacuzzi.”

  “Wonder what he was doing in the Jacuzzi.”

  “Losing the manuscript. And millions of dollars.”

  “But depending on what he was doing in that Jacuzzi, it just might have been worth it.”

  Her heart did that ridiculous flip-flop again. What was the matter with her? He was just so close now. Bathed, smelling of soap and aftershave, scents so familiar they seemed to speak to her blood, beckon to something within her over which she had no control. She was hot, she was shaking. Visibly, she was certain. She needed him out of here. This was really just too much. She tried to tell him so.

  “Jordan, we’re divorced, we’re with other people. I agreed to come here, but you can’t just walk in when I’m in the tub anymore and carry on a conversation. You can’t just...”

  “What?” He’d leaned even closer. His handsome features were very taut, his eyes held a hard glimmer. “Can’t what?” he repeated on a husky whisper.

  She shook her head, moistening very dry lips.

  “Can’t...can’t...”

  She was still stuttering when he kissed her, his mouth suddenly rapacious as he caught her shoulders, drawing her up from the water, bringing both of them to their feet. His hands were on her breasts, feeling the hardness of her nipples. He knew. Damn. It didn’t matter. Open-mouthed, wet, hot, he was still kissing her, his tongue sliding... in... out. She had her hands on him, his arms, his chest, wet fingers sliding over the cotton denim of his casual tailored shirt. Finding his belt, unbuckling it. Unzipping his jeans. Running her fingers along the waistband of his briefs, thrusting them down. She cupped her hands around his derrière, circled forward. Men. What a dead giveaway. She encircled his hardness, her fingers, caressing...

  Dead giveaway. A little cry escaped her. He was lifting her so that she was out of the tub. His touch was all over her. Inside her.

  “Oh-my-god,” she heard herself babble, half whispering, half laughing. “We’re too tall—”

  “Never did make it in the tub,” he agreed, his lips still a line of fire against her flesh.

  “Can’t—”

  “Have to—”

  “Have to, yes, have to...”

  “Now...”

  “Where, how—?”

  “Here.”

  “Now.”

  “Turn around.”

  The fullness of his body was against her back; his hands caressed her again; skimming along her throat, her breast, down the length of her. Then his fingers were in her hair, his other hand causing her to bend and brace herself against a towel rack. His palms rounded over her buttocks and suddenly he was completely within her. The feeling was sheerly exquisite, undeniable. He began to move and she heard herself whispering again, babbling perhaps, her words entwining with his, encircling them, a part of them, as he was a part of her.

  “Please...”

  “Yes...”

  “Oh, God...”

  “Yes...”

  “Now...”

  “Sweet...”

  “Ohgodohgod...”

  She wanted, sought, reached. Arched, writhed, accommodated, whispered anew, and in the end, cried out. Loudly. Too loudly. She gasped almost instantly after, clapping her hand to her mouth in horror.

  “It’s all right!” Jordan whispered huskily against her ear. His arms were still around her. Protective and strong now. She could feel his clothing. Soaked from her.

  There was a tapping on the door that connected Jordan’s bedroom to his office.

  Where Jeremy had been sleeping.

  “Kathy? Kathy? Are you all right?”

  She pressed against Jordan and started naked from the bath, thought again and grabbed a towel.

  “Kathy...” Jordan began.

  But she was gone. She didn’t open the connecting door, she stood in front of it, wrapped in the towel. “Jeremy, I’m fine. I... I dropped my makeup bag. Sorry. Go back to sleep.”

  “Sure. As long as you’re all right—”

  “I’m fine. Honest.”

  “’Kay.”

  She bit her lip, staring at the door. Then she turned. Jordan had followed her. He stood twenty feet away, clothes all rezipped and in place, hands on his hips; staring at her.

  “You dropped your makeup bag?” he mocked softly, a brow arched high.

  “Oh, do hush up!” she whispered back fiercely. She started to stride by him, holding her towel and chin high, but he caught her by the arm. She glared up at him, trembling and trying to hide it.

  He probed her eyes, his very dark. She thought he was about to rip into her, and was startled when he said, “If you’re that upset, then I’m very sorry.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I...I have always taken responsibility for my own actions.”

  “Still, I—”

  “Don’t apologize! I’m older than you, for God’s sake!”

  He smiled, his jaw slightly crooked.

  “I just feel...badly,” she said lamely.

  His eyes remained dark. “Amazing. I feel good. Incredibly good.”

  Her eyes fell. “We didn’t break up because of sex,” she murmured.

  “No.”

  “And sex isn’t everything.”

  “It can be damned important.”

  “But not everything. And you can’t—”

  “Can’t what?” he demanded.

  “Nothing.”

  She might be a few days older; he was definitely stronger. He held her, lifting her chin.

  “Can’t what?”

  “You can’t be having a bad sex life, not with the platinum kitten out there! She probably has the most perfect body known to man!”

  Kathy kept her chin high. She tried very hard to be flippant.

  She’d thought she’d succeeded. But he was still smiling. That smile that was rueful, that mocked them both and the world, and somehow made her want to smile as well.

  “She has a good body,” he agreed.

  “And a young one,” Kathy supplied, damning herself for her stupidity in making sure that he noted all of Tara’s sterling qualities.

  “But I’ve always liked yours. And it’s not just the body, you know. It’s what one does with it as well.”

  “Oh?”

  “You manage yours incredibly well.”

  “Thank you. I think.”

  He drew her close. “I do struggle to deal with mine as well, you realize.”

  “What?” She was confused.

  “Well, I like to think I stay in decent shape, but then I don’t compare to the Greek god in yon chamber.”

  “What? Oh... ah... Jeremy.”

  “Ummm.”

  “Well, he does have a good body. Still, I’ve always liked yours.”

  “Thanks.”

  “And you do quite well with it, too.”

  “Quite well?”

  “Sure.”

  “Not incredibly well. Ummm. I may have to try harder to convince you—”

  “Jordan!” she gasped, pushing away from him. She shook her head vehemently. “Jordan, we’ve got to stop this. It just isn’t right. It...”

  “It’s dangerous,” he agreed solemnly, holding her very gently again.

  “Yes!” she agreed on a whisper. Oh, yes! It felt as if they shared a common ground, a sweet intimacy. Secrets residing in each other’s souls. Dangerous.

  “Dangerous. It’s already caused serious problems.”

  She drew back. “My God. What?”

  “Your manuscript.”

  “What?” She blinked.

  “I tried to salvage it, but when you went tearing from the bathroom to reassure Muscleman, you sent it flying from the foot stool and into the tub.”

  “What?” She gasped again, but knew he was telling the truth. So much for shared intimacy!

  “Millions of dollars!” he teased. “But, G
od, you were worth it! Was I?”

  “Oh!”

  She broke away from him and hurried back into the bathroom. He had tried to salvage the manuscript, but the pages, all soaked, had stuck together when he had tried to put them in a pile.

  They were pulp.

  Pulp fiction.

  She almost laughed.

  Jordan had followed her again. He leaned against the door frame, watching her as she tried to look through the sodden sheets without ripping them.

  “Help me!” she said.

  He arched a brow. “Katie, you can’t possibly salvage—”

  “I’m not trying to. I just want the title page. I need the author’s phone number and address. Oh, damn! This is all chapter seven. Here’s eight.”

  Jordan sighed and hunkered down again, looking through the wet pages. Kathy hadn’t realized her towel had come undone until he thrust it back at her. “Will you get decent, please?”

  “I am decent!” she assured him.

  He offered her a loud sniff.

  “Damn you, Jordan!”

  “Here.”

  “Here?”

  “Title page. I found it. It’s a two-one-two area code. Your author is right in the Big Apple.”

  “Give it to me.”

  She snatched the page from him, offering a hasty, thanks, and hurried out to the phone.

  “Kathy, it’s Saturday! Don’t you have to call the agent or something? Shouldn’t this be done on Monday morning?”

  “She’s not represented. This is a first manuscript—out of the slush pile. And I’m not losing it!”

  She put through the call, and was relieved to talk to a very excited young woman on the phone. Kathy made her the same offer she would have made an author with an aggressive agent, but she carefully insisted on a two-book contract for the price. She’d probably offered too much money, but Marty would back her up. He trusted her instincts. And if she was right, on a hard/soft deal, with a film sale, they would make a fortune—and so would the author.

  Jordan watched her throughout the phone conversation, until she hung up, satisfied, smiling.

  He crossed his arms over his chest, grinning. “So... did sex just make her a fortune or screw her all to hell?”

  “My publishing house and the author should do quite well, thank you very much,” she replied curtly.