by Nell Kincaid
"I'll take you," he said.
She shook her head. "That's all right. I can get a cab."
For a moment they looked into each other's eyes, each trying to read the other's thoughts. "I'll walk you out, then," he said.
In the elevator, when Kate looked at Ben, his eyes were opaque, distant. "I think you'll be very pleased with the prints, Kate. Do you want me to send them over tomorrow or do you want to come by?"
"When will they be ready?" she asked, aware only that she was speaking words that seemed to make sense. But her heart was still trying to unravel what had happened.
"Uh, tomorrow morning by nine or ten, I imagine. The paste-up assistants will work with the prints I think are
best, but I'll send the whole batch over to you. Then all we need is client approval before they go in to the papers."
Kate stared. Client approval, she thought. Wasn't it all getting rather impersonal? She sighed. "Well. Send them to my office," she said. "Kurt and some other people will want to see them."
"Right," he said quietly, and they left the elevator and walked through the ground floor, now nearly dark, empty except for a lone cleaning woman at the far end of the floor.
The night watchman came out from a utility room and opened the door for them, and they stepped out into the chill of the night air.
"Well, good night," Ben said.
"Good night," she said quietly.
He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth. But when she opened her eyes, they were met by his questioning gaze.
"Good night," he said again, pulling back and straightening. And he turned and walked off into the night.
CHAPTER SEVEN
During the taxi ride home, Kate stared straight ahead, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, trying to block out the distant look she remembered in Ben's eyes. She tried to make her mind blank, to think of something else. But all she could remember was Ben, his quiet voice saying, "If something is right, it will happen on its own." And she tried to close her eyes against a flood of bitter tears.
She had been so sure. Not sure that he had been perfect, or wonderful in every way. But she had been sure he was a man who took relationships—and lovemaking—seriously. And she had been certain, above all else, that the relationship would be more than a brief one, more than a quick fling.
Once in her apartment, Kate kicked off her shoes, flicked on the TV, and threw herself on the living room couch. She knew sleep would be impossible, and lying in the darkness by herself would be unbearably lonely. She missed Ben. She wanted him. And what she had loved about him most—a security that seemed to imply commitment, seriousness, respect for other people's feelings—had turned out to be an illusion and nothing more.
She tried to fix her gaze on the television screen. A man
had a woman in his arms; rain was streaking the windows behind them; flames were leaping in the fireplace to their side. And as the man lowered his head to the woman's lips,
he whispered, "I love you. And I'm home, darling. Home for good." As their lips met, violins sang of their love.
Kate picked up a paperback and threw it at the screen. The movie looked like it had been terrible—one corny line after another. Yet even so, it had reached her, bringing tears to her eyes. For even in the worst of scripts, love—a love she craved, a love she had hoped for—came through.
The ringing of the downstairs buzzer brought Kate out of her thoughts. She looked at her watch—it was nearly quarter to one! She padded over to the intercom that connected with the doorman's office in the lobby. "Yes?"
"A Mr. Austin is here, Miss Churchill."
She bit her lip. Now what? "Please send him up, Fred. Thanks."
Kate raced out of the foyer and into the bathroom to see whether she looked as terrible as she felt. Her eye makeup was smudged and her lashes were caked together, but she managed to dab away most of the black and was left with slightly too-dark eyes and very pale-looking skin.
But as she left the bathroom and went back into the living room, she angrily observed to herself that her eyes were not, really, the problem. Far more worrisome was whether she would be able to deal with Ben as she wanted to. And as she heard the sound of the elevator down the hall, she realized she didn't even know what it was she wanted to say or do.
The doorbell rang, and she answered it quickly, opening the door and backing up to let Ben in without even looking at him.
He came inside quickly, but stayed in the foyer rather than going on into the living room.
She looked up at him, anger mixing with uncertainty. "I didn't expect to see you—obviously."
He sighed, sadness in his eyes. "I had to come," he said. "And I had to see you, to talk to you face to face. Can we sit down?"
She walked ahead of him to the living room, still unsure of her feelings.
A few moments later Ben, on the couch beside her, was looking into her eyes. "I lied to you back at the store," he said.
Kate blinked, trying to hold in the pit of fear that was growing in her stomach. He had lied. About what? Was he seeing someone else? Was it completely over between them? "Go on," she said quietly.
He reached into his pocket and took out his pipe and tobacco. For the first time it was a gesture that annoyed Kate. "Hey," she said. "Can't that wait? You just said something I'd like to hear the rest of."
He smiled. "You're right. Sorry. All right, this is it. I've been trying—in various ways and at various times—to stay away from you, to keep what's happening between us at some sort of reasonable level." Listening, she felt the warmth of relaxation begin to flow through her again, and she realized she had been holding her breath. "I remember you at the beginning, when we first met—very cautious, very wary, asking me to back up and back off." He smiled "And then it all changed, very much as I wanted it to."
She looked into his eyes. "And it's too much?"
He shook his head. "Not for me—not at all. But Kate,
how long has it been since you broke up with that Reeves fellow?"
She shrugged. "I don't know, exactly. Not very long. But so what?"
" 'So what' is that you've spent your life—according to what you've told me—holding off from commitments, staying closed off from whatever man you're involved with."
She lifted her chin. "And?"
"And I don't know that you're ready. ... I don't want to rush into something that gets ruined because you happen to be on the rebound."
She stared at him. "I—you don't think I'm 4ready'?"
"Are you?"
"Ben, how can you presume like that? I can't believe you're making that kind of assumption."
"I have because I've been listening to you, Kate. You worry—or used to worry—about double signals. You're very aware of a look you might give me, or a touch, or a suggestion through your tone of voice. But maybe you've forgotten some of the things you've actually said to me in words, Kate. And they're things I've taken to heart. I want to keep seeing you, dammit—and not have you running scared."
"Do you call the other night Running scared' when we made* love at your house?"
"Of course not," he said quietly.
"Then why don't you let me be the judge of my feelings, lien? And trust me that much. God, how can you even want me if you think I'm unsure?"
"Don't ever doubt that I want you. Not ever," he mur- mured, reaching out and touching the cool skin of her neck.
"Then, dammit," she said quietly, "stop doubting me." Her eyes met his in a gaze of sudden, burning acknowledgment of what they shared, of what they knew of each other's passions and needs and desires. "Oh, Ben," she whispered, just before his lips claimed hers in a torrid kiss.
They undressed quickly, lovingly, each lingering and then making up for lost time—he cupping her breasts in warm hands, kneading each nipple until Kate moaned with pleasure against his neck, she lingering as she edged off his pants tantalizingly slowly, running her fingers over his hard thighs with heated persuasion.
When t
hey lay beside each other, warm skin against warm skin, Kate planted her lips against his neck and then began roving them downward, letting them follow a trail already seared by her fingers. "You see," she murmured into the soft hairs of his chest, "you shouldn't doubt me when you know how much pleasure you give me, when you know how I can feel free with you as I haven't ever before."
She took a nipple between her teeth and gently tugged at it. Ben moaned, pulling her closer, his hands holding her by the shoulders.
She let her hands trail lower, down the firm ripples of his chest to the line of hair at its center as she continued her tantalizing tugging at his nipples. And then she followed the path of her hands, down the fine line of dark hair. Ben's hands were in her hair, caressing it with need.
"Touch me," he whispered, kneading her, moving be neath her.
And she watched with pleasure as he trembled beneath' the touch of her fingers, pulsated into arousal with thrilling strength. She melted at the sight of his ardor and lowered her lips, wanting to giye him the surging pleasure he had given her. She thrilled to the pleasure of his desire, shifted at his urging, let his fingers explore and rediscover her with the urgency of the moment. He coaxed as she kissed, whispered as she moaned, let his hands work magic until she was burning.
And then they came together with thrilling force, fiery thrusts that sent them into a spiraling glow of heated pleasure. Their flames grew, surged, blazed, finally bursting into a shuddering release and melting pleasure that was everything.
"Darling," Ben whispered as he lay, spent, in her arms. "Promise you won't ever doubt my love for you."
She smiled. "I promise," she whispered back. And she happily fell asleep, her cheek against his chest, her breathing in tune with his.
The next morning Kate awakened as Ben was leaning over, kissing her softly on one eyelid and then the other.
She smiled, stretched lazily and contentedly, and pulled Ben down on top of her.
"Mm," he said, and kissed her gently and then more deeply.
"Darling." When he pulled away, his hazel eyes were dark with desire. "This morning is going to be a great exercise in self-control," he said, pulling back on to his knees.
She smiled up at him. "Oh, really?" she asked, letting
her fingers trail along the hardness of his thighs. "I had thought you could stay."
He shook his head, a smile just beneath the look of seriousness. "Can't do."
"Are you sure?" she asked, sitting up. She saw the pleasure in his eyes as he looked at her breasts, felt the desire she knew she could kindle. "I had just thought," she said, moving forward, "that there was some kind of allowance in your schedule for a little morning pleasure."
She could see his breathing coming faster, and she leaned forward and took a nipple between her teeth. He moaned and cupped her breasts in his warm hands, then pulled her up for a deep kiss.
He tore his mouth from hers. "I really do have to leave," he said hoarsely.
"Then go ahead," she said, leaning forward and catching his warm thighs in her hands. "Just go ahead."
His desire rose as she moved her hands upward and let her fingers work their magic. "If you want to," she breathed, "then go."
And she looked into his eyes with challenge that was instantly replaced with desire.
"I want you," he said, and he took her again, with a coursing, stroking, masterful passion that was deep and quick and utterly rapturous.
"You are a temptress and a seductress and a manipulator, Kate Churchill," he said into the curve of her neck.
She smiled lazily. "I've been known to get what I want on occasion."
He turned and studied her eyes. "And do you have what you want?" he asked quietly.
She smiled hesitantly, suddenly uncomfortable. "I had a wonderful night, and a wonderful morning."
He looked at her and said, nothing. And then she remembered the dream in which she had been unable to . tell Ben she loved him; and she realized she was still frightened to give herself completely, to show herself and all her feelings.
At Ivorsen and Shaw that morning photostats of the sample layouts, along with proofs of all the shots from the photo session, arrived on Kate's desk at ten o'clock on the dot. They looked wonderful, and Ben had selected the very best of the shots to be included in the actual layouts. She called his office to tell him how much she liked the ads, and that they would almost certainly be approved and ready to go right away. But Ben was out, and she simply left a message.
And then she geared herself up to go see Kurt and Dick Dayton. Kurt, as acting art director, was the only other person who had to okay the layouts formally. But Kate knew that her predecessor had always informally "run them past Dick," as he used to say, and Kate's intuition told her it would be wise to follow the usual procedure.
As it turned out, Dick Dayton loved the ads. He had apparently learned a lesson at the shooting about interfering, and he was very quiet, even respectful of Kate as she showed him the layouts.
Kate left Dayton's office with a glow of confidence she hoped would last with Kurt as well. When she walked into his office, he was on the phone, and she was glad—though she didn't exactly know why—that she was the one who saw him first rather than the other way around. Perhaps
it had something to do with Dick Dayton's favorite game —power—but she wasn't altogether sure. In any case Kurt looked up almost immediately, quick as a cat, and then swiveled his chair so his back was to Kate.
He's gearing himself up, she thought as she brought the layouts over to his drafting table by the window. But I'm ready for him.
She looked around at the office she knew so well, marveling at how different it all looked now that her relationship with Kurt was over. On his desk the picture of himself that had once intrigued her now pointed up his immaturity; the low-volume but very noticeable rock music pulsating from the stereo behind Kurt's desk was more annoying than relaxing; and Kurt himself—chuckling softly into the receiver, with his legs up on the win- dowsill and his head flung back in an attitude of feigned nonchalance was, of course, the most disturbing of all. For Kate could hardly bear to think she had once—very recently—been involved with this young man, and that she might even have missed the chance to be with Ben had she been more deeply involved with Kurt. The thought sent a chill through her.
Finally, Kurt hung up and turned to Kate with an expectant and confident look.
"I'm here with the layouts," she said flatly, in a tone which very clearly suggested this was obvious.
But he didn't seem to notice. Too self-absorbed, she realized as she watched him come over to the drafting table where she stood. For in his near swagger of a walk, he showed he was still interested—if not in her, then in her interest, in attraction for attraction's sake.
Kate talked as quickly as she could, flipping through the layouts and then looking into Kurt's eyes as she finished. "The first, as you know, is scheduled for insertion the day after tomorrow, so obviously all the approvals have to be given now. This morning, actually."
" 'All' the approvals? Yours, mine, and who else's?"
Her lips tightened. "Just yours and mine, actually."
He smiled sarcastically. "Ah. Together again," he said, turning back to the layouts. He was looking closely—very closely—at the layout for the first ad. "Hm. Sloppy work," he said quietly.
Her stomach jumped. "What?"
He waved a hand. "Sloppy work. Look at that makeup. Makes Alexandra look like a tramp."
Kate took a deep breath, readying herself. Then she turned to Kurt and looked him squarely in his once-pretty blue eyes. "Stop right there," she said, her voice harsh. "I know what you're doing, and it's silly and childish and very, very annoying."
He cocked his head and looked at her seriously. "What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about your obvious search for flaws, Kurt. And your obvious plan to withhold or at least delay approval."
He smiled. "Is that what you think?" Then
his eyes grew serious. "Rather self-centered of you, I think. I plan, yes, to look these over very carefully. But only because I want to be certain Alexandra looks her very, very best."
"Ah," Kate said quietly. "How nice. And generous, too."
Kurt picked up one of the layouts and ran a finger along Alexandra's picture. "I'm her rep as of last night, Kate. You'll be dealing with me now in her negotiations."
Kate raised a brow. 47 won't be dealing with you or anyone else, Kurt—that's handled by Blake-Canfield. But let's get this straight: you were not her rep, nor her agent, nor her anything else when these pictures were taken. She does not have the right of approval in her contract. Whatever you have to say about these layouts, you say in your capacity as acting art director for I and S. Now, I plan to send these stats back, with my okay and your okay on them, by no later than eleven o'clock this morning. And, Kurt, if your approval isn't on these layouts, don't expect Miss Alexandra Dayton to get any work from Ivorsen and Shaw or Blake-Canfield again." She met the glittering look of shock and anger in his eyes with as cool a look of determination as she could muster.
'I'll get back to you," he said quietly.
And, knowing that was Kurt's only graceful way of acceding, she left his office. An hour later the stats were on her desk, marked OK KR.
Kate was pleased, but she knew that he would find some way, somehow, to get back at her. Not for having ended the relationship—he had been asking for that; indeed, he seemed to have found someone else as quickly as she had. No, he had shown his feelings for her very clearly in that last, unpleasant phone call. But she suspected that he couldn't forgive her for going on so easily without him.
