Eden's Spell Page 15

  By being there! she wanted to scream. By being there with a tall and beautiful brunette! By wrenching me apart….

  But she couldn’t say that.

  “Where on God’s earth do you get off being so righteous!” she cried, tears stinging her eyes. “So Al Stradford was using muscle! So—”

  “For God’s sake, he was going to use you, nothing more!”

  “And where is that any less than what you did? You and your damned drugs!”

  He released her, so abruptly that she sank into the soft cushions on the sofa. And then he was standing again, pacing behind the sofa. She scrambled to sit up, but she was too late. He was behind her, his fingers curling over her bare shoulders, the heat of his mocking whisper feathering onto her shoulders.

  “My drug, Mrs. Denver? Is that what it was in this house, the night you walked into my bedroom?”

  A little wildly she began to babble. “Your bedroom! You forget this is my house! My house, my island! Mine! And you invaded the island, the house—and me! So I ask you again, what was your problem with Al?”

  To her horror she started to laugh, heedless of the bite of his fingers against her shoulders. “But then, that wasn’t really over me tonight anyway, was it? That was just a fight that had been brooding between the two of you for years! I was just a damned convenient excuse, and nothing more!”

  “Don’t be more of a fool than you’ve already made yourself out to be!”

  “What is it to you? Can’t you just please, please leave me alone?” A sob suddenly choked against her throat as she remembered Nancy Denver’s expression of anxiety and concern.

  Katrina buried her face in her hands, totally heedless of his touch as she groaned. “Nancy saw the whole damn thing. Oh, God!”

  “She could have seen you with Al. Half undressed. Or before, when you were exercising your lips with such finesse!”

  “I hate you!” She swung at him, to little avail. He clutched her hands again, leapt over the couch, and pinned her back down to it.

  “Will you quit, Katrina!”

  “Will you just get out of here, please?”

  She couldn’t bear the pressure of his hard body against her, the vise of his fingers, the scent of him, his flesh, brushing hers. Memories were evoked too easily, memories of those strong, tapered fingers moving upon her with gentleness, stroking her needs to flame, making her feel so vital and alive.

  She twisted her head, her eyes burning again with the promise of tears.

  “Please!” she begged him again in a husky whisper. “Oh, God, what is the difference? You, Al, or the whole damn fleet!”

  She’d meant to anger him, to send him away. She was startled by his silence, by the easing of his fingers around her wrists. Still, his chest was against hers; her slim legs were entangled with his. She could feel his muscles, sinew by sinew, honed and taut and wired with emotion.

  His hand caught her cheek, drew her eyes to his. He studied her long and hard, until she ached with wonder, wanted to scream and demand to know what he found in his assessment. She wanted so very badly for him to release her so that she could run, hide, bury her face into her pillow, ease the humiliation and misery of the evening.

  “There’s a tremendous difference,” he said suddenly. “I’m going to marry you.”

  “Why, Captain? Because a wife can’t testify against her husband in court—or something like that? To keep me from spewing your precious experiments all over the newspapers? Forget it, Captain. I’ve been married. Really married. You egotist!”

  And then the tears that she had fought so strenuously to hold back spilled forth, streaming down her cheeks. “You are not James! You’re nothing like him! And I—”

  “You’re doing your damn best to live in his grave with him, Katrina, but it just doesn’t work and you just can’t stand it. But where is your problem, then? You’re so worried about everyone’s opinion! Marry me. Sure—we solve my problems. And we solve yours. No more teasing, overzealous men—you can get what you want right at home, no recriminations from the world. It’s a sorry thing to have to admit, Katrina, isn’t it? But you are human. You can’t live either on a pedestal or in a grave.”

  “Let me up! Get out of here! I don’t want—”

  She stopped suddenly, aware that the vodka and the little bit of dinner that she had consumed were warring in her stomach

  She stared at him, pitiably. “Oh, God, please! Let me up!”

  Warily, but touched by the sincerity of her plea and the ghostly white pallor of her complexion, Mike moved. Katrina bolted up, raced into her bathroom, and was violently sick.

  Shaking, trembling, barely able to stand, she washed her face and furiously brushed her teeth.

  He was banging on the door. She stared at her white face with its huge blue-green eyes in the mirror above the sink. She was going to start crying all over again. All she wanted to do was pass out and forget the night.

  “Katrina!”

  “Go away!” she faltered out, and she gripped the sink, holding on to it tightly.

  There was a shuddering sound; had she locked the door to her bedroom, and had he broken it? Or had he just opened it with such force that it had sounded that way?

  It didn’t matter; her head was spinning and he was suddenly standing in the bathroom doorway, frowning intensely.

  “You’re sick?”

  The query made her feel like laughing—or crying.

  “No,” she retorted. “I feel like running the Boston Marathon.”

  He started to walk toward her; she lifted up with horror a weakly defensive hand. “Oh, please! Can’t you just go away?”

  His reaction then startled her, so much so that she couldn’t even protest his touch when his arms came gently around her.

  “No, I can’t go away.”

  He eased her around, making her sit on the toilet. Then he turned on the water in the bathtub.

  “What are you doing?”

  “You can climb into the bathtub and soak a little of it out while I fix some juice and coffee.”

  “No.”

  “Trust me, you’ll be glad in the morning.”

  “You told me to trust you once before! And I’m not—I’m not getting into that tub with you here!”

  “I don’t take advantage of innocents—or seductresses, whichever you choose to be for the moment. Come on let me help you.”

  “No,” she protested, but to no avail. He was on his knees beside her, stripping away her shoes, hiking her weight against him to slide his fingers up to the top of her pantyhose.

  “Please!” She was almost in tears again. “I don’t want your help. I can help—”

  Her voice muffled away as he pulled her dress over her shoulders. She sat there, shaking and bare and miserable, while he checked the warmth of the water.

  “Mrs. Denver,” he said softly, his back to her, “I do believe that you can help yourself. But sometimes it’s just not necessary.”

  He turned around, and she instantly hunched her shoulders, causing him to laugh. “Katrina, I’ve memorized every inch of you. Every inch. And I swear, I’m not about to take advantage of you now.”

  “Now!” she retorted, eyes downcast. “So you admit that you did before!”

  “Oh, let a dead dog lie, will you?”

  She had little choice; the next sound she issued was a gasp as his arms wrapped around her naked flesh. But she didn’t feel his searing touch for long; he very carefully deposited her in the tub, catching the length of her hair dexterously before it could hit the water, winding it into a knot above her head.

  She brought her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them swiftly, afraid to admit that the warmth of the water had already enveloped her, made her feel much, much better.

  Inadvertently, she stared at his face while he finished securing her hair. And once again she felt the urge to cry. No, he wasn’t James. But he was so very strong and assured and competent, sometimes hard, sometimes so tender. Rugged
planes, lean features, determination, handsome, sensual lips, and silver eyes that could both pierce and caress.

  It was disloyal to love … but she did love him, and it was terrifying.

  His eyes caught hers, so tremulous on his own. “Don’t drown on me!” he warned her softly; then he was up. At the doorway he paused, frowning again.

  “Where’s Jason?”

  “At—at Harry’s,” she murmured. “Spending the night. Harry will bring him back early.”

  “Good,” he muttered, and was gone.

  She allowed the steam to envelop her; she tried not to think, and not to feel. Not on the inside, anyway. She tried just to let the water soothe away the pounding in her head, and in her heart.

  And then he was back, ready with one of her massive towels, wrapping it around her as he lifted her from the tub, not setting her down, but carrying her straight into the kitchen, and even then, holding her on his lap as he produced a glass of something red with a pair of aspirins.

  “You can put me down.”

  “Swallow.”

  She did, sipping his red concoction. There was tomato juice in it, and something else. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to know what else, so she didn’t ask.

  “Drink the whole thing.”

  She did, but then accused him weakly, “I know. You’re trying to poison me into silence!”

  He shook his head, grinning a little wistfully. “No.”

  He took the glass from her fingers and set it on the counter. She was so tired now; she couldn’t help but rest her head against his chest, couldn’t help but appreciate the gentle feel of his fingers massaging her nape, her head.

  It seemed that he sighed softly, or was it only a ripple of breeze? It didn’t really matter much. She was just so tired—tired, and suddenly content, comfortable, and secure.

  “Katrina?” He was calling her from a long way off. She murmured something, curling closer to his chest.

  “I’m going to get you into bed.”

  She didn’t even have a rejoinder for him; she just wanted to sleep, as sweetly comfortable as she was.

  She felt as if she were floating on air. But she wasn’t, of course. His arms were around her; she felt their steel.

  She opened her eyes and felt his gaze so intently that she quickly allowed her lashes to flutter down once again.

  Something soft greeted her; her bed. His warmth was gone; she clenched her pillow, but then he was sitting beside her, and she tried to close her mind to him once again.

  He was massaging her back, absently, but his fingers felt so good. They eased away the last of her pain; she felt that she had never been cramped and miserable and sick.

  He looked down at her, down at the fine lines of her profile against the pillow, the sweep of lashes. The wild mass of fire-colored hair tangled out all around her. Something inside of him quickened, and he wondered himself just what it was about one woman, one special woman, to so effect a man. To make him feel more than laughter, more than tears, more than love. To move a heart, lost in itself, and touch again so deeply all the finest things he thought that he had buried.

  There was no rhyme or reason; in defeat, he made the admission. He just knew that he did love her, that he wanted to be with her, to share with her all that life might bring their way.

  “Katrina …” His forehead knotted in a frown as he searched for the words. “Katrina, you can’t play with the Al Stradfords of this world. All right maybe I did use you; maybe what I did was even worse—”

  “Ummmm …” she mumbled out.

  He closed his eyes, squeezing his temples fiercely between his fingers. “But, Katrina, I never meant to hurt you, so help me. I never meant to use you. Katrina, I love you.”

  She didn’t respond. He pulled his hands from his head and twisted around to view her again.

  “Katrina?” He shook her slightly; all she did was clench more tightly to her pillow and sigh softly.

  Oh, hell! His great confession—and she’d slept right through it. He shook his head; and then had to laugh at himself.

  He rose and pulled the covers tightly around her. He paused, very tenderly kissing the top of her head, and then, whimsically, the tips of her limp fingers.

  “I do love you, babe,” he said very softly, then left her.

  When Katrina awakened, her head was pounding like a set of hammers against twin anvils. With a great effort she opened her eyes, trying to force them into focus.

  Jason was standing at the foot of her bed.

  “Oh!” she cried, sitting up; then, realizing that she was undressed, pulling the covers to her chest. “Oh, Jason! I’m sorry; I overslept. School! Did you eat? I’ll make your lunch; we’ll get going.”

  “Mom!” Jason shook his head, frowning. “It’s Saturday.”

  “Oh.” She let her head crash back to the pillow.

  “Mom?” She felt a shift in the bed and knew that Jason had perched worriedly by her side. “Can I get you anything? Want some water, an aspirin?”

  “Good morning!”

  The next voice that accosted her was anything but gentle. It was disgustingly, sickeningly cheerful, and all the worse because it belonged to her brother-in-law.

  She groaned deeply and burrowed beneath the sheets, letting out a miserable “Frank! What are you doing here?”

  More weight plopped onto the other side of the bed. He tugged lightly at the sheet, bringing it down just below her eyes. His own were darkly mischievous, causing her a moment’s heartache, so like James’s they were.

  “Trina, you look quite pathetic.”

  “Thank you kindly, brother dear!” she retorted. Her own voice hurt her head. “Oh, God! What did I do to deserve you this morning?”

  “Hey, that’s unkind! But I assume that you’re paying for a multitude of sins. I thought you might want to sleep this morning.”

  “So you woke me up.”

  “No, so I came by to take my favorite nephew fishing.”

  “Don’t let him flatter you, Jason. You’re his only nephew.”

  “Can I go, Mom?” Jason asked excitedly.

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks!” She felt Jason’s kiss. “I’ll go throw a few things in the ice chest, Uncle Frank!”

  “You do that, sport!”

  Frank hadn’t moved. Slowly, carefully, Katrina opened her eyes. His still carried a hint of deviltry, but there was empathy in them, too, so much so that her eyes quickly filled with tears.

  “Oh, Frank!”

  “Hey! It’s not that bad!” he told her softly. “Your headache will go away.”

  “It’s not that. It’s your mother, Frank! Oh, she saw everything that was going on. What must she have thought?”

  “Katrina! If my mother felt anything, it was concern for you.”

  “Concern! No, no! I hurt her, Frank. I—”

  “Trina, my mother loved James. With all her heart. She’ll never forget him. But she loves you too. She thinks the world of you, and she has since you were a little kid. Katrina, I loved James too. With all my heart. He was my older brother, my idol, the sun, the stars, and the moon all rolled into one. Katrina, I’d admit, if you’d have run off like a spark a month after he died—or even a year—I’d have resented it. But, Kat, in October it will have been five years. That’s a long time to be alone, to live like a cloistered nun.” He shook his head, searching for words. “Katrina, don’t you see? You’re not just an appendage of James to any of us! Not to Dad, not to Mom, not to me. We care about you. And we want you to be happy.”

  She groaned softly. “Last night didn’t make me happy. It made me sick and miserable.”

  Frank chuckled softly. “Yeah, well, you do deserve it. What were you doing, wolfing down martinis like there was no tomorrow? You scared me silly.” He lightly chucked her sheet-covered chin with his knuckles and grew more serious. “Don’t get me wrong, Katrina. I have a sense of brotherly protectiveness you won’t shake easily. That’s why I dragged Mike Taylor o
ut when you disappeared with Mr. Charisma.”

  Startled, Katrina twisted to stare at him. “You! No! He was out with that brunette.” She paused, flinching, remembering how kind Amy had been to her. “He was on a date himself.”

  “Oh, not really,” Frank said cryptically. He kissed her forehead. “I’m going. Get some more sleep.”

  He straightened; she gripped his hand suddenly. “Thanks, Frank. I love you.”

  “Love you too.” He gave her hand a squeeze. A second later the living-room door slammed shut; she winced and closed her eyes again, relieved. But sleep wouldn’t come to her; eventually she rose and made herself coffee and miserably sipped it.

  Impatient with herself, Katrina slipped on a bathing suit and cover-up, grabbed her mask and fins, and headed for the beach. The reef might well be her salvation.

  Her footsteps wavered as she walked past the pool and Mike’s lab. But there was no sign of life there, and she hurried on by.

  Katrina stepped out into the water. She rinsed her mask and secured it to her head. She slipped into her flippers and swam out to the reef.

  It was just what she wanted: peace and serenity, fan coral waving in its ghostly dance, brilliant yellow tangs darting around it. A big, ugly grouper passed her, eying her curiously. Far below her, hugging a sand spit, a manta cast its glorious body along with graceful ease. She heard only her own breath, a wind that passed through the snorkel.

  It was a beautiful world, but a treacherous one too. It had taken James from her.

  Yet she hadn’t turned away from the island or the reefs. Why had she turned away from life?

  Something snagged at her flipper. Startled, Katrina swung around. Mike was behind her.

  She surfaced, ripping her mask from her head and treading water. He rose beside her, tearing his own mask away.

  “What are you doing out here?” she cried out, angry and defensive, and not at all ready for another battle of wits.

  “Looking for you,” he told her bluntly. “I wanted to see how you were.”

  “I’m fine. I just—I just want to be alone!”

  His features, well defined with his hair sleeked back, grew tight. “Ah, yes, the solitary Mrs. Denver!”