Heather Graham (25 page)

Suddenly, there were people all around them. Kent and Dante were in the huddle, and Dante was rattling out the play. Kent ran into position; he hunched down, looking at the linebacker set against him.

“Four!”

The ball went into play. Kent swiftly sidestepped the linebacker and started racing down the field. Dante saw him, and the ball went sailing, flying high in a great arch—falling straight into his arms. Then Kent was running again. He could feel the strength in his muscles, the total joy and exhilaration. He could hear the roar of the crowd, and he felt as if he’d conquered the world.

He made the touchdown, but there was a buzz from the field. When he looked back, the coaches, players, and the team doctor were standing over Dante.

Kent ran to him.

Dante was smiling. “I’m a little winded here, Cougar. Man, did I get a snap in my neck! Help me off the field, will you? Did I ever tell you I was thinking about retiring? Leading the life of Riley, you know, hopping around Europe—I always wanted to have a pretty Spanish señorita, you know?”

There was laughter in his eyes—blue eyes, just like his daughter’s. A scream was bubbling up inside him, a scream, high and unbearably shrill …

Kent bolted up in the bed, sweating and shaking. The scream had been so damned real!

It came again—a high, piercing sound in the night.

Katie!

He practically tripped over the covers, trying to pitch himself out of the bed. He stubbed his toe instead, hopped about for a second, then wrenched open his door and tore down the hall, but her door was still locked. He threw his shoulder against it, and the wood shattered with an ease that sent him flying into the room. Then he stopped short, feeling more than a little absurd as he faced her.

The light was on, and she was fine. She was sitting up in the bed staring at him—but at least her expression was as sheepish as he felt. She had removed the forest-green robe and was clothed only in a sexy thin gown that was a softer shade. It didn’t cover her shoulders; it enhanced the firm curves of her breasts. Not at all fair to his senses. He gave himself a little shake, and—feeling foolish having just broken through the door in his briefs—he planted his hands on his hips.

“What the hell were you screaming about? I thought you were being stabbed, killed. What the hell is the problem?”

“I, uh, nothing,” she murmured, a flood of color rising to her cheeks.

“Nothing?
You scream like a banshee and tell me
nothing?”

She lowered her chin and her lashes, then met his eyes again quickly. “I’m sorry, it was really nothing.”

“Dammit, Kathleen Hudson, you’d better tell me something.”

Katie looked at him. He was all bronze and taut, looming over her with his hands on his hips, the muscles of his shoulders and chest straining with tension.

“I, uh …”

“You
what?”

Her lashes fell like chestnut fans, lovely as they shadowed her cheeks. “I thought the snake was in bed with me,” she mumbled.

“What?”

Her head snapped back, and she stared at him with her eyes blazing like morning stars. “I thought the damn snake was in the bed with me, that’s all.”

He was silent, staring at her incredulously. Her scream had probably cost him ten years of his life; his heart was just never going to be the same again.

She started talking again, quickly. “I’m sorry! I was half asleep, and I felt this—this thing against my leg. And all I could think of was the snake, but I guess I’d just set my glass down, not realizing I was half asleep …” Her voice trailed off as Kent continued to stare at her.

“You thought you were sleeping with a snake, but it was your stupid glass?”

“Yes.”

He threw his hands into the air and began to mutter.

He was definitely angry, Katie thought, gritting her teeth together defensively and trying not to cringe against the bedpost.

But he didn’t come anywhere near her. He left the room, emitting another disgusted snort as he saw the door, and then kept muttering as he returned to the guest room.

She wished she could crawl beneath the bed and hide. If only she hadn’t screamed and awakened him! She could have survived the hours until morning …

Katie blinked, then stared after him, feeling the physical pain of emptiness. If only she could have left! There was no hope for their relationship and she knew it, but she couldn’t stop the feelings. They were so strong, that when she was near him, pride placed a weak second behind love.

“Hey!”

Katie started. Kent was back in the doorway, watching her with dry reproach. His eyes were very dark; it almost appeared as if he were smiling.

“What?” she asked.

“You owe me for that one!”

“Owe you?” she exclaimed, but something warm and thrilling touched her heart, and a weak, delicious dizziness swept through her. No, Katie, she warned herself.

But rationale took care of the warning. She’d be okay once she was away from him, free to pursue her own life and forget the time she’d shared with him. She didn’t want to see him again, not after the things he had said, the things he believed …

But that could be for later. It was going to take her a long time to forget Kent Hart; she wanted it to be a long, long time before he could forget her.

“I don’t owe you anything, Kent,” she said quietly. “Nor do you owe me. The sheets are clean, don’t you think?”

She couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he stood there. His eyes were too dark, his mouth too tight. But did it matter what he thought? She wanted him, and she didn’t want to think beyond that right now.

One last time …

She smiled at him slowly and saw his eyes narrow, his brows lift in surprise.

Katie reached over to the bedside table and turned off the light. Then she slid her legs to the side of the bed and got to her feet, walking to him.

Darkness curled around them and caressed them; she could see only his silhouette, then a moon fire reflection in his eyes as he watched her come to him.

She stopped a foot away from him and caught his eyes with her own as she lifted her hands to her shoulders, sliding away the straps of her nightgown and allowing the silky material to fall to the floor in a languid cascade. For a moment her heart quickened: what if he repelled her?

She heard the sharp intake of his breath, then she felt his hands, hard as they gripped her arms and pulled her to his chest. She felt the heat of his gaze as he stared down into her eyes.

“I thought,” he muttered hoarsely, “you said you didn’t owe me.”

Katie tossed her head back, lifting her chin, not at all sure if she was seeking love or vengeance.

“I don’t owe you a damn thing, Kent Hart. I never did.”

“Then, why …” His hands moved to her face, his thumbs raking over her cheeks. His eyes continued to stare into hers, and she felt the tremendous heat of him, the tension that crackled all around them. “Then why am I holding you?” he asked.

She smiled, then slipped her arms around his neck, pressing the length of her body to his, savoring the rush to her system as her naked breasts touched his chest. She pressed her hips to him and shivered, knowing the power of his arousal.

“Because,” she said with a cool touch of regal disdain, “you’re wrong, Cougar. Dead wrong. You lost something tonight, something very special. And when I’m gone, you’re going to know just how special it was.”

“You think so?” he demanded with a throaty dare.

“Yes.” Katie whispered, narrowing her eyes.

For a moment they stood there, caught in the static tension. Then Kent cried out fiercely, enveloped her in his arms, and pressed fevered lips to the pulse at the base of her throat. Held by him, she found his eyes on hers once more, dark as the night, alive with an inner fire.

“God help me, Katie, I can’t care why,” he muttered.

She didn’t know he had moved, but he had. His weight followed hers down to the bed, and she felt his heat between her thighs, the intoxicating ripple of muscle to her touch.

She smiled and shimmied from beneath him. She slid her body over his and kissed him, deeply, languorously. And when she was done, she made love to his body with her own, caressing him with her entire length, burning a trail of hot, passionate kisses down his length. There were tears in her eyes as she loved him with an aching vehemence—loved him intimately, taking all of him.

He twisted with a sharp groan, calling out her name, raking his fingers into her hair to bring her to him, then beneath him. He took the lead with a fierce and passionate strength; her body shivered in the sweetest ecstasy at his entry, and then it was she crying out his name, arching, striving, soaring … undulating as her soul found solace from pain in the sweeping beauty of sensation.

She bit lightly into his shoulder as the storm cascaded around her; the tears stung her eyes through it all. It would be hard for him to forget her. Oh, yes! That she promised herself. But as long as she lived, she would never forget him. Inside of her she knew that there just wasn’t another man like him. If she searched a lifetime, she would never find another …

M
ORNING CAME TO KATIE
softly at first, slowly. She was warm beneath the covers, warm with her body curled next to Kent’s. She felt the light first, permeating the room, awakening her. She opened her eyes, then closed them again, filled with a sense of pain so acute, it made her shudder.

Morning had, as always, come. She would have to turn her back on this man who could not trust her and return to New York. If it was possible.

She stirred, pushing back the covers to rise slightly in the bed and look toward the window. The sun was shining almost fiercely. There would be nothing to prevent her from leaving. Her eyes fell on the bedside clock. It was a few minutes after ten. They had slept late, but she felt unrested.

Katie lowered herself to the bed again and risked a glance at Kent. He was still sleeping. She smiled a little with both bitterness and pain; this morning he looked rested and very young. His hair lay over his forehead, and a curve graced his lips as if his dreams were sweet. Even the grooves and lines about his eyes and mouth seemed to have eased; he might have been a young man of twenty. Except, she thought, for his shoulders and chest. Broad, fully filled, powerfully muscled, they were marred here and there by scars. His chest was thickly covered with short dark hairs. It was a mature chest, no matter what the image of youth his face portrayed this morning.

Katie closed her eyes and lay down for a moment longer. She opened her eyes once again to look at him; she had determined not to touch him. She’d had her time last night and wanted to believe that he would miss her, but she had to find the strength to pit herself against him. She didn’t know if there had ever been a chance for a real relationship to begin with; now, it was impossible. Nothing could be right when it was based on pain and distrust and anger. And she knew that if she didn’t leave him, she would never have her own self-respect again and therefore could never command his.

But as long as he slept …

She smiled at the barely perceptible crook in his otherwise long and straight nose. My love, she thought, you have been beat to hell. As well as three scars that had faded on his shoulders, there were scars about his knees, too, surgical scars. Still, she thought he had the most beautiful body she could ever imagine. For all his physical attraction though, she could never have fallen in love with a body. She had fallen in love with him.

Careful to not awaken him, Katie crawled from the bed and quickly searched her suitcase for her clothes. She started to dress, then was distracted by sounds outside. Voices? Who could be coming to the cabin?

Kent was not sleeping soundly, yet neither had he fully wakened. The light touched his consciousness, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. It was a nice place where he drifted, a misted dawn. He frowned in his state of half sleep as he heard voices. Was he dreaming again? he wondered idly. He thought he heard Anne. It was a dream, surely it was a dream, because he had been so worried about her last night. Just as he had recalled Dante from his memory, now he was recalling his daughter. She was talking and laughing, just as she had on her last visit here. There had been high, white drifts of snow then, too. She had been bundled in boots and a parka, and she had loved the snow. Like the child she was, she had played in it. He smiled vaguely in his sleep, then frowned as her shouts took form and substance—very real for a dream. It wasn’t just Anne’s voice he was hearing; it was Bill’s, too, calling to Anne.

“You wait up there just a minute, young lady. That’s your father’s house, and you let him know you’re out here.”

“Bill! He’s
my
father. His house is my house, and I don’t have to knock at his door!”

Kent could see his daughter, tossing her head with a certain hauteur. Anne was a proud young lady, sometimes a little too assured for her own good.

A sharp slam sounded, and Kent’s eyes flew open. He sure as hell wasn’t dreaming—the outside door had just opened and closed with a tremendous force.

“Dad!”

Kent bolted up, and he was sitting, astonished, on the bed. He saw Katie standing beside the bed, looking as confused as he felt. She was halfway dressed—her jeans and boots were on, and she wore a bra. Apparently, she had been searching her luggage for a sweater. She was staring at him with bewilderment, reproach—and ardent dismay. And it was all happening too quickly for either of them to do a thing about it.

“Dad!”

Fleeting thoughts crossed his mind. Paula had called last night, worried crazy because of Anne. What the hell had happened? How in God’s name had his daughter gotten to Denver?

“Dad!”

Anne was standing in the doorway then, in a parka and boots, just as he had imagined her. She was staring at Katie.

“Dad!” she gasped as she looked at Kent, her eyes horrified and angry.

“Young lady!” he snapped in return, feeling a little absurd from the position by which he was forced to greet her. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? Your mother is frantic!”