Heather Graham (8 page)

“Please!” Kent interrupted with a quiet laugh, rising from his knee. Katie noted that his tone remained quiet and a little reflective when he spoke again. “I’m not fond of the press, but I’m very fond of children, and it was a real pleasure to meet Matthew—and his mother and his little brother, I presume.” He smiled at Matthew. “You live in Sarasota, huh?”

It took Matthew a second to find his tongue. “Yes, sir!”

“What’s your last name, Matthew?”

“Jenkins. I’m Matt Jenkins, sir!”

“Are you with us even when we’re down?” Kent teased.

“Oh, yes!” Matthew assured him solemnly.

Kent ruffled his hair and looked over Matthew’s head to his mother again. “Mrs. Jenkins, call our main offices in March if you get a chance. Some of us do a workshop with local kids during the summer, and I’d love to see Matt there. If you call the offices, I’ll have left his name and they’ll set it up for Matt.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Jenkins exclaimed. “Oh, I—thank you so very much.”

Kent gave her a crooked smile and wave, taking Katie’s elbow again. But Mrs. Jenkins was gazing at her now. “Oh, and thank you, too, miss, for allowing the interruption.”

Katie was totally startled by the woman’s sincere words. She didn’t want to tell the nice Mrs. Jenkins that she was welcome to take Kent Hart and go hang him!

And apparently Mrs. Jenkins was assuming she was much more to Kent Hart than what she was.

Katie managed a weak smile. “He loves kids,” she mimicked a little stupidly, remembering then that she was “the press” of which he wasn’t quite so fond.

The press, yes, but she was also Dante Hudson’s daughter. Then, too, she was the woman who had almost committed a stupid form of suicide before rolling around in a ditch, passionately entwined in his arms.

Mrs. Jenkins waved and pulled her son away. Katie found herself propelled into the elevator.

“What floor?” Kent asked her. Ridiculously, she couldn’t remember. With impatience he plucked the key from her fingers, checked her door number, and punched a button.

She couldn’t help but stare at him as the elevator silently moved along. He’d really had a nice smile for Matthew. He did like kids—a lot more than he liked reporters or women or both.

Or maybe it was just her, and very possibly she deserved his feelings. We started off wrong, she thought a little wistfully. I couldn’t help remembering the past, and I didn’t give him a chance to forget it.

The elevator door slid open, and Kent led her along the hall. When he slipped the key into her door, she thought in a moment’s panic that he intended to come in. He didn’t. He prodded her through the doorway but didn’t follow.

“I have plans for tomorrow evening,” he told her brusquely. “But I’ll bring you your things in the morning. We can take a drive along the coast and have brunch or something. I don’t know if you can get what you want in one morning, but you can make a start if you like.”

She could read nothing from his stoney expression and dark eyes. It seemed that he didn’t intend to refer to their strange, intimate circumstances earlier. Katie felt a constriction in her throat. She certainly wouldn’t make any reference to it either. She couldn’t anyway. She didn’t seem capable of speech. She nodded.

“Ten o’clock?”

She nodded again.

As if satisfied with the end of the evening, he turned around and started down the hallway. Katie stood still, oddly entranced by the breadth of his shoulders, his thick, tousled dark brown hair, and his long strides. She was startled when he spun around suddenly.

“For heaven’s sake, Katie, close the door. And lock it. You’re an absurdly trusting woman!”

He stood impatiently, hands on his hips as he waited for her to obey. Katie felt an instant streak of belligerence—she’d been managing just fine on her own for years—but quickly smothered it.

Why was she always so tempted to fight him? she asked herself with dismay. It was ridiculous. She needed an interview with him; he had agreed to do it. It wouldn’t hurt to close the damn door and lock it—she would do it eventually anyway.

“Good night,” she said quietly. She closed the door and locked it, expecting him to come back any minute and check up on her. But he didn’t. Eventually, she walked away from the door and tiredly fell on the bed, an arm draped over her eyes.

Oh, dear Lord, it had been a strange day! It felt as if a lifetime had passed … So many things, so many emotions …

And the worst of it all was Kent Hart. She could still feel his eyes, his touch, his caress. And if she thought about it, she could feel the burning sensations all over again, the aching and the longing, the need for his touch to go on and on …

Oh, Katie, stop it! she groaned to herself. He’s Kent Hart; I spent years hating him, and not too much has happened to change that! Oh, but yes, she argued, it has! He saved my life, I’ve seen him be kind, and his teammates are absurdly loyal to him.

And he kissed me.

Her fingers moved to her lips; she felt a trembling start up again. She rolled over, slamming a fist into her pillow. Oh, God! It was ridiculous! She had just gotten out of a relationship with a football jock!

Relationship. Had it really been a relationship? She felt that she had exchanged more, experienced more, felt more with Kent Hart in one night … And maybe she had.

What about him? It had really been nothing but anger and a surprising surge of desire. It hadn’t even meant that he liked her.

Dante. Dante stood between them. A ghost, the man they had both loved. But that love had turned them against each other and refused to let them forgive …

“Oh, hell!” Katie gasped aloud. Her voice was frighteningly like a sob again. Frightening … yes, it had been terribly frightening when he had touched her. Her response had been so instant, so intense, and it had left this yearning, this aching.

“No, Katie,” she murmured aloud. And then the phone began to ring.

She stared at it, not wanting to answer. Maybe it would stop. No, she thought with a sigh. It was Raff, and Raff never gave up.

Katie wearily pulled herself up and answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Katie? Raff here!” Katie listened to his cheerful greeting; she listened, too, as the touch of steel came into Raff’s voice. “Did you get it?”

“I think so,” she replied carefully.

“What?” Raff demanded. “What kind of an answer is that? Katie Hudson, this is Raff here. I know you could charm a baby into buying dentures—and the man owes you, remember? Now, did you get the interview or not?”

“I’ve got something,” Katie muttered. She went on quickly before he could start at her again. “I’m seeing him tomorrow, Raff. I’ll have something.”

“We need an in-depth article, Katie,” Raff said impatiently. He lowered his voice to a slightly crooning sound. “Katie, honey, I’m not the big cheese around here. The powers that be want a ten-page spread on the Cougar. You go out there and get it now, okay? Sweet-talk the man. You’ll have him eating right out of your hand.”

Yeah, sure! Katie thought bitterly. You sure as hell don’t know much about Kent Hart!

“Katie, you with me, honey?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“Okay, honey. Do what you have to do, got it?”

She took a deep breath, her anger simmering. “Are you suggesting I put my morals on the line, Raff?” she inquired coolly.

“No, no, honey!” Raff protested over the wire. She heard his wary chuckle. “I’m just telling you to get the job done.”

“Fine. I’ll do my best,” Katie said stiffly.

“I’ll hear from you soon,” Raff closed. He didn’t add a good-bye, he just hung up.

Katie slowly replaced the receiver. She lay back on the bed again and burst into tears.

She thought she had buried her pain, but now it was with her again as so many things—memories, conflicting emotions, confusions—were all dredged up. Sometimes she felt as strong as steel. She had, she thought, learned to manage very well. Until today.

Somehow, it had taught her all about emptiness again.

K
ATIE WAS READY MUCH
too early.

Kent hadn’t really said where they were going, only that they would probably have brunch somewhere. That left her wondering if she had dressed properly. She shrugged as she scrutinized her reflection in the long mirror. She had donned a pair of maroon corduroy jeans and a soft white sweater with delicate embroidery about the neckline and sleeves. This was California—laid-back, she assured herself. She should be okay whether they roughed it or wound up someplace that was a little elegant.

So, deciding that her outfit was fine left time on her hands, and she was sick to death of thinking about the man she was about to see.

Katie sat down on the bed and poured herself a cup of coffee from the gold carafe she’d ordered when she had wakened. This was her fourth cup. She held her fingers out before her after she poured the coffee and set her cup down on the nightstand. They shook slightly—she was overdoing the caffeine and making herself edgy; dumb, but she couldn’t seem to help herself.

It was just as dumb to think about Kent Hart, and she didn’t seem to be able to help herself on that score either.

Face it, she told herself, I came into this thing with a bad attitude. I had him judged and pegged—I certainly wasn’t expecting to take hold of a keg of dynamite.

She had been sure that his behavior had been totally boorish and obnoxious when he had wrenched her so crudely from the party. But she now realized it was more than possible that she’d had a few too many sips of champagne and had become too trusting of the situation. She knew that parties could get out of hand—it had just never occurred to her that she could be forced into anything. And why not? she demanded of herself bitterly. Hadn’t she more or less been forced into
this
situation?

No! No! Because it was still her choice. She could say the hell with the damn story anytime she chose. Of course, she would also be saying the hell with an incredible job.

In the long run, what would it matter that she had set aside her pride—and a few of her scruples, she had to admit—when it would make her entire life better?

It was the inflection in Raff’s voice that had bothered her so much. That she should really be willing to set aside anything to get to Kent Hart … That thought caused her to laugh dryly. If Kent Hart could be bought by a face or figure, surely some other aspiring young woman would have used her assets by now. Not many women reached their midtwenties with Katie’s inexperience these days. But then, few women spent years in virtual hiding, in loving attendance upon a dying man.

“I’m doing all right,” she assured herself out loud.

Those years had been good for her, really. She’d had time to age and mature a little before finding herself a player in the dating game. She couldn’t be easily swayed; she knew very well how to say no and mean it—and still come out of the situation being friends.

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There was one man with whom she was no longer friends. The man with whom she’d broken off, just last week. But it hadn’t been right! she told herself. For all that he had been charming, bright, handsome, and full of laughter, something had been missing. Very missing, she decided with a sigh. The breakup should have hurt her; it should still be bothering her. But she could hardly remember what he looked like.

How could she remember anyone’s face when the features that would come to her mind’s eye were Kent’s?

“Oh, what is the matter with me?” she wondered aloud. One night, one kiss absurdly shared in a bed of grass, and she felt as if she would never be the same again. How many kisses just like that had he enjoyed over the years? And he was known for making touchdowns once he had the ball in his hands.

Katie stood up and walked resolutely to the mirror. She stared at herself and spoke out loud. “Number one, Kathleen Hudson, you do not like football players. Nothing personal, just the name of the game. Number two—and listen to me, Katie—you are nothing to Kent Hart except for the obnoxious little brat who scratched him fourteen years ago. He must have loved Dante—that’s why he feels that he owes you. And that’s exactly what you wanted. Now Katie, we’re on to three. The man is dynamite. They don’t call him Cougar for nothing. Only a fool would come close enough to feel the strength of his pounce. He knows how to toss you around like a sack of potatoes. We’re talking the pros here, Kathleen. You thought you were good, but you’ve got amateur rating. Go out there, young lady, get your interview, say ‘thank you very much,’ and get away! There’s a whole lifetime ahead of you to find a man who doesn’t think you’re a ball that needs to be dragged over the goal line!”

I like him, a silent voice replied. I never thought that I could, but I like him. I’d admire him …

You fell in love with him—like any dolt of a fan!

No. I could have fallen in love with any one of these guys.

A firm rap sounded on her door with such sudden assurance that she jumped, praying that she hadn’t been speaking out loud. Then her heart began to race.

Get it together, kid, she warned herself dryly. Let’s come up with some assurance of your own and a little dignity here.

The rap sounded again, harder.

She curled her fingers tightly into her palms, released them, and walked to the door, hesitating less than a second before opening it.

“Good morning,” Kent said briefly, sweeping by her.

She hadn’t expected him to come into the room. She would have made the bed and straightened up. But he was in the room. Katie closed the door and turned around to look at him, speaking quickly.

“Is this—I mean, are the jeans okay? I didn’t know what you …” Her voice trailed away. It was obvious that the jeans were okay; he was wearing blue denims and a red plaid cavalry shirt. She swallowed a little uneasily, thinking that he filled the room with the strength of his presence. He seemed very tall and composed of well-designed steel. The cut of the shirt enhanced the breadth of his shoulders, and the leather belt about his waist betrayed its trimness. He looked good. His hair was still damp from a recent shower, his jaw was freshly shaven, and his eyes … were both dark and brilliant. He was rested; he looked much younger than he had right after the game, very alert and only slightly wary.