The Burning Point (14 page)

"My God, Kate, are you all right?" White-faced, Donovan dropped to his knees beside her.

"I...I guess I am." She raised a trembling hand to her cheek. She'd seen Donovan explode before, but never at her. "How could you do such a thing?"

"I don't know! I was mad as hell, but I didn't mean to hit you. It just happened." He cradled her against her chest, his breathing harsh. "It sounds so stupid when I say it out loud, but I hate knowing you spend more time with your classmates than with me."

Tears of pain and distress spilled from her eyes. "You're darned right it's stupid. You've met most of my classmates. They're like my brothers."

"You may think of them as brothers, but trust me, they notice how beautiful and sexy you are. It...it scares the hell out of me to think you might decide one of them is a better deal than me."

Her anger faded as she recognized that his bizarre fury had been triggered by fear. Though he never spoke of his childhood, she'd learned enough from his aunt Connie to know that it had been difficult, making it hard for him to accept that his wife truly loved him. She should have reassured him instead of losing her temper and snapping back. Her mother was right--anger created more problems than it solved.

Wanting to ease his wretchedness, she pulled away from him, saying earnestly, "I love you, Patrick. I've never been with another man, can't even imagine wanting to be. I'm your
wife
. Remember? We promised to forsake all others till death do us part." She shook her head, wincing as pain stabbed through her jaw. "But I know darned well that the marriage service didn't say anything about you being allowed to hit me."

"I deserve to be
shot
." He slammed his fist into the floor .

Kate caught his wrist before he could smash his hand into the wood again. "Patrick, don't! There's been enough craziness tonight."

She felt his muscles and tendons flex under her grip before he relaxed and lowered his arm. He stared at her, guilt and misery stark in his face. "More than enough for a lifetime. This will never happen again, I swear it."

"It better not!" Seeing his stricken expression, she said more quietly, "You have to learn to trust me, Patrick. There isn't anyone else. There never will be."

"What I've learned is that you're even more wonderful than I realized." He slid his arms under her and lifted her from the floor.

As he carried her to the bedroom, she realized that she'd always loved his strength. It hadn't occurred to her to consider it a potential threat.

As he laid her on the bed, he asked, "Should I take you to the emergency room?"

"The last thing I need is to spend hours sitting in a hospital until some doctor has time to tell me there was no damage done." She touched her cheek, which was starting to throb. "Besides, I'd have to explain what happened, which I'd rather not."

"Christ, no." He disappeared for a minute, and returned with an ice pack. She held the ice to her face for a few minutes, until the ache subsided. Then she started to get up so she could take off her clothes.

"Lie back and relax. You were already tired when you got home, and you must feel like hell now. I'll take care of you."

She obeyed, sinking into the pillows and closing her eyes. The mattress sagged as he sat beside her and began undoing the buttons of her shirt. He eased the garment off, then went to work on her jeans.

His touch was so gentle, so kind. This was the real Donovan, the man she loved. Already that moment of crazy violence seemed more dream than reality. It had been a ghastly aberration, never to be repeated.

The brush of his hands over her bare skin as he removed her garments was soothing. By the time all her clothes were off, she was half asleep.

His lips touched her bruised cheek in the most delicate of caresses. "You're so generous, Kate."

He kissed the sensitive skin of her throat exactly the way she liked best. She exhaled with pleasure. Nice. Even nicer when his lips trailed along her collarbone toward her breast. When he tugged gently on her nipple, heat blazed through her. She reached up to draw him close.

He caught her hands and returned them to the sheets. "Don't do anything,
cara mia
. Just relax while I make up to you for what I did."

Usually they were both active partners when they made love, but she found a dreamy pleasure in passively accepting his caresses. His mouth moved lower, tender on her belly. He exhaled warm breath into the soft curls between her thighs. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Kate," he whispered.

She shivered as his tongue licked into her. Mild arousal turned into passion, driving out fatigue and pain with a physical and emotional intimacy that she could not imagine ever finding with another man. His hurt was hers, his remorse palpable.

He took his time, using his knowledge of her body to build her passion to fever pitch until she could bear no more. Then she shattered, crying out from a scouring intensity that went on and on before finally leaving her limp and panting.

He stripped off his clothing and lay down beside her. "Forgive me, Kate. I don't deserve it, but...please forgive me anyhow."

"Of course I forgive you," she whispered. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me."

He was going to let her go to sleep, but she touched him in a wordless plea for greater intimacy. He entered her hesitantly, as if expecting rejection.

She felt his doubt and his need to erase what had happened as clearly as if they were her own emotions. Tears stung her eyes again. She had thought there was so much love and trust between them that nothing could ever tear them apart. But tonight a dark shadow had fallen across their marriage, if only for an instant, and the knowledge that it was possible frightened her.

"I love you, Kate, more than I thought it was possible to love anyone." He buried himself in her, then held still, his body throbbing, his cheek pressed to her temple. In the darkness she felt tears that weren't her own.

To the extent that she'd ever considered being struck by a man, she'd always thought of it as an unforgivable act. Yet now that it had happened, she found that reality was much more complicated than theory.

Marriage brought people so close that the worst was visible along with the best. So her husband wasn't perfect. Neither was she.

Her mother had said more than once that forgiveness was a vital component of love, and heaven knew that Kate loved her husband. "It's all right, Patrick," she whispered as her hips began rocking hips rhythmically against his. "Everything is all right now."

"Oh, God, Kate." His body convulsed and he enfolded her in a crushing grip as he repeated hoarsely, "I love you, love you, love you...."

They slept, exhausted, in each other's arms.

∗ ∗ ∗

But it wasn't all right. Much later, she recognized how much their relationship had changed that night. There was still love, fierce and consuming, but it was tainted by a faint undercurrent of wariness. She was more cautious around her husband, doing her best to avoid triggering his temper. A little spontaneity was lost. A little trust.

She had started along the road to ruin, and didn't know it.

Chapter 12

That night Donovan lay on his bed and stared into the darkness as the Arctic wind rattled bare branches against the house. He'd thought himself prepared to have his former wife under his roof again.

Pretty stupid of him not to guess what a bitch the reality would be. From the moment she marched into his kitchen, he'd had an overwhelming desire to pull her onto his lap and hold her until she was warm and relaxed again.

Of course, if he'd laid a hand on her she would have walked out the door permanently, probably after bending a frying pan over his head. But at least she'd accepted some pampering. Clear proof that she was exhausted.

Was she upset at having to leave the boyfriend in San Francisco? He found himself wondering what the bastard was like, and immediately cut the thought off. It was none of his business who she'd been sleeping with.

And might sleep with again. He forced himself to face that fact. She'd said that geography would end the relationship, but the country was less than six hours across by jet. The other man might come to Maryland, or they might meet somewhere else. PDI field personnel traveled a lot.

His initial elation that Kate had agreed to Sam's deal began to subside into anxiety. She'd walked out on him once before, and she'd do it again in a New York minute if he gave her any excuse.

So he'd better not be jealous. Once he'd believed jealousy was proof of how much he loved her. Instead, it had contributed to messing up his mind until he'd struck her. Unforgivable.

How could he have hurt her as he did? How
could
he?

He cut off his circling, self-hating thoughts. Better to think of something useful, such as running the company that was now his, at least for the time being. Sam had been an idiosyncratic manager, and sorting things out was an uphill job.

Or he could think about Sam's death in an impossible accident.

Think about anything but Kate, and how much he still wanted her.

∗ ∗ ∗

Kate awoke to the buzz of an unfamiliar alarm clock. It took a moment to remember where she was. Ah, yes, Maryland. Not yet six in the morning, with her tired body thinking she ought to be in California, sleeping peacefully. Say what one would about the discomforts of crossing the continent in a wagon, at least the pioneers never had to worry about jet lag.

Since she'd packed the night before, she could afford another few minutes in bed. She dozed a little, missing Ginger Bear's furry body next to her. A year without a cat was in some ways worse than a year without a man.

A bad thought--it instantly triggered memories of sharing a bed with Donovan. It wasn't just the wonderful sex she'd missed when they split up, but the affection. They'd slept tangled like ivy, always touching even as positions shifted in slumber. When they came to bed there would be a brief period of settling in together--tucking a thigh between his knees, his head coming to rest on her shoulder. They'd both give soft little exhalations of contentment as they let go of the tensions of the day.

She'd loved the warm, solid feel of his body. The scent and saltiness of him. The way his arm curved around to hold her close. He'd been a world-class cuddler.

That had been true even at the end. Her grandmother Corsi had died only a month before their marriage ended. By that time, the two of them had been lying side by side like granite statues, not touching, each aching with aloneness.

She'd been awakened by a ringing phone at three in the morning, the kind of call that never brought anything good. Dopily she grabbed the receiver and propped it over her ear without raising her head.

Julia's voice said without preamble, "Bad news, Kate. Nonna Corsi had a stroke and died. It...it was very quick."

Kate swung her feet to the bare floor as her mother gave her the name of the funeral home. The time and place for what would be the first of several family gatherings. Yes, your father is taking it hard, of course he is. But she had a long, full life and went quickly. They could be grateful for that. Julia's voice cracked. She'd been closer to her mother-in-law than to her own mother.

Kate hung up, feeling as if her body temperature had dropped ten degrees. She began to shake. Widowed young, her Sicilian grandmother had cleaned houses to support her four children, encouraging them to get educations though she had never gone to high school herself. In the Highlandtown rowhouse Sam later bought her, she'd taken in foster children and bossed her family and made the best pasta fagioli in the world.

Donovan laid a warm hand on her spine. "What's happened, Kate?"

"Nonna's dead."

He swore under his breath. "Hell. I'm so sorry. She was special. Like my Grandmother Russo." Gently he drew Kate into his arms and pulled her under the covers. Then he wrapped himself around her, using his body heat to dispel her trembling. "You're freezing, Kate. Do you want coffee or brandy or something?"

"No. Just...stay close." Then she wept. Donovan could be a crazy bastard sometimes, but she never forgot how he'd reached across their increasing estrangement to give her tenderness and comfort when she needed it.

Hard knuckles rapped on the door, jarring her back to the present. "Time to get up," Donovan called. "If you're decent, I'll bring in a cup of coffee."

Kate rolled from the bed and grabbed her long bathrobe. Tying her sash, she unlocked and opened the door.

Donovan, bright-eyed and fully dressed, held a mug of coffee in each hand. She accepted one, muttering, "Morning people. Ugh."

"Luckily I was able to get you a seat on my flight, but we'll have to leave in less than half an hour. Don't forget that wool can't be worn once we start loading explosives. A static charge could set off the whole shooting match." His gaze avoided her.

She flushed as she became aware of her state of undress. "Right. Go on. I'll be ready in twenty minutes."

Donovan used to tease her about taking too much when they traveled. Not this time. She was traveling light, the perfect damned employee. She took a lightning swift shower, then finished the coffee as she dressed.