Damon, Lee (11 page)

Falling back on the bed, she rolled over onto her stomach and wrapped her arms around the pillow. She closed her eyes, and the fuzzy picture that had been trying to coalesce sharpened and became dimensional.

The hotel, the people, the music were far behind, out of sight and hearing. They walked on the hard-packed sand near the water, the wide, empty beach stretching out ahead of them to darkness. The nearly full moon hovering over the ocean cast a rippling silver path mat seemed to move with them. The sea was calm, the half-tide waves small. Their shushing and the crunch of O'Mara's shoes on the sand were the only sounds. Caught up in the magic of a once-in-a-lifetime night, they walked as if in a dream, linked by their tightly elapsed hands, occasionally turning from the silvered sea to look at each other.

Kitt was barefoot, her shoes and his tie tucked in the pockets of the jacket slung over his shoulder. He'd undone the top buttons of the ruffled shirt and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, and the dense fur on his arms looked frosted in the shimmering light. They didn't speak at all during the long walk. They didn't need to—they were absorbing each other through their senses. The warmth of his hand spread from hers through her entire body. Whenever she met the intent look in his eyes, she could feel a fevered yearning welling up from the core of her being.

His face was all sharp planes in the cool light, the skin taut over the prominent bones and tightened muscles. His dark hair was ruffled by the same soft breeze that pressed her long skirt against her legs, emphasizing their long, slim length. Every few minutes, a frisson tingled over her skin as all the fine hairs rose on her arms and legs and across the base of her spine. Becauseof the low back and deep vee of the halter top of her dress, she wasn't wearing a bra, and due to the warm evening, she hadn't worn stockings. Now, she was sensuously aware of the silky brushing of the soft material against her body, naked under the dress except for nylon bikini briefs.

She looked at O'Mara, wondering if he knew how little she was wearing, and realized that he must after the way his hands had moved over her. In that silent communication they shared, she knew that he was aware of what she was feeling. Keeping his eyes on hers, he slowed his steps, and then, gently pulling her after him, moved at an angle across the deeper sand toward the dunes rising behind the beach. She gazed around dreamily, and one part of her mind registered that they were just short of the last bend in the beach before coming into sight of her cottage. She stopped when O'Mara paused at one of the paths leading up into the dunes.

She lifted her face, thinking he was going to kiss her, and the dark blaze of his eyes burned into her, stopping her breath and rocking her on her feet. She wavered, trying to catch her balance, her lips parted to draw air into her empty lungs, and her eyes widened with instinctive awareness as her senses responded to a flaring sexual need that her mind did not yet understand. He tightened his grip on her hand to support her while she regained her equilibrium, and bent his head to brush a light kiss across her mouth. When he lifted his head, his face had relaxed into a smile.

"I want to kiss you goodnight," he said huskily, "but not on your porch and not in the middle of the beach."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Will you come up here for a few minutes? I know a sheltered place where we can still see the ocean."

"Yes."

They climbed the path, slipping a bit in the soft sand, and at the top he led her to the right until they reached a small hollow between two dunes. The side toward the beach was worn away, and when they sat down, they could see that the glistening path of moonlight was still beckoning them across the water. They sat quietly, side by side, not quite touching. After a few minutes, catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned her head and watched in dazed curiosity as he emptied sand from his shoes, then stuffed his socks into them. Pickingup his jacket, he pulled her shoes out of the pockets and tossed them over beside his. He twisted around toward her and reached back to spread the jacket on the sand behind her.

She waited, barely breathing, watching the play of muscles under his shirt as he moved. Her eyes lingered on the darkness of the thick furring of hair on his forearms and in the opening of his shirt. On the beach, she'd often teased him about how furry he was and had run her palm over the dense mat of soft curls on his chest. Now, she wondered what they would feel like against her bare skin, and suddenly raised her eyes to meet his and knew he was reading her mind. His mouth quirked in a half-smile, and he leaned toward her, braced on one arm, his other hand sliding slowly around her waist and across her bare back, pulling her into his kiss.

Her mind turned off; her head was full of swirling mist; there was nothing left of the familiar world but sensation. The smell of salt and the faint residue of his aftershave lotion. The hardness of his arm under her head, the pressure of his fingers gripping her shoulder, the softness of his jacket against her back. His mouth was tender on hers, the warm, moist tip of his tongue brushing back and forth on the sensitive inner flesh of her lower lip. She wanted him closer and tightened her arm around his back, burying the fingers of her other hand in the soft thickness of his hair.

His lips firmed and moved demandingly on hers to open her mouth wider for the passionate thrusting of his tongue. She fought for breath as the weight of his torso pressed her against the sand, but pulled him closer still with all her strength. Then his hand was tugging on her arm, pulling it down from his shoulder, and he lifted away from her until his chest was barely touching her. His mouth slowly eased its pressure, and he whispered against her lips, "Unbutton my shirt, love. I want to feel your hands on me and your skin against mine."

Her hand trembled as she slid it between them, and her fingers fumbled with the buttons. "Don't be scared, my Kitt, I just want to love you a little," he whispered, tracing the line of her jaw with his mouth. "I'm not going to do anything you're not ready for." She felt his hand moving at her nape and then the pads of his fingers trailing lightly across her collarbone and down between her breasts. The soft material of her halter tickled her taut nipples as he slid it down to her waist.

When his large, warm hand closed gently over her breast, she moaned his name and restlessly turned her head back and forth, pressing it hard against the sand as she instinctively arched her back, offering her breast to his descending mouth. Her hands stroked the hard ridges of muscles and ribs and then gripped convulsively as his gently tugging lips drew waves of spiraling heat from deep within her body. Twisting and turning, trying to press her full length against him, she was lost in the driving needs of instinctive sexual reaction, responding reflexively to the passionate arousal of his hands and mouth. From a dim distance, she could hear a moaning litany of "Please, please, O'Mara, please," and then his mouth was on hers, opening it wide with bruising force, and his full weight came down on top of her.

Kitt snapped to awareness at the sound of footsteps coming down the hall and Ez's low voice talking to Hero. Drawing a deep, painful breath, she realized that all her muscles were knotted with tension and that she had been holding her breath in the excitement of achingly vivid memories. Forcing herself to breathe slowly and steadily, she consciously relaxed her tight muscles. There was a soft click of .Ez's door closing, followed by muted sounds as he moved around getting ready for bed. She heard Hero pushing open her door and then felt a slight jar as he jumped onto the bed and thumped down by her leg.

Closing her eyes, she concentrated on blackness, refusing to let any more memories surface, and in a few minutes Nature took over and dropped her into a deep sleep. It wasn't until the predawn hour, when her internal clock was starting to bring her out of sound sleep, that the dreams began. At first, they were the nice dreams that O'Mara had wished her—scenes from the long-ago summers and, finally, as she tossed restlessly and kicked off the covers, the continuation of her earlier memories of that last night. She twisted in the lighter sleep and one arm lifted and reached out as she pictured O'Mara suddenly rolling away from her and sitting up, head down on his arms resting against his upraised knees, his back heaving with deep, rasping breaths as he fought for control. She lay stunned for a moment and then pushed up on one elbow, oblivious to her half-naked state, and reached to put her hand on his back. He spun around, fist raised and swinging at her face, and she screamed as she realized it was Leon's face, contorted with rage, that was behind the moving arm. She rolled frantically to avoid the blow and came awake as she landed in a sprawl on the floor.

Pushing herself to her knees, shaken with deep, dry sobs, she didn't hear Ez's call or the thud of his running feet. Her numbed mind was just beginning to register her surroundings as he dropped to his knees beside her and his big hands closed gently on her shoulders.

"Kitt, are you all right? What was it, another dream? You screamed. It's been a long time since you've done that."

"I'm... I'm okay," she gulped, trying to get control. "Let me stand up. I'll be all right in a minute."

He stood, pulling her up, and reached for the robe draped over the foot of the bed. "Here, put this on; you don't need a cold along with everything else."

"You're a fine one to talk." She laughed shakily. "I'll bet you don't even know where the top to those PJs is. You're coming out in goose bumps."

"Never mind me. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Now that I'm awake, I'm fine." She pushed her tangled hair back. "Look, why don't you go back to bed. I was going to get up in another half-hour anyhow. O'Mara's picking me up at five-thirty. Now that I'm more or less awake, I'll have a cup of coffee and then get dressed."

"Oh, well, I'm awake now, too, at least temporarily. I'll have coffee with you and then sleep a few more hours." He pushed her toward the door. "You go get the coffee ready while I put on a sweater. It really is freezing in here. I'll turn on the heater in the bathroom," he called after her. "It should be warm by the time you finish your coffee."

Chapter 7

An hour later, in the gray light of dawn, the scrunch of tires on gravel sent Kitt dashing for the door, Hero bounding at her heels. They reached the foot of the stairs in time to see O'Mara extricating himself from an elegant, cream-colored sports car, whose classic lines were in sharp contrast to his very casual attire.

Kitt stopped a few feet from him, and they both started laughing as they eyed each other's worn running shoes, faded jeans and black and gray alpaca sweaters—his sweater was gray with a black design, worn over a black cotton-knit turtleneck, while hers was gray on black over a white turtleneck.

"Great minds?" Kitt asked.

"ESP. We've always had it. This just proves it's still working." He grinned, walking around to open her door and tilt the seat forward. "Into the back, Hero. Come on, let's go or we'll miss sunrise."

She tucked herself into the low bucket seat, glancing around the luxurious interior of black leather and walnut while he walked around and slid behind the wheel. Eyeing the complexities of the instrument panel, she asked, "Whatever is this piece of extravagance called? And what happened to the jeep?"

Tossing her a quick grin as he pulled out of the lot, he scolded, "Woman, speak with respect. This is a Mercedes 450SL. The hardtop comes off in another week or so, and it's a convertible for the summer." He gave her a sly look from the corner of his eye and added, "You'll love it."

Ignoring the provocation, she shook her head and sighed mournfully, "It's a shame how success changes people. I remember when you were a man of simple tastes, who appreciated sunrises and watching sandpipers scurry along the beach, and were perfectly happy with your charming old Chevy."

O'Mara tried to say something, choked on his laughter and finally managed to gasp, "You've got a wicked tongue, to say nothing of a faulty memory. That charming Chevy was falling apart. You should know—you helped push it often enough. And I still like sunrises. I'm taking you to one, aren't I?" Serious now, he glanced at her and said consideringly, "As for my tastes, they couldn't have been all that simple. I chose you, didn't I, and there was never anything simple about you, my girl. Innocent, yes, but never simple."

Her head jerked around, and she stared at him disbelievingly. "What... what do you mean you 'chose' me? We were friends... the three of us were friends... and whatever happened between you and me just sort of happened."

"Kitt, Kitt, you make an elegant ostrich. But if you feel more comfortable believing that's the way it was, go on believing it. For a while. But we've already lost too many years. I'm not going to let you slip through my fingers again."

"O'Mara...." Kitt took a deep breath. She was half-turned in the seat, watching his face, trying to decipher his expression. "I don't understand... All right, there was something between us, maybe... love, or the beginning of it... I was never sure. You were the first man who'd ever touched me or really kissed me. Afterward, in those first months at college, I used to think about us a lot and try to figure out whether what I felt was just a crush or... the real thing. If I could have seen you again, or even if you had called me... but there were just those few chatty letters about your new job and not a word about us, and then nothing."

He was frowning, his lips pressed together in a thin line, by the time she finished speaking. She couldn't see his eyes to read his expression, but she did notice that his knuckles whitened as his tanned hands clenched over the steering wheel. Not sure that this was the right time to discuss the past, she was still impelled by the memory of those sleepless nights and the hurt she had felt when he had apparently dropped her without a word of explanation. And it
had
hurt. Oh, how it had hurt.