Damon, Lee (38 page)

Ignoring her eager questions, he tugged her after him into the living room. "It's on the sofa."

She turned and took a step forward, then stopped short, staring incredulously at the dress draped over the sofa. It can't possibly be the same one, she thought, as her mind formed a picture of a much younger Kitt turning and gliding in O'Mara's arms, enjoying his admiration of her softly swirling dress patterned in shades of blue and green. Slowly, still half-convinced it was a mirage, she moved to the sofa and picked up the dress. Holding it against herself with both hands, she swung around to look at O'Mara in delighted wonder.

"It's the same," she said dazedly. "I swear it is. Same colors, same swirly pattern, same design. Oh, you darling, how ever did you find a dress just like that one?"

"I didn't," he stated, his face mirroring her pleasure. "I spotted the material in a shop window in Zurich on the second day of the trip. I must have stood there for five minutes staring at it, trying to figure out why it looked familiar, until I finally remembered that dress you wore on our last date. The clerk figured out the yardage from my description and—What are you doing?"

With her back turned to him, Kitt was pulling off the shirt he'd just lent her. "Trying it on, silly." She dropped the dress over her head, catching the halter top as the soft folds of the skirt slithered down her legs. Nimble fingers zipped and hooked, and she spun around to face him, sending the skirt whirling and floating around her legs.

"I love it. I love you." She took a couple of dancing steps toward him and threw her arms around his neck, going up on tiptoe to kiss him, her mouth lingering on his as she felt his arms close about her.

For a few moments, he held her against him, enjoying her newfound confidence as she eagerly explored his mouth, before finally easing her back a few inches so he could look at her. Well pleased with her response to his gift, his mouth widened in a slow, satisfied smile.

"You're welcome," he murmured teasingly as his hands tightened on her hips and one eyebrow lifted in mocking inquiry. "I can't wait to see how you'll thank me for your ring."

"What ring?"

"The one I'm having made for you. No, don't ask. I'm not telling you any more. It's a surprise."

"Why do I feel as though I'm in the middle of one of your plots? Oh, all right," she said crossly over his laughter. "I won't ask—I'll let it all just happen. Now, finish telling me about my dress." She gazed at him expectantly, while her hands, seemingly of their own accord, drifted up to play in the curls on his chest.

"If you don't stop
that,
my girl, we'll be finishing this discussion in your bedroom... in a couple of hours. Or maybe longer." He grabbed her hands, chuckling at her rapidly changing expressions of chagrin, disappointment and, finally, a very feminine awareness.

"Oh, no. Get that seductive gleam out of your eye, my love. When I take you to bed for the first time, it's
not
going to be in the middle of the afternoon with a strong possibility of being interrupted in the next half-hour." Turning her around and giving her a light slap on the bottom, he added, "Why don't you run and change, while I fix some coffee? And be a good wench and cover up some of that distracting skin! We've got to discuss your skinny admirer, and I'd like to do it before Ed Bancroft shows up."

Startled, she turned back and gasped, "How did you know?"

"How could I not know? I came in through the shop, and Midge practically climbed up me in excitement, talking at approximately fifteen hundred words a minute, with nary a breath in between them. However, I will say that she's done a masterful job organizing protection. I think she's got half the town involved. Can't imagine why he hasn't been spotted, unless you and Hero scared him into the next state."

Which was not entirely true. He could think of a couple of reasons, the most likely being that the rather inept housebreaker had decided to lie low for a few days before getting up the courage to try again. It was highly unlikely that he'd realize how many times he'd been spotted and just how much had been pieced together about his activities.

O'Mara automatically fixed two mugs of coffee, his agile mind busy considering various possibilities. He didn't think that a howling dog and a flash of light would permanently frighten off a man who had apparently spent over two weeks on a concentrated spying project. There was no question in O'Mara's mind that the spy was an amateur; he was much too obvious to be a professional. Mouth twisting in a disparaging smile, the big ex-spy briefly considered just how easy it would be to keep a close watch on an unsuspecting Kitt without ever being noticed.

Poking around for something to nibble on, he discovered that the cookie jar was full of chocolate chip cookies, and helped himself to a handful before settling down at the breakfast bar to wait for Kitt. Munching absently on a cookie, he stared at the refrigerator while he went back to second- guessing their scrawny spy and planning his personal campaign to catch him. O'Mara was much more interested in getting his hands on the young man and doing his own questioning than in helping the police pick him up. He doubted if the watcher had gone too far away, although if he had a modicum of sense, he'd have acquired another car. The trick was going to be in lulling the police or tossing them a red herring, calling off Midge's watchdogs and making it appear to anyone watching that everyone had given up interest. Then, with Ez's help—

"Hi! What are you so deep in thought about?" Kitt dropped onto the stool next to him and reached for her coffee. "I see you've raided the cookie jar."

"Mmmmm. They're good, even better than Andy's. You make them?"

"Of course. And don't eat them all, greedy, they're for Gus." She grinned at him, reaching to break off a piece of the cookie in his hand and nibble on it.

Glancing at the clock, he said, "I understand he's going to be here shortly, and so is Ed Bancroft. Now tell me quickly, before we're interrupted, just what's been going on."

"I thought Midge told you."

"She did, but I want to hear your version. Indulge me, love." He turned the full impact of a coaxing smile on her, and she gave in—albeit with a gleam in her eye that said clearly "I know what you're doing"—and concisely reviewed the recent happenings.

He listened attentively, sipping coffee and eating cookies, occasionally offering a piece to Hero who was sitting on his foot. It only took Kitt a few minutes to run through the facts and answer his two or three questions.

"What do you think he wants? Why would anyone be watching me?" she asked anxiously at the end.

"I'm not sure. There's a couple of things that come to mind, but—" He smiled at her reassuringly. "Let me think about it. Meanwhile, you stop worrying. I'm not about to let anyone bother you. Or Gus." He caught himself up, on the verge of mentioning that Ez would be there tomorrow, deciding that the fact of Ez coming up a day early would make her think things were more serious than they actually were. Briefly, he debated telling Ez to come up Friday as usual, but concluded that things would move faster in the direction he wanted them to go with both of them working on the problem. And the sooner the better.

"O'Mara?" Kitt's voice brought him back to the present. "Have you thought of something?"

"Lots of things," he said blandly. "For instance, I didn't finish telling you about your dress. After I bought the material in Zurich, I didn't have time to do anything with it until I got to Stockholm. I was going to be there for several days, so I found a dressmaker, sketched the dress I remembered and described as many details as I could recall, and she had it ready for me the day before I left."

"Sometimes, O'Mara, you are just too much. I can't believe you remembered that dress so perfectly after all these years."

"Well, it was a rather special dress, and a
very
special night." He leaned toward her, catching and holding her gaze. "The dress is only the beginning of what I remember... in vivid detail... sight, sound and... touch."

Again, Kitt had the odd feeling that the world was sort of going away somewhere. Her mind seemed to up-anchor and drift on a tide of pure sensation.
He's giving me hot flashes again. How can anyone have eyes that color? Maybe they just look like sapphires because of that dark tan. He must have spent most of his trip outdoors. I'll never win an argument. All he has to do is look at me like that and,
"if he doesn't stop it, I'll start taking off my clothes again, right now."

O'Mara threw back his head and shouted with laughter. Kitt turned flaming red and clapped both hands over her mouth.

"Oh, damn," she wailed, "did I say that out loud?"

He was wiping away tears and still breaking up in spurts of laughter when they heard thudding feet on the stairs and Gus yelling, "Dad! Hey, Dad, when did you get home? Did you hear what happened to Kitt?"

He ran across the living room, Hero at his heels, and threw himself into his father's arms. Over O'Mara's shoulder, Gus winked impishly at Kitt and teased, "Hey, Kitt, aren't you glad he's back? Now you'll have someone besides me to hug and kiss you. I'll bet Dad's even better at it than I am."

O'Mara grinned at him. "You know it."

Kitt stood and stretched, then leaned over to reach out and hook a finger around Gus's belt, pulling him toward her until they were nose-to-nose. Crossing their eyes, they giggled at each other, and then Kitt said, in a comforting tone, "Don't feel bad, Gus. It's just that he's been practicing longer. Give it a few more years and you'll be every bit as good at huggin' and kissin' as he is." Her voice dropped to a loud whisper. "Maybe even better."

With a smile that could only be described as doting, O'Mara watched the easy rapport between his son and a Kitt who seemed to be getting younger and gayer with every passing hour. He listened to their laughing give-and-take as they raided the refrigerator and cookie jar. Appreciatively, he let his eyes wander over Kitt's slim but far from delicate form, admiring the snug fit of her white jeans and slate-blue knit shirt. She turned and caught him at it, and for a long, intense moment, her gaze locked with his in a heated exchange of silent messages that fairly scorched the air between them. At last, with visible effort, they broke the contact and turned their attention back to Gus, both of them secure in the knowledge that their long wait for total fulfillment of their love was almost at an end.

Chapter 20

By Thursday afternoon, Kitt was feeling more than slightly frustrated. She was also developing a strong desire to lay unfriendly hands on the scrawny cause of her immediate problems. Heaving book cartons out of her way with wild abandon, she stomped around the storeroom sorting out a huge UPS delivery and wishing vindictively that she could throw the heavy cartons right at the head of her pesky watcher.

She finally slumped down on a stack of boxes to catch her breath and rub her aching arm muscles. With a rueful grimace, she chided herself for getting so worked up in the first place. It really was rather stupid. After all, there was no question in either her mind or O'Mara's that they had overcome her fears and would be able to have a normal physical relationship—if one could call the strength and depth of their need for each other "normal." And if they had waited this long, surely another day or two wouldn't matter.

But it did. She'd wanted, expected, needed to be with him last night, and had spent half the evening in a state of heated anticipation, barely aware of all the comings and goings as O'Mara got things organized his way. Her mind was centered on being alone with him that night, all barriers gone, free to be naked and loving with him, learning how to please him, discovering at last the full measure of joy and ecstasy that he'd promised her. She'd wanted to sleep in his arms and awaken in the morning to find him beside her. Her eyes had savored the long, strong line of his back as he leaned forward talking to Eddie and Roger, and she'd thought about taking a shower with him and running soapy hands over that same back. As if he felt her eyes on him, he'd turned his head and captured her in that glinting blue gaze, a slow, sensual smile widening his mouth as he read her mind.

Damn!
She kicked a carton of books in remembered frustration, and then pulled her foot up into her lap to rub her bruised toes through the soft suede of her ankle boots. For a fleeting moment, she wished it had been that aggravating man's shin she'd kicked. He knew,
knew,
what she'd been thinking about all evening and, if he was so damn clever, there must have been some way he could have worked things out so that they could have spent the night together. But, oh, no. She'd ended up with Midge again, plus Roger happily sprawled out in a sleeping bag in the living room playing guard dog, while her almost-mate took himself back to the Rock and that lovely big bed—alone! And all because of some nosy little twit.

Muttering unprintable imprecations, Kitt settled herself cross-legged on her stack of boxes and stewed. She knew she was letting her disappointment over the ending to the evening get out of proportion, but she'd built up such hopes and had assumed that O'Mara was just as eager as she was to end the waiting. Well, to be fair, he probably was. And in a way, she could understand why he had decided to wait until they'd solved their little mystery. It would be a distraction to have to keep one ear cocked for lockpickers or be worrying about the cops checking in periodically or calling with news. But still—

"Kitt! What the hell is the matter with you? Are you sick?"

Ez's bellow jerked her back to the present, literally, as she jumped and whacked her head against the wall.

"Ow! You great oaf, what are you trying to do—scare me witless? And what are you doing here, anyway? It's only Thursday," she snapped crossly, rubbing the back of her head. "I wasn't sick until you came roaring in here. Now I've got a headache. Pea-brain!"

"What am I supposed to think? Midge says you're back here unpacking books, and I find you sitting there, rocking back and forth and muttering to yourself like a demented Buddhess."