Interior Designs (8 page)

"This needs water," he told her, and Cathryn couldn't help but notice the black hair springing up from the back of his hand, a minor detail about him, but now only one of many details of which she was too aware.

"I—I hadn't noticed," she said, but she sounded anything but casual, and the words almost caught in her throat. Drew Sedgwick in her private place had an effect on her that she could never have foreseen. He was overpoweringly
there,
and her strong feelings about his presence disturbed and confused her.

She no longer saw him as a single impression, but viewed him feature by feature. He was gently tapered fingers; he was folds of suntanned golden skin at the elbows; he was a shadowed hollow of throat, a lean tendon beneath a jaw that seemed sculptured in strength.

"What kind of way is this for a woman to live?" he asked sharply, jolting her out of her trance. "You're earning a good living, you could travel, enjoy life. Instead, you hide yourself away from the world and everything in it."

"You're wrong," she said, feeling an anxious surge inside her and wondering if it was from anger at his curt questions or from something else. "The world and everything in it are at my fingertips, waiting to be shaped into beautiful places for people to live."

"In the meantime, the place where
you
live must be devoid of relationships and people to make it real and warm and alive?"

This was not the kind of man-woman conversation that usually took place during the initial stages of getting to know each other. She'd expected Drew to be curious and appreciative, and she was hurt that he was neither. Why was he delving so deep inside her and wanting to know complicated things? Why didn't he just leave her alone?

She didn't know what to say—this man made her nervous and unsure of herself, and she never knew what he was going to do next.

"You're retreating from me now, aren't you?" he demanded. "I can see it. You let your defenses take over, and the message is 'Leave me alone.'"

He knew. It was true, what he had said. She'd always cloaked herself in a thin garb of reserve, letting few people penetrate it, and even the resulting loneliness was a kind of protection. But no one, not even her closest friends, had ever had the audacity to comment on it.

He stood before her, his hands on her shoulders. His hands felt heavy there and strong. Her shoulders seemed fragile beneath them, bending under the weight.

She held her breath. She thought he would make his move, either invite himself into her bedroom or begin to impose upon her his considerable physical persuasion. But again, Drew Sedgwick surprised her.

"I'm going to melt that icy facade," he said mildly, a hint of a smile on his lips. At her blank and surprised look he said, "Oh, yes, Cathryn, I want to make love with you. But when it happens, it's going to be a conscious decision on your part, not just a spur-of-the-moment romp in bed. And it'll have to be something long-term, because I won't be satisfied with anything else."

He dropped his hands from her shoulders, and she felt at once bereft. She didn't want him to go now, but he wheeled and walked to the door. She started to follow, but he turned and shook his head.

"I'll let myself out," he said, stopping her in her tracks.

She stood there staring at him. She felt caught in the frame of a movie that had just inexplicably stopped.

"I think the ice is already melting," he said, his eyes glinting in the harsh overhead light. "Careful, don't let it drip on your toes. I wouldn't want you to get cold feet." Then, with a wink, he was gone, leaving her staring down at her naked feet.

* * *

The next morning, as was her habit, Cathryn went for an early-morning run on Palm Beach. She seldom encountered anyone during these jogging sessions, but that morning she saw a swimmer out in the ocean, his arms slicing precisely and rhythmically through the calm water in a perfect crawl.

She jogged on until she reached the jetty, where she turned around before heading back toward her apartment building. The swimmer was emerging from the sea, his skin slick and glowing in the light of the sunrise. She noted his regal bearing, his broad nose, his high, round cheekbones and full, well-defined lips—it was Drew. She jogged five more steps, counting them. And then she stopped.

She wasn't prepared for the sudden lurch of her heart when she saw him wading toward her through the shallow water, and she smiled at him uncertainly. He'd made his intentions to pursue her clear enough, and though she was flattered, she was anything but comfortable about it.

"We can't go on meeting like this," Drew said melodramatically, pulling a towel from a waterproof carryall at the water's edge and drying himself. She watched him pull the towel down over his shoulders, recalling how his muscles had felt beneath her hands. A thick mat of hair covered his chest and a formidable six-pack, disappearing into brief navy-blue swim trunks.

She reluctantly pulled her eyes away from his body, looking off toward the horizon where blue met darker blue at the seam of sea and sky.

"How did you know I'd be here?" she asked. Their meeting was too convenient to be an accident.

"Turney senior told me that you like to run early in the morning. I like to start out my day with a swim, and even though I've been swimming every morning in the pool at my apartment building, there's no reason why I can't swim in the ocean. In fact," he said, shamelessly running his eyes down her figure, "there seems to be every reason why I should."

"And what now?" she asked.

"I have an idea," he said quickly. "I know another beach where the jogging is great. Why don't you run on back to your apartment and pick up a swimsuit?"

"Drew, these new jobs I took on will take a lot of time and—"

"Didn't we agree last night that it's best to delegate? Besides, it's Saturday. I'm taking time off, aren't I? You should, too."

His arguments were good, very good. "Where is this other beach, anyway?" Without her realizing it, they had begun to walk toward her apartment building together. The towel around Drew's shoulders swung with each step they took. She avoided looking at it and at him.

"Hobe Sound. It's about an hour's drive north, and I've got some property I want to check on, but I don't want to go by myself. You can come along for the ride. I'll bring food and drinks. And you may run on the beach to your heart's content as long as you don't run away from me." When she dared to look up, he was looking down at her with warmth and affection, and more than that, concern. He really did think that she worked too hard.

She smiled up at him, thoroughly amazed by his caring. She never played when she should be working, and she always seemed to be working. For some reason, at this perfect moment on this glorious blue-and-gold beach, there was nothing she could refuse him. Suddenly her mind was made up.

"Pick me up in half an hour," she said. Then, tossing her hair back over her shoulders, she walked briskly toward her apartment building before she could change her mind.

The property Drew was going to check on turned out to be the beachfront house—an elegant and imposing place—that Drew had shared with his ex-wife.

"I moved out after the divorce," he explained as he turned his Porsche off the oceanfront highway into the broad driveway shaded by two enormous banyan trees. "I found that an apartment in Palm Beach was better suited to my needs. I love this house, and maybe someday I'll feel like moving back here."

Cathryn studied the house curiously as Drew opened the front door: cedar-shake roof, well-weathered by sun and salt air; St. Augustine grass, broad-bladed, clipped and edged, evidence of a gardener's expertise; tall hibiscus hedge with double red-ruffled blossoms; a spreading sea grape tree; a child's faded plastic beach ball, abandoned and forgotten behind a bank of wildly colored croton bushes. Wide-louvered shutters were tipped open at the bottom of all the windows, Bahamian-style.

It was the kind of place she'd love to decorate. Had he been serious when he'd mentioned that he'd like her to design an interior for him sometime? Was this the house he'd had in mind?

Inside, the shutters let in light but not sun, creating a cool, shadowy interior. Furniture was shrouded by white muslin dust covers so that it was difficult to discover anything about the decor. Spanish tiles felt cool underfoot along a wide gallery, and thick carpet cushioned her sandaled feet as they crossed the living room. Cathryn couldn't help a bit of rubbernecking, wondering if the furnishings reflected Drew's taste or his ex-wife's or a combination of both.

Suddenly a scrap of bright red-and-white-striped cotton fabric behind a chair caught her eye. Curiously she stooped to pick it up, sensing that it was out of place in this formal room. It was a Raggedy Ann doll, well worn and well loved. She turned it over in her hands, then shot a questioning look at Drew.

Drew saw her bend over. He stopped with a peculiar expression on his face and slowly, almost reluctantly, reached out to take the doll from her. His hands held it carefully, gently, as he stared down at it. He seemed unaware of Cathryn's presence, and very much alone.

In the dim light of the shuttered room, Cathryn found the feelings that flitted across Drew's face almost embarrassing to behold: anger, denial, grief. She was an observant person. She had to be aware of emotions and feelings in other people in her day-to-day dealings with clients. She sensed that the emotion on Drew's face was very real.

Neither of them spoke until Drew, with great effort, seemed to pull himself back to the present time and place. He looked at Cathryn almost as if he were surprised to find her standing beside him. His eyes revealed a raw suffering that she had not seen there before.

"This is my daughter's," he said, looking down at the Raggedy Ann doll helplessly. "Selby's."

The doll was a symbol, and it brought Drew up short at a time when he had been looking forward to what the day would bring. To what Cathryn would bring. The doll made him see that he still had a long way to go before he made peace with his past and, once and for all, laid it to rest.

He lifted his eyes to Cathryn's. Her expression, so deeply warm and sympathetic, comforted him. An overpowering emotion, too strong merely to be called joy, grew in his heart.

He had the growing hope that he was no longer alone. Whatever inner battles remained for him to fight, whatever was required before he could truly outgrow his painful tragedy, he would have Cathryn. He didn't know how he knew this. He simply knew, and it was with a great sense of exhilaration that he recognized her importance to him.

For the first time in a long time, the future looked bright.

Chapter 5

For Cathryn, the moment was full of uncertainties. The way he stared at her, the impact of so many complicated emotions flitting across his face—she dared not analyze them, not here, not now. She only knew that what he was feeling was intensely private unless he chose to include her in his thoughts. What was important to her was that he felt something and that he made no effort to conceal the fact that he had feelings. Most men would have.

She attempted to bridge the moment with ordinary conversation. She managed to speak quietly, calmly. "Your daughter never asked for her doll? Never missed it?"

"I don't know. I—I haven't seen her since she and her mother left. It's been over a year."

"You don't talk on the phone?"

"Yes, but it's not the same. If I call, Talma says she's sleeping, or that she's with her play group or at school. When they were out of the country, there was the time-zone problem. I don't get to talk to Selby half as much as I'd like, and when I do, Talma's always listening. I wish it were easier."

A silence. "You must miss Selby very much," Cathryn said carefully.

"I feel as though part of my heart has been torn out," he said fiercely, and the anguish in his tone startled her. But she was also touched by his pained acknowledgment. What affected her so deeply was that Drew trusted her enough to her to pour out his heart. In her estimation, it took a lot of guts for him to do that.

There was nothing to do then but to reach out for him and somehow to share the pain. All the compassion within her welled up and went out to him, and her arms of their own volition opened up and clasped him in a strong and supportive embrace. He held on to her with a forlorn desperation as though she were all the things that he had been forced to relinquish. This strong man, who had impressed her with his commanding presence, was as vulnerable as she was.