Interior Designs (9 page)

His dark head bent toward hers, and her warm cheek found its place against his. There was no evidence of sexuality in this embrace, only comfort. And although Cathryn was glad to be able to give this comfort, she felt even more relieved that this was a man who didn't feel uneasy about receiving it. His arms tightened around her, as if drawing strength from her body.

"Let's put the doll away," he said quietly when they had held each other for a time, she didn't know how long. "Would you like to see Selby's room?"

She nodded. "I'd like that," she said, touched.

He took her hand in his and, holding Raggedy Ann in the other hand, he led her down a long hall and opened the first door on the right.

In this room nothing was hidden by dust covers. Everything was clean and bright and ready, as though the room's occupant were only going to be out for the day and then return to sleep in the narrow bed as usual.

The room was decorated in a circus motif, with a parade of clowns and elephants dancing around the wallpaper border just below the ceiling. The spread was a handsome handmade circus quilt, and big, bright throw pillows were scattered about the floor for informal seating.

Drew set the Raggedy Ann doll carefully on the bed and looked at it for a moment before reluctantly pulling his eyes away. He led Cathryn to a framed photograph on the wall. It was of a little girl with glossy black hair and blue eyes, and she was laughing at Drew. She was perhaps six years old.

"This is Selby," he said.

Cathryn studied the picture. Father and daughter looked very much alike. In the long gallery she had noticed the portrait of a woman she suspected was Talma, but she'd averted her eyes when she saw it, so she didn't know if Selby resembled her mother at all.

"Selby's extremely pretty."

"Yes, she is. Of course, this picture was taken over a year ago. She lives in New York with her mother now. I have legal recourse but feel that a custody battle at this time might be too difficult for Selby. We were very close."

He ran a hand over his eyes for a moment, then continued. "Her mother left me, presumably to pursue a career as an actress, but really to be with an actor, Alfredo Something-or-other, whom she met when he was working at the Palm Beach Theater. I'd give anything to have Selby with me. In fact, I'd prefer it, because I don't think Talma's a fit mother. As I said, I'm afraid of the effect a custody battle would have on Selby right now, so all I can do is negotiate to have her visit this summer, and I hope she will."

Cathryn nodded. "Then will you open up this house?"

Drew shrugged, and the sad expression behind his eyes grew even more intense. "I don't know. I suppose it depends on Selby. I'm not sure her memories of her final days here are pleasant ones. There was a lot of anger between Talma and me, and Selby cried inconsolably when we told her about the divorce. She was distraught by the time she and Talma finally left. Otherwise she never would have left Raggedy Ann behind. I wonder how Talma handled that. Selby wouldn't go anywhere without that doll."

"Perhaps Talma bought her a new one," said Cathryn, trying to inject a hopeful note. It moved her that this man, usually so ebullient, was allowing her to see him defenseless. There was no sense of his wanting her pity, and there was no self-pity, either. There was just a trusting openness that was rare between two people and a humanness that she found endearing.

"Perhaps she bought her a new one," repeated Drew, although he didn't sound convinced. He drew a deep breath. "Well. This isn't why we came here. Let's head to the beach."

He took her by the hand again and led her through the dim house, and this time as she walked past the shrouded furniture, she almost thought she saw the slim line of a child's leg disappearing around a corner and heard the echo of a little girl's laughter in a faraway room. No wonder Drew hadn't wanted to come here by himself. The place was full of ghosts.

She breathed a sigh of relief when they reached a large kitchen. Sun flooded the room, stinging her eyes but chasing the shadows. Here all ghosts faded, and Drew, with an effort, managed to look more like himself.

Along the back of the house was a raised deck, screened and awninged and with a marvelous view of sand dunes and ocean beyond. Between the deck and the dunes grew one fabulous old scrub oak tree with wide branches that almost swept the ground in places.

"This is lovely, Drew," she said.

"I think so, too," he said. He slipped a casual arm around her shoulders, hugging her close.

She welcomed the embrace. She felt emotionally drained, and she suspected that he did, too.

"Let's take a blanket and lie on the sand," he said. "Do you need to change clothes?"

She shook her head. "I wore my swimsuit under my shorts."

They made their way down to the ocean side of the dunes, where he looked down at the gauzy strawberry-red top she wore over white shorts that showed off her tanned legs. She'd worn her hair pinned up for coolness and comfort. "Nice togs," he said. "Better than that heavy vest you wore this morning. Where is it written that runners have to look like the Pillsbury doughboy?"

"It gets cool in the morning sometimes."

"I know," he said. "Next time you're feeling cold, let me know. I'm sure I'll be able to think of some way to warm you up."

"Warm me up, melt the ice," Cathryn said with mock exaggeration, glad that their mood had taken a turn for the better. "You can't seem to talk about anything else."

"I can't seem to think of anything else," he said, helping her to spread the blanket and then pulling off his shorts and shirt.

She thought he would look away as she undressed, but he didn't. He watched with interest but made no comment. Self-consciously she removed her shorts, feeling awkward under his gaze, and she sat down before she pulled off her blouse. This was ridiculous, she told herself. It wasn't the same as undressing in front of a man, say, in a bedroom, and she suspected that if it
were
a bedroom, she wouldn't feel nearly as modest.

Stripped down to her white bikini, she settled herself beside him on the blanket, inhaling the tangy salt air and digging her toes into the warm sand. Little sandpipers scurried on matchstick legs ahead of the waves, looking for whatever it was they always searched for in the sand at the edge of the sea. Other houses, far apart, lined the beach, but she and Drew were the only people in sight.

Drew lay beside her on his back, his eyes closed, his face at peace, all traces of emotional turmoil gone. It amused him that she'd been so inhibited about taking her clothes off. Obviously she wasn't used to putting on that kind of performance in front of a man, which he found reassuring. Despite her occasional coolness, he didn't think she was prudish. He'd found her too passionate for that. But it was clear that she wasn't the kind of woman who spread her favors around indiscriminately, either.

Cathryn rolled over on her stomach and raised herself on her elbows. She'd never seen Drew in repose before. Until now, he'd always been filled with a dynamic energy that threatened to overwhelm anything and everything around him.

Drew's chest muscles swelled with a definition that made her want to reach out her hand and touch him. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that seemed familiar, and she found that her own breathing, she didn't know whether consciously or unconsciously, was timed to his. His black lashes swept up, so long that they cast shadows across his cheekbones. What was it that she and Judy had done with their eyelashes when they were kids? Oh, yes, butterfly kisses. You batted your eyelashes against someone's cheek to give a butterfly kiss. Drew looked as though he would be very good at it.

She should have known that he would open his eyes and see her watching him, staring at him as though entranced.

"What were you thinking about just then—no, don't pull away." He reached out quick as lightning and captured her face with his hand.

"Butterfly kisses," she said.

"Butterfly kisses," he repeated, as though the words were foreign words and made no sense. His pupils expanded, blending with the irises in incredibly dark pools, and he tightened his fingers on her face before bringing her closer with the sheer magnetism of his eyes. Then his arm was around her, pulling her across the top of him, so that the hair on his chest touched her breasts just above the tiny bikini top.

Her left arm slid under his shoulder, so easily and naturally, and her other hand found a place on his chest. He said nothing, nor did she. Their eyes held, searched, found. In silent assent her lips parted and dipped toward his.

Against the inside of her wrist, she could feel his heart pulse. His nipple stiffened and hardened beneath her fingertips, and easily, slowly she caressed it. When at last he released her lips with a low moan, she bent her head to touch his nipple with her tongue, sensing herself go dizzy with the feel of his chest against her lips. He eased his fingers through her hair until he found the barrettes and removed them so that the long, silken strands tumbled around her face and across his body.

"So what do you say you give me one of those butterfly kisses?" he said.

Slowly she lowered her head, and in the breathlessness that followed, she batted her eyelids against his cheek. Once, twice, three times, until he said, "Oh, Cathryn, what a delight you are."

His hands, gentler than she would have imagined, caressed her spine, pausing at the small of her back to tickle the sensitive spot there, then rippling tantalizingly away again. She felt her breath rising in gasps, and he drew her into a long, deep, satisfying kiss to which she responded as she had never responded to any other man.

There was no awkwardness in their movements, just mounting sensation sweeping over them in waves like the movement of the sea. The warm sun made them languorously slow, and there was no sense of hurry or doubt.

Above him, the sun limned her in golden light. Dancing rays shimmered through the curtain of her hair as it fell toward him, brushing his chest, and her eyes were liquid gold. He didn't mistake the desire reflected there but understood the message that she found in him exactly what he found in her—consideration, caring, companionship and something more, something transcendental.

Excitement shot hot sparks through him at the thought that this woman, whom he had wanted for so long, who had held him lovingly when he couldn't control the pain of losing the two who had been most dear to him, that this woman wanted him. It seemed too good to be true, and her desire inflamed his own.

He found her lips irresistible, her breath sweet and arousing. He pulled her hard against him, stroking the nape of her neck as they kissed, until he felt her trembling before she let her weight fall on him, her breasts crushed against his chest.

She tried not to tremble so, but she couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the grace with which he touched her and the sheer magnetism of his expression. She closed her eyes and reveled in feelings that she had not known existed. His mouth roamed to her ear, her throat, her eyes, her hair—seeking her out, touching, drifting, pleasuring its way to the top of her bikini, where his breath seared her skin.

She responded with passion he could hardly have imagined. He could scarcely resist tugging aside the insignificant triangles of fabric that covered her. But no, he could hardly do that here, although the beach was deserted now. Anyone could come along.

Her voluptuousness, new and startling, almost undid him. The thought surfaced in a flash, a burst of insight: was he falling in love with her?

He liked her, was fascinated by her, and had longed to pursue her even when she gave him no hope. He knew with certainty that she belonged in his life. All of that was possible without love. The deeply moving feelings he had for her were special and infinitely real—but love? The word encompassed so much that he was reluctant to attach it to any woman, no matter how much he trusted or cared about her.

He stopped kissing her and let his hands fall away from her smooth skin. The change startled her so that her eyes opened and widened, and she softened upon recognizing the expression on his face.

The intense emotion amazed her, although afterward she would wonder why she felt amazement when his wonder mirrored her own. Tears stung the back of her throat, but they weren't unhappy tears. In a kind of awakening, Cathryn knew that she wanted this man, here and now, and he wanted her. And it was more than physical satisfaction that they both sought.

She wouldn't have dreamed that this could happen—everything that she thought she believed was against such a situation developing. But all her fears had dissolved in those moments earlier when he had let down his guard. If he had been able to share his emotions with her, surely she could let down her guard, too.

Their shared emotion was so deep that she feared to give it a name, although she was familiar, vaguely, with this feeling. A few short months ago she would never have given in to it, but that was before she had found Drew Sedgwick. She'd never met a man like him before. He had proved to her without even trying that he was different—better—than all the rest.

"We can't stay here," he said hoarsely against her lips, making her body shiver against his.

"Where?" It didn't matter where, as long as it was private.

He wrapped his arms around her, tighter, tighter. "Not the house," he said, and she understood. "Come with me," he said, sliding out from under her.