Searching for Cate (16 page)

“No.” Cate let go of the glass and looked up at him. Was it her imagination or were his eyes suddenly sympathetic? Probably had to do with the soft lighting.
Everything looked better in soft lighting. “I can't really explain it, but—no, it isn't.”

And she was going to push this to its conclusion, he thought. His loyalty to his patient had him siding with Joan. His sympathies, however, were leaning toward the woman beside him. A woman who very well might be setting herself up for a lot of grief and heartache.

“Did you ever stop to consider that openly recognizing you might cause problems in Joan's life?”

Cate pulled her shoulders back. “I don't want her to take out a full-page ad on the front page of the
L.A. Times
proclaiming the fact. I don't need her to tell her husband or her children about me, although I have to admit I really would like to get to meet them, maybe even have a chance to get to know them.

“But that would be just icing on the cake. I grew up as an only child. For almost half of that time, I was fatherless. I'm used to a small family. I just want her to admit it to me. To look at me and say, ‘Yes, I'm your mother.'”

“And that would be enough for you? Just her saying that?” he asked.

The waitress returned with their drinks. Christian nodded at the effervescent young woman. He took out the appropriate amount of money from his wallet, added a healthy tip to it, and then handed the money to her. When she saw the size of the tip, the waitress's eyes fairly glowed.

Cate waited until the waitress retreated, her feet hardly touching the floor. And then she said, “I think it would be enough. Yes.”

He wasn't as convinced as she was. Maybe because
he'd had a chance to see the less-than-noble side of man. He didn't lump Cate in with some of the lower life forms he'd known, but human nature was human nature. “Ever hear the one about the fisherman's wife?”

Her brows drew together for a second as she thought. He could see her as a student, pondering a question, surrounded by half a dozen open textbooks. He'd always had a healthy respect for intelligence.

He had no idea why the image aroused him.

“Is this a limerick,” she asked, “or are you talking about the fairy tale?”

“Fairy tale,” he answered. “I'm afraid I don't know any limericks.”

Neither did she, except for the classic one dealing with Nantucket which she wasn't about to repeat. But his reference to the fairy tale left her just as much in the dark as the other would have.

“That's the one where a fisherman catches a magic fish that promises to grant him wishes if the fisherman just puts him back. Not wanting a reward, the fisherman asked for something simple, a good meal. The woman told him he was a fool to wish for something as ordinary as that. She kept making wishes and every time they were granted, she wanted something more. Is that the one?”

He nodded. “That's the one. And that's the word. More.”

She toyed with her drink, trying not to take offense at what he was implying. After all, he really didn't know her. “I can't honestly say that I wouldn't want more, but I at least want that.”

He'd expected her to refute him, to drown him in a
sea of excuses and rhetoric. He liked her honesty. Christian folded his hands in front of him as he regarded her. “I think that's what Joan might be afraid of. That if she admitted to you that she was your mother, you'd want more. You'd want her to introduce you to her family. And she's not prepared for the sacrifice that might cost her.”

All of this was focused on Joan, on his patient. But there were two of them involved in this. Or maybe he'd forgotten that little fact. “What about what it's cost me so far?”

The light at their table caressed her skin, darkening her hair until it almost looked strawberry instead of golden. He had to admit he was having trouble keeping his mind on the conversation.

“Tell me about the people who adopted you.”

She thought of Big Ted and Julia and her heart immediately ached. God, but she missed them. “They were terrific people—and I know what you're doing.”

Christian snapped his fingers. “Damn, and here I thought I was being subtle and mysterious.” And then he smiled at her.

He had perfect teeth, she thought. To go along with his perfect chiseled looks. Although she tried to block it, she wasn't fast enough. A longing stirred inside of her, reminding her how happy she'd been once. And how lonely she felt these days when she let her guard down even for a moment.

Cate struggled to reinforce the barriers she kept up around herself. They wobbled dangerously. She played along with what he'd just said.

“Sorry, but I'm afraid you failed miserably.” To un
derscore it, to show him that she was perfectly fine with how things were going and that she wasn't about to back away, Cate forced a smile to her lips.

It immediately went straight to his gut, delivering if not a mortal blow, one that sent him momentarily reeling. For a second, he even lost his ability to think straight.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked.

She realized that while they'd sat here, nursing drinks and skirmishing, the fast music she'd heard when they'd entered the restaurant had given way to a soft melody she didn't recognize. Recognition wasn't necessary. What was important here was that it seemed to permeate every single corner of the dining area.

And her.

Cate looked around and saw that there was a small dance floor just past the bar. Only one couple was dancing. They looked to be well into their seventies. Childhood sweethearts celebrating their golden anniversary? Or a newly matched couple rejoicing that they'd found each other after all this time?

Where were all these romantic thoughts coming from and why wouldn't they leave her alone?

Instead of answering his question, she countered with one of her own. “You dance?”

“Navajos have been known to dance with partners on occasion.”

Cate stared at him, confused. Why the hell would he say that? Did he think she was prejudiced? Someone incapable of seeing things in living color, but rather fell back on two-dimensional stereotypes? She didn't know whether to laugh or be insulted.

“I wasn't thinking about your heritage, Dr. Graywolf,” she informed him. “I just didn't think you were the type to dance.”

“Why?”

“You look too serious.” And dancing was something that freed the spirit, that fed the soul. And that let you relax. None of which she associated with him.

“I take dancing very seriously.”

She could see a smile creep onto his face. Maybe he was more laid-back than she gave him credit for.

Cate rose to her feet, her eyes on his. “I guess I'll have to see that for myself.”

“Guess so.” Taking her hand, he led her to the dance floor.

The soft, bluesy song gave birth to another one, its tempo just as dreamy, just as slow. He curled his fingers around her hand, resting it against his shoulder as he slipped the other hand around her waist and drew her closer. His hips fit against hers as they swayed in time to the rhythm.

Another mistake, her inner voice whispered.

A mistake because it felt so good to be held by a man. If she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend that her life had been untouched by tragedy. That this was Gabe and everything was all right.

The bad thing about pretending was that eventually, she had to stop.

But not just yet, that same voice inside her head begged.

So she shut her eyes, rested her cheek against his chest. And pretended all was right with her world as the music and the evening took her away.

C
hristian closed the door to his apartment slowly. After a beat, he flipped the lock into place.

The sound reverberated in her head and she turned immediately, her eyes as wide as sunflowers when they searched for the sun.

“It flips the other way to open,” he told her quietly. “Whenever you want.”

She felt silly for panicking. Sillier because she knew it showed.

Cate pressed her lips together, nodding in response. What was she doing here? Why wasn't she in her car, heading for home? Why was she here instead, heading for disaster?

Because it didn't feel like disaster. It felt exhilarating.

Fear and excitement undulated through her, its
rhythms mixing, creating something all its own. She realized that she felt this way whenever she was on the verge of charging onto a scene to make a bust, to take down a felon.

Adrenaline raced through her.

Building.

She tried to level it off. To find something to ground her. She forced herself to look around the apartment. The kitchen was small. Nothing was out of place. The same went for the living room.

“You're a lot neater than I am,” she told him, aware of every word crawling up her throat, out of her mouth. “Of course, you seem to have a lot less.”

“I'm not home enough to get attached to anything.”

“Lydia told me about the hours you keep.” She turned around to face him. “Between the clinic on the reservation and your patients here, it's a wonder you're not worn out.”

Funny she should choose those words to use. That was what he'd tried to accomplish at one point. To wear himself out until there wasn't anything left. But somehow, he still managed to exist. So he put one foot in front of another, riding each day into the next and the next. Making a difference, he hoped, as he struggled to keep the emptiness inside of him from consuming him, body and soul.

That was what had prompted him to invite her to his apartment tonight after the waitress had cleared away their glasses. Because, for whatever reason, being with Cate had made him forget the emptiness for the first time in three years.

“But then,” she added, transfixed by the strange
look that had come into his eyes, “people are usually a lot stronger than they give themselves credit for.”

He didn't want to talk anymore. Didn't want to think. It always hurt to think. Christian brushed back her hair from her face. “I've heard the rumor.”

Her heart had stopped. Totally and completely. She had no idea why she wasn't passing out. How she could continue standing here, looking up into his hypnotic eyes instead of crumbling to the floor. Wasn't that what you were supposed to do when your heart stopped? Crumble? Die?

He moved his head and she knew he was going to kiss her. Panic spiked up, ten feet tall.

Just before his lips touched hers, she abruptly began talking. “Look, I'm not about to get close to anyone. Every time I have, I get the rug pulled out from under me.” She pressed her lips together. “I just wanted you to know that.”

“Well, that's a first.” He smiled, shaking his head. “I never had anyone issue a disclaimer before I kissed her. Don't worry.” He framed her face with his hands. “I'm not looking for forever.”

Her heart started up suddenly, beating wildly. “Good, because neither am I.”

Liar.

The single word echoed in both their heads as they began their race toward oblivion.

If asked, Christian would have said that he would never feel this way again. That he would never have that fire in his belly, that urgent pull racing through his body as desire built on desire, seeking an outlet. Yet here it was, capturing every part of him.

When Alma died, when the full impact of what she had done, ending not just her life and their daughter's but tearing apart his, had really hit him, everything within him had shut down. In the early stages, he couldn't even summon any feelings surrounding his core family. His capacity to love, to empathize, to hope, had all been burned away, leaving nothing but ashes in its wake.

He had nothing to draw on, nothing to cling to as one day swam into the next.

Slowly, from deep within, and with his family's love and support, he'd managed to find the will to live, to continue in a world that had been so cruel to him as to build him up only to tear him down. And eventually, some measure of feeling did return, at least for the people who had stood by him through all this. He loved his mother, his uncle, his brother and the woman Lukas had taken as his wife, Lydia. And he loved his work, because it allowed him to help, to make a difference. It was what he cleaved to in the worst moments.

The first time that he'd held a newborn in his hands after Alma's death, tears had rushed to his eyes. Cleansing tears that had allowed him to cautiously take his real first steps back among the living. The journey was grueling, but he made it.

And so it was tonight.

As the passion rose within him, Christian could feel his soul defrosting by infinitesimal increments. It left him in bewildered awe at the process, because he'd firmly believed that it would never be this way for him again. That he was too numb to ever physically want a woman, too numb to ever want to become lost within her essence.

He'd been wrong.

Without fully realizing how it happened, only that he'd experienced a heated explosion that seized him within its grip, he found himself urgently pinning Cate against the wall. His mouth slanted against hers over and over again as he felt every movement of her body against his. Could feel the full imprint of it on his own torso and limbs.

The flames licked higher, the urgency grew, reminding him just how long it had been since he'd taken the shackles off, since he'd made love with a woman. Those were the key words. Not had sex, but made love. Because he had never been one to merely go through the motions of anything—except perhaps for breathing those first few days—but now the motions were going through him. Urging him awake, suddenly taking by storm what they hadn't been able to remotely even coax out up to this point.

He wanted her.

The thought throbbed through his head as he examined it from all sides. Examined it in wonder, with relief—and with no small amount of fear. He told himself that his reaction was due to a natural physical occurrence after enduring self-imposed celibacy for so long. Tried to convince himself that feelings, true feelings, deep feelings, were things that took years to develop.

He'd only known Cate for what amounted to a blink of an eye.

No, it was just her body that captivated him, that pulled him out of the deep freeze where he'd been living his life, nothing more. Because physically, she was
magnificent, her body wondrously firm, gloriously supple. What man wouldn't have wanted to sleep with her if he could get the chance?

And tonight, there'd been this look in her eyes….

As he ran his hands over her, desire took on form and rhythm. Tilting her head back with his hand beneath her chin, he pressed his mouth over hers again, unable to get enough. Trying desperately to become sated. Cate tasted of something sweet, something seductive, and it made his head spin even as it fed the needs within him.

Cate dug her fingertips into his shoulders, trying desperately to anchor herself. To keep from getting swept out to sea.

Everything was being sucked out of her.

She was having trouble drawing in enough air to sustain her. Her lungs felt depleted, almost to the point that she could swear she could feel them collapsing. She would have collapsed if she wasn't holding on to him. Her knees weren't working right.

She
wasn't working right.

It was almost as if, traveling in a tiny boat made of paper, she'd come to the edge of the world. Any second now, she was going to fall off.

And fall into him.

Into this man who had made her open up everything she'd kept so safely locked away in storage. She'd kept all her feelings there, along with a secret hope buried deep in her heart that perhaps someday, someday the dead would rise and she would be able to feel again. To love again.

Raised as an optimist, Cate had still taken longer
than most to trust anyone with her heart. It was very precious to her and she didn't surrender it lightly. She'd given her father her heart and he had died, breaking it. Gabe had always teased her that he'd wage a long, hard campaign to get her to agree to marry him. He was right. But that was because, after her father's death, an inherent fear of being left behind had always kept her from agreeing to make that final transition, that final leap that would take her from lover to wife.

It wasn't that she was afraid of commitment, she was afraid of having that commitment broken.

And now, no matter what she'd told herself, how safe she wanted to remain, she couldn't go on hiding any longer. The walls she'd hidden behind were crumbling. She'd always thought she'd had that much control over herself, that nothing could ever happen without her mentally giving her permission. She'd been secure in her belief that if she didn't allow her feelings to rise up, they wouldn't.

But sometimes, it wasn't a matter of allowing things to happen. Sometimes, they just did.

Such as now.

Desire raced through her body like a raging forest fire. Everywhere that desire touched ignited her. Just the way his hands were setting fire to her as they brushed over her. As they found their way to her breasts, her hips, her flesh.

Cate moaned, wanting more.

This was too much to hold out against. For at least one moment, she wanted desperately to feel whole again. To feel that final intense burst within her body, bathing her in euphoria.

She couldn't, wouldn't think beyond that. Beyond the fact that this was, after all, a single moment in time. She didn't want to think about consequences. She wanted to think about him, about Dr. Christian Graywolf. She twisted against him as he kissed her, sinking deeper and deeper into the hallowed ground he'd created for her.

For them.

Desire so consumed her that she was only vaguely aware of stripping his shirt from him, or that she was running her fingers along his smooth, hard chest, feeling the taut biceps, the muscles that were as hard as rocks. And she was only vaguely aware that he had pulled her sweater up over her head and thrown it to the side. She had no memory at all of helping him. Of lifting her arms up over her head so that he could yank the sweater away.

And she was only marginally aware that she'd held her breath as he undid the hook at her back, allowing the soft fabric to sigh away from her breasts and fall to the floor. She was focused only on the feeling that he was bringing out of her, only on the light that burned brighter and brighter within her.

The fire grew.

Clothing flew right and left, his, hers, a strip-poker exhibition caught up in a fast-forward mode until there was nothing between them except for the people they had been before this moment had overtaken them.

Lost in his embrace, feeding on the incredible surges that vibrated through her, Cate blocked out everything—the newly born insecurities that plagued her, the past that had once seemed so good before it was
destroyed—everything but the feelings running through her.

Everything but the man who had brought them all unexpectedly to fruition. And even as she wanted to race to the climax, to feel that wondrous explosion within her, she dearly wanted to prolong the journey that would take her there.

With sweeping fingers she explored his body, employing the tenacity of an investigator who knew that rewards lay at the end of a job well done. And when he matched her, stroke for stroke, or outdistanced her, bringing her to the brink of the precipice, pleasure screamed through her body, begging for release.

Begging for more.

To her everlasting surprise, he turned her body into an instrument, playing songs upon it she'd never heard before, never been aware of before. As they echoed through her, Cate realized that the corners of her eyes had become moist.

Damn, she couldn't cry at a time like this. Crying made one more vulnerable and she was already far more vulnerable, far beyond any line in the sand she'd ever drawn for herself.

A ray of determination suddenly flashed within her.

She couldn't just take without giving. Couldn't be at his mercy without bringing him to hers.

Breathing heavily, trying to focus her eyes on his face, Cate wrapped her fingers around his thickened shaft, striking a rhythm of her own.

Surprise imprinted itself on his features. A sense of triumph marched through her. The next moment, his hand was closing over hers. But instead of urg
ing her to continue, Christian was drawing her fingers away.

She didn't understand. Was she doing it wrong? But before she could protest or question, he'd parted her legs with his own. The next moment, he drove himself into her. Her breath caught in her throat, standing still.

The rhythm never began slowly. It was frantic right from the start and she rushed to embrace it with determination and joy. At one point, her hips were moving so quickly, so urgently, she managed to push them both up off the ground.

She thought she felt his smile against her mouth, but she wasn't sure.

And then there was no space for thought, no space for anything but this huge bonfire raging within her.

The earth and sky disappeared. The room faded. Everything vanished except for the tiny sphere within which they were captured.

And when the final climax came, stars rained all around her, bathing her in the most wonderful sensation of euphoria, of hope, she'd ever experienced.

She held on to him as tightly as she could, afraid of falling back to earth alone.