The Burning Point (40 page)

"Not so odd." His palm skimmed down her calf in the same relaxed tempo as his voice. "That night, we were both operating on instinct--a higher kind, not the purely hormonal. We knew that we should be together. But so much has happened since then. Hardly surprising that your mind has serious doubts."

"I think too much. You used to tell me that, and you were right."

"Like anything else, thinking can be good or bad." He sighed. "I can't blame you for thinking I'm trouble. I took a relationship that was a gift from God, and destroyed it."

While she had lain trapped and frightened in the old hotel, she'd faced not only her cowardice where he was concerned, but other hard realizations as well. "There's enough fault to go around, Patrick. I handled the situation badly from the beginning. I made excuses for you, blamed myself for not being understanding enough, swore I'd try harder. And...and maybe I didn't take the problem seriously enough, because making up was always fantastic." In other words, from a mixture of motives, some good and some bad, she had to some extent colluded in her own abuse.

"Great sex has a way of masking underlying problems. To me, the fact that we were still so passionate with each other meant there wasn't anything
really
wrong," he said. "It was also an excuse for me not to look at my own behavior. Since I was satisfying my woman, I must be a real man."

She'd shared that unspoken belief that passion meant their relationship was solid. "When things got really bad, I fell apart. If I'd been braver and smarter, I would have stayed in Maryland and at least tried to fix our marriage rather than running as far and fast as I could. I only understood yes and no. Yes, this marriage works, or no, it's hopeless. 'Maybe' wasn't in my vocabulary."

"Don't second guess yourself, Kate. Maybe things couldn't have been fixed then. Maybe we needed years of growing and learning before it was the right time. I'd like to think that."

She scooped up a double handful of suds and watched them flow from her cupped palms down her wrists. So many perfect little bubbles, exquisitely iridescent. Could he be right, that there was a pattern and order to why things happened as they did? "I'd like to believe that, too."

"Kate, I don't want anything about tonight to remind you of...the last time. So it's up to you to initiate, to do what you want, when you want it. You're in charge."

With a shock of understanding, she recognized that he'd put his finger on her underlying anxiety. Their marriage had shattered in a conflict rooted in desperation and possession and power, not love. She'd been able to live and work with Donovan by denying everything she'd felt that day, but it would be impossible tonight. So he was doing his best to put the power in her hands. "In charge. I like that idea."

After turning off the water jets, she glided to the other end of the tub. She settled on top of him, breasts brushing his chest, her body lightly resting over his. "Much nicer than being a victim."

She nuzzled against him, licking his throat, running her hands over his broad shoulders and the darkly patterned hair of his chest. Pressing her lips to the ragged upper end of the knife scar. Under the dizzying fragrance of roses, she identified his personal scent. Unique, exhilarating. "Remember that night on the beach in Antigua, on our honeymoon?"

"Of course. Moonlight and madness." His body came alive under hers, his hands planing down her back and hips with silken smoothness.

She slid over him, buoyant in the water. She tasted and touched as every square inch of heated flesh imprinted the present, and recalled the past. "I tried to forget, but I couldn't."

His erection was a velvety pressure against her belly, taut and unmistakable. She rubbed against it, teasing herself as much as him. He caught her hips, holding her close. "Ah,
cara mia
. I swear memories of what you do to me are engraved on my DNA."

She'd wanted power, and she had it. Not the power of physical force but of shared passion, desire that was a fever in the blood. She flowed around and over him, kissing and rubbing and caressing, scarcely able to believe that they really were together again after so many years. This must be the most vivid dream of her life. Yet he was too real, too
present
, to deny.

When she could bear to wait no longer, she raised her hips, then impaled herself on him. Satin heat, wicked promises. He groaned and arched upward, his whole frame rigid as he buried himself more deeply.

It felt so good, so right, to have him inside her. She tangled one hand in his hair and wrapped her other arm around his waist as her body led his in a primal dance of thrust and retreat. She didn't know where she ended and he began, only that together they were one, united in passion and searing pleasure. Time was arrested, superseded by a higher harmony as he matched her rhythm exactly. No one had ever suited her so well, no one, no one....

Time returned shatteringly when she convulsed, grinding against him as she lost all control. He surged inside her, his arms locking around her like iron as he gave a long-drawn out groan of raw urgency. Culmination, and completion, as she had not been complete in almost ten years.

Dizzy with release, she wilted on his chest. "Lord, Patrick, I've missed you so much. So damned much."

"Cara."
He kissed her temple, her cheek, her ear.
"Carissima."

Dearest one.
He'd always saved the endearment for their most intimate moments. For the space of a dozen heartbeats, she basked in the sense of rightness.

Euphoria faded swiftly. She'd learned that the passion was powerful as ever. No surprise there, given the sexual tension that had been thrumming between them.

But she'd also learned, again, that desire wasn't enough. Secretly she'd hoped that if she had the courage to make herself vulnerable, her fears would magically fall away and they could deal with each other as they were now, unshadowed by the past. Instead, fear had crystallized into a terrible conviction that she was teetering on the brink of an abyss. That loving him would come at the price of her soul.

Where could they go from here? The genie of passion had escaped from the bottle and would not go back inside. She could not imagine them continuing to live under the same roof without being lovers, yet neither could she envision the shadows dissolving and her daring to make a forever commitment.

She reminded herself that he wasn't asking for that. He wanted to test what was between them, but great sex didn't mean he was interested in remarriage. They'd always been physically compatible. It hadn't been enough then, so maybe he'd decide that it wasn't enough now.

It was a remarkably liberating thought.

∗ ∗ ∗

Dreamily Donovan stroked Kate, hoping she'd never move. Hard to believe how many years had passed since they'd made love. How had he lived without her?

Very badly.

The phone on the vanity rang, destroying the mood. He groaned when she sat up and climbed from the tub. "Don't go," he protested. "Whoever it is can leave a message on the voice mail."

"We can't stay in a tub forever. We'd wrinkle like prunes."

"On you it would look good."

Dripping, she picked up the phone on the third ring. "Hello? Oh, hi, Mr. Glazer. It was nice of you to call. I'm fine." She rolled her eyes at Donovan. "I just had a nice relaxing bath. Tomorrow I'll be as good as new."

Since there wasn't much point in staying in the tub alone, he climbed out and wrapped a towel around his hips. Then he took another towel and began drying the elegant curves of Kate's back. He always enjoyed seeing her shining hair loose over her shoulders, but he had to admit that he also liked how the delicate line of her nape was exposed when her hair was pinned on top of her head.

She caught her breath when he circled her thigh with the towel and slowly patted downward, absorbing droplets of water. "Yes, Donovan stopped by to see how I was doing. He's very...conscientious."

He examined her body in leisurely detail. Her figure was a little fuller. Sexier than ever. But he frowned at the ugly bruises she'd acquired earlier in the day. There was an enormous purple patch on one hip where she'd hit the floor, and smaller ones in a dozen other places. He kissed each mark with gossamer lightness, wishing he could make them vanish.

Then, because he was in the neighborhood, he touched one of her nipples with his tongue, lapping it to tautness. Kate's breathing quickened. Hastily she said good-bye and hung up. "That's a rotten trick, Donovan."

"Is it?" He transferred his attention to her other breast.

"Darned right. You said that tonight I got to call the shots."

"Me and my big mouth." He exhaled, his warm breath sliding over her skin.

"Well--I don't entirely object to your mouth. But it's my turn to dry you off."

"I can live with that." He removed the clips that held her hair in place, enjoying the cascade of glossy tresses. She ducked away before he could play any more, and got a towel of her own. Very thorough, Kate was. By the time she'd finished drying him, taking special care not to neglect any vital body parts, he was ready to adjourn to the bedroom.

She was reaching for the doorknob when he drew her into a kiss. After a moment she pulled away. "You're in a very oral mood, and you know what that means."

"More wild sex?" he asked hopefully.

She tossed him the other terry robe. "Time to call room service and get some food up here."

And what could be better than a quiet evening together, secure in the knowledge of the waiting bed?

Later he couldn't remember what they talked about over their meal; he only knew that he was more content than he'd ever been in his life. Or perhaps when they were married he'd been content, but he hadn't recognized the feeling until it was gone.

Gradually he realized that Kate didn't fully share his mood. While she was pleasant and didn't avoid his frequent touches, she spoke little and there was a shadow in her dark eyes that he couldn't read. He caught her hand, lacing his fingers through hers and drawing her close. "Is it still lady's choice?"

She skimmed his face with her fingertips. "Your turn to take charge, I think."

He untied her sash with a tug. "You know what I want to initiate."

"In some ways, you haven't changed at all." A roll of her shoulders dislodged the robe. One whole wall was mirrored, creating two Kates, a multiplication of riches.

Desire flared with unbearable heat. He felt as if he'd been dying in the desert for almost ten years, and his thirst for her could never be slaked. Cupping her face between his hands, he kissed her again and again, drinking in her essence until fever heat blazed through them both.

Then he swept her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, laying her on the lace-draped bed. In the candle-lit darkness, he used skill and patience and intimate knowledge to keep her on the edge of culmination until she wept with urgency.

They came together like wild creatures, rolling and writhing, losing and finding themselves together until all strength was drained and they lay panting in each other's arms. Yet though his body was sated, inside was an ache that wouldn't go away.

He rolled to his side and cradled her spoon style. It was so good to hold her that he was tempted to keep silent, to deny what his instincts were telling him. But there could be no future in avoiding the truth. Softly he said, "You're not quite all here, are you?"

"Maybe...I'm as here as I can be. Some pieces seem to be permanently missing."

The piece called love? He nestled his face against her silky hair, inhaling a lingering scent of roses. "Are you still afraid of me?"

"I...I'm not afraid of you, exactly. More like...unnerved."

Despite her tactful reply, she clearly still felt some fear. He
hated
that she was afraid of him, yet he couldn't blame her. "I'd like to be able to swear I've outgrown dangerous anger. But I don't think I can. All I can promise is that I won't strike out. But physical blows aren't always the worst, are they?"

"Too true. Trust is such a fragile thing. Easy to break, impossible, perhaps, to ever mend."

Her quiet words struck like nails being hammered into a coffin. For a few hours, he'd felt that the past had been resolved, that all that remained was working out the details of fitting their lives together again.

That hope had just collapsed. He tightened his arm around her waist. "I love you, Kate. That's never going to change."

She turned her face into the pillow, and he realized she was crying. Gently he rubbed her midriff with a slow, circling motion, wanting to dissolve the tension he felt in her. "Are things that bad,
cara
? Surely not."

"I'm a coward still, Patrick. You're so much a part of me. When you're cut, I bleed. But if I were to stay with you, it would destroy me. I can't imagine spending the rest of this year living together as lovers, then walking away. Yet now that we've slept together, how can we live under the same roof and not do it again? I...I think I should go back to California now, before things get any worse."

He couldn't lose her now. Not again.

He turned her so that she was facing him, drawing her close and rocking her a little. "Don't act in haste, Kate. We've come so far in two months. Further, I think, than either of us dreamed possible. Give us time."

She didn't reply, but she didn't turn away. As he held her to his heart, he took comfort in that thought.

She didn't turn away.

Chapter 37