“Not heaven.Just New York.”
Wistful—sad—I couldn’t quite figure it out and then understand it.Big name, big city, big bucks couldn’t really be sorry to be leaving, could he?
“Come here,” he growled.Taking me by the elbows, he drew me to him, and, in the same fluid motion, lowered his head and commandeered my mouth.His lips were like a fire out of the cool ocean air.His kiss was a scorcher.
It was what I’d wanted, what I’d feared.It set the fires inside me burning with an intensity not to be believed.It was, I supposed, the culmination of several days of exchanged looks, remembered heat and good, old-fashioned, lusty imagination—and I had to confess that I was as guilty as he was.But that didn’t excuse it by a long shot.
Was it right?It sure felt it, but that was probably what Eve had thought when she neatly cupped that apple in her hand and took a big bite.The difference between Eve and me was that I couldn’t just stand there and chew, debating the pros and cons.I was weak-kneed, for one thing, and had to slide my arms around Peter’swaist for support.For another thing, the hunger in his kiss was stirring my blood and making me dizzy, meaning I couldn’t think straight.
It seemed to be a recurrent malady when I was around Peter, but it was at its worst when he kissed me.His mouth was wet and hot, eating at mine as though he hadn’t had a meal in days, which indeed he hadn’t, if the time were counted from our last kiss.He was making up for the lapse, using not only his lips, but his teeth and tongue to stoke the fires that crackled within me.
And it wasn’t only his kiss that was doing me in.It was his body.The way he’d drawn me to him had brought us together in a way we hadn’t been before.Our coats were open; our bodies touched, more than touched, pressed, strained.His arms were around me inside my coat.One splayed hand was exploring my upper back, the other was open on the seat of my jeans, holding me close.I could feel the hard muscles of his chest, the hard muscles of his arms, the hard muscles of his thighs.City man though he was, he was ruggedly male.That maleness made me buzz.
I’d never been as turned on by a man’s body before.Through a haze of light-headedness, I was aware of the length of his legs, which gave him the height to make me feel delicate, and the breadth of his chest, which made me feel feminine.I was aware of the leanness of his waist beneathmy hands, then the ropey muscles of his back when I slid them higher.I was aware of the angle of his chin and the firmness of his lips and the fact I was tipping up my head to better grasp his kiss.
Along with all of these things, I was aware of a growing need, a rising expectancy in my body that cried for assuagement.Peter was giving me a taste of heaven, but a taste was no longer enough.So I went looking for more.For the first time, I took part in the kiss.I nipped at his mouth as he’d done to mine, stroked his tongue, sucked his lips.I discovered that being an active player in the lovemaking was heady, but it didn’t give me the relief I sought.When the tingling in my breasts became uncomfortable, I rubbed against him to ease the ache, and when he backed me to the doorjamb and leaned into me, I made room for his leg between mine.There was an ache there, too.He ministered to it with the insistent pressure of his thigh, while he brought his hands forward and covered my breasts.
I cried aloud at the explosion of sensation and was panting when his mouth left mine.His own breathing was rough against my cheek as he held me still for a long, painful moment.The last thing I felt before he levered himself away was the lustiness of his desire.
He stood before me with his hands by his sides, his weight on one hip and his head bowed.It was a minute before I returned to earthenough to realize how far gone I’d been.Looking up at that bowed head, knowing that if he’d backed me into the living room and lowered me to the sofa, I’d probably have been the one to reach for his belt, I didn’t know what to say.
After all I’d said about loving Adam and not wanting to be involved with another man, I’d put on quite a show.He’d have been right to call me a fraud.
He wasn’t calling me anything, though, but continued to silently stand there with his head hung low, while the pace of his breathing gradually slowed.Only then did he lift his gaze to mine.
“I have to leave,” he said.The lingering thread of hoarseness in his voice was the only remnant of passion.Though his eyes were as compelling as ever, the sexual drive that had darkened their spokes was gone.“See ya.”
With neither a smile nor a touch nor a single other word, he left me at the door, walked straight to his car, climbed in, backed around and drove off.
I watched in disbelief, waiting for him to step on the brake, roll down his window and call out something sweet like, “I’ll phone you tonight,” or, “Take care of yourself until I get back,” or, “Wow, what a kiss!”But he didn’t stop.The Saab continued on down my drive, rounded a curve and disappeared.By that time, I’d run to the side of the house and had my eyes glued to that curve.I held my breath and waited.Iblinked.My mouth dropped open.
“See ya?”I murmured dazedly, then, “See ya!”After a second, I put my hands on my hips and cried, “See ya!Is that all you have to say after what just happened?You kiss me to oblivion, put your hands all over me, and all you have to say is,See ya?”I whirled around and stormed back to the house.“You are a first classjerk,Peter Hathaway.No wonder you’ve never been married.No woman willhaveyou.Women don’t want a man who takes what he can get and then pulls on his boots and says—” I dropped my voice to imitate Peter’s “—See ya.”My voice shot up again.“Goodbye and goodriddance,” I yelled to the wind.Stalking inside, I gave the old oak door a mighty shove.
“Who does he think he is?”I muttered.I paced in a small circle, gesturing with my hand as I ranted, “Who does he thinkIam?A princess—hah!The Madigan heiress—hah!Does he think I’m made of stone?Does he think I turn myself on and off like a faucet?Doesn’t he know I’m human?Doesn’t he know what he’s done to me?”Feeling suddenly deflated, I stopped pacing and stood in the middle of the floor.I saw nothing but shades of bleakness.In a weak voice I said, “Doesn’t he know what I’ve done to myself?”
My legs wobbled.I sank to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest and cinching them in with my arms.Then I buried my face and cried.
6
I recovered, of course.It wasn’t often that I resorted to tears, but when I did, they were marvelously cathartic.By the time I wiped my eyes and rose from the floor, I’d decided that the life I’d shaped for myself over the years was too strong to be shadowed for long by something as ephemeral as desire, particularly when other shadows loomed darker.
With Peter’s departure, the pall of Cooper’s dilemma settled over me again.On the one hand, I felt better having hired Peter; for whatever else I might begrudge the man, his competence had never been an issue.Knowing that he was back in New York working on Cooper’s behalf was a comfort.On the other hand, I was frustrated.I wanted to do more.I wanted to take an active part in Cooper’s defense.I wanted to find out who had set him up.
The problem was how to do it.I thought about it a lot over the next few days, and when I wasn’t thinking about it, I was swept up in my work.Between the two, my mind was constantly busy.I didn’t leave myself time to think about Peter Hathaway or his kiss or his “See ya.”
The potting went well.By the first of the week, I had completed three new pieces that I felt Moni would love.As always before a show, I’d been worried.But with those pieces done, my worries eased.The ball was rolling.I felt reasonably confident that I’d be able to produce more than enough to make the show different.
In keeping with my determination to stay on Cooper’s case, I spent Tuesday morning with Benjie Drake.He was the one member of the crew whom Peter hadn’t had much of a crack at, and though I knew Benjie hadn’t had anything to do with the smuggling itself, I wasn’t putting it past him to have seen or heard something that he took upon himself to judge insignificant.
He wasn’t thrilled that I’d stopped by.“Cooper’s not here,” he said.He spared me only a cursory glance as I walked into the kitchen, where he was in the process of fixing some sort of drink that looked suspiciously like a hangover remedy, which made sense, seeing as he looked suspiciously hung over.
“That’s okay.I thought you and I could talk.”
“About what?”
“Cooper.The boat.The crew.”
He was silent for a good, long time, during which he stood at the counter with his back to me and one hand on his hip, and forced down the concoction he’d made.Studying him from the rear, I had to admit that he was well built.Only an inch or two shy of Cooper’s height, he had the same wedge-shaped body, the samehard lines.I could see why girls panted after him, though, personally, I preferred more maturity in a frame.Cooper’s body had that maturity, a fullness that spoke of time and life and love.Peter’s had it even more, along with a sexiness the other two lacked.But then, like beauty, sexiness was in the eye of the beholder.
