The Way They Were (10 page)

***

Kate grabbed a shirt from the closet and stuffed one arm through it. If she hurried, she could get back to the shop and finish the second coat of stain for the Peabody’s roof and still make it home in time to fix dinner. Where on earth were her sandals? She spotted one poking out from the dust ruffle of the queen size bed. She snatched it up and knelt to search under the bed for its mate. She spotted the errant sandal on the other side of the bed, well past reaching distance. One of these days, she’d have to clean the bedroom, maybe box up Clay’s shirts and pants and the Syracuse T-shirt she kept under his pillow…She straightened, took two steps and let out a shriek. Rourke Flannigan loomed in the doorway of her bedroom, in workout shorts and a sweat-stained T-shirt, his dark hair plastered to his head.

Stay calm. He doesn’t know anything.
But when she met his gaze again, she saw a flash of outrage coupled with disbelief, warning her he might know more than she thought. “This is highly inappropriate.”

“Noted. Now stop playing cute. I want the truth and I want it now.”

He rounded on her and she was reminded once again he was no longer a boy but a powerful, intimidating man. Her voice wobbled the tiniest bit but she forced out an, “Okay.”

Look him straight in the face and tell him. For Julia’s sake.
Kate opened her mouth and delivered the most convincing lie of her life. “Of course she’s not your child. I told you that the other night.”

“No one in your family has eyes that shade of gray—my shade.”

“You are not the only person on this universe with eyes that color.”

“But I was the only person you slept with who had eyes that color.” And then as if his words weren’t painful enough, he added, “Wasn’t I?”

She ignored the jab. This man had a cruel streak the younger Rourke had never possessed. Was she responsible for that? Or had it always been there and she’d been so lovesick, she’d refused to notice it?

“Answer me, Kate.” He closed in on her, forcing her against the bed. “Were there others after I left? Once you had it, did you crave it, no matter who it was?”

“She’s not your daughter.”
Not in any way that counts.

He let out a low rumble of laughter that gripped her insides. “Oh yes, there’s a lot of truth that hasn’t come out.” He released one of her wrists and traced her lips with his fingers. “So many truths that need unearthed.”

She blinked, trying to deny the rush of pleasure surging through her. Dear God, she did not want to remember how good it had been with him.

“Did you ever think of me in all those years? Ever wonder where I was, what I was doing?” He eased a finger between her lips. “Wonder if you’d hurt me, maybe broken my heart?”

She closed her eyes and flicked her tongue over his finger.
Does the right hand ever forget the left? The mouth forget the tongue?

“Did you ever wish he were me beside you?” He slid his finger from her mouth. “Wish it were me inside you?” he whispered seconds before his lips found hers.

Kate whimpered. She wanted to get away from him, away from this truth, but her body betrayed her as Rourke coaxed her mouth open, stroked her tongue until she cried out and grabbed fistfuls of his T-shirt.

He buried his hands in her hair and muttered, “Sweet Jesus, there’s never been anyone like you.” The kiss deepened, tongue to tongue, teeth to teeth, deeper and deeper until she could think of nothing but the years of longing and emptiness away from him. His hands stroked her back, molded her butt, and pulled her against his arousal.

“I’ve never stopped wanting you, Kate.”

I’ve never stopped loving you, Rourke.

“All those years, I never forgot how good we were together.” He ground against her, slow and easy, his breath ragged inside her mouth.

She slid her hands under his shirt, along the tight muscles of his back, up to his shoulders and then lower to the waistband of his shorts. There might be years and secrets between them, but the passion hadn’t died; one tiny spark and they were both on fire. And
that
was not something Kate could lie about.

“I want you,” Rourke murmured, his large hand pushing her shirt aside to cup her breast. “I’ve imagined this too many times.” He eased her onto the bed and lay beside her.

Don’t think
. J
ust feel.
Kate lifted his shirt and helped him out of it. His body gleamed with sweat and muscle and she could think of nothing but the feel of him against her. Inside her. He reached around and unclasped her bra with an expertise she chose not to think about.

“Tell me you want me, Kate. Tell me you haven’t forgotten.”

She couldn’t. If she uttered one word he would hear the need pulsing there and know life without him had been lonely. She couldn’t betray Clay, who had been a faithful, loving husband and deserved so much more than a woman who could not give her whole heart.

Rourke clasped her chin between his fingers and stared at her. “Tell me. I can see it on your face. You want me. Say it.”

Kate bit her lower lip to keep from blurting out the words.
I can’t. Don’t you understand?

“Damn you,” he muttered before he kissed her again with a fierceness that left her both shaken and exhilarated. His hands found their way to the zipper on her jeans and he inched it open until his fingers skimmed the silk of her panties. “Tell me to stop now, Kate, or I swear to God, I’m not going to.”

In answer, she pulled his tongue into her mouth and sucked. He let out a muffled curse and went wild. She was naked in ten seconds and five swift jerks of his practiced hand. He was naked in three, buried deep inside in four, with her legs hiked high over his back as he pumped into her with the strength of ten Olympians. They both shattered in less than sixty seconds.

Late afternoon summer noises drifted through the window—a lawnmower, the ice cream truck, a dog barking. Kate had heard none of these moments ago, yet now they swirled around the bed, tormenting her with their ordinariness. They had a right to be here, in her neighborhood, in her bed. In her life. Rourke Flannigan did not.

He moved first, easing from her with an awkwardness that was at odds with the superman agility he’d exhibited seconds before. He didn’t look at her as he pulled on his shorts and snagged his shirt from the bedpost. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

His voice sounded raspy and uncertain. “No.”

He blew out a long breath and ran a hand through his hair which still bore the marks of her fingers. “I’m not usually so…” He paused and cleared his throat. “I’m usually much more…” He faltered again.

Kate pulled her shirt closed and thrust the edge of the comforter over her waist. This was what it felt like to have sex with a stranger.

“Look,” finally he met her gaze, “I’ve never hurt a woman, forced a woman, or been rough with a woman.” He cursed under his breath, “And I’ve certainly never embarrassed myself with a millisecond performance like what just happened. I’m sorry.”

“For what? Losing control?”

He flashed a dark, angry look at her and yanked his shirt over his head. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Then consider us even.” She looked away and concentrated on the hydrangea pattern of the comforter. “I’ve never been one to lose control either.”

“I know.”
I will remember ever second of it.

“It’s going to confuse everything.”

“Probably.”
I would do it all over again.

“Is that all you have to say?”

“What else is there to say?”
I love you, Rourke Flannigan, I never stopped loving you.

Kate watched him out of the corner of her eye as he bent to retrieve his tennis shoes. He hesitated, waiting for her to say more, and when she didn’t, his lips flattened into a hard line and he said, “I still want a blood test. If Julia’s mine, we’re going to have a lot to talk about.”

And then he was gone.

Chapter 12

“
One year or three, when a person feels as though they’ve known someone a lifetime, what does it matter?—Janice Prentiss

Journal entry—May 4, 2002

I’m pregnant. The baby is due at Thanksgiving and Clay is delirious with excitement. I am happy—and hopeful this baby will make me forget you, once and for all. Some days I really do hate you for leaving me with a hole in my heart that keeps me from loving another man completely.

What would happen if we had never known one another and then met on the street one day? Would there be this instant attraction? This obsessive need to be together? Would you even notice me?

My stomach isn’t flat like it used to be. Even when I’m not pregnant, there’s a tiny pooch that won’t go away no matter how many sit-ups I do. I have stretch marks on my belly—faint and silvery, but I know they’re there. Would you? Would you care?

I am sad today and tired. Clay’s family is coming for dinner and then we’re celebrating Julia’s 6
^th
birthday.

***

It was close to four thirty by the time Rourke jogged back to the Manor, showered, and made it to the office. He was in no mood to talk to anyone, and hoped Maxine had left for the day.

Damn, how could he have made such a mess of things? He’d had no business touching Kate, not yet, and good God, certainly not like a starved lecher. She said he hadn’t hurt her but how could that be true when he’d half attacked her?

And then what had he gone and done? He did not even want to consider it, but the truth tortured him with remembering. Premature ejaculation. Just thinking the words made him queasy. He’d never had that problem before, why now? Had she even climaxed?

He certainly hadn’t given her much pleasure; no wonder she couldn’t look him in the eye. Had she done so, he’d have seen disappointment, or worse, pity.
Christ.
She probably thought he always behaved that way. Next time would be different. Next time she’d moan with pleasure and an earth-shattering climax that would not make him wonder if she enjoyed it.
Next time.
He grew hard at the thought of Kate stripped and spread on his bed like a sumptuous dessert.

Rourke turned to find a semi-frantic Maxine wringing her hands against her tweed-clad middle. “Maxine?” Her pale skin looked transparent and brittle. “What’s wrong?”

“I tried to call you, sir.” The hand wringing grew more urgent. “But I was unable to reach you.”

“Yes, well,” he rubbed the back of his neck and tried to push images of Kate’s naked skin from his brain. “I was detained.”

She merely nodded. The woman had seen him through more than one sticky situation, usually involving women who did not know when the relationship was over, and whether or not she thought his current detainment had anything to do with Kate, well, Maxine was too discreet to mention it. Besides, it appeared she was too caught up in her current dilemma to wonder at his whereabouts.

“What is it, Maxine?” Now her face had switched from pale to paste.

She inched toward him in her respectable black pumps and said in a low voice, “You have a visitor, sir.”

“Oh?” Perhaps Kate had called Angie Sorrento and now the Wicked Witch of the West was waiting for him with a hatchet, ready to neuter him.

“It’s Ms. Prentiss, sir.” She motioned toward the restroom. “She arrived ten minutes ago.”

“How did she find out I was here?”

“It was the temporary assistant filling in for me. Apparently, Ms. Prentiss persuaded her to give up the information as to your whereabouts.”

“What possible method of persuasion could convince someone to disclose information they were expressly warned
not
to disclose?”

Maxine’s hand wringing started up again. Her gaze darted toward the bathroom door and she whispered, “She said she was your fiancé, sir.”