Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) (46 page)

"This is ridiculous!"

"Aye, we are in agreement on that. To pique a man's curiosity and then refuse to satisfy it is, indeed, ridiculous."

Kathryn put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot against the floor.

"Look, I bought a swim suit, all right? And—and now I've changed my mind about liking it. Okay? Are you satisfied?"

"Nay, I am the more confused. What is a swim suit?"

"It's a... a suit you wear to go swimming."

"A garment, you mean?"

"Yes," she said with relief. "That's right. Now, come help me get the TV out of—"

"What sort of garment?" He frowned. "I should think it would be cumbersome, even dangerous, to swim in a dress."

"No, no, it isn't a dress. It's just..." She waved her hands in front of her. "It's got two parts to it, a top and a bottom."

Matthew's gaze followed the movement of her hands. "A very small top and bottom, I take it," he said with interest.

"Look, I bought the damned thing by mistake, okay?"

"Temper, temper, Kathryn."

"I am not angry," she said through her teeth. "I'm just irritated that you won't leave this alone."

"Why did you purchase this garment if not to wear it?"

Kathryn threw out her arms and rolled her eyes to the ceiling.

"I don't believe this! A cross-examination, and all because—-"

"It is a reasonable question, sweetheart."

"I told you, I bought it in error."

"I assumed you bought it to swim in."

"I did. I thought, it's such a nice day... we could pack lunch and go down to the beach."

He smiled. "An excellent idea."

"You can wear a pair of those new denim shorts."

His smile tilted. "If you insist. I have always thought swimming naked was far more pleasurable. The silken slip of the water against your skin, the heat of the sun..."

"And I," she said, refusing to be sidetracked, "can wear the suit I brought with me, from New York."

"Ah. You won't object to me seeing you in it?"

"Of course not."

The words were hardly out of her mouth when she realized her mistake.

"The mystery deepens, enough to compel me to restate my earlier conviction." Matthew sat back on the settee, arms folded behind his head legs outstretched and crossed at the ankle. "I am not rising from this settee until I've seen you in this swim suit that makes you blush."

"You're impossible!!"

"I am cut to the quick, madam. A few moments ago, you were praising me for having such fine intellectual curiosity."

He didn't look cut to the quick. He looked smug and supremely masculine, and it was hard to know which she wanted to do more, slap that little smile from his handsome face or kiss it away.

"All right," she said through her teeth, "have it your way."

She turned and stormed from the room.

* * *

Honestly! Such a fuss, over a bathing suit.

Matthew was acting like a jerk.

And, to be painfully honest about it, maybe she was, too.

It was just a bikini, for heaven's sake. Women wore them all the time...

But not me. Lord, no, never me!

So, why had she bought it?

Because it was pretty. And it would let me get more of a tan. And...

Because she'd imagined Matthew seeing her wearing it, the look in his eyes when he saw her in those seductive scraps of black and white.

Oh, give us a break, Kathryn! He's seen you naked.

Naked was different. Naked didn't toss its head and roll its hips and say, hey, sailor, look at me...

Kathryn laughed. Quickly, before she lost courage, she stripped off her clothes and put on the bikini. Then she looked into the mirror.

"Wow," she whispered.

She turned in a little circle, peering at her reflection all the time. Then she reached for the sarong, wrapped it around herself, tied it at one shoulder.

She didn't look Roman. She looked like a refugee from Animal House.

The sarong looked much better tied at the hip. Much, much better.

Kathryn shot one last look into the mirror. "Ready or not," she said softly. She fluffed her fingers through her hair and sauntered out the door.

But when she reached the sitting room, her courage failed her.

What was she doing? She was no
femme fatale.

True to his word, Matthew was still sitting on the settee, the same as when she'd left him, head back and resting against his linked hands, legs outstretched. He was whistling softly and pleasantly through his teeth.

Her throat tightened. He was so beautiful. The T-shirt stretched like a second skin over his back and his shoulders, defining every muscle. His hair was loose, a spill of chestnut silk shot with a dozen different shades of gold.

Oh, how she loved him! How could she ever leave him?

She couldn't. She wouldn't! Not ever. Not—

"Kathryn?"

She blinked her eyes, which had suddenly blurred with tears, and realized that Matthew had turned and seen her. Now, he was rising slowly to his feet.

"Great God," he whispered. He was very still, nothing moving but his eyes, which had turned into dark pools of desire as his gaze swept over her. "This is a swim suit?"

She nodded and felt herself coloring.

"I have never seen anything like it."

She laughed nervously. "No, well, actually, neither have I. I tried to tell you how silly it was. I bought it on the spur of the moment, but—"

"Kathryn, you are so incredibly beautiful."

She couldn't help but smile. "I was just thinking the same thing about you."

He smiled, too. "A man cannot be beautiful."

"You are," she said softly.

Their eyes met, and what he saw in the blue depths of hers put a lump into his throat. He was wrong. She was not beautiful, his Kathryn; she was exquisite. She was all he had ever wanted in a woman and never hoped to find, a rare combination of sweetness and spirit, innocence and sensuality.

Looking at her as she stood before him, with her dark hair a loose cloud about her face and shoulders, the rich curves of her body an almost painful contrast to the shy flush of color in her lovely face, he wished with all his heart that he could drop to his knees and offer her what men had offered the women they loved from the time the world had begun.

But he could not. He could offer her only that which was his to give, his adoration and his love for whatever little time they had together.

He took a step towards her and held out his hands.

"Kathryn," he whispered, "come to me."

His voice was soft and husky, so filled with tension that the simple words sent an arrow of heat racing from her breasts to her belly. She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips and his gaze followed the gesture with an almost palpable hunger.

"Please," he said. "Come to me, sweetheart."

She went to him slowly, the coolness of the marble against the soles of her feet a shocking contrast to the heat of his eyes on her flesh.

"Do you like the suit?" she whispered, when she reached him.

"Aye," he said. A muscle knotted in his cheek.

He undid the knot of the sarong. It slipped to the ground, puddling at her feet. He caught his breath as he looked at her, and then he slid his hands over her, slowly and gently, his fingers stroking and teasing.

She made a soft little sound in her throat and he smiled.

"My Kitten," he whispered. "Do you like that?"

"Yes. Oh yes. Oh..."

She rose on her toes and kissed him, her mouth open and soft against his, and then she kissed his throat. Her hands slid under his shirt and she heard the sharp hiss of his breath when she touched his hot skin.

"And you?" she whispered. Her fingers slipped down his chest, over the waistband of the Levi's, and stroked the taut fabric that strained over his erection. "Do you like that?"

He caught her wrist, and his whispered reply sent the blood racing in her veins, and then he stripped the black and white leaves away with such slow, exciting care that by the time he pulled off his own clothes, carried her down with him onto the settee and slipped inside her, she was half-delirious with need.

"Tell me you love me," he whispered.

"I love you," she said, moving blindly beneath him, "I love you..."

He drove deep into her, and the world shattered.

* * *

In late afternoon, she put the suit on again. Matthew donned a pair of the new denim cut-offs and they made their way down to the cove.

The water was warm, the surf gentle. They swam and played and, eventually, Matthew challenged Kathryn to a race for shore. She charged out of the water first and he shouted that she'd cheated and he tackled her and they fell to the sand together in a heap, laughing.

"For shame, madam." He was gasping for breath but that didn't keep him from straddling her to hold her down. Water streamed from his face and hair. "You won but only because you resorted to subterfuge."

"I won fair and square," Kathryn panted. "You just don't want to admit you've been bested by a woman!"

"You pinched me, just as we reached shore."

"Me? Me, pinched you? Nay, Captain. You met up with a sand crab."

He grinned. "A sand crab, hey?"

"That's right. And if you don't let me up..."

"What?" His smile tilted, and suddenly they were both aware of the hot sun and the warm sand and the way she lay beneath him. "What will you do, if I don't let you up?" he said huskily, and he bent slowly toward her.

Kathryn's lashes fluttered to her cheeks. Her lips parted in anticipation...

"Kathryn?"

Her eyes flew open at the sound of the intrusive voice.

"Kathryn? Up here, on the cliff."

Matthew let go of her and she rolled onto her belly and looked up. It was hard to see, in the glare of the sun; she shielded her eyes with her hands.

"It's your attorney," Matthew said. "And that handyman."

"Amos? And Hiram? But that's impossible. Amos isn't even on the island and Hiram would have phoned..."

"Impossible it may be, but they are here, nonetheless."

Matthew stood up. He knew he sounded curt and cold—knew, too, that it was wrong. This was Kathryn's house; these people were of her world. They had every right to be here. It was only that the day had been so perfect. It had been so easy to forget the truth.

Kathryn scrambled to her feet. "I didn't expect them. Honestly, I didn't even know—"

"Kathryn?"

She turned towards the cliff and looked up again. Amos was looking down at her, his hands cupped around his lips.

"Will you come up? Or shall we come down?"

Go away, she wanted to say, just go away and don't ever come back.

"Do you hear me, Kathryn? It's Amos."

Matthew spoke from just behind her. "Go on," he said. "Go up and talk to the old man."

She swung around. "But where will you be?" she started to ask, but the answer was self-evident.

He wouldn't be anywhere, for he was already gone.

* * *

She had left the sarong in the house, but at least she and Matthew had brought a bath towel down to the cove with them. She draped it around her shoulders, tugged the ends together, and made her way up the path to where the men waited.

Amos greeted her with an outstretched hand.

"Kathryn. It's good to see you again."

"Yes," she said, smiling politely as they shook hands, "it's good to see you, too."

"I'm truly sorry I had to be gone so long, but—"

"A family emergency. I heard."

"My aunt took seriously ill. She's all that remains of the Carters, you see, and—"

"Amos. I'm pleased you're back but as you can tell, I wasn't expecting company. So—"

"Are you alone, then?"

"Of course."

The two elderly men exchanged quick glances. Hiram cleared his throat.

"We thought you were talkin' with somebody, down on the beach."

Kathryn's smile stiffened. "You thought wrong."

"Rollin' around in the sand," Hiram said, his words resonating with disapproval, "as if you were—"

"What Hiram means," Amos said quickly, "is that you didn't seem to be alone."

Kathryn knew she was coloring, but she wasn't about to give an inch of ground. "Is that what you came here for? To stand up here and watch me?"

"You shouldn't be out here, all by yourself," Hiram said brusquely. "I said that from the beginnin'. All the stories about his house..."

"Why, Hiram," she said sweetly, "what's the matter? Are you suggesting I might have been cavorting on the beach with a ghost?"