Heather Graham (7 page)

“Maybe I did!” Katie shouted. Her hands jerked apart; she didn’t mean to do it, her left hand just flew sideways in the most ridiculous gesture she had ever seen. She hit him in the chest with her knuckles. The irony of it was that she couldn’t have hurt him in the least—and without even that satisfaction, she fueled his temper to a very dangerous level.

He didn’t touch her, but his voice went very low, slow and threatening. “Do you know what I would have done the day you scratched me if your father hadn’t been there? Do you know what I should have done anyway? Found a switch and taught you a lesson. Well, maybe—since we’re on maybes—maybe it isn’t too damned late!”

Oh, God, Katie thought fleetingly, what was happening to her? She could barely think, much less think rationally. She had never been so angry, and she had never felt eyes touch her in such a way. She still trembled. She felt an unearthly strength and a horrible weakness, all at once. She wanted to think before she spoke, but she couldn’t. Words spewed from her like dripping ice to combat the fire that seemed to burn all around her in the tumult of her emotions.

“Are you threatening me, Mr. Hart? If so, bear in mind that it’s illegal—”

“Illegal?” He stared at her incredulously, then all of a sudden he began to laugh. “Illegal!” He looked up as if seeking help from heaven. “Illegal! She’s in the middle of nowhere with an irate man almost three times her size, and she’s talking about
illegal!”

“I’m not at all amused,” Katie warned, then stopped herself quickly because he was, at least, laughing. If she could just get him off guard, she could get out of the car and onto the highway, where someone would stop and get her away from him. “Ah!” She forced herself to smile—and to think. She drew in a deep, shaky breath. “Kent, I’m sorry. Truly sorry. I see now that you were saving me from sheer stupidity, and I’m terribly grateful, really I am.”

He looked at her again. In the dim light she could see only the flash of his eyes and the square line of his jaw.

He was silent for several seconds, then he asked pleasantly, “You do understand why I carried you out of there?”

“Of course. I was just so—so stunned that I responded stupidly. I am sorry. Please forgive me.” She had lowered her voice to a silky tone. She knew she was attractive in the hugging knit dress—even if she was enshrouded by a certain amount of darkness. Katie only hoped her cologne was still infusing the air with a light and provocative scent and that she was convincing Kent Hart that she really was sweet, vulnerable, and properly chastised. If he would just respond like the average male, she could even hope that he would forget what she had called him.

“Really?” he queried softly.

“Really,” she whispered in return.

“I’m forgiven?”

“Of course.” Katie tensed and waited. She thought she saw a white flash of perfect teeth against a crooked grin, then he looked ahead again. His left hand was on the wheel, his right was twisting the keys in the ignition.

Katie had seen the automatic locks. She reached for hers and flipped the button. In a flash she opened the door. But his hand was already reaching her, snaking out instantly.

“Kathleen.” His voice lashed out at her. His epithets—vehement enough to rival hers—continued in a muttered fury.

He had known. He’d known exactly what she was doing!

“Oh, God!” Katie gasped out. In that moment she was truly convinced that she had crossed a very dangerous man. She eluded his fingers by less than a hair’s breadth and leaped from the car, slamming the door behind her. The wind was very cold now and slashed around and through her. Her coat, shoes and purse had been left at the party. She didn’t dare take the time to worry about them. She started running blindly for the highway.

Oh, thank God! She could see headlights coming!

Katie ran into the road, tripping over her hem and gasping for breath. She waved madly at the approaching vehicle, hope causing her heart to thunder hard. She was almost free … she had almost escaped him. The lights were coming closer and closer …

And then, with horror, she realized that they were coming too close, too quickly. She was in a blue that blended with the night, and the driver couldn’t possibly see her. Any second now she would be run over. And she couldn’t move! She felt blinded, blinded and held in a deadly freeze by the flaring headlights that were almost upon her!

“No,” she heard herself whisper in horror. But then, from the corner of her eye, she sensed movement, a streak in the night. And then the breath was knocked from her as she lifted in a whirl of motion and thrown to the ground. The thud of the impact riddled her, but she felt it, and it was easy … she hadn’t been hit by the car. She had been lifted and hurled to the ground … with Kent Hart.

They had landed on an embankment, a slope that was softened by wet, springy grass, and were now rolling in that grass, over and over, together. Then they reached the narrow valley where impetus halted, and they both lay, breathless, panting, inhaling desperately …

The moon came out. It poured over them. Katie realized that she had almost killed herself, but he had saved her. And in that moment, she came to a rationale that her earlier temper would have never allowed her. Kent had been right. He knew the team; he knew the party. And men who were basically nice guys could, with a little too much champagne and in the spirit of fun, get carried away.

He really had meant to protect her from the overzealous partyers.

She closed her eyes and smelled the fresh grass around her. She had to apologize and mean it and hope that he would believe her this time. “Kent—” The whisper didn’t quite come out. Unfortunately, it was enough to spur him into action.

Suddenly, when she had just regained her breath, she lost it again. He straddled over her with a tense vengeance, pinning her wrists to the ground, his rugged features twisted into a mask of fury. He was shaking—she could feel it. Oh, she could feel it! And she knew that she had really terrified him and that, yes, this time she deserved his anger. She wanted to say something, but when she opened her mouth, the words refused to come. She formed them with trembling lips. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?
Sorry!
Oh, God! I warned you not to touch the door … I warned you not to touch it!” He was leaning closer and closer to her. She was afraid that he meant to break her in two.

“Kent,” she whispered.

She felt the heat of his eyes, and then she felt his breath touch her mouth when he said, “You almost killed yourself!”

And then it was not the caress of his breath that whispered against her lips but the touch of his mouth. Forming to hers, hot and moist, trembling and compelling. She felt his tongue, pressing entry between her lips, persistent against her teeth. The kiss was not brutal, cruel, or punishing. It was forceful. Tears stung her eyes because she gave to it easily. She wanted it. Oh, she wanted it! Like a child held against a storm, she wanted his arms, the hunger of his lips on hers, the passion that had so suddenly rocked them in the aftermath of danger.

His grip on her wrists relaxed, then his hands slid along the length of her arms. Katie felt his tongue move deeper and deeper into her mouth, and the warmth that encompassed her grew as if he could fill her with his heat. She felt his left hand tangle into her hair as his right palm caressed her cheek, cupped it, held it. She didn’t know when she had moved, but she became achingly aware that she was holding him, her arms locked around his neck, her fingers dancing feverishly over his shoulders and back, playing into the deep rich hair at his nape.

He kept holding her, his hand grazing her cheek, sliding to her shoulder, slipping between them. His fingers explored the hollows of her shoulders, traced the neckline of her dress, fell lower to her breast.

This was it—the feeling that had touched her insides, racing and coiling low in her abdomen, and it was wonderful. It had been anger, it had been fear, but now it was desire. And whether it was foolish or not, Katie couldn’t begin to deny it. She clung to him, savoring the forceful movement of his lips, the hunger in the persistent thrust of his tongue. It was rich, warm, and moist … and so close. She loved the scent of him; she was adrift in it and somewhat delirious with all there was to feel, to cherish. The hardness of his hips, his body pressing against hers, real against the knit that kept little of him from her. His hand … against her heart, cupping her breast, moving slightly, fluidly, his palm a merciless taunt against her nipple, and yet so good that she whimpered against his kiss, clinging to him with greater abandon.

Kent rolled with her still in his arms, refusing to relinquish the onslaught. Willingly, eagerly, she followed him. His hand coursed over her waist to her hip and back to her breast. Again it moved, exploring more slowly this time, fingers teasing her ribs, her stomach, the little hollow by her hip. His lips moved slowly from hers and fell to the pulse beating erratically in her throat. And he was touching her hip again, her waist, rounding over her buttocks, sliding around them to fall again on her abdomen, low where the heat found its base, and causing her to tremble anew and sob out something entirely incomprehensible. He touched her breast again, his thumb finding the peak of her nipple, rubbing.

“Oh, God!” she cried out, and it was a sob again, because it was so good and …

And because she was lying in a grassy ditch, practically groveling for the sensual attentions of a man she had once sworn she never wanted to see again. A man she had really only met today as an adult, one who had quickly become a bitter enemy.

But when he withdrew his touch, Katie felt the loss instantly. A deep loss. She was cold again, frightened, and bewildered. Without opening her eyes she knew that Kent was still beside her, leaning on his elbow, watching her. What would she find when she opened her eyes? Contempt? Possibly. What else could she expect?

“Katie.” He said her name softly.

Misery clutched her. She didn’t want to look at him.

“Open your eyes, Katie.”

You aren’t a coward, Kathleen, she reminded herself. And what could it matter? Her life would go on … Yes, thanks to his actions out on the road.

She opened her eyes and looked at him searchingly, too shaken for anything resembling pretense. But she didn’t find contempt in his eyes. Katie found nothing that she read, only a somber darkness, pinning her soul. And in the moonlight her heart seemed to take a sudden lurch, then ache. She saw the hard lines of his profile, the character in the set of his jaw, the uncompromising line of his mouth. She had never realized quite how handsome he was. Perhaps he wasn’t really handsome; his appeal went deeper than that. It was in the sound of his voice, the fire—and the wisdom—in his eyes. When he was angry … passionate … or tender.

He stood up, offering her his hand, helping her to her feet. “I’ll take you to your hotel,” he told her quietly. He put an arm around her shoulder and led her toward the road. Minutes later, she was in the bucket seat of the sports car, no longer angry but torn by emotion again.

Kent drove in silence, a silence that was broken only when they neared the city and he asked, “Where are you staying?”

A little dazed, Katie glanced his way, then finally came up with the name of her hotel. He nodded and kept driving.

When he came up through the entryway, Katie assumed he only meant to drop her off. She learned that he meant to walk her in when she reached for the door handle to let herself out.

“You and that damned door,” he remarked irritably. The point was moot—a valet was already opening it for her. She stepped out, aware that Kent had left the keys in the car and was accepting a ticket, as well as the slightly awed congratulations of the valet on the day’s game.

She started up the steps without him but quickly felt the touch of his hand at her elbow.

“I can go up alone,” she murmured.

“If you do, you’ll be in for a few problems. You’re barefoot and you haven’t got a room key. Shouldn’t we go to the desk?”

Why did he have to be so damned logical? she wondered resentfully.

They walked to the reception desk together. When Katie asked for a key, the girl asked for her identification. Katie tried to explain that she didn’t have her purse—which was why she didn’t have her key—and therefore didn’t have any identification.

She was growing frustrated when Kent broke into the conversation, laughing with definite charm and telling about their quick escape from a “slightly” wild party.

It annoyed Katie that the girl behind the desk was practically purring in response. Then she realized who Kent was and begged for an autograph. Kent politely wrote his name. Katie received a key.

“Aren’t you going to say thanks?” Kent asked against her ear as they walked away from the desk.

“No,” Katie snapped. “If it weren’t for you, I’d have my shoes, my purse,
and
my key.”

“I’ll get them back for you tomorrow,” Kent replied as they headed for the elevator.

Katie was about to tell him she could reach her room alone, but she never got the chance. A little boy who couldn’t have been more than seven or eight years old came racing toward them crying, “It’s him! It is him! The Cougar—Mom, it’s him!”

Katie couldn’t help but smile at the child’s enthusiasm. His eyes were wide with awe and admiration, but he stopped a foot away from Kent, as if his sudden proximity to his idol had made him suddenly shy. He spoke in a whisper to himself this time. “It is the Cougar!”

“Hi,” Kent said, stepping forward and bending down on a knee to offer him a handshake.

The little boy looked at the hand touching his as if it were magic. “Hi,” he breathed.

Katie glanced past them as she heard the sound of hurried footsteps padding across the carpet. A woman was approaching with another, smaller boy in tow. She was in her early thirties, very pretty if a little harassed, and obviously very distressed. She caught the little boy by a shoulder and pulled him to her, staring at Kent a little awed herself and looking very apologetic.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Hart. You really are the Cougar, aren’t you? I’m—I mean, we’re fans. From Sarasota. We flew out for the game. I told Matthew that he could get closer. I didn’t mean for him to bother you. I know that you don’t care much for the press and the like and I’m so sorry—it’s just that he’s such a fan—”