A Bridge to Love (25 page)

Then
they were both unbuckling, unbuttoning and unzipping madly.

The
second the last piece of clothing hit the floor, Randall was on top of her.
Kate closed her eyes and opened her legs, waiting for the thrust that would
begin to assuage the demanding ache.

It
didn't come. Instead, Randall's voice growled, “Do I need a condom?”

Kate
looked up at him and shook her head. “Not because of me. I won't get pregnant,
and you won't catch anything. Do you need a condom for any other reason?”

A
grin of pure lust curled Randall's lips. “No reason at all.” And then the
thrust came.

Kate
had to swallow her shout of satisfaction. Randall was not so quiet. Kate tilted
her hips and wrapped her legs around his waist so that each stroke slid along
her most sensitive spot. Randall came first, his orgasm pulsing in and against
her. He reached down and with one touch sent Kate convulsing over the edge. Her
climax seemed to go on forever, and when she finally collapsed in satiation,
tiny after-tremors ran through her inner muscles.

Randall
did not withdraw but rolled so that Kate lay draped limply on top of him. She
sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a long contented sigh.

“I
agree completely,” his voice rumbled against her ear.

Kate's
eyelids drifted closed. She thought how unique the feeling of skin against skin
was; two living fabrics stretched over flexing muscles and pulsing veins. Each
part felt a little different. There was the focused pleasure of her breasts'
softness crushed against the wall of Randall's chest, the provocative tangle
and slide of thigh between thigh, and, as she laced her fingers with his, the
warm affection of two palms touching. The steady stroke of his hand on her hair
made her scalp tingle with tiny vibrations of bliss. She sighed again.

“The
road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

Kate's
eyes flew open. “I beg your pardon,” she said indignantly.

A
deep chuckle vibrated against her cheek. “I said that we were going to go
slowly, but slow doesn't seem to be in our vocabulary when it comes to this.”

She
let her eyes close again. “Maybe next time,” she murmured.

As
their breathing slowed and their blood began to cool, Randall pulled up the
down quilt that Kate neatly folded at the foot of the bed each morning. He
nestled Kate comfortably but firmly at his side and then wrapped the quilt
around them.

Kate
knew that she should go check on Clay, but she couldn't deny herself the
indulgence of lying in the arms of the man she loved, completely naked and
totally satiated. The knowledge that Randall wanted her close against him even
after making love warmed her heart. She didn't pretend to herself that he had
come to her for anything other than solace in a moment of crisis. For now, that
was enough.

Randall
lay with his eyes open, staring at the ceiling and savoring the feel of Kate's
warm, bare body snuggled against his. The thought of returning to his empty
mountaintop sent a chill into the center of his bones, and he involuntarily
tightened his grip on her. Kate responded by melting closer to him, and he
smiled.

With
Kate's presence to anchor him, he let his mind drift back to the moment when he
had been awakened on the plane by the co-pilot gently shaking his shoulder. The
man's look of concern had resurrected with shattering ferocity the memory of
how he had gotten there. Randall had wanted nothing more than to close his eyes
and fall back into the oblivion he had found in his drunken sleep. But he had
dragged himself off the plane with what dignity he could muster.

Only
to be confronted by Tom in his role of guardian angel. Randall winced when he
remembered his harsh dismissal of his oldest friend. He knew that he owed Tom
the truth, but he hadn't been prepared to give it to him. So he had gotten rid
of him as fast and efficiently as he could. Now he owed Tom the truth and an
apology.

After
treating Tom disgracefully, he had gotten in his car and driven for hours. When
he noticed that he was in Pennsylvania, he had turned around, the one thought
in his head being that he needed sanctuary and that Kate Chilton was it.

Randall
dropped a whisper of a kiss on her hair, being careful not to disturb her. He
had been right to come here. He believed Kate when he couldn't believe himself.
Now he could see that he had lost his passion for revenge years ago, but that
he was accustomed to the focus that it gave his life.

And now what
? His life was hollow at the
core. He felt aimless, adrift.

Kate
said that he needed a new project, but he felt burned out and cold. Except here
and now. He had made himself invulnerable for so long that it felt good to be
seen as human again. Kate admired him for reasons that had nothing to do with
his wealth or position. In fact, those things formed a barrier in her mind.

He
smiled again as he thought of how much he enjoyed ruffling her calm, polite
control and fanning the flame of temper beneath it. He never feared being
burned; she was the warm glow of the hearth, not a raging bonfire. Although
when he thought of how they came together physically, he remembered that
chimney fires could burn down houses.

His
thoughts refocused on the here-and-now, and he ran his hand along Kate's hip
and thigh, admiring the curve and flow of her body. He regretted his action,
though, when she stirred and said, “I have to go check on Clay,” shifting her
warmth away from him as she scooted to the edge of the bed and sat up. He
enjoyed the view as she walked across the bedroom to open the closet door and
slip on a deep green silk robe.

When
she finally looked at him, he was delighted to see that she was blushing
slightly. He quirked a brow at her. She smiled, saying, “I haven't walked
across a room naked in front of a man in quite a while.”

“It
must be like riding a bicycle because you did a fine job of it.”

Her
color heightened. “Thank you,” she said and then padded noiselessly out of the
room.

Randall
pushed himself up and stacked the pillows so that he could lean comfortably
against the big Victorian headboard. He gazed across the room into the empty
fireplace and did some hard thinking.

He
had reached a very satisfactory decision when the door reopened, and Kate
slipped back into the room. Her gleaming auburn hair had caught the mood of
their love-making and was curling wildly around her face. The silk of the robe
flowed like liquid over the swell of her breasts and the glorious roundness of
her hips and thighs. He was grateful for the puffy down comforter that covered
his immediate arousal. She closed the door softly and gave him a sweet, slow
smile. He answered her with a smile of his own and said, “Marry me, Kate.”

A
riot of emotions exploded through her. Having performed her motherly duties,
she had walked back to her room, thinking how extraordinary it was to know that
Randall Johnson lay in her bed waiting for her to return. She had opened the
door with a mixture of shyness and anticipation. The sight of him naked to the
waist, lounging on her pillows, had made her temperature rise several degrees.
He looked magnificently male and at ease, with his shoulders spanning half the
headboard's width and the dusting of dark hair highlighting the muscles of his
chest and arms. She had wanted to hurl herself on him, but instead she had
smiled her thoughts and started to untie the belt of her robe.

Then
he spoke and she froze.

She
had expected a sexy come-on, and instead, he had casually proposed marriage!

Her
surge of pleasure was swamped by a tidal wave of hurt and anger. He was no
better than Oliver, trying to find himself a ready-made family.

“I
don't believe that my name appeared on the list of projects for you to pursue,”
she said coldly, pulling her belt into a knot.

“I
screwed that up, didn't I? I would have gotten down on my knees, but in my
present state,” he said, glancing down at his lap, “you would have suspected me
of ulterior motives.”

Refusing
to let his humor disarm her, Kate walked to the foot of the bed. “I'm not
Lucinda,” she said.

His
brows snapped down, and his smile vanished. “Hell, I know that. You don't
resemble Lucy in any way.”

She
tried not to be insulted as she recalled the glowing terms with which he had
described his childhood sweetheart. “I meant that I'm not a substitute for your
dream of having a wife and a family.”

Randall's
scowl deepened. He was furious with himself. He was usually the most controlled
of negotiators, carefully laying the groundwork so that the other party was
drawn inexorably and inevitably to the conclusion he wanted. He had completely
fouled up this deal.

“That's
not why I proposed, but now I withdraw the offer.”

Kate
gaped at him. “Two seconds ago you wanted to marry me and now you don't?”

“I
didn't say I didn't want to marry you. I
temporarily
rescinded my proposal.”

He
got out of bed and stalked across the room, six-feet-three and naked. Kate
backed up. He caught her in two strides and slid his arms around her and cupped
her buttocks, pulling her hips against him. The thin silk of her robe offered
no barrier to the warmth of his hands or the friction of his arousal against
her.

“I
have a different proposition in mind now,” he whispered against her neck.

Kate
had crossed her arms when he approached, but that was proving no defense
against his assault on her better judgment. The fact that she had walked into
the room wanting him didn't help. She was confused and furious and utterly
without willpower when one of his hands slid up into her hair and he ran his
lips along her jawline and onto her mouth. Then he stooped and swept his arm
behind her knees, lifting her and carrying her to the bed.

He
set her down gently and began slowly peeling back her robe, letting his hands
drag slowly across the skin he bared. When he had exposed her completely, he
stood looking down at her with an expression that made her nipples harden.
Instead of coming down on top of her, he rolled her onto her side and fitted
his body along her back with his erection against her bottom. He adjusted his
arm so that her head was pillowed on his biceps. Then he covered her breast
with his free hand.

“Watch
me touch you, Kate,” he commanded in her ear.

She
looked down involuntarily. The tan of his big hand against the paleness of her
breast was startling, and she couldn't tear her eyes away. He slowly trailed
his hand down the other breast, stopping to tease her nipple, then moving lower
until his fingers disappeared between her legs. Kate caught her breath at the
sight and the sensation. There was little that she could do to respond in this
position, so she reached behind her and held on to his hip as he played and
stroked and drove her mad. Finally she gave in and begged, “Please, Randall,
now.”

Again
he surprised her. He bent her top leg by pushing his knee against the back of
hers. “I learned that trick from an engineer friend,” he drawled.

Then
he slid down her back and drove himself into her from behind and below. She was
so wet that he slid in effortlessly, and she cried out at the almost instant
sense of fullness. The lack of friction made the lovemaking go on and on. He
never halted his rhythm but his hands roved freely up to her breasts and down
her stomach. He explored the whorls of her ear with his tongue, whispering how
good this felt and how wet she was and how he wanted to stay inside her for
hours.

Kate
was incapable of speech. She answered him with moans and the clamp of her hand
on his hip. Finally, his strokes quickened, and he slid his hands down to hold
her hips at the angle he wanted.

Kate
forgot that her children were in the house. She forgot that this man was an
arch-manipulator. She forgot that she was three days behind at work and that
the mortgage was due. All she knew was that her body and Randall's joined with
an intensity that wiped away all other considerations. She came with an
explosion of sound and motion that made Randall's hold almost bruise her. And
he joined her, her convulsion triggering his own roar of release, muffled by
his mouth against her hair.

She
lay limp, wondering if she had wakened Clay or Patrick, and knowing that she
couldn't move even if the door opened and they both barged in. She also knew
that she shouldn't have let Randall make love to her again since he now
undoubtedly thought that she would change her mind about marrying him.

For
a moment she contemplated the thought. Oliver's voice rang in her head: “He
won't marry you, you know.” Even Georgia replayed: “He isn't interested in
relationships.” Well, it seemed like little old Kate Chilton had brought
Randall Johnson to his knees figuratively, if not literally. She had proved
both of them wrong and enjoyed the ignoble spurt of triumph she felt at that.

It
was a tempting offer in many ways. The sex alone would sway a lesser soul,
something she was sure that Randall was counting on.

But
she could imagine nothing worse than marrying a man who didn't love her heart
and soul as well as body. What happened when he got bored with sex with her,
when it became comfortable rather than explosive? She would always wonder
whether he was seeking that combustion elsewhere.