Disguised Blessing (2 page)

C
ATHERINE WAS IN BUBBLES UP TO HER CHIN WHEN
Tom returned. He came into the bathroom with a bottle of champagne in one hand and two long-stemmed glasses in the other. She leaned languorously against the back of the enormous clawfoot tub and smiled. “A little early, don’t you think?”

“For us, opportunities like this don’t come along very often. There’s no way I’m going to let this one go uncelebrated.” He put the glasses on the tile counter, uncorked the bottle, and poured them each a glass before coming to sit on the edge of the tub next to her. Before offering a toast, he came forward and gave her a lingering kiss. “To a lifetime of opportunities.”

She touched her glass to his. “And to you to share them with me.”

“Until I’m too old to recognize how much more intoxicating the bubbles that you’re sitting in are than the ones in this glass.”

She took a sip and licked the moisture from her lip. “And here I was beginning to think you hadn’t noticed.”

He gave her a look that let her know he’d missed nothing. Slowly, deliberately, he began removing small, crucial clusters of foam from her body, never touching her directly but sending an electric, unmistakable message. Her skin flushed pink with anticipation.. Her breathing grew shallow. In response, in encouragement, she arched her back and moved her legs, placing one foot on the faucet, the other on the drain.

Tom was an inventive, imaginative lover, reveling as much in the pleasure he gave as in the pleasure he received. There had never been an awkward moment in their lovemaking, a miscue or a time when she hadn’t been ready. He sensed and understood her moods, unerringly choosing his approach when she was most receptive.

If she wondered about him at all, if she admitted to the slightest doubt, it was that he seemed too perfect to be real. Or maybe it was that she didn’t understand why he’d chosen her when he’d had his pick of any single woman, and a lot of the married ones, in their circle of friends. It was almost as if he’d come to the dance at the country club just to meet her. She’d spotted him looking at her the minute she walked in. Later, he told her that he’d decided at that very moment that she was the woman he’d waited his entire life to meet. He’d pursued her with single-minded dedication and determination, and won her with his charm, humor, and
easy acceptance of Lynda as an integral part of the equation—something no other man she’d dated since her divorce had even attempted.

“Stand up,” he ordered.

She struggled to surface from a sensuous depth she didn’t want to abandon. Handing him her glass, she rose from the water and stood before him, clusters of foam still attached to her body.

When she moved to step from the tub, he said, “No, stay where you are.” He reached for the bottle of champagne and poured a splash into his hand. When it was warmed, he let his hand slip over her shoulder and down the length of her body. He repeated the process until she was shimmering with the small, intoxicating bubbles, then put the bottle aside, helped her from the tub, and began drying her with his tongue.

Catherine shuddered, caught her breath, and held it for long seconds before releasing it with a sigh. He lingered at the cup of her shoulder, lapping her skin with the tip of his tongue, taking in her essence along with the champagne and traces of water. Slowly he moved lower, negotiating a path to her breast and its passion-hardened nipple. She let out a soft moan of anticipation, urging him on, seeking a release while delighting in the journey.

He looked at her, smiled, and lifted her into his arms.

“From now on, every time you think about this cabin, you’re going to think about this moment, this entire day.”

“Just this one day? What about all the others that
will follow? We have a lot of years ahead of us.”

He laughed deeply. “I like the way your mind works.”

Pulling her close to fit them through the doorway, he swung her around in a circle in the bedroom before placing her gently on the bed.

“Fates, are you watching?” she whispered. “Are you jealous?”

Tom looked up from unbuttoning his shirt. “What?”

“I’m tired of being afraid. From now on I’m going to revel in my happiness. As a matter of fact, I’m going to shout it from a mountaintop tomorrow for the whole world to hear.”

“What brought that on?”

“I’m in love—can’t you tell?” And there was something else, something she would never admit to him, something she barely admitted to herself: She wasn’t bone-achingly lonely anymore.

He tossed his shirt and jeans onto the chair by the window and joined her on the bed, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her on top of him. “I don’t know. Maybe you should show me. I’ve always been more physical than verbal.”

She sat up and straddled him, slowly pulling the pins from her hair and then shaking it free. Fully aware of the effect her deliberate movements had on him, she delayed even longer to look at him through hooded eyes, her mouth slightly open, her tongue touching her lip.

He put his hand on the back of her neck and pulled her down for a deep, plundering kiss, beginning
the day he’d promised she would remember for the rest of her life.

Fresh from a second bath to rid herself of the sticky champagne residue, Catherine snuggled into Tom’s side and ran her hand over his chest. He was two months shy of his fortieth birthday and had the body of a twenty-year-old. No, that wasn’t right. He had the body of a man who put effort into the way he looked. A lot of effort. Muscles rippled when he moved. His stomach stayed as flat when a beautiful woman looked away as it did when she looked at him. Physical fitness was important to Tom and through his gentle prodding, it had become important to her.

But how he looked and the way others looked at him were inconsequential parts of her love. Even if he couldn’t understand why things were important to her, he believed they were when she told him so, and acted accordingly.

This trip was a test of sorts. For all of them. Which was why it was so important that it went well. Until now, she and Tom had never spent an entire night together. Catherine wanted to give Lynda the mental shelter of believing whatever she wanted to believe about her and Tom’s relationship. By having Tom come with them without sharing Catherine’s bedroom, they’d taken a step. Not one so large Lynda would be stripped of her security; but it was time she understood what it would mean to have him with them at breakfast as well as dinner.

The battle for them to sleep in separate bedrooms had been hard-won. Tom was convinced Lynda was not only ready for her mother to take that step, she didn’t care. In the end he’d given in, although reluctantly.

Tom took her wandering hand and brought it to his lips for a kiss. “There’s something we need to discuss.”

“You sound so serious.”

“Sorry—I didn’t mean to. But it is serious, in a way. It’s about Lynda. I know I told you I wouldn’t interfere, and I’m not, it’s just that I want to offer another viewpoint.”

“About?”

“Making her be with us every second she’s here. I know what you want to accomplish this week, but I think you’re going after something you already have. She already thinks of us as a family, Catherine. To her it’s no big deal for the three of us to be together all the time. We love each other, she loves you and accepts me, and I think that’s a whole lot more than we had a right to expect at this point.”

He rolled to his side to look at her, as if to gauge her reaction and form his argument from that. “I’m afraid if we make her miss this time with her friends she’s going to resent being with us, not go home thinking what a great time she had.”

“I don’t—”

“Didn’t you tell me she only gets to see this set of friends when she’s here?”

“For the most part.”

“And that she’s been looking forward to this for weeks?”

“Yes,” Catherine admitted. Maybe she had made a mistake coming here. If she’d wanted Lynda to herself, they should have gone to another resort.

“Now put yourself in her place. How would you feel about the people who—”

“I get your point.”

“Besides, this is our vacation, too. We have a right to some time alone, the same as Lynda.”

He’d had her up to that moment. She tried to ignore the flicker of disappointment she felt. After all, his first consideration had been Lynda. Of course he would think about spending time alone with the woman he loved, maybe even feel a little selfish about it. Would she really want it any other way?

“I don’t know. Maybe you’re right,” she said. “It’s just that you and Lynda have spent so little time together.”

“All right. Let’s say she woke up one morning and decided she didn’t like me. What would you do?”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“But what if it did?”

She wasn’t sure what he was after. “I’d have to find another way to make her see what a wonderful man you are.”

“And if that didn’t work?”

Catherine propped herself up on her elbow. “You can’t be asking me who I would choose if it came down to you and Lynda.”

“What if I were?”

“What good does it do for us to discuss something that isn’t going to happen?”

He rolled onto his back and sat up. “Maybe I just want to know where I stand with you. Sometimes I get the feeling it’s pretty far down the line.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“Okay. Maybe not far down the line—but definitely second place.”

How had they gone from lovemaking to the verge of an argument? Had she missed a step somewhere? “Did I say something wrong? Did I do something? I don’t understand what’s going on here.”

Tom stared at her for several seconds before shaking his head in defeat. “It isn’t you, it’s me.” He tenderly tucked her hair over her shoulder. “I’ve never been this happy with anyone. I can’t seem to keep myself from looking for something that would tell me it isn’t real. Self-protection, I guess. I’m just afraid of being hurt.”

They were words to melt her heart. “I’m here. And I’m real. And I’m not going to go away. If there’s a problem, we’ll find a way through it. I promise.”

He kissed her, his mouth hungry and demanding, his body instantly ready for her again. She responded with an equal intensity, eager to have him understand the depth of her commitment in his body as well as his mind.

They had dinner on the deck that night: Brie and sesame crackers; tart, sliced apples; plump, succulent
grapes; and an exquisite cabernet sauvignon that Tom had been saving in his wine locker for a special occasion. They leaned back in their chairs to let the last of the day’s sun warm them, and talked about the pollen and the office building that Tom’s company had built in Roseville and the guest list for the wedding.

She wanted a small wedding. He wanted her to invite everyone she knew, including most of the membership of the country club. His request had confused her until he reminded her that being new to the area put him at a disadvantage, and he considered the reception an opportunity to meet people as well as celebrate their marriage. She couldn’t fault his ambition—overcoming a background of neglect and poverty to become a vice president for LandCo was one of the things she admired most about him. Still, she would have liked to save their wedding for them.

When they were sated with food, they took the last of the wine inside and made love with as much passion and enthusiasm as before. Then, just before Tom slipped into a contented sleep, he toasted Catherine and told her that she’d made him realize there were no problems the two of them together could not solve. She was the woman he’d been looking for his entire life, the woman he’d given up hope of ever finding.

Catherine stayed in bed with Tom until she was sure she wouldn’t disturb him by leaving. Slipping into her father’s old flannel robe, a fixture at the cabin as old and worn as the carved wooden bear
beside the front door, she tiptoed into the kitchen to fix a cup of hot cider.

Cider was a treat she reserved for the cabin. Except for wine and an occasional glass of milk, she never drank anything that had calories. But even with watching her diet and regular workouts with Tom, she still couldn’t shed the eight pounds she’d put on in her thirties. One pound for every year. Her friends worried about their birthdays because they hated the idea of getting older. She worried how many more years and accompanying pounds it would take before she had to move up another dress size.

Taking her cider outside, she lifted a cushion off a deck chair and took it with her to the dock. The night air wrapped her in a cool, fragrant embrace. She looked at the sky, a black quilt embroidered with stars in wondrous, mysterious patterns.

Tom was right. Lynda only had a few more summers of freedom, and even fewer of childhood. It was wrong to take even part of one away from her. There would be lots of time for Lynda and Tom to get to know each other better. A lifetime. He would be a grandfather to her children, undoubtedly seeing them more often than Jack saw his own daughter. But then, Jack had never been much of a father, and there was no reason to believe he’d be much of a grandfather. Catherine had no doubt that Jack would abdicate this future role to Tom, too.

Catherine sat and propped the cushion against a post, leaning back, savoring the smell and then the taste of the cider, taking small, luxurious sips as she
stared at the stars. At moments like these she mentally resisted Tom’s gentle nudging for her to get back into the kind of projects that had consumed her life when she was married to Jack. She’d become a volunteer for any and all organizations he’d felt were important for their social standing. She did the work, he made appearances at the functions where he would be seen and could network.

At the time, she’d been as caught up in building his career, in doing her part to see he met the right people, as he had been. Then, when he left and she went to work and didn’t have time to keep up with everything she’d committed herself to when they were married, she’d discovered most of the friends she’d made over the years were connected by a common thread she no longer held.

She understood Tom’s desire for her to be the partner she’d been to Jack, saw the benefit it would bring, but couldn’t summon the enthusiasm she’d once held.