Heather Graham (11 page)

Laughing, he followed her, preferring to ignore the fact that she had no intention of helping to pack up their uneaten meal. He did so himself. Katie walked on to the car, ripped the door open vehemently, then sat rigidly and waited.

Kent took his time. It was several minutes before he approached the trunk of the car and threw the basket and quilt into it. When he was seated beside her again, she didn’t even glance his way.

He started up the car but seemed to have no qualms about looking at her.

“Despicable?” he asked.

“Totally,” she enunciated coolly, hating the laughter she heard in his voice.

“My God, you really are good, then.”

“At what?” she demanded with fury and exasperation.

“Seduction,” he replied blandly.

She twisted, temper and sanity lost, ready to blacken both his eyes if possible. He caught both her wrists and smiled at her as she strenuously fought his hold, then went rigid.

“Fact one about Kent Hart, Miss Katie Reporter. I never abuse women—unless they abuse me.”

She lifted her chin in silence and waited with miraculous patience, considering the cauldron inside her, for him to release her.

“You still need the information, don’t you?”

“Oh, I could write a lot about you right now,” she seethed.

“But it wouldn’t be what your editors want. So, are you still on the story?”

“I can only give you one guarantee, Mr. Hart.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

Kent kept his smile in place as he stared into her eyes. They were sea crystals, a rage of shifting blue and green. Pride, rigid and fierce, tensed her delicate features. Why? he wondered. Why am I taunting her?

His conscience answered him fully.

He had wanted to protect Hudson’s daughter, but the greatest protection that she needed was against him. He wanted her, desperately, painfully. She was a sweet potion that he had tasted briefly, and a gnawing, driving hunger for her now tore at his body, taunting his insides. He had taken her into his arms to shake her up, but he had been the one trembling, ready to make love to her on the sand under the sun and sky.

Both of them—bought and sold.

He couldn’t refuse her—all he could possibly do was make her turn from him …

“I can guarantee you, Mr. Hart,” she said with words that touched him like jagged ice, “that I will be old and wrinkled and dead before I’ll ever allow you to touch me again!”

Kent released her and laughed. The sound grated in his throat; it held no humor. He turned the key in the ignition, and the sports car roared to life.

“It will be interesting, Miss Hudson,” he drawled, “to see if that’s true.”

“Oh, it will be,” Katie vowed. “It will be.”

K
ENT RETURNED KATIE TO
her hotel by one thirty; by two thirty he was standing in the airport waiting for his flight to be called.

Sam Loper was with him. Sam just didn’t believe that anyone should fly off without someone there to say good-bye.

“You’re crazy, you know,” Sam was telling him good-naturedly. “You’ll get to Philly tonight, and you’ll have to fly back to Sarasota tomorrow. That’s a lot. We’ll have a week of hard training and then—if we’re real, real lucky next weekend—we’ll have two weeks of hard training before the Superbowl. After that you’ll have all the time in the world. Why don’t you just wait? Annie would understand. You could even see her next week, leave right after the game.”

Kent shook his head. “I made my plans for next weekend. And I promised Anne I’d see her tonight. I don’t let her down.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s good,” Sam said, no longer attempting to dissuade Kent from the trip. He frowned suddenly. “But what’s up next weekend? You mean after the game on Saturday, I take it.”

“I’m going up to my place in the mountains.” He shrugged. “We’ll already be in Denver. I might have a whole pack of time,” Kent chuckled, “but if we do make the big game, I’ll still have a couple of days before intense training again.”

“Want me to come with you to the cabin?” Sam asked. “It might be just what I need. Mountain air, fishing—”

“Not this time.” Kent answered quickly.

Sam looked at him suspiciously. “What’s up?”

“I don’t know, maybe nothing.”

Sam gazed at him quizzically for a minute, decided Kent wasn’t going to say any more, and suggested that they walk closer to the gate. Kent’s flight was called over the loudspeaker, and Sam offered Kent his hand.

“Say hi to Paula and Annie for me. And Ted.”

“I will,” Kent promised. He grinned. “And lie a bit low yourself tonight, will you? I hear things got even wilder after I left last night.”

Sam shrugged, then grinned sheepishly. “Not that bad. And I have plans for a more personal outing this evening.”

“Oh?” Kent raised a suspicious brow. Intuition was warning him that something was up in Sam’s mind that he wasn’t going to like.

“I’m going to go and apologize to Miss Hudson for the rowdiness of the party. I’m going to beg to make amends and—”

Kent dropped his overnight bag and grabbed Sam by the lapels of his jacket. “Sammy,” he said heatedly, “that’s one woman I want you to leave be. She’s not … an ordinary groupie.”

“Kent!” Sam explained with surprise, amazed at the intense anger that tautened his friend’s features. He grasped Kent’s hands, aware that Kent had age and muscle over him but not afraid. He gripped Kent’s hands. “Hey—if she’s special to you, just say so. I wasn’t going after her in that way to begin with. Anyone can see that she isn’t ordinary.”

Kent gave himself a little shake and released Sam. “She isn’t really special to me, Sam. I’m sorry.”

Sam watched him curiously for a minute. “Kent, I like her. I really like her. I was just going to take her to dinner.” He paused, then lowered his voice. “Honest, Kent, just dinner. I’d be keeping an eye on her for you, actually.”

Kent shook his head again. “It isn’t that, Sam. I just don’t want her in any more situations like last night.” He hesitated. “She’s the daughter of an old friend of mine. He’s dead now. Do you remember Dante Hudson?”

“Dante Hudson?” Sam repeated, then he whistled softly. “Sure, what quarterback doesn’t get a million lessons with his name in them all. She’s—Katie’s his daughter?”

Kent nodded.

Sam lifted his hands. “I promise, no parties, nothing wild. And I’ll keep my hands to myself.”

Kent lowered his head and smiled. Sam was a good friend. Kent had just denied that he was staking a claim himself, but Sam was still going to watch out for Katie Hudson—for him.

Maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea. He’d know she wasn’t going to get in any trouble that night, anyway. Of course, for the next week—well, it would depend on what she decided to do. He honestly didn’t know whether he wanted her to disappear from his life or remain and drive him half mad.

“Hey, you’d better get on that plane,” Sam warned.

Kent nodded. He gave Sam an open-palmed tap on the shoulder. “See you tomorrow night before curfew.”

Sam nodded. Kent hurried to board his plane.

It was a long, long flight. Listening to music couldn’t stop him from thinking, nor could he get himself interested in the movie being shown. There were some excellent articles in the magazines being passed around, but he couldn’t keep his concentration steady for more than a paragraph.

Hudson’s daughter …

At twelve she had been a beauty. Tall and slim, all legs like a young colt. Even then her features had promised perfection; her hair had been like a wild, golden halo. Kent had wanted to like her because he liked Dante so much. He would have gladly and willingly loved anything in Dante’s life.

But from the moment he’d seen her that day, he’d known she was bound and determined to hate him. He remembered understanding—a little. But he’d also been too young then himself to bend over backward with toleration. Especially after she had clawed his cheek.

He smiled a little wistfully, remembering how Dante had warned him that everyone would think he’d had a lovers’ scrap. Because of Katie’s nails, he had endured a lovers’ scrap. He and Paula had been engaged then, and she’d been furious, certain that he’d been fooling around. He’d finally convinced her that he hadn’t. Or at least he had thought he’d convinced her that he hadn’t.

Kent leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, a smile filtering onto his lips. It seemed strange now that he was such good friends with Paula. Their divorce had been a vicious one, made so mainly by the press. They both kept believing what they read without bothering to ask each other. Paula was made to believe he wanted to take Anne from her; Kent was made to believe she meant to refuse him visitation rights by accusing him of a lewd and disgusting life, harmful to his daughter.

It was amazing that they’d ever gotten it settled, that they’d ever been able to sit down and acknowledge that they weren’t right for each other, that neither of them was a horrible person. Paula had never been a nag or a witch, just as he had never been the adulterer she had come to believe.

It had been ten years since then—ten years in which they had learned to care deeply about one another as friends. Just as they both cared with all their hearts for their daughter Anne. And Ted Haskell, whom Paula had married a year after the divorce, was a man with a totally giving, mature, and refined character. He knew his wife loved him, and he felt no insecurity. Kent had always wanted marriage to be a forever thing; his hadn’t worked out that way, but at least their lives—his, Paula’s, Anne’s, and yes, Ted’s—had worked out in the next best possible way.

Kent taught Anne to love and respect Ted, which she did. But she was his daughter, too, and she knew it. If there was one thing Kent did in his life against all odds, it was to uphold all his commitments to Anne. He had promised to see her tonight; he was going to do so.

But tonight … tonight he was wishing a bit that he wasn’t facing such a tight schedule. He wished he could have called Anne and asked her if she would mind waiting another day. He hadn’t been ready to leave. He’d wanted to spend more time with Kathleen Hudson. Even with Sam’s promise, he didn’t want her in California. Why? It was stupid. How the hell could he know what she usually did in New York? She was what? Twenty-five? Twenty-six? Old enough to date, he reminded himself.

He didn’t want her dating. He didn’t want her out with any man. Not even Sam, who had made a promise that—being Sam—he would keep. Kent wanted her himself. So badly that sitting in the wide-bodied jet with the air-conditioning vent right on his face, his body still went hot and rigid with the thought of her. The woman he was belatedly convinced that he had to protect.

Damn! He groaned silently. She had admitted today that she had been told to get the interview with him at any personal cost. Of course, she had denied her own collusion. But she appeared to hate him; it was obvious that she often forced great control upon herself to keep from giving him a set of matching scars on his opposite cheek. But then, when he touched her, she moved like fire and honey in his arms, seducing away his good intentions and will … and all reason.

Where was the truth? Did she despise him? And was she willing to act out the innocent enchantress for the sake of her all-important career?

He didn’t know. He just didn’t know. She denied him, but she enwrapped his desires with far greater talent than any woman he had known before her.

Kent sighed, totally frustrated. He had tried to infuriate her today. He had wanted to infuriate her because he hadn’t wanted to find himself guilty of an affair with his dead friend’s daughter. Hell, he owed Dante’s memory more than that …

But at the same time he was also wishing that she would follow him to the mountains. Then they would find out once and for all if what was passing between them was something born of hatred or something real, that special chemistry between a man and a woman that he had given up on after his divorce.

Showdown, he thought. Would it happen?

Oh, get her off your mind, will you? he pleaded with himself. He picked up a magazine and forced himself to read.

Eventually, the plane brought him to Philadelphia. It was eleven o’clock when he paid the cab driver and walked up the brick path to his ex-wife’s stately old home. Paula had assured him that none of them was worried about the time; he knew that her assurance had been no lie when, despite the hour, the night, and the high banks of snow on the lawn, the front door burst open.

A bundled streak with long dark hair came flying toward him.

“Daddy! You’re here! You did come! Oh, Dad!”

Kent dropped his bag and caught his daughter’s flying form as it pelted against his. He wrapped his arms tightly around her, lifting her from the ground, hugging her furiously.

“Annie, oh, Annie!”

For a full minute he held her close, whispering her name, running his fingers through her dark hair. She was life and warmth and the greatest love he had ever known.

At last she pulled away from him. Her eyes, a sparkling hazel like her mother’s, stared into his like glittering diamonds.

“Oh, Dad! You were great! Ted watched the game with me—and Mom, too, but you know how she is—and Ted kept saying the only chance in hell that Loper had was to get that ball to you! I was so proud when you made that touchdown!”

Kent grimaced and set her down at last. “Don’t you say ‘hell,’ young lady,” he chastised softly. “And I’m not sure you should be so proud of me. I ran my legs off because I didn’t want those goons falling on me—which they did anyway.”

“Oh, Dad! You’re so funny!” Anne said, giggling. She slipped her hand into his. “Come on, Mom and Ted are waiting at the door, and Mom will start complaining that all the cold air is getting in.”

Grinning, Kent retrieved his overnight bag and followed Anne up the path to the old steps. Paula and Ted were both in the doorway.

“Kent! Get in here before we all freeze!” Paula chastised, smiling. Anne and Kent exchanged knowing looks and a quick laugh. Ted reached for Kent’s bag, and Paula quickly closed the door behind them all, still scolding Kent as she took his coat and kissed his cheek.