Heather Graham (13 page)

“Raff’s on his way,” Sue Morgan told her briefly.

“Thanks,” Katie said quickly.

Julie was already standing. “See you later!” she told Katie, two steps taking her to the door. “Oh”—she paused with one hand on the frame—“just a warning—Paul Crane has called you at least a dozen times. He must have thought I was lying about your being out of town.” Julie hesitated. “If you’re really breaking it off with him, make sure that he knows it. I don’t want to sound like a mother hen, but I don’t think he believes it’s over between the two of you, and … I don’t think I’d want to really tangle with his temper, if you know what I mean.” Julie turned around suddenly, looking down the hall. “Raff! Look who just came in!”

“I know she’s here, Julie.”

The male voice sounded annoyed, but that didn’t faze Julie. She winked at Katie, then strolled past the approaching man.

Raff Chapman took Julie’s place in her doorway for a minute, then moved to Katie’s desk, leaned against it, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“So, kid, how’d it go?”

He sounded friendly enough. But Katie knew him fairly well by now. Raphael “Raff” Chapman was a slim, attractive man in his late thirties. He always wore just the right suits, and his dark looks were impeccable. His one driving force in life was ambition; he was determined to make
World
the biggest and best publication in the country. Generally, he and Katie got along fine. He was too ambitious to be schemingly chauvinistic. She was sure that he usually didn’t even see his writers or employees by gender—they were all just a work force to get
World
moving in his direction as best they could.

“Fine,” Katie replied evenly.

“Have I got an article?”

“I think so. He said I could talk to him at his place in the Rockies after the next game.”

“Hmmm.” Raff stared at her for several moments, his dark eyes narrowed and reflective. “Good. Good.”

Katie felt her temper begin to simmer as intuition told her his thoughts. He was assuming that she had started an affair with Kent Hart, and he thought it was just a fine way to get an article. Of course, he wasn’t going to say so, not when he knew her thoughts on the subject.

“Good, good,” he repeated as he stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You shouldn’t have come in right from your flight. You look tired, and you have to fly out again.”

“What?” Katie demanded, shaking off his touch as she spun her chair around to stare at him.

“Sarasota. Julie will get you a dinner flight. First class. I’ll see that you have all the passes you need, and I’ll arrange for you to fly out to Denver with the team. I think they’re going on Wednesday.”

“Raff,” Katie protested, “if Kent Hart starts to think of me as a leech, he won’t want to talk to me!”

“You don’t have to bother him. Just watch him. Observe him with his teammates. See how he really behaves in training and find out where he gets his stamina.”

“Wait a minute, Raff—”

“Katie …”

Something about his tone caused her to pause. She actually thought there was some warmth in his eyes.

“Katie, I think you should be out of town for a while anyway. Paul Crane keeps trying to get in touch with you.” He turned to leave her. “Go home and pack now. Keep me updated at least every other day—or I’ll call you. Stay as long as you like in the Rockies, and if the Saxons should make the Superbowl, keep following them. Your expense account is unlimited. Okay? Good. I’ll talk to you soon.” He was halfway down the hall before he finished speaking.

Katie stared after him, wondering if she shouldn’t throw something after him and tell him what he could do with the job.

But he had sounded concerned because of Paul Crane. Well, he should have been concerned. It had been his fault that she had gotten involved with Paul to begin with!

She half rose from her chair, then sank back to it. She was so tired! Sam had made her feel like a child again last night; they had laughed and joked, and it had all been so easy. There had been no threat of anything deeper than a friendship, and it had been so nice. After the tension of being with Kent, it had been wonderful!

Katie wasn’t concerned with Paul. She had meant it when she had said she didn’t want to see him again. But she was concerned with the idea of following Kent Hart. Kent was a threat, in every sense of the word. Ah, hell. What did it really matter? she asked herself with dismay. If she was going to follow him to the mountains, she might just as well get to know him a little better before taking that plunge.

Katie realized suddenly that her palms were wet, and little tremors were skating along her spine, just because she was going to Sarasota …

She groaned aloud and covered her face with her hands. Damn Kent Hart! He touched her, then denied her; loved her, then despised her. She didn’t know herself around him.

And yesterday … yesterday he had made a point of seeing her. He had taken her into his arms, kissed her as if she were everything in his world, then practically told her she was a prostitute for a story and hurried off because he’d had previous plans. And the greatest insult to her self-esteem was that after all that she’d been riddled with jealousy because his plans had most assuredly involved another woman.

“Damn!” She slammed a fist down on her desk—and with the action the tremors left her. Kent Hart was not going to best her. Not in any way, shape, or form. She was going to get her story, and she was going to walk away without hesitating.

He might be Kent Hart, the illustrious Cougar, but she was Dante Hudson’s daughter.

K
ATIE WAS GLAD WHEN
the phone rang. She had almost fallen asleep in the hot bubble bath she had decided to indulge in before boarding a plane again.

Dripping water and bubbles, she grabbed a towel and hurried from the bath to the phone on the nightstand in her bedroom. Certain that it was Julie calling with some last-minute instructions, she wanted to beat her answering machine to the punch.

But then, when silence at first greeted her breathless greeting, she grew uneasy.

Rightfully so.

“Katie? You
are
there. Those liars at that
World
office said you were out of town again!”

She held the phone away from her ear at the sound of the angrily shouted words.

“Paul. Hi,” she murmured, wishing that she’d left the answering machine on. “I am going out of town again in less than an hour. I … did get your messages. I planned on calling you later.”

“Long distance?” he asked bitingly.

“Paul,
this
is long distance.”

“Not that long a distance.”

“Long distance is long distance.”

“Stop it, Katie. You know what I mean!”

She went rigid, considering the possibility of just hanging up on him. But Julie had been right—Paul Crane didn’t believe that she had called it quits for good.

“Katie?”

“Yes?” she inquired dully.

“I—I called to apologize.” That was said softly, contritely. Katie closed her eyes tiredly and lay back on her bed, envisioning the man who was speaking. Paul was a respected tackle on the Philadelphia team, a man of the hour just like Kent Hart, because his team was also a likely prospect for the Superbowl.

Katie’s second article for
World
had been a short spot on the Philadelphia Titans, the team that had looked like gold since the preseason. It had been early fall when she and Julie had driven down to Pennsylvania, attended a practice session, and met the players.

Julie had spent the drive convincing Katie that she was a fool, stereotyping people in a cruel and uncharacteristic manner by claiming that she hated football players in general.

And maybe—just maybe—she had begun to date Paul in order to prove Julie wrong. Or maybe she had just decided she liked Paul. Katie
had
liked him. He’d been as pleasant as his blond all-American good looks. He had driven to New York for their first date, and they had spent the day at the Metropolitan. On their second date they’d gone to dinner. Next, they’d attended a play, then a hockey game.

But somewhere in there she’d known—or perhaps it had been from the very beginning—that he just wasn’t right for her. Katie always had the strange feeling that she was some kind of challenge to Paul. And last week, when she’d been to a celebration party with him, he’d decided to put the pressure on. The majority of his teammates were all necking with their dates, necking with more enthusiasm in public than Katie would have enjoyed had she been with the absolute prince of her dreams.

Paul was—according to football statistics—six feet three and two hundred and sixty-five pounds; fighting him off was not her idea of a pleasant evening out, especially when he’d been drinking a little too much. When he’d realized she was going to make a scene and embarrass him in front of his friends, he had at last driven her home, going from Pennsylvania to New York in record time and swearing abuses the entire way.

No man, he’d told her, would tolerate “her kind” of female. She was one entire female lie with blond hair and curves; dating her was like dating a cold-blooded fish.

Katie hadn’t even answered him. She’d listened to him, gotten out of the car, and told him that she didn’t want to see him again.

“Katie, dammit, are you listening to me? I know I was drinking too much … I know the atmosphere was a little crazy. But listen, honey, I’m not really an exhibitionist myself, you know? I was wrong, Katie. I should have taken you someplace quiet where we could have been alone. Katie … we were seeing each other enough just to make me crazy—do you understand?”

She sighed at last. “I understand. I like you, Paul, but it’s just not—”

“Oh, good, you’re not mad anymore.”

“Paul, it isn’t a matter of ‘mad.’ Don’t you see? The chemistry wasn’t there. We wouldn’t have made it anyway.”

“‘Wouldn’t have made it’? ‘Chemistry’?” he repeated as if she had clearly lost her mind. “You don’t need ten miles of chemistry and forever afters to behave normally and follow a little instinct!”

“Paul, that’s what I mean. We’re on opposite wave lengths—”

“No, Katie, don’t you understand? I can have lots of women—”

Good for you, she decided silently, glancing at her watch while he rattled on. She had to hurry to make it to the airport on time.

Then she started to wonder if the things he was saying might not be true? Was she a cold fish? No! She didn’t feel cold at all when Kent Hart touched her.

Paul was trying to apologize—in his way. He just couldn’t imagine anyone not falling over backward to be with him.

“Paul,” she interrupted him, “I really have to go.”

“Katie, this can’t be it. I have to talk to you … I have to see you in person.”

“Okay, okay,” she said rashly. “I’ll see you as soon as I get back. I’ll call you.”

“Alone, Katie, please. Give me a chance, and we’ll work things out.”

“I’ll talk to you, Paul. That’s my only promise—”

“Oh, it will be more than that!” he assured her with a smug chuckle.

“Paul—”

He hung up on her. Katie stared at the phone in amazement. Damn. She should have made herself clear. To let him think there was the slightest possibility of any kind of a future between the two of them hadn’t been fair or right.

She sighed. It probably didn’t matter very much. He was probably only interested in her because she wasn’t willing to fall at his feet. He would get over her quickly. She smiled. It would likely be insulting just how quickly he
would
get over her.

But will I get over Kent Hart? she found herself wondering.

“You’ve no right to ‘get over’ the man—you barely know him, and you don’t want to know him!” she told herself out loud.

It was a lie. In a few short days living had become a lie.

Katie stood and finished drying herself, then prayed she had enough clean clothing to pack all over again. She dragged her suitcase out, then suddenly stopped, still in her towel, and walked out to the small living room in her apartment.

Yes, it was small but nice, abounding with plants and books and antique picture frames. She’d worked hard on the apartment, just as she’d worked hard on her life since her father’s death. She’d been so far behind women her age. All that she had been able to do was attempt to take giant steps forward, with career goals in mind.

And now … now it all seemed so cold, as if she’d been afraid of warmth. But when Dante had died, she’d had nothing more than herself and a determination to survive.

Katie felt hot tears spring to her eyes; she brushed them away furiously. Oh, God, this was getting ridiculous! She hadn’t cried since the day she had buried Dante until the other night, and now she was at it again! Everything was out of proportion. Her steadfast plan for life was wobbling all around her. And it had been a good plan, she assured herself; she hadn’t even questioned it until she’d seen Kent Hart again.

He made her think, and he made her feel. He made her yearn for unknown things she hadn’t known she was missing.

Katie grated her teeth together.

“I will get over him,” she commanded herself out loud. “I will best him, and I will get over him.”

“You don’t like football players,” she reminded herself.

But when she was at last out of her apartment and in a cab to Kennedy Airport, she admitted to herself that a lot of her thinking represented misconceptions and cop-outs. She didn’t dislike football or football players—she disliked what had happened to her father.

Her involvement with Paul hadn’t been Raff’s fault—it had been her own. And if she became any more deeply involved with Kent Hart—well, that would be her own fault, too.

Thinking about it made her heart pound quickly. Her palms grew damp, and liquid shivers ran along her back. She swallowed. For the first time in her life, Katie didn’t know what she wanted. Yes, she knew what she wanted, but she didn’t dare admit it to herself. She wanted Kent Hart to touch her again, to sear her lips with his kisses.

Don’t even think that way, Katie! she warned herself. What happened to the calm, cool soul who despised the man with a totally analytical mind?