King of the Mountain (12 page)

“Refill?” he asked, setting his glass back on the table and shaking her from her state of suspended animation.

“Oh—no, thanks.” She glanced down, trying to recover her equanimity, and found she hadn’t finished
her first glass. “One is my limit, especially when I’m driving.”

“Let’s go listen to some music then.” He hitched his chin toward the sun room, only a few steps away, drawing her gaze in the same direction.

A torcherie lamp cast an intimate glow behind the seductive suede sofa, triggering an instant panic attack on her part. She’d come to his house of her own accord, fully aware of where it might lead. But here she sat, racking her brain for a plausible excuse to delay the moment of truth.

“The dishes!” she remembered aloud.

“They’re not going anywhere.”

She rose and reached for his bowl. “It won’t take me a minute to—”

He grabbed her slender wrist, holding it loosely but effectively. “The maid will wash them tomorrow.”

She looked down, pleading her case to his dark, imprisoning fingers. “The least we can do is put them in the sink.”

He released her, sensing she needed some more time to come to terms with what was happening between them, and stood to help her. “But this is all the work we’re going to do.”

While they cleared the table, Ben told her about the week he’d spent in Washington seeking federal approval for his power plant. The kitchen lights glanced off his high cheekbones, softening the hard edges, and Kitty realized he defied pigeonholing—getting grubby with the miners one week and suiting up with senators the next.

A smoldering desire fired her as she recalled another, more tender side of the man. But sadness seeped in to take its place when he mentioned visiting his godfather, unwittingly driving the stake of their differences through her heart.

She pushed aside her reservations, determined to make the most of the time they had. Pertly she informed him that she’d voted for the other candidate, and would again if she had the opportunity. He laughed and said he never argued politics or religion with his dates.

“Besides, it doesn’t matter what political party you belong to,” he added, pouring himself a second glass of wine before recorking the bottle and turning off the kitchen light. “What really matters is that you voted.”

“That’s true,” she agreed, still nursing the glass of wine she’d begun at dinner as she followed him into the sun room. “I know people who’ll go on and on about a certain candidate, but they can’t be bothered to go to the polls.”

“What would you like to hear?” He walked over to the entertainment center and pointed to the wooden rack that contained his extensive collection of compact discs, leaving the choice to her.

“Oh, gosh, I don’t know.” Looking through them, she was surprised to find they had similar tastes in music. She finally picked two discs, a Roy Orbison and—she couldn’t resist—an Elvis Presley. “Either one of these.” “How about both of them?” He studied her selections;
smiling when he saw the second one, then turned on the machine and adjusted the volume to suit him. “That way I won’t have to keep jumping up and changing discs.”

“Sounds good to me.” Kitty settled herself on the sofa as the forthright lyrics of “Pretty Woman” filled the sun room.

Ben sat down so that he was facing her and rested his bent elbow on the back of the soft cushion. “I just realized I haven’t told you how beautiful you look tonight.”

She smiled and ducked her head shyly. “Thank you.”

“Red is really your color.”

“I bought this dress when I was still a secretary.”

“Do you miss working in an office?”

“I don’t miss it on payday.”

His gray eyes grew cloudy with concern. “It’s too bad you can’t make the same money doing something safer for a living.”

She gave a humorless laugh. “It’s too bad employers don’t place a higher premium on ‘women’s work.’ ”

The hard-driving rhythm of “Mean Woman Blues” cut through the silence, and they tacitly changed the subject.

His glass touched hers, and the dark knuckle of his second finger grazed her fairer one as he proposed a toast. “To the Cooperville Cougars. May they go all the way.”

She wondered if she was reading too much into
the brushing of hands, not to mention that last bit of phrasing, but she touched his glass in return. “I’ll drink to that.”

Their eyes met over the rims of their raised glasses, and, though she took only a sip, she felt the crisp white wine rushing to her head.

Ben drained his glass, then set it on the antique cartwheel that served as a cocktail table. “Jessie’s a terrific kid.”

“Thanks.”

“And one hell of a basketball player.”

Kitty looked down at the pale gold liquid remaining in her glass. “I told her if she’d keep her grades up and her skills sharp through high school, she might get a college scholarship.”

“You’ve done a magnificent job with her,” he said. “I mean that. Whether she gets a college scholarship or not, you can be proud of her.”

“She’s been a real joy to me,” she said softly. “But every time I read one of those articles about the long-term effects of coming from a broken home, I feel guilty all over again about my divorce.”

The haunting strains of “Only the Lonely” underscored already-bruised emotions.

He got to his feet and walked over to the sound system to turn Orbison off and Presley on. “Better to come from a broken home than to live in one,” he said.

She heard the bitterness in his voice and waited for an explanation. But none came. There’d been other hints of friction in his family, most notably the night he’d eaten dinner at her house.

Without another word he came back to the sofa, removed her glass from her hand, and set it beside his. Then he reached behind her to turn off the lamp.

They were plunged into darkness, save for the moon and the stars that seemed within touching distance of the glass wall as he drew her to her feet.

He slid his arms around her slender waist; she raised her hands to his broad shoulders. Their bodies meshed as if made for each other as they swayed in smooth, sensuous harmony. She could feel the strong drum of his heartbeat against hers as Elvis Presley began singing, “Wise men say … only fools rush in …”

The romantic words wove a spell around them, while the moon and the stars added their own splash of magic.

Kitty’s head fell back when Ben’s hands slipped lower to fit his masculine hardness to her feminine softness. Through the giving folds of her skirt, she was vibrantly conscious of his strong thighs and the bulge between them that created an ache the likes of which she’d never known. Of their own volition, her hands crept up around his neck as Elvis poured out her naked emotions with his “I can’t help … falling in love with you.”

The song ended but they stayed as they were, their breath merging and their memories emptying of all but this burning desire that fused them together.

Ben’s silver eyes outshone the stars as he searched deep into hers for any sign of resistance. Patience had never been easy for him, but finding his own need echoed on her pale face, he realized it did have its rewards. Then damning all thought, he lowered his head and took possession of her sweet mouth.

The feel and the smell of him opened the floodgates, and Kitty swam toward his kiss. She pressed her breasts to his hard chest and parted her petal-soft lips as his tongue probed, demanding entry. She tasted the wine they’d drunk together, excitingly warmed, its bouquet enhanced by the cologne that was singularly his.

She moaned a protest when his mouth broke from hers, then sighed her consent as his lips trailed a fiery path across her cheek and down the sensitive tendon of her neck.

“Ivory,” he whispered against the throat she bared for his attentions. “Warm, living ivory.”

Kitty felt no pain when Ben nipped softly at her tender skin. She felt only the pleasure of the hot kiss that immediately followed.

“Silk,” he murmured, sliding his hands up her back to thread his fingers through her hair. “Raw black silk.”

She felt no trepidation when he cradled her head in his palms and looked deeply into her eyes. When she saw the expression stamped on his starlit face she felt only trust.

Wordlessly, then, Ben lowered her down on the
sofa’s bed of suede and partially covered her with his own body, then slanted his mouth across hers. Little crackles of excitement surged up her spine when he deepened the kiss.

The firefly dance of her tongue with his—shy at first, then emboldened beyond his wildest dreams—damn near sent him over the edge.

“I want to see you,” he half groaned, levering himself up and penetrating her eyes with his.

Kitty was unmindful of the buttons on the front of her dress having been undone until he moved the red corduroy aside. Her single thought as he unhooked the fastener of her bra and peeled away the veil-sheer cups was that she hoped he was pleased with her.

“Beautiful.” He breathed his awe, and she reveled in his moonlit gaze roaming over her milk-white skin and his hoarsely whispered “I want to taste you.”

His mouth became hungry then, and his hands weren’t far behind, palming her creamy flesh for a love feast that brought her nipples to aching hardness and suffused her body with a liquid heaviness.

She’d never known kisses could be so adoring and yet so hedonistic, that lips could suck so ardently without causing pain, or that teeth could be so gentle or a tongue so nimble.

She found that her hands had cravings of their own, and reached for the placket of his shirt. The first button slipped easily through its hole. All the others followed.

Tears gathered in her eyes as her fingers went roaming. His masculine perfection—meaty muscle, nailhead nipples, crisp curls—made her want to weep. A strange excitement quivered through her when she laid her hand on his flat stomach and felt his breath quickening.

“Don’t stop there, darlin’ …” His voice was like velvet tearing as he carried her hand down below his waist and laid it, open, on the pulsing heat pushing against the tense material. “Feel what you do to me.”

A whirling dervish of desire spiraled through her when she discovered the full urgency of his arousal.

“I want you,” he whispered against her moist lips.

I love you
, her heart and soul and body cried.

He lowered himself over her until they were chest to breast, hair-rough skin to smooth. Trapped between the soft sofa and the supple heat of him, she felt a liberating love that opened her senses to the fullest.

They kissed, their mouths meshing as surely as their bodies did. His hands slid down her body, taking their time while giving their own special pleasure. She raised her arms and wound them around his neck, holding him closer to her heart.

“Come upstairs to bed with me, Kitty.” His long fingers forged an erotic trail up her silky inner thigh, promising pleasures untold.

She felt an involuntary tightening inside her,
but she forced herself to relax. This was Ben—Ben, who’d never hurt her … who’d shown her that love could heal.

He took her silence to mean yes, and easing up, offered her his hand. She placed hers in his palm and rose off the sofa willingly. They headed for the stairs.

The hall floor rocked under their feet.

“It’s a little early for the earth to move,” he said wryly, then whipped his head back toward the rattling sun room windows. “What the
hell
?”

The telephone rang.

Kitty stood as if rooted to the spot while Ben stormed to the kitchen with his shirttails flapping to answer it. She felt another small aftershock and knew before he slammed down the receiver and stalked back to her what he was going to say.

“There’s been an explosion at the mine.”

“I’m going,” Kitty announced.

“It’s too dangerous. There could still be a secondary explosion.”

“I don’t care.” Her concern was people, not peril.

“I do.” His voice was deathly calm in the darkness.

No light shone in that great hall at the bottom of the stairs. They stood on opposite sides of it now, the ghosts of the past coming to life in the inky blackness between them.

So much history …

It was here in this very house that his grandfather had entertained the state police chief who’d eventually given the order to drop bombs on the striking rednecks.

It was here that her grandfather had come, hat in hand, to bitterly sign the yellow dog contract
that barred him from further union activity. It had been much later when the New Deal legislation had given the miners the right to hold elections.

It was here that his father had welcomed the company doctor who’d pronounced there was no such thing as black lung. For years afterward the disease was known only as “miner’s asthma,” which implied weakness of the lungs rather than industrial disease.

It was here that her father had brought the list of disabled miners and miner’s widows to be compensated after the laws were finally passed.

Too much history!

Kitty fastened her bra over breasts that still bore the faint scrape of Ben’s beard stubble, then fumbled with the buttons of her dress, hoping she’d gotten them all in the right holes. “I’m going.”

“You don’t belong there.” He stuffed his shirttails back into the waistband of his slacks, wishing he could shake some sense into her.

“I belong there more than you do,” she countered unfairly.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Her pupils had dilated enough that she could make out his white shirt in the blackness. “Those people are my friends, my coworkers, my brothers and sisters in solidarity.”

“And I’m the coal baron,” he said with a sudden, deadly insight that made her sick at heart.
“Also known as Simon Legree—the big, bad slave driver.”

“You said that,” she replied quietly. “I didn’t.”

They stood so close and felt so far apart; close to a century of bad blood between them.

Something warm and vital shrank into a tiny knot inside Kitty, but she drew on the determination that had gotten her this far in life and faced him squarely.