Читать книгу Her Tycoon Lover - Lee Wilkinson - Страница 16

AS LUKE lay there, his mind racing, Katrin reached up, took his face between her palms and began kissing him with a slow sensuality that made his pulses quicken. Her fingertips light as feathers, she brushed his cheekbones, his deep-set eyes and the dark lines of his brows; as though she were blind and seeking an image of him in her mind. Then her lips wandered down the taut cords of his throat. And all the while, her body was pressed to his, moving against him with leisurely seductiveness.

He tried to hold back. Tried to take control. But as she teased his chest hair with one hand, her other hand slid lower. He was more than ready for her; and felt her touch surge through his body, flooding him with a primitive and all-consuming hunger. Her hair slipping like water over his ribs and navel, she moved lower, finding the jut of his hipbones, his navel, the arrow of hair that led her mouth to the hardness that was need and the ache for consummation.

Luke shuddered with pleasure. She said softly, “You’re so silky, so warm,” her tongue laving where her fingers had moved. He moaned deep in his throat, trapped by sensation. With the inexorability of fire, pleasure and hunger mounted, feeding on each other, hotter and hotter.

Just when he was sure he couldn’t bear it any longer, Katrin slid away from him. She rolled on her back, thighs shamelessly spread, and took his hands in hers. “Make love to me, Luke. As if this were the very first time for both of us…I want to know everything you can teach me.”

His heart pounding like a mallet in his chest, Luke said with an honesty as naked as his body, “I’ve never wanted a woman as I want you.”

She brought his hands to her breasts. “Touch me here…and here.”

He plummeted to find her mouth, kissing her with an imperative hunger; then he licked the rise of her breasts, the hardness of her nipples, the long arc of each collarbone. Her hands were roaming his body, loosing in him waves of eroticism that he couldn’t suppress and was helpless to resist.

As though the tides had engulfed him, Luke abandoned technique and control and restraint. Instead his own body and Katrin’s ardent responses became his only guides in a territory new to him, that he’d never entered before. In a tumult of longing he caught her in his arms, kissing her, his fingers buried in her hair. She met him more than halfway, her generosity inflaming all his senses. Her taste, the delicate scent of her skin, the silken ripples of her hair, how would he ever get enough of them?

Drowning in passion, Luke sought to imprint himself on every inch of her body. Making it his; because she belonged to him. Impetuously he lifted her to straddle him, watching all the changing expressions on her face, so open and unguarded. So alive. So utterly beautiful.

With a seductiveness that nearly drove him out of his mind, Katrin rode him slowly, her knees clasping his hips. When he touched her gently between her thighs, finding that place where she was most sensitive, she threw her head back, her breasts lifted, crying out his name over and over again. He could feel her inner pulsing as though it were his own, a release that triggered his. He rose to meet her, their gazes locked in an intimacy beyond anything he’d ever known. With a deep cry of satiation, he met her climax, and heard that cry echo in his ears.

With a long moan Katrin collapsed on top of him, her hair falling over his face like a shield that would shelter him from the world of normality. Her heart was racing against his chest; she felt boneless, so close to him that Luke wasn’t sure where he ended and she began. He wound his arms around her and held on as though all his boundaries had dissolved. As though his very life depended on her.

He said nothing. There was nothing to say.

She slipped her knees farther down the bed, resting her cheek on his shoulder. Her arms were loosely curved to fit his body, her thighs enclosing his. Gradually he became aware that her breathing had slowed and deepened into sleep.

He lay still, eyes wide-open, one hand absently stroking her hair; in the turmoil of emotion that had him in its grip, a sense of rightness was predominant.

She belonged to him.

The words repeated themselves in his head. Katrin belongs to me. What was he thinking of? They were a lie, of course. Katrin didn’t belong to him. She didn’t want to. So how could he account for this deep current of possessive-ness, the need to imprint himself on her so that she’d never go elsewhere?

Atavism, he told himself forcibly. The caveman asserting himself over all the constraints of a so-called civilized man. That’s all it was.

He’d lost control. Totally. She’d seen to that.

Briefly he closed his eyes, suffused by a longing to simply go to sleep. To wake in her arms and make love again. To spend the day reading in her sunlit kitchen, waiting for her to come home from work; and then to go to bed with her once more. If his world had shifted in the last couple of hours, what would happen in two days? Two weeks?

Very carefully Luke shifted Katrin’s sleeping body back onto the mattress. She stirred, her lashes fluttering; then she slipped back into sleep, her cheek buried in the pillow. His heart clenched. Defenseless, passionate, generous, fiery-tempered: what other facets of her personality had he not yet plumbed?

Would never plumb.

Because he was leaving. Now. He wasn’t going to risk another of those cataclysmic matings.

He got out of bed with infinite care not to disturb her; and it was then that he saw the second foil packet on the table. He’d forgotten all about it; he’d never done that before.

She could be pregnant.

He wasn’t going to follow that thought; the mere possibility was too overwhelming. All his movements clumsy, Luke got dressed in the semidarkness. Without a backward look he left the room, went down the hall and out to the kitchen. The side door creaked as he pulled it open. He froze, waiting for Katrin to call his name, wondering what he’d say if she did. But the house was encased in silence. He stepped outside, snipped the latch, got in his car and backed out of the driveway.

Because he lived in a city, he’d forgotten how completely dark the countryside could be. The vast panoply of stars was starkly lonely; it was a relief to see the lights of the resort through the trees. At the desk, not caring what the clerk thought, he checked out. Then he went upstairs, packed in a matter of minutes and left the room. Five minutes later, on the road that would eventually take him to the airport, Luke drove past Katrin’s house in the village. But he saw no lights. No signs of life.

No indication that his own life had turned upside down in that little house on the shore of a vast lake.

He was running away. No question of it.

Two weeks later Luke and Ramon were seated in an oyster bar on Fisherman’s Wharf. Through the open window they could see the crowded boardwalk, filled with tourists in bright clothes, with jugglers and musicians; and beyond them, the colorful prows of fishing boats. Everyone was having a good time, Luke thought sourly. Except for him.

Ramon raised his glass of beer. “Cheers, amigo. I’m glad you were free at such short notice.” As they clinked glasses, he added, “Although you look like a man on death row.”

“Thanks a lot,” Luke said. When they’d played their regular tennis game last week, he’d been ignominiously defeated. He was sleeping lousily, Katrin haunted his thoughts night and day, and he bitterly regretted his impulsive trip to the resort. Other than that, he was fine.

Ramon said, “I have news for you. About the Staines murder case.”

Luke plunked his glass down so hard that beer sloshed onto the table. “News?” he rapped.

“So you are still interested…I thought you might be.”

“Give, Ramon.”

“We’ve had a confession. And the DNA matches up. The case is solved, Luke. I know Katrin Staines was legally cleared at the trial…but a lot of people still thought she had something to do with it. Now we can prove she was completely innocent.”

Luke sat back in his chair. The mellow strains of a jazz trumpet floated into the restaurant; a breeze ruffled the striped awnings. He pushed his dark glasses further up his forehead. “You’re sure? About the confession, I mean?”

“It’ll be in all the papers tomorrow morning. I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

Luke said awkwardly, “You’re a good friend.”

“But not so good that you’ll tell me what hold this Katrin has over you.”

“If I ever figure it out, you’ll be the first to know,” Luke said with suppressed violence.

“I won’t hold my breath,” Ramon remarked. “The man who confessed, Edmond Langille, was a business associate of Donald’s, who’d had a meeting with Donald earlier on the evening of the murder. Not one of the servants, of course, had seen him enter the house…where are witnesses when you need them? Nor did they see him leave, because he didn’t. He overheard the row between Katrin and Donald and took full advantage of it instead.”

“So why’s he confessing now?”

“He’s dying,” Ramon said bluntly. “Cancer. Wants his conscience clear before he meets his Maker.” Appreciatively Ramon chewed on his garlic bread, then forked a broiled oyster. “Katrin knew Edmond, although not well. So she’ll have to come here for questioning.”

“Not another trial?” Luke said, horrified.

“No, no. A formality, merely. I’ll be phoning her this afternoon to make the arrangements.”

Ramon then engrossed himself in his oysters, letting the silence hang. Luke said rapidly, “I went to Manitoba after you told me about her. We made love on the understanding we’d never see each other again.”

Ramon said with an indifference that grated on Luke’s nerves, “San Francisco’s a big city. You don’t have to see her…I can’t imagine she’ll stay long.”

“I like my life the way it is!” Luke said violently.

“Then you are a fortunate man,” Ramon said with a faint smile. “Eat your oysters before they get cold.”

Paying very little attention to an excellent lunch, Luke cleared his plate, talking nonstop about the Democratic convention, the latest African coup and the price of gold. But as he and Ramon parted company on the boardwalk, Ramon said calmly, “Rosita would kill me for interfering—but Katrin’s an exceptional woman, Luke. She could be the making of you. If you let her.” He grinned. “See you at the courts next Tuesday. Try and have your mind on the game, sí?”

He walked away before Luke could reply, a big man easy in his own skin. Luke watched him go.

Katrin would be here in San Francisco. Soon. He’d have to phone her this evening.

He had to. He had no choice.

Luke phoned Katrin at ten-thirty her time. The phone rang six times; he was about to disconnect when she picked up the receiver. “Hello?” she said warily.

“Katrin, it’s Luke.” Now what was he supposed to say? How are you? “I hear you’ll be coming to San Francisco.”

“How did you know that?” she demanded.

“The police chief who’s in command of the case is a good friend of mine. Ramon Torres.”

“Just my luck that he’d be your friend.”

“Ramon’s a good man!”

“I couldn’t agree more—even though he’s a policeman, he was the one bright spot in the whole investigation,” she said without a trace of emotion in her voice.

Silence hummed along the line. Wishing he could see her face, Luke said, “Are you there? Katrin?”

“I can’t bear the thought of it all opening up again,” she said raggedly. “I just can’t bear it.”

“But this will totally clear your name.”

“I don’t care anymore!”

He gripped the receiver tighter. “Are you crying?”

“No! I never cry…well, hardly ever.”

“I want you to stay with me,” he said.

“I’ve booked a hotel room.”

“The media are going to be out in full force,” Luke said, ruthlessly using the only weapon he could think of. “At my place you’ll be protected from all that.”

“It was over two years ago,” Katrin cried, “what possible interest could they have in me now?”

“You’re young, blond and beautiful. And you inherited a fortune.”

“I gave it all away,” she announced with defiant emphasis.

More than once he’d wondered why a rich woman like Katrin would be working as a waitress. Now he knew. He felt laughter rise in his chest. “Who to?”

“Shelters for the homeless. Soup kitchens. Overseas aid. You name it.”

“No wonder the media are after you,” Luke said. “That’s not exactly standard behavior when someone inherits a whole wad of money.”

“What was I supposed to do? Stay in a house I loathed, living off the shady dealings of a man I didn’t love or respect? I don’t think so.”

Katrin would never be after his money, thought Luke. Not that he’d ever really thought she would be. “Have you booked your flight? I’ll meet you at the airport and we’ll go straight to my place.”

“Luke,” she said in a clipped voice, “I will not sleep with you.”

“I haven’t asked you to. Give me your flight times.”

She made an indecipherable noise expressive of frustration and fury. Then he heard her shuffling papers. She read the information tonelessly, finishing, “I’ll see you tomorrow. If you’re not at the airport, I’ll assume you’ve changed your mind.”

“I won’t change my mind. Goodbye, Katrin.” Very quietly Luke replaced the receiver.

She didn’t want to share his bed; she was sticking to the deal they’d made in the kitchen of her house. One night together and no more. All he had to do was stick to it, too.

And why wouldn’t he? Hadn’t he run away from all the implications of that passionate lovemaking in her little house beside the lake?