disappear into what must have been the kitchen. “All right.” Kate moved by him and out into the balmy evening air.
The sun was low, though it wouldn’t set for nearly an hour. The clouds to the west were just touched with mauve and rose. When she stepped outside, Kate decided therewere more people in the restaurant than there were on the streets.
A charter fishing boat glided into the harbor. Some of the tourists would be staying on the island, others would be riding back across Hatteras Inlet on one of the last ferries of the day.
She’d like to go out on the water now, while the light was softening and the breeze was quiet. Now, she thought, while others were coming in and the sea would stretch for mile after endless empty mile.
Shaking off the mood, she headed for the hotel. What she needed wasn’t a sunset sail but a good solid night’s sleep. Daydreaming was foolish, and tomorrow too important.
The same hotel. Ky glanced up at her window. He already knew she had the same room. He’d walked her there before, but then she’d have had her arm through his in that sweet way she had of joining them together. She’d have looked up and laughed at him over something that had happened that day. And she’d have kissed him, warm, long and lingeringly before the door would close behind her.
Because her thoughts had run the same gamut, Kate turned to him while they were still outside the hotel. “Thank you, Ky.” She made a business out of shifting her purse strap on her arm. “There’s no need for you to go any further out of your way.”
“No, there isn’t.” He’d have something to take home with him that night, he thought with sudden, fierce impatience. And he’d leave her something to take up to the room where they’d had one long, glorious night. “But then we’ve always looked at needs from different angles.” He cupped his hand around the back of her neck, holding firm as he felt her stiffen.
“Don’t.” She didn’t back away. Kate told herself she didn’t back away because to do so would make her seem vulnerable. And she was, feeling those long hard fingers play against her skin again.
“I think this is something you owe me,” he told her in a voice so quiet it shivered on the air. “Maybe something I owe myself.”
He wasn’t gentle. That was deliberate. Somewhere inside him was a need to punish for what hadn’t been—or perhaps what had. The mouth he crushed on hers hungered, the arms he wrapped around her demanded. If she’d forgotten, he thought grimly, this would remind her. And remind her.
With her arms trapped between them, he could feel her hands ball into tight fists. Let her hate him, loathe him. He’d rather that than cool politeness.
But God she was sweet. Sweet and as delicate as one of the frothy waves that lapped and spread along the shoreline. Dimly, distantly, he knew he could drown in her without a murmur or complaint.
She wanted it to be different. Oh, how she wanted it to be different so that she’d feel nothing. But she felt everything.
The hard, impatient mouth that had always thrilled andbemused her—it was the same. The lean restless body that fit so unerringly against her—no different. The scent that clung to him, sea and salt—hadn’t changed. Always when he kissed her, there’d been the sounds of water or wind or gulls. That, too, remained constant. Behind them boats rocked gently in their slips, water against wood. A gull resting on pilings let out a long, lonely call. The light dimmed as the sun dropped closer to the sea. The flood of past feelings rose up to merge and mingle with the moment.
She didn’t resist him. Kate had told herself she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a struggle. But the command to her brain not to respond was lost in the thin clouds of dusk. She gave because she had to. She took because she had no choice.
His tongue played over hers and her fists uncurled until Kate’s palms rested against his chest. So
The sun was low, though it wouldn’t set for nearly an hour. The clouds to the west were just touched with mauve and rose. When she stepped outside, Kate decided therewere more people in the restaurant than there were on the streets.
A charter fishing boat glided into the harbor. Some of the tourists would be staying on the island, others would be riding back across Hatteras Inlet on one of the last ferries of the day.
She’d like to go out on the water now, while the light was softening and the breeze was quiet. Now, she thought, while others were coming in and the sea would stretch for mile after endless empty mile.
Shaking off the mood, she headed for the hotel. What she needed wasn’t a sunset sail but a good solid night’s sleep. Daydreaming was foolish, and tomorrow too important.
The same hotel. Ky glanced up at her window. He already knew she had the same room. He’d walked her there before, but then she’d have had her arm through his in that sweet way she had of joining them together. She’d have looked up and laughed at him over something that had happened that day. And she’d have kissed him, warm, long and lingeringly before the door would close behind her.
Because her thoughts had run the same gamut, Kate turned to him while they were still outside the hotel. “Thank you, Ky.” She made a business out of shifting her purse strap on her arm. “There’s no need for you to go any further out of your way.”
“No, there isn’t.” He’d have something to take home with him that night, he thought with sudden, fierce impatience. And he’d leave her something to take up to the room where they’d had one long, glorious night. “But then we’ve always looked at needs from different angles.” He cupped his hand around the back of her neck, holding firm as he felt her stiffen.
“Don’t.” She didn’t back away. Kate told herself she didn’t back away because to do so would make her seem vulnerable. And she was, feeling those long hard fingers play against her skin again.
“I think this is something you owe me,” he told her in a voice so quiet it shivered on the air. “Maybe something I owe myself.”
He wasn’t gentle. That was deliberate. Somewhere inside him was a need to punish for what hadn’t been—or perhaps what had. The mouth he crushed on hers hungered, the arms he wrapped around her demanded. If she’d forgotten, he thought grimly, this would remind her. And remind her.
With her arms trapped between them, he could feel her hands ball into tight fists. Let her hate him, loathe him. He’d rather that than cool politeness.
But God she was sweet. Sweet and as delicate as one of the frothy waves that lapped and spread along the shoreline. Dimly, distantly, he knew he could drown in her without a murmur or complaint.
She wanted it to be different. Oh, how she wanted it to be different so that she’d feel nothing. But she felt everything.
The hard, impatient mouth that had always thrilled andbemused her—it was the same. The lean restless body that fit so unerringly against her—no different. The scent that clung to him, sea and salt—hadn’t changed. Always when he kissed her, there’d been the sounds of water or wind or gulls. That, too, remained constant. Behind them boats rocked gently in their slips, water against wood. A gull resting on pilings let out a long, lonely call. The light dimmed as the sun dropped closer to the sea. The flood of past feelings rose up to merge and mingle with the moment.
She didn’t resist him. Kate had told herself she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a struggle. But the command to her brain not to respond was lost in the thin clouds of dusk. She gave because she had to. She took because she had no choice.
His tongue played over hers and her fists uncurled until Kate’s palms rested against his chest. So
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