"Well, that'll teach them." Kate climbed the last step and stood smiling at him in the moonlight. "But I have to take the heat on this one. I asked them to escort me down to the beach, and being well-bred gentlemen, they could hardly refuse."
"I was worried about them," he managed. He couldn't seem to stop staring at her. She was standing there, windblown, slightly breathless from the climb. Just there, as if he'd wished it.
"I'm sorry. We should have left you a note."
"I didn't expect to see you tonight."
"I know." Feeling awkward now, as she always did after following an impulse, she tucked her hands in her pockets. "I went by Margo's after I closed the shop, had dinner and played with the baby. He's gained four ounces."
"I know. Josh told me. He has pictures. About six dozen."
"I got to see videos. I loved it. Anyway, I started to head back to my apartment." Her apartment, she thought. Dull, empty, meaningless. "And I ended up here instead. I hope you don't mind."
"Do I mind?"
He wrapped his arms around her, slowly. Drew her close against him, gradually. For three humming heartbeats his eyes stayed on hers. His mouth brushed hers, retreated. Brushed again, shifted angles. Then his lips covered hers, heated hers, parted hers. Soft and deep and welcoming, the kiss shimmered through her. Her hands stayed in her pockets, too limp to move. The muscles in her thighs went lax, her knees weak. When he drew away she could have sworn she saw stars dazzling her own eyes.
"Well," she began, but he was kissing her again, in that same drugging, devastating, delicious way. It was as if they had forever to simply be there, caught in soft sea breezes and quiet passion.
She gulped in air when his mouth lifted. His eyes were so close, so clear, she could see herself trapped in them. It jolted her back a step, made her fumble for a casual smile.
"I'd have to say, at a guess, you don't mind."
"I want you here." He took her hands, brought her palms, one at a time to his lips. And watched her. "I want you."
He could see that she was struggling to recover, to plant her feet back on the ground. He didn't intend to let her. "Come inside," he murmured, drawing her with him. "I'll show you."
Chapter Nineteen
Contents - Prev | Next
Days later, she was still there.
Byron's idea of a break from weight training was a three-mile jog on the beach. It was difficult for a woman whose idea of a morning start had always been two very hot, very strong cups of coffee to adjust to the concept of running at dawn.
Kate told herself it was the experience that mattered. And, more important, the waffles he'd promised her if she stuck it out.
"So you, like," she puffed, huffed, and tried to concentrate on her pace, "really enjoy this."
"It's addictive," Byron assured her. He was going at a snail's pace to bring her along gradually, and admiring the way her legs looked in baggy shorts. "You'll see."
"No way. Only sinful stuff is addictive. Coffee, cigarettes, chocolate. Sex. Good stuff never becomes addictive."
"Sex is good stuff."
"It's good but sinful—sinful in a good way." She watched the dogs race into the surf and shake themselves so that little bullets of water flew and sparkled in the strengthening sun.
She supposed there was something to be said for dawn, after all. The light was achingly beautiful, and the smells so fresh, so renewed, they seemed unreal. The air was just cool enough to be bracing.
She had to admit her muscles felt loose. Oiled, in a way, as if her body was becoming a well-tuned machine. It made her feel foolish to realize she'd accepted feeling unwell for so long simply because she'd found it too much trouble to change.
"Where did you run in Atlanta? No beaches there."
"We've got parks. Indoor tracks when the weather's bad."
"Do you miss it?"
"Bits and pieces. Magnolia trees. The sound of slow voices. My family."