A Matter of Principal Page 12

  He seemed to catch her thoughts. “Roses trailing over the wallpaper,” he murmured, “and ruffles, and you, as I’ve dreamed of you. Camryn. . .”

  She turned into his arms, and knew as she felt the solid warmth of him against her body that this was where she wanted always to remain.

  Don’t ask for always, she warned herself. You have tonight. No one can take that from you. Hold on to this one night with both hands, and treasure it forever.

  She put all the longing she felt into their first kiss. She raised herself on her toes and leaned against him, her body tightly pressed against his, trusting him to support her. His heart was pounding; she could feel its rhythm against her breasts as he steadied himself to balance her weight. His hands slipped over the soft skin of her back—just when, she wondered, had he pulled her blouse free from the waistband of her shorts? He unerringly freed the fastener of her bra, and then his palms settled warmly on her ribs, holding her securely against him and at the same time allowing his thumbs to slide under the bra to caress the silky curve of her breasts.

  “That’s not very comfortable,” she whispered. “It binds.”

  “Is that an invitation to finish undressing you?” He didn’t wait for an answer before disposing of her blouse and the offending bra, and as his hands closed softly over her taut breasts Camryn made a little noise of satisfaction, deep in her throat.

  His tongue probed caressingly, setting off tiny bursts of pleasure. He wasn’t breathing quite steadily, she noted with idle concern. Her hands slipped slowly up his arms, over his shoulders, and tangled in his hair. The dark waves were softer than she had expected. She wanted to bury her face in his hair, to breathe the scent of him, to drown herself in sensation.

  She pushed herself a little way from him—it took a great deal of effort—and tugged his shirt free so she could slip her hands under it. She let her fingers skim over his chest and down to tug at the fastener of his shorts, and opened her eyes in innocent surprise as he groaned.

  “Camryn, you’re driving me to the brink,” he said hoarsely.

  “But I haven’t even started yet,” she whispered.

  He said something under his breath, then picked her up and deposited her on the bed. His hands were almost impersonal as he disposed of the rest of her clothes and his, and his breathing had slowed almost to normal by the time he joined her there and lay, not touching her, just looking at her in the moonlight.

  We can’t have that, she thought. She ran her fingernails gently down his spine and back up again.

  He smiled lazily at her. “Impatient?” he asked softly. “I’ve half a mind to make you wait, just to show you who’s in charge here.”

  She locked her hands together at the back of his neck and pulled him down to meet her lips, willing and warm and eager.

  “Some other time,” he whispered, and then the storm broke around them.

  Their passion was a hurricane of desire that spun wildly out of control, carrying them madly upwards into a spiraling maelstrom of feeling that seemed to have no beginning and no end. Eventually it tossed them back to earth, like the shattered survivors of a shipwreck flung up on to the beach of an unmapped island, and they clung together as the storm abated, as breathing slowed and hearts returned to normal.

  Normal? Camryn thought dizzily. As if, after that, anything could ever be normal again!

  Eventually, Patrick shifted her more comfortably in his arms and turned his face into her neck, with his lips pressed against the soft skin just under her ear. “What are you muttering about?” he asked indistinctly, as she made a sleepy little protest.

  The fact that you moved, she thought. Perhaps if I close my eyes and concentrate and am very careful not to breathe, we can lie here together forever.

  She tried to ignore the slow, sensual circles he was drawing around her navel with one gentle fingertip.

  “You don’t wear white boxer shorts, after all,” she murmured, only half-aware of what she was saying. She was so very tired.

  His smile gleamed in the moonlight. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”

  “I’ll bet it’s in the bank’s dress code.” She yawned.

  He captured her hand and held it against his chest. “Do you spend a lot of time wondering about my underwear?”

  “That’s only an example. In fact, McKenna, you’re a disservice to the stodgy image of bankers all the way around.” But it was a sleepy murmur, and some of the words came out sounding funny.

  “I’m doing my best,” he whispered. “If you want stodgy, Camryn…”

  She slipped even closer to him, burying her nose against his shoulder and flinging her arm over his chest as if to hold him next to her.

  “Then I guess I’ll just lie here and hold you while you have a nap,” he said wryly. She heard him, vaguely, but she was already sliding down the long incline into sleep.

  A long time later she stirred and flung out a hand, and found him gone. She closed her eyes again, trying to remember. It was real, she told herself frantically. He was here; I couldn’t have produced all that from nothing more than desire and imagination.

  Something stirred across the room, and she sat up, clutching the sheet to her breasts. A shadow detached itself from the night; now that the moonlight was no longer oozing through the windows, the corners of the room were gloomy. The shadow was reaching for something on the floor.

  “Patrick! I thought...” There was surprise in her voice.

  He stood up. It must have been the act of his leaving her bed that had roused her, she thought; he hadn’t even started to dress.

  “Did you think that I was Mitch?” he said softly.

  “No.” It was only a whisper. I thought that you were a dream come true, she wanted to say. “Where are you going?”

  “Home. I thought you’d prefer it if I cleared out before daylight—considering your guests, and all.”

  And Susan, she thought, with sudden gratitude for his understanding. But tonight is mine. And it’s still tonight. . .

  She lay back against the pillows. “There’s plenty of time, Patrick. Come back to bed.”

  “Camryn, it’s almost dawn. You’re too nearly asleep to know what you’re saying.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not too sleepy to know I want you,” she admitted.

  “Believe me, it breaks my heart to argue with you, when it would be to my advantage to be agreeable.”

  She smiled up at him and patted the pillow beside her. “So stop talking and come back to bed and be agreeable,” she invited softly.

  He hesitated for an instant, and then picked up his clothes and began to get dressed, quietly and methodically. She sat up, staring at him. Didn’t he want her anymore? Had the beauty she had seen last night passed him by?

  Or was he anxious to be gone for fear that she might expect commitment if he stayed? Was he afraid of what she would demand if Susan was to find them there together?

  Her eyes focused on the old alarm clock on the bedside table. He was right about the time, she thought. It was almost dawn, nearing the hour when the world would begin to stir once more. It made her feel a little better to know that he had stayed with her as long as he dared. But she was a bit angry with herself, too. She had wasted her precious night, going to sleep in his arms like that—

  No, she thought. That wasn’t a waste, exactly. But I wish I had stayed awake instead, so I had every moment to remember.

  He sat down on the bench beside her dressing table to put on his shoes, and when he stood up again she pushed back the blankets.

  “Don’t get out of bed,” he said, a little sharply. “I can’t handle it.” He didn’t kiss her, only leaned over the bed to brush his knuckles across her cheek and against the glossy brown hair that spilled over her pillow. She reached up to cup her palm along his stubbly jaw, and he pulled back as if he’d been burned by the sudden heat that sprang up between them. Then, with a twisted smile, he slipped out of her room and down the stairs.

 
She heard a step or two squeak, but only because she was straining her ears for the sound. He was being very careful, she thought.

  And then she pulled her pillow around and buried her face in it and cried herself back to sleep because he had left her there alone.

  *****

  She didn’t wake till late and she had to rush madly about to get the breakfast buffet set up in time. To top off her irritation, she discovered that Sherry had forgotten to stop at the laundry yesterday after all, and so Camryn had to improvise a covering for the big dining room table.

  Sherry had been too absorbed in John Marlow yesterday to think about business, Camryn thought sharply, and then reminded herself that much the same thing had been happening to her. If she hadn’t gone to that picnic yesterday, or if she had come home last night instead of going to the fireworks display—

  She stopped for a minute in the middle of her kitchen, a small, secret smile curving her mouth. No, she really couldn’t blame Sherry, not when she herself was perfectly willing to work twice as hard today rather than to have sacrificed last night.

  I wonder if Patrick feels the same way, she thought. She had half expected that he’d be back by now, freshly shaved and showered and full of plans once more. Perhaps today they would go out to the beach for a swim, or just walk along the shore of Lake Michigan, or even stay home and just enjoy each other’s company.

  But he didn’t turn up, and as time went on she began to feel edgy about it.

  He’s tired, she told herself. He must not have even allowed himself to doze off last night, for fear of oversleeping. Maybe he just went home to bed, and after he’s rested—

  Or maybe he wasn’t going to come back at all.

  The horrible little thought, once it surfaced and demanded a hearing, could not be pushed back into the far corner of her brain. Maybe last night wasn’t so special to him, the demon at the back of her mind suggested. Maybe the whole idea of taking you to meet his family was just another seduction technique.

  Stop it, she told herself. You’re becoming paranoid.

  She gave Susan a much-needed bath and an extra-warm hug and settled her on a stool beside the center island to eat her breakfast. She listened half-heartedly to the child’s chatter about yesterday’s party, punctuated by bites of sausage and toast, and murmured an answer now and then almost at random.

  She was scrambling eggs to replenish the breakfast buffet for her late-rising guests when a voice that seemed to come out of nowhere said, “Good morning, Camryn.”

  She dropped her spoon; it rattled noisily against the porcelain stove-top and then landed with a bang on the floor. She turned; Susan was already down off her stool and tugging at the kitchen door. Patrick was smiling at her through the screened window beside it. He was his neat, well-groomed everyday self again, complete with tie and jacket, she saw, with a little tug of resentment. So much for the idea of a peaceful afternoon’s walk along the beach.

  “Susan!” she said sharply. “You’ve got food all over you. Go and wash your hands before you say hello to Patrick.”

  Susan looked up at her with astonishment in her wide eyes at this unaccustomed tone of voice, and then went off slowly down the hall, her feet dragging.

  “Sausage stains are greasy,” Camryn said abruptly, feeling guilty. “It would be impossible to get them out of your jacket.” She bent to retrieve her spoon and put it in the sink. When she turned to get another, Patrick was right behind her.

  “If that’s a threat, I’ll risk it,” he said, and cupped her face between his hands.

  He explored her mouth in a long and leisurely kiss, with a hint of the previous night’s wildness just beneath the surface. Camryn could feel her insides slowly becoming the consistency of hot fudge sauce.

  He released her lips finally and smiled contentedly down at her as he pulled her even closer into his arms.

  “Patrick,” she said. Her voice was unsteady. She wasn’t quite sure what she intended to say, but what actually came out was, “My scrambled eggs are going to burn.”

  He let her go. “How unromantic,” he mused, and leaned against the stove to watch as she finished stirring the concoction. After she dumped it, with an expert flip of the wrist, into a chafing-dish, he straightened up and said, “Now can I kiss you?”

  “After I take this to the dining room.” But when she came back, she shook her head as he held out his arms. “The toast rack is empty, and the sausage is gone.” She stepped around him. “Please, Patrick, you’ll just have to stay out of the way.”

  He stood there for a moment longer and looked thoughtfully down at her. Then he turned on his heel and went across the room to sit at the small table in the breakfast room.

  “Camryn, if you start the restaurant, it’s always going to be like this.”

  “It’s not a restaurant, it’s—”

  “Call it whatever you want. It’s still going to be this sort of rat race, all the time.”

  She thought about it for a moment, while she turned sausages in the skillet.

  Susan came back with clean hands. She ignored the remains of her breakfast and crept up onto Patrick’s knee. The two of them had much the same look, Camryn thought, like a pair of thoroughly scolded puppies.

  That is ridiculous, she thought. Then she smiled a little. Patrick had actually sounded jealous. He hadn’t gotten the attention he wanted this morning—the attention he thought he deserved—so he was fussing about it. The idea gave her heart a lift.

  “I’ll be done in about an hour,” she said. “The mess will be cleaned up, and then the rest of the day is free.” It was a peace offering; would Patrick take it that way?

  He glanced at the kitchen clock. “That’s time enough. I’ll take you to brunch at the Lakemont Grand.”

  So that was why he was dressed up! For an instant, her heart soared; she hadn’t been to brunch at the newly renovated hotel downtown, because it was fearfully expensive. But she’d been longing to go. And now it was even more important, she admitted, because she was going with Patrick.

  Then reality interfered. “Sunday morning is a horrible time to find a babysitter,” she said, “and Sherry’s already gone for the day.”

  Patrick looked a little disappointed. Susan’s face clouded over and she slid off his lap and came across to her mother. She folded her arms and said mulishly, “I don’t want you to go out with Patrick.”

  Camryn looked down at her in astonishment. This, she thought, is the last straw. If Susan is suddenly going to turn jealous, there isn’t a chance in the world for this to work out. But how can the child possibly know that anything has changed? Yesterday, she certainly didn’t mind...

  “I don’t think you need to worry about it,” she murmured. “I’m not going.”

  Patrick had followed the child. He dropped to one knee beside her and looked her straight in the eyes. “Why don’t you want her to go, Susan?”

  She twisted her bare toes together and said, “I want you to play with me instead.”

  His look up at Camryn was triumphant. “I think we can solve this problem. Does the child own a dress?”

  “A couple of them,” Camryn said dryly. “But you can’t intend to take a four-year-old to brunch at a fancy hotel.”

  “Why can’t I? Is there a law against it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Take me up and show me your wardrobe, Susan, and we’ll be waiting by the time your mother’s done.”

  *****

  The Lakemont Grand lived up to its name, and the big old ballroom, with its new facelift, was the perfect spot for Sunday brunch. Camryn sipped her champagne and glanced at Susan, who was sitting quietly between them, eyes wide as she took in the scarlet and white room with its gilt trim and the huge murals on the ceilings. It appeared to Camryn that she wouldn’t have to worry about Susan making a scene for a few minutes at least. The child looked like a little angel.

  She had kept her fingers crossed until Susan had danced into the kitchen to show off the dress they’d chos
en; heaven only knew, she’d thought, what the pair of them might come up with! But the powder-pink dress with its matching hair bow was probably the prettiest thing Susan owned. And Patrick must have ransacked the child’s room to find a pair of lacy little stockings and her patent leather shoes. Susan loved to dress up, and Camryn had to keep that sort of thing hidden from her, or she would wear it out to play in the sandbox.

  Thinking of sand reminded her of Dennis McKenna’s front lawn. “I must remember to write your parents a note about the incredible experience yesterday,” she said. “I haven’t even had a chance to tell you how much I enjoyed myself.”

  “Oh?” He gave her a suggestive smile over the rim of his champagne glass. “We might arrange a way, if you’d like to thank me.”

  She had thought the day she had first met him that he had bedroom eyes, dark and sultry and surrounded with those absurdly long black lashes—eyes to make any woman envious. And it wasn’t fair that he was looking at her that way in a public place.

  Oh, at least be honest with yourself, she thought. He could look at you any way at all, and you’d melt, because it isn’t the eyes at all, beautiful though they are. It’s the man himself that you love, every charming and exasperating fragment of him.

  He smiled at her as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, and before she could recover herself he took Susan out to dance. There were smiles all around the dance floor at the dark-haired man and the tiny blonde girl, and an elderly woman stopped beside the table and said to Camryn, “I just had to tell you what a beautiful little girl you have, and how lucky she is to have a father so devoted to her.”

  Camryn’s throat was tight. She managed to say “Thank you,” and told herself there was no point in trying to explain. She was just grateful Patrick hadn’t heard that one.

  Perhaps one day it might be true, she thought, and then halted that line of thought with an effort, telling herself firmly to enjoy what she had and not to cry for what she didn’t.

  When the two of them came back, with Susan giggling at her first public treatment like a grown-up lady, Camryn concentrated on the mushroom omelet on her plate, and said firmly, “About yesterday—I meant that your whole family is incredible.”