A Bridge to Love (3 page)

“I
have plenty of money, Kate. You can have as much as you want.”

Kate's
tears spilled over again. First Oliver and now Georgia offered her their help.
She had no right to feel so miserably alone when she had such good friends. She
reached for Georgia's hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “You don't know how
much I appreciate your offer.”

“But
you're not going to take me up on it.”

Kate
shook her head. “I have to come up with a long-term solution.”

“You're
so damned independent.”

“And
you're such a clinging vine,” Kate laughed. She raised her glass in a mock
salute. “Here's to independent women!”

“And
to hell with lying, cheating men!” Georgia said, raising her glass in return.

She
woke up angry the next morning. It was better than the awful despair of the
night before. However, she found herself snapping at Clay and Patrick over
nothing. When Gretchen upset her water bowl, Kate swatted her instead of just
cleaning it up as she normally would have done. All three recipients of her
wrath looked stunned. Kate realized Georgia was right: she had to do something
to vent this rolling boil of anger before it scalded everyone around her. But
how exactly was she supposed to hit back at David when he was no longer there?

As
she was putting the wine bottle in the recycling bin after the boys left for
school, the image of Randall Johnson's large hand wrapped around a bottle of
beer flashed across her mind. Was that what David had felt when he saw Sylvia,
that shock of attraction? But she had said
no
to Randall Johnson. David had said
yes
.

So
why the hell had she rejected Randall Johnson's invitation? That was easy; she
still thought of herself as David's wife. Even though he obviously hadn't felt
hindered by the fact that he was her husband. Well, the next man who asked her
out was going to get an enthusiastic acceptance.

“And
when exactly do I expect to get asked on a date again?” Kate said to Gretchen,
who lifted her head and looked quizzical. “Randall Johnson was my one and only
chance.”

Looking
at Gretchen's sympathetic face, Kate had a moment of clarity, her first since
discovering the letter. She knew exactly how she would hit back. Since David
had slept with another woman, she was going to sleep with another man. It
wouldn't be quite “an eye for an eye,” since she was no longer married, but the
symmetry pleased her engineer's mind. She figured she could only do it once;
she couldn't imagine facing a man she had gone to bed with on a first date with
any self-respect the morning after.

Randall
Johnson would be the perfect candidate; he was a stranger and a womanizer. And
he was very, very attractive.

She
picked up and put down the telephone half a dozen times. Finally, she called
information for the number of RJ Enterprises in New York City.

“The
worst that can happen is that he'll say no. And he'll think that I'm incredibly
pushy. Not to mention indecisive,” she said aloud to Gretchen, as she held the
receiver in her hand for the umpteenth time. “But since I'll never see him
again, what difference does it make?” The last thought gave her the courage she
needed to dial the number. She asked for Randall Johnson and was amazed to be
put through to his assistant immediately.

“Hello,
my name is Kate Chilton. I wondered if I might speak with Mr. Johnson,” Kate
mustered after a moment's hesitation.

“He's
in a meeting right now. May I take a message?”

Did
she want to leave a message? If she didn't, she would never have the nerve to
call again. “Um, yes, please. Would you tell him that I called and this is my
number.” Kate rattled off her telephone number.

“And
what company are you with?”

“I'm
not. I mean, it's a personal call.”

“Thank
you, Ms. Chilton. I'll give him the message as soon as he's out of the
meeting.”

“It's
not urgent,” Kate said, hoping that the message would somehow get lost at the
bottom of the pile. “Thanks very much.”

Of
course, the telephone rang almost continuously after that. Each time Kate
mentally braced herself for a conversation with Randall Johnson. Each time it
was a telemarketer or a mother arranging a ride. She had finally forced herself
to sit down with Oliver's sheets of numbers on David's share of C/R/G and was
engrossed in deciphering the figures when the phone rang again. Kate picked it
up without taking her eyes off the papers. “Hello.”

“Kate
Chilton. I have a message here from you.”

Kate
bolted out of her chair and banged her knee on the desk. Randall Johnson's
voice in her ear sent a shock to her nerve endings. She wasn't sure if it was
caused by fear or excitement. He sounded much more businesslike now, his Texas
twang brisker and more clipped.

“Thank
you so much for calling back so promptly.” She tried desperately to remember
her speech. “We met at the Princeton picnic on Sunday.”

“I
remember.”

Thank
goodness for that. Now for the really hard part. Kate took a deep breath. “I
wondered if your invitation for dinner on Friday was still open? I realized
that I was hasty and even rude in refusing so quickly and I apologize. I hope
that you would still like to continue our conversation.” She knew that she was
babbling so she stopped.

There
was silence. She sat down and dropped her head onto one hand in mute
humiliation.

“I'll
pick you up at eight.”

“Really?”
Kate said before she could stop herself.

Kate
could hear the amusement in his voice when he said, “Really. Just tell me where
you live.”

Kate
gave him her address and directions. He repeated them back to her, said, “I'll
see you Friday,” and hung up.

Kate
looked at the telephone receiver in her hand. “Yes, but how
much
of me will you see Friday?”

After
he hung up, he swiveled his desk chair to stare out at the Statue of Liberty
standing tall over the harbor.

Randall
was sure that Kate hadn't enjoyed that phone call. So what had driven her to
make it? There was some powerful motivation there, that much was clear to him.
And it had to be more than his sex appeal. She had resisted that pretty
successfully before. By rights, he should have told her to forget it, but
curiosity had gotten the better of him. He chuckled when he recalled her
incredulous “really?”

Randall
got up and went into the next office, which belonged to RJ Enterprises'
executive vice-president, Tom Rogan. They had met in Columbia University's
night-and-weekend business school program. When Randall could afford an
employee besides himself at RJ Enterprises, Tom had been the first person he
hired. It had been a gamble for Tom to join such a new venture, and sometimes
it had been a roller-coaster ride, but Randall had made sure that Tom never
regretted it. RJ Enterprises had made them both wealthy beyond even Randall's
dreams... and he had some big dreams. He dropped into the chair in front of
Tom's desk and waited for him to get off the telephone.

Tom
grinned at him. “It's always bad news when
you
come to
my
office.”

“And
this is no exception. I need you to take over for me at the Lexcon meeting on
Friday.”

“I
thought you wanted to tell them where to go yourself,” Tom said.

“Something's
come up unexpectedly. I have to get out of here by seven.”

“No
problem.” Tom clicked a few keys on his computer to put the meeting on his
schedule. “Is this unexpected event tall, blond and female?”

“Is
it any of your business?” Randall said without heat.

Tom
leaned back in his chair. “It is when you ruin my Friday night for it.”

“I
know blackmail when I hear it. I'll let you know on Monday if it was worth
ruining your Friday night.”

“Thanks
a lot.”

“Anytime,”
Randall said with a sudden smile as he got up to leave. “I owe you one.”

“You
know you do,” Tom mock-groused. “And all I want is just one—of your blondes, I
mean.”

“Be
careful what you wish for.”

Four

Randall Johnson was in a bad
mood. His afternoon meeting had run late, and the Lexcon people had shown up
early. They caught him in the hall outside the conference room and bent his ear
for twenty minutes before he handed them over to Tom. When he finally got back
to his office, he picked up the telephone to cancel dinner with Kate Chilton.
Then he punched the speed dial for the company helicopter instead.

“Hey,
Janine. Can you come pick me up at the office? I'm late as hell and I don't
feel like fighting traffic tonight.”

“Sure,
boss. Where to?”

“Back
to home base. And I need a ride.”

“The
Jeep is here.”

Randall
dialed Kate's number next.

She
sounded distracted. He heard a dog barking and voices in the background.

“Kate.
This is Randall Johnson. I'll be about a half an hour late. I apologize.”

“I
appreciate the phone call. Thank you for letting me know.” Her voice sounded
more focused now. “Traffic can be terrible on Friday nights.”

He
had no intention of telling her that he was flying to New Jersey. He was,
however, eavesdropping on the conversation going on behind her. He heard
something about “some
rich
guy” and
“Mom hasn't been on a date since before we were
born
” and “she doesn't know what to wear.” He was smiling as he
said, “Sounds like you could use a little extra time.”

“Oh
no, it's just an average dinner at the Chilton house: total chaos.” She
answered cheerfully, but he could hear her shushing the speakers.

“I'll
be there as soon as possible.”

“Don't
rush. I mean, drive carefully.”

Kate
put down the phone and shot the boys a look. “If Randall Johnson overheard what
you said—”

“What?”
they protested together.

“We
were being quiet!” Clay said.

“We
didn't say anything bad,” Patrick mumbled, looking at his plate.

Kate
rolled her eyes in mock exasperation. “Eat your dinners. I have to go get
dressed.”

Halfway
up the stairs she decided she could use a glass of wine to fortify herself for
the coming evening. “False courage,” she muttered under her breath as she
returned to the kitchen and filled her glass to the top.

Upstairs,
she gulped down half, and then pulled out the two outfits she was debating
between. The suit was tasteful and conservative; the dress was, well,
provocative. She hung the suit back up. If she was going to act like a tart,
she was going to dress like a tart. And that, Kate decided, included the
underwear. If she got to the point where she was taking her dress off – which
now she wasn't at all sure she would – she wanted to keep Randall Johnson in
the right mood. She scrabbled around on the top shelf of her closet until she
found the box she had stashed there ages ago.

Brushing
the dust off the yellowed cardboard, Kate flipped open the box and pulled out a
wispy beige lace teddy, a bridal shower gift that she had worn once or twice
for David. With it came stockings to hook onto the garters dangling from the
frilled leg openings. Kate put it all on, wrestling with the old-fashioned
fasteners. Miraculously, it still fit. She took a deliberately brief glance in
the mirror as she walked over to put the dress on. “Frederick's of Hollywood,
here I come.”

As
she zipped up, Kate walked back to the mirror and stopped in shock. She had
forgotten how dramatic the dress was. The dark green brought out the red
highlights in her hair. The soft fabric fit tightly around her shoulders and
arms, and crossed low over her breasts, drawing attention to the expanse of
neck and chest left bare. It draped subtly around her waist and hips, hinting
at rather than clinging to those curves.

However,
its hem stopped well above her knees and Kate twisted and turned to make sure
that the tops of her stockings didn't show. She slipped on a pair of
high-heeled pumps – also unearthed from the back of the closet – and
immediately longed for her running shoes. She felt as though she were balancing
on stilts. “You're out of practice, my girl,” she admonished herself as she
fastened on a pair of gold earrings.

But
when she surveyed the full effect in the mirror, she felt a surge of pure
feminine power. The soccer mom was gone and in her place stood a seductress.
The dress whispered against the hidden lace as she moved. The waving ends of
her hair tickled the tops of her almost bare shoulders. Even the wretched high
heels put a seductive sway in her walk. “So there, David,” Kate said, polishing
off the rest of the wine.

A
tottery journey down the stairs brought her mood down a notch, but the
speechless stares Clay and Patrick gave her confirmed her transformation.
Brigid had let herself in while Kate was upstairs.

“Save
us and bless us! You look like a fashion model, to be sure,” the baby-sitter
exclaimed in her Irish brogue.

Kate
laughed. “As long as I don't break my ankle.” She had poured herself another
glass of wine and was sipping it more slowly. Since she hadn't eaten dinner
yet, the first glass was already giving her a delicious sense of recklessness.

The
doorbell rang.

Kate
reminded herself to walk slowly. When she reached the front door, she realized
that Clay, Patrick, Brigid and Gretchen had all come with her. She could feel a
slightly hysterical giggle rising up in her throat as she imagined Randall
Johnson's view of Kate and Company. She quelled it with a deep breath and
pulled open the big oak door.

In
his dark business suit, Randall Johnson looked much larger than she remembered.
The porch light threw sharp shadows across the planes of his unsmiling face.
Kate's buoyant mood evaporated as she acknowledged the full extent of her
miscalculation. She had involved a powerful and unknown quantity in her already
complicated life.

Then
Randall's eyes swept down her and he smiled in a way that said he had gotten
the intended message. “Hello, Kate,” he said. “I'm glad you reconsidered seeing
me this evening.”

The
black velvet drawl was back and Kate swallowed hard. “So am I,” she lied as she
stepped aside to let him in. He raised his eyebrows as he got the full impact
of the welcoming committee, but he handled all the introductions with aplomb,
even bending down to scratch Gretchen's ears. Kate was hugely relieved when
both boys remembered to shake hands. She reached for her jacket but Randall
picked it up first and held it for her. She slipped her arms through the
sleeves and then jumped when his fingers brushed against her neck as he flicked
her hair out from under the collar.

“I
don't bite,” he said softly in her ear.

Kate
smiled dubiously as she laid her hand on the arm he offered her. “I feel a
little awkward.”

“You
look stunning.”

“Thank
you,” Kate said with real gratitude and a return of confidence. She suddenly
realized that her hand was resting on the very forearm that had attracted her
attention in the first place. She couldn't resist sliding her hand over the
fine wool to feel the muscle underneath. She knew that Randall felt her near
caress because he brought her closer to his side.

After
she bade the boys good night, Kate squared her shoulders and walked bravely out
of the shelter of her home. As she navigated down the steps, she gave a small
snort of disgust at her precariousness. Randall looked down with a raised
eyebrow, and Kate explained, “I hate high heels.”

“Feel
free to take them off anytime.” His tone implied that she could take off more
than her shoes. Kate shivered with nervous anticipation; he was much better at
this than she was.

“I
hope you don't mind if we stop at my house,” Randall continued in a brisker
tone. “I want to change cars.”

“Of
course not, I'd love to see your home.” Georgia had told her that Randall
Johnson lived in a magnificent post-modem mansion on a hilltop estate, the
highest hill in Claremont. As an engineer and the widow of an architect – Kate
grimaced mentally – she was fascinated by large man-made structures.

Randall
ushered her into a Jeep, and they chatted on the drive to his house, but Kate
realized she was barely listening to anything that either one of them said. She
was too busy debating whether or not she had the nerve to carry out her plan.
Was seducing a strange man really the best way to make herself feel better?
Just how far was she prepared to go to strike back at a husband who wasn't even
here to know about it?

The
Jeep's headlights swept around a curve and through a metal gate that was still
swinging open as they passed. Kate got the impression of trees arching over a
cobblestone driveway as they roared through the darkness for what seemed like
miles. Then the headlights flashed over a massive metal-sheathed door and
around a completely private courtyard. They finally came to a stop. Randall
turned to Kate and said, “Welcome to Eagle's Nest.”

The
stone and steel structure seemed to glow in its frame of trees. Kate was
speechless in her admiration. As Randall came around to open her door, she
refocused her attention, concentrating on keeping her knees together and her
skirt down as she swung her legs out. She was about to grab the door frame to steady
her descent when Randall offered his hand. Kate hesitated a fraction of a
second before accepting. As he slid his other hand up to brace her elbow, his
eyes glinted with mockery, “Having second thoughts, Kate?”

“No,
I just wanted to make sure that my feet were firmly planted on the ground.”

Randall
laughed and Kate changed the subject. “Your house is magnificent. May I ask who
designed it?”

“Your
husband was an architect, wasn't he?”

Kate
nodded, startled that he knew about David at all.

“Then
you'll probably know the firm: Pei Cobb Freed and Partners. But the architect
didn't work there long. His name is Frank Peltier. He's on his own now, out
West somewhere.”

“Actually,
I've met him,” Kate said. “He's a very interesting man. And obviously extremely
talented.” She gestured toward the house as they walked in.

Randall
closed the front door behind them. “This was the last house he built before he
left New York. I've never been sure whether to consider that a compliment, or a
comment on my deficiencies as a client.”

“Surely
a compliment,” Kate said, taking in the staircase that seemed to rise through
the air unsupported, and the walls paneled in geometric patterns of different
woods. “This house must have given him the confidence to strike out on his
own.”

“Thank
you,” Randall said, with a courtly little bow. Kate was taken off guard by his
self-deprecation. Then the wicked glint was back in his eyes as he said, “Would
you like to take your shoes off now? If you want a tour of the house, you might
be more comfortable without the heels.”

Kate
looked at the highly polished oak floor and decided that dignity would have to
take a backseat to personal safety. She started to lean down to push one pump
off her heel, when Randall once again offered her his hand. “I seem to require
an unusual amount of hand-holding tonight,” she said with a smile.

“That's
why short skirts and high heels were invented.”

“By
men, of course.”

“Of
course.”

He
took the shoes from her hand and tossed them onto the hall table. Kate winced
as the heels skidded on the inlaid wood. “Would you like to see the house first
or have a drink?”

“See
the house,” Kate answered, thinking that she had had enough wine for the
moment.

“A
true architect's soul mate,” Randall said, taking her elbow and turning her
toward the library.

Kate
began by admiring the rooms and their furnishings, but soon she was more
conscious of Randall Johnson's touch than of her surroundings. His hand moved
from her elbow to the small of her back where she could swear he deliberately
rubbed the fabric of her dress lightly against her. In the next room, she felt
his hand slide up to the vee of skin left bare by the dress's low back and Kate
had to stifle a gasp at the sensation of his warm skin against hers. When he
called her attention to a chandelier by running his hand up the back of her
neck and threading his fingers into her hair to tilt her head back, Kate gave
up and closed her eyes.

He
stopped talking, so she opened them. Randall was very close and looking down at
her with that intensity she had felt at their first meeting. She dropped her
gaze to his mouth in a blatant invitation and was shocked when he said, “I'm
being a bad host. Let me get you something to drink,” and shifted his hand back
to her elbow.

He
steered her toward the rear of the house. Kate wondered why he hadn't kissed
her. She knew perfectly well that she was being seduced by a master of the art,
but why had he stopped?

“What's
your poison?” Randall's voice jolted her out of her thoughts. He was standing
in front of a wood and brass bar with his hands poised over an array of bottles
and glasses.

“Red
wine would be lovely,” Kate responded. She looked around the room, admiring the
stone fireplace, the leather sofas and chairs that looked as though you would
sink into them and never get up again and the panoramic view that stretched all
the way to Manhattan. This was obviously the room where Frank Peltier had meant
the house's inhabitant to spend most of his time.