Charon's Crossing (A Paranormal Romantic Suspense Novel) (3 page)

He'd never know what had made him pop the question again last night. Heaven knew Kathryn had turned him down enough times over the past months. But he had, somewhere between the take-out
moo goo gai pan
and the fried dumplings. And Kathryn had looked up, chopsticks poised, smiled and said yes. He'd been so surprised he'd damned near knocked over the coffee table in his rush to leap up, take her in his arms and kiss her.

But when he'd followed that wonderful, extraordinary moment with the suggestion that she spend the night with him, she'd gone back to being the Kathryn he knew, not only the most gorgeous lady computer analyst he'd ever laid eyes on but also the most sensible.

"It's a lovely thought," she'd said, smiling just enough to take the edge off his disappointment, "but it's late and I have a long day ahead of me tomorrow. It's just not practical."

Jason paused on the third floor landing and let an old lady and a tiny white poodle dressed in look-alike Black Watch plaid maneuver past him.

She'd said the same thing when he'd wanted to drive her home instead of letting her take a taxi, and then again when he'd offered to take her to the airport this morning. She'd even turned down the idea of having breakfast together.

"I won't have time," she'd said.

And he'd accepted that—until half an hour ago, when he was in the middle of his morning run through Central Park. He'd stopped dead in his tracks and said, to the astonishment of a drunk sleeping it off near the statue of Alice in Wonderland, "To hell with being practical!"

Jason took a deep breath. So now here he was, standing at Kathryn's door, as nervous as a kid on his first date.

Would she be happy to see him, or wouldn't she?

He glanced at the paper sack he was holding. Two large coffees, black. Two whole-wheat donuts. Two buttered bagels, and a handful of Sweet and Low packets. He began to smile.

It might not be sensible, but it was breakfast.

Even Kathryn would have to agree to that.

* * *

The shrill sound of the doorbell pierced the tattoo of the shower like the wail of a wounded animal. Kathryn spun away from the mirror and stared out the bathroom door. The hallway seemed to stretch into a shadowed infinity.

But the bell bleated again and the hallway was exactly what it had always been, a short, narrow corridor in desperate need of new carpeting.

Kathryn blew out her breath, snatched her robe from the door, and thrust her arms into the sleeves.

"May all the calories in the fried dumplings go straight to my hips if I ever eat Chinese food after nine o'clock again," she muttered as she flew down the hall.

"You're early," she said through the door in a no-nonsense tone, before the cabbie could lean on the bell again. "I'm sorry, but you'll have to wait downstairs. I told the dispatcher to send a cab at eight-thirty, and—"

"Would you really send a poor man back out into the cold, lady, when he's here to deliver breakfast for two?"

Kathryn blinked in surprise.

"Jason?"

"Yup—unless that cab company offers room service."

She smiled as she undid the locks and bolts that were the price of living in a big city.

"Jason, what on earth are you doing here?" she said as she flung the door open.

"I decided nobody should have to depend on an airline for breakfast." He held out the Mister Donut bag as he stepped into the entry hall. "So I stopped at one of New York's most elegant
patisseries,
picked up some
croissants
and
cafe
for two, grabbed a taxi, and—"

Kathryn snatched the bag out of his hands, tossed it on a table, and threw her arms around him.

"Oh," she said happily, "what a nice surprise!"

Jason stood there for a moment, his expression a combination of delight and astonishment, and then his arms closed around her.

Oh yes, he thought, it certainly was a nice surprise. In his heart, he'd half expected she might open the door, see him standing there with a silly grin and the even sillier Mister Donut bag, and blurt out that agreeing to marry him last night had all been a huge mistake.

Now, with her warm and soft in his arms, he felt his doubts fall away.

Kathryn was really happy to see him this morning. And she was different somehow, not just in looks, although that was part of it. She was wearing a flannel robe, her bare toes were peeping out from under the hem, and her hair was hanging loose and shiny down her back. It was all a far cry from her usual, businesslike self.

But for all her sexy, sweet dishevelment, it was her vulnerability that was making his head spin. She needed him, he thought in amazement. Kathryn needed him. She was clinging to him, and that was something she had never done before.

It was something he'd dreamed of, but the reality of it was a little frightening.

"Hey." He drew back a step and looked into her eyes. "Are you okay?"

Kathryn thought of the dream, of its intensity, of how even the hallway had looked so frightening just as the doorbell rang. She laughed, shut her eyes and leaned her forehead against Jason's chin.

"I'm fine. But I've decided I'm never going to eat Chinese food again."

He laughed, too. "I knew it," he said lightly. "Now the woman's going to claim she was under the influence of foreign agents when she agreed to marry me."

She smiled. "I really did do that, didn't I?"

"Yup, you did." His voice took on a good-humored gruffness. "And I'm telling you right now, lady, it's too late to change your mind."

Kathryn drew back and looked at him, taking in the handsome, almost boyish face with its open, pleasant expression. She gave a little shake of her head and sighed.

"I really am glad you came by this morning. Just seeing you makes me feel better. I had such an awful night. One bad dream after another."

His arms tightened around her. "It's this rotten trip. I wish you'd put it off and wait until I can go to Elizabeth Island with you."

Kathryn burrowed closer to him. He smelled of cold air, of New York traffic, even faintly of male sweat, but She didn't mind. They were good smells, down to earth and real, and reality was what she needed right now.

"We've been all through this," she said gently. "I have to go now. You understand."

"Yeah." He puffed out his breath and rested his chin on the top of Kathryn's head. "Well," he said with a little laugh, "I guess there's something to be said for marrying a woman whose father leaves her a Caribbean estate."

Kathryn leaned back in his arms. "We'd better hope it's an estate and not a shanty on the beach or it'll cost me more to get rid of it than it's worth."

"He must have been quite a character, your old man. I mean, who leaves anybody an estate?"

"Don't exaggerate," she said with a teasing grin. "It's only a mansion, remember?"

"Inherited from the British side of the family."

"Veddy, veddy British."

Jason laughed. "Think how much easier it would be if he'd left you a string of pearls."

They smiled at each other.

"I really wish I could go with you," Jason said softly.

"I know. But I'll be back before you know it."

He sighed. "Yeah."

"I'm so glad you decided to come by this morning. This really was such a nice surprise."

"I thought so, too," he said smugly. "Do I get a kiss as a reward?"

"Well, I don't know. A gold star, maybe..."

Smiling, he lifted her face to his. "A kiss," he whispered, and his mouth closed on hers.

His kiss was warm and tender. Kathryn sighed and her arms crept around his neck. It was nice to be kissed this way. No, it was better than nice. It was sweet. It was gentle...

It was nothing like the way the man in the dream had kissed her. His kisses had demanded surrender. Give yourself to me, they'd said. And she'd wanted to, oh yes, she'd wanted to...

Kathryn twisted her face away from Jason's.

"Kathryn?" He clasped her chin in his hand, gently urged her to look at him. His brown eyes were dark with concern. "There's something wrong, isn't there?"

Tell him, she thought. Tell him about the dream. Bring it out of the darkness and into the open so you can laugh about it together.

Laugh? How could they laugh at something that would embarrass them both? How could she ever tell him that a man in a dream had turned her on more than the man in her arms ever had?

The thought was so shabby, so disloyal, that she hated herself for even thinking it. She reached up, clasped Jason's face between her palms, and dragged his mouth to hers for another kiss. Then she slid her hands down his shoulders to his forearms.

"It's the shower. I just remembered that I left it running all this time."

"The shower!" Jason burst out laughing. "I'm kissing you, and you're thinking of the shower?"

"I dare you to say something like that next summer, when the city's in the middle of a drought," she said, smiling as she stepped out of his embrace. "Look, why don't you heat up our gourmet breakfast while I shower and dress?"

Jason touched his finger to the tip of her nose. "I could do that. Or I could help you scrub your back."

Kathryn grinned. "Not in that shower, you couldn't." She kissed him lightly on the mouth. "I'll only be a minute."

Jason watched as she hurried down the hall. Then he sighed, picked up the paper sack and headed for the kitchen. He took the two coffee containers from the bag, popped off the lids and put the containers into the microwave. Then he dumped the bagels and donuts on a plate, put that into the oven, too, and punched in the right settings.

The oven began to hum and he leaned back against the counter.

Kathryn was right. She'd be back from the Caribbean before he knew it and they could begin planning their future.

Then, why did he have this feeling of unease?

Chapter 2

Amos Carter was not a vain man but he was definitely an honest one.

That was why he couldn't pretend that talent and ability were the reasons he was Elizabeth Island's busiest attorney.

The facts were simple. Amos had the island's most active law practice because he had its only law practice.

If a storm wrecked your fishing boat and the insurance company gave you a hard time collecting your money, if you quarreled with your neighbor over whose land his pigs were destroying, you either went to Amos or you went to another island. And that wasn't easy, considering that Elizabeth Island was tucked away from the tourist track, many miles to the west of Martinique, St. Lucia, and the other Windward Islands of the Caribbean.

Amos had come here a dozen years ago, ready for peaceful retirement after forty years of practicing law in the Caymans. He bought a house in the dunes above a beach, and a thirty foot gaff-rigged catboat to play around in, and he spurned all efforts at hospitality.

When the first neighbor had appeared at his door in search of legal advice, Amos had not been subtle.

"I am no longer prostituting myself in the name of justice," he'd said, his voice plummy with the upper-class elegance of his British public school training.

But the man persisted. The case had a flavor and nuance that piqued Amos's curiosity. He became interested. A few days later, he'd found himself once again practicing law.

Now, as he paced impatiently alongside the narrow strip of crushed pink shell that was Elizabeth Island's pitiful excuse for an airport, he berated himself for having let that neighbor in the door ten years before.

If he hadn't, he'd be out in his sailboat right now, sipping a cold lager, his well-thumbed copy of Cicero in his lap, the prospect of a dinner of freshly caught flying fish looming pleasantly ahead.

Instead, he was sweating out here in the hot sun, impatiently awaiting the arrival of the twice-weekly plane from Grenada which was already almost an hour late.

Amos scowled, slipped off his wide-brimmed Panama hat and used it to fan his glistening black face. Not that that was unusual. The plane was always late. In truth, it was the fact that he was here at all that had him so irritated.