Every Breath You Take (52 page)

Outside, lightning streaked across the sky and thunder boomed while Mitchell prepared to entice his guests to spontaneously reveal information that would erase all Kate’s doubts about his actions and feelings for her while they were in St. Maarten. He could have prompted them, but Kate was intuitive and still mistrustful of him, so he needed the revelations to be completely convincing to her.

In his heart, he expected her to cancel her date tonight when she discovered what Mitchell intended her to learn. That’s what he wanted her to do; however, he was prepared for her to leave if that’s what she still felt she should do. He was prepared, but not pleased at
the prospect. His aunt—who was never awed by anyone she met, including two United States Presidents and countless celebrities—was gazing worshipfully at Zack and sipping a second glass of sherry. Mitchell headed toward the group before the sherry relaxed Olivia so much that she wouldn’t feel her usual need to supervise social gossip and speak up when she heard an inaccuracy.

Kate looked up at him with a smile when he walked up behind her and laid his hand lightly on the small of her back. He waited until there was a break in the conversation about Danny, and then he said to Zack and Julie, “Kate and I met in the islands three years ago when I was staying aboard the
Julie.”

“Really?” Zack replied, and Julie smiled.

“I think you were staying at my place in Rome at the time,” Mitchell prompted.

Zack remembered what film he’d been making, mentioned it, and said nothing else. That’s when it belatedly occurred to Mitchell that discretion would prevent the Benedicts from saying anything for fear of bringing up the “wrong Kate” in front of the current Kate, and so he looked pointedly at Julie who was watching him closely, and said, “I phoned you in Rome, and I think I mentioned Kate to you. I thought she might enjoy a cruise.”

Julie looked warily at him, but Zack finally sensed what Mitchell was trying to do, and he rose to the occasion magnificently. “So you’re
that
Kate!” he exclaimed. Directing the full force of his movie-star smile at Kate, he confided, “My God, Julie and I were dying to meet you.”

“Why is that?” Kate asked.

“Because when Mitchell phoned, he told me he wanted you to be able to cruise on the
Julie
during the day, but your destination islands had to have runways
long enough to accommodate his plane. He said he intended to fly back and forth to join you every night, and then fly back to Chicago the next morning. I told him you must be one woman in ten million. He said you were,” Zack finished.

Against his hand, Mitchell felt Kate stiffen as if tensing against a blow; then she bent her head briefly. He glanced at his watch, realized that it was fifteen minutes to eight, and steered her over to his aunt.

Kate walked where he guided her, her emotions in turmoil over what Zack Benedict had said. She realized that Mitchell had nudged him to open up, but what Zack Benedict said hadn’t sounded rehearsed, or untruthful. On the other hand, he was an actor. She was so upset that she actually found comfort in reminding herself that the yacht was a minor issue. But then she realized that if Zack Benedict had told the truth, then Mitchell had been waiting for her at the wharf for one reason only—he’d cared about her then as much as she’d cared about him.

She tried to look as if she was listening to Mitchell and his aunt’s conversation, but her stomach cramped and she winced.

“Is something wrong, dear?” Olivia Hebert asked, tipping her head to the side. She was seated in a chair, her white hair drawn into its customary bun, her pearls around her neck, her eyes bright. She was an icon in the Bartletts’ social circle, and Kate had met her at various functions, but when Mitchell spoke to her, she positively beamed, Kate noticed.

“No, I’m fine,” Kate assured her.

“I just realized something,” Mitchell said, and that was enough to make Olivia beam expectantly at him. “You were standing beside me at Cecil’s party when Evan Bartlett mentioned that he and Kate were going down to Anguilla.” Not until his aunt looked at him in
wary silence did Mitchell take into account his stern, long-ago warning to her that she was not to discuss Kate Donovan with him. Evidently, she was prepared to follow that to the letter now, even though Kate was beside him and Olivia had spent several minutes admiring Danny. She had to realize that the situation had changed, Mitchell thought. But on the other hand, she hadn’t known what the situation was before that, because he had refused to discuss it with her, so she
didn’t
necessarily know that it had changed.

Thoughtfully, he reached for a small plate of hors d’oeuvres on the coffee table and cautiously switched the focus of his conversation strictly to Evan and Kate while withdrawing himself from it.

“Did Evan Bartlett ever buy a plane?” Mitchell inquired. “As I remember, he mentioned that he wanted to, but then he said he had to leave for Kate’s father’s funeral.”

“His wake,” Olivia corrected. “He said a client had died and he had to leave for his wake.” She looked at Kate and said, “I remember because I was surprised he didn’t mention your father’s name.”

Having failed to get her to make a statement about Kate, Mitchell deliberately imparted incorrect information in the hope that she’d be absolutely unable to resist correcting his mistake. “Since he’d already told me Kate’s name, there was really no reason for him to tell me her father’s—”

“He didn’t mention any names at all, dear. I particularly remember thinking that was very unforthcoming of him. I assumed that was because he’d sensed the friction when I introduced you to his father, and Evan decided to be—Kate, dear, you look very pale.”

Kate put her drink on the table beside Olivia. “I’m sorry to be abrupt,” she said in a voice that sounded surprisingly normal given her emotional state. “I’m
sorry I can’t stay.” She turned to Mitchell, her green eyes dazed and almost accusing. “I—I have to leave.

We’ll talk later,” she added.

“Kate has a date,” Mitchell told his aunt, hiding his surprised hurt behind a glib explanation. “A what?” Olivia gasped.

Kate made her excuses to the Benedicts and Farrells, picked up her purse, and then realized that Mitchell was politely walking her to the door. “I’ll come back as early as I can,” she offered inanely.

Mitchell nodded.

Drink in hand, he stood at the windows staring down at the street. When she left him in St. Maarten, the day had been bright blue and he’d seen her get into a cab. Now rain was lashing the windows, and he could barely see a foot beyond them. He couldn’t believe she’d left. Her departure, coupled with his remark that she had a date, put a damper on the party, and when he turned around, his guests were standing up to leave.

After they left, he phoned room service to have them clean up the remains of the party, and when they departed a half hour later, he found himself alone in his suite, waiting for a woman to return who should not have left in the first place. The rain was coming down in sheets, and he stood at the windows, watching lightning skewer the sky, reluctantly facing reality:

If Kate really cared about him, then what she’d learned tonight should have relieved her mind and sent her straight into his arms. There was no other possibility, but he tried to think of one anyway as he shoved his hands into his pants pockets and stared at the storm. An image moved across the glass and he frowned because it was slightly distorted.

“Mitchell—” Kate said behind him, her teeth chattering from the cold, her arms wrapped around herself.

He swung around, and as she gazed at him in mute misery
and tortured regret, Mitchell realized why she’d fled earlier. Smiling, he brushed a strand of wet hair off her cheek. “Use your words, darling,” he whispered.

Her shoulders shaking with tears and laughter, she collapsed against him, wrapping her arms fiercely around his shoulders, pressing her cheek to his chest. “I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.”

Mitchell slid his arms around her, pulling her against his full length, and buried his face in her wet hair. “I missed you so much,” he whispered. “I missed your magic.”

She shivered and lifted her face to his, and he touched his mouth to her parted lips, remembering their softness and texture, while his hands remembered her curves … and the location of her zipper.

She leaned into him, kissing him back with desperate fervor as the top of her dress slid down her arms, exposing her breasts. Mitchell intended to prolong this momentous reunion for hours if possible, and he lifted his mouth out of her reach, curved his hands over her breasts and watched the expression on her lovely face as he tightened his fingers on her nipples. She gasped and bit her lip … and then demolished his plan to go slowly by remembering the location of his zipper.

The bedroom was far away, the sofa was closer, but the carpet was soft, and she stretched out there beneath him, her body shifting against his. Mitchell closed his eyes, straining for control, poised at the entrance to her body, but instead of entering her, he bent his head to her breasts, determined to give her the pleasure of foreplay. Her hands cradled his face, lifting it from her breasts, and she gazed into his eyes, her own filled with wonder, her long fingers tenderly brushing the hair at his temples. “Mitchell,” she whispered, “please.”

“No,” he whispered hoarsely while she shifted her
hips slightly, inviting him inside her, and his body thrummed like an aching drum.

She nodded slowly, sure of herself now, and arched her back, torturing him.

Trying to smile, Mitchell slid an inch inside her, and then another. His smile vanished as his body began to move against his will, driving slowly, rhythmically into her. His hands caught her thighs, clamping them to his, and he drove into her with fierce urgency; her body convulsed and he pushed her harder, forcing her with him until she twisted and arched and cried out. He exploded inside of her with a force that made him gasp and then drop his head in reverent disbelief. Summoning all the strength he had left, Mitchell rolled onto his side and pulled her tightly into his arms, smoothing her damp hair off her shoulders. “Witch,” he whispered with a smile in his voice.

H
OLLY REACHED INTO
K
ATE’S REFRIGERATOR, TOOK OUT
two bottles of water, and held one toward Calli. “Would you like a bottle of water?” she asked.

Calli looked at her, smiled politely, shook his head no, and said in Italian, “You are very beautiful. I would rather have you.”

Understanding only the negative shake of his head, Holly said, “I’ll take that to mean no,” and put the bottle back in the refrigerator.

She glanced over her shoulder as Kate came out of the bedroom wearing her third possible outfit for dinner with Mitchell that night. The other two choices were draped over the sofa in the living room. He’d taken Danny shopping, and they’d been gone since eleven that morning. “Too dressy?” Kate asked, pirouetting in front of Holly, with Calli looking on from the kitchen island.

“No, but I like the blue wool better.”

Frustrated and uncertain, Kate decided to ask the opinion of a man who knew Mitchell’s taste. Reaching over to the sofa, she collected the other two dresses and held them up one at a time while she looked questioningly at Calli. “For Mitchell?” she asked.

Calli grinned, pointed confidently at the black sheath, and said in Italian, “Mitchell will be in a hurry to get it off you tonight, and the blue one has too many small buttons.”

“Okay, the black sheath it is,” Kate said.
“Grazie,”
she added with a warm smile, using one of the two Italian words she knew.

Calli nodded and said, “You have a mouth made for kissing, but Mitchell is like a brother to me. Also, he would cut out my heart if he thought I noticed.”

“It must take a lot more words to say something in Italian,” Holly observed, and then she said very solemnly, “Kate, you’re already in love with Mitchell again, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m not,” Kate replied firmly.

Calli’s head swiveled around, his brows drawing together in surprised dismay.

“Yes, you are.”

Kate slumped against the back of the sofa, hangers and dresses suspended from both hands, and nodded. “He’s completely addictive. If I could pull him over me like a blanket and wrap myself up in him, I’d do it and still want to be closer—body and soul. And what makes it so hard is that I really think he feels the same way.”

“You thought that last time.”

Kate shoved away from the sofa, and looked at her with a smile. “And I was right. You keep forgetting that he wasn’t guilty of anything we thought he was.”

“What time is he coming back?”

Glancing at her watch, Kate said, “He called and said Danny and he were running late, but that they’d be here by six. I need to be downstairs at eight tonight to greet the mayor and his party, then Mitchell and I are going somewhere for dinner.”

Holly stood up. “It’s five-thirty, so I’d better get going. Now that the police know Billy Wyatt’s somewhere in Florida, are you still going to stay at the hotel?”

“Yes,” Kate said, already heading for her bedroom to
put away the clothes. She’d already put on her makeup and fixed her hair so she’d look nice when Danny and Mitchell got back, and now she had time on her hands. “Mitchell wants us there until the police capture Billy. I keep the local news on all day, expecting to hear an announcement that he’s been taken into custody.”

“How’s Molly doing?”

“She’s doing really well. She wants to come back to work tomorrow, but I want her to stay home and rest for a few more days.”

“Mommy, look—” Already smiling, Kate hurried down the hallway from her bedroom to see what Mitchell and Danny had bought during their outing. The sight of Danny standing in the middle of the room, grinning expectantly, almost stopped her heart. Gone were his long curls and clothes from BabyGap. His black hair was styled just like Mitchell’s; he was wearing a suit, vest, and tie, and shiny black shoes. And to top it off, he was standing with one hand in his pocket, and his other hand behind his back, posing.