The Penalty Box (32 page)

“I'm sorry,” Paul murmured, though he really wasn't.

“I want to leave after this dance,” Katie whispered. “I'm exhausted and yes, I'm a little tipsy.”

“Good champagne,” Paul said. He was feeling a bit mellow himself.

Katie sighed, relaxing in his arms. “It was a beautiful ceremony, wasn't it?”

“I could have done without ‘Here Comes the Bride' being played on the didgeridoo, but to each his own.” He glanced over at the newly married couple, who sat staring deeply into each other's eyes. No one else in the room existed for them. He turned his attention back to Katie. “Just in case I forgot to tell you earlier, you look gorgeous tonight.”

Katie blushed. “You did forget. Thank you.”

He nodded, drawing her closer. Her soft ivory skin, her scent like a hidden garden . . . what a jerk he'd been to blow it all up. But there was no going back. If he hadn't been the one to end things,
she
would have. Better to be the dumper than the dumpee.

He'd enjoyed watching her at the reception. She was in her element. He got a kick out of how animated she became when she and Duffy's wife began comparing notes on the books they were each writing, and she seemed so happy to be asked by other profs about her research. Paul overheard her saying she missed being in the classroom. The realization that she was really leaving Didsbury at the end of the summer—and that she was glad of it—hit him. Hard as it was to admit, Katie belonged here.

“So, Margery Schooley?” he asked, impulsively dipping Katie as if they were natural born dancers. “Don't you think someone should tell her she has a beard?”

Katie giggled. “You're evil. And don't dip me again unless you want me to throw up on you.”

“Haven't you done that already?”

“I didn't throw up
on
you. I threw up near you. There's a difference.”

“And why did you throw up? Because you drank on an empty stomach, just like tonight.”

Katie stiffened in his arms. “I ate.”

“Two pigs in a blanket aren't a meal, Katie. Don't think I didn't see you pushing your dinner around your plate, trying to make it look like you were eating when you weren't.”

“I'm putting on weight, Paul.”

“You're nuts.” Feeling invincible, he nestled his mouth against her ear. “You look perfect. Good enough to eat.” Katie gave a small gasp. “Why don't we go upstairs?” he suggested huskily. “You go up first. I'll follow.” Again she stiffened in his arms, but Paul knew she was girding herself against her own desire. He waited. Finally Katie looked up at him, yearning in her eyes.

“Deal.”

 

 

Five minutes passed
.
Ten. Fifteen. Sitting on the bed in her hotel room, Katie was fuming. Had Paul changed his mind and stood her up? If so, he could walk home to Connecticut tomorrow.

She slipped out of her heels, massaging her stockinged feet. Things had gone better than expected. She'd been certain Paul was going to be a pill at the reception, her punishment for dragging him there in the first place. Instead he'd become fast friends with Duffy Webster and Tom Corday. It felt strange seeing him mingle so easily with her friends. Yet there was something comforting about it, too, the possibility that the two worlds she currently inhabited could overlap. Thanks to Paul, she'd learned a few things, too. She had no idea Tom dreamed about owning a bar after retiring, or that geeky Duffy had once played hockey.

It felt good to be back in Fallowfield, the familiar faces and surroundings a comfort. She was looking forward to returning for good, though the thought of leaving Tuck filled her with a profound sadness. And, though she'd never admit it to Paul, she
had
arrived at a newfound appreciation for her hometown. It was charming, quaint, and filled with wonderful people. Even the people who'd hurt her in the past no longer held any power over her. If anything, there were times she wanted to go up to them and say, “Thanks for treating me badly. You made me stronger.”

Her thoughts were interrupted by a quiet knock on the door before Paul slipped inside.

“Lose your way?” she quipped, a small thrill shimmering through her as he made a point of putting the “Do Not Disturb” sign on the door before locking it. She was nuts to agree to this; it would only confuse an already muddy situation.

“No.” Paul tore his bowtie from around his neck and tossed it onto a nearby chair, along with his tuxedo jacket. “There. Now I can breath.” He kicked off his shoes and walked toward her. “I was saying my good-byes and I got hooked into another conversation with Tom Corday. He's going to come down to Didsbury in the fall to check out the Penalty Box.”

Katie's mouth fell open. “You're kidding.”

“Nope. He wants to see what it's like, get a feel for owning a bar.”

“I can't believe he's really thinking of retiring and running a bar. He's such a wonderful teacher.”

“Well, he says he's bored off his ass and ready for a change. Did you know he never wanted to be an academic? His parents pushed him.”

“Really?” Katie felt a spark of envy that Tom had revealed this to Paul, but had never mentioned it to her, despite all the time they'd spent talking at various faculty functions and parties. “People are full of surprises.”

“Yes, they are.” Paul sat down beside her on the bed, taking her hand. “So.”

“Before we start, I want to establish a few rules.”

“Oooh, stop, you're making me hot.”

“I'm serious,” Katie huffed, rising to shed her pantyhose.

“You're also a major mood killer,” Paul noted as he lay down, “but go ahead.”

Pantyhose a memory, Katie stretched out beside him. “Just because I'm going to sleep with you doesn't mean we're back together.”

“Of course not,” Paul scoffed, unbuttoning his shirt. “I mean, that's ridiculous. It's the most intimate act two people can share! Why should it
mean
anything?”

“Stop mocking me, Paul, or you can go back to your own hotel room right now.”

He touched her cheek lightly. “I'm sorry, Professor. Continue.”

“We're both tipsy, so this doesn't really count as a real, you know, encounter.”

“Imaginary drunken encounter,” Paul said solemnly, tossing his shirt to the floor. “Got it. Continue.”

The sight of his sculptured torso straining against his white undershirt derailed Katie, but only for a moment. “I think it's possible for two people to have sex, wonderful sex, sex for sex sake, and just leave it at that. I also think—”

“Katie?”

“Yes?”

“Shut the hell up and let me kiss you, okay?”

Katie blinked. “Okay.”

His undershirt flew to the floor and then he was on her, the familiar weight of his body atop hers a pleasant surprise. She hadn't realized how much she missed this, his solidity. Desire coiled low in her belly, radiating as strongly as the first time they had ever made physical contact. Katie marveled over how it was possible to be intimate with the terrain of another's body, yet discover it anew each time for what it truly was: magic.

Paul sighed heavily. “I suppose you want me to kiss you.”

“I suppose you want me to beg you.”

“That usually comes later.”

Katie nipped his lower lip. “Snot.”

“Witch.”

His lips brushed hers slowly. Once . . . twice . . . three times, each time lingering a little more than the time before.

“I bet you think you're torturing me,” Katie murmured as her body stirred to life.

“I bet you like it.”

“I bet you're right.”

He kissed her hard then, a kiss screaming ownership, if not outright dominance. Katie willed herself to relax, though every nerve in her body was pulled tighter than a drum. She wanted to enjoy this, knowing it was the last time.

“You taste great,” Paul murmured, reaching down to caress the silk covering her body. Katie held her breath, losing herself in the tenderness of his touch. How could he be so demanding with his mouth, yet so gentle with his hands?

Before she could answer her own question, Paul's hand slipped quietly beneath her dress, his palm running slowly up and down the length of her thighs. Katie could tell their firm smoothness excited him. He began hardening against her.

Katie stiffened instinctively as his hand neared the top of her panties, then relaxed. Paul was in no rush. He toyed with the flesh beneath the waistband, his fingertips feathering against her soft skin. Katie sighed, transported. His touch was magic, revealing her to herself, loosening all self-imposed restraints until she was liquid in his hands. By the time his hands slid up her body to tease her breasts, she was limp, a flower pummeled by gentle spring rain. Her body curved upward to meet his touch.

“I bet you want to take my dress off,” Katie whispered.

“I bet you want me to,” Paul countered, kissing her neck.

“I bet you're right,” Katie said again, breath catching in her throat.

The alcohol had burned off her inhibitions, making her feel sexy in a way she hadn't before. Small, animal groans of pleasure bubbled from her lips as Paul slowly undressed her. Katie delighted in the pleasure she saw in his eyes as he carefully removed her garments one by one, laying her back against the bed with such sweet care that when he was done, she was surprised to find tears in her eyes. Through half closed eyes, she watched as he undressed himself. There was no hurry in his movements; only self-confidence, a trait she found infinitely sexy. Sinewy as a cat, she snuggled up to him as he climbed back atop the bed, delighted when he rolled her over onto her back, playfully pinning her.

“Now what?” he asked in a voice rough with need.

Katie closed her eyes. “This was all your idea. Whatever you want is fine with me.”

There was silence—delicious, suspense-filled silence. Then Paul's hands began exploring, a caress here, a squeeze there. One minute his touch lingered, played; the next his hands moved on, bringing her fully to life in parts of her body she hadn't known could be erogenous. Tension was building deep within her: exquisite, finely tuned. A brush of fingertips in the right place and she would explode. One lusty bite at her plumped nipple and the heat of her own body would consume her.

Paul's command of her senses overwhelmed her, coupled as it was with such sweetness. She could tell he viewed her body as his territory, from the soft swell of her breasts to her hipbones. His possessiveness ought to have set her questioning. Instead she allowed herself to be shaped by it, a shell worn smooth and bright by the rise and fall of their mutual pleasure. Her body was the sea, and he was swimming in her, his whispering of her name beguiling as the ocean breeze.

Katie was floating now, sensation after sensation lapping at her as joy sang through her body, gorgeous as the first rays of sunshine after the long, gray winter months. She gasped as his teeth scraped over one hip, then another, sending the pulsebeat between her legs rocketing. Paul laughed wickedly as his tongue ran the length of her body, pausing only to gently part her knees. Katie wanted to beg him to stop, to wait so she could prolong the moment. But the moment his mouth found her sex, she knew it was useless to struggle. He had barely begun playing with her before pleasure dragged her under, senses drowning in one, long crashing wave.

Slowly she returned to herself. Her trembling ceased. Her breath stuttered its way back to normal. It was Paul whose breathing was ragged now, Paul whose hard body shuddered with needed release. Snaking his way up her body, he levered himself over her, his kisses demanding and frantic as Katie clung to him, desire renewing itself within her.

“Look at me.”

His voice was hoarse, his command simple. Katie raised her eyes to his eyes, thrilled by the hunger she saw reflected there. They were twins, one mirroring the other. Their gaze held until Katie was forced to look away, the naked intimacy of the moment too much for her to take. It was then that he donned a condom and slipped inside her, the movement of his body slow and sure. Katie wrapped herself tighter around him. Higher and higher they lifted, two souls ascending above stormy clouds, until finally, unexpectedly, his teeth clamped down on the soft flesh of her throat, and they soared together over the edge.

“That was nice.”

Paul propped himself up on his elbow and stared at Katie, who as usual was hogging the covers. “Just ‘nice'?”

“Why is ‘nice' never good enough for men? Why do men always need to hear ‘That was the greatest sex I ever had in my life'?”