Less of a Stranger Page 11

  “Big talk about presents and no delivery,” Megan said in disgust as Katch exchanged bills for tokens.

  “It’s early yet. Here.” He poured a few tokens into her hand. “Why don’t you try your luck at saving the galaxy from invaders?”

  With a smirk, Megan chose a machine, then slipped two tokens into the slot. “I’ll go first.” Pressing the start button, she took the control stick in hand and began systematically to vaporize the enemy. Brows knit, she swung her ship right and left while the machine exploded with color and noise with each hit. Amused, Katch dipped his hands into his pockets and watched her face. It was a more interesting show than the sophisticated graphics.

  She chewed her bottom lip while maneuvering into position, narrowing her eyes when a laser blast headed her way. Her breath hissed through her teeth at a narrow escape. But all the while, her face held that composed, almost serious expression that was so much a part of her. Fighting gamely to avoid being blown up in cross fire, Megan’s ship at last succumbed.

  “Well,” Katch murmured, glancing at her score as she wiped her hands on the back of her jeans. “You’re pretty good.”

  “You have to be,” Megan returned soberly, “when you’re the planet’s last hope.”

  With a chuckle, he nudged her out of the way and took the control.

  Megan acknowledged his skill as Katch began to blast away the invaders with as much regularity as she had, and a bit more dash. He likes to take chances, she mused as he narrowly missed being blown apart by laser fire in order to zap three ships in quick succession. As his score mounted, she stepped a bit closer to watch his technique.

  At the brush of her arm against his, Megan noticed a quick, almost imperceptible break in his rhythm. Now, that was interesting, she reflected. Feeling an irrepressible surge of mischief, she edged slightly closer. There was another brief fluctuation in his timing. Softly, she touched her lips to his shoulder, then smiled up into his face. She heard rather than saw the explosion that marked his ship’s untimely end.

  Katch wasn’t looking at the screen either, but at her. She saw something flash into his eyes—something hot, barely suppressed, before his hand released the control to dive into her hair.

  “Cheat,” he murmured.

  For a moment, Megan forgot the cacophony of sound, forgot the crowds of people that milled around them. She was lost somewhere in those smoky gray eyes and her own giddy sense of power.

  “Cheat?” she repeated, and her lips stayed slightly parted. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  The hand on her hair tightened. He was struggling, she realized, surprised and excited. “I think you do,” Katch said quietly. “And I think I’m going to have to be very careful now that you know just what you can do to me.”

  “Katch.” Her gaze lowered to his mouth as the longing built. “Maybe I don’t want you to be careful anymore.”

  Slowly, his hand slid out of her hair, over her cheek, then dropped. “All the more reason I have to be,” he muttered. “Come on.” He took her arm and propelled her away from the machine. “Let’s play something else.”

  Megan flowed with his mood, content just to be with him. They pumped tokens into machines and competed fiercely—as much with each other as with the computers. Megan felt the same lighthearted ease with him that she’d experienced that night at the carnival. Spending time with him was much like a trip on one of the wild, breathless rides at the park. Quick curves, fast hills, unexpected starts and stops. No one liked the windy power of a roller coaster better than Megan did.

  Hands on hips, she stood back as he consistently won coupons at Skee-Ball. She watched another click off on the already lengthy strip as he tossed the ball neatly into the center hole.

  “Don’t you ever lose?” she demanded.

  Katch tossed the next ball for another forty points. “I try not to make a habit of it. Wanna toss the last two?”

  “No.” She brushed imaginary lint from her shirt. “You’re having such a good time showing off.”

  With a laugh, Katch dumped the last two balls for ninety points, then leaned over to tear off his stream of coupons. “Just for that, I might not turn these in for your souvenir.”

  “These?” Megan gave the ream of thin cardboard an arched-brow look. “You were supposed to buy me a souvenir.”

  “I did.” He grinned, rolling them up. “Indirectly.” Slipping an arm companionably around her shoulder, he walked to the center counter, where prizes were displayed. “Let’s see . . . I’ve got two dozen. How about one of those six-function penknives?”

  “Just who’s this souvenir for?” Megan asked dryly as she scanned the shelves. “I like that little silk rose.” She tapped the glass counter to indicate a small lapel pin. “I have all the tools I need,” she added with an impish grin.

  “Okay.” Katch nodded to the woman behind the counter, then tore off all but four of the tickets. “That leaves us these. Ah . . .” With a quick scan of the shelves, he pointed. “That.”

  Thoughtfully, Megan studied the tiny shell figure the woman lifted down. It seemed to be a cross between a duck and a penguin. “What’re you going to do with that?”

  “Give it to you.” Katch handed over the rest of the tickets. “I’m a very generous man.”

  “I’m overwhelmed,” she murmured. Megan turned it over in the palm of her hand as Katch pinned the rose to the collar of her shirt. “But what is it?”

  “It’s a mallard.” Draping his arm over her shoulder again, he led her out of the arcade. “I’m surprised at your attitude. I figured, as an artist, you’d recognize its aesthetic value.”

  “Hmm.” Megan took another study, then slipped it into her pocket. “Well, I do recognize a certain winsome charm. And,” she added, rising on her toes to kiss his cheek, “it was sweet of you to spend all your winnings on me.”

  Smiling, Katch ran a finger down her nose. “Is a kiss on the cheek the best you can do?”

  “For a shell penguin it is.”

  “It’s a mallard,” he reminded her.

  “Whatever.” Laughing, Megan slipped an arm around his waist as they crossed the boardwalk and walked down the slope to the beach.

  The moon was only a thin slice of white, but the stars were brilliant and mirrored in the water. There was a quiet swish of waves flowing and ebbing over the sand. Lovers walked here and there, arm in arm, talking quietly or not speaking at all. Children dashed along with flashlights bobbing, searching the sand and the surf for treasures.

  Bending, Megan slipped out of her shoes and rolled up the hem of her jeans. In silent agreement, Katch followed suit. The water lapped cool over their ankles as they began to walk north, until the laughter and music from the boardwalk was only a background echo.

  “Your sister’s lovely,” Megan said at length. “Just as you said.”

  “Jessica was always a beauty,” he agreed absently. “A little hardheaded, but always a beauty.”

  “I saw your nieces at the park.” Megan lifted her head so that the ocean breeze caught at her hair. “They had chocolate all over their faces.”

  “Typical.” He laughed, running a hand up and down her arm as they walked. Megan felt the blood begin to hum beneath her flesh. “Before they left tonight, they were out digging for worms. I’ve been drafted to take them fishing tomorrow.”

  “You like children.”

  He twisted his head to glance down at her, but Megan was looking out to sea. “Yes. They’re a constant adventure, aren’t they?”

  “I see so many of them in the park every summer, yet they never cease to amaze me.” She turned back then with her slow, serious smile hovering on her lips. “And I see a fair number of harassed or long-suffering parents.”

  “When did you lose yours?”

  He saw the flicker of surprise in her eyes before she looked down the stretch of beach again. “I was five.”

  “It’s difficult for you to remember them.”

  “Yes. I have some vague memo
ries—impressions really, I suppose. Pop has pictures, of course. When I see them, it always surprises me how young they were.”

  “It must have been hard on you,” Katch murmured. “Growing up without them.”

  The gentleness in his voice had her turning back to him. They’d walked far down the beach so that the only light now came from the stars. His eyes caught the glitter of reflection as they held hers. “It would have been,” Megan told him, “without Pop. He did much more than fill in.” She stopped to take a step farther into the surf. The water frothed and bubbled over her skin. “One of my best memories is of him struggling to iron this pink organdy party dress. I was eight or nine, I think.” With a shake of her head, she laughed and kicked the water. “I can still see him.”

  Katch’s arms came around her waist, drawing her back against him. “So can I.”

  “He was standing there, struggling with frills and flounces—and swearing like a sailor because he didn’t know I was there. I still love him for that,” she murmured. “For just that.”

  Katch brushed his lips over the top of her hair. “And I imagine you told him not long afterward that you didn’t care much for party dresses.”

  Surprised, Megan turned around. “How did you know that?”

  “I know you.” Slowly, he traced the shape of her face with his fingertip.

  Frowning, she looked beyond his shoulder. “Am I so simple?”

  “No.” With his fingertip still on her jaw, he turned her face back to his. “You might say I’ve made a study of you.”

  She felt her blood begin to churn. “Why?”

  Katch shook his head and combed his fingers through her hair. “No questions tonight,” he said quietly. “I don’t have the answers yet.”

  “No questions,” she agreed, then rose on her toes to meet his mouth with hers.

  It was a soft, exploring kiss—a kiss of renewal. Megan could taste the gentleness. For the moment, he seemed to prize her, to find her precious and rare. He held her lightly, as though she would break at the slightest pressure. Her lips parted, and it was she who entered his mouth first, teasing his tongue with hers. His sound of pleasure warmed her. The water swayed, soft and cool, on her calves.

  She ran her hands up his back, letting her strong, artist’s fingers trail under his hair to caress the nape of his neck. There was tension there, and she murmured against his lips as if to soothe it. Megan felt both his resistance and the tightening of his fingers against her skin. Her body pressed more demandingly into his.

  Passion began to smolder quietly. Megan knew she was drawing it from him without his complete consent. The wonder of her own power struck her like a flash. He was holding back, letting her set the pace, but she could feel the near-violence of need in him. It tempted her. She wanted to undermine his control as he had undermined hers. She wanted to make him need as blindly as she needed. It wasn’t possible to make him love her, but she could make him want. If it was all she could have from him, then she would be satisfied with his desire.

  Megan felt his control slipping. His arms tightened around her, drawing her close so they were silhouetted as one. The kiss grew harder, more urgent. He lifted a hand to her hair, gripping it, pulling her head back as if now he would take command. There was fire now, burning brightly. Heat rose in her, smoking through her blood. She caught his bottom lip between her teeth and heard his quiet moan. Abruptly, he drew her away.

  “Meg.”

  She waited, having no idea what she wanted him to say. Her head was tossed back, her face open to his, her hair free to the breeze. She felt incredibly strong. His eyes were nearly black, searching her face deeply. She could feel his breath feather, warm and uneven, on her lips.

  “Meg.” He repeated her name, bringing his hands back to her shoulders slowly. “I have to go now.”

  Daring more than she would have believed possible, Megan pressed her lips to his again. Hers were soft and hungry and drew instant response from him. “Is that what you want?” she murmured. “Do you want to leave me now?”

  His fingers tightened on her arms convulsively; then he pulled her away again. “You know the answer to that,” he said roughly. “What are you trying to do, make me crazy?”

  “Maybe.” Desire still churned in her. It smoldered in her eyes as they met his. “Maybe I am.”

  He caught her against him, close and tight. She could feel the furious race of his heart against hers. His control, she knew, balanced on a razor’s edge. Their lips were only a whisper apart.

  “There’ll be a time,” he said softly, “I swear it, when it’ll just be you and me. Next time, the very next time, Meg. Remember it.”

  It took no effort to keep her eyes level with his. The power was still flowing through her. “Is that a warning?”

  “Yes,” he told her. “That’s just what it is.”

  Chapter Eleven

  It took two more days for Megan to finish the bust of Katch. She tried, when it was time, to divorce herself from emotion and judge it objectively.

  She’d been right to choose wood. It was warmer than stone. With her tongue caught between her teeth, she searched for flaws in her workmanship. Megan knew without conceit it was one of her better pieces. Perhaps the best.

  The face wasn’t stylishly handsome, but strong and compelling. Humor was expressed in the tilt of the brows and mouth. She ran her fingertips over his lips. An incredibly expressive mouth, she mused, remembering the taste and texture. I know just how it looks when he’s amused or angry or aroused. And his eyes. Hers drifted up to linger. I know how they look, how they change shades and expression with a mood. Light for pleasure, turning smoky in anger, darker in passion.

  I know his face as well as my own . . . but I still don’t know his mind. That’s still a stranger. With a sigh she folded her arms on the table and lowered her chin to them.

  Will he ever permit me to know him? she wondered. Tenderly, she touched a lock of the disordered hair. Jessica knows him, probably better than anyone else. If he loved someone . . .

  What would happen if I drew up the courage to tell him that I love him? What would happen if I simply walked up to him and said I love you? Demanding nothing, expecting nothing. Doesn’t he perhaps have the right to know? Isn’t love too special, too rare to be closed up? Then Megan imagined his eyes with pity in them.

  “I couldn’t bear it,” she murmured, lowering her forehead to Katch’s wooden one. “I just couldn’t bear it.” A knock interrupted her soul-searching. Quickly, Megan composed her features and swiveled in her chair. “Come in.”

  Her grandfather entered, his fishing cap perched jauntily on his mane of white hair. “How do you feel about fresh fish for supper?” His grin told her that his early-morning expedition had been a success. Megan cocked her head.

  “I could probably choke down a few bites.” She smiled, pleased to see his eyes sparkling and color in his cheeks. She sprang up and wound her arms around his neck as she had done as a child. “Oh, I love you, Pop!”

  “Well, well.” He patted her hair, both surprised and pleased. “I love you, too, Megan. I guess I should bring you home trout more often.”

  She lifted her face from the warm curve of his neck and smiled at him. “It doesn’t take much to make me happy.”

  His eyes sobered as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “No . . . It never has.” His wide, blunt hand touched her cheek. “You’ve given me so much pleasure over the years, Megan, so much joy. I’m going to miss you when you’re in New York.”

  “Oh, Pop.” She buried her face again and clung. “It’ll only be for a month or two; then I’ll be home.” She could smell the cherry-flavored scent of the tobacco he carried in his breast pocket. “You could even come with me—the season’ll be over.”

  “Meg.” He stopped her rambling and drew her up so that their eyes met. “This is a start for you. Don’t put restrictions on it.”

  Shaking her head, Megan rose to pace nervously. “I’m not. I don’t know
what you mean . . .”

  “You’re going to make something of yourself, something important. You have talent.” Pop glanced around the room at her work until his eyes rested on the bust of Katch. “You’ve got a life to start. I want you to go after it at full speed.”

  “You make it sound as if I’m not coming home.” Megan turned and, seeing where his eyes rested, clasped her hands together. “I’ve just finished that.” She moistened her lips and struggled to keep her voice casual. “It’s rather good, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, I think it’s very good.” He looked at her then. “Sit down, Megan. I need to talk to you.”

  She recognized the tone and tensed. Without a word, she obeyed, going to the chair across from him. Pop waited until she was settled, then studied her face carefully.

  “A while back,” he began, “I told you things change. Most of your life, it’s been just the two of us. We needed each other, depended on each other. We had the park to keep a roof over our heads and to give us something to work for.” His tone softened. “There hasn’t been one minute in the eighteen years I’ve had you with me that you’ve been a burden. You’ve kept me young. I’ve watched you through all the stages of growing up, and each time, you’ve made me more proud of you. It’s time for the next change.”

  Because her throat was dry as dust, Megan swallowed. “I don’t