Less than a Stranger Page 6

  “Perhaps you have them wrong.” Before she could comment, he spoke again. “How would it affect the park’s business if it had some updated rides and an expanded arcade?”

  “We can’t afford …”

  “That wasn’t my question.” He took her by the shoulders and his eyes were serious.

  “Business would improve, naturally,” Megan answered. “People come here to be entertained. The more entertainment provided, the slicker, the faster the entertainment, the happier they are. And the more money they spend.”

  Katch nodded as he searched her face. “Those were my thoughts.”

  “It’s academic because we simply haven’t the sort of money necessary for an overhaul.”

  “Hmm?” Though he was looking directly at her, Megan saw that his attention had wandered. She watched it refocus.

  “What are you thinking?” she demanded.

  The grip on her shoulder altered to a caress. “That you’re extraordinarily beautiful.”

  Megan pulled away. “No, you weren’t.”

  “It’s what I’m thinking now.” The gleam was back in his eyes as he put his hands to her waist. “It’s what I was thinking the first time I saw you.”

  “You’re ridiculous.” She made an attempt to pull away, but he caught her closer.

  “I’ve never denied that. But you can’t call me ridiculous for finding you beautiful.” The wind blew her hair back, leaving her face unframed. He laid a soft, unexpected kiss on her forehead. Megan felt her knees turn to water. She placed her hands on his chest both for support and in protest. “You’re an artist.” He drew her fractionally closer, and his voice lowered. “You recognize beauty when you see it.”

  “Don’t!” The protest was feeble as she made no attempt to struggle out of his gentle hold.

  “Don’t what? Don’t kiss you?” Slowly, luxuriously, his mouth journeyed over her skin. “But I have to, Meg.” His lips touched hers softly, then withdrew, and her heart seemed to stop. The flavor of his lips as they brushed against hers overwhelmed her. They tempted, then ruled. With a moan of pleasure, Megan drew him close against her.

  Something seemed to explode inside her as the kiss deepened. She clung to him a moment, dazed, then terrified by the power of it. Needs, emotions and new sensations tumbled together too quickly for her to control them. As panic swamped her, Megan struggled in his arms. She would have run, blindly, without direction, but Katch took her arms and held her still.

  “What is it? You’re trembling.” Gently, he tilted her chin until their eyes met. Hers were wide, his serious. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I’m sorry.”

  The gentleness was nearly her undoing. Love, so newly discovered, hammered for release. She shook her head, knowing her voice would be thick with tears if she spoke. Swallowing, Megan prayed she could steady it.

  “No, it’s … I have to get back. They’re closing.” Behind him, she could see the lights flickering off.

  “Meg.” The tone halted her. It was not a demand this time, but a request. “Have dinner with me.”

  “No—”

  “I haven’t even suggested an evening,” he pointed out mildly. “How about Monday?”

  Megan stood firm. “No.”

  “Please.”

  Her resolution dissolved on a sigh. “You don’t play fair,” she murmured.

  “Never. How about seven?”

  “No picnics on the beach,” she compromised.

  “We’ll eat inside, I promise.”

  “All right, but just dinner.” She stepped away from him. “Now, I have to go.”

  “I’ll walk you back.” Katch took her hand and kissed it before she could stop him. “I have to get my elephant.”

  Chapter Six

  Megan held Katch’s face in her hands. With totally focused absorption, she formed his cheekbones. She had thought when she had first begun to work on this bust that morning that it would be good therapy. To an extent, she’d been right. The hours had passed peacefully, without the restless worry of the past two nights. Her mind was centered on her work, leaving no spaces for the disturbing thoughts that had plagued her all weekend.

  She opened and closed her hands slowly, using the muscles until the cramping was a dull ache. A glance at her watch told her she had worked for longer than she’d intended. Late afternoon sun poured through the windows. Critically, as she pulled on each finger to soothe it, Megan studied her work.

  The model was good, she decided, with just the proper touches of roughness and intelligence she had aimed for. The mouth was strong and sensuous, the eyes perceptive and far too aware. The mobility of the face which Megan found fascinating could only be suggested. It was a face that urged one to trust against better judgment and common sense.

  Narrowing her eyes, she studied the clay replica of Katch’s face. There are certain men, she thought, who make a career out of women—winning them, making love to them, leaving them. There are other men who settle down and marry, raise families. How could she doubt what category Katch fell into?

  Megan rose to wash her hands. Infatuation, she reflected. It’s simply infatuation. He’s different, and I can’t deny he’s exciting. I wouldn’t be human if I weren’t flattered that he’s attracted to me. I’ve overreacted, that’s all. She dried her hands on a towel and tried to convince herself. A person doesn’t fall in love this quickly. And if they do, it’s just a surface thing, nothing lasting. Megan’s eyes were drawn to the clay model. Katch’s smile seemed to mock all her sensible arguments. She hurled the towel to the floor.

  “It can’t happen this fast!” she told him furiously. “Not this way. Not to me.” She swung away from his assured expression. “I won’t let it.”

  It’s only the park he wants, she reminded herself. Once he’s finally convinced he can’t have it, he’ll go away. The ache was unexpected, and unwelcome. That’s what I want, she thought. For him to go away and leave us alone. She tried not to remember the new frontiers she had glimpsed while being held in his arms.

  With a brisk shake of her head, Megan pulled the tie from her hair so that it tumbled back to brush her shoulders. I’ll start in wood tomorrow, she decided, and covered the clay model. Tonight, I’ll simply enjoy a dinner date with an attractive man. It’s that simple.

  With a great deal more ease than she was feeling, Megan took off her work smock and left her studio.

  “Hi, sweetheart.” Pop pulled the truck into the driveway just as Megan reached the bottom step.

  She noticed the weariness the moment he climbed from the cab. Knowing he hated fussing, she said nothing, but walked over and slipped an arm around his waist.

  “Hi, yourself. You’ve been gone a long time.”

  “A problem or two at the park,” he told her as they moved together toward the house.

  That explained the weariness, Megan thought as she pushed open the back door. “What sort of problem?” Megan waited for him to settle himself at the kitchen table before she walked to the stove to brew tea.

  “Repairs, Megan, just repairs. The coaster and the Octopus and a few of the smaller rides.” He leaned back in his chair as Megan turned to face him.

  “How bad?”

  Pop sighed, knowing it was better to tell her outright than to hedge. “Ten thousand, maybe fifteen.”

  Megan let out a long, steady breath. “Ten thousand dollars.” She ran a hand under her bangs to rub her brow. There was no purpose in asking if he was sure. If he’d had any doubt, he’d have kept the matter to himself.

  “Well, we can come up with five,” she began, lumping the check she had just received from Katch into their savings. “We’ll have to have a more exact amount so we can decide how big a loan we’ll need.”

  “Banks take a dim view of lending great lumps of money to people my age,” Pop murmured.

  Because she saw he was tired and discouraged, she spoke briskly. “Don’t be silly.” She walked back to the stove to set on the kettle. “In any case, they’d be lend
ing it to the park, wouldn’t they?” She tried not to think of tight money and high interest rates.

  “I’ll go see a few people tomorrow,” he promised, reaching for his pipe as if to indicate their business talk was over. “You’re having dinner with Katch tonight?”

  “Yes.” Megan took out cups and saucers.

  “Fine young man.” He puffed pleasantly on his pipe. “I like him. Has style.”

  “He has style all right,” she grumbled as the kettle began to sing. Carefully, she poured boiling water into cups.

  “Knows how to fish,” Pop pointed out.

  “Which, of course, makes him a paragon of virtue.”

  “Well, it doesn’t make me think any less of him.” He spoke genially, smiling into Megan’s face. “I couldn’t help noticing the two of you on the wheel the other night. You looked real pretty together.”

  “Pop, really.” Feeling her cheeks warm, Megan walked back to fiddle with the dishes in the sink.

  “You seemed to like him well enough then,” he pointed out before he tested his tea. “I didn’t notice any objections when he kissed you.” Pop sipped, enjoying. “In fact, you seemed to like it.”

  “Pop!” Megan turned back, astonished.

  “Now, Meg, I wasn’t spying,” he said soothingly, and coughed to mask a chuckle. “You were right out in public, you know. I’d wager a lot of people noticed. Like I said, you looked real pretty together.”

  Megan came back to sit at the table without any idea of what she should say. “It was just a kiss,” she managed at length. “It didn’t mean anything.”

  Pop nodded twice and drank his tea.

  “It didn’t,” Megan insisted.

  He gave her one of his angelic smiles. “But you do like him, don’t you?”

  Megan dropped her eyes. “Sometimes,” she murmured. “Sometimes I do.”

  Pop covered her hand with his and waited until she looked at him again. “Caring for someone is the easiest thing in the world if you let it be.”

  “I hardly know him,” she said quickly.

  “I trust him,” Pop said simply.

  Megan searched his face. “Why?”

  After a shrug, Pop drew on his pipe again. “A feeling I have, a look in his eyes. In a people business like mine, you get to be a good judge of character. He has integrity. He wants his way, all right, but he doesn’t cheat. That’s important.”

  Megan sat silently for a moment, not touching her cooling tea. “He wants the park,” she said quietly.

  Pop looked at her through a nimbus of pipe smoke. “Yes, I know. He said so up front. He doesn’t sneak around either.” Pop’s expression softened a bit as he looked into Megan’s eyes. “Things don’t always stay the same in life, Megan. That’s what makes it work.”

  “I don’t know what you mean. Do you … are you thinking of selling him the park?”

  Pop heard the underlying hint of panic and patted her hand again. “Let’s not worry about that now. The first problem is getting the rides repaired for the Easter break. Why don’t you wear the yellow dress I like tonight, Meg? The one with the little jacket. It makes me think of spring.”

  Megan considered questioning him further, then subsided. There was no harder nut to crack than her grandfather when he had made up his mind to close a subject. “All right. I think I’ll go up and have a bath.”

  “Megan.” She turned at the door and looked back at him. “Enjoy yourself. Sometimes it’s best to roll with the punches.”

  When she walked away, he looked at the empty doorway and thoughtfully stroked his beard.

  An hour later, Megan looked at herself in the yellow dress. The shade hinted at apricot and warmed against her skin. The lines were simple, suiting her willow-slim figure and height. Without the jacket, her arms and shoulders were bare but for wispy straps. She ran a brush through her hair in long, steady strokes. The tiny gold hoops in her ears were her only jewelry.

  “Hey, Megan!”

  The brush paused in midair as she watched her own eyes widen in the mirror. He wasn’t really standing outside shouting for her!

  “Meg!”

  Shaking her head in disbelief, Megan went to the window. Katch stood two stories down. He lifted a hand in salute when she appeared in the window.

  “What are you doing?” she demanded.

  “Open the screen.”

  “Why?”

  “Open it,” he repeated.

  “If you expect me to jump, you can forget it.” Out of curiosity, she leaned out the window.

  “Catch!”

  Her reflexes responded before she could think. Megan reached for the bundle he tossed up to her, and found her hands full of daffodils. She buried her face in the bouquet.

  “They’re beautiful.” Her eyes smiled over the blooms and down at him. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” he returned. “Are you coming down?”

  “Yes.” She tossed her hair behind her shoulder. “Yes, yes, in a minute.”

  Katch drove quickly and competently, but not toward Restaurant Row as Megan had anticipated. He turned toward the ocean and headed north. She relaxed, enjoying the quieting light of dusk and his effortless driving.

  She recognized the area. The houses there were larger, more elaborate than those in and on the very outskirts of town. There were tall hedges to assure privacy both from other houses and the public beaches. There were neatly trimmed lawns, willows, blossoming crepe myrtle, and asphalt drives. Katch pulled into one set well away from the other homes and bordered by purplish shrubbery.

  The house was small by the neighborhood standards, and done in the weathered wood Megan invariably found attractive. It was a split-level building, with an observation deck crowning the upper story.

  “What’s this?” she asked, liking the house immediately.

  “This is where I live.” Katch leaned across her to unlatch her door, then slid out his own side.

  “You live here?”

  Katch smiled at the surprised doubt in her voice. “I have to live somewhere, Meg.”

  She wandered farther along the stone path that led to the house. “I suppose I really didn’t think about you buying a house here. It suggests roots.”

  “I have them,” he told her. “I just transplant them easily.”

  She looked at the house, the widespread yard. “You’ve picked the perfect spot.”

  Katch took her hand, interlocking fingers. “Come inside,” he invited.

  “When did you buy this?” she asked as they climbed the front steps.

  “Oh, a few months ago when I came through. I moved in last week and haven’t had a lot of time to look for furniture.” The key shot into the lock. “I’ve picked up a few things here and there, and had others sent down from my apartment in New York.”

  It was scantily furnished, but with style. There was a low, sectional sofa in biscuit with a hodgepodge of colored pillows and a wicker throne chair coupled with a large hanging ivy in a pottery dish. A pair of étagères in brass and glass held a collection of shells; on the oak planked floor lay a large sisal rug.

  The room was open, with stairs to the right leading to the second level, and a stone fireplace on the left wall. The quick survey showed Megan he had not placed her sculptures in the main room. She wondered fleetingly what he had done with them.

  “It’s wonderful, Katch.” She wandered to a window. The lawn sloped downward and ended in tall hedges that gave the house comfortable privacy. “Can you see the ocean from the top level?”

  When he didn’t answer, she turned back to him. Her smile faded against the intensity of his gaze. Her heart beat faster. This was the part of him she had to fear, not the amiable gallant who had tossed her daffodils.

  She tilted her head back, afraid, but wanting to meet him equally. He brought his hands to her face, and she felt the hardness of his palms on her skin. He brushed her hair back from her face as he brought her closer. He lowered his mouth, pausing only briefly before
it claimed hers, as if to ascertain the need mirrored in her eyes. The kiss was instantly deep, instantly seeking.

  She had been a fool—a fool to believe she could talk herself out of being in love with him. A fool to think that reason had anything to do with the heart.

  When Katch drew her away, Megan pressed her cheek against his chest, letting her arms wind their way around his waist. His hesitation was almost too brief to measure before he gathered her close. She felt his lips in her hair and sighed from the sheer joy of it. His heartbeat was quick and steady in her ear.

  “Did you say something?” he murmured.

  “Hmm? When?”

  “Before.” His fingers came up to massage the back of her neck. Megan shivered with pleasure as she tried to remember the world before she had been in his arms.

  “I think I asked if I could see the ocean from the top level.”

  “Yes.” Again he took his hands to her face to tilt it back for one long, searing kiss. “You can.”

  “Will you show me?”

  The grip on her skin tightened and her eyes closed in anticipation of the next kiss. But he drew her away until only their hands were touching. “After dinner.”

  Megan, content with looking at him, smiled. “Are we eating here?”

  “I hate restaurants,” Katch said, leading her toward the kitchen.

  “An odd sentiment from a man who owns one.”

  “Let’s say there are times when I prefer more intimate surroundings.”

  “I see.” He pushed open the door to the kitchen and Megan glanced around at efficiency in wood and stainless steel. “And who’s doing the cooking this time?”

  “We are,” he said easily, and grinned at her. “How do you like your steak?”

  There was a rich, red wine to accompany the meal they ate at a smoked-glass table. A dozen candles flickered on a sideboard behind them, held in small brass holders. Megan’s mood was as mellow as the wine that waltzed in her head. The man across from her held her in the palm of his hand. When she rose to stack the dishes, he took her hand. “Not now. There’s a moon tonight.”