Less than a Stranger Read online

Without hesitation, she went with him.

  They climbed the stairs together, wide, uncarpeted stairs which were split into two sections by a landing. He led her through the main bedroom, a room dominated by a large bed with brass head- and footboards. There were long glass doors which led to a walkway. From there, stairs ascended to the observation deck.

  Megan could hear the breakers before she moved to the rail. Beyond the hedgerow, the surf was turbulent. White water frothed against the dark. The moon’s light was thin, but was aided by the power of uncountable stars.

  She took a long breath and leaned on the rail. “It’s lovely here. I never tire of looking at the ocean.” There was a click from his lighter, then tobacco mixed pleasantly with the scent of the sea.

  “Do you ever think about traveling?”

  Megan moved her shoulders, a sudden, restless gesture. “Of course, sometimes. It isn’t possible right now.”

  Katch drew on the thin cigar. “Where would you go?”

  “Where would I go?” she repeated.

  “Yes, where would you go if you could?” The smoke from his cigar wafted upward and vanished. “Pretend, Meg. You like to pretend, don’t you?”

  She closed her eyes a moment, letting the wine swim with her thoughts. “New Orleans,” she murmured. “I’ve always wanted to see New Orleans. And Paris. When I was young I used to dream about studying in Paris like the great artists.” She opened her eyes again. “You’ve been there, I suppose. To New Orleans and to Paris?”

  “Yes, I’ve been there.”

  “What are they like?”

  Katch traced the line of her jaw with a fingertip before answering. “New Orleans smells of the river and swelters in the summer. There’s music at all hours from open nightclubs and street musicians. It moves constantly, like New York, but at a more civilized pace.”

  “And Paris?” Megan insisted, wanting to see her wishes through his eyes. “Tell me about Paris.”

  “It’s ancient and elegant, like a grand old woman. It’s not very clean, but it never seems to matter. It’s best in the spring; nothing smells like Paris in the spring. I’d like to take you there.” Unexpectedly he took her hair in his hand. His eyes were intense again and direct on hers. “I’d like to see the emotions you control break loose. You’d never restrict them in Paris.”

  “I don’t do that.” Something more than wine began to swim in her head.

  He tossed the cigar over the rail, then his free hand came to her waist to press her body against his. “Don’t you?” There was a hint of impatience in his voice as he began to slide the jacket from her shoulders. “You’ve passion, but you bank it down. It escapes into your work, but even that’s kept closed up in a studio. When I kiss you, I can taste it struggling to the surface.”

  He freed her arms from the confines of the jacket and laid it over the rail. Slowly, deliberately, he ran his fingers over the naked skin, feeling the warmth of response. “One day it’s going to break loose. I intend to be there when it does.”

  Katch pushed the straps from her shoulders and replaced them with his lips. Megan made no protest as the kisses trailed to her throat. His tongue played lightly with the pulse as his hand came up to cup her breast. But when his mouth came to hers, the gentleness fled, and with it her passivity. Hunger incited hunger.

  When he nipped her bottom lip, she gasped with pleasure. His tongue was avid, searching while his hands began a quest of their own. He slipped the bodice of her dress to her waist, murmuring with approval as he found her naked breasts taut with desire. Megan allowed him his freedom, riding on the crest of the wave that rose inside her. She had no knowledge to guide her, no experience. Desire ruled and instinct followed.

  She trailed her fingers along the back of his neck, kneading the warm skin, thrilling to the response she felt to her touch. Here was a power she had never explored. She slipped her hands under the back of his sweater. Their journey was slow, exploring. She felt the muscles of his shoulders tense as her hands played over them.

  The quality of the kiss changed from demanding to urgent. His passion swamped her, mixing with her own until the combined power was more than she could bear. The ache came from nowhere and spread through her with impossible rapidity. She hurt for him. Desire was a pain as sharp as it was irresistible. In surrender, in anticipation, Megan swayed against him.

  “Katch.” Her voice was husky. “I want to stay with you tonight.”

  She was crushed against him for a moment, held so tightly, so strongly, there was no room for breath. Then, slowly, she felt him loosen his hold. Taking her by the shoulders, Katch looked down at her, his eyes dark, spearing into hers. Her breath was uneven; shivers raced along her skin. Slowly, with hands that barely touched her skin, he slipped her dress back into place.

  “I’ll take you home now.”

  The shock of rejection struck her like a blow. Her mouth trembled open, then shut again. Quickly, fighting against the tears that were pressing for release, she fumbled for her jacket.

  “Meg.” He reached out to touch her shoulders, but she backed away.

  “No. No, don’t touch me.” The tears were thickening her voice. She swallowed. “I won’t be patted on the head. It appears I misunderstood.”

  “You didn’t misunderstand anything,” he tossed back. “And don’t cry, damn it.”

  “I have no intention of crying,” she said. “I’d like to go home.” The hurt was in her eyes, shimmering behind the tears she denied.

  “We’ll talk.” Katch took her hand, but she jerked it away.

  “Oh, no. No, we won’t.” Megan straightened her shoulders and looked at him squarely. “We had dinner; things got a bit beyond what they should have. It’s as simple as that, and it’s over.”

  “It’s not simple or over, Meg.” Katch took another long look into her eyes. “But we’ll drop it for now.”

  Megan turned away and walked back down the stairs.

  Chapter Seven

  Amusement parks lose their mystique in the light of day. Dirt, scratched paint and dents show up. What is shiny and bright under artificial light is ordinary in the sunshine. Only the very young or the very young-hearted can believe in magic when faced with reality.

  Megan knew her grandfather was perennially young. She loved him for it. Fondly, she watched him supervising repairs on the Haunted Castle. His ghosts, she thought with a smile, are important to him. She walked beside the track, avoiding her own ghost along the way. It had been ten days since Pop had told her of the repair problems. Ten days since she had seen Katch. Megan pushed thoughts of him from her mind and concentrated on her own reality—her grandfather and their park. She was old enough to know what was real and what was fantasy.

  “Hi,” she called out from behind him. “How are things going?”

  Pop turned at the sound of her voice, and his grin was expansive. “Just fine, Megan.” The sound of repairs echoed around his words. “Quicker than I thought they would. We’ll be rolling before the Easter rush.” He swung an arm around her shoulder and squeezed. “The smaller rides are already back in order. How about you?”

  She made no objection when he began to steer her outside. The noise made it difficult to hear. “What about me?” she replied. The sudden flash of sunlight made her blink. The spring day had all the heat of midsummer.

  “You’ve that unhappy look in your eyes. Have had, for more than a week.” Pop rubbed his palm against her shoulder as if to warm her despite the strength of the sun. “You know you don’t hide things from me, Megan. I know you too well.”

  She was silent a moment, wanting to choose her words carefully. “I wasn’t trying to hide anything, Pop.” Megan shrugged, turning to watch the crew working on the roller coaster. “It’s just not important enough to talk about, that’s all. How long before the coaster’s fixed?”

  “Important enough to make you unhappy,” he countered, ignoring her evasion. “That’s plenty important to me. You haven’t gotten too old to talk to
me about your problems now, have you?”

  She turned dark apologetic eyes on him. “Oh no, Pop, I can always talk to you.”

  “Well,” he said simply, “I’m listening.”

  “I made a mistake, that’s all.” She shook her head and would have walked closer to inspect the work crew had he not held her to him with a firm hand.

  “Megan.” Pop placed both hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. As they were nearly the same height, their eyes were level. “I’m going to ask you straight,” he continued. “Are you in love with him?”

  “No,” she denied quickly.

  Pop raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t have to mention any names, I see.”

  Megan paused a moment. She had forgotten how shrewd her grandfather could be. “I thought I was,” she said more carefully. “I was wrong.”

  “Then why are you so unhappy?”

  “Pop, please.” She tried to back away, but again his broad hands held her steady.

  “You’ve always given me straight answers, Meg, even when I’ve had to drag them out of you.”

  She sighed, knowing evasions and half-truths were useless when he was in this mood. “All right. Yes, I’m in love with him, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “Not a very bright statement from a bright girl like you,” he said with a gentle hint of disapproval. Megan shrugged. “Why don’t you explain why being in love doesn’t matter,” he invited.

  “Well, it certainly doesn’t work if you’re not loved back,” Megan murmured.

  “Who says you’re not?” Pop wanted to know. His voice was so indignant, she felt some of the ache subside.

  “Pop.” Her expression softened. “Just because you love me doesn’t mean everyone else does.”

  “What makes you so sure he doesn’t?” her grandfather argued. “Did you ask him?”

  “No!” Megan was so astonished, she nearly laughed at the thought.

  “Why not? Things are simpler that way.”

  Megan took a deep breath, hoping to make him understand. “David Katcherton isn’t a man who falls in love with a woman, not seriously. And certainly not with someone like me.” The broad gesture she made was an attempt to enhance an explanation she knew was far from adequate. “He’s been to Paris, he lives in New York. He has a sister named Jessica.”

  “That clears things up,” Pop agreed, and Megan made a quick sound of frustration.

  “I’ve never been anywhere.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “In the summer I see millions, literally millions of people, but they’re all transient. I don’t know who they are. The only people I really know are ones who live right here. The farthest I’ve been away from the beach is Charleston.”

  Pop brushed a hand over her hair to smooth it. “I’ve kept you too close,” he murmured. “I always told myself there’d be other times.”

  “Oh no, Pop, I didn’t mean it that way.” She threw her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to sound that way. I love you, I love it here. I wouldn’t change anything. That was hateful of me.”

  He laughed and patted her back. The subtle scent of her perfume reminded him forcefully that she was no longer a girl but a woman. The years had been incredibly quick. “You’ve never done a hateful thing in your life. We both know you’ve wanted to see a bit of the world, and I know you’ve stuck close to keep an eye on me. Oh yes,” he said, anticipating her objection. “And I was selfish enough to let you.”

  “You’ve never done anything selfish,” she retorted and drew away. “I only meant that Katch and I have so little common ground. He’s bound to see things differently than I do. I’m out of my depth with him.”

  “You’re a strong swimmer, as I recall.” Pop shook his head at her expression and sighed. “All right, we’ll let it lie awhile. You’re also stubborn.”

  “Adamant,” she corrected, smiling again. “It’s a nicer word.”

  “Just a fancy way of saying pigheaded,” Pop said bluntly, but his eyes smiled back at her. “Why aren’t you back in your studio instead of hanging around an amusement park in the middle of the day?”

  “It wasn’t going very well,” she confessed, thinking of the half-carved face that haunted her. “Besides, I’ve always had a thing for amusement parks.” She tucked her arm in his as they began to walk again.

  “Well, this one’ll be in apple-pie order in another week,” Pop said, looking around in satisfaction. “With luck, we’ll have a good season and be able to pay back a healthy chunk of that ten thousand.”

  “Maybe the bank will send us some customers so they’ll get their money faster,” Megan suggested, half listening to the sound of hammer against wood as they drew closer to the roller coaster.

  “Oh, I didn’t get the money from the bank, I got it from—” Pop cut himself off abruptly. With a cough and a wheeze, he bent down to tie his shoe.

  “You didn’t get the money from the bank?” Megan frowned at the snowy white head in puzzlement. “Well, where in the world did you get it then?”

  His answer was an unintelligible grunt.

  “You don’t know anybody with that kind of money,” she began with a half-smile. “Where …” The smile flew away. “No. No, you didn’t.” Even as she denied it, Megan knew it had to be the truth. “You didn’t get it from him?”

  “Oh now, Megan, you weren’t to know.” Distress showed in his eyes and seemed to weaken his voice. “He especially didn’t want you to know.”

  “Why?” she demanded. “Why did you do it?”

  “It just sort of happened, Meg.” Pop reached out to pat her hand in his old, soothing fashion. “He was here, I was telling him about the repairs and getting a loan, and he offered. It seemed like the perfect solution.” He fiddled with his shoestrings. “Banks poke around and take all that time for paperwork, and he isn’t charging me nearly as much interest. I thought you’d be happy about that …” He trailed off.

  “Is everything in writing?” she asked, deadly calm.

  “Of course.” Pop assumed a vaguely injured air. “Katch said it didn’t matter, but I know how fussy you are, so I had papers drawn up, nice and legal.”

  “Didn’t matter,” she repeated softly. “And what did you use as collateral?”

  “The park, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” she repeated. Fury bubbled in the single word. “I bet he loved that.”

  “Now, don’t you worry, Megan. Everything’s coming along just fine. The repairs are going well, and we’ll be opening right on schedule. Besides,” he added with a sigh, “you weren’t even supposed to know. Katch wanted it that way.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he did,” she said bitterly. “I’m sure he did.”

  Turning, she darted away. Pop watched her streak out of sight, then hauled himself to his feet. She had the devil’s own temper when she cut loose, that girl. Brushing his hands together, he grinned. That, he decided, pleased with his own maneuvering, should stir up something.

  Megan brought the bike to a halt at the crest of Katch’s drive, then killed the engine. She took off her helmet and clipped it on the seat. He was not, she determined, going to get away with it.

  Cutting across the lawn, she marched to the front door. The knock was closer to a pound but still brought no response. Megan stuffed her hands into her pockets and scowled. Her bike sat behind his black Porsche. Ignoring amenities, she tried the knob. When it turned, she didn’t hesitate. She opened the door and walked inside.

  The house was quiet. Instinct told her immediately that no one was inside. Still, she walked through the living room looking for signs of him.

  A watch, wafer-thin and gold, was tossed on the glass shelves of the étagère. A Nikon camera sat on the coffee table, its back open and empty of film. A pair of disreputable tennis shoes were half under the couch. A volume of John Cheever lay beside them.

  Abruptly, she realized what she had done. She’d intruded where she had no right. She was both uncomfortable and fascin
ated. An ashtray held the short stub of a thin cigar. After a brief struggle with her conscience, she walked toward the kitchen. She wasn’t prying, she told herself, only making certain he wasn’t home. After all, his car was here and the door had been unlocked.

  There was a cup in the sink and a half pot of cold coffee on the stove. He had spilled some on the counter and neglected to wipe it up. Megan curtailed the instinctive move to reach for a dish towel. As she turned to leave, a low mechanical hum from outside caught her attention. She walked to the window and saw him.

  He was coming from the south side of the lawn, striding behind a power mower. He was naked to the waist, with jeans low and snug at his hips. He was tanned, a deep honey gold that glistened now with the effort of manual labor. She admired the play of muscles rippling down his arms and across his back.

  Stepping back from the window with a jerk, she stormed through the side kitchen door and raced across the lawn.

  The flurry of movement and a flash of crimson caught his eye. Katch glanced over as Megan moved toward him in a red tailored shirt and white jeans. Squinting against the sun, he wiped the back of his hand across his brow. He reached down and shut off the mower as she came to him.

  “Hello, Meg,” he said lightly, but his eyes weren’t as casual.

  “You have nerve, Katcherton,” she began. “But even I didn’t think you’d take advantage of a trusting old man.”

  He lifted a brow and leaned against the mower’s handle. “Once more,” he requested, “with clarity.”

  “You’re the type who has to poke your fingers into other people’s business,” she continued. “You just had to be at the park, you just had to make a magnanimous offer with your tidy little pile of money.”

  “Ah, a glimmer of light.” He stretched his back. “I didn’t think you’d be thrilled the money came from me. It seems I was right.”

  “You knew I’d never allow it,” she declared.

  “I don’t believe I considered that.” He leaned on the mower again, but there was nothing restful in the gesture. “You don’t run Pop’s life from what I’ve seen, Meg, and you certainly don’t run mine.”