much for Tahiti.
“Tonight?” Her fingers tightened around the receiver.
“Any reason not to?”
She stared down at her desk, told herself she should work late and clear up all the files. But they’d be right there in the morning, waiting for her. “No,” she said. “I guess not.”
“Good. Seven?” he asked, and even over the phone his voice raised goosebumps on her skin. “I’ll pick you up at your place?”
She rubbed one hand over her forearm, as if she could wipe away the effect he had on her.
“You don’t know where I live,” she said. Good heavens, she was marrying a man who didn’t even know where her apartment was. This couldn’t be right, could it? Right for any of them?
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
Kate sat down in her chair, propped her elbows on her desk and didn’t even glance at the two manilla folders that slid off, spilling papers across her floor. “Thomas—” She rested her forehead in one palm. “This is all so weird. It feels... awkward.”
“I know, honey,” he said, his voice deepening into a low rumble of sound. “But we’ll figure it all out.”
She hoped so, because at the moment, her world felt about as steady as a ball twirling on the tip of a trained seal’s snout.
“You still like Italian?” he asked.
Kate smiled, ridiculously pleased that he’d repeated the stupid little joke they traditionally used to start off their yearly week together. Even more ridiculous, his saying it now actually made her feel better. So she gave him the answer he was waiting for.
“I still like one Italian.”
“That’s a relief. You had me worried there for a minute, Kate.” His chuckle carried across the line before he said, “So, Major. Give me your address so I can start sweeping you off your feet.”
A moment later, Tom hung up. His hand still lying atop the cradled receiver, he stared blankly at the window opposite his desk. Weak winter sunshine fell through the spotty glass pane, painting a polka-dotted slash of gold across the linoleum.
All things considered, he told himself, that had gone pretty well. He flashed a look at the phone and frowned to himself. He’d managed to sound encouraging, uplifting and supportive without once letting his voice betray the sliver of panic that had torn his guts open at her news.
While he was on a roll, he snatched up the phone again and dialed his daughter’s number. After two rings, she answered.
“Hi, kiddo,” he said quickly.
“Hi, Dad, what’s up?”
Way too much to go into over the phone, he thought. His fingers toyed with the curly telephone cord. “A change in plans. I can’t make dinner tonight”
“Your loss,” his daughter informed him. “I’m making Grandma’s lasagna.”
He smiled at the receiver. “Rain check?”
“Naturally,” she said. “Anything wrong? You sound funny.”
Funny? No, he didn’t. He sounded exactly what he was. Terrified. But he wasn’t going to say anything to Donna and her husband, First Sergeant Jack Harris, until he and Kate had had time to talk this whole thing out
“No,” he assured her. “Nothing’s wrong.” Then, because his whirlwind courtship was about to start, and she might as well start getting used to the idea, he said as casually as possible. “Actually, I have a date.”
“Intriguing,” his too-sharp daughter said. “Bachelor Colonel with a date. I haven’t even seen you look at a woman since your barbecue a few months ago.”
Just before his last trip to Japan, Tom remembered. He’d actually toyed with the idea of dating a woman he saw more than once a year. But, after dinner and a movie, he’d discovered that as nice as the woman was, she wasn’t Kate.
“Who is she?” Donna prompted. “Anyone I know?”
“Major Katherine Jennings,” he answered, and added silently, Kate. The woman I’ve been having an affair with for three years. The mother of your new little brother or sister. Oh, man.
“Nope,” Donna told him. “Don’t know her.”
You will, he thought, but said only, “I’ve gotta go, kiddo.”
“Okay, but you owe me,” she warned. “Dinner here, next week?”
“Deal.” Already moving to hang up, he said, “Say hello to Jack.”
“Okay. ‘Bye, Dad.”
He set the phone down, Donna’s last word ringing in his ears. Dad. Lord, he’d been a lousy parent the first time around. He swallowed back the knot of bitterness that always threatened to choke him when he recalled those lost years with Donna.
As teenagers he and Donna’s mother had married with the best of intentions, only to see their relationship die within a couple of years. After the divorce, he’d concentrated solely on his career, moving up in the ranks—and he’d missed so much of Donna’s childhood, he’d hardly known her when she had come to live with him when she was thirteen.
Shame simmered inside him, pushing him to his feet and demanding he move. He paced, unconsciously following the same path Kate’s heels had trod only a few minutes ago.
Pregnant
It had taken years to rebuild a relationship with Donna. Years filled with anxiety, frustration and the fear that he would never be able to overcome the “parenting” lessons he’d absorbed from his own father.
And now it would all start again. A knot of tension tightened in his gut Was it fair to saddle some poor innocent baby with him as a father?
Just like the last time he’d gotten married, the bride would be carrying his child. God. Hadn’t he learned anything in his forty-five years?
He rubbed both hands across his face viciously. A grown man, and he’d been as irresponsible as he had been at seventeen. A sad thing to note about yourself, he thought.
But instantly that night in Japan rolled back into his mind.
The two of them, locked together on that tiny balcony. Kate’s flesh beneath his hands, her legs locked around his middle, the hot, tight feel of her body embracing his. In memory, he saw her head fall back, her lips form his name as another climax tore through her. He should have stopped then. Should have pulled away long enough to make sure she was safe. But he didn’t. His greed for her had spilled through him, and he could no more have left her—even for a moment—than he could have stopped breathing on command.
So instead, with the sounds of the city far below them and the soft glow of the moon and a trillion stars above them, they’d created a life.
A
