Forever Spring (7 page)

Heat suffusing her body, Karen curled into a tight ball. Her throat felt thick and clogged. Her body felt heavy and overly warm. Her emotions felt battered and her mind was sluggish. Separate threads, one of shame, the other of anticipation, tangled inside her, tying her entire nervous system into knots.

Like pulsating impulses, individual and distinct scenes flashed in her memory, making her hot and cold by turns. Moaning softly, Karen buried her face in the pillow. A half sigh, half sob rose to choke her as she inhaled the scent that her mind would forever connect exclusively with Paul.

As her mind formed his name, her throat expelled the choking sob.

What had come over her? Karen asked herself, her thoughts scattering as her mind sought reasons—or excuses—for her uncharacteristic behavior. Never, not even with the man she had married and believed herself deeply in love with, had she so abandoned herself while in the throes of lovemaking. It simply wasn’t like her. And since her divorce she had not experienced the slightest desire for a man, any man. Yet she had responded wildly to Paul.

What must he be thinking about her now, in the light of morning? Karen wondered, blanching at the thought. If upon awakening Paul had labeled her a wanton woman, she had given him ample reason to do so. She had behaved wantonly!

But then, Paul had behaved like the male equivalent of a wanton, whatever that might be.

The realization that she and Paul had in fact been perfectly matched in bed resolved the emotional upheaval. The sense of shame subsided, overcome by a sense of anticipation. Uncurling slowly, Karen raised her arms and stretched languorously.

There was a stirring deep inside Karen’s body, a tingling response to her memories and thoughts of Paul. She wanted him again; it was as simple and basic as that. With realization came resolution. She had never allowed herself personal indulgence. Raised to work hard and apply herself conscientiously, she had always done the “right” thing. She had been a virgin when she married; she had known no other man but her husband. She was no longer an idealistic, wide-eyed young girl; she no longer expected the world or her own niche in it to be perfect. She was getting uncomfortably close to forty and lately had begun to feel vaguely that life was slipping through her fingers, not unlike the sands in an hourglass. Surely every individual was to be allowed one step off the straight and narrow? Karen asked herself. Her lips twisted in bitter remembrance.

Her former husband had spent more time dancing off the straight and narrow than walking on it.
He
had not paid the price of loneliness and uncertainty about encroaching middle age! Why then should she? Karen demanded silently. She was her own person, a free adult, fully capable of making her own decisions. Should she feel shame and remorse because her senses had rejoiced in the act of giving her body in sweetly satisfying abandonment?

No! The cry of denial rang inside Karen’s head. Paul had not taken her, nor had he used her. Rather, Paul had shared with her the beauty of exquisite pleasure given and received. And, though she and Paul were strangers, they were also lovers. Karen had no idea how long her lover would stay with her. But then, did anyone ever know what the future held? The question darkened Karen’s eyes with remembered pain. In the final analysis, she had been forced to acknowledge that the man she had loved, married and created children with was a stranger to her. And she had given that man everything of herself. She had only given her body to Paul. As the mist of pain cleared from her eyes, Karen decided she could live with the knowledge of her gift to him.

She had behaved wantonly—and she had loved every second of it! A slow smile curving her lips, Karen stretched again, sinuously. She felt wonderful—no, she felt much, much more than merely wonderful. She felt beautiful, and she had never before felt beautiful. She felt bone-deep satisfaction, and she had never before experienced that feeling, either. But most of all she felt as though she had not been expertly loved but exquisitely cherished, and that feeling warmed her inside and out. And the perpetrator of every one of her delicious feelings was not only a man she barely knew but a fantastic, excitingly virile man who, in his own words, would never see fifty again!

Where was Paul, anyway? Frowning again, Karen absently smoothed her hands over the spot where he had lain and sank into the memory of Paul’s fiercely gentle possession. She felt quite certain she could happily laze the day away in dreamy expectation of the coming night—if it weren’t for that annoying rapping noise, which had resumed after a long pause of blessed quiet.

The sound intruded, breaking the spell. Sighing, Karen left the bed, deciding she might as well get dressed and investigate. If she had any luck at all, the racket was being caused by Gil Rawlins, the handyman she’d called to prepare the house for winter.

Some twenty-odd minutes later, showered and dressed in her usual workday attire of faded jeans and a sweatshirt, Karen was stripping the sheets from the bed when the hammering, which had ceased once more while she was in the bathroom, commenced outside her bedroom window. Tossing the linens to the floor, she walked to the window and opened it. A welcoming smile on her lips, she stuck her head through the opening to call a greeting to Gil.

The man poised on the ladder, busily hammering nails into the shutter hinges, in no way resembled the short, stocky Gil Rawlins. This man was lean and muscular, and the physical work he was engaged in was at odds with his elegant appearance.

“Paul?” Incredulity lent a hollow note to Karen’s voice. “What in the world do you think you’re doing?”

The hammer paused in midswing. Paul slanted a smile at her before following through. “Good morning to you, too.” The hammer made contact with a resounding bang. Paul relaxed against the ladder with negligent ease. “And I don’t
think
I’m doing anything—I
am
fixing the shutters.” His smile widened.

“In fact,” he continued, indicating his work with a motion of his head, “this is the last of the lot. I’ll be finished shortly.”

“Finished?” Karen frowned. “How long have you been at it?”

“Since first light.” He grinned at her look of astonishment. “I’m a creature of habit, and I always wake at dawn.” His grin grew decidedly suggestive. “Regardless of how, ah, active my night happened to be.”

Karen felt a sting of color on her cheeks that had absolutely nothing to do with the sharpness of the tangy sea breeze. Feeling unequal to the rakish gleam brightening his dark eyes, she lowered her glance.

“Did you, er—” she paused to clear her suddenly dry throat “—have you eaten anything?” Karen glanced up to catch a tender smile curving his lips.

“No.” He shook his head and arched one dark eyebrow. “Are you offering to cook me breakfast?” “Well, the sign out by the road does advertise bed
and
breakfast.”

“I seem to recall dinner, as well.” Paul’s tone was low, shaded sensuously by the memory of the bed that had followed rather than preceded the meal.

The warmth in Karen’s cheeks intensified. Her voice was low and tinged with uncertainty. “Since you’re the only guest, I—I decided to include lunch and dinner in the reduced fall room rate.”

“I’ll try to earn my meals.” Though Paul’s tone was somber, his eyes gleamed with devilry.

He had certainly earned his breakfast!

Karen’s face flamed as the thought flashed into her head. As if he could actually read her mind, Paul burst out laughing and nearly lost his precarious perch on the ladder. With a muffled exclamation, he grabbed for the windowsill and caught Karen’s hand. His position once again reasonably secure, Paul grinned into her frightened eyes.

“Unless you want a severely injured guest on your hands,” he said, still grinning, “I suggest you withdraw from this window and let me get on with the work.” Moving carefully, he shifted his hand to the sill alongside hers.

“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” Karen frowned with concern.

“I was doing fine until you popped your head out and distracted me.” As he stared into her anxious eyes, Paul’s grin slowly faded. “Karen,” he said in a low, chiding voice, “I am not the complete dilettante. I assure you I will be fine.” He paused an instant, then continued even as she began to protest, “Unless, of course, I starve to death first.”

“Paul—”

“Go,” he ordered, hefting the hammer. “I’ll be finished in a few minutes.”

Wanting to argue but deciding she’d better not, Karen withdrew her head and closed the window. Gathering up the bundle of laundry, she left the bedroom and went downstairs, half expecting to hear a cry followed by a crash.

His expression pensive, Paul ignored the cold sea wind biting at every inch of exposed skin on his body and stared at the windowpane that reflected the sparkling sunlight.

Had he come on too strong? he mused. His lips curved in self-derision. Yes, of course he’d come on too strong; he had been coming on to Karen much too strongly from the beginning. He was, in fact, behaving like a wild-eyed pubescent boy subservient to his hormones.

But damn, Karen did have the strangest effect on him! Paul’s smile acquired a sensuous tilt. Gripping the hammer in his right hand, he slammed a nail into the shutter hinge with commendable accuracy. The similarity between the act and his performance the night before was not lost on Paul. Without warning, his body tightened and the muscles in his thighs quivered with taut readiness. Laughing aloud from the sheer joy of the almost painful arousal, Paul hammered another nail home.

Okay, he had come on too strong, and much too soon, Paul admitted to himself. But Karen had responded so warmly, so sweetly, and it had been so long, so very long since he’d felt even the most minute twinge of need for a woman’s warmth and sweetness, that he could not dredge up a hint of regret for his impetuosity.

Paul let his arm drop to his side. The hammer and the shutter, indeed even his precarious position on the ladder, were momentarily forgotten. Closing his eyes, he savored the revived heat of passion rushing through his body.

Lord, it felt good to experience the life quickening his body after nearly six years of feeling dead sensually. Relishing the tightness in his loins, Paul opened his eyes, tossed back his head and laughed into the chill autumn breeze. He felt young and strong and equal to anything life had to offer. He wanted to make love to Karen all day and then all night.

But first... Paul laughed again. First he had to finish repairing the shutters. The hammer struck the nail with a resounding bang.

Although she strained to hear the slightest sound as she loaded the washer before hurrying into the kitchen to start breakfast, Karen’s fears for Paul went unrealized.

Tension coiled within her as she automatically prepared the meal. Paul should be making an appearance in the kitchen at any moment. What could she say to him? Karen swallowed around a tight knot forming in her throat. Feeling awkward and inept, she overbeat the eggs and clattered the cutlery as she set the table. The eggs she’d scrambled were ready to be served when Paul sauntered into the kitchen. Coming to a stop near the sink, he struck an elegant pose and held his arms out.

“There, you see? I’m still in one piece.”

“I’m sorry.”

“That I’m still in one piece?”

“No, of course not!” Karen frowned at his teasing smile. “I’m sorry about insulting your capabilities.”

Paul’s smile turned wry. “It wasn’t so much my capabilities that were insulted as much as my intelligence,” he informed her in a dry tone. He didn’t notice her deepening frown as he turned to the sink to wash his dusty hands.

Karen mulled over his words as she filled two plates with the steaming food and carried them to the table. “Will you bring the toast?” she asked, indicating the breadbasket on the countertop with a distracted motion of her head.

“Certainly.” Eyeing her narrowly, Paul picked up the linen-covered basket and strolled to the table. “What’s the problem?” He raised one brow as he sat down opposite her.

“I’m not sure I understand,” she confessed, frowning at the stream of coffee she was pouring into his cup.

“Understand what?” Paul asked, his knife poised over the sausage nestled next to the home-fried potatoes on his plate.

Karen finished filling her own cup with the aromatic coffee before glancing up at him. “I’m not sure I understand exactly how I’ve insulted your intelligence.”

“Oh.” Enlightenment brought a tiny smile to his lips. “It’s quite basic, really.” Paul’s shoulders moved in a half shrug. “Any person with a modicum of intelligence can perform almost any task. All that’s required is a willingness to do the work and application of common sense.” He smiled. “And although I’ll readily admit that my life’s work was not of the physical variety, I do consider myself a reasonably intelligent person, and fastening shutter hinges hardly requires all that much brain- or muscle-power.” He smiled slightly. “Now do you understand?”

“Oh, yes, I understand now.” Karen didn’t return his smile. Inside she was simmering. What a condescending son of a— Fortunately, Paul interrupted her thoughts before she blurted them aloud.

“Since I was only teasing to begin with, it’s really unimportant, anyway.”

Karen blinked. “You were teasing?”

“Yes, of course.” Paul smiled wryly. “Karen, I face myself in a mirror every day. I know exactly how I look.”

“Look?” she repeated blankly, so confused she forgot her feeling of awkwardness. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me.”

“I’m a banker, and I look it,” he said, his voice flat with self-knowledge. He raised one hand for her inspection; it was not the hand of a day laborer. The fingernails were short, blunt and clean, as was the entire hand. Karen couldn’t detect a hint of callus on his palm. “Hardly the hand of a man accustomed to hard physical work, is it?”

“No.” Karen frowned. “So what?” She had never been enthralled by dirty fingernails and rough calluses.

“So I fully understood your skepticism concerning my capabilities with a hammer, let alone a ladder.” Paul’s gentle smile contradicted the savage knife thrust he made into the innocent sausage.