Promise Me A Rainbow (30 page)

She waited nervously for him to climb the three flights of stairs, then impatiently, because once again Mrs. Donovan stopped him for one of her routine interrogations.

She could hear his footsteps on the stairs again. She looked at herself in the mirror, raked through her hair with her fingers, pinched her cheeks to give them some color, and despaired of the results. She looked like a little kid who’d just been greeted by an overzealous relative.

He knocked at the door and she waited. She didn’t want to seem too eager. She took a deep breath to steady herself, then jerked the door open anyway, because she thought he was leaving.

Oh, God
, she thought when she looked at him. He was right. It wasn’t going to work. It wasn’t going to work at all.

“You had lunch?” he said cheerfully as he stepped inside the apartment, and then, when he saw the longing in her eyes, “Ah, Catherine, don’t . . .
don’t
let me see . . .”

But he reached for her, dragging her against him, letting the Burger King bag drop with a thud on the floor. His mouth came down hard on hers, hurting, hungry. She wrapped herself around him, her knee sliding between his thighs. He was overbalanced, and he fell against the door she’d barely had the time to close.

He pulled at her clothes, trying to get her shirttail out of her jeans so he could touch her bare skin, her breasts, and still he tried not to lose contact with her mouth. He’d missed her so, and she tasted so good. He was aware of the sound of heavy breathing—his—and soft moans—hers.

He half carried her across the living room and into the bedroom, lying down on the bed with her, both of them working feverishly to get their clothes off. Buttons. Zippers. Work-boot shoelaces. He hated every damn one of them.

“I told you,” he said as his body finally covered hers. “I
told
you . . .”

Yes. He’d told her.

She reached up to touch his lips, and he kissed her fingertips, coming inside her in one deep thrust. She arched toward him, and he gave a deep grunt of pleasure. Her eyes were open, staring into his, fluttering closed as he began to move. He was trembling. He couldn’t stop. Her hands, warm and light, skimmed over his body, and he reveled in her touch. He wanted to love her long and slow, but he couldn’t. How could anything feel this good?

“Hold me. Hold me tight!” he whispered to her, because he was desperate to have her close to him. Close. Tight. She was so tight. And hot. He strained to take all she had to give, to give everything of himself.

The telephone rang in the kitchen and he stiffened.

“No,” she whispered against his ear, her voice urgent, pleading. “Don’t stop! Oh, Joe!”

He buried himself in her, lost himself in her, and he never wanted to be found again.

They were both lying on their backs.
He had his eyes closed. He turned his head to look at her. She was staring at the ceiling.

“Now what?” he asked, simply.

She abruptly turned toward him, hiding her face in his neck.

He put his arms around her, holding her fast. He knew exactly how she felt. Miserable. Bewildered. Good. He had deliberately stayed away from her, deliberately not called after that one time when he’d given her his word that he would—just to see whether or not this thing he had for her was going to be worth all the trouble and heartache. Della was giving him hell; he was getting nowhere with her. She wouldn’t talk to him about Catherine. He couldn’t reason with her. She saw no similarity between his accepting the wild-haired, punk-looking boys she admired as possibly decent human beings and her accepting his judgment regarding Catherine Holben. He was trying to be fair—to Della and to himself. Given the incentive of Catherine’s restrictions on their relationship, he had planned not to rush into anything, to be sensible, to give Della time to adjust to his having an interest in another woman besides Lisa, to give
himself
time to know what the hell was happening here. So much for his plans. He’d been thinking with the wrong head, all right. He hadn’t even gotten past hello.

“I have to make a phone call,” he said abruptly, disentangling himself from her arms and legs so he could get up.

“Now?”

“Yeah, now,” he answered. He walked away into the kitchen.

Catherine lay back on the bed with her hand over her eyes.
This is crazy!
she thought. One minute she was vacuuming and cleaning the toilet, and the next minute she was lying naked in bed, completely sated, with an equally naked man roaming about.

She could hear him on the phone.

“Michael, I’m going to be late . . . yes. I am. I don’t know
how
late—late! . . . No, just don’t look for me . . . None of your business what we’re doing. You can get along without me for a couple hours. Do I ask you what you do in the middle of the afternoon?” He laughed. “Trust me, Michael. It’s worth it.”

He came back into the bedroom. She stared at him brazenly as he crossed to the bed. He had a beautiful body, and he didn’t seem to mind her scrutiny. He lifted the sheet and slid in beside her.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said as he gathered her to him.

“About what?”

He gave her a mischievous smile. “I’ve been thinking maybe this is something we ought to just get out of our systems.”

They stayed in bed all afternoon.
Making love. Talking. Eventually eating some reheated burgers and fries from Burger King.

“I meant to try,” he said at one point. “I meant to do what you wanted. I meant to keep things platonic.”

“So did I.”

He turned so that they were lying face to face, their bodies close, touching. “You shouldn’t have looked at me like that.”

He was staring into her eyes. God, how he liked looking into her eyes, because when he did, he saw
himself
there.

“Like what?”

“Like now,” he whispered, his mouth covering hers.

“So how old are you?”

She was lying on her back with her eyes closed. He was lying on his side, his head propped on one hand. His other hand lazily traced an imaginary line from her collarbone to the tip of her breast.

She opened her eyes. “Why?” she asked, moving her head so she could see him better.

“I want to know about you. “I’m thirty-eight.”

“I’m thirty-two.”

“Thirty-two,” he repeated. He retraced the line from shoulder to breast, causing her to take a small breath. “You like that?”

“No, I hate it,” she murmured, closing her eyes as he did it again.

He chuckled. “Liar.”

“The other day,” he said
when he’d been quiet long enough for her to think he’d fallen asleep.

“When?” She was sleepy herself, and she stretched and moved closer to him.

“At the school. When you told me you didn’t want a sexual relationship . . .”

“Well, so much for that.”

“No, listen to me. I want to tell you this. I wasn’t mad at you. I was . . . disappointed, you know? And I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of Jonathan.”

“Why would you be jealous of Jonathan?”

“Because he was married to you. Because he did a really stupid thing leaving you. Because . . . one day he’s going to realize it. I didn’t want to think you were . . . leaving the door open.” He brushed her hair back from her face, his touch gentle, loving. “You understand?”

“I . . . understand.”

He gave her a brief, hard hug, then moved so that he could see her eyes again.

“Show me you understand, Catherine,” he whispered. “Show me . . .”

“There’s one other thing.”

“What?” she asked, her head resting on his chest. She could hear the soft pounding of his heart as he gently stroked her hair.

“When we make love, when I’m inside you and it’s so good”—he hooked his fingers beneath her chin so that she would look at him—“I’m not thinking about Lisa.”

“Joe—”

“Shh,” he whispered, putting his fingers to her lips to keep her from saying anything. “I just wanted you to know that.”

“I’m not thinking about Jonathan, either,” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

No words of love.
No words of commitment. Yet she felt both. Loved. Committed.

It’s the way I am
, she thought. She had no business in this kind of relationship. Already she was trying to take a pleasurable afternoon and turn it into something real. He didn’t want anything long-term. He certainly didn’t want anything permanent. Neither did she. She didn’t want to care about him. She didn’t want to care about anyone the way she had cared about Jonathan. Caring left you unsuspecting and vulnerable.

She wanted to ask him outright,
Joe, what do you want from me?

But she didn’t. Joe D’Amaro would tell her. He seemed not to feel any constraint about telling her anything.

She closed her eyes. He wasn’t an easy lover. He was intense, demanding—not crude but specific. He talked to her. He talked to
her
. Before, during, after. What he felt, admired, needed, he wanted her to know. The pleasure he received, he gave back tenfold. Jonathan’s lovemaking, by comparison, was almost pristine.

I am going to miss this
, she thought, as if he’d already grown tired of her and gone.

“Could I bring Fritz by to see the gnomes tomorrow afternoon about two?” he asked, because he could feel that she was far away and he wanted her back with him.

“Fine,” she said.

“You want me to call first?” He didn’t want her to think he was presuming just because they’d spent this incredible afternoon together.

“Only if you can’t come.”

“Oh, we’ll be here. She really wants to see the gnomes. Did I tell you she thinks they’re going to keep you from being sad?”

“Why does she think I’m sad?”

“I told her about Sasha and Treasure. I don’t think she wanted me to worry about you, so she said you wouldn’t be sad long—because you had the gnomes.”

She smiled. “Sasha’s grandmother is fixing me a root charm that will make the sun shine on my back door. Between the two I ought to be in good shape.”

“You
are
in good shape,” he said, growling into her neck and making her laugh.

She suddenly hugged him tightly, because he was going to have to leave and because she already missed him.

“What’s the matter?” he said.

“Nothing.”

“You want to break my ribs for
nothing
?”

She smiled and leaned back to look at him. He deserved as much of the truth as she could give. “I . . . just don’t want you to go.”

He smiled, the smile a little mischievous, a little sad. “Does that mean you still like me?”

“Still,” she admitted.