His touch was so gentle, so kind. This was the real Donovan, the man she loved. Already that moment of crazy violence seemed more dream than reality. It had been a ghastly aberration, never to be repeated.
The brush of his hands over her bare skin as he removed her garments was soothing. By the time all her clothes were off, she was half asleep.
His lips touched her bruised cheek in the most delicate of caresses. "You're so generous, Kate."
He kissed the sensitive skin of her throat exactly the way she liked best. She exhaled with pleasure. Nice. Even nicer when his lips trailed along her collarbone toward her breast. When he tugged gently on her nipple, heat blazed through her. She reached up to draw him close.
He caught her hands and returned them to the sheets. "Don't do anything, cara mia. Just relax while I make up to you for what I did."
Usually they were both active partners when they made love, but she found a dreamy pleasure in passively accepting his caresses. His mouth moved lower, tender on her belly. He exhaled warm breath into the soft curls between her thighs. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Kate," he whispered.
She shivered as his tongue licked into her. Mild arousal turned into passion, driving out fatigue and pain with a physical and emotional intimacy that she could not imagine ever finding with another man. His hurt was hers, his remorse palpable.
He took his time, using his knowledge of her body to build her passion to fever pitch until she could bear no more. Then she shattered, crying out from a scouring intensity that went on and on before finally leaving her limp and panting.
He stripped off his clothing and lay down beside her. "Forgive me, Kate. I don't deserve it, but...please forgive me anyhow."
"Of course I forgive you," she whispered. "I know you didn't mean to hurt me."
He was going to let her go to sleep, but she touched him in a wordless plea for greater intimacy. He entered her hesitantly, as if expecting rejection.
She felt his doubt and his need to erase what had happened as clearly as if they were her own emotions. Tears stung her eyes again. She had thought there was so much love and trust between them that nothing could ever tear them apart. But tonight a dark shadow had fallen across their marriage, if only for an instant, and the knowledge that it was possible frightened her.
"I love you, Kate, more than I thought it was possible to love anyone." He buried himself in her, then held still, his body throbbing, his cheek pressed to her temple. In the darkness she felt tears that weren't her own.
To the extent that she'd ever considered being struck by a man, she'd always thought of it as an unforgivable act. Yet now that it had happened, she found that reality was much more complicated than theory.
Marriage brought people so close that the worst was visible along with the best. So her husband wasn't perfect. Neither was she.
Her mother had said more than once that forgiveness was a vital component of love, and heaven knew that Kate loved her husband. "It's all right, Patrick," she whispered as her hips began rocking hips rhythmically against his. "Everything is all right now."
"Oh, God, Kate." His body convulsed and he enfolded her in a crushing grip as he repeated hoarsely, "I love you, love you, love you...."
They slept, exhausted, in each other's arms.
∗ ∗ ∗
But it wasn't all right. Much later, she recognized how much their relationship had changed that night. There was still love, fierce and consuming, but it was tainted by a faint undercurrent of wariness. She was more cautious around her husband, doing her best to avoid triggering his temper. A little spontaneity was lost. A little trust.
She had started along the road to ruin, and didn't know it.
Chapter 12
That night Donovan lay on his bed and stared into the darkness as the Arctic wind rattled bare branches against the house. He'd thought himself prepared to have his former wife under his roof again.
Pretty stupid of him not to guess what a bitch the reality would be. From the moment she marched into his kitchen, he'd had an overwhelming desire to pull her onto his lap and hold her until she was warm and relaxed again.
Of course, if he'd laid a hand on her she would have walked out the door permanently, probably after bending a frying pan over his head. But at least she'd accepted some pampering. Clear proof that she was exhausted.
Was she upset at having to leave the boyfriend in San Francisco? He found himself wondering what the bastard was like, and immediately cut the thought off. It was none of his business who she'd been sleeping with.
And might sleep with again. He forced himself to face that fact. She'd said that geography would end the relationship, but the country was less than six hours across by jet. The other man might come to Maryland, or they might meet somewhere else. PDI field personnel traveled a lot.
His initial elation that Kate had agreed to Sam's deal began to subside into anxiety. She'd walked out on him once before, and she'd do it again in a New York minute if he gave her any excuse.
So he'd better not be jealous. Once he'd believed jealousy was proof of how much he loved her. Instead, it had contributed to messing up his mind until he'd struck her. Unforgivable.
How could he have hurt her as he did? How could he?
He cut off his circling, self-hating thoughts. Better to think of something useful, such as running the company that was now his, at least for the time being. Sam had been an idiosyncratic manager, and sorting things out was an uphill job.
Or he could think about Sam's death in an impossible accident.
Think about anything but Kate, and how much he still wanted her.
∗ ∗ ∗
Kate awoke to the buzz of an unfamiliar alarm clock. It took a moment to remember where she was. Ah, yes, Maryland. Not yet six in the morning, with her tired body thinking she ought to be in California, sleeping peacefully. Say what one would about the discomforts of crossing the continent in a wagon, at least the pioneers never had to worry about jet lag.
Since she'd packed the night before, she could afford another few minutes in bed. She dozed a little, missing Ginger Bear's furry body next to her. A year without a cat was in some ways worse than a year without a man.
A bad thought--it instantly triggered memories of sharing a bed with Donovan. It wasn't just the wonderful sex she'd missed when they split up, but the affection. They'd slept tangled like ivy, always touching even as positions shifted in slumber. When they came to bed there would be a brief period of settling in together--tucking a thigh between his knees, his head coming to rest on her shoulder. They'd both give soft little exhalations of contentment as they let go of the tensions of the day.
She'd loved the warm, solid feel of his body. The scent and saltiness of him. The way his arm curved around to hold her close. He'd been a world-class cuddler.
That had been true even at the end. Her grandmother Corsi had died only a month before their marriage ended. By that time, the two of them had been lying side by side like granite statues, not touching, each aching with aloneness.
She'd been awakened by a ringing phone at three in the morning, the kind of call that never brought anything good. Dopily she grabbed the receiver and propped it over her ear without raising her head.
Julia's voice said without preamble, "Bad news, Kate. Nonna Corsi had a stroke and died. It...it was very quick."
Kate swung her feet to the bare floor as her mother gave her the name of the funeral home. The time and place for what would be the first of several family gatherings. Yes, your father is taking it hard, of course he is. But she had a long, full life and went quickly. They could be grateful for that. Julia's voice cracked. She'd been closer to her mother-in-law than to her own mother.
Kate hung up, feeling as if her body temperature had dropped ten degrees. She began to shake. Widowed young, her Sicilian grandmother had cleaned houses to support her four children, encouraging them to get educations though she had never gone to high school herself. In the Highl
andtown rowhouse Sam later bought her, she'd taken in foster children and bossed her family and made the best pasta fagioli in the world.
Donovan laid a warm hand on her spine. "What's happened, Kate?"
"Nonna's dead."
He swore under his breath. "Hell. I'm so sorry. She was special. Like my Grandmother Russo." Gently he drew Kate into his arms and pulled her under the covers. Then he wrapped himself around her, using his body heat to dispel her trembling. "You're freezing, Kate. Do you want coffee or brandy or something?"
"No. Just...stay close." Then she wept. Donovan could be a crazy bastard sometimes, but she never forgot how he'd reached across their increasing estrangement to give her tenderness and comfort when she needed it.
Hard knuckles rapped on the door, jarring her back to the present. "Time to get up," Donovan called. "If you're decent, I'll bring in a cup of coffee."
Kate rolled from the bed and grabbed her long bathrobe. Tying her sash, she unlocked and opened the door.
Donovan, bright-eyed and fully dressed, held a mug of coffee in each hand. She accepted one, muttering, "Morning people. Ugh."
"Luckily I was able to get you a seat on my flight, but we'll have to leave in less than half an hour. Don't forget that wool can't be worn once we start loading explosives. A static charge could set off the whole shooting match." His gaze avoided her.
She flushed as she became aware of her state of undress. "Right. Go on. I'll be ready in twenty minutes."
Donovan used to tease her about taking too much when they traveled. Not this time. She was traveling light, the perfect damned employee. She took a lightning swift shower, then finished the coffee as she dressed.
Three minutes under her deadline, she headed out the door with the wheeled suitcase following her like a well-trained dog. Inwardly, she bubbled with excitement. It was finally time for a baptism of fire at Phoenix Demolition.
∗ ∗ ∗
As the jet took off, Donovan said, "Time to find out how much you actually know about explosive demolition."
Kate came instantly alert. "Ask away."
"I'll start with something simple. What are the main construction types we deal with?"
"Reinforced concrete and structural steel," she said promptly.
"How do you prevent a structure from walking?"
"Walking? Right, that's what Sam called it when a building fell out full-length like a tree. By removing as many of the inner stiffeners, like elevator shafts and stairwells, as possible. That way, the building can be dropped straight down into its own footprint."
Speaking of footprints, her left shoe was touching his right foot. He moved his leg away. Even using his frequent flyer miles for business didn't give enough space to keep a safe distance between them. Telling himself to concentrate on his quiz, he asked, "How do we control exactly how it falls?"
"By the timing of the charges." She started gesturing with her hands, Italian-style. "Using different delays can kick the structure any way we want, if it's done right. Plus, having sequenced explosions spreads out the impact and reduces the chance of damaging nearby structures." One sweeping hand brushed his forearm. His skin tingled in response.
He made the questions harder, which had the benefit of keeping his mind more on the subject and less on her. By the time the jet was over West Virginia, he'd established that Kate understood the principles and the physics perfectly. Of course she didn't know the intricacies of engineering and implementation, but as an architect she already understood vectors and forces and transfer of loads. She was an ideal candidate to become a project manager.
He reminded himself that the explosives they used were mostly very stable and safe. Another part of his mind immediately pointed out that accidents happened, and buildings being prepped for demolition could be hazardous. Very hazardous.
Telling the multiple voices to shut up, he reached under the seat in front of him for his briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of papers. "Time to go from the general to the particular. This is the preliminary explosive plan for this project. It should be basically sound, but there's always fine tuning required before the shoot."
She studied the drawings, which were simple elevations and plan views showing the shape of the building, structural supports, and where proposed placements for explosive charges. "So we're going to take down the Nevada Palace."
"You've been there?"
"Not inside, but I've driven by." She smoothed a hand over the folds of the drawing that draped over her lap.
She'd always had lovely hands, not dainty and helpless, but well-shaped and competent. He remembered watching those long fingers rubbing steel wool across a table she was refinishing. Chopping red peppers for a salad. Sliding down his body...
A wave of heat washed over him. He looked away, grateful that her attention was on the plans in front of her. "I've worked with Bill Berrigan, the developer, on other jobs, but this will be my first visit to this site because it was Sam's project. The hotel was built by a paranoid tycoon, and Sam mentioned that it's full of surprises. I'd hoped to visit earlier to check the place out, but I was too busy."
She was still frowning over the drawings. "So it isn't just my imagination that this is a very odd structure."
"I've thought the same thing. The final explosives plan may require more adjustments than usual." He considered telling her what else might happen in conjunction with this shot, then decided to wait until he knew for sure. Instead he began to explain the background and general approach to the project. Kate picked everything up so quickly that there was time for a nap before lunch.
But he couldn't sleep. Not with his ex-wife inches away--and untouchable.
∗ ∗ ∗
Crossing the country two days in a row was a good way to become disoriented. Kate landed in Las Vegas with a devout hope that she wouldn't have to get on another airplane for at least a week.
Her sense of unreality increased when they entered the gigantic, high-ceilinged hall that contained the luggage carousels. Hundreds of people were milling about, which wasn't surprising in a busy airport. But she was startled to hear the magnificent chorus from the last movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony blaring over the loudspeakers. The effect was surreal, to say the least. And there was neon. Lots of neon, even though it was mid-day. "Viva Las Vegas."
"I've always thought of this city as Disneyland for adults."
Her gaze went to a towering aluminum palm tree. One of many. "There's no danger of Las Vegas expiring from an excess of good taste."
"All of those years in California, and you're still an Eastern snob at heart."
She smiled with lethal precision. "Did you ever get one of those Elvis on velvet paintings that you yearned for?"
"Careful, or I'll actually buy one and hang it in the breakfast nook."
She returned his smile before she realized the danger. Humor was one of the most seductive things about a man. Dangerous, because it was hard to be angry with a man who made you laugh.
Donovan had sworn not to touch her, but she suspected that he wouldn't mind charming her into touching him. The hell of it was, he might succeed. Less than twenty-four hours together, and already they were bantering. It was hard to remember the past when enjoying the present.
She pulled her suitcase from the carousel. "I can't believe that we're actually working together. My father was about as subtle as a freight train."
Donovan retrieved his own bag, then led the way through the crowd toward the exit. "Sam might have been a freight train, but in any showdowns between him and the steel magnolia, who always won?"
"Mother always did, in the most ladylike way imaginable."
"And you're a bud off the old magnolia. Neither man nor beast nor raging freight train will push you into anything you don't want. I learned that very early."
"Would it be better if I'd been a door mat and let you walk all over me?"
"No. Of course not." He hesitated before continuing. "But sometimes I've wondered if there mig
ht have been a middle path between total submission and total abandonment. Maybe if we'd worked on it. If we'd asked for help...."
"No!" She didn't like the way this conversation was going. "That wasn't an option."
She had to believe that, because the possibility that their marriage might have been saved was too painful to contemplate.
Chapter 13
∗ ∗ ∗
As Donovan turned the rental car into the vast parking lot of the Nevada Palace, Kate shaded her eyes against the pale winter sun and studied their target. An octagonal structure covered with glittering glass, the casino hotel stood on Las Vegas Boulevard, the broad street more familiarly known as the Strip. The building had been considered high style when it went up in the late '50's.
Clustered around the Palace were cranes and lifts and other heavy equipment, along with giant construction dumpsters to hold debris. Turning away from the activity, Donovan pulled up by a mobile site office in one corner of the parking lot.
Inside, an attractive, middle-aged woman with black hair and an imperturbable expression worked at the front desk while a gruff male voice could be heard barking orders into a phone behind a partition. The woman glanced up when the door opened. "Nice to see you again, Donovan. Bull is in his office."
"I can hear him bellowing," Donovan said. "Kate, meet Carmen Velasquez, the power behind the throne of Berrigan Enterprises."
"I heard that, you unreliable Irishman," the gruff voice roared. A moment later, the speaker emerged from behind the partition, a smoking cigar in one hand. It was easy to see why Bill Berrigan had been nicknamed "Bull."
A brawny man in his fifties, Berrigan looked exactly like what he was--someone who'd worked his way up from laborer to contractor to multimillionaire developer. "Brought your girlfriend along so you could have some Vegas fun in your spare time?"
"Hardly," Donovan said. "Meet my professional associate, Kate Corsi."
Bull's bushy brows rose. "Sam's daughter? Pleased to meet you, honey. I was real sorry about what happened to your dad. He was a helluva guy."