Page 11 of Tender Triumph

  "Don," she almost pleaded, "I'm really trying not to make a scene but if you don't stop this I'm going to start screaming and we're both going to look very silly."

  He jerked back and glared at her. "What the hell's the matter with you anyway?"

  "Nothing!" Katie said. She didn't want to make an enemy of him, she just wanted him to go away. "What do you want?" she asked finally.

  "Are you kidding? I want this woman I'm look­ing at—the one with the gorgeous face, a luscious body and a virginal little mind."

  Katie looked him right in the eye. "Why?" she said baldly.

  "Sweetheart," he teased, while his eyes made a thorough inspection of her body. "That is a stupid question. But I'll answer it the same way the man answered when they asked him why he wanted to climb the mountain. I want to climb you because you're here. Do you want me to be more blunt? I want to climb on you, or if you prefer to, you can—"

  "Get away from me," Katie hissed. "You're dis­gusting and you're drunk."

  "I'm not drunk!" he said, offended.

  "Then you're just plain disgusting! Now go away."

  He stood up and shrugged. "Okay. Shall I send Brad over? He's interested. Or how about Dean, he's—"

  "I don't want any of you!" Katie said furiously.

  Don was genuinely bewildered. "Why not? We're no worse than the next group of guys. In fact, we're better than most."

  Katie was slowly straightening, staring at him as his words began sinking into her brain, pounding in her head. "What did you say?" she whispered.

  "I said we're as good as the next group of guys, and better than most."

  "You're right..." she breathed slowly. "You are absolutely right!"

  "So what's the problem? What are you saving it for, anyway? Or, more importantly, who are you saving it for?"

  And suddenly Katie knew. Oh God, she knew! She almost stumbled over Don in her hurry to get around him. "It's not that damn Spaniard, is it?" he shouted after her.

  But Katie couldn't take the time to answer, she was already running. Running down the path, burst­ing past the door in the stockade fence and breaking a fingernail in her urgent haste to pull open the sliding glass door.

  Breathless with fear that she was already too late, she dialed the number Ramon had written on the pad beside the phone. She counted the rings, her hope dying with each one that went unanswered.

  "Hello," a woman's voice said on the tenth ring when Katie was about to hang up.

  "I—I'd like to speak to Ramon Galverra. Is he there?" Katie was so surprised to hear a woman's voice answering what was obviously a residential phone, that she nearly forgot to give the informa­tion the woman was obviously waiting for. "My name is Katherine Connelly.''

  "I'm sorry, Miss Connelly, Mr. Galverra isn't in. We expect him shortly, though. Shall I ask him to call you?"

  "Yes, please," Katie said. "Would you be certain that he gets the message that I called, as soon as he arrives?"

  "Of course. As soon as he arrives."

  Katie hung up the phone and stared at it. Was Ra­mon really out, or had he asked that friendly sound­ing woman to fend Katie off? He'd been furious when Katie told him she'd been married before... perhaps now that his passion had had two days to cool off, he was no longer interested in acquiring a "used" wife. What should she do if he didn't return her call? Should she assume that he didn't get her message and call him back? Or should she take the hint and realize that he didn't want to talk to her?

  Twenty minutes later the phone rang. Katie snatched it up and breathlessly said, "Hello."

  Ramon's voice sounded even deeper on the tele­phone. "Katie?"

  She squeezed the receiver so tightly that her hand ached. "You said to call if I—I wanted to talk." She paused, hoping he would now say something to help her, but he remained silent. Drawing a long breath, Katie said, "I would like to talk.. .but I'd rather not do it on the telephone. Ramon, could you possi­bly come over?"

  There was no emotion in his voice. All he said was "Yes."

  But that was enough. Katie glanced down at the yellow bikini and flew into her room to change it. She debated over what to wear as if what she select­ed might make the difference between success and failure. Finally choosing a soft peach cowl-neck top and matching slacks, she dried and brushed her hair, added peach lipstick, some blusher, and then mas­cara. Her eyes were sparkling and her color was high as she looked in the mirror. "Wish me luck," she said to her reflection.

  She went into the living room, started to sit down, then snapped her fingers. "Scotch," she said aloud. Ramon liked Scotch; she didn't have any. Leaving the front door slightly ajar, Katie raced next door and borrowed a bottle of J&B from the man who lived there.

  She half-expected to find Ramon waiting for her in the apartment when she came back, but he wasn't. She went into the kitchen and fixed Ra­mon's Scotch the way he ordered it when they were out—on the rocks with a splash. Critically, she held the glass up to the light surveying the contents. Exactly how much was a splash, anyway? And why had she done such a stupid thing as to mix his drink so early that the ice would melt by the time he got here? She decided she would drink it. Wrinkling her nose at the taste, she carried the glass into the living room and sat down.

  At a quarter to nine the shrill ring of the doorbell brought her leaping out of her chair.

  Restraining herself at the last moment from fling­ing the door wide, she composed her features into a formal smile and opened it properly. In the mellow glow of the gaslight Ramon was framed in her door­way, looking very tall and devastatingly handsome in a light gray suit and maroon tie. His eyes looked directly into hers, his expression unreadable, neither warm nor cold.

  "Thank you for coming," Katie said, stepping back and closing the door after him. She was so ner­vous she couldn't think where to begin. She decided to opt for a compromise. "Sit down and I'll fix you a drink."

  "Thank you," he said. He walked into the living room and took off his suit jacket. Without even turning his head to glance in her direction, he tossed it carelessly over the back of a chair.

  Katie was thoroughly abashed by his attitude, but at least if he was taking off his jacket he expected to stay for a little while. When she returned from the kitchen with his drink, he was standing with his back to her, his hands in his pockets, staring out her living-room window. He turned when he heard her and for the first time Katie saw the deeply etched lines of strain and fatigue at his eyes and mouth. Anxiously she scanned his features "Ramon, you look exhausted."

  He loosened the knot of his tie and took the glass Katie was holding out to him. "I have not come here to discuss the state of my health, Katie," he in­formed her brusquely.

  "No, I know," Katie sighed. He was cold, remote and, Katie sensed, still extremely angry with her. "You aren't going to help me get this over with, are you?" she said, voicing her thought aloud.

  His dark eyes were impassive. "That depends en­tirely upon what you have to say to me. As I told you before, there was little I could offer you if you married me, but one of the things I offered you was honesty between us. Always. I expect the same from you."

  Nodding, Katie turned away from him, grasping the back of a chair for physical support since it was perfectly obvious she wasn't going to get any moral support from the man behind her. Drawing a shaky breath, Katie closed her eyes. "Ramon, at the church on Tuesday, I—I realized that you are probably a devout Catholic. And then I realized that if you are, you couldn't—wouldn't marry me if I had been married in the Catholic church and then divorced. That's why I told you I was divorced. It wasn't a lie, I was divorced, but David is dead now."

  The voice behind her was coolly unemotional. "I know."

  Katie gripped the back of the chair so hard her fingers went numb. "You know? How could you?"

  "You had told me once before that I reminded you of someone else, someone whose death brought you great release. When you were telling me about your former husband, you again made th
e remark that I remind you of him. I assumed that you proba­bly did not know two men who remind you of me. Besides, you are an extremely transparent liar."

  His complete indifference tore at Katie's heart. "I see," she said, her throat constricting with tears. Apparently Ramon didn't want another man's wife, regardless of whether she was a divorcee or a widow. As if she had to further punish herself by actually having him tell her that in so many words, Katie whispered, "Would you mind explaining to me why you are still angry with me, even after what I've just told you? I know you are, only I'm not sure why you are, and—"

  His hands gripped her arms and he spun her around, his fingers pressing into her flesh. "Because I love you!" he gritted tersely. "And for two days you have put me through a living hell." His voice sounded harsh, as if it were being gouged from his chest. "I love you, and for nearly forty-eight hours I have waited for you to call, dying inside with each hour that you did not."

  With a teary smile Katie laid her hand against his cheek and jaw, trying to soothe away the tautness with her fingertips. "They've been terrible days for me, too."

  His arms closed around her with stunning force, his mouth opening over hers in a kiss that demanded she return the same stormy passion that he was of­fering her. His hands claimed her body, stroking her neck, her back, her breasts, then sweeping down, pulling her tightly to his rigidly aroused manhood. Instinctively, Katie moved her hips against him. Ramon groaned with rampaging desire and plunged his hand into her hair, holding her mouth to his as his tongue began matching her inflaming move­ments.

  He tore his mouth from hers and lavished scorch­ing kisses on her face, her eyes, her neck. "You are going to drive me out of my mind, do you know that?" he murmured thickly. But Katie couldn't an­swer. His lips had already recaptured hers and she was drowning in an ocean of pleasure, willingly sinking beneath the waves of rapture that sent her deeper with each touch of his hungry, searching mouth and hands.

  Katie slowly began to surface as the pressure of his lips against hers lessened, and then was gone. Feeling deprived and bereft, she laid her cheek against his chest, her heart racing like a trip-hammer and his own thundering in her ear.

  His hand cupped her cheek and Katie lifted her gaze to his, melting at the new tenderness she saw in his expression. "Katie, I would have married you if you had married that animal in every church on earth and then divorced him in every court."

  Katie hardly recognized the breathy whisper that was her own voice. "I thought the reason you were furious was because I'd let things come so far be­tween us without telling you I had been married be­fore."

  He shook his head. "I was furious because I knew you were lying to me about your husband being alive so that you would have an excuse not to marry me; furious because I knew you were terrified of what you felt for me, and yet I could not remain here longer to overcome your fear."

  Katie leaned up on her toes and pressed a kiss to his warmly responsive lips, but when his arms tight­ened around her she drew back. Stepping away from the temptation of his nearness, she said, "I think, before I lose my nerve and it gets any later, I had better tell my parents. After tonight there are only three days left for us to try to win them over before we leave."

  Katie walked over to the coffee table, picked up the telephone and started to dial her parents' num­ber, then looked up at Ramon. "I was going to tell them we were coming over there, but I think it would be better if I had them come here—" She gave him a nervous, rueful smile. "They can throw you out of their house but they can't very well throw you out of mine."

  Waiting for her parents' phone to be answered, she raked her fingers through her rumpled hair, try­ing to think of how to begin. When her mother an­swered Katie's mind went completely blank. "Hi, mom," she said. "It's me."

  "Katie, is anything wrong? It's nine-thirty."

  "No, nothing's wrong." She paused. "I was hop­ing that, if it's not too late, you and dad might like to come over for drinks."

  Her mother laughed. "I suppose we could. We just came back from dinner at the club. We'll be there right away."

  Katie, searching madly for some way to keep her mother on the phone while she thought of a way to broach the subject at hand said, "By the way, better bring whatever you want to drink. All I have is Scotch."

  "Okay, honey, we will. Want us to bring anything else?"

  "Tranquilizers and smelling salts," Katie mum­bled indistinctly.

  "What, dear?"

  "Nothing mom, there's something I have to tell you, but before I do, I want to ask you something. Do you remember when I was a little girl and you told me that no matter what I did, you and Dad would always love me? You said that no matter how terrible it was, you—"

  "Katie," her mother interrupted sharply. "If you are trying to alarm me, you're succeeding very well."

  "Not half as well as I'm about to," Katie sighed miserably. "Mom, Ramon is here. I'm going to leave with him on Sunday and marry him in Puerto Rico. We want to talk to you and dad about it to­night."

  For a second the line went silent, then her mother said, "And we are going to want to talk to you, Katherine."

  Katie hung up and looked at Ramon who lifted his brows in inquiry. "I'm Katherine again." De­spite her attempt at joking, Katie was unhappily aware of how devastated her parents were going to be by what she was doing. She was going to stand by her decision to go to Puerto Rico, no matter what they said, but she loved them very much and she hated the unhappiness she was about to cause them.

  She waited at the window with Ramon beside her, his arm comfortingly around her shoulders. She knew from the speed at which a pair of headlights made the sweeping turn into the entrance of her apartment complex that her parents had arrived.

  Feeling sad and very apprehensive, Katie started to move toward the door but Ramon's voice stopped her. "Katie, if I could take the burden of what you are about to do from your shoulders and your heart, I would do it. I cannot—but I can promise you that for the next three days you will bear the only unhap­piness I will ever intentionally cause you."

  "Thank you," she whispered achingly, putting her hand in his outstretched palm, feeling strength in the reassuring firmness of his fingers gripping hers. "Have I ever told you how much I love the things you say to me?"

  "No," he said with a faint grin. "But it is a good place to start."

  There was no time for Katie to ponder his meaning because the doorbell was already ringing insistently.

  Katie's father, who was famous for his charm and good manners, tore into the apartment like a whirl­wind, accepted Ramon's outstretched hand and said, "Good to see you again, Galverra, enjoyed having you at the house the other day; you've got a goddamned nerve asking Katie to marry you and you're out of your goddamned mind if you think we'll permit it."

  Katie's mother, renowned for her ability to main­tain her composure even in times of extreme stress, stormed in right on his heels, holding the neck of a liquor bottle in each hand like a juggler. "We won't stand for this," she announced. "Mr. Galverra, we will have to ask you to leave," the bottle pointing majestically to the door. "And you, Katherine, have lost your mind. Go to your room." The other bottle swept grandly toward the hall.

  Katie, watching the unfolding scene with fascinat­ed horror, finally recovered enough to say, "Dad, sit down. Mother, you too." When they both sank into chairs, Katie opened her mouth to speak, re­alized that her mother was holding both liquor bot­tles propped erectly on her knees, and pried them from her fingers. "Here, mom, give me these before you hurt yourself."

  Having relieved her mother of both weapons, Katie straightened, tried to think of how to begin, rubbed her palms against her peach-clad thighs, and cast a helpless look of appeal to Ramon.

  Ramon put his arm around Katie's slim waist, ig­noring her father's furious scowl at the gesture, and said calmly to him, "Katie has agreed to return to Puerto Rico with me on Sunday, where we will be married. I realize that this is difficult for you to acc
ept, but it will mean a great deal to Katie to know that she has your support in what she is do­ing."

  "Well, she sure as hell isn't going to get it!" her father snapped.

  "In that case," Ramon said evenly, "you will be forcing her to choose between us, and we will both lose. She will still come with me, but she will hate me for causing a rift between the two of you—and she will hate you also, for not understanding and wish­ing her happiness. It is important to me that Katie be happy."

  "It happens to be damned important to us, too," Mr. Connelly grated. "Just exactly what kind of life can you give her, living on some two-bit farm in Puerto Rico?"

  Katie saw Ramon pale, and she could have stran­gled her father for trampling on Ramon's pride like this. But when Ramon answered, his voice was com­posed. "She will have only a small cottage in which to live, but the roof does not leak. She will always have food to eat and clothing to wear. And I will give her children. Beyond that, I can promise Katie nothing—except that she will awaken every single day of her life knowing that she is loved."

  Katie's mother's eyes filled with tears, the hos­tility was draining from her face as she stared at Ramon. "Oh my God..." she whispered.

  Katie's father, however, was just warming up for battle. "So, Katie will be a drudge, a farm wife, is that it?"

  "No, she will be my wife."

  "And work like the wife of a farmer!" her father said contemptuously.

  Ramon's jaw clenched and he turned even paler. "She will have some work to do, yes."

  "Are you aware, Mr. Galverra, that Katie has been to a farm only once in her entire life? I happen to recall the event very vividly." His relentless gaze swerved to his startled daughter. "Do you want to tell him about it, Katherine, or shall I?"

  "Dad, I was only twelve years old!"

  "So were your three friends, Katherine. But they didn't scream when the farmer wrung the chicken's neck. They didn't call him a murderer at his own table and refuse to eat chicken for two years. They didn't find the horses 'smelly'; the process of milk­ing a cow 'gross'; and a multimillion-dollar farm 'a great big stinking place filled with filthy animals.'"