Page 8 of Tender Triumph

  "They what?" Katie hissed in outraged disgust.

  "They call you that because they have all wanted you, and not one of them has had you."

  "I'll bet that amazed you," Katie said bitterly. "No doubt you thought that anyone who'd wear such a vulgar bathing suit—"

  "It made me very proud," he interrupted quietly. Katie had had all she could stand. She shoved at his immovable chest.

  "Well, I hate to disappoint you—knowing how 'proud' you were—but I am not a virgin."

  She saw the effect of her announcement in the hardening line of his jaw, but he made no comment on it. Instead he said, "Until now, they have treated you with respect, like a beautiful little sister. But if you appear out here in the littlest bits of string and cloth I have ever seen called a bathing suit—they will be after you like a pack of dogs after a bitch in heat."

  "I don't give a blessed damn what they think! And," Katie warned darkly when he opened his mouth, "if you dare tell me not to swear, I will slap you so hard your head will fall off!"

  His arms fell away and Katie swam to the ladder, climbed out of the pool, stopped at the chaise lounge long enough to sweep up her towel and went back to her apartment alone. Once she was inside she would have locked the door but Ramon's clothes were still there, so she locked her bedroom door in­stead.

  Thirty minutes later, when she had showered and climbed into bed, Ramon knocked at her door.

  Katie knew better than to open the door and give Ramon the opportunity to take her in his arms. Where Ramon was concerned her body refused to listen to reason, and in two minutes he'd have her melting and pliant.

  "Katie, stop sulking and open this door."

  "I'm sure you can find your way out," Katie said coldly. "I am going to sleep." For emphasis she turned out the lamp on her nightstand.

  "Katie, for God's sake, do not do this to us."

  "There is no 'us.' There never was," Katie said. And then because it hurt somehow to have said the words aloud she added, "I don't know why you want to marry me but I do know all the reasons why I can't marry you. Talking about them isn't going to change anything. Please go away. I really think it's best for both of us this way."

  There was an ominous quiet in the apartment after that. Katie waited, watching the clock until forty-five minutes had elapsed, then silently, cau­tiously, unlocked her door and peeked around the darkened apartment. Ramon had left, turning out all the lights and locking the door behind him. She went back to bed and crawled under the cool sheets, propping the pillows up behind her and turning on the bedside lamp.

  What a narrow escape she'd had! Well, not that narrow—she had never actually considered marry­ing Ramon. In his arms she had been swept to the brink of sexual desperation, that was all. Fortunate­ly no woman in this day and age had to marry just to assuage her sexual needs, including Katherine Con­nelly! She just happened to have wanted Ramon more than she had ever wanted anyone—even Rob.

  That thought sent Katie's mind into chaos. Maybe she had been closer to capitulation than she'd realized. Her job wasn't all that rewarding; the men she knew seemed shallow and self-centered. And Ramon was the antithesis of them. He catered to her every whim. At the zoo he went wherever she wanted to go. If she looked tired he insisted that she sit down and rest. If she gave more than a passing glance at any refreshment stand he was quick to ask if she was hungry or thirsty. If she wanted to swim, he swam. If she wanted to dance, he danced—so long as he could hold her in his arms, she reminded herself crossly.

  He wouldn't even let her carry a small bag of gro­ceries or her overnight case. He didn't push open a door, walk past it, and let it come banging back into her face as many men did—then glance at her with a look that said, "Well, you women wanted equality; open your own doors."

  Katie shook her head. What was the matter with her, thinking about marrying a man because he picked up a five-pound bag of groceries and opened doors for her? But there was more to Ramon than that. He was so supremely confident of his own masculinity that he had no fear of being gentle. He was self-assured and very proud, yet where she was concerned, he seemed strangely vulnerable.

  Katie's thoughts reeled onto another path. How, if he really had lived in near-poverty, had he been so thoroughly familiar with the formalities observed at her parents' elaborately laid dining table? Not once had he shown the slightest uncertainty about which piece of silver to use with which course. Nor had he been the slightest bit uneasy around her parents' af­fluent friends.

  Why did he want to marry her and not just go to bed with her? Last night on the sofa, he had known that she was long past the point of denying him any­thing. "Want me as much as I want you," he had in­sisted and implored. And when she did want him that much, he had pulled away, sat back, closed his eyes, and unemotionally asked her to marry him. Had he asked her to marry him instead of making love to her because he thought she was a virgin? Latins still prized virginity even in this day of sexual emancipation. Would he have wanted to marry her if he had realized she wasn't a virgin? Katie seriously doubted it and that made her feel humiliated and furiously indignant. Ramon Galverra had known exactly what to do to arouse her to a fever pitch of desire last night and he hadn't learned how from books! Who did he think he was, anyway? He was no virgin!

  Turning out the light Katie flopped back against the pillows. Thank heaven she'd come no closer to going to Puerto Rico with him! He would insist on being the unchallenged head of his household; he had practically said as much on their picnic. He would expect his wife to cook and clean and cater to him. He would, no doubt, keep her "barefoot and pregnant," too.

  Why, no liberated American woman in her right mind would consider marrying such a classic male chauvinist... a male chauvinist who would be fierce­ly protective of his own... who would treat his wife as if she were made of fragile glass... who would probably work until he dropped to give her whatever she wanted.. .who could be so intensely passion­ate... and so gentle....

  CHAPTER SIX

  Katie awoke the next morning to the insistent ringing of the telephone beside her bed. Grop­ing dazedly she lifted the receiver from the cradle and pulled it across the pillow tucking it against her ear. Her mother's voice began before Katie could say hello. "Katie darling, who on earth was that man?" "Ramon Galverra," Katie answered, her eyes still closed.

  "I know his name, you told us that. What is he doing with you?"

  "Doing with me?" Katie mumbled. "Nothing."

  "Katie, don't be obtuse! The man obviously knows you have money—we have money—I have the feeling he's after something."

  Katie groggily tried to defend Ramon. "He's not after money, he's after a wife."

  The phone went silent. When her mother's voice sounded again, each word was iced with contempt. "That Puerto Rican farmer actually thinks he is go­ing to marry you?"

  "Spanish," Katie corrected, her mother's voice jarring her mind into focus.

  "What?"

  "I said he's Spanish, not Puerto Rican. Actually, he's American."

  "Katherine," the voice demanded with terse im­patience. "You are not, in your wildest imaginings, considering marrying that man are you?"

  Katie hesitated as she sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I don't think so."

  "You don't think so? Katherine, stay there and don't let that man near you until we get there. Lord, this would kill your father. We'll be there right after breakfast."

  "No, don't!" Katie said, finally coming out of her sleepy stupor altogether. "Mom, listen. You woke me up and I can hardly think straight, but there's nothing for you to worry about. I'm not go­ing to marry Ramon; I doubt if I'll ever see him again."

  "Katherine, are you sure? You aren't just saying that to pacify me?"

  "No, really I'm not."

  "All right, darling, but if he comes near you again just call us, and we'll be there in thirty minutes."

  "Mom—"

  "Call us, Katie. Your father and I love you and want t
o protect you. Don't be ashamed to admit you can't cope with that Spaniard, or Puerto Rican, or whatever he is."

  Katie opened her mouth to protest that she didn't need to be "protected" from Ramon, then changed her mind. Her mother wouldn't believe her and Katie didn't want to argue with her. "Okay," she sighed. "If I need you, I'll call. Bye mom."

  What was the matter with her parents, Katie won­dered angrily a half hour later as she pulled on a pair of yellow velour slacks and a matching yellow top. Why would they think that Ramon would hurt her or do anything that would make her have to call them for help? Brushing her hair back off her fore­head, she secured it with a tortoiseshell clip at the crown, then added a touch of coral to her lips and mascara to her lashes. She would go shopping for something frivolous and expensive to take her mind off Ramon and her parents, she decided.

  The doorbell rang, as Katie had feared it might, as she was putting her coffee mug in the dishwasher. Her parents, of course. They had finished with their breakfast; now they had come over to finish with Ramon, figuratively speaking.

  Resignedly, she went into the living room, pulled open the door, then stepped back in surprise from the tall lithe figure blocking the sunlight. "I—I was just going to leave," Katie said.

  Ignoring her hint, Ramon stepped inside and firmly closed the door behind him. A grim smile touched his mouth. "Somehow, I thought that was what you would do."

  Katie looked at his ruggedly handsome features, which were stamped with determination, and his powerful shoulders, which were squared with pur­pose. Confronted with six feet three inches of potent masculinity and iron resolve, Katie chose to make a strategic retreat in order to gather her scattered wits. Turning on her heel she said over her shoulder, "I'll get you a cup of coffee."

  She was pouring it into a cup when Ramon's hands settled on her waist drawing her back against his chest. His breath lightly touched her hair as he said, "I do not want coffee, Katie."

  "Some breakfast?"

  "No."

  "Then what do you want?"

  "Turn around and I will show you."

  Katie shook her head, grasping the edge of the Formica counter top so hard that her knuckles turned white.

  "Katie, I did not tell you the main reason why I did not want you to wear that bathing suit, because I did not like admitting it to myself. And you are not going to like it, either. But there must always be honesty between us." He paused then said with a re­luctant sigh, "The whole truth is that I was jeal­ous—I do not want anyone but me to ever see so much of your beautiful body."

  Katie swallowed, searching for her voice, afraid to turn around, shaken by the feel of his hard, mus­cular length against her back and legs. "I accept your explanation, and you're right—I don't like it. What I wear is my decision, no one else's. But none of this really matters anymore. I'm sorry for behav­ing so childishly last night; I should have come out to say goodbye to you. But I can't marry you, Ra­mon. It wouldn't work."

  She expected him to accept that. She should have known better. His hands slid up her arms to her shoulders, tightening to gently but firmly turn her around to face him. .Katie kept her eyes on the tanned column of his throat above the open collar of his blue shirt.

  "Look at me, guerida."

  That deep, husky voice calling her darling did it. She dragged her wide apprehensive blue eyes up to his.

  "You can marry me. And it will work. I will make it work."

  "There's a cultural gap between us a million miles wide!" Katie cried. "How can you possibly think you can make it work?"

  His eyes held hers steadily. "Because I will come home to you at night and make love to you until you cry out for me to stop. I will leave you in the morn­ing with the taste of my kiss on your lips. I will live my life for you. I will fill your days with gladness, and if God sends us heartbreak, I will hold you in my arms until your tears have passed and then I will teach you how to laugh again."

  Mesmerized, Katie stared at the firm sensual mouth slowly descending to hers. "We'd fight," she warned shakily.

  He brushed his lips against hers. "Fighting is only an angry way of caring.''

  "We'd—we'd disagree about everything. You're tyrannical and I'm independent."

  His lips clung to hers. "We will learn to compro­mise."

  "One person can't do all the giving. What would you want in return?"

  His arms enfolded her. "No more and no less than what I offer you—everything you have to give with nothing held back. Ever." His mouth covered hers, coaxing her lips to part for the gentle invasion of his tongue.

  What began for Katie as a warm glow kindled into a fire, then burst into raging flames, racing through her in a quivering fury. She was leaning into him returning his endless drugging kisses with helpless urgency, moaning softly as her breasts swelled to fill his caressing palms.

  "We belong together," he whispered. "Tell me you know it," he ordered thickly, his hand forcing its way under her elastic waistband to cup her bare buttocks and move her tighter against the throbbing hardness of his aroused manhood. "Our bodies know it, Katie."

  Caught between the wildly exciting feel of his hand against her bare skin and the proud evidence of his desire pressed boldly to her, Katie's weakened defenses crumbled completely. She wound her arms tightly around his neck, running her hands over his shoulders, smoothing his thick black hair, digging her nails into the bunched muscles of his back. And when he hoarsely commanded, "Tell me," she crushed her parted lips against his and almost sobbed. "We belong together."

  The whispered words seemed to echo around the room dousing Katie's passion with cold shock. She leaned back in his arms, staring at him.

  Ramon's gaze took in the hectic color tinting the smooth curve of her cheeks, the panic widening the deep blue eyes beneath their luxurious lashes. Threading his hands through the sides of her hair he upped her face between them. "Do not be fright­ened, querida" he said gently. "I think you are not so much afraid of what is happening between us as you are of how quickly it is happening." His thumbs stroked her heated cheeks as he added, "I would do anything to be able to give you more time, but I cannot. We will have to leave for Puerto Rico on Sunday. That will still give you four full days to pack your clothing. I had intended to leave two days ago, I cannot delay my return beyond Sun­day."

  "But I—I have to go to work tomorrow," Katie protested distractedly.

  "Yes. To tell them that you will be leaving for Puerto Rico and that this will be your last week here."

  Of all the monumental obstacles to her actually marrying Ramon, Katie seized upon the lesser one of her job. "I can't just walk in there and resign with only four days' notice. I am required to give two weeks' notice, not four days. I can't"

  "Yes, Katie," he said quietly. "You can."

  "And then there's my parents—oh no! We have got to get out of here," she said with sudden ur­gency. "I forgot about them. All I need is for them to come over now and find you here. I've already had a 'Katherine' phone call from my mother this morning." In a flurry of motion, Katie broke free of his arms, hurried Ramon into the living room, grab­bed her purse, and did not relax until they were in his car.

  "What," Ramon asked, slanting her an amused, sideways look as he turned the key in the Buick's ignition, "is a 'Katherine' phone call?"

  Katie watched the easy competence with which he drove, admiring his long masculine fingers on the steering wheel. "When my parents call me Katherine instead of Katie, that means the battle lines have been drawn, their artillery is being moved into posi­tion, and unless I wave a white flag quickly, they are going to start firing."

  He grinned at her and Katie relaxed. When he turned up the expressway ramp onto eastbound Highway 40, Katie said idly, "Where are we go­ing?"

  "To the Arch. I have never had the time to really see it up close."

  "Tourist!" Katie teased.

  They spent the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon outwardly behaving exactly like tourists. T
hey boarded one of the paddle wheelers for a short trip through the murky waters of the Mississippi River. Katie absently watched the passing scenery on the Illinois side of the river, her mind whirling with disjointed thoughts.

  Ramon lounged against the railing—watching Katie. "When are you going to tell your parents?"

  Katie's hands actually perspired at the thought. Wiping her damp palms against her yellow slacks, she shook her head. "I haven't decided," she an­swered, being deliberately obscure about what she hadn't decided.

  They strolled along the old brick streets of Laclede's Landing near the riverfront and stopped at a wonderful little pub where the sandwiches were masterpieces. Katie ate very little and stared out the windows at the throngs of downtown office workers coming to the Landing to eat.

  Ramon leaned back in his chair, a cigar clamped between his teeth, his eyes narrowed against the smoke—watching Katie. "Do you want me to be there when you tell them?"

  "I haven't thought about it." They wandered along the parklike setting that was dominated by the soaring Gateway Arch. Katie lamely acted as tourist guide explaining that the Arch is the tallest monument in the United States rising to a height of 630 feet, then fell silent and stared blindly at the river flowing by in the fore­ground. With no particular destination in mind, she walked to the sweeping steps that led to the river­front and sat down, thinking without really being able to think at all.

  Ramon stood beside her, one foot propped near her thigh—watching Katie. "The longer you wait to tell them, the more nervous you will become and the harder it will be to do."

  "Did you want to actually go up in the Arch?" Katie evaded. "I don't know if the tram is running, but if it is, the view is supposed to be fantastic. I can't actually say from firsthand experience… I’ve always been too afraid of the height to open my eyes."