Sullivan's Child. Gail Link

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      Chapter Three

      Alainn.

      The word filtered through Rory’s brain the instant he saw her. It was the Gaelic word for beautiful. Cat was all that and more. The beauty she had possessed seven years ago had been youthful, emerging. Now it was fully realized, shaped and refined by nature into stunning maturity.

      Her body, too, had altered. Her curves were fuller, rounder, accentuated by the clinging moss-green sweater set she wore, along with the winter-white, wool trousers. Her hair was longer, flowing past her shoulders and ending midway down her back. If anything, the color was richer, a radiant auburn. A soft fringe of bangs feathered across her forehead, framing her face. When he left, that lovely face had been rounder. It too had subtly modified in the time past. Cheekbones sharper, mouth a fraction softer.

      But her eyes, he thought, were still the same. Unchanged in color. Green. The forever green of legend and memories.

      It didn’t pass Rory’s notice that she hadn’t said hello in return.

      When she finally found her voice, Cat asked, “What brings you here?”

      Rory wanted to say “You.” But the word remained unspoken, trapped in his throat. Instead, he said, “I was in the neighborhood and thought that it might be interesting to indulge myself in a few minutes of nostalgia. To see if anything’s changed here.”

      “Really?” Cat wished that she could believe that’s all it was. A simple trip down memory lane; but nothing had ever been simple between them. Not in the long run.

      “It appears that you’ve done quite well for yourself, Cat,” Rory murmured, his tone polite. His gaze roamed the expanded shelves, noted the changes and improvements that she’d made to the premises, before returning to her.

      “Yes, I have,” she responded in the same blandly mild voice, inwardly fighting to maintain her composure. It was a tough battle, what with his whole demeanor screaming hot and sexy from the well-remembered black leather jacket he wore open over an expensive-looking oatmeal sweater, dark blue jeans and black boots. From the corner of her eye, Cat caught a twenty-something customer in a Cedar Hill University sweatshirt as she walked nearby give Rory a quick once-over, smiling to herself in silent appreciation.

      Suddenly the store seemed smaller, as if it were closing in on Cat. She felt cornered. Trapped by and between the past and the present. And it was all Rory Sullivan’s fault. What right did he have to be here as if they’d parted friends? As if their last words had been kind and cordial.

      Go away! she screamed silently. Please, go away. Release me.

      “I’m happy for you, Cat. I know just how much this place meant to you.”

      She heard the underlying irony in his voice and replied in kind. “It still does.”

      “That’s good. If you put your heart and soul into something it should be worth whatever sacrifice, or effort, you deem necessary to maintain it.”

      “It is.”

      Cat sounded so cool and matter-of-fact to him. Almost hard to believe she was the same woman he’d shared numerous hot, sensual hours with, their bodies so close and in tune that it was impossible to tell where one began and the other left off. Her voice had been warm back then, husky with passion; her skin dewed with moisture; her hands as eager to explore as his; her mouth pure excitement and promise.

      Clearly that was then, this is now. The woman who stood before him was self-contained, with a “do not disturb” attitude.

      Well, what had he expected?

      The back-door buzzer rang.

      “I’ll…” Mary Alice started to say before she was cut off by Cat.

      “No,” she said, “I’ll go.” She reached out her hand in a formal manner, praying that it remained steady. “Good to see you again—” she hesitated for the briefest instant, as if forming a little-used foreign phrase “—Rory.”

      Had she imagined it or had his eyes quickly turned darker, sharper, hotter?

      “Likewise, Cat.”

      With a quicksilver movement, she was gone, and he was left standing alone, Mary Alice off to answer the loudly ringing phone.

      Their hands had barely touched before she withdrew hers, as if contact with his skin was abhorrent. Or, could it be, he wondered, that she had felt the same jolt of electricity that he had? Had she been shocked that it still existed? Frightened by the implications? Or appalled?

      Rory glanced at the door that led to the back room, a smile tilting the corners of his mouth.

      Cat imagined that she could still feel the tingling in her skin upon the contact with his. Handshakes. An everyday occurrence that she never even gave a second thought to.

      Until today.

      Until now.

      Until him.

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