Cat in a Quicksilver Caper by Carole Nelson Douglas

Author:Carole Nelson Douglas [Douglas, Carole Nelson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2006-01-15T05:00:00+00:00

Temple tiptoed back to her own condo at five A.M. holding her buttonless dress together fairly unsuccessfully.

Her aunt Kit was awake, sipping cocoa at the kitchen counter.

“You’re out later than I was,” she observed. “Most impressive, but you are younger. Forgive my waiting up. An unexpected maternal spasm. Are you all right? That dress sure isn’t.”

“I can’t talk about it,” Temple said.

“Then to bed, as they say in Shakespeare, but you look like you already have been.”

Temple toddled into her bedroom, shut the door in Aunt Kit’s face, and let the dress fall to the floor. Her underthings and her emotions were in a twist, but the deed had not been done, despite mutual satisfaction on a scale most teenagers would consider quite satisfactory.

She’d gotten cold feet.

Her. Not him.

He’d told her everything. How hooked he’d been on her way, way back when. When they’d first met. His hands and voice had trembled, but she had too, because it was too much, this Perfect Storm. It could eat her alive.

There was nothing blasé about him.

This was the central event of his life. His love. Because he did. Love her. Always. Only. Had burned for her from the first, not understanding why he could think of nothing, no one else. Trying to pull his outward personality together. Trying to respect her wishes, her past alliances. Refraining from undermining Max. Trying even to relate to other women. Recognizing his sexual drive and still coming back, always and only, to her.

She’d never been so touched, so shaken. So . . . okay, Max was a great lover, but this was beyond any experience or anticipation. This shook her to her soul, which she apparently still had. And a conscience too. This maybe was the thing she couldn’t live without. Except . . . was she worthy?

The responsibility was numbing. She knew what to do, how to do it, where to do it, but not where it would lead. And it had to lead to something significant, something . . . holy, or it was a lie and cheat and she would die before she would be part of it.

So. She’d chickened out. Matt thought he needed a license, or to offer her the option of one.

She didn’t. She needed to believe in what he did. Herself. She’d blown it. Stopped the music when it was the most sublime and irresistible. Still, there was something to be said for coitus interruptus. Like increased desire. The Scarlett in her smiled in hapless helpless kittenish anticipation. Temple tumbled into bed, reliving every instant and enjoying it more with every rerun, even as she shied away from the ultimate truth.

She was headed for the dreaded sixty: better enjoy thirty while she could. But glib answers weren’t for her. Or Matt. Or Max. That’s what made them all worth something to each other. My God, they were an awesome triangle! That tripod couldn’t keep its balance forever. Could it? At some point, it would be only two, and one would be so alone, and off-balance and hurt.

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