Tender Triumph

He sounded ready to explode and Katie hastily assured, "Only a little bit in looks. You're both olive-skinned, dark-haired and dark-eyed. David played football in college, and you..." she slid a covert glance at him, then recoiled in alarm from the blazing anger in his profile, "... you look as if you should play tennis," she finished lamely.

As they were pulling into the parking space in front of her apartment, it dawned on Katie that this would undoubtedly be their last day together. If Ramon was as devout a Catholic as Spaniards were purported to be, he would not be able to consider marrying her.

The idea of never seeing him again was surprisingly painful, and Katie felt a little desolate and forlorn. She wanted to prolong the day, to be able to spend more time with him. But not alone—not where he could take her in his arms and in five minutes have her drowning in desire and confessing everything to him. Then she'd be right back where she was an hour ago. Trapped.

"Do you know what I'd love to do tonight?" she said as he walked her to the door. "That is, if you don't have to work."

"No, what?" he said through clenched teeth.

"I'd love to go someplace where we could listen to music and dance." Her simple statement made his face darken with rage. The hard line of his jaw tightened until a drumming pulse stood out in his cheek. He was furious, Katie thought with a jolt of fear. Quickly, apologetically, she said, "Ramon, I should have realized that you might be a Catholic and that my having been married before in the church would make it impossible for you to marry me. I'm sorry I didn't think to tell you before."

"You are so 'sorry' that you now wish to go out dancing," he said with scathing sarcasm. Then, making a visible effort to control his fury he asked tautly, "What time shall I come for you?"

Katie glanced at the afternoon sun. "In about four hours, at eight o'clock."

Katie chose a silky halter dress in royal blue that was the exact shade of her eyes and was striking against the contrast of red highlights in her hair. In the mirror, she scrutinized the slight amount of cleavage showing between her breasts to be certain Ramon wouldn't think the dress was too revealing. If this was going to be their last night together, she didn't want to spoil it with another argument about her clothing. She put gold hoops in her ears, a wide gold bracelet high on her arm, and stepped into dainty sandals that were the same blue as her dress. Giving her hair a quick toss to send it spilling back down her shoulders, she went into the living room to wait for Ramon.

Their last evening together… Katie's spirits drooped alarmingly. She went into the kitchen and poured a tiny bit of brandy into a glass, then sat down on the corduroy sofa at a quarter to eight, slowly sipping the brandy and watching the clock on the opposite wall. When the doorbell rang at exactly eight, she jumped nervously, put her empty glass aside, and went to answer it.

Nothing in their brief acquaintance had prepared Katie for the Ramon Galverra who was standing there when she opened the door.

He looked breathtakingly elegant in a dark blue suit and vest that fit him to perfection and contrast­ed beautifully with his snowy-white shirt and con­servative striped tie. "You look fantastic," Katie said with a beaming smile of admiration. "You look like the president of a bank," she added, stepping back to better admire his tall athletic frame.

Ramon's expression was sardonic. "As it hap­pens, I do not like bankers. For the most part they are unimaginative men eager to reap the profit from risks, yet unwilling to take any risks themselves."

"Oh," Katie said, somewhat abashed. "Well, they're terrific dressers, anyway."

"How do you know?" Ramon replied. "Were you also married to a banker who you have forgotten ten to mention?"

Katie's hand froze as she reached for the silky printed shawl that coordinated with her dress. "No, of course not."

They went down to one of the riverboats and listened to Dixieland jazz, then back to Lacledes Landing where they stopped in three more places for jazz and blues music. As the evening wore on Ra­mon became increasingly cool and unapproachable, and the more aloof he became the more Katie drank and tried to be amusing.

By the time they had driven to a popular place out near the airport, Katie was slightly flushed, very ner­vous, and thoroughly miserable.

The place she had chosen was surprisingly crowd­ed for a Tuesday night, but they were lucky enough to get a table beside the dance floor. There, how­ever, Katie's luck ended. Ramon flatly refused to dance with her, and Katie did not know how much longer she could endure the glacial reserve that bare­ly concealed his contempt. His hard eyes examined her with a detached, cynical interest that made Katie mentally squirm.

She looked around, more to avoid Ramon's cold eyes than because she was interested in her sur­roundings, and her gaze collided with a handsome man sitting at the bar watching her. He raised his brows, mouthed the word "Dance?" and Katie, in sheer desperation nodded her head.

He approached the table, eyed Ramon's obvious height and lithe build with a certain wariness, and politely asked Katie to dance.

"Do you mind?" Katie asked Ramon, eager to get away.

"Not in the least," he replied with a disinterested shrug.

Katie loved to dance; she had a natural grace and a way of moving that was very eye-catching. Her partner, it became obvious, not only loved to dance, he was a positive exhibitionist about it. The colored lights flashed overhead, the music pulsed, and Katie moved with it, giving herself to the rhythm. "Hey, you're good," her partner said, forcing her with his own movements to do a much flashier kind of danc­ing than she preferred to do.

"You're showing off," Katie told him as the crowd on the dance floor began to move back and give them more room, then stopped dancing alto­gether. At the end of the disco number there was a loud round of encouraging, insistent applause from dancers and nondancers alike.

"They want us to dance some more," her partner said, tightening his hold on her arm when Katie would have started back toward the table. Simul­taneously, another disco number started reverberat­ing through the packed room, and Katie had no choice but to give in gracefully to what she privately felt was exhibitionism. As she danced, she stole a glance at Ramon, then quickly jerked her eyes away. He had angled his chair toward the dance floor, shoved his hands into his pockets, and was watching her with the dispassionate interest of a jaded con­quistador observing a paid dancing girl.

As the music wound to a close there was a gratify­ing thunder of applause. Her partner tried to get her to stay with him for another dance, but this time Katie firmly refused.

She sat down at the table opposite Ramon and sipped from her drink, growing increasingly an­noyed with the way they were behaving to each other. "Well?" she asked with a twinge of hostility, when he made no comment about her dancing.

One black brow rose sardonically. "Not bad."

Katie could have hit him. Another song began, this one slow and romantic. She looked around, saw two more would-be partners bearing down on their table and stiffened. Ramon, following her gaze, saw them and reluctantly s

tood up. Wordlessly he put his hand under Katie's elbow and led her onto the dance floor. The love song, combined with the piercing sweet­ness of being in Ramon's arms again, was Katie's undoing. Moving close to him, she laid her cheek against the dark blue cloth of his suit coat. She wished his arms would tighten, that he would gather her against him and brush his lips against her temple as he had the last time they danced out by the pool. She wished... a lot of hazy, impossible things.

She was still wishing when they got back to her apartment. He walked her to the door and Katie practically had to beg him to come in for a nightcap. As soon as he had downed the brandy he stood up and without saying anything, simply started for the door. "Ramon, please don't leave. Not like this," Katie pleaded.

He turned and looked at her, his face expression­less.

Katie started toward him, then stopped a few feet away, shaken by a surge of heartbreaking sadness and longing. "I don't want you to go," she heard herself say, and then her arms were around his neck as she pressed herself against his unyielding body, kissing him desperately. His lips were cool and unre­sponsive, his arms remained motionless at his sides.

Humiliated and hurt, Katie stepped back and raised blue eyes shimmering with tears to his. "Don't you even want to kiss me goodbye?" she asked with a catch in her voice.

His whole body seemed to stiffen into a taut, rigid pose of rejection, and then he jerked her into his arms. "Damn you!" he hissed furiously as his mouth came down hard, taking hers with a deliber­ate ruthless expertise that immediately had Katie clinging to him, responding wildly with helpless desire. His hands fondled her thoroughly, roughly molding her body to his. And then he abruptly pushed her away.

Trembling and breathless, Katie looked up at him, then backed away in alarm from the murder­ous rage blazing in his eyes.

"Is that the only thing you want from me, Katie?" he snapped.

"No!" Katie quickly denied. "I .mean, I don't want anything. I—I just knew that you didn't have a very good time tonight and so—"