The Night Remembers (17 page)

"Because you divorced him."

"Adam divorced me," Daphne said, her voice gone quite cold.

"After you deserted him."

Anger—and pain—flashed in Daphne's eyes for a moment. "You've got your facts slightly wrong," she informed Marcia coolly. "Desertion had noth—"

"You left him to go to New York," Marcia interrupted. "To be a
fashion designer
."
She injected the last two words with as much scorn as possible. "And you didn't come back."

Because I wasn't wanted back,
Daphne thought, but said nothing in her own defense. Let Marcia think what she liked. It seemed she would anyway, no matter what Daphne said. "I'm going into the kitchen for that cup of coffee." She paused in the doorway. "You're welcome to join me." She left the room without a backward glance.

The smell of fresh, too strong coffee permeated the small spotless kitchen. Daphne found a glazed earthenware mug in one of the cupboards and poured herself a full cup. Her hands shook.

Why would Marcia have such a warped view of what had happened? True, she had only been thirteen at the time of the divorce, and girls of that age tended to be overly emotional, especially in regards to a beloved older brother. But still, the only way she could have gotten everything so backward was if someone had told it to her that way. And that someone could have only been Adam. But why would Adam have made her out to be the heavy when
he
was the one who had filed for divorce?

A sharp rat-a-tat-tat interrupted her thoughts and Daphne jumped. She set the cup of unwanted coffee on the counter and hurried toward the front door. It opened before she got there and Adam, one arm cradling a sack of steaming food, hurried in out of the foggy night air.

"Great timing, huh?" he said, grinning as he pushed the door shut with his shoulder. "I intercepted the delivery boy at the door." He sniffed appreciatively. "Hmm, Chinese. My favorite." He entered the kitchen, dropping the sack on the counter, and turned to take Daphne into his arms. She avoided his embrace. His face clouded instantly, the happy grin gone. "Daffy, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she lied, motioning toward the hall with one hand. "Marcia's here."

"So?" He reached for her again. "I'll say hello to her in a minute." He lifted her chin with a forefinger. "Right now I want to say hello to you." He smiled down into her eyes. "Hello, Daffy," he said softly, placing a gentle kiss on her lips.

Daphne couldn't help it, she kissed him back. For a moment, seconds only, they were lost in the first sweet, tender touch of mouth on mouth. Then Adam's arms tightened, lifting her, and Daphne arched up to meet him.

"Hello, Adam," Marcia said from behind them, her voice disapproving.

Adam lifted his head, and self-consciously his arms dropped from around Daphne. Apparently, being caught with his arms around his ex-wife made him uncomfortable, she thought.

"Marcia. I didn't know you intended to come by tonight."

"Obviously." The words dripped sarcasm. She leaned against the doorjamb, arms folded across her chest. "What's she doing here?" She indicated Daphne with a contemptuous toss of her blond head.

Adam frowned a warning. "Daffy's my guest."

"Why?"

"I don't think I care for the tone of your voice, young lady."

"Oh, for crying out loud. Don't go all big brother on me, Adam," Marcia snapped.

"Then don't act like a spoiled brat."

"I'm sorry, Adam." She moved into the kitchen, completely ignoring Daphne, and put her hand on Adam's arm, her blue eyes wide as she gazed intently up into his face. "I'm worried about you."

"There's nothing for you to worry about," he said gently.

"There is, too. And you know it." She flashed a venomous look at Daphne. "She almost ruined your life once," Marcia said passionately. "And she'll do it again if you let her."

Adam's big hand came down on Marcia's, silencing her as he pressed it to his forearm. "You haven't got the faintest idea what you're talking about, Marcia," he said quietly. "You were only thirteen when Daffy and I got divorced. Hardly old enough to understand everything that was going on." He snorted. "Hell, I barely understood it myself."

"But, Adam—"

"No buts." Adam stopped her with a shake of his head. "I don't want to hear any more about it."

"But I'm worried about you."

"I know." He patted her hand and put her away from him. "But I'm a big boy now, quite capable of handling my own affairs."

"Is that why she's here?" Marcia spat, her eyes raking over Daphne's slender form as she pressed back against a counter for support. "For some tacky little affair?"

"That's enough." Adam's voice cracked through the room like a whip, all gentleness gone. "Not one more word," he said when she opened her mouth. "Not another word. In fact, I'd appreciate it if you'd go on home before you say anything else you're going to regret."

Marcia stood where she was, looking stubborn.

"Now,
Marcia."

With one last venomous look at Daphne, jaw clenched against the words Adam had forbidden her to say, Marcia fled. The door banged behind her, shaking some of the paintings on the living room wall.

The silence was deafening.

Chapter 9

"She's right, you know," Daphne said after a minute, her voice small and defeated. "I am here for a tacky little affair."

"That's not true," Adam said tightly.

"It is," she insisted, too miserable herself to be surprised at the vehemence of his denial. "I came to Sunny's party—I'm here now—with the express intent of having an affair with you. If that's not tacky, then I don't know what is." She flashed him a quick, guilty look. "Marcia was right."

"Marcia doesn't know what the hell she's talking about." He came across the kitchen in one long stride and grabbed her by the shoulders. "And, obviously, neither do you."

Daphne winced at the tone of his voice. "Are we going to fight now?" she said, head down as she stared at his sweatered chest.

"I don't know." He gave her a quizzical look, bending his knees a bit to peer into her face. "Will we end up in bed if we do?" he asked hopefully.

Daphne gave a resigned sigh. "Probably."

His hands slipped from her shoulders to her back, drawing her against his chest. "All right," he said agreeably. "Then let's fight. Who starts?"

"Oh, Adam." She gave a helpless little half laugh into his chest. "This is serious."

"Of course it is." He nuzzled the soft golden-brown curls at her temple. "Because I'm going to go crazy if I don't make love to you soon," he breathed against her ear. "Very soon."

"Oh, Adam," she said again, fighting the urge to melt into his arms as she wanted to. She brought her hands up between their bodies, intending to put some space between them. They rested against his chest instead. "Don't try to charm me, please," she pleaded. "It isn't fair."

"All's fair in love and war." His lips moved against the curve of her jaw as he spoke.

"And which is this?"

Adam's mouth went very still against her flesh. "I don't know," he said, lifting his head to look into her eyes. All playfulness was gone from his expression. "You tell me."

"I don't know, either," she wailed, pulling out of his arms. She turned her back on him, fooling with the untasted cup of coffee that sat cooling on the counter. "I thought it would be so, oh, I don't know—" her shoulders lifted under the bulky butterscotch sweater "—easy, I guess. I'd come out here. We'd have a torrid affair, get thoroughly sick of each other and then I could go back to New York and get on with my life but..."

"But?" Adam prompted, his voice whisper soft behind her. She could feel the tip of his finger touching her hair, lightly tracing the downward curve of her skull.

"But I find that I can't have an affair as easily as that. Not casually, with no expectations and no hopes for the future. Not with you."

His hand dropped. "Why not with me?"

"Because I was married to you, Adam. Because I loved you once, with all the... the passion of a young girl. And those old feelings keep getting tangled up with what I'm feeling now so that I don't really know
what
I'm feeling." She turned to face him, eyes wide and misted with unshed tears as she gazed up at him, seeking understanding. "Does that make any sense at all?"

"Yes, it does." He put his arms around her, as gently as if she were a child, one big hand cupping the back of her head, and laid his cheek against her hair. "Perfect sense."

Daphne sighed and let him hold her, accepting the comfort he offered. "I know the passion's still there," she said, her face hidden against his chest. "There's never been any doubt about that. You've always been able to arouse me without half trying," she admitted. "But I don't know if that's all it is. I mean, there
is
something else, something more, but I don't know if it's real or just a memory of what I used to feel." She shivered in his arms and he pulled her closer. "I want you, Adam, but I'm afraid."

"I know," he murmured. "So am I."

Daphne lifted her head, tilting it back against his hand to look up into his face. "You? Of what?"

"Of the same things you are, Daffy. Of you and what you can make me feel." His other hand came up to caress her cheek, tenderly brushing the soft strands of hair back from her face as he struggled to find the words to express what he needed to say. "You've always been able to arouse such... such
intense
emotions in me. Been able to stir me up so that half the time I didn't know if I was coming or going." He caught her eyes and held them. "The only thing I was always completely sure of was that I wanted you... and that you wanted me."

"But it isn't enough, is it?" she said miserably. "Not then and not now."

"Not then, no," Adam agreed. "But we were young and impatient and too stupid to realize a good thing when we had it. We didn't have enough experience to know that you had to work at making it even better. At making it last."

"And now?" Daphne whispered, her hands unconsciously curling into the fabric of his sweater as she waited for his answer.

"And now?" Adam sighed heavily. "Now, I don't know. It could be good again, I think. There's something special between us," he said slowly, carefully, his eyes touching each feature of her upturned face. "Something—" he struggled for a word "—rare, even. Something inside me, here—" he touched his chest "—that calls to something in you. But I don't know what's going to happen any more than you do. I don't know if it's enough. We'll just have to wait and see. In the meantime..." His voice trailed off as he brushed the pad of his thumb across the tender curve of her bottom lip.

"In the meantime?" Daphne prompted breathlessly, her lips pursed in an almost-kiss against his thumb.

"In the meantime, we get to know each other again."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning we spend more days like today, just being together. Meaning we have dinner here tonight. We relax. We talk. And, maybe, if it feels right, if we both want it, we make love. Just like any other healthy single adults who find themselves attracted to each other."

"And when I go back to New York?"

"I'll call you," he said simply. "Maybe you'll even call me." He smiled suddenly. "That is, if you're still a liberated woman?"

Daphne smiled back. "Always."

"Good." He bent his head then, lifting her mouth to his with the hand cupped at the back of her head, and kissed her softly, with exquisite gentleness. "Now, are you ready for the first step?"

"Hmm." Daphne murmured dreamily, wanting the kiss to go on forever.

"Dinner?" he reminded her, his mouth against hers.

"Uh-huh, whenever you are."

He kissed her once more, quickly, as if he were afraid a more lengthy caress would be unwise, and put her away from him. He turned to the bag on the counter and opened it. "Plates are in that cupboard," he said gruffly, gesturing over his shoulder as he pulled several cartons out of the bag. "Silver in the top drawer by the stove." He stooped, pulling a large tray out of a lower cupboard. "Put them on this," he instructed. "We'll eat in the living room in front of the fire."