The Night Remembers (5 page)

"But, Daphne." Surprised by her employer's highly unusual behavior, Elaine couldn't even form a proper protest.

Usually, it was Daphne who saw to all the details at the end of the show, making sure that all the clothes and shoes and accessories that had been used were accounted for. And usually, it was Daphne who saw to it that each model, especially the volunteers, had been personally complimented and thanked for her part in the fashion show. Usually, Daphne was the last one to leave. But not tonight.

"Make sure the jewelry is put in the hotel safe," she instructed Elaine. "And get an itemized receipt for it from the hotel manager," she added over her shoulder as she headed for the exit.

"But Daphne," Elaine said again, too late. Daphne was already gone. Elaine looked at the two models who still stood near her, shrugging her shoulders when Kali raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Ex-husband," Suzie said succinctly, as if that explained everything.

Chapter 3

As much as she had surprised Elaine with her behavior, Daphne had surprised herself even more. Walking out, with all the final chores of a fashion show still unattended to, was as unlike her as standing on her head in the middle of Times Square.

It was one thing, she realized, to know you were still in love with your ex-husband with eleven years and three thousand miles between you. It was quite another to be suddenly confronted with the living, breathing, breathtaking reality of the man, especially when you weren't prepared for it. It tended to put things in a whole different perspective.

Daphne stood in front of the bathroom mirror in her hotel room, lipstick pencil in hand, trying to figure out just what that perspective was—and failing miserably. She could only seem to think of one thing.

I'm as hot for you right now as I was that first time you ran over me with your bicycle
. Had Adam really said that? And had he meant it?

"Oh, God, I hope so," Daphne said out loud, surprising herself with the fervent sound of her voice. A rueful, self-mocking smile twisted her lips as she met her eyes in the mirror. "Fool," she said to her reflection. "You're an idiot to even
think
of going to bed with him. The man divorced you, remember?"

She remembered—vividly. She would never forget it as long as she lived, but it didn't seem to make any difference. She had only to look at Adam and all the old feelings rushed back, making her body heat and flush. One kiss and she was suddenly remembering all those nights—those wonderful nights!—they'd spent not sleeping because they couldn't get enough of each other. Despite everything he'd done and everything he hadn't done, she wanted him. She always had and always would.

"Fool," she said again but the word lacked conviction. She could still feel his lips on hers. They tasted exactly as she remembered.

Hot.

Sweet.

Passionate.

Possessive.

She closed her eyes as the memories assailed her. The last—the final—time Adam had kissed her, had touched her, had made love to her, was as clear in her mind as if it had been yesterday instead of eleven years ago. It had been the night before she was to leave for New York and Adam's lovemaking had been tinged with a barely controlled anger because he didn't want her to go.

"You can design clothes right here in San Francisco," he'd argued. "You
are
designing clothes here. Why do you have to run off to New York?"

She'd tried to explain it to him. A big-name department store had expressed an interest in her designs and she was flying to New York to pursue the matter. She'd only be gone for a month or two at the most. Why couldn't he understand? Her career was as important to her as his was to him, despite the fact that she only cut and sewed on fabric instead of human bodies.

"Think of the money this could mean," she said finally, knowing that it might be the one thing that could reconcile Adam to her going. The money didn't really mean much to her, but Adam hated being poor. He'd been poor all his life and it kept him from doing the things he wanted to do for his family, and for her. "I could make a lot of money, if they really like my designs. We could move out of this dinky apartment. You could quit driving that taxi and give all your time to your studies."

But, surprisingly, Adam wasn't swayed. In fact, the mention of money only seemed to make him more set against her going. The argument had come to an abrupt halt when he had become impatient, and thus inarticulate, with the angry words they were flinging at each other. With a strangled oath, he had grabbed her, kissing her into silence, covering her body with his as they sank to the floor of their tiny studio apartment.

Their arguments always ended that way. In bed or on the floor or against the wall, with Daphne whimpering and writhing beneath the heated thrust of his golden body, willing to forget her side of the argument and give in. But this time it was too important to her and she
couldn
't—wouldn't—give in to the magic of his gentle, skillful hands and avid, hungry mouth.

Despite the long night of loving, the next morning she had been on that plane for New York. Her ticket, paid for by the department store, was round-trip but the return date had been left open. She had never used it because, one month later, Adam had filed for divorce.

Daphne opened her eyes and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, feeling a sudden surge of the same anger, the same hurt that she had felt then. The lip pencil she held poised halfway to her mouth fell from her hand and her fingers clutched the edge of the basin, the neat coral nails vivid against the white porcelain, as all the painful memories rushed back.

The bastard had divorced her! Just like that. Without a phone call, without a letter, he'd handled it all through a lawyer. In typical tight-lipped silence, Adam had ended their marriage without so much as another word between them. And Daphne, incredulous and hurt but as stubborn as he, had let him.

And now he has the gall to think that I'm going to fall into bed with him, as if nothing had happened.

He had acted almost as if he wasn't aware of the eleven years that had passed since the last time they'd seen each other. Did he really think she was going to let him take her to bed? Just like that? After the way he had broken her heart and shattered her life? After no word, not even a lousy Christmas card, in eleven years? After...

Obviously, he did think that. Because she had let him think it. Because, she admitted, forcing herself to be honest,
she
had thought it, too. For one crazy, completely insane minute she had actually contemplated having sex with her ex-husband.

And was still contemplating it.

Sighing, she picked up her lip pencil from the far corner of the bathroom counter where it had rolled when she dropped it. With careful strokes she finished outlining her mouth, filling in the color with a matching coral lipstick. Then, quite unnecessarily, she touched up her eye makeup, tilting her head consideringly when she was finished

The woman who stared back at her was chic, elegant and sophisticated—light years removed from the long-haired, jean-clad girl she had been. At least on the outside. Inside, though... inside she was the same lovesick idiot she'd always been where Adam was concerned.

"If you had any sense at all," she said to her reflection, "you'd lock yourself in this room and forget you ever saw him tonight."

Obviously, though, she didn't have any sense. With another resigned sigh, Daphne scooped her tiny gold mesh evening off the bed and left the room.

She had no trouble spotting Adam as she stepped off the elevator. His bright golden hair shone like a beacon under the crystal chandeliers in the lobby.
My Greek god,
she thought, her heart full of tenderness as her eyes swept over him. Then she grinned. Impatient Greek god, she amended.

Adam stood by one of the rounded Doric columns near the hotel's impressive front desk, head bent as he studied the swirling pattern of the muted red and gold carpet. His stance was aggressive and his hands were again stuffed into the front pockets of his slacks, causing the material to stretch tautly over his firm backside. The set of his shoulders was rigid. She had seen him stand just exactly that way more times that she could remember, waiting for her. Punctuality had not been one of her virtues in the old days.

"Adam?" Daphne touched his shoulder as she came up behind him.

He whirled around as if she had poked him with a cattle prod, and Daphne took a quick half step backward to avoid being knocked over by the abruptness of his movement.

"Daphne," he began in the half-lecturing voice that she knew so well. He glanced at his watch as he spoke, and a quick frown creased his forehead. "You're on time," he said disbelievingly.

"Well, don't look so amazed." Daphne's husky voice was gently teasing. "It's not polite."

"Oh, it's not that," he denied quickly.

Daphne's arched eyebrows rose and her mouth quirked up at one corner.

"Okay, you're right. I'm amazed. Flabbergasted, actually." His admission came with a quick, engaging grin and he took her hand as he spoke, tucking it into the crook of his elbow as he turned her in the direction of the ballroom. Daphne's fingers curled automatically around the hard curve of his bicep. "It's just that I'd already resigned myself to the usual interminable wait."

"Interminable? Now really, Adam. Don't exaggerate. You never had to wait
that
long for me."

It was Adam's turn to lift a disbelieving eyebrow, his blond head cocked to one side as he smiled down at her.

"Well, okay, maybe once or twice," she admitted. "But that's all," she added as they neared the entrance to the ballroom.

As if by mutual consent, they paused just short of the open double doors and surveyed the scene before them. The dance floor was full to overflowing, music and laughter spilling across the threshold as smiling couples dipped and swayed to the Big Band sound of the orchestra. A huge mirrored ball twirled lazily overhead, sprinkling random rainbows of light over the revelers, while white-coated waiters worked the fringes of the floor, serving those who preferred to sit at the tiny white-draped tables instead of dance. It was a colorful, inviting scene but neither of them made a move to join in.

"Yoo-hoo, Adam! Oh, A-a-a-dam," Sunny McCorkle called out as she danced past the door in the arms of her husband, Brian. One hand fluttered in the direction of the tables. "We're sitting over—" She broke off when she caught sight of Daphne. For just a second, she looked as guilty as a kid who'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, and then her face split with a self-satisfied, ear-to-ear grin. "Come join us after this dance," she said, giving them a thumbs-up sign before disappearing into the crowd again.

"I'm beginning to smell a rat," Adam said softly.

"Only just beginning?" Daphne glanced up at him through her thick lashes. "I smelled one hours ago."

"Well, I don't think this particular rat should be allowed to get away with her little scheme, do you?"

"I think she already has," Daphne pointed out, a slight nod of her head indicating his hand covering hers where it lay on his arm.

"Well, then, she shouldn't be allowed to gloat over her success."

Daphne smiled. "What do you suggest we do to prevent that?"

Adam considered that for a moment. "Didn't someone mention a quiet drink somewhere?
Away
from all this noise and confusion?"

"Yes, I think someone did." Daphne glanced at the dance floor again and then back up at him. "It
is
awfully crowded in there, isn't it?"

"Hmm," Adam agreed as he steered her away from the door. "Be like trying to dance in a sardine can."

Together, they turned, and, still arm in arm, crossed the wide lobby and entered a dimly lit cocktail lounge on the other side.

Adam guided Daphne to one of the tiny tables in the farthest corner of the room, silently signaling to the cocktail waitress who stood at one end of the bar. "I'll have a Chivas on the rocks," he said when she hurried over to take their order. "Daphne? Do you still drink rum and coke?"

Daphne shook her head, her long crystal earrings sparkling in the candlelight as she did so. "I'll have a martini, please. Vodka. Two olives."