The Night Remembers (7 page)

Daphne opened her eyes and gazed up at him. His eyes were blazing, a bright, burning, scorching blue. It was like looking into a raging inferno of long-suppressed desire. And, as she always had when faced with the fire in his eyes, Daphne melted.

"Yes," she said, answering his unspoken question. Her voice was little more than a sensuous purr.

Adam stopped dancing, oblivious to the couples who still swirled around them. "When?"

"Now." Daphne's eyes closed again and her head fell forward onto his chest. "Please."

Adam bent his head, touching his mouth, almost reverently, to the exposed curve of her shoulder. Then, clutching her hand in his, he led her from the ballroom.

Chapter 4

They were still holding hands when they stepped off the elevator on Daphne's floor. Their palms were pressed tightly, hotly together, their fingers intertwined like two frightened, lovesick teenagers who have finally, irrevocably decided to do something about their feelings for each other.

Only I wasn't this scared the first time,
Daphne thought, taking two steps to every one of Adam's as they hurried down the long narrow corridor
.
I wasn't this excited. And, oh God, I wasn't nearly this hungry.

"Your key card?" Adam said tersely as they came to an abrupt halt in front of the door to her hotel room.

"It's in your pocket," she answered, equally terse, her eyes focused on the curved brass numbers that adorned the door. She was afraid to look up at Adam, afraid to allow herself even one more glance into those burning blue eyes of his before they got into the privacy of her room. She was afraid that, if she did, she'd make a complete fool of herself by melting into a molten little heap of whimpering need right there on the pale gold carpet of the hallway.

Adam, apparently, was no better off. "Your key card?" he repeated, as if he hadn't heard her. His voice was low, strained.

"It's in your pocket. You put my purse in..." Daphne began a trifle impatiently, glancing up as she spoke. The words caught in her throat.
I was right not to look at him,
she thought, unable to tear her eyes away now that she had.

Adam's expression was slightly dazed, his firm lips full and softer looking than they had been just a minute ago. He was staring at her mouth as if he could barely restrain himself from kissing her senseless.

Daphne's stomach began to quiver, the sensation rapidly moving outward and lower, causing little waves of need to radiate in all directions until even her knees were shaking. "You put my purse in your pocket," she repeated, barely managing to get the words out. "And the key... the key..." she faltered, licking suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue.

Adam gave a muffled groan and his hands came up to grip her shoulders. He lowered his head, blindly seeking her mouth with his.

"My purse, Adam," she whispered hoarsely, stopping him with a hand against his chest. "The key card is in my purse."

Adam groaned again, in protest this time, but he let her go and reached into his pocket, retrieving the tiny mesh bag. "Hurry," he pleaded, pressing it into her hand.

Silently, her fingers trembling, Daphne took it from him, extracted the key card, and unlocked the door. The room was in shadows, illuminated only by the narrow wedge of light peeking around the edge of the bathroom door. Before Daphne could even begin to grope along the wall for a light switch, Adam pushed her inside, slammed the door with a ferocious bang, and hauled her into his arms.

"Oh, God, Daphne," she heard him say, just before his mouth found hers in the darkness, claiming it with a savage hunger. Her purse fell to the floor as she flung her arms around his neck. She stretched on tiptoe, her mouth answering his, her arms clinging to him like a drowning woman clutching a life preserver.

The thrust of his tongue was almost manic, seeking, searching, as their mouths twisted and turned upon each other. Her fingers threaded through the soft golden strands of his hair, holding his head as if she were afraid he might somehow disappear into thin air. But disappearing was the farthest thing from Adam's mind.

His hands roamed her back while he kissed her, kneading the curves of her spine and shoulders, sizzling over apricot silk as he sought a way to the warm soft skin beneath the dress.

Daphne, too, began seeking bare flesh. Her hands dropped to his neck, whispering over the skin of his nape, and slid under the collar of his evening jacket. With her mouth still sealed tightly to his, she managed to ease the jacket off his shoulders, momentarily forcing him to release his hold on her as she pushed the tuxedo jacket down his arms. It dropped, unheeded, to the carpeted floor.

Her arms circled his waist then, as his went around her, and her hands tugged impatiently at the fabric of his shirt until it came free of his slacks. With a muffled cry, she pressed her palms flat against the smooth bare skin of his lower back, pulling him even more tightly to her.

Obligingly, Adam arched, thrusting his hips forward as he instinctively sought the soft cradle of her thighs. But their heights were too disparate, despite her high-heels, for either of them to feel the pressure where they most wanted it. Adam bent his knee, insinuating it between her parted thighs, and slid his hands down to cup her buttocks, lifting her into his aroused body.

Daphne whimpered softly, deep in her throat, and began to move against him. Her hands flexed rhythmically against the bare flesh of his back, her thighs tight against the welcome intrusion of his.

Adam's tongue thrust deeper into her open mouth, blatantly imitating the more subtle movements of his hips. His hands feathered over her pliant body, frantic now as he looked for a way to get her out of the dress without letting her go. He managed to loosen the belt enough so that it slid to the floor, but that was as far as he could go. His skillful, seeking fingers found neither buttons nor zipper.

He lifted his head, breathing in great, ragged gulps of air. "Wait," he gasped, trying to stop Daphne's hands as she fumbled with the fastening of his cummerbund.

But Daphne didn't seem to hear him. Her fingers continued to struggle under his and the pleated cummerbund fell away. He caught her hands in his as she reached for the zipper of his slacks.

"Daffy, wait," he ordered gruffly, fighting the urge to simply tear the dress from her body.

Daphne stilled, the urgency of his command getting through to her. She tilted her head back to look up at him. She was breathing deeply, a bit raggedly, her breasts resting against his heaving chest. She blinked, trying to focus. "Why?"

"Because I don't know how to get this damn dress off you without tearing it, that's why."

"Damn dress?" She straightened away from him a little and peered down at herself in the darkness, past the two pairs of hands that were still pressed firmly against the waistband of his slacks. "It's a very nice dress," she said inanely, a faint hint of indignation in her tone.

"Very nice," he agreed, sudden reluctant laughter rumbling deep in his chest. "Except that there aren't any buttons or zippers on it. How do I get it off you?"

In answer, Daphne withdrew her hands from under his and, in two quick movements, unfastened the small crystal buttons on either wrist. Then, crossing her arms in front of her body, she grasped the elastic waistline, pulled the dress up over her head and dropped eight-hundred dollars worth of pure silk inside out on the carpeted floor.

"There," she said matter-of-factly. "It's off." She stood before him wearing only a pair of expensive high-heeled shoes, sheer French-cut panty hose, and a strapless bra the color of heavily creamed coffee. Her breasts rose softly above the satin bra, their upper slopes lightly sprinkled with pale golden-brown freckles that seemed to dance and shimmer with each quick breath she drew.

Adam gulped audibly, his sudden laughter stilled as quickly as it had come, and reached for her again.

But Daphne stepped back, shaking her head, her crystal earrings brushing softly against her neck with the movement. At the same time she reached out, grasping the end of his bow tie with trembling fingers, and tugged it loose. It came undone easily and she drew it out from under the collar of his shirt, tossing it to the floor with one hand, reaching for the topmost button on his shirt with the other.

Adam put his hands on her waist then, over the lace band of her panty hose, as if to steady her. His long hard fingers curved around to the small of her back. His thumbs rested against her hipbones, rotating slowly.

Daphne gasped softly but continued with her task. Head bent, intent on what she was doing, she unbuttoned the first button... the second... the third, her fingers becoming a bit more frantic and hurried as each one revealed a bit more of Adam's hard golden chest. At last it was done and she slipped her hands under the shirt, laying her palms ever so gently over the hard curve of his chest.

Adam sucked in his breath, going very still beneath her caressing hands, but she could feel his heart slamming into her palm. Twice as hard, twice as fast as it had been downstairs in the ballroom.

So soft,
she thought.
So warm. So exactly as her hands remembered him.
She had always loved touching him.

She straightened her fingers, threading them up through the tangle of silky hair on his chest and then down again, until she could feel one hard male nipple against the center of each sensitive palm. She sighed deeply, raggedly, eyes closed as she savored the feel of the man she had thought she would never, ever touch again.

Adam's hands slid up her back as she stood there with her hands on his chest, and deftly released the clasp of her bra. Daphne's eyes fluttered open, bright as liquid gold as she stared up into the blue furnace of his. She lifted her arms from her sides, letting the bra fall away from her body. Her breasts were full and firm and aching, the nipples pale cocoa-brown and hard as little pebbles, puckered tightly with desire. She moved forward until her breasts were touching his chest, until the little golden whorls of hair were tickling her sensitive skin.

So exactly as she remembered him,
she thought, stifling the excited little moan that rose to her lips.

Adam wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him, his mouth taking hers in a quick hard kiss that seemed designed to brand her lips with his passion and possession. Then he lifted her off her feet and carried her across the gold carpet to the bed.

Daphne retained just enough presence of mind to kick her heels off along the way. They hit the carpeted floor with soft little thumps that neither of them noticed. Then Adam laid her gently on the turned-down bed and straightened up to remove the rest of his clothes. Lying there, watching him peel down to bare skin, Daphne ceased to have any mind at all.

How many nights had she watched him undress? How many times had she lain on a bed, hot and aching and needy as she waited for him to touch her? To come down onto the bed and cover her with his hard, golden body? To make love to her?

She remembered all of those nights. Everyone. And she remembered all the long, lonely nights without him.

Suddenly unable to wait any longer for this night to begin she sat up on the bed, intending to shimmy out of her panty hose. Adam stopped her with a hand on her chest, pressing her back onto the cool white sheets. Then, gloriously naked, he hooked trembling hands in the waistband of her one remaining garment, drawing them past her hips and down her legs. Standing there beside the bed, her panty hose dangling inside out from one hand, he gazed down at her.

His heated gaze traveled slowly up over her body, making a visual feast of her ankles and calves and smooth creamy thighs, leaving ripples of sensation fluttering across the softly rounded belly, and the full, taut breasts that rose and fell with each quick breath.

Daphne, lying so still under his heated gaze, was making a survey of her own. Her eyes, gleaming golden in the dim room, traveled greedily over his body, taking inventory, remembering.

His legs and arms were still corded with the long, lean muscles of a regular runner, still dusted with that sprinkling of soft blond hair that gave him the look of a gilded
David.
His shoulders were still those of a football player. His chest was still deep and broad, the flat male nipples looking like tiny bronze disks nestled among the silky chest hairs. Avidly, starved for the sight of him, her gaze followed the narrowing arrow of chest hair down the flat-muscled wall of his stomach to where it widened around the base of his penis. He was full and hard and straining eagerly toward her.