The Night Remembers (8 page)

Her eyes skittered back to his face and found his eyes waiting for her. They stared at each other, glittering golden eyes burning into blazing blue ones, for a full thirty seconds without saying a word.

"You haven't changed a bit," he said finally, his deep voice betraying none of the trembling that had taken control of his body. "You're still so damned beautiful."

"So are you." Daphne bent her knees, pressing her heels into the matress, opening her body to his. "Come to me," she whispered huskily, lifting her arms to embrace him as he put his knee on the mattress and lowered his body to hers.

His narrow hips settled between her thighs as if it had only been one night and not eleven long years since the last time. His arms slid under her plaint body as hers twined tightly round his neck. He thrust forward, sliding unerringly into her waiting, willing heat and moistness. Daphne's body arched convulsively and they both moaned in wordless satisfaction. For mere seconds only, the space a heartbeat, they pressed tightly together, eyes closed, savoring the sweetness and heat of their union. And then Adam slid his hands up her back to her nape, cradling her head in his big, gentle hands as he lifted her chin with his thumbs.

"Daphne," he said. "Look at me."

Daphne opened her eyes. "Yes," she said. "Now. Please."

And Adam began to move, pressing his hips down and forward in the slow, heavy, measured rhythm she remembered far too well. It was a rhythm meant to drive her to the edge of delirium and keep her there, balanced on the brink of satisfaction for as long as possible. Unwilling, unable, to wait, Daphne wrapped her legs around his waist and thrust her hips upward, frantic for completion.

"Daphne." His voice was ragged, breathless. "Oh, God, baby, slow down. I..." He shifted his hands to her hips, pressing down, trying to hold her still. "I'll be too fast for you if you don't slow down."

"No." She panted the words into his neck. "No, you won't." He had never been too fast for her. Never. She had always been as wild for him as he was for her. She was on fire now, her passion fueled by eleven long years of being without him. She pressed her nails into the hard curve of his buttocks. "Adam,
please,
"
she urged frantically. "Please."

Adam slipped his hands under her hips, fitting her body even more closely to his, and matched his thrusts to hers. They moved frantically, wildly, flesh pounding into willing flesh, until finally, inevitably, Daphne's body stiffened like an overstrung bow beneath him. She let loose a low ragged moan of ecstatic pleasure that was echoed a moment later by a deep groan from Adam.

They collapsed into each other, boneless, replete, and utterly drained. It took several long minutes for their breathing to slow to rhythms that even approached normal and several more after that before Adam reluctantly raised his head from the warm, sweet space between her neck and shoulder. He stared down into her eyes for a brief second and the look that passed between them was somehow hesitant, almost shy, as if neither of them knew quite what to say now that the wild storm of passion had passed.

Well
, Daphne thought,
what do you say to an ex-husband when you find yourself in bed with him after a separation of eleven years?

Before she could come up with a suitable answer, Adam pushed himself up to his hands, lifting himself from her body, and rolled over onto his back. He lay beside her, silent and still, not touching, as if waiting for her to speak first.

Daphne shivered, feeling suddenly cold and almost—almost, but not quite—ashamed of her display of unleashed passion for a man she hadn't seen or spoken to in eleven years. She had fallen into bed with Adam tonight because, despite everything, she loved him. And she believed, wholeheartedly, that love was nothing to be ashamed of.

But why had Adam fallen into bed with her?

His motives hadn't seemed important
before
the act. Only her need had been important then. But now,
after
that fierce terrible need had been assuaged and she was lying there beside him feeling absurdly lost and alone, knowing his motives seemed like the most important thing in the world.

She dismissed love—his love—as a contributing factor. She was wise enough to know that it wasn't love that had driven Adam to her bed tonight. He had, after all, been the one to file for divorce all those years ago. Lust, then, she decided. Adam had always been a very physical man, and she'd always been able to arouse him with little more than a look. Lust and, as a recent article in
Cosmopolitan
had suggested, propinquity, nostalgia and a certain morbid curiosity about what it would be like to have sex with an ex-spouse. On her part, as well as his, she acknowledged, forcing herself to face the plain unvarnished truth.

Because she
had
wondered, especially during the calm placid years with Miles, if the explosive passion Adam had kindled in her was only a memory that had been exaggerated by time and distance. Well, she didn't have to wonder anymore. No mere memory could make her feel the way Adam had tonight.

Daphne turned her head and found him staring at her in the darkness. His eyes seemed to reflect every bit of the confusion she felt, but in the dim light, she couldn't be sure. His hand moved between them on the bed, his little finger curling around hers.

"Daphne, I—" he began.

His words were cut off by a series of sharp staccato beeps. They both jumped as if a whip had been cracked over their nude bodies. Adam jackknifed to his feet. "Damn beeper." He took three long steps across the room and scooped his tuxedo jacket up off the floor. Hurriedly, he rummaged through the pockets, found the small rectangular box and shut it off.

"I'm sorry." He gestured at the beeper in his hand, his expression registering something that looked suspiciously like relief. Daphne recognized it because she felt it, too. He had been about to say something about the situation they were in, about to utter some banal commonplace to explain away their mutual passion or, worse, offer an apology. Daphne didn't want to hear it, and she was glad the beeper had stopped him from saying it.

"Probably the hospital," he said then, crossing the room to sit down on the edge of the rumpled bed with his back to her. He switched on the squat bedside lamp and reached for the phone. "I have to call my service," he mumbled, glancing over his shoulder at her as he dialed.

Daphne nodded and scurried under the covers when he turned back to answer the voice on the other end of the line. She sat with her knees pulled to her chest, the blankets held under her chin with both hands, and listened to his side of the phone conversation.

"Umm-hmm. When?" he said into the phone. His voice was cool, professional. The unflappable Dr. Forrest, Daphne thought wryly. She wondered what the person on the other end of the telephone would say if they could see him sitting there naked, feeling around on the floor for his clothes.

"How long has she been complaining of the pain?" He found his briefs and, phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, used both hands to pull them on. "Umm-hmm. No, I realize she can be difficult to deal with, and I left specific instructions to call me if—No, it's all right, really, you didn't interrupt anything important." He maneuvered his slacks over his feet and up to his thighs. "Yes, fine. Fifteen minutes." He dropped the receiver into the cradle and stood, zipping up his slacks as he did so.

"That was the hospital," he said unnecessarily, looking around for his shirt. He found it lying half under the bedside table. He picked it up, shoved his arms into the sleeves and began fastening the buttons. "One of my patients is experiencing some unusual pain after an abdominal tuck. I don't think it's anything really serious, but I don't want to take any chances." He sat down again to put on his shoes and socks. "I hope you understand."

"Yes, of course. I understand," she said, understanding only that he couldn't get out of the room fast enough.

Dressed now, his cummerbund and bow tie stuffed into a jacket pocket, Adam leaned across the width of the bed and touched Daphne's shoulder through the blankets. She forced herself not to jerk away from him. "I'm sorry about this, Daffy. About leaving you like this right after..." He hesitated slightly, not knowing what to say.

Daphne stopped him before he could go any further. "It's okay," she said woodenly, still hearing those words he had said to the nurse, or whoever it was on the other end of the phone.
You didn't interrupt anything important.
"I really do understand. Duty calls."

Adam straightened, his expression disconcerted and doubtful, but Daphne wasn't looking at him. She was studying the polish on her left thumbnail.

"Maybe we could get together for lunch tomorrow," he suggested.

Rather halfheartedly, Daphne thought. It was obvious the invitation sprung from his innate sense of obligation. She didn't want any part of any mercy lunch.
You didn't interrupt anything important.

"I don't think so," she said, without looking at him.

"But—"

"No, really, I can't." She lifted her head, forcing herself to smile at him. "I have to catch an early plane home tomorrow." She slid from the bed, wrapping the bedspread around her as she rose. "So it's really kind of fortunate that call came when it did." She rounded the end of the bed and headed for the door of her room, the green and gold spread trailing behind her like a train. "I need to get up really early tomorrow." She gave him what she hoped was a casual look as she reached for the doorknob. "And I'm a real grouch when I don't get enough sleep. Remember?" She pulled open the door, shielding her half-clad body behind it. "Well, it's been lovely seeing you again, Adam," she went on, tacitly inviting him to leave. "We must do it again sometime."

Adam hesitated for a moment, irresolute, unsure how to respond. Something flickered in his eyes for a moment, and then he shrugged and forced a smile. Tossing his tuxedo jacket over his shoulder, he strolled toward Daphne. He stopped at the open door and lifted her chin with his free hand. Daphne clutched the bedspread tighter.

"Give me a call next time you're in town and we will," he suggested, dropping a quick, careless kiss on her astonished mouth before he left.

Chapter 5

"Daphne, telephone!" Elaine shouted to make herself heard across the length of the busy workroom. "Line two," she added, carelessly dropping the receiver back onto the cradle of the phone as she punched the hold button.

Daphne looked up from her drawing board, her stomach clenching in anticipation. "Who is it?"

"Clare." Elaine made a face as she got up from her desk. "From the Dragon Lady Boutique.
Again.
"

Daphne's stomach unclenched. She placed the violet pencil she had been using in the shallow trough at the bottom of her slanted drawing table. Pushing up the sleeves of her silk knit sweater with a resigned gesture, she reached for the wall phone that hung to the left of her cluttered work space.

"She says we positively, absolutely did not include the beaded belts with that last shipment of dresses," Elaine began to explain before Daphne had a chance to lift the receiver. "I
told
her they were packed separately so as not to snag the dresses, but does she listen to me? No-o-o, of course not. She wants to talk to you. I
told
her you were too busy but—"

Daphne shook her head at her assistant, silencing her tirade, and put the receiver to her ear. "Clare, how nice to hear from you," she said, lying through her teeth as she proceeded to verbally pour liberal amounts of oil—or something—over troubled waters.

Strictly speaking, this sort of thing was Elaine's job, Daphne thought with a flash of irritation as she listened to the complaining voice on the other end of the phone. Elaine was supposed to handle orders and back-orders, invoices and bills, shipments and slip-ups, and she had her own perky little nineteen-year-old intern to help her.

So why,
thought Daphne,
am I talking to the Dragon Lady? As if I don't have enough to do.

She was up to her ears in the final designs for next fall's collection, up to her ears in plans for an upcoming charity benefit, up to her ears in New York's slushy lionlike March weather, up to her ears period.

"Damn it, Elaine." She began chastising the young woman as soon as she hung up. "I can't be interrupted every ten minutes with a call that you could have handled perfectly well by yourself. What's the matter with you lat—" She stopped abruptly, suddenly realizing that every head in the room had snapped to attention at the sound of her voice.