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."

"Do you want coffee?"

He picked up the cup on the counter, tasting it. "Not this stuff," he said, grimacing at her as he put it down. "Tastes strong enough to remove paint. How 'bout some wine instead?"

"Lovely," Daphne agreed, following him into the living room.

He put the tray down on the patterned Persian carpet in front of the fireplace, motioning her to sit down while he moved to the wet bar tucked into a corner of the large room. Dropping to his haunches, he opened a cabinet beneath it and flicked on the tape deck. The muted sound of a single jazz saxophone filled the silences between the crackle and hiss of the fire. A cork popped softly, glasses tinkled against each other as he lifted them from the shelf, and then he was back beside her, sinking down into a cross-legged position on the opposite side of the tray.

"A nice, dry Riesling," he commented, handing her a delicate tulip-shaped glass of the shimmering liquid. Daphne accepted it with a smile, holding it up as he raised his glass for a toast. "Here's to getting to know each other again."

Their glasses touched, eyes meeting over the rim. "To getting to know each other again," Daphne echoed softly. She lifted the glass to her lips and drank deeply, her eyes never leaving his.

"So, what would you like?" she asked, setting her glass on the hearth. She pushed up the sleeves of her sweater and picked up a plate, gesturing toward the cartons on the tray. "Sweet and sour shrimp? Almond chicken? Beef strips with snow peas? Fried rice?"

"Everything, please." He leaned back against the edge of the sofa, legs extended, ankles crossed, watching her as she put a little of everything on his plate. "You look beautiful in the firelight," he said suddenly.

Daphne looked up, startled, the laden plate extended midway between them as she paused in the act of passing it to him.

"Why so surprised?" He put his wineglass on the tray and reached out to take the plate from her. "Surely you've been told you're beautiful before."

"Not by you."

He shook his head. "By me," he said positively. "Hundreds of times."

"Only..." Incredibly, she felt herself beginning to blush. Head averted, she handed him a fork. "Only in bed," she finished softly.

He caught at her fingers, holding them when she would have drawn her hand back. "Only in bed?" He seemed dumbfounded. "Really?"

Daphne nodded. "Really."

Adam swore softly. "What a stupid young idiot I was." He came away from the sofa, leaning forward as he brought her hand to his lips. "Forgive me."

"Don't be silly, Adam." Gently, she pulled her fingers from him and began filling her own plate. "There's nothing to forgive."

"Come over here," he said when she had made her selections, patting the space next to him. "Please."

Daphne came, scooting around the tray so she could lean back against the sofa. They ate without speaking for a few long minutes, nothing but the gentle hiss and crackle of the fire, the low wail of the saxophone, and the sound of forks against china breaking the silence.

"When do you have to go back to New York?"

"My return ticket says Wednesday morning."

"And what do you say?"

Daphne pushed the food around on her plate. "Wednesday morning. I do have a business to run, Adam," she began, anticipating an objection. "It doesn't run itself."

"Did I say it did? No, don't answer that," he said before she could. "I implied it. I'm sorry. I know what you do for a living is as important to you as what I do is to me."

Daphne turned her head, eyes wide as she raised them to his face.

"Surprised you, didn't I?" He grinned disarmingly.

"Yes," she admitted. "You did." She paused, looking down at her plate for a moment. "You're full of surprises."

"Am I?"

"Definitely."

"Well." He shifted uneasily. "I guess I've learned a few things in the last eleven years." He pushed the food around on his plate, not looking at her. "Things that would have saved me a lot of trouble if I'd learned them years ago."

"Such as?"

"Such as women are entitled to a life outside of marriage," he said gruffly, with the air of a man who had something to say and was going to say it, no matter what. "Such as no one wants to live with a stiff-necked, pompous jackass who thinks his way is the only way."

"You?" Daphne widened her eyes at him.

Adam nodded, a faint blush beginning to color his beard-roughened cheeks. Talking about himself, baring his soul, had always made Adam as uncomfortable as a frog in a biology lab. Daphne couldn't help teasing him just a little.

"Well-l-l," she said, head tilted as she considered him from under the sweep of her lashes. "I'll go along with the stiff-necked part. And you certainly could be pompous at times, especially when you were talking about the sanctity of the medical profession. But jackass? I don't know." She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "No," she said finally, shaking her head. "I never thought you were a jackass." She paused, waiting until he looked at her. "Not all the time, anyway."

He forked up a bit of fried rice before answering. "In that case," he said, hiding a smile, "I guess we won't go into what a jackass you could be at times."

"No," Daphne agreed with a heartfelt sigh. "Let's not." She took a tiny bit of chicken. "I'll be back in San Francisco before the end of the month," she said then, reverting back to the topic that was on both their minds. "Trunk shows for my summer line."

"What's a trunk show?"

"Just an informal sort of fashion show at the stores that carry my line. Lets the end customer, the consumer, meet the designer in person and get a close look at the clothes."

"Will you be here long?"

"A week or so."

There was a small, intense silence.

"Will you stay with me?"

Daphne put her picked-over plate down on the tray and reached for her wine. "Here?"

"Yes, here." He shot her a sideways glance. "Where else would you stay with me?"

Daphne didn't answer that. "Yes," she said, answering his previous question instead.

There was another small silence.

Adam continued eating.

Daphne sipped her wine.

"What about Marcia?" she asked, after a moment.

"What about her?"

"She won't like it."

"No, probably not. But Marcia hasn't got anything to do with us." Adam put his empty plate on top of hers on the tray. "And I don't intend to ask her permission, so it hardly matters."

Daphne took a sip of her wine. "Doesn't it? Matter, I mean." She drew her long legs under her, her shoulder against the sofa as she turned to look up at him. "You've always been close to your family and I'd hate to cause trouble—Adam?" she said, but Adam wasn't listening. He was staring at her with a bemused expression on his face.

"You really are incredibly beautiful in the firelight." He took her wineglass from her hand and put it on the tray, pushing the whole thing out of the way without taking his eyes from her face. "It makes your skin glow like peach silk," he murmured, touching her cheek with his fingertips. "And brings out the gold in your hair."

Daphne became very, very still. Waiting.

His fingers feathered through the wispy curls on her forehead. "It's so soft. Like a baby's curls." He tucked a bit of hair behind her ear with the tip of one finger. "And you have such little ears. I don't think I ever noticed what perfect little ears you have," he said, tilting her head sideways to take a better look. He leaned forward and ran his tongue around the curved rim of her ear.

Daphne gasped softly and stopped breathing.

"I think I like your hair this way," Adam continued, his right hand sliding down the side of her neck as he spoke, burrowing under the collar of her bulky sweater. His thumb rested in the soft hollow at the front of her throat, his fingers splayed along the tiny bones in the back of her neck. He pressed his lips to the warm flesh just under the opposite ear.

Daphne's head fell against his hand, baring her neck, offering, asking for more.

"It gives me access to all sorts of areas that I never noticed before. Your little ears. Your neck. You have a beautiful neck. Very elegant." He nuzzled his face against her neck for a moment, placing soft open-mouthed kisses all down its length, and then drew back to look at her. "You're an altogether elegant woman, Daffy. I like the way you've grown up."

"I like the way you've grown up, too," she said, her voice no more than a husky whisper. "I thought so the minute I saw you sitting out in the audience at the fashion show." She lifted her hand slowly and laid it against his cheek.

"What did you think?" he asked eagerly, turning into her palm, holding it against his lips with his left hand.

Her fingers curled against his mouth, soft as a flower curling against the night. "I thought you looked experienced and knowing and devastatingly sexy," she admitted, her eyes turning to pools of liquid gold as she watched the heat building in his. "I thought you had developed an infinitely more interesting face. And that you had..." She paused, inhaling sharply as he pulled her palm away from his mouth and began to kiss the end of each slender finger, touching the spaces between them with the tip of his tongue.

"That I had what? Go on," he urged gruffly.

"That you had kept the—ah, Adam!" His lips had found their way to the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. "You had kept the magnificent physique that first attracted me to you."

"Is that what first attracted you to me?" he said. His voice was lazy almost slurred, but his eyes were hot and hungry. "My body?"

"Umm." She swayed toward him a little. Her lips were parted, wanting. Her breasts were swollen and aching beneath the bulky butterscotch sweater. "At first."

"That's what attracted me to you, too, at first. Your body." He rubbed his cheek against the inside of her forearm where the flesh was pale, the skin transparent enough to show the faint blue tracery of her veins. "When I looked up—flat on my back on the sidewalk—and saw those long silky legs straddling that bike... I wanted them to be straddling me."

"Oh, God, Adam, shut up and kiss me."

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Adam's right hand tightened on the back of her neck, drawing her toward him. He kissed her softly, gently, all the fierce, raging needs firmly under control. He nibbled, teasing her with quick open-mouthed kisses.

Greedy, needing, Daphne strained forward, trying to increase the maddening butterfly pressure of his mouth on hers.

Adam drew back, thwarting her. "No," he murmured, gently stroking the back of her neck with the pads of all four fingers. His eyes were heavy-lidded, simmering like a blue flame deliberately held on low. "Remember what I said this morning? Slowly this time. Very slowly."

Daphne struggled to understand, but the husky intensity of his voice, the seething passion in his eyes, were as drugging as a narcotic.

"I want to savor every—" he came to his knees, tilting her head back as he took its weight in his palm, and touched his lips to the rounded point of her chin "—delectable—" his mouth descended to the long elegant column of her throat, the tip of his tongue tracing a wet line down her windpipe "—inch." He nuzzled his face into the collar of her sweater and placed his mouth over the soft hollow at the base of her throat, sucking gently.

Daphne sighed brokenly, and her hands fluttered up and down his hard ribs, seeking to draw him closer.

Adam lifted his head and looked deeply into her eyes. "I want to make love to you, Daphne," he said hoarsely, his voice thick with passion, his hands trembling as they held her head. His soft words were half statement, half question. "With you."

"I want to make love with you, too," Daphne answered without a moment's hesitation.

He stood, pulling her to her feet, and led her toward the bedroom. It seemed cool after the heat in front of the fireplace. Cool and quiet and dark.

"Don't move. Don't do anything until I get back," Adam said, standing her beside the big bed.

Daphne stood there docilely, listening to the sounds of him moving around in the darkness. She heard the slide of his shoes as he took them off, the muted thump as they landed on the hardwood floor. She smelled the sharp sulfur fragrance of a match as he lit the cluster of fat ivory candles on the dresser, and then the softer, sweeter scent of sandlewood as they burned. She saw the crisp dark brown of the sheets as he pulled the striped bedspread off of the bed and peeled back the blankets. They were piped in cream, Daphne noticed, and the pillowcases were cream piped in brown.

He came around the bed then, without her quite being aware that he had moved. He reached for the buckle of her belt and released the catch. It fell to the floor with a dull thud. Like a child, Daphne raised her arms, waiting for him to pull the sweater off over her head. It joined the belt on the floor. He unbuttoned her leather pants and lowered the zipper, then knelt to peel them down her legs. Daphne placed her hands on his shoulders, balancing herself as she lifted each foot to step out of her pants.

Adam pushed them out of the way and rose, his hands whispering over the curves of her body as he straightened, feathering lightly over the smoothness of her bare calves and thighs, her rounded hips, the inward slope of her waist, the swell of her breasts under the peach camisole.

Daphne shivered at the feather-light touch, little ripples of desire dancing madly over her flesh. She reached for the hem of his sweater.

"Not yet," Adam whispered hoarsely.

Daphne's hands fell back to her sides, waiting.

He placed his palms on her shoulders, rubbing lightly as if reacquainting himself with the satiny texture of her skin. Then he hooked a finger under the narrow straps of the camisole and eased them down, one at a time. He kissed one bare shoulder, then the other, and pulled the straps a little further down her arms. The silky fabric slid a bit lower and then clung, revealing all but the hardened tips of her breasts. Adam paused again and bent his head, brushing lips softly over the upper curves of her breasts, planting moist baby kisses on the random freckles.

Daphne moaned, head back, hands clenched at her sides as her body lifted to him with a will of its own.

Adam stilled, his fingers tightening on the straps, his lips pressed against the warm slope of her breast, as if he were taking a moment to catch his breath. Then he lifted his head and pulled the straps the rest of the way down so that they dangled past her clenched hands, baring her to the waist.

His eyes widened, the tightly leashed control slipping a notch as he took in the sheer perfection of her high perky breasts with their puckered cocoa-brown nipples, the narrow, fragile-looking rib cage, the narrower waist.

"You're so beautiful," he breathed after a minute. His fingers feathered over her torso, skimming lightly past the thrusting breasts to clasp her slim waist, measuring it in his trembling hands. "You're smaller than I remember. More fragile." His hands smoothed back up her rib cage. "Except here." He cupped her breasts from the underside, plumping them up as he weighed their fullness in his palms. Then he bent his head swiftly, as if he could wait no longer, and took one pebbled nipple between his lips. Holding it gently, he rolled it between his teeth as his tongue flicked across the tip.

Daphne whimpered and swayed toward him, her body gone liquid with desire. Her arms came up, circling his neck, and her hands curled into his golden hair to hold him even closer to her hungering breasts.

Adam's arms went around her waist, sustaining her. A moment later, one hand cupped the back of her head, and she felt herself begin to fall backward, supported in Adam's arms as he lowered her to the bed.

He came down beside her, balanced on one elbow as he buried his face in the lavishness of her breasts. He nibbled on the creamy ivory flesh, tasting, licking, savoring them as he had her lips. He ran his tongue from the freckled upper slopes to the soft plumpness at the sides, along the sweet vulnerable curve underneath and back up again, teasing them to aching hardness.

One big hand still tenderly cupped the back of her head, making Daphne feel fragile and precious and adored. His other hand lay on her stomach, the tips of his fingers rubbing lightly, hypnotically, over the slippery fabric of her peach silk panties just above her mound. That hand made her feel wild and wanton and hungry for more—much more.

She moved restlessly on the bed, one knee lifting as she turned toward him. Her hands loosened their death grip on his hair, shifting, urging his mouth to her turgid, aching nipple. He resisted her efforts at direction, turning his head instead to kiss the soft pale flesh of her inner arm.

"Not yet," he murmured again, maddeningly. "I want to savor you this time. Taste you." He nipped her arm lightly and then laved it with his tongue. "I want to touch you all over." The hand on her stomach moved, circling, so that his fingertips just brushed over the silk covered triangle at the apex of her thighs. "I want you wild with need," he whispered huskily. "Wild with want."

Daphne arched reflexively, her body seeking a firmer touch, a more intimate caress. "I am wild."

"Not as wild as you're going to be," he promised solemnly and lowered his head to her breasts again.

He circled her right nipple slowly, with just the tip of his tongue, wetting her skin with his moist hot breath, making her ache for him to take it into his mouth. When he did, she arched high, stiffening for a moment at the sharp searing pleasure that ripped through her.

His free hand feathered up her stomach at the same time, doubling the pleasure as he captured the other nipple and gently, skillfully, rolled it between thumb and forefinger.

Daphne sighed, warmth spreading through her like hot honey, and her spine floated back down to settle against the bed. Her hands dropped to his shoulders and rested there, softly, like fallen flower petals against the grass, quiescent under the drugging ministrations of his mouth and hand. She felt liquid and weightless, as if she could lie there forever, content merely to have him touching and suckling at her breasts while she floated on the warm waves of sensation that rolled over her body like swells on the surface of the sea.

But then his hand slid back down her stomach and slipped under the edge of the silky peach material of her bikini panties. He cupped her warmth and moistness in his palm, the heel of his hand pressing down, rotating, two fingers pressing inward, unerringly finding her most sensitive secret places.

Daphne's body surged upward, her fingers curling into the fabric of his sweater, and she uttered a strangled little sound that was half a cry of ecstasy, half his name. Adam shifted, moving upward to capture her cries with his lips. He thrust his tongue into her mouth: swirling, probing, tasting, giving, taking, mimicking the movements of his fingers in her body.

The swells of pleasure became waves, huge waves, building strength and speed and power as they raced toward the shore, tumbling Daphne over and over in their wake. She couldn't stop them, didn't want to stop them, would drown if they didn't stop soon...

Her body tightened spasmodically, her back arching as she crested a climax of feeling that hit her like a tidal wave. Her legs crossed, trapping his hand between her thighs. Her hands clenched in his sweater, holding and pushing at the same time. She tore her mouth away from his. "Take it off," she demanded hoarsely, drinking in great gulps of air. "I'm wild now, Adam," she panted. "Wild with wanting you."

"Not yet." He repeated that same maddening phrase like a litany. His voice was thick with passion, wild with a wanting of his own as he evaded her clutching hands and slid down her body. "Not yet," he breathed against the quivering skin of her body. "I haven't tasted all of you yet." He curled his fingers in the edges of her panties and pulled them down her legs. Then he pushed her thighs apart and lowered his head, opening his mouth over the exquisitely sensitive flesh between her legs.

His tongue stroked her for one minute…two… three… and then Daphne moaned as if mortally wounded, her body arching like a bow as her second orgasm hit her. Her fingers spasmed, clutching the fabric of his sweater. He lifted his head from between her legs, allowing her to drag the sweater over his head as he crawled back up her body. She tossed the sweater aside and reached for the button on his jeans, only to find that his hands were already there. They fumbled together, working to lower the zipper and then she slid her hands around to cup his firm buttocks, inside his jeans and briefs, pushing them down enough so that she could feel his erection spring free against her thigh.

She wrapped her hand around his penis. "I need you inside me," she breathed. "Now. Please, Adam, now."

He didn't make her wait any longer. Positioning himself, he thrust forward, burying his length and hardness to the hilt.

Daphne gasped and wrapped her arms and legs around him, clutching him more tightly to her. "Yes," she moaned raggedly, as he began to move against her, inside her. "Yes," she said when he reared back and hooked his arms behind her knees, opening her more fully to his powerful thrusts. "Oh, God, yes," she shrieked as she shattered beneath him in her third explosive orgasm of the night.

Without giving her time to catch her breath, he rolled onto his back, pulling her over on top of him. She rose to a sitting position, reaching out to steady herself with her hands on his chest. It was heaving like a bellows, gleaming with sweat in the flickering candlelight. She leaned down and slowly licked his neck, from the hollow at the base of his throat to just under his chin. His hands clamped on her hips, pulling her down, hard, against him as he thrust his hips upward and let his orgasm take him.

Daphne shattered for a fourth time, every muscle and sinew in her body pulled excruciatingly tight and hard before exploding outward in a shimmering cascade of nearly unbearable pleasure. "Adam," she moaned and collapsed, sobbing, onto his chest.

His arms came around her, gently enfolding. He stroked her back tenderly, kissing her cheeks and her shoulders and the soft, vulnerable curve of her neck, murmuring soft nonsense words until she quieted against him. And then he turned her on her side, her back to his front.

"Sleep," he said, and curled himself around her the way he'd done every night all those years ago when they'd still been husband and wife.

And Daphne slept, secure in the familiar memories of all those nights.