Chapter 12

 

"Wake up, Sleeping Beauty." Daphne leaned over the figure on the bed, waving a cup of freshly brewed coffee back and forth in the general vicinity of Adam's nose.

His nostrils twitched, as if catching the scent, but he didn't wake. He lay sprawled on his back in his favorite position, arm and legs flung out in every direction, a vagrant lock of hair falling over his forehead. The brown sheet was pulled up to his breastbone, making the exposed skin of his shoulders and arms look even more golden than usual in contrast.

My sleeping Greek god, she thought tenderly, feeling the urge to reach out and brush the hair back from his forehead.

Instead, she blew gently across the top of the cup, sending the fragrant steam into Adam's face. "I've got coffee," she sing-songed. "Wake up."

Adam's nostrils twitched again, narrowing as he inhaled deeply. "Coffee?" he said groggily, and rolled to his side. The sheet caught under him as he moved, slipping down to his waist. He opened one blue eye, focusing on the cup in her hand. "You make it?" he mumbled.

"Uh-huh," Daphne assured him, nodding. "Fresh this morning."

His eye closed. "Don't want it then," he muttered into his pillow.

"Okay." Her shoulders lifted in a careless shrug. "I guess I'll just take it back to the kitchen and pour it out," she threatened cheerfully, turning as if to leave.

Adam's hand shot out, grabbing a fistful of her silky caftan. "Wait," he ordered, eyes still closed against the morning. "Changed my mind." He pulled on the caftan, tugging until she was forced to sit down on the edge of the bed.

"Careful, Adam," she warned, covering the top of the cup with her free hand as she sank to the mattress. "You'll make me spill it."

"Put it down," he suggested, rolling over onto his back again. His eyes were fully open now, but still deceptively sleepy looking as they wandered over her body in the low-necked, tissue-thin, silk caftan. Daphne recognized the expression immediately.

"Oh, no, you don't," she said, laughing as she shook her head at him. "You promised we'd go to the park today. Have a picnic, remember?"

Silently, still smiling that sexy sleepy little smile of his, Adam took the coffee cup from her with his right hand, reaching sideways to place it on the bedside table.

"You mentioned roller-skating, too," she reminded him. "And then maybe some shopping in Ghirardelli Square."

His left arm curled around her back, drawing her down. Daphne put her hands on his shoulders, elbows stiff as she pretended to resist. The loose open neckline of her caftan slid halfway down her arm, completely baring her left shoulder and breast. Daphne ignored it.

"Then there was dinner at that new Chinese place you were telling me about and dancing at—"

"Umm-hmm," Adam said, his arm tightening across her back until her elbows bent and her forearms were pressing against his chest. "We will." His lips touched her bare shoulder. "Later."

"Uh-huh," Daphne scoffed, still trying to hold him off. "How much later?"

Adam grinned lazily. "About thirty minutes later?" he suggested and lifted his head from the pillow to touch his lips to the upper slope of her bared breast.

Daphne sighed, melting against him like hot wax against a candle flame. "Only thirty minutes?"

Adam laughed softly, deep in his chest, and rolled over, carrying Daphne with him so that she ended up on her back beneath him, her legs trapped by the sheet that had been covering his golden body, her arms held to her sides by the weight of his chest and the way her caftan was pulled down off one shoulder. His left arm was still wrapped around her back, causing her spine to arch, thrusting her breasts forward like an offering.

"We'll take as long as you want," he promised, his voice no longer teasing as his eyes made a slow, thorough survey of her lush breasts. The right one was only lightly veiled, the pale brown nipple and surrounding areola clearly visible beneath the thin silk of the peach caftan. The left breast was totally bared to his heated gaze.

He moved his right hand, cupping her exposed breast in his palm, and lowered his head. He took the puckered nipple into the warmth of his mouth, laving it with quick little flicks of his tongue. It hardened instantly, drawing up, tightening, aching for a firmer pressure. Instinctively, seeming to know just what she needed, Adam began to suckle more strongly, his cheeks flexing as he took as much of her breast into his mouth as he could.

Daphne arched even further off the mattress, lifting up to him, feeling the sensual, primal pull of his mouth all the way to her womb. She moaned softly, her trapped hands seeking a way to touch him.

Adam lifted his head. "What?" he murmured, his hot breath rippling against her skin.

"I can't move," she breathed. "Can't touch you."

Adam shifted his weight immediately, turning and lifting her body until she lay on top of him. "Better?"

"Hmm, yes. Much." She sat up in one fluid motion, her knees sliding open to straddle his hips. With a sensuous little roll of her shoulder, she dropped the right side of her caftan and slipped both arms out of the loose fluttery sleeves.

She looked both elegant and sensual sitting there astride him, her long smooth torso rising up out of the peach silk draped around her hips. Her skin was soft and smooth, gleaming with good health and excellent care. The morning light coming in through the window seemed to play over the hills and valleys of her body, emphasizing her narrow waist, highlighting the lush fullness of her creamy breasts and the rounded curve of her shoulders, causing the tiny gold star in the hollow of her throat to glimmer with each breath she took.

Adam lay passive for a moment, drinking her in with his eyes, and then he raised his hands to her waist. His long surgeon's fingers fanned out across the lower curve of her back, urging her down.

Daphne resisted with a subtle, almost imperceptible shake of her head. Smiling softly, she reached out to touch him. Fingertips only at first, her nails scraped lightly over his tiny male nipples, making his skin ripple with a convulsive little shiver. Then her hands flattened, fingers spread wide, and she caressed the warm solid width of his hair-covered chest. Slowly, her eyes wide and golden as they followed the movement of her hands, she smoothed her palms over the hard curve of his shoulders and down the gentle bulge of his biceps.

Adam's hands began to move against her skin, sliding down under the peach silk to curve around the swell of her hips. His thumbs touched the soft, curling hair that hid the secrets of her body.

Daphne's gaze lifted, meeting his, and her palms continued their slow sensuous trek, smoothing over the hair-roughened sinews of his forearms until they came to rest on the backs of his hands, stopping them. For a moment she hovered there, her hands covering his, suspended in the web of his heated, hungering gaze, devouring him with a heated gaze of her own.

Then Adam's hands tightened under hers, demanding, and Daphne surged forward, called to him by something primitive and timeless. She pressed her soft full breasts to Adam's chest, her belly to his belly, her lips to his lips.

As if in slow motion, Adam rolled over again, pressing her down into the mattress. His mouth took hers in a gently savage kiss and his hands feathered up her sides and palmed her breasts, kneading their fullness with gentle skill. Urgently, maddeningly, his hips ground into the cradle of her open thighs, tempting her with that part of him that was still separated from her by the thin layers of peach silk and crisp brown sheets.

Daphne whimpered slightly, wanting more, wanting it all, and her hands reached down to push at the tangle of percale and silk that kept him from her. Adam lifted himself off her, turning to one side to help her rid them of this last impediment to their lovemaking. Then he was on her again, entering her slowly, moving slowly, driving her slowly mad.

Daphne ran her hands down his sleek back, her nails scraping lightly along the indentation of his spine, reveling in the feel of the muscles that rolled beneath her fingers with each slow thrust of his hips. She smoothed her palms down the slight inward slope at the small of his back and over the hard curve of his buttocks. There her fingers tightened, pressing, urging him to a more frantic pace. But Adam refused to be hurried. Refused to be pushed into the mindless, heedless passion.

Perversely, Daphne wanted him to hurry, wanted to push him, wanted him to be so driven by desire that he lost his marvelous, maddening control. She wanted him so filled with hunger for her that he forgot to be gentle and tender and caring of her pleasure. She wanted him, in short, to be as lost in their loving as she was.

And he wasn't.

Even as he moved within her, even as he whispered soft, sexy words into the damp curve of her neck, she could feel him holding back some essential part of himself. Feel him hiding... something... behind the expertise of his loving. But she was too far gone to figure out what that something was. Her hips bucked beneath him, urging, hungry, out of control.

"That's it," he murmured into her mouth. "Let it go. Let it come," he urged, retaining his control, his awareness of self and place, to the end, holding back until she had cried out in mindless pleasure... once, twice. And then, deliberately, he let go, thrusting forward into her welcoming body with a fierce cry of his own.

It was wonderful. It was satisfying. It left her sated and replete. But it wasn't the same as if he, too, had gone beyond control, had forgotten himself, lost himself, in loving her.

They lay tangled together for a moment more, panting lightly into each others' necks, letting the world right itself around them, and then Adam levered himself up and off her and rolled over onto his back.

"I bet my coffee's gotten cold," he said, grinning at her out of the corner of his eye.

For just a moment, the space of a heartbeat only, Daphne contemplated grabbing the cup and pouring its contents over his head. That he could lie there looking so normal and natural and so... so relaxed, dammit, while she was still trembling inside from the strength of her response, made her want to scream. How can you be so blasé about something so earth-shattering, she wanted to shout at him. Don't you care?

Instead, she calmly leaned over his supine body and stuck the tip of her index finger in the coffee cup. "Still warm," she said, drawing back with the cup in her hand. "Here." She set it down on his chest, waiting until he had put a steadying hand on it, and slithered off the bed. "Drink it. I'm going to take a shower."

"Coffee should be hot," he informed her, pulling himself up against the pillows. He took a quick sip and made a face. "Especially your coffee."

Daphne gave him a look over her shoulder. "It was hot," she said, and disappeared into the bathroom.

She came out twenty minutes later to find Adam still sprawled across the bed in all his naked glory, watching cartoons. The cats, with the exception of Mack who was probably still in the kitchen eating whatever the other two hadn't, were sprawled out beside him.

"Haven't we played this scene before?" she said whimsically, crossing his field of vision in all her naked glory on the way to the dresser.

"What scene?" Adam tried to watch Daphne as she bent over to open a drawer and keep his eye on the antics of Bugs Bunny and friends at the same time.

"Me coming out of the shower," Daphne said, stepping into a silky little bra with a brown and tan leopard-skin pattern. She adjusted the straps on her shoulders, bending over to make sure the cups held her breasts just so. The fine chains around her neck caught the light as she moved, the tiny star glittering at the base of her throat. "You watching cartoons."

"I'm not watching cartoons," Adam denied, and he wasn't—now. "I'm watching you."

"Well, stop watching me," Daphne chided, pretending disapproval. "It only gives you ideas."

Adam wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Aren'cha glad?"

Daphne laughed, shaking her head at him, and disappeared into the closet. She came out a few minutes later clad in slim jeans and her butterscotch sweater.

"You can watch one more cartoon," she said, watching him in the mirror as she fiddled with the cowl neck of the sweater. "Then you have to get up and get yourself into that shower."

"Are you going to come scrub my back?"

"No." She smiled at him in the mirror, head tilted as she inserted a large plain gold hoop in her earlobe. "I'm going to finish packing our picnic lunch." She inserted the other earring and then reached up, fluffing her hair. "And if you're not ready when I'm finished—" she turned toward the bed, an expression of mock sternness on her face "—I'm leaving without you. Is that clear?"

Adam threw a stiff salute, his body snapping to attention on the bed. "Yes, ma'am, perfectly clear."

Daphne struggled not to laugh. "One cartoon," she warned, shaking her finger at him as she left the bedroom.

The telephone rang while she was trying to fit a second bottle of wine into the picnic basket. She let it ring, some sixth sense telling her that it was the hospital. Adam, she knew, would answer it from the bedroom extension. He picked it up halfway through the third ring. Five minutes later he came bustling out to the kitchen, a worried look shadowing his handsome face.

Daphne had already put the wine back in the refrigerator and was unloading the picnic basket.

"That was the hospital," he said unnecessarily, shrugging into a his leather jacket as he spoke. "Tiffany Jenkins has developed an infection." The little girl had had her third skin graft operation less than a week ago. "I've got to go. I—" He caught sight of the picnic basket, the cellophane-wrapped sandwiches, the little plastic containers of olives and carrot sticks on the counter. A guilty flush stole over his face. "The picnic. Damn!" He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Daffy, but this is important and I've got-"

"You've got to go to the hospital. I know." She lifted a plastic container of pickles out of the basket and laid it on the counter beside the rest of the food.

Adam stood there speechless, not knowing what to say.

"Hey, it's all right," she said, forcing a bright little smile past the lump of disappointment in her throat. "I understand."

Adam looked skeptical.

"Really, I do." She left off what she was doing and came to him, slipping her hands under the edges of his jacket to rest them on his chest. "Tiffany Jenkins has an infection. You're her doctor." Her palms rubbed lightly over his shirt in a quick nervous little gesture. "You have to go."

Adam put his hands on her shoulders, knees slightly bent as he tried to look into her face. "You sure you don't mind?"

"Of course I mind," Daphne said, staring into his shirt front. "But I understand." Her eyes lifted for a moment, touching him, then dropped, lids fluttered as she struggled against the foolish childish tears of disappointment that threatened to overflow. "Really," she added, trying to convince them both that it was true.

"And you're not mad?" Adam's voice was still doubtful.

"No, I'm not mad," she denied. For God's sake, Daphne, try to act like a reasonable adult. A canceled picnic isn't the end of the world. Reassure him. She looked up, forcing a smile worthy of Donna Reed at her most wifely. "I'm disappointed, that's all." Her shoulders lifted in a little shrug as she twisted a button on his shirt front. "I was looking forward to spending the whole day with you. Just the two of us, alone, without any hospitals or fashion people or... anything."

"I know." Adam squeezed her shoulders. "I was looking forward to it, too," he said, but his words were perfunctory his mind already halfway to the hospital and the problem he would find there.

Daphne hooked her hands over the outside of his arms, sliding them up to rest on his where he touched her shoulders. "Maybe you won't be all day?" she asked hopefully.

"It's hard to say. Maybe. It depends on exactly what the problem is." His attention was focused inward, thinking about all the different things that could have caused his patient's setback. She could tell he was anxious to be off.

Her hands dropped from his. "You'd better get going," she said in a flat little voice, that wifely, reassuring little smile still plastered to her face.

Adam seemed to shake himself back to the here-and-now. "Yes, I guess I'd better." He squeezed her shoulders again, more warmly than before. "Don't dismantle the picnic completely. If I don't get back in time today, we can always use it tomorrow." He leaned down and pressed a quick distracted kiss on her lips. "And we'll go out for dinner tonight no matter what, okay?"

"Okay," Daphne echoed hollowly, following him to the front door. She opened it for him, both hands holding it as he went out.

He turned back suddenly, hesitating. "I really am sorry about this, Daffy. I—" he struggled with the words "—I wanted this day together as much as you did."

Daphne nodded, her head against the edge of the door. "I know," she said, trying to believe it.

He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something more, something... important. Instead, he reached out, curling his hand around the back of her head, and lifted her into his kiss. It wasn't quick. It wasn't distracted. It was long and thorough and turned Daphne's knees to jelly. "I'll be home as soon as I can," he whispered against her lips. "Wait for me."

Her childish resentment melted away at his words. Oh, the disappointment was still there, but somehow, knowing Adam was disappointed, too, made it easier to bear.

She wandered back into the kitchen when her legs could finally support her again and finished dealing with the contents of the picnic basket. Remembering Adam's instructions, she merely transferred everything, still neatly wrapped, to a shelf in the refrigerator. She was skeptical that Adam would be back in time to make a picnic feasible that afternoon—once he got to the hospital he wouldn't be back for hours—but maybe tomorrow.

She went back into the bedroom then, intending to do a little light housekeeping. Mrs. Drecker wouldn't be in again until Monday, and a whole weekend of not picking up after herself would make Adam's lovely house look like the proverbial tornado had hit it.

"You guys can have it back in a minute," she told the cats, shooing them off so she could make the bed. The results weren't quite in league with Mrs. Drecker's, she decided when she'd finished, but at least it was made. And the cats didn't seem to care about the less-than-professional results. They clambered back up on the bed, settling in for their midmorning nap before she'd tucked the bedspread up over the pillows.

She picked her silk caftan up off the floor, smiling a little as she thought about the activities that had led to its less than pristine condition, and headed for the bathroom to clean up in there. The phone rang for the second time that morning, surprising her with yesterday's clothes bundled up in her arms. She came out of the bathroom, dropped the rumpled clothes on a convenient chair, and headed for the ringing phone.

"Hello?" She sat down on the bed as she spoke, her eyes flickering to the television that Adam had left on. A chocolate-flavored cereal was being advertised by a benign-looking Dracula. "Oh, hi, Sunny." She switched off the TV with the remote control. "What's up?"

Never one for idle chitchat, Sunny launched directly into the reason for her call. "We've arranged another little demonstration at the research center. I thought you might like to come with me."

"Two days in a row? Don't you ever give it a rest?"

"Nope. Do you want to come?"

"Well, I don't know," Daphne hedged. "Adam didn't seem too thrilled to see me on the news last night and—"

"You mean to tell me you're going to let Adam, a man you're not even married to, dictate your conscience? Daphne Granger, I'm surprised at you."

"He's not dictating my conscience," Daphne defended the absent Adam loyally. "Actually, he didn't say a word about it."

"He doesn't have to," Sunny interjected. "I know him, he probably just looked at you with those big blue eyes of his, all disapproving and everything."

"Well, you're wrong. He didn't even do that. Besides—now don't be furious with me—but I'm not even sure I, uh, agree with what you're doing."

"Not agree," Sunny was outraged. "How can you not agree that torturing innocent animals is wrong?"

"I don't know, Sunny. I mean, how else are doctors going to discover new cures?" she said, repeating the argument that both Brian and Adam had used. "They have to experiment somehow, don't they? And they certainly can't use people."

"So you wouldn't mind if they carved Mack up like a frog in biology class, is that what you're saying?"

Daphne sighed, exasperated. Sunny went right for the jugular when she was defending one of her causes. "Yes, of course I'd mind but that's not the point. Mack isn't going to end up in a research center like that. He—"

"How do you know? He could. What if he got lost and the pound picked him up?"

"I'd go down and get him."

"But what if you were out of town or something—" Sunny pressed on with single-minded zeal"—and couldn't get down there right away. Did you know that some pounds sell unclaimed animals to research labs?"

"No," Daphne said faintly. "I didn't know that."

"Well, there, you see," Sunny pointed out triumphantly. "It could happen to Mack."

"Yes, I guess it could," Daphne admitted.

"So, are you just going to sit home and do nothing?"

"Well, I..."

"Hundreds of people's pets, cats just like Mack, are being slaughtered."

"Yes, but..." Oh, what the hell, she thought. I haven't got anything better to do today. And it'll make Sunny happy. "Okay, sure, pick me up."

"Good," Sunny said approvingly. "I knew I could count on you."

* * *

"Now I know why you're so good at fund raising," Daphne said, sitting beside Sunny in the yellow Mercedes as they drove to the research center. "Nobody would dare say no to you."

Sunny grinned unrepentantly. "Persistence has its uses."

"Intimidation, you mean."

"Who, moi?" Sunny's hand fanned out over her lush bosom as she gave Daphne a coy look.

"Yes, you," Daphne said as they pulled to a stop across the street from the research center. "You ought to be ashamed of your strong-arm tactics."

"Why?" Sunny slammed the door and locked it. "They work don't they?" She grinned across the roof of the car. "You're here, aren't you?"

"Against my better judgment," Daphne admitted, following her friend across the street to the group marching in a tight circle in front of the center.

She recognized a few faces from the day before but there seemed to be more young people, more high school and college students, than there had been yesterday. Probably because it was a Saturday, Daphne thought. The mood was different, too. More unsettled and rambunctious, more... rebellious. But that, too, was to be expected, she decided philosophically. Teenagers were more excitable than young mothers with children.

Someone handed Daphne a sign and she took it automatically, holding her arm away from her body as Sunny tied a black armband around her biceps.

The protesters were chanting loudly, thrusting their placards into the air with youthful zeal. As she took her place in line and began marching, Daphne noticed a squad car parked halfway down the street. There were two uniformed policemen sitting inside, silently watching the proceedings, just as they had been yesterday.

"Stop vivisection now!" the protesters chanted. "Vivisection is murdering our pets!"

Daphne marched halfheartedly, head down as she mumbled the words of the chant, and wondered how soon she could slip away without incurring Sunny's wrath. Giving in to Sunny's expert manipulations, she decided, had been a rotten, cowardly idea. She should have stayed home and watched cartoons.

The protesters continued to march, becoming louder and more rowdy with each passing minute. They began to jostle each other in their zeal. Daphne looked up from her morose contemplation of the cracks in the sidewalk. There was real anger in some of the faces around her; several pairs of eyes glowed with an idealistic fervor. This protest was more than just something to do on a Saturday afternoon for most of these people, Daphne realized, her eyes on the faces of those closest to her. To many of the young protesters this was obviously a sacred crusade.

A twinge of uneasiness curled in her stomach and she glanced toward the parked police car. It was still there. One of the officers had gotten out of the car and was standing by the open door, radio in hand. Somewhat relieved by their reassuring presence, Daphne nevertheless scanned the crowd of angry protesters for Sunny. Police or not, she wanted to go home.

Suddenly, someone hurled a brick through the front window of the research center. Glass went flying in every direction. Several people fell to the ground, protecting their heads with crossed arms. A woman screamed. Protest signs clattered to the sidewalk. A police siren blared.

Daphne's first instinct was to run. To drop her sign and join the scattering crowd as it fled for safety. But she couldn't move. She just stood there, frozen, feeling for a moment as if she had slipped back in time. Another brick sailed through the half-shattered window, flinging more glass, breaking the spell that held her captive. She started to turn away, looking for Sunny, when someone grabbed her wrist. The hold was not ungentle but not careful, either. She jerked away, startled, and dropped her sign.

"Come on now, lady. You don't want to add resisting arrest to the rest of it, do you?"

Cold steel clamped around her wrist and Daphne looked up into the eyes of a uniformed policeman.

"But I didn't... I wasn't..." Her free hand gestured wildly as she tried to explain that she wasn't really involved. The policeman reached out, capturing it in his hand, turning her expertly, cuffed her hands behind her back. "Now wait just a minute," she said, becoming frightened and, thus, angry. "I don't have anything to do with this. I was just—"

He gave her a little shove, urging her toward the police paddy wagon that had appeared on the scene. Another policeman stood by the open rear door, helping handcuffed protesters into the back.

"But I wasn't doing anything," she said plaintively, looking up at him with wide frightened eyes as he took her elbow to assist her into the paddy wagon.

"Tell it to the judge," he said unsympathetically, turning away to assist the next prisoner.

Daphne fell back onto the hard bench seat, looking down at the floorboards in frightened bewilderment. This can't be happening, she thought wildly. She was all grown up now, an adult with a responsible, successful career. Things like this didn't happen to people like her.

Someone jostled her and she glanced up as Sunny, her hands cuffed behind her back, stumbled into the seat across from her.

The panic in her eyes receded. "This is all your fault," she hissed, fury in their golden depths.

"My fault?" Somehow, handcuffs and all, Sunny managed to look indignant. "I didn't throw that brick." She grinned suddenly. "But I'd sure like to thank whoever did."

"What!"

"I said I'd like to thank whoever did," she repeated.

Daphne couldn't believe her ears. "Why, for God's sake?"

"Just think of all the publicity," Sunny said gleefully. "And I didn't have to do a thing."

"Except get us both arrested," Daphne said nastily.

The door to the paddy wagon clanged shut and Daphne closed her eyes, head back against the cold metal side as she tried to digest the fact that she had actually been arrested. Her body jerked forward, bumping the person next to her, and then back again as the paddy wagon started to move. Daphne's eyes flew open. "Oh, my God! The publicity!"

"What? What is it?" Sunny leaned forward, alarmed at the look on her friend's face.

"This is going to make the papers, isn't it? And the evening news?"

"I sure hope so."

A hysterical little laugh escaped her. "Adam is going to bust a gut," she said.