It was, but she knew she was about to tell him it wasn’t. Closing her eyes, she willed a lightness back to her voice and a smile to her lips. “What would you say to a walk along Baltimore’s inner harbor and then, maybe, an early breakfast someplace downtown?”
The shadows were slow to leave his eyes, but at last Amanda saw the dawn of a smile. “Well, I intended to go home and read
Birdhouses and the Men Who Love Them
, but if you’re going to buy my breakfast....”
“Did I say that?” Amanda feigned a frown and thought that now was the time to step out of his arms. But she didn’t. “This is strictly Dutch treat, take it or leave it.”
His hands clasped at her hips and pulled her closer, stealing her opportunity to step away. “Would I be pushing my luck if I kissed you? No, don’t answer that, because it doesn’t make any difference.”
Her breath fluttered wildly in her throat and her gaze dropped compulsively to his mouth. This was asking too much, she decided firmly, and yet her lips parted with anticipation, waiting like a thirsty flower for a morning rain.
But he seemed in no hurry to erase the distance that separated them. Instead, his eyes lingered on her face, their message bringing a soft heat to her cheeks.
Amanda wondered at the blush, wondered why she stood shy and acquiescent in his arms, wondered, too, why she had run madly from the mere mention of a blind date only to walk willingly into this far more threatening situation.
She was insane to allow this and insane not to allow it. The hummingbird rhythm of her heartbeat made a paradox of her thoughts. And then her breathing, her heart, her rational thoughts, stopped at the zephyr-soft meeting
of their lips. It was a gentle kiss, reminiscent of other September nights under a sea of stars, and it graced her mouth for a moment as transient as the memory.
When Dane raised his head and released her, Amanda knew she was well and truly captured. Had he kissed her with passion or demanded a response, she knew she would have withdrawn at once. But he’d entrapped her with her own longing to be with someone who understood how very alone she had been tonight... until he had come to her rescue.
Dane.
She clung to his name and all the things it represented as she pushed aside any lingering doubts.
With a self-conscious movement she brushed at her hair and liberated a shaky laugh from her throat. “Do we make our escape one at a time?”
“No, too risky,” he answered in a slightly husky voice. “I’m a little suspicious of
them
, you know. We’ve been out here for quite a while. No telling what they’ve been doing in our absence.”
Amanda’s eyes widened with the sudden realization that she and Dane were probably accountable for at least a portion of the conversational hum inside the room. “What do you suppose they’re saying?”
“Nothing of any consequence.” He shrugged with deliberate nonchalance. “Besides, whatever it is will pale in comparison to what they’ll think when we walk out the door together.”
A tiny thrill ran through her.
Together
. If only for a little while, she could be with Dane. To hell with what anyone might think. Her lips curved. “Lead the way,” she commanded boldly and then added a hopeful thought. “You know, there’s always a possibility that no one will notice.”
His only answer was a slow grin as he took her hand and started for the door.
Chapter Seven
Anyone who had failed to notice the Maxwells’ astonishingly casual departure was either blind, deaf, or had not been in earshot of Meg. At least that was what Jerry told Dane who, in turn, repeated it to Amanda a few days later.
Meg, of course, had been more subtle when she’d phoned Amanda the day after the reception. “You left the party so early that I had to call and make sure you were feeling all right.”
Amanda had said she felt just fine, that on the whole she’d thought the evening a little on the dull side. Then she’d asked with pseudo-innocence if anything exciting had happened after she left.
Meg took that as an open invitation to demand, more to the point, what exciting things had happened to Amanda after she left. Trying to avoid an answer had been futile and she’d finally given in to Meg’s persistence. Yes, she and Dane had left the party together. Yes, they had spent the night together…walking—yes, just walking along the inner
harbor. Yes, they had talked about a lot of things. Yes, yes, yes. And no. No, nothing had changed. Nothing.
It was the truth and, yet, it wasn’t. Amanda recognized that each time she said it,
each time she thought it. It was a tiny, inconspicuous, and totally necessary lie.
But still, it was a lie. Wasn’t it?
* * * *
Amanda juggled the opposing thoughts for a full month after the night in Baltimore. What she had told Meg was undeniably true. She and Dane had spent hours walking, talking about nothing in particular. They had eaten breakfast in a small, ail-night restaurant and afterward they had walked to where her car was parked. They had said good night, laughed together, and then traded the good night for good morning. He had smiled, told her to be careful. She had smiled, said thank you, and had driven home in the first light of dawn—alone. It had been a pleasant evening. An evening she might have enjoyed with anyone. But that’s what was a lie. She had enjoyed it with Dane.
Nothing had changed.
The truth.
A lie.
Something had changed in the past month. She knew it when Dane phoned to tell her of the stir their departure from the reception had created. She knew it when he called again the next day to ask her—what? Whatever he’d called to ask was buried under an exchange of light, bantering conversation. She knew it when he appeared unexpectedly to check the nearby boat dock for needed repairs and, for some reason, ended up staying for lunch. She knew it on the day she discovered him waiting for her after work.
I
just happened to be in town,
he’d said.
How about dinner?
She had smiled, pretending to herself that it was a simple coincidence.
I'd like that,
she had answered,
knowing her casual acceptance was deceiving neither of them.
She had made a wonderful try at reasoning away all the coincidences, the phone calls, the unlooked for, but not unexpected meetings, the idea that she was the object of a subtle and strategic courtship. It was almost too easy to think of excuses—loneliness, force of habit, any port in a storm, a problem of adjustment. But slowly the truth, like a light through a prism, shone clear and pierced the security of her logic.
Dane didn’t want the divorce.
It was in his eyes when he looked at her, in his voice when he spoke, in his silence that told her heart what she wouldn’t hear. He wanted her back. Amanda knew it as well as she knew him. The knowledge filled her with a kaleidoscope of frightening emotions and trembling possibilities. What did she want? And what could she realistically hope to have?
Nothing had changed. That was the truth that evaded her, the lie that wouldn’t fit into her careful rationale.
She had been positive when she left Dane that she had chosen the only possible course of action. She had been certain that he, too, wanted to end the nightmare their marriage had become. And she had been sure, deadly sure, that he no longer loved her. How could she have been so wrong?
Amanda resisted the idea. She had chosen to do what she perceived as being right and the decision had cost her dearly. It was impossible to simply accept that she had been mistaken.
And yet the evidence was there in the tilt of his smile.
The divorce hearing was still pending, but postponed by a dozen delays. First there had been a delay of several weeks while waivers and interrogatories were filed and
answered. It had taken even more time to receive the inventory list from Dane. Then the court date had to be postponed once and then again because Jerry had other legal commitments.
Amanda wondered if the seemingly trivial delays had been devised by Jerry at Dane’s request. It seemed increasingly possible. Dane was slowly, deliberately, maneuvering her toward reconciliation. She was aware of it and made no move to stop him. Torn by the conflict of what had once been and what now was, Amanda didn’t know what to do.
She couldn’t go back. Too many hurts lay behind them. She was afraid to go forward. Too many uncertainties lay ahead. And still, she could not bring herself to say the words that would put a final and unalterable period to her past. Nothing had changed and yet, one small
maybe
— however cramped for space — took root in her heart.
It grew into a fledgling hope on the day Dane persuaded her to come sailing with him. It was a perfect day of crimson gold in a world of blue; the weather was crisp with the nip of approaching winter. They anchored in a small cove and ate their picnic in the late afternoon sunlight.
Relaxing on deck, Amanda savored the feel of autumn and the murmur of lapping water. The boat swayed, settled, swayed again, bringing a contented curve to lips that had known little else all day. A beautiful, perfect, unforgettable day. Her arms stretched up and up, pulling her Windbreaker taut across her breasts. Her head tilted back to face the sky. A bank of clouds scalloped the setting sun, jockeying for position along the horizon. It would storm tonight, Amanda thought, and sniffed the air for a promise of rain.
A dozen scents were carried on the breeze, but if rain was one of them, she didn’t recognize it. How could she, when she inhaled the lazily sensuous fragrance that was so intricately Dane? Slowly her eyes sought him. Slowly her arms lowered. Helplessly she loved him across the red-checked distance of the tablecloth between them.
He was stretched full-length on the deck, hands behind his head, eyes closed, lips barely parted. His chest rose and fell with deep precision beneath the loose contours of his Windbreaker. His penchant for bare chest and cutoffs had given way to the October chill that necessitated jeans and a light jacket.
She watched him for a long time, absorbing the comfortable quiet between them. It was nice to feel so at ease, so at peace with herself and with him. He had been a wonderful companion all day, and pleasant memories of other sails across the bay surrounded her with familiar feelings. It was easy, here on the boat where they had loved so many times, to forget the boundaries that fate had drawn. She knew she shouldn’t forget and yet, she wanted very much to remember the way she had felt about him then.
I
love you.
The words were a thick, pulsing ache inside her. So many memories were wrapped in those simple words. How many times had she said them? Amanda wondered. Fifty? A thousand times fifty? How easily they had once tumbled from her tongue.
I
love you.
She had whispered them to him in the still of night, called them above the wind, teased him with them, drowned in the sweet mystery of saying them.
I love you. I love you.
Would she ever feel free to say them again?
Amanda tugged at the comb that held her hair. Deftly she pulled it loose and felt the slight breeze catch and
tangle in the dark shoulder-length strands. She wished her hair were long enough to blow across her face and veil the image of the hard, male body that, even at rest, seduced her thoughts.
It had been a very long time since she had made love with him. Why did she feel this traitorous desire now? Now, when to touch him in even the most innocent way would demand questions, explanations, emotions that she wasn’t ready to handle. Perhaps she would never be ready.
The thought closed around her like a damp morning fog, bringing with it a misty pain. Her gaze pulled away from him, went to the clouded sky, moved relentlessly back to his still form. One year ago....
The memory came swiftly, like a warning flash of lightning before the sharp clap of thunder. No. Oh, God, no. She didn’t want to remember. Not now. Not here.
“It’s going to rain,” she said with quiet panic.
The lazy arch of his brow said he wasn’t asleep.
“Did you hear me?” The memory was coming stronger and she willed him to say something, anything, to deflect it. “It might storm.”
He opened one eye, squinted upward for a second, then closed it again. “It might.”
Frowning, she put a hand to her cheek, felt herself tremble and let the hand fall to her lap. “Maybe we should get back. I’ll just gather up the remnants of our picnic and the…the tablecloth and the....” She struggled to think as her fingers groped for the cloth. It bunched in her grasp, spilling a can of cola. A dark stain pooled and she watched it spread, seeing instead a glimpse of hospital white and the gleaming metal of the incubator. She could hear the muffled blip of the monitor and the hushed whispers of strangers.
Dane, oh, Dane.
Her voice called his name in the distant realm of memory. Oh, God. She was going to remember. It was too late to stop the images that were already grating against her composure like sandpaper to glass. But Dane mustn’t know; she couldn’t let him see.
“I’ll just take this below.” How calm she sounded, how untroubled. She reached again for the cloth.
“Amanda?”
Her hand hovered, her throat closed. She shut her eyes and then forced them open to meet his. Richly brown and shatteringly perceptive, his gaze held her,
“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone probing, seeking to understand. He sat upright slowly and Amanda thought he moved as carefully as if he were skirting quicksand.
In self-defense she smiled ... and knew that Dane wasn’t fooled. Unable to utter even the smallest reassurance, she shook her head and kept her lips pasted in place. Inside she was crumbling, wanting to reach out to him, wanting to believe he could understand.
“Tell me, Amanda.” It was softly commanding, almost a plea. His eyes wouldn’t let her look away. “Tell me.”
She couldn’t. It had been a year. How could she tell him now what she hadn’t been able to tell him then? How could she expose a grief that no one else could share?
I
love you.
The silent words filled her, mocked her with the incongruity of her emotions. She had been wrong to think that the loving would ever stop. Wrong, not to have made him understand the depth of her pain a year ago. Was it too late? Could he ever understand that sometimes loving just wasn’t enough?