But Deanna had made her decision and notified the dining room of it on her way to the car. Though the late luncheon crowd was substantial, a cursory glance revealed no tall and auburn-headed architect among the lot. Perhaps he might be there tonight
That, of course, was the motivating factor behind her deviation from habit and she was too honest to deny it When Larry had been alive they'd taken the evening meal downstairs several times a week, in part to be accessible to friends and in part to be assured of the consistently fine quality of the restaurant Since his death Deanna had preferred the nighttime sanctuary of her own suite on all but those few occasions when she accepted an invitation to be with a group. But an opportunity to see Mark Birmingham again was worth the effort of venturing forth and she was determined to do it
Henry dropped her at the office at two and fetched her again at five. She spent the interim hours as usual, talking with different members of the foundation staff, then
meeting alone with Bob to discuss and sign the inevitable stack of papers that required her formal approval. Bob was his usual patient self. If Deanna seemed to ask more questions than normal, to probe deeper into one decision or another than she had tended to do in the past, he accepted it all with good-natured indulgence. In turn, she graciously accepted his able explanations and the pat “Don't-worry-about-itâs.” and “It's-all-settled's” and “I'll-take-care-of-it's” he offered. He did have everything under control. For that, since her own mind was beginning to wander, she was grateful.
After returning home with Henry she settled into a bath filled to the brim with hot water and lemon-scented oil. An hour later she stood before the bathroom mirror with a towel wrapped sarong style around her. Before her was a woman she'd seen every day of her life. Or had she? Had she seen only part of the woman, that part that fit the image of the docile daughter and the loving wife? Was there another part she'd refused to see, a part that had only recently begun to beg for recognition?
Perplexed, she stared at her reflection. Her face was devoid of all makeup, yet it was bright and tingling with a hint of pink from the heat of the bath. Her hair was piled high, but loose wisps rebelled against restraint and curled gently toward her shoulders where the skin was moist, creamy smooth and soft. In a moment of curiosity Deanna reached for the point above her breast where the towel was tucked, pulled its end loose and slowly let it fall. Then, almost timidly, she looked at her body in a wholly new light. It was the body of a woman, with firm, full breasts and a narrow waist, a flat stomach and gently curving hips. Her legs were long and slim and of the same satin texture as the rest of her.
Slowly and with a dawning awareness, Deanna let her eyes retrace the route, moving intently upward. Would he admire her body as she had just done? Would he want
to see it? To touch it? To know it? Her fingers were unsure as she lifted them to her breast, where they lay against the wild beat of her heart. Would
he
desire her as she'd long ago dreamed to be desired?
Larry had loved her as a husband loved a wife, but without any of the passion she'd once dared to imagine. And she had neither questioned his lack of demand nor her own passive acceptance of it, because she had been young, innocent and naive, contenting herself with his evident satisfaction, finding pleasure in the overall tranquillity of their lives and the orderly show of love that compensated for unleashed passion.
Unleashed passion. Was that what she craved? Would she know what to do with it? How to handle it? Sighing, she stooped to lift the towel from the floor and wrap it around herself as she passed through to her room in search of underclothes. Unleashed passion, hah! The only thing to be unleashed this day was a very naughty fancy that was destined for frustration. With a swift if rueful headshake she cast the thought aside.
But eight oâclock found her dressed nonetheless and on her way to the hotel dining room as she had preordained. She wore a dress of black silk that was soft yet sophisticated, scooped at the neck and draping her body with just enough fullness to suggest the fragile femininity within. There were solitary pearls at her ears, a fine strand around her throat and an exquisite wristlet to match the delicate gold-and-pearl creation she wore on the third finger of her left hand. Her hair was caught up with twin clasps of silk, her makeup blended with a light but skillful hand. In an utterly unaffected way she carried with her an aura of distinction as she smiled at the maître d' and preceded him to her table.
Far beneath this stunning surface she quivered, however, filled with trepidation that
he
wouldn't be there. It was a grand shot in the dark that she had made and she
suddenly wondered why she had ever allowed her fantasy such freedom. Some dreams were meant to remain no more than dreams. Perhaps this was one of them.
“Enjoy your dinner, Mrs. Hunt” The maître d's parting words inspired her. Mark Birmingham or no, she was going to try. Settling into her chair, she took several deep and calming breaths. But she was unable to appreciate the grace around her, the soft notes of the piano as its music strove to soothe her mind, the flicker of a slender candle bringing to life the brandy-hued rose that stood proudly before her in its sterling bud vase. Opening her menu, she made a pretense of studying the elaborate list of offerings. But the exotic titles merged meaninglessly into one another; her mind was very definitely elsewhere. Finally, unable to restrain herself, she risked a glance up through the shade of her lashes toward his corner, where evening's atmospheric lighting had replaced the morning's sun.
Deanna raised her head higher and opened her eyes with the breathless realization that Mark Birmingham was at his table, nursing a drink and infinitely aware of her own arrival. His dark eyes locked with hers and he smiled a greeting. She smiled back almost shyly, lingering for a moment's pleasure before lowering her gaze in defense against the potent attraction she felt But her brown eyes sparkled, her cheeks glowed, the pulse at her neck throbbed in excitement. It was an auspicious start for dinner, indeed, for the night itself.
Deanna barely knew what she ordered or ate, only that it was the most delicious meal she'd had in months. The service itself was faultless, its pace properly relaxed to allow her to greet friends and the occasional well-wisher, as well as indulge in periodic visual exchanges with Mark. At some point she actually wondered why they kept their distance, why one didn't approach the other and end
their separation. But then her mind moved one step further and she was suddenly frightened. Fantasy was one thing, reality another. What if her dream man turned out to be a bore? Worse, a brute? What if his teeth were false or his hair sewn on or the breadth of his shoulders artificial? What if, when she finally heard it, his voice had a high nasal twang? As it stood, he had at least the illusion of perfection. Did she dare jeopardize the vision? No, some dreams were better left untouched. But the thought of
that
saddened her even more. She
did
want to touch Mark Birmingham ⦠and that was the least of it!
It seemed it wasn't to be. Deanna had barely begun to sip her coffee when Mark rose from his table, sent her a last soulful stare and, to her disappointment, left the dining room. Her pleasure in her evening suddenly faded. Within minutes she followed his example, graciously thanking and complimenting the dining-room staff, then walking to the elevator, head down in thought
She wasn't quite sure of the moment when he approached because there were other people quietly milling about. But something drew her head up and she found herself face-to-face with him. Her breath caught in a quiet gasp. At close range he was that much taller, that much more handsome, that much more intense. And his effect on her was staggering, the reality of him something to behold.
For the first time his features were near enough to study and know. His nose was strong, with a faint crook at its bridge, his lips firm and masculine, his jaw square and clean-shaven. The eyes she had only known to be dark now revealed themselves as a deep charcoal brown, and they were studying her just as intently as she was studying him. His hair was thick and rich and entirely his own, his chest broad enough to fill his jacket on its own sinewed merit. And when his lips curved in the hint of a smile she saw that his teeth had just enough of an
irregularity to vouch for their authenticity. He was every bit the real thing. And she couldn't restrain a sigh.
At that moment the elevator arrived, demanding their immediate attention. But when Deanna felt a hand lightly take her elbow she knew it was Mark's. He held her back to let several others enter, then gently guided her aboard. Though his hand fell away she stayed by his side as the car whirred upward.
At the tenth floor one couple disembarked, at the eighteenth floor another. By the time the elevator left the twenty-seventh floor Deanna and Mark were alone. She stared expectantly at the lighted panel above the doors, watching the floors pass. Thirty. Thirty-one. Had she even pressed her own? Thirty-three. Thirty-four. Thirty-five. The car hummed to a halt and its doors slid back. As she held her breath she felt her hand taken by a larger, warmer, surer one. Taking courage from it, she met Mark's gaze. It held every bit of her own need and want, plus a sense of promise she hadn't seen before. His eyes silently offered the same invitation conveyed by his hand as, still holding hers, he stepped tentatively forward. Deanna hesitated for a final moment. Then, seized by an overpowering urgency, she followed him.
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hen the door to his suite quietly and irrevocably shut out the rest of the world, Mark drew her around to face him. He stood no more than a gasp away, tall and dark and silently demanding. In a fleeting moment of panic Deanna wondered where she was, why she was there, whether she could even begin to give this man what she knew he wanted. He was so real now. For the first time in her life she felt totally inadequate.
Reading the fear in her large fawn eyes, Mark moved to ease it. He raised his hands to touch her face, framing it with long, adoring fingers that wove lightly into her hair and tipped her features back for his tender exploration. His melting gaze transmitted wordless reassurance that she was everything he wanted and more. Gaining courage, Deanna held her breath in anticipation of the moment
Release came with the slow lowering of his head and the soft touch of his lips against hers. She closed her eyes,
timidly yielding to a new realm of sensation that bridged the gap between fantasy and reality. His mouth moved so lightly at first that she wondered on which side of that chasm she remained. But as the pressure increased slowly, demanding her response, Deanna knew that this kiss was no dream. There was nothing paternal or protective about it, nothing token or simply affectionate. As it deepened, it became a thing of passion, a kiss such as she'd never experienced before. And it induced the rising surge of an echoing need that in turn triggered her response.
But that response was tempered by the newness of it all; Deanna had never been so stirred before. Beneath Mark's sensual caress she relaxed her lips at first, moving them experimentally against their firm male counterparts, then gradually lost herself in the pleasure until she was as caught up in the mindless play as he was. It was indeed fantasy, and she yielded to its glory. She knew nothing but the euphoria of this man's touch.
With a ragged catch in his breath, Mark gently drew back his head. It was only when his hands fell to encircle her waist that Deanna realized that her own were clinging to his shoulders. She slid them to his back as he drew her tight against him. It was the first time their bodies had touched.
“Hi,” he whispered, his smile bright
Deanna gathered the bare remnants of breath he'd left her to falteringly whisper back, “Hi, yourself.”
“Do you know,” he pressed her closer, “that that's been a fantasy of mine?” It was still a whisper. She had yet to really hear his voice.
“What has?”
“To say hello for the very first time with a kiss.” Where his manner might have held triumph or arrogance, there was only pleasure.
Deanna's face was a rosy reflection of that pleasure
even as she softly corrected him. “But you have said hello before ⦔ she began, remembering those first visual greetings before fearing once again that she might have imagined them. But she hadn't
Mark's eyes twinkled. “You heard me?”
“I heard you.”
He softly sighed his relief. “I'm glad.”
Unable to think of anything to say, Deanna simply nodded her agreement The situation was mind-boggling. Though she stood in the arms of a stranger, she felt as close to him as she had to ⦠to Larry. But Larry was gone and this closeness was different She needed it every bit as badly as she'd ever needed anything. It was fantasy, yet it was tangible.
Mark's face took on the same look of vulnerability, the same intense need Deanna had fallen prey to on that very first morning nearly a week earlier. Looking up at his sun-grazed features, she was tossed about on an ocean of sensation. His body warmth buoyed her. The distinctive scent of man and brandy excited her beyond reason.
When his eyes finally captured hers they held the question she had already heard from his body, which tautened against her as he exercised control. Deanna fought an instinctive resurgence of fear. Mark wanted her. As a woman. Now. It was fantasy of the highest order. But it was an unknown. Had she thought it would go so far? How could it
not!
Her body trembled in anticipation.
“You're afraid,” he stated in a deep and warmly understanding tone.
She nodded. “I've never done this before.”
The back of his hand stroked her cheek, the contrast in texture somehow symbolic of their vibrant differences. “Would you believe that I haven't either?”
The issue wasn't virginity and they both knew it. Their silent understanding was that it was the suddenness of it all, as well as its force, that was unique. Calmed by his
touch and gratified by his words, Deanna finally assimilated the rich timbre of his voice. It vibrated softly through her.
“No?” she asked, needing to hear it again.
“No.” He paused to allow his fingers to brush across her brow, chasing wayward wisps of her auburn hair. “You're very lovely.”
It was a standard line that Deanna had heard over and over again. But Mark had said it differently, with an intimacy that nurtured her delight The words were offered freely and without obligation. And it was in precisely that spirit that she responded, with a slight blush and a hint of shyness.
“So are you ⦠handsome, that is.”
“Does that mean you'll stay?” Urgency had suddenly overcome all else.
“Does one necessarily go with the other?”
“If it's the only reason you can find.”
“It's not.” The exchange had been made in eager whispers. Now she felt her pulse accelerate more dangerously and wondered whether Mark could feel it. Could she ever be a sophisticated lover for him?
He reached for her wrist, then drew her hand down to cover his heart while his other arm maintained its circle around her. She felt a strong beat, a thudding that matched her own heart's rhythm, and its strength surged through her.
“Will you stay?” he asked again.
Would she reach for fantasy's fulfillment? Just this once? “Yes,” Deanna heard herself murmur through lips that were moist and faintly trembling. She knew that she might live to regret what she was about to do, that in guilt alone she might suffer long after. She also knew that she owed this to herself. The feelings Mark inspired were too beautiful to be ignored. For the first time in her life she would be her own woman, responsible to no one but
herself. And to
him.
Yes, that was the other half of her need. It was a need to give of herself to another. Here there was no question of the impersonal acts of letter writing or check signing or handshaking. She was no longer an adjunct of some larger body. Here she was a woman stripped of all pretense. Here she would have only that which was deep within her to give. It was a dazzling, if fearful, thought.
Again Mark felt her emotions. “We'll be together,” he whispered and Deanna knew what he meant. He would help her, guide her. He didn't want her to be afraid.
With a smile, she nodded. His body felt fine against hers and she knew it would support her if she wavered. When he lowered his head to kiss her again she met him with lips parted in readiness. Passivity would not do for this man any more than it would do for the woman he seemed determined to make her. More than anything, she wanted to be that woman.
Standing back, he took her hand, then led her silently into the adjoining bedroom. Leaving her just past the threshold, he moved to turn on the lamp by the bed. Despite the many times she'd seen these rooms or others just like them, Deanna suddenly took them in in an entirely new light. The queen-size bed with its elaborate mahogany frame, the original silk-screen prints on the walls, the textured silk draperies and spread that shimmered shades of apricot and teal through the airâall were now a romantic backdrop whose details blended in sensual array.
The only details that stood out boldly were those of Mark's frame as he slowly turned to face her. Deanna was aware of the distance separating them and couldn't seem to make her feet move. Unsure as to what she should do, she watched silently as he shrugged out of his blazer and let it fall to the nearby armchair, then loosened
his tie. His eyes held hers reassuringly, telling her that he would call when it was time. Deanna wondered at the steadiness of his hand as it released the top two buttons of his shirt, for she was anything but steady as the tanned V of flesh appeared. It was a narrow stretch, but enticing. She wanted to touch it, but held herself back, because the urge itself intimidated her. Once again his expression was of understanding and reassurance. But he made no move to stop.
She watched wide-eyed as each successive button was undone until he tugged at his shirttails and freed them completely from his pants, but kept the shirt on. In a moment of nervous anticipation Deanna moistened her lips. Her pulse raced and her limbs felt weak, but she could no more look away than she could turn her back on this man. With the soft closing of the door to his suite a few minutes before, she had been committed. That was what she wanted to be, wasn't it? One look at the wider expanse of flesh now exposed and she identified a part of those yearnings she had previously ignored. She wanted him physically as much as he wanted her. With the real world, that other world, now safely blotted out, she could freely admit that need.
Deanna sought the doorjamb behind her for support as her gaze slowly fell from his throat past a path of tanned, man-haired skin to the point at his waist where his hands now moved. After releasing his belt buckle, he unfastened his slacks and let them drop. Before she could catch her breath, he stood before her wearing nothing but the open yellow shirt with its tie draped loose and a pair of the bluest, sexiest continental-styled briefs she had ever seen.
In the instant's shock she felt totally out of touch. Was this the kind of underwear that men now wore? Men's underwear had never been an issue to consider in the
past Even as she helplessly stared at his body she tried to recall how inconsequential a matter it was. But it wasn't! Those snug blue briefs made a bold statement
Deanna had never imagined that a man could be so physically exciting. Even her fantasy paled in comparison. As her gaze wandered her breath came faster. She traced his legs, long lengths of bronze, softly haired. She appreciated the perfect shaping of his calves and the latent power of his thighs. In the dim amber lighting he seemed ever warmer and more beckoning.
She gasped at the inevitability of what was about to happen. He called silently and she slowly left the doorway.
To say that she was in a trance would have been wrong, for she knew precisely what she was doing. She was living out a fantasy. She covered new ground with each step across the plush blue carpet Never before had she been driven by the fire that now consumed all sane thought Mark was the only one capable of quenching the flame and she walked steadily forward.
Inches away from him, she paused. Was this right? Was it what he wanted? He nodded almost imperceptibly and she raised her hand to touch his chest His skin was warm to the touch and softly textured beneath her fingers. She nearly gasped at the delight of him, but bit her lip cautiously. Despite what he'd said about never having lived this particular dream before, Deanna knew that he had to be far more experienced in the ways of women than she was in the ways of men. While the sensations she felt were new to her, he had to know just what he wanted and how he wanted it done. There was nothing clinical about it; it was a simple matter of personal desire. Could she satisfy him?
“That's right,” he murmured in encouragement when she moved her hand against his chest. Emboldened and curious, she brought the other to meet it, then began a
tactile exploration that built her own arousal. With each passing second her fingers grew more eager, raking slowly across his chest to outline its muscled expanse. Again she looked up at him and again he spoke softly. “That's it. Feel free ⦔
He sucked in his breath when her fingertips breezed across each flat male nipple, then returned for a more brazen caress that produced dual bold buds. Deanna felt a definite sense of triumph at his instant response, yet her hands trembled all the more.
His hands gently encircling her neck, Mark tipped her chin up with his thumbs. “Don't be afraid to touch me,” he whispered. “Anything is all right as long as you feel the pleasure.”
Deanna slid her hands beneath the flaps of his open shirt and savored the smooth flesh of his sides from rib to hip. “And your pleasure ⦠?”
“Comes from you.” He smiled with a gentleness that belied the smoldering light in his eyes. “Don't you see? Your pleasure brings me mine. They're one and the same. I don't think we could separate them if we tried.”
“But I don't know ⦔ she cried out softly in an attempt to confess her inexperience.
Mark wouldn't hear of it. “You
do
know.” He was deeply insistent “I saw it in your eyes from the first You're exquisite.” To illustrate his point he kissed her again, with greater conviction now and an ever-deepening drive.
Deanna found herself settling happily into the haven of his arms, surrendering willingly to the beauty of his kiss. This was part of that promise she had seen in
his
eyes and its soul-touch was every bit as exquisite as he claimed her to be. She submitted to his sweeping exploration of her mouth and thrilled to the heady nectar of his.