The Night Remembers (23 page)

Deftly, she touched up her makeup and fluffed up her hair.
The very picture of wifely devotion,
she decided, grinning at herself in the mirror.

Despite a slight delay, she had finally managed to put her plan into action. Adam had his glass of wine, she had slipped into something slinky, dinner was well on its way to being done. All she had to do now was get him to talk about his work. And, since Adam loved his work, that should be no problem at all, she thought, stepping out of the steamy bathroom.

No problem at all except that Adam was sound asleep. The wineglass, empty now, tilted precariously from his right hand. Mack had crawled back up on his stomach and lay sprawled in feline abandon. Tiger was sleeping in the crook of his bent elbow, his pointed little face looking ridiculously sweet against the hard curve of Adam's bicep. Queenie, as usual, was close by but held herself apart from the rest of the hoi polloi.

Daphne stood silently for a few moments, disappointment building inside her. Then she sighed in resignation and moved across the hardwood on bare feet. They would have all day tomorrow together, she reminded herself.

Gently, she eased the wineglass from between Adam's slack fingers and placed it on the tray. He mumbled something unintelligible and shifted his weight on the bed. Daphne waited a minute, holding her breath until he—and the cats—settled in again, and then she clicked off the remote control, sending the television into darkness. Adam didn't stir. She snapped off the lamp and left the room.

In the kitchen, the pot of water was boiling furiously on the stove, half of its volume already vaporized into steam. Daphne turned it off and put the parmesan cheese and cream she had set out back in the refrigerator. If Adam woke up later and was hungry it would be easy enough to get things started again. But she didn't think he'd wake up. The tiredness had been deeply etched into his sleeping face.

He pushed himself too hard, she thought, thinking of the long hours he spent at the hospital and the many, many times the phone or his beeper had called him back there when she had thought he was through for the day.

How many times in the last six weeks had he been called away from dinner or a movie or a cuddle in front of the fire by that damn electronic leash of his? And how many times had she stifled her impatience because of it? Enough times, she thought with a little start of surprise, so that she rarely felt the impatience now. She was getting used to it, she realized, accepting it as part of the total package that was Dr. Adam Forrest.

She was learning to know Adam, she thought, learning to accept him just as he was, warts and all, learning that his intense dedication to his work, his drive and ambition, were as much a part of him as his hard golden body. She was, she decided happily, learning to relate to Adam as a friend and companion as well as the lover who made her blood run hot with just a glance.

She wondered if he was learning to accept her, too. He seemed to but he hadn't said, and afraid of his answer, she hadn't asked. But there was time enough for that, she concluded. More than time enough. She'd start acting more wife-like in the morning, and pretty soon Adam would start feeling more like a husband. It would only be a short step from feeling like a husband to wanting to be one again, wouldn't it?

With a yawn, Daphne flicked off the bedroom light and went back down the hall to the bedroom. She pushed her caftan off her shoulders, letting it slide down her body to the floor. And naked, except for the two thin gold chains around her neck, she slipped under the covers next to Adam.

A good wife, she thought, grinning wickedly, would be there when he woke up.

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, makin
g 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, sli
pping 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.