The Promise (12 page)

“Where have you worn it?”

She tilted her head, puzzled. “Various functions and parties. I can’t remember exactly. Why?”

“I just wondered.” His gaze dropped to the tantalizing shadow of her cleavage revealed by the low neckline of the dress, then returned to her face, where the ice-crystal earrings she wore were throwing light onto her skin. “Your social schedule must be quite full. Dates, I mean.”

She had dated often enough over the years, she reflected. Twice she had even tried very hard to become serious. Somehow, though, the relationships had never worked out. By choice, her dates had tapered off, until now, right at this moment, she would be hard pressed to recall when she last had been out with a man. However, she had no intention of telling him any of this. “Do you honestly think my life has stood still for the last ten years?” she asked, half amused, half censorious. "Yours hasn’t. Why should mine?”

“No particular reason.” He picked up his wineglass, looked at it, then set it back down without drinking anything.

“Are you aware of the odd glances you’re getting from the staff?” she asked.

His lips twisted with dry humor. “No, but if I am, it’s your fault.”

“They’ll forgive you anything. Trust me.” “Should I?”

His question was asked in a teasing tone, but her answer would have been a serious, no,
not entirely.
So she remained silent and soon their dinner arrived.

“Did you notice the different bowls of M&M’s in the suite?”

He nodded and smiled. “You’re really something.”

She felt a flutter in her heart and knew why. She was acutely aware of Conall and how darkly handsome and sophisticated he looked tonight. His coal-black hair gleamed with health and vitality. The contrast of his bronze skin against the white shirt was potently attractive. His hands especially fascinated her, with their strong wrists and long, lean fingers.

He handled the crystal wineglass with care. How would he handle a woman?

Her head came up with a snap. He was watch' ing her watch him. A blush rushed up her neck and her hand flew to cover the telltale color.

He eyed the color with interest. “How is your salmon?”

“Wonderful,” she said, grateful for the opportunity to change the direction of her thoughts. “In fact, everything about the dinner is perfect, including the ambience. If you were to discount the modem clothing worn by the guests here tonight, we could well be a hundred years back in time. The ladles dining here this evening would be wearing patterned silk or embroidered velvet gowns, with the skirts flared in back to form a short train. Or if this were the twenties, there would be flappers in short, beaded chemises, perhaps shocking the older women by smoking. ”

Her gaze traveled around the room. What kind of love stories had been played out between these walls, she wondered. What kind of stories would be played out in the future?

He pulled her back to the present by reaching across the table and taking her hand. “How did someone with your Imagination ever choose accounting as a career?"

“That’s easy. I could make sense out of numbers. You either add, subtract, multiply, or divide them, and they’re either black or red. There aren’t many things in life that are that simple.”

“No, I suppose not.” He wondered if she knew how telling her explanation was. She’d chosen a career she could control because there had been so much in her life she hadn’t been able to control.

He squeezed her hand. “Are you finished with dinner?”

It was the twinkle in his eye more than the question that gave her pause. “Yes, why?”

"For our after-dinner exercise.”

“Oh.”

Her doubtful tone made him laugh. “I have no idea what you’re thinking, but if for some odd reason you’re worrying, stop it. I have a surprise for you, and I can guarantee that you’re going to love it.”

He glanced at one of the waiters, and in moments the young man was there with her velvet evening cloak. She had brought it with her from Boston, but had left it hanging in her room.

“I sent someone for it,” Conall explained, rising and taking it from the waiter. He held out his hand to help her up, then wrapped the velvet around her shoulders and drew her back against him. “We’re not going far,” he murmured close to her ear.

A thrill rippled through her, and she twisted her head to look up at him.

He bent his head to press his lips to her cheek. “Let’s go.”

They left the house by a back door and walked out into a night glazed silver by the moon and spun with a special enchantment. The fountain was lit by colored lights and flowers scented the air.

They made their way along the winding garden paths, drawing farther and farther away from the house. But the music from the house wove in and out of the flowers, trees, and shrubs, following them.

“You’ve completely mystified me," she murmured, “but I’m enjoying the walk."

“I am too. It’s a beautiful night, and I have a beautiful companion.” He glanced at her. “I’m almost sorry we’re nearly there.”

“Nearly
where?”

“You’ll see.”

“You said that before.”

Mid-stride, he pivoted and suddenly she was in his arms, and he was kissing her. She was taken unawares. He was molding her mouth with his, drawing from her a response that came from a place inside her she hadn’t known existed, a place filled with emotions that raged and yearnings that blazed. She was shocked at the hunger she felt, at the bone-deep need, at the sensual pain that had begun to throb low and hard in her stomach. Then the kiss ended as abruptly as it began.

He cradled the side of her face with one hand, and stared enigmatically down at her. Her pulses raced furiously, but she remained quiet beneath his hand, not so much waiting, not so much trying to make sense of what had just happened, but, rather, regaining her strength. After a long moment he kissed her again, more softly this time. Heat flared from the still-burning embers of their first kiss, then died back down as he took her hand and drew her around a tall hedge. Obviously he had far greater control of himself than she had of herself.

“Here we are,” he said, waving a hand toward a long, narrow, one-story building with floor-to-ceiling arched windows spaced evenly down its side.

“What is it?” she whispered, still trying to deal with the effects of their kisses.

He drew a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. “It’s a tennis court my grandfather, Jake, had built sometime in the twenties after he inherited SwanSea.” He ushered her in with a hand at the small of her back.

The interior of the building lay in complete darkness except for the moonlight that slanted through each of the windows and sliced a short distance through the blackness.

“Stay here,” Conall said, “I'll be right back.”

She heard his footsteps as he walked away from her. For a moment she felt strangely bereft, but soon light flooded the interior—a subdued, pearl-ized kind of light—and she blinked as her mind slowly adjusted to what she was seeing.

A glass roof curved above them, artistically constructed of metal supports and pale yellow and cream stained glass.

Floor lamps stood around the perimeter of the court, the lamps each identical to the other. Each was crafted from copper and iridescent ivory glass in the shape of a tall, single-stemmed flower. On a lower leaf, a dragonfly rested.

Placed among the tall flower lamps were deep, wide, rattan couches, chairs, and chaise longues bearing cream-colored cushions. Glass-topped tables awaited cool drinks, and beside them the leaves of the potted palms stirred gently in the breeze that drifted in from both the doorway and several open windows. In the iridescent light the court resembled an enchanted garden.

“It’s fantastic,” she said when he returned to her side.

“I was hoping you’d like it. Since there’s only one court here, Caitlin decided to place it off limits for the guests. There are outdoor courts for them, but only the family can use this one. Would you like to play?”

“Play—tennis—now?” She glanced down at her evening gown. “In these clothes?”

“Why not? And I know you play. I can remember at least a couple of games you and I played all those years ago.”

He bent and pressed a light kiss on her mouth that took her mind completely off her ability to play tennis. He was kissing her more and more, she reflected. It seemed she had no more thorns.

“The light’s not the best at night, but I think we can manage. Are you up to it?”

A bouncy rendition of Cole Porter’s “Let’s Fall in Love” drifted through the windows on the breeze along with a few gold and red leaves. This place wasn’t of the real world, she thought. “Sure,” she said. “I’ve never lived in an F. Scott Fitzgerald novel before. It should be fun.”

He strode toward a cabinet at the back of the building, stripping off his jacket and tie as he went and unbuttoning the top few buttons of his shirt. When he came back, he handed her a racquet and two balls. "Your serve.”

She took her position behind the baseline, tossed up the ball, and hit it as hard as she could. It landed outside the receiving court.

“Oh, too bad,” Conall called in mock sympathy. “Yeah, sure.” She unbuckled her belt to give her more mobility and tossed it behind her. This time her serve landed squarely in his left serving court and the game was on.

She soon kicked off her shoes, but the full pale-turquoise skirts of her evening gown swirled and flared with her every movement and proved a definite problem. She had to lift the chiffon with one hand and swing the racquet with the other. Still, Sharon surprised herself by holding her own with Conall. And even when she realized that at times he was deliberately sending her easy returns, she decided she was having too much fun to care about her pride, if she’d ever had any in the first place.

Sometime later she hit a dropshot just over the net. He ran for it, but missed.

She laughed. “I win!”

His racquet clattered as it landed on the court where he tossed it in playful disgust.
“This
set you win. But the next—”

“Next?” she exclaimed, sweeping the back of her hair up so that air could reach her neck. “You’ve got to be kidding. No, no, no. I’m retiring as champion." She made her way off the court to a couch, where, one at a time, she propped her feet on its cushion to examine the damage she had done to her stockings. A glance confirmed what she’d already known. They were in shreds. Conall had gone over to the cabinet, so as quickly as possible, she reached beneath her long skirt to her garter belt, unhooked the stockings, and peeled them off.

A minute later he was there with two towels, and he handed her one. “I think we need to talk about this decision of yours,” he said, taking up the conversation where they had left it. “A champion doesn’t simply retire, you know. He, or she, as the case may be, usually takes on the most qualified challenger.”

She smiled sweetly at him and patted her neck with the towel. “If I find a qualified challenger, I’ll think about it.”

He snatched her towel from her hands and threw both their towels aside. Then with a menacing growl he grabbed her to him. “Say you’re sorry, or I’ll be forced to do something drastic!” She giggled. “Like what?”

“Are you going to say you’re sorry?"

“No, I don’t think so.”

“Then hang on, because I’m going to have to resort to making you so dizzy you won’t know which way is up or which way is down.” With that, he lifted her off her feet and whirled her around and around until she was squealing with laughter. When he lowered her feet to the ground, he kept his arms around her. “Now will you say you’re sorry?”

She shook her head and clung to him, unable to stop laughing or regain her balance.

He smiled broadly. “That’s too bad, because, unfortunately, the longer you refuse to cooperate, the worse the torture gets.” He swept her into his arms and laid her on the many cream-colored cushions of one of the rattan couches.

The next thing she knew he was braced over her, his eyes alight with laughter. “I really hate to do this,” he whispered, his tone one of regret, his expression showing exactly the opposite, “but now I have to resort to the dreaded Kiss Torture.” Choking on a laugh, she drew a breath and released it unevenly. “It sounds awful.”

“It is, believe me. But just close your eyes and try to bear up as best you can. ”

With a wide smile, she closed her eyes, expecting more fun.

She felt his lips brush like a warm, soft breeze over her forehead, then press gently against each of her eyelids. Little by little her breathing quieted.

His tongue lightly licked the bridge of her nose. Next he laid down a line of meticulously placed kisses to the tip. Her urge to laugh subsided.

With his mouth hovering just over hers, he asked, “Are you ready to say you’re sorry?”

Her smile faded and her lashes swept up to see that the color of his eyes had darkened and a flame had begun to flicker in their depths. Slowly she shook her head.

“That’s too bad,” he murmured, and lowered his head.

He outlined her mouth with kisses, taking extraordinary care not to touch her lips, then he turned his attention to her jawline, then her neck. He had been supporting his weight with a hand on either side of her, but gradually he lowered his body onto hers.

A compelling tension began to pulse in her, a different kind of trouble developed with her breathing, a beautiful, unbearable desire unfolded in her.

He changed position frequently to give himself a better angle for his kisses. Sometimes he shifted only an inch to the left, sometimes it was several inches to the right, other times it was up or down. But each movement caused her chiffon skirt to wrinkle, fold over on itself, inch down, inch up. The material rubbed against her, sensitizing her skin, heating her thighs. And as his chest slid this way and that over her, her breasts swelled and started to ache.

He skimmed his mouth down to where her breasts mounded above the low neckline of the beaded bodice. “I can feel your heart pounding,” he whispered. “Are you ready to say you’re sorry and accept me as a qualified challenger?”

He lifted the neckline of the bodice and licked beneath its edge to a taut nipple. She jerked at the thrill of desire that knifed into her. Then in a movement so fast she didn’t realize what he had done until it was over, he reached behind her, unzipped the dress, and pulled the front down until he could get his whole mouth over the nipple.