Dare to Dream

by Modean Moon

  In a dreamlike trance she walked with Nick to the car. Too soon they were at her apartment, standing in front of the door. She fumbled for her key, not knowing how to say good night to him.

  "Dani?" He caught her face in his hands, his fingers trailing along her throat.

  "Coffee?" she whispered, -knowing only that she didn't want him to leave. Not yet.

  Silently, he took the key from her and opened the door, standing to one side to let her enter first.

  She crossed the dimly lighted living area to the small kitchen, tossing her purse on the breakfast bar as she passed, not bothering to turn on any other light. She couldn't seem to make her hands obey as she reached for the coffeepot and coffee.

  She felt Nick behind her, the warmth of his body burning through her clothes, felt his hands moving on her arms as he pulled her back against him. Part of her wanted to turn and throw her arms around him. The other part strained away from him, trying to measure out coffee with a shaking hand.

  "I never did feed you tonight," he whispered against her ear.

  "Not food." She too was incapable of anything but a whisper. "But something I needed much more."

  The coffee measure dropped into the sink.

  "Forget the coffee," he muttered as he turned her toward him.

  She stared up at him, warring with the warmth she felt that wanted to answer the desire she saw in his eyes and a cold, hard core within her that hissed insidiously that she had no right to feel this pleasure.

  "Nick"—her voice was a broken plea—"I don't…"

  "I know," he said, before his mouth silenced her.

  For long moments she held herself passive in his arms, refusing to let herself respond as his mouth moved over hers, teasing, tasting, probing, sending rivulets of warmth through her body, but when his hands moved from her arms to her back to enfold her, the battle was lost. Moaning, she strained against him, thrilling to the shudder that ran through him as she twined her fingers in his hair and pulled him closer to her, answering the demand she now felt in his movements with a demand of her own. Years of hunger cried out to be satisfied, and if a voice whispered that only this man had aroused that hunger, the voice was lost in the greater clamor of her need.

  Nick drew a ragged breath and pulled away from her, but he didn't seem to be able to let go of her any more than she could release him. He folded his arms around her and pressed her head to his chest. She felt his heart pounding as erratically as hers as both of them fought for breath.

  She needed his support to stand. It was as though her bones were molten liquid. She was incapable of anything but holding on to him, wanting him. I'm not dead.

  One lucid thought penetrated her drugged state. She could feel passion. She could respond. A sob caught in her throat. Not since Rob… She closed her eyes and buried her face against Nick's shirt. She couldn't— wouldn't—think about Rob at a time like this, but his image floated through the blackness behind her closed lids, and when she tried to force it away, her son's agonized wail rose in her ears, drowning out the sound of Nick's heartbeat.

  I can't go through that tonight, she thought as panic destroyed her euphoria. I won't! She opened her eyes so that the light would erase the pictures and saw Nick looking down at her, his eyes glazed by the same passion she had felt. She didn't have to go through it, she realized. She could lose herself with Nick.

  She twisted in his arms and caught his face in her hands. "Nick," she whispered hoarsely, "stay with me tonight."

  The barest flicker of surprise showed in his eyes before he bent his head to hers. "Lady," he murmured, "I have no intention of leaving."

  Chapter Three

  Light from the living room lamp crept through the doorway, casting a warm glow on a sliver of the bedroom. The rest of the room remained lost in darkness. Dani threw back the bed covers and turned hesitantly to face Nick. He had already shed his jacket and tie and stood only inches in front of her, a looming shadow except for the luminescence of the white shirt stretched across his broad chest and shoulders.

  A lump caught in her throat and she swallowed, trying in vain to ease the constriction. Self-consciously, but protected by the darkness, she nibbled on her lower lip, unsure of what he expected her to do next.

  She plucked at the button of a cuff of her shirt, but he caught her hands in his, unbuttoned the cuffs, and feathered a kiss on the inside of each of her wrists. There was the briefest of pauses before he unbuttoned his own cuffs.

  She stood rigidly still as she felt his fingers brush across her breasts and begin unfastening the row of covered buttons down the front of her shirt.

  "Help me, Dani," he urged in a low voice.

  When she finally understood what he was asking, she raised shaking hands to the front of his shirt, duplicating his tantalizing movements. His hands crept to her shoulders, easing the silk from her until it slithered to the floor. He stood motionless, waiting. Tremulously, she pushed at his shirt until she freed it from his shoulders and it fell to join hers.

  "Oh, Dani, Dani," he murmured as he drew her to him. Beneath her cheek was the springiness of the dark hair that veed down from his throat; beneath her fingers, supple skin that covered coiled muscles.

  She felt his hands moving over her, sliding from the satiny second skin of her chemise to the bareness of her flesh. A shudder ran through her, and she clutched at his shoulders. His low laugh told her that he had misread her response, and he continued his exploration, teasing at her until he bent her backward and began exploring with his mouth areas that his hands had already mapped and memorized.

  She stood with her body arched against him and her head thrown back and waited, but after the initial shock of his touch she felt… nothing. Oh, God, what was wrong with her? A moment ago she had been a mass of exposed nerves and now, while she was being expertly made love to, the strongest word she could think of to describe what was happening was—pleasurable. Where was the passion? She could still feel it. That had been proven tonight. She would feel it again. She would make herself feel it again!

  She began her own exploration of his body, tentatively at first but growing more demanding with an urgency born of her fear, and when his mouth returned to hers she met it with a desperation that translated itself into at least the appearance of desire.

  She tensed as she felt his hand on her waistband, but in one fluid motion he sent her skirt and slip to join their shirts. She felt the next move should be hers. Her hands shook so badly though, she abandoned her futile efforts at his belt.

  "I… I…" She had to tell him something but had no idea what she was trying to say.

  "Ssh. It's all right," he murmured as he slipped the chemise from her and eased her onto the bed. His touch should have been driving her wild. She knew that. If she were a normal woman, the lingering caress as he drew her hose from her would have had her writhing in anticipation. Instead, she very plainly heard the sound of her shoes being dropped on the floor at the foot of the bed.

  What have I gotten myself into? she wondered as Nick turned to divest himself of the rest of his clothing. He stood outlined in the light from the living room. And what had she done to Nick? He deserved more than the shell she had become. She closed her eyes against the sight of his strong, lean body. If she could only go back to the time in the kitchen and take back her rashly uttered words, but she couldn't, any more than she could tell him to stop now because she had changed her mind. She had gone too far not to finish what she'd started.

  The tremor that started in her hands had spread until now her whole body quivered, stilled only a second by the shock of feeling Nick's flesh along the length of hers as he stretched beside her and reached to take her in his arms.

  Don't ever let him leant the truth, she prayed as she turned to him to begin a pantomime of the act of love. But she trembled too violently, she reacted too hesitantly. He pulled away from her, leaning on one elbow, stroking her hip with his free hand.

  "What's the matter?" he asked gently.<
br />
  If only he hadn't asked, she might have been able to go through with it. But now there was no way. She couldn't lie to him anymore—not with words—not with her body. Choking back a moan, she twisted away from him, curling into a tight ball on the other side of the bed.

  He leaned beside her and placed a whisper-soft kiss on her shoulder. "Dani?" His still gentle voice carried a note of insistence. "What's wrong?"

  If only she could stop shaking. If only she could disappear magically from the room. If only she never had to face him again.

  "I'm ashamed, Nick," she whispered brokenly. "So ashamed. And afraid."

  "You aren't ashamed of enjoying your body, are you?" he murmured at her throat. "It's natural to want to take pleasure, to want to give pleasure."

  She shrank away from his hand on her arm. "Nick, listen to me! I'm using you." She felt his body stiffen at her words. "Pretending a desire I don't feel. That's why I'm ashamed."

  He caught her shoulders and forced her down, pinioning her beneath him, all traces of tenderness gone from his touch and from his voice. "This was an act?" Enough light penetrated the room for her to see the disgust etched in the harsh lines of his face. "I don't believe you," he groaned.

  She twisted helplessly as his head bent to hers, but she endured the punishing ravishment of his mouth and hands without fighting. She deserved much worse.

  "Damn you, Dani," he said thickly. "Why?"

  She turned her head to one side and closed her eyes. She had to force her words around the constriction in her throat. "Hate me if you have to," she whispered. "Use me if it will help, but I don't feel anything, Nick. Not anything." Her last words were barely audible. "And that's why I'm afraid."

  Nick slumped against her. She could not stop her trembling. Even with the warmth of his body covering her, she was cold, so cold. Maybe she was turning to ice, freezing solid to match the frozen lump that once had been her heart. But that didn't excuse what she'd done tonight.

  She touched Nick's arm. This time he flinched.

  "I'm sorry." She choked out the words. "So very sorry."

  "So am I," he said. He pulled himself to one side and looked down at her. "You really didn't feel anything?" he asked as though he still couldn't believe her.

  "No." She twisted her head in denial as she spoke. "No, that's not true either." she forced herself to admit. "Earlier—earlier I didn't have to pretend."

  Nick traced his fingers along her cheek, and she felt the moisture of tears she could not have shed. When he drew away from her she knew he was leaving, and knowing that she had driven him away didn't ease the ache that cut its way through her weakened defenses. But he moved only to the foot of the bed to retrieve the fallen covers and pull them over the two of them.

  "You're freezing," he said as he wrapped her in his arms. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before speaking in a voice tight with control. "I'm trying hard to hear what you're actually saying. You told me a number of things tonight that I chose to disregard. You told me that you didn't drink, and I insisted that you do it anyway. You told me that you didn't dance, and I dragged you onto the floor. You even tried, I think, to tell me that you don't take strange men to bed with you, but I didn't let you finish the sentence."

  He pulled the covers more securely around her. "The only thing I chose to hear you say tonight was, 'Stay with me,' and that's because I'd done everything I could think of to make sure you said it."

  "Dani, will you stop trembling?" His hands moved over her back and arms, not with passion but to knead warmth into her chilled flesh: "What I'm saying is, I think you're trying to take all the blame for what happened when what you probably ought to do is scream at me and tell me to get the hell out of your life."

  She murmured an inarticulate sound in her throat. She didn't know what it meant. All she knew was that Nick's warmth was driving the ice away, and she crept closer to him, needing his warmth, needing the protection that, for now, his arms offered.

  Dani awoke with a stabbing pain behind her eyes and groaned against the injustice of having to crawl out of the cocoon of bedcovers, but crawl she did, fighting free of the blanket and spread until she sat upright, her head cradled in her hands.

  Unable to avoid facing the truth any longer, she peered through her fingers at the disarray of the room.

  More than any other thing, the crumpled pillow beside her gave mute testimony of the previous night.

  "Oh, no," she moaned, shaking her head. Movement aggravated her headache, but she scrambled from the bed, snatched her pale blue satin robe from the closet, and wrapped it around her.

  She stumbled into the living room. The saucer Nick had used for an ashtray still sat on the coffee table. She carried the saucer to the kitchen, dumped its contents, and reached for the coffeepot. Pot and coffee still stood on the drainboard. The measure sat atop an island of grounds in the sink.

  Dani clutched the drainboard with both hands. "I didn't do that," she cried. "I didn't!"

  She roused herself, cleaned the mess from the sink, and started the coffee. Ravenously hungry, yet revolted by the thought of food, she poured herself a glass of milk and stepped outside. The kitten attacked her bare toes as she knelt down for the newspaper. She pulled him from her and scolded him gently. "I told you to go away. Why do you keep coming back?"

  Mewing pitifully, the kitten climbed onto her lap, pawing for the glass of milk in her other hand.

  "See, if you'd gone and found a home like I told you to, you wouldn't be hungry this morning," she said gently as she put the kitten from her and picked up her newspaper.

  She had to nudge the kitten away from the door with her toe. Why didn't he go away? He had been there a week, greeting her every morning. And he did look hungry. No. If she fed him once, he would never go away. And yet, she could still hear his mewing outside the door.

  Muttering an oath, she snatched a small bowl from the cabinet and carried it outside. "Just don't come to depend upon this," she snapped as she poured half her milk into the bowl. The kitten didn't appear to hear her. He was too busy attacking the milk.

  Dani spread the newspaper out on the breakfast bar and stared at the front page, unable to focus her attention on any story, while she waited for the coffee to finish brewing. Her mind kept wandering back to one subject—Nick Sanders. Finally she stopped fighting it and let herself think about him and then wished she hadn't because what she remembered most clearly was the look of disgust on his face when she told him she couldn't—she couldn't— She crossed her arms on the breakfast bar and lay her head on them while waves of shame washed through her. At least, she assured herself, she'd never have to see him again.

  The shrill of the telephone jolted her upright, but it was not until the second ring that she identified the sound. She hurried to the desk to avoid hearing the shriek a third time.

  "D.J.?" she heard Marcie ask hesitantly.

  "Yes, Marcie. What is it?"

  "Are you all right? Your voice sounds strange."

  Dani tried to clear the cobwebs from her brain and the cotton from her mouth. "I'm fine," she said clearly. "Is something wrong?"

  "No." The woman's voice was puzzled. "It's just that it's almost ten and—"

  "Ten?" Dani yelped.

  "Yes. And it's not like you to be this late without checking in. I was afraid something might have happened."

  Dani pulled out the desk chair and slipped onto it, propping an elbow on the desk and resting her head against her hand. "I overslept. I'm just now getting around."

  "The meeting with Sam Wilson must have been a tough one."

  Dani didn't want to be reminded. "You might say that. What have I missed so far this morning?"

  "Nothing critical, I think. Mr. Merriweather wants to see you at two. You don't have anything else scheduled at that time."

  "Would you call his secretary and tell her I'll be there?"

  "Sure. The abstracts have arrived for the Win-Tech drilling opinion."

  "Fin
e."

  "And Nick Sanders called."

  Dani felt the blood draining from her face. She gripped the receiver, but her voice was calm when she spoke. "Did he leave a message?"

  "No. He said he'd call back later. But the reason I called is that this is the day I have the doctor's appointment."

  Dani only half heard the her.

  "I have to be there by eleven, D.J., and I may be a little late getting back from lunch. I can reschedule the appointment if I have to, but I'd really rather not."

  "No," Dani told her. "I'll call Chet and ask him to send someone in."

  "Thanks, D.J. It is important or I wouldn't have asked. What do you want me to tell Mr. Sanders when he calls back? That you're at home and he can reach you there for a while?"

  "No!" Dani said quickly. "Tell him that I"-she chose her words carefully, not wanting to ask Marcie to tell an outright lie—"tell him that I said I had a number of things to take care of outside the office today and probably won't be in."

  "Oh." Marcie's one syllable spoke volumes.

  Nick had called. Dani pushed that thought aside as she punched out the numbers for her office, grateful for this small activity, and asked to be connected with Chet Davis. He answered the phone himself, sounding preoccupied and impatient, and well he should be, she thought. As office manager, he was responsible for everything from the personnel records and payroll for thirty-five attorneys and a greater number of support personnel to making sure that paper clips and staples were ordered regularly.

  "You'd think," Dani said dryly, "that the man in charge of hiring could manage to find a secretary for himself."

  Because this was a running joke in the office, nurtured primarily by his good-humored complaints, Chet laughed.

  "Good morning, D.J.," he said pleasantly. "You'll be happy to know that I have found someone. I'm transferring Robin up from word processing, but I can't bust her loose from that job until Monday. What can I do for you today?"