Dare to Dream

by Modean Moon

  "There's no reason to do that," he said softly.

  She looked at him blankly and swallowed, trying to ease the tightness in her throat.

  He held out his hands for hers and reluctantly she pulled them from her pockets and let him clasp them.

  "Unless someone cares enough about you to look closely, the scars aren't noticeable. And once he cares that much, he ceases to see them." He drew her hands toward him and placed a gentle kiss on the back of each one. Then he brushed the hair away from her face and traced the line of almost invisible scars along her hair with his fingers before bending to her and following the path of his fingers with fleetingly soft kisses.

  "I didn't think you'd seen those," she whispered.

  "Dani, I notice everything about you."

  "But you never gave any indication—"

  He spoke in a voice that was more caress than words, a voice which took all sting from what he said. "What was I going to say? Tell me about the pain? No. I had hoped that someday you'd feel free enough with me to want to talk about it, but until that time I wasn't going to pry."

  Now was the time to tell him. Dani knew that as she leaned against him. Now, before she cared too much. Now, before losing him would really matter. Now. And yet, she could not speak the words which would take the comfort of his arms from her, which would leave her alone and empty as she had been just a few short days ago.

  A tremor shook her, and Nick drew her closer. "So much for my carefully laid plans to cheer you up," he said in a voice lightly laced with irony. "What else can I do to make the day worse?"

  She shook her head against his chest before she placed her fingers on his lips to quiet him. He had done nothing wrong.

  His lips moved over her fingers, teasing them, sending shivers of delight down her arm to merge with the ache growing within her.

  She looked up at him to find him watching her, his eyes darkened and softened by an emotion she refused to explore. Too late. It was already too late not to matter. Bereft by the loss she felt, knowing that soon he would leave, taking with him that special joy of living she had too briefly shared, she felt the chill creeping over her. Insidiously, as though playing with its power, the trembling followed. She fought it, willing herself not to let it happen, but it was too late for that, too. The emotions in Nick's eyes were easy to read now—shock, followed by concern. She could no longer bear to watch the changes in his face.

  "Dani, what is it? What's wrong?"

  She closed her eyes and stood huddled against her misery, wondering if she would ever be able to answer him. "Take me home, Nick. Please."

  Although she protested it wasn't necessary, he insisted on putting the top on the car, as he insisted on turning on the heater. Nothing seemed to help. He drove quickly, his knuckles white against the steering wheel. She stumbled as he helped her from the car, and he grasped her securely about the waist and hurried her into the apartment where he gently, but forcefully, seated her on the couch.

  "Don't move."

  She heard noises as he moved about the bedroom, felt the warmth of the blanket being tucked around her, heard him moving in the kitchen, and then felt the cold rim of a glass being held to her lips.

  "Drink this."

  She swallowed automatically, choking when the unexpected harshness of the liquid hit her throat.

  "Mama Giuseppina's wine," he said gently. "It's the only thing I could find. Drink it all."

  Obediently, she drank until he took the glass from her and set it on the coffee table. He drew her down on the sofa, tucking the blanket securely around her, kneeling beside her as he smoothed her hair away from her face and began massaging her arms through the layers of wool and clothing, soothing her much as she had earlier soothed Jennifer.

  Why didn't he just go away and leave her to get through this by herself? It would pass. Everything passed—if you gave it enough time, if you worked hard enough at pushing it out of your life.

  No! That wasn't what she wanted! Then what did she want? Right now it was his warmth next to her, the caress of his hands, and the soft murmur of his voice. Right now it was taking the comfort he gave her, as she had taken it that first night, as she had taken it in some form daily since they met. Taking, always taking…

  She forced herself to look at him, to meet the unspoken questions in his eyes. He had asked nothing from her, and in exchange for all he had given her, was even now giving, that was exactly what she had given in return. Nothing.

  She struggled to free her arms from the soft prison of the blanket, ignoring his gentle protests as she pulled herself to a sitting position. She twined her arms around him and gradually, cradled by him, she felt warmth returning. She breathed deeply and leaned back against the sofa, weak but no longer trembling, still supported by his protective embrace.

  "Dani," he said shakily, "you scared the hell out of me."

  "Sometimes," she told him, finding it difficult to speak, "I frighten myself."

  But the fright he spoke of was tempered by concern for her. She could sense it in the way he still held her, in the puzzled set of his mouth, in the depths of his eyes. Concern for her, care for her, and…

  His eyes held her mesmerized. Their green lights drank from her and nourished her. They held the world at bay while drawing her ever closer to him. They spoke without words to a chord within her more elemental than thought.

  She touched his cheek and outlined his brows with tentative fingers before cupping his face in her hands.

  "Nick?"

  They moved toward each other in unison, as though each had been waiting, as though something within told them that this was their moment. Their mouths met in mutual need, voicing their own, answering the other's, until that contact was not enough and they moved closer, unable yet to get close enough to satisfy the hunger within them. They explored each other, each pleasure intensified by their sharing. As they freed themselves of clothing, the branding of flesh against flesh amplified each celebration of mouth and hand.

  Dani was beyond thought, lost in a world where nothing existed but Nick and now, driven only by the hunger that threatened to consume her and by a visceral need to satisfy Nick's matching hunger.

  When he pulled away from her, she moaned in frustration. She tried to draw him to her, but he remained poised above her, his eyes heavy with passion, his breathing ragged.

  "Dani, are you sure?"

  She murmured an inarticulate sound as she tried to raise herself to capture his lips. He held her down.

  "Then say it," he whispered. "I have to hear you say it."

  She was incapable of clear thought, but she tried to understand what he was asking. Was this some kind of punishment? Did he have to have some sort of ego reinforcement because of what had happened the first time? It didn't matter. None of that mattered now. She forced the words through the tightness of her throat.

  "Make love to me, Nick. Please." When he made no move, she looked up at him wildly. "I want you," she moaned. "Oh, God, I want you."

  He did not sound victorious when he spoke. If anything, his voice was edged with sadness. A rueful smile twisted his mouth. "That's a start," he said as he bent to her.

  He touched her lips lightly, tracing them with his fingers—a moment of tentative gentleness, as though giving her one last chance to reconsider. But it was not gentleness she needed now. It was the hard pressure of his body against hers. She arched upward, craving that contact, needing release from the awesome hunger within her.

  He moaned her name as he captured her mouth with his, giving her the possessiveness she demanded. He moved against her, his hands, his lips, his body all instruments of exquisite torture as he drew her farther and farther into their own private world—a world comprised only of the feelings of his muscles beneath her hands, his flesh against hers, his taste in her mouth, and the wondrous agonies of pleasure that he continued to build and build and build, until she hung suspended in an eternal moment so intense that all feeling, all thought, all movement
stopped, brought to life only by the cry that tore from her throat. She felt the tremors coursing through his body as she felt her own, and still they held each other, locked in an embrace neither moved to end.

  Sometime later, sated and wondering, they moved to her bed, holding each other in hushed contentment. Sometime later they turned to each other again. Again there was no past to shadow, no future to cloud. There was only the two of them, now, giving to each other, and the heights they scaled were no less awesome, no less shattering than the ones they had traveled such a short time before.

  Dani curled into him, nestling her cheek against his chest, throwing one arm across him and clasping his waist. With the fingers of one hand he traced lazy circles on her thigh while with the other arm he secured her against him.

  She drifted languorously for only moments before her eyes grew heavy and she slid into dreamless sleep. When she awoke—hours later? minutes later?—feeling boneless and liquid, they still held each other. Somewhere in the distance, just beyond the range of recognition, she heard music playing. Were there violins? she wondered. How silly, she realized as her lips curved in a secret smile. If she wanted violins, of course there would be violins.

  How truly wonderful it felt to be free of that persistent cold knot that had seemed to lodge itself permanently in her midsection.

  She moved her hand tentatively, loving the feel of Nick's supple skin beneath her fingers, tracing a path across his flat stomach, through the crisp mat that veed down his chest, to his shoulder, and finally burrowing her fingers in the soft dark hair at the back of his head and pulling herself even closer to him.

  He tightened his hand on her hip. His other hand smoothed the hair away from her face so he could trail teasing kisses over the moist skin of her forehead and cheek.

  Was it possible? she wondered. Could he be feeling the same delightful glow? She twisted so that she could see his face, and she read in his expression what she knew was a reflection of her own, the subtly shadowed eyes, the absence of any lines of tension, the softly curving lips.

  "I was starving, Nick," she said, her voice low and urgent, "and I didn't even know it."

  "There's no reason for that, Dani." He lifted her and settled her along the length of him, his hands molding her to the contours of his body. He pushed aside her heavy mane of hair that veiled both their faces with its silken strands. "Not ever again."

  Soft gray light filtered through the drawn curtains of the bedroom as Dani felt Nick easing his arm from under her. Half asleep, she murmured in protest and reached for him.

  He feathered a kiss across her closed eyelids. "I'll be right back."

  He tucked the sheet over her. She heard noises from the living room, and then he returned, sliding into bed beside her but pushing the pillow against the headboard and leaning against it. She snuggled toward him, eyes closed, and heard the snap of his cigarette lighter, smelled the once again tempting aroma of tobacco smoke, and felt the movement of his chest as he exhaled deeply.

  He held her close to his side. The change in him was so subtle it was a few moments before she noticed it. It was as though he had withdrawn from her. There was a wariness, a tension about the way he sat and about the way he held her. She opened her eyes to look up at him and found him watching her, but she wasn't sure he actually saw her.

  "What's wrong?" she asked.

  He smiled an endearing half smile, stubbed out his cigarette, and pulled her up beside him, keeping her securely within the confines of his arm. "Not a thing."

  But there was something wrong. She could sense it. And he only added to her growing uneasiness when he lit another cigarette. He still held her, but his attention seemed to be focused somewhere beyond the clouds of smoke.

  Suddenly, embarrassingly aware of her nakedness and of the abandonment with which she had responded to him, she plucked at the sheet, pulling it up over her.

  "Cold?" he asked.

  "Yes," she lied.

  He looked down at her and for a moment she thought he was going to take her in his arms with an offer to help keep her warm. Instead, he said, "Let me get your robe for you. Where is it?"

  "In the closet."

  He rose from the bed but before crossing to the closet door he walked into the living room. When he returned, he had already put on his slacks and slipped into his shirt, although the shirt remained unbuttoned and hung open.

  He walked into the closet, flipped on the light, and was silent.

  "Can't you find it?" Dani asked, her voice unnaturally tight. "It's right by the door."

  Nick's reply was mumbled from inside the closet. "I'm looking for Old Faithful."

  "What?"

  "Old Faithful—the beat up, warm one you put on when you're by yourself. All I can find is this blue satin thing."

  He continued talking, although she only half heard what he said.

  "How do you keep your closet so organized? Where's the clutter that's supposed to be around women's clothes?"

  With Old Faithful, she thought as a lump caught in her throat, and she sank back against the pillow while unwanted memories threatened to intrude. She took a quick, deep breath and forced the images away.

  "The blue one will have to do," she said too brightly. "I'm afraid it's the only one I have."

  He brought the robe to her and helped her slip into it. He caught her upper arms in his hands when he did so and looked at her with what was almost a smile. He brushed a kiss across her forehead and released her. "I think it's time to raid the kitchen."

  Intuition urged her to remain silent, to wait for him to give her some indication of what was bothering him.

  She followed him into the tiny kitchen and reached for the coffeepot.

  "Oh, no," he said, lifting her up and depositing her on a bar stool in front of the narrow breakfast bar. "I do the work. You can criticize if you want to."

  Deftly, he measured grounds and water into the pot and started the brew cycle. Then he scavenged through the refrigerator and pantry, frowning slightly before making a decision and piling various items on the counter.

  "Griddle?" he asked.

  "No," Dani told him. "Just a skillet. Lower left."

  He bent down and captured the skillet. "Organized kitchen, too," he said. "Aren't you supposed to have a jumble of unused pots and pans?"

  "That's a myth," Dani said as she attempted to smile, "probably fostered by men who can't find their way around in a kitchen, no matter how organized it is."

  He grinned at her, and she realized that he was neatly tucking away whatever it was that had been bothering him and returning to the easy, companionable manner she had grown to rely upon.

  He cracked eggs into the skillet. "I thought I'd dazzle you with my eggs Benedict, but you're not set up for it, so we'll have to settle for the cheap imitation."

  He worked quickly, juggling the eggs, the Canadian bacon, and the English muffins in the skillet, building the sandwiches as though it was something he did frequently. He added sliced cheese before topping each with a muffin half and sliding them onto plates just as the coffee maker gave its groan of completion. He poured two cups, handed one to her, and settled himself on the adjacent bar stool.

  "Eat," he urged when she sat silently watching him. "They're guaranteed to be better than the advertised ones."

  And they were. "You're a man of many talents, Mr. Sanders," she said as she picked up a last piece of muffin from her plate and popped it into her mouth.

  He leaned over and planted a light kiss on her lips. "I'm glad you realize that," he said as he picked up their plates and carried them to the sink.

  "Nick?"

  He paused, holding one plate under running water, and turned to her. No. She couldn't ask him, no maker how she wondered about his changing attitude. If she began asking him questions, she'd have to give him the right to ask of her things she couldn't answer.

  "Nothing," she said. "It's just…" She hesitated, searching for words. "It's just that I know it hasn't
been easy for you to be around me, not understanding why I sometimes act the way I do. I…"

  He turned the water off and gave her his full attention, looking intently into her eyes as she spoke.

  "I…" She knew she ought to stop, but she couldn't. "Why did you put up with me as long as you did?"

  She thought he must be having as much trouble finding words as she had been. His look played over her face, questioning her, before softening.

  He walked to her and cupped her chin in his hand. "Because I'm in love with you," he said softly.

  She felt the blood draining from her face, felt the leaden heaviness of her heart and the quick catch of breath that muffled her whimpered, "No."

  She tried to turn away from him, but he held her face prisoner in his hands.

  "I think I fell in love with you the moment you grabbed my hand to keep me from lunging across the table after Sam Wilson."

  "It's too soon." Her voice was no more than a whisper. "You can't be sure."

  "Dani, I'm thirty-seven. Old enough to know how I feel. And I know I've never felt this way about another person in my life. I love you. Is that so awful?"

  She twisted away from him, breaking the paralyzing influence of his gaze, tearing herself from the tantalizing touch of his fingers on her skin. "I never meant for this to happen."

  And she hadn't. As she frantically searched her conscience, she knew that not once had she even considered that he might fall in love with her. He couldn't be serious. She held onto that thought. He was only exaggerating, perhaps not even consciously, the closeness they had seemed to develop. But it had to end, and now, before he became too firmly convinced that what he felt was love, before both of them were hurt. She wasn't sure she could survive again.

  "Don't tell me you don't feel anything," he said from behind her. "I won't believe you. Not after today."

  She stared at an imaginary spot on the wall and swallowed hard. "The sex was very good—"

  "What?" He twisted her violently around to face him. "The sex was very good! Is that all it meant to you? Just an exercise in the bedroom?"