Lightning

by Danielle Steel

  “Not so great, I guess, or I wouldn't be here,” he said honestly, as he stretched his legs out under his desk and played with a pencil. It was odd how he could say anything to her, and nothing to Alex. He stood up and walked over to her then. “I don't even know why I came in.” He looked at her unhappily, and then he smiled. “Maybe I just had a sixth sense you'd be here.”

  “That's not worthy of you,” she teased, “but I'll accept it anyway. Can I make you a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure, I'd like that.” He followed her into their pantry, faintly aware of her perfume. It smelled musky and warm and sexy. “I'm sorry,” he said suddenly as she turned to look at him, “I've been acting like a lunatic this week. I don't know if I'm up or down or sideways. It's been hell, and I have no right to take it out on you.”

  “If having dinner with me at Le Cirque, and taking me dancing downtown is ‘taking it out on me,' then please feel free to do so anytime you'd like, Sam.” She smiled at him enticingly, but there was more than just sex appeal to her, there was something very warm and sympathetic. She was mischievous and playful, but she seemed very caring too, and he liked that about her. There were so many things about her that reminded him of the best of Alex. And then she turned his stomach over with the bluntness of her next question. Her voice was very soft as she looked at him, but he wasn't prepared for what she asked him. “Is your wife dying, Sam?”

  For a long moment he wasn't sure how to answer her. “She could be. I don't know. She's very sick, I suppose, although I don't completely understand it.”

  “Is it cancer?”

  He nodded. “She had a breast removed this week, and she's about to start chemotherapy.”

  “How difficult for you, and your little girl.” All her sympathies were with them, and not with Alex.

  “I suppose it is … or it will be …Chemotherapy sounds like a nightmare. I'm not sure I'd do it.”

  “That's what we all say, until we're faced with it, and then we fight like dogs and try anything we can, to cure it. My father died last year, and he tried everything including some sort of magic pills he got in Jamaica that were nothing but voodoo. I can't blame her for trying. But it's hell on you. Poor Sam.” They were standing in the small airless room while the coffee brewed, and her voice was barely more than a whisper.

  'I'll shouldn't feel sorry for me,” he whispered back, not sure why they were speaking so softly, they were the only people there, but all he wanted to do was get closer to her and speak softer still. “I'm fine …”

  “Aren't you though,” she replied, and then he was completely unprepared for what happened next. She put her arms around his neck, ran her fingers down the back of his neck until he had chills, and kissed him. And he felt his whole body respond with a surge that almost frightened him, it was so beyond his control. He wanted to tear her leggings off and lay her on the floor next to him, but he didn't dare do more than kiss her, and allow his hands to drift hungrily down her body. She was all muscles, and tight stomach, and splendid little behind. She was built like a ballerina, and her breasts filled both his hands. Their mouths and tongues were relentless. It was Daphne who broke away first, breathlessly. She had started an avalanche that she herself could no longer control, it was so exquisite, it was almost beyond bearing. “Oh God, Sam … I can't … oh God …how I want you …”

  “I want you too,” he whispered back, devouring her neck and her breasts with his lips, and then he was kneeling next to her, and nuzzling her where her thighs met. She let out a long, soft moan, and as he pulled her closer to him, he suddenly came to his senses. He couldn't do it.

  “Daphne … we can't …” He stood next to her again, holding her close to him, feeling guiltier than ever toward Alex. But he was consumed with desire for Daphne. “I can't. I have no right to complicate your life like this … or do this to my wife.”

  “I don't care,” Daphne said hoarsely. “I'm a grown woman, I have a right to make my own decisions.”

  “It won't go anywhere …you deserve more than this. I'm half out of my mind with wanting you. I have been ever since we met, but what does that give you?”

  “A leg over, I hope.” She laughed suddenly at him, using the English expression for a piece of ass. But fortunately, he knew it.

  “I'd like to give you something better than that, but I don't have it to give. Not now.” Not yet. And maybe never.

  “It would do for a start,” she said playfully. “I don't ask for much.”

  “You should. You deserve it.” And then without saying more, their lips met again, and he held her and felt her next to him for what seemed like hours until neither of them could stand it any longer. “We're going to have to do something about this, if it keeps up.” And with that, they both laughed at his very obvious erection. She was stroking it through his jeans, and the touch of her hand was driving him crazy.

  “I was suggesting something like that.” She smiled and kissed him again, and then bent to nibble at the lump in his blue jeans.

  “Stop it,” he said unconvincingly, “…no, don't … oh God …Daphne …I'm going to profess undying love in a few minutes if you don't stop.” She was driving him into a frenzy, and he loved the sensation.

  “I was hoping you would.” She smiled mischievously at him, and then she stood up and poured him a cup of coffee.

  “How can I do this?” he asked, thinking of both his wife and daughter.

  “Things happen sometimes. Those are the realities of life. It doesn't always work out just as we planned. In fact, I'm not sure it ever does. My life certainly doesn't.”

  “Mine is a disaster at the moment.”

  “Are you close to her?” she asked, as they sipped their coffee, and tried briefly to forget each other's bodies.

  “I thought I was. Now we can't seem to talk about anything. The only thing there is, is her disease. It's all she can think about, all she's interested in, all she knows. I can't stand it.”

  “I'm not sure I blame her. But it's a lot to expect of you, though, isn't it?”

  “I suppose I owe her that.” And then he confessed his darkest secret. “My mother died of cancer when I was fourteen. I hated her for it. It's all I remember about her, how sick she was, how she talked about it all the time, and had endless operations. They chopped her up in little bits, until they finally killed her. And her dying killed my father. I felt like she tried to kill all of us. She would have killed me too, except I wouldn't let her. I wouldn't let her poison me like she did him. I refused to become a part of her tragedy. That's how I feel now about Alex. It's as though I have to keep away in order to save myself.” It was a terrible confession, but he felt better once he said it. And she seemed to understand exactly what he meant, and in a way that Alex hadn't understood yet. She was too wrapped in herself to see his terror clearly.

  “You can't do it alone though, can you?” Daphne said in the husky voice that drove him to distraction.

  “I'm not sure,” he said. “I think I probably should try. But you're not making it any easier.”

  “Actually,” she said, touching the bulge in his jeans again until it grew in her hand and he closed his eyes in pleasure, “I rather thought I was making it harder.”

  “You certainly are.” He kissed her, wanting her desperately, but firm in his resolve not to have her. He owed that much to Alex. He wouldn't let her have his soul. But at least he owed it to her to be faithful. It was just bad luck that Daphne had crossed his path at that particular moment. Or maybe it was meant to be that way. Maybe this was his reward for what he was losing.

  They stood there together in the pantry for a long time, and it was dark when they looked outside. He felt as though days had passed since he had come there. His voice was ragged with desire for her, as he held her for a last time, and then they put their coffee cups in the sink, and she washed them and put them away, and she followed him back to his office.

  “Are you going to stay?” he asked. He hated to leave, but he knew he ha
d to. He had to get home. And he had done absolutely nothing except paw Daphne.

  “I'll take my work home,” she said easily. He went to her office with her while she got it, and then he kissed her there too. She fell backwards against the desk in his arms, and the temptation to take her right there was almost irresistible, but again he forced himself to remember that he was married. The leggings she wore didn't make it any easier for him. It was like holding her with no clothes on. He could feel every inch of her beneath his hands, and there was nothing that she tried to keep from him. Eventually, he freed her breasts from the shirt she wore, and they were so beautiful he almost cried. They were perfect and round with pink nipples that stood erect in his fingers, begging for him, and she asked for him as he played with her relentlessly and kissed her.

  It was another half hour before she put her shirt on again, and they finally left the office. It was almost seven o'clock by then, and Sam felt like a kid as they got into a cab, and he told her he'd drop her off and then started necking with her in the backseat while she giggled.

  “You'd better start locking your office door,” he warned. “I'm not sure I can control myself when I see you.” It certainly didn't seem like it, but Daphne didn't appear to mind.

  He dropped her off on East Fifty-third where she'd rented an apartment in an old town house. It had been owned by a movie star, and there was still quite a bit of furniture there, but Daphne said it was pretty shabby.

  “Want to come up?” she invited him, standing outside the cab in her outrageously appealing leggings, but he shook his head.

  “I don't trust myself to behave.”

  “Neither do I,” she laughed, and then looked suddenly serious as she reached into the cab and took his hand in hers. “Come back whenever you want to. Even if you just want to talk. I'm here for you, Sam. And crazy as it sounds at this point … I think I love you.”

  “Please …don't … I can't …but thank you.” He kissed her gently again, and she waved and stepped back, as he made a mental note of her address and knew he shouldn't.

  He was home by seven-fifteen, and Alex looked anything but pleased when she saw him. But she didn't say anything. She had guessed correctly that he was avoiding her, but she would have been even more upset if she'd known what he'd been doing. For a moment, he thought he smelled Daphne's perfume on him, and he went to wash his hands, and change his sweater.

  “You must have had a lot of work,” she said cautiously after Annabelle went to bed. Carmen had finished the dishes and had already disappeared into the guest room.

  “I did.”

  “Business must be very good. You've never had to do that.”

  “Simon's bringing in a lot of new clients. He's really terrific.”

  “Are you watching how he's handling things? His style may not be yours or Tom and Larry's. You don't want some shiny flash in the pan screwing up your business.”

  “He won't. He had a great reputation in London for bringing in business, and big money.”

  “Clean money?”

  “Obviously.” He looked annoyed again. She was always questioning everything. She was a true attorney in that she was always suspicious. He had been leery of Simon at first too, but he was convinced by now that Simon was going to do great things for their business. And he had brought Daphne with him …what more could he want? Sam found himself drinking of her again as he sat down to dinner with Alex.

  “So what were you working on?” she asked, looking interested in what had kept him at the office all afternoon, and he almost choked on his salad when he heard the question.

  “Nothing much …just a few things …some housekeeping.”

  “Since when do you do that?” she asked. She seemed skeptical but not suspicious. It was obvious to her that he was simply staying away so he didn't have to see her, which was true. What she had no way of knowing, fortunately, was what he'd been doing with Daphne.

  Their dinner together was anything but warm, or even interesting. They seemed to be groping for subjects of mutual interest, which was unusual for them, but at least they were together and she was home. The worst had already happened, or almost, and now all she had to do was hang in and survive the treatment. Their marriage would fall into place again after that. She was sure of it. It was just rough now, as they both adjusted to a new situation.

  But he was just as cautious about lying next to her that night as he had been the night before. He was solicitous and polite, but he made no attempt at all to come near her. And once again, when he fell asleep, she lay on her side of the bed and cried. Just a little kiss or a hug would have meant so much to her, even if he was afraid of what lay beneath her nightgown.

  The strain between them was so great, it was a relief to both of them when the weekend ended. Sam left for work at eight o'clock on Monday morning. And she took Annabelle to school for the first time since her operation. And at nine o'clock, she had an appointment with Dr. Peter Herman. He was going to check her sutures and her dressing. She was desperately afraid of what she would see when he changed it.

  But she would have been even more afraid if she could have seen what Sam had waiting for him when he got in. Daphne was wearing a little navy blue Chanel suit, with a miniskirt and her long, sexy legs, and she only wanted to confirm to him that Saturday had been no mistake, and she had no regrets. She wanted Sam more than she'd wanted any man in years, and she said so.

  “I just want you to know,” she whispered as she closed the door to his very luxurious office, “that I'm in love with you. You don't have to do anything. You don't even have to want me. But I'm here for you, anytime, any way that works for you. I accept who you are and your responsibilities. But I love you, Sam. And I'm yours, whenever you want me.” Daphne Belrose was the ultimate temptation.

  He kissed her then, longingly, with all the anguish and hunger he felt, and she returned it, and then stood back, smiling at him, and let herself quietly out of his office.

  Chapter 10

  Alex only had to wait for half an hour in the waiting room, and then Dr. Herman took her into his office and asked her how she was doing. She told him she was still tired after the surgery, but had very little pain, and he was very pleased at what he saw when he took off her dressing. He said it was very clean, and the sutures were healing nicely. In fact, she was doing even better than he'd hoped. And he'd had the final results of her tests. They had been pretty much as he'd expected, four of her lymph nodes were involved, the tumor was hormone receptor negative, and she was the perfect candidate for chemo. In a little more than two weeks, he was going to start her on chemotherapy, as soon as she was stronger.

  To Alex, it was not good news, but it was also not unexpected. And he had already explained the process to her. She had a minimum of nodular involvement, which was a good sign, in spite of her Stage II tumor.

  “The wound is very clean,” he explained, “if you decide to go ahead with reconstruction later on, your plastic surgeon will be very pleased.” He seemed quite happy with everything, and Alex wanted to be too, but the fact was that she had lost a breast the week before, and had been told she had cancer. These were hardly causes for celebration. And now she knew for sure that she had to face chemo.

  And then the doctor turned to her with curiosity, wondering how she was doing. She seemed a little more somber than usual, but that was also to be expected. “Have you looked at the wound yet yourself?” She shook her head at him, looking frightened.

  “Perhaps you should. You have to prepare yourself. And what about your husband?”

  “He hasn't seen it either.” She had the suspicion that he was terrified, and she was right of course. But she couldn't blame him, she didn't want to see it either.

  “I urge you to look at it. You'll be bathing again soon, and of course you'll see yourself, but a good look in the mirror won't hurt. It's time to face it.” But nothing he had said to her prepared her for what she saw, when she went home and slowly removed the bandage to shower. She
had taken off her dress, and the bra she'd worn, and then slowly pulled off her dressing, and with a determined look, she walked over to the mirror. She tried to keep her eyes on her face, but slowly, she let them drift down, until she screamed, and took a step backwards from the mirror. It wasn't possible. It was hideous beyond belief it was so ugly. Where her breast had been, there was a flat slab of flesh. It was pink now, but it would be white one day, and across it was a red scar where they had made the incision, cut away her breast, and its skin and even its nipple, and then sewed it together. She thought it was the ugliest thing she'd ever seen, and even knowing that it might have saved her life did nothing to console her. She felt sick after looking at it, and she sat down on the carpet on the bathroom floor and hugged her knees as she sobbed. It was almost an hour later when Carmen heard her. She was still sitting there, crying like a child, hiccuping and sobbing.

  “Oh Mrs. Parker …Mrs. Parker …what happened? … are you hurt? Should I call the doctor? …Mrs. Parker?” Alex couldn't stop crying. All she could do was shake her head, as she cried and clutched her knees close to her single bosom.

  “Go away … go away …” she cried, sounding like Annabelle, and Carmen got down on her knees next to her, crying for her as she would for an injured child.

  “Don't cry …don't cry … we all love you …” she said, as she put her arms around her.

  But Alex could only shake her head and cry louder. “He hates me …I'm so ugly … he hates me….”

  “I will call him,” she said reassuringly, and Alex let out a scream, and dropped her head down on her knees, begging Carmen not to call him.

  “Just leave me.” Carmen tried to hold her but Alex wouldn't let her, and eventually Carmen didn't know what else to do, and went back to the kitchen. She sat there listening to her cry, dabbing at her own eyes, until finally Alex stopped. “Will you please pick Annabelle up?” Alex said to Carmen in an exhausted voice that was completely devoid of emotion.