Ann Cristy (Helen Mittermeyer)

by Tread Softly (lit)

  "What did you say?" She looked up at him, his words scattering through her mind and then assembling. "Oh, yes, I'll be fine. Rafe is never mean to me. Don't worry about me."

  "I do worry about you, Cady," he said as he turned to leave. "I can't help it."

  Cady held out her hand to him. "Good-bye, Rob. I'm very glad you came today."

  "Call me if you need me. Promise," Rob insisted.

  "All right. If I ever need a friend, I'll call you." Cady forced a smile to her face.

  Gradually the other guests drifted away. By the time the last ones had departed, Cady hadn't seen Rafe for almost two hours. He had been talking to Bruno, Emmett, and Lee Terris, but then that trio must have left, because she didn't see them again. Cady couldn't feel anything but relief that they hadn't bothered to say good-bye to her.

  The late summer evening was turning deep purple as

  she supervised the dismantling that the catering service was doing in the yard. By the time she entered the house, Trock was there to tell her that Rafe was in the sauna.

  "Thank you, Trock. Tell the senator I said good night. Make sure that the oils are rubbed into his back tonight."

  "Of course," Trock answered in a colorless voice.

  Cady could see the flicker of reproach in Track's gunmetal eyes. His gaze chided her that she would think he, Albert Trock, would forget such a thing. She touched his arm. "Good night, Trock, and thank you for all your help."

  He inclined his head and left her. She sighed and began to ascend the curved stairway of the Federal-style colonial mansion. She trudged to her room, yawning, thinking only of the shower she would take.

  When she came out of the shower into her bedroom, wrapped only in a bath towel, she staggered with shock when she saw Rafe sprawled on her bed, a blue toga around his middle. He rolled onto his side on the bed, facing her. "Hello. I think we have some unfinished business."

  The unfathomable look was gone, and there was heated determination in his gaze. His jaw had the same granite look she had often seen before the accident, when he took the floor of the Senate and argued for a cause that he deemed just, an argument that brooked no rebuttal. The twist to his lips could be construed as a smile, but there was no softening there, no hint of compromise.

  Cady's momentum carried her forward two more steps, then she stopped, clutching the bath towel like a shield. "You'd better go to bed. You need the rest," she told him, her tone crisp, belying the jellylike condition of her insides.

  "You're not my doctor," Rafe answered in measured tones, swinging his legs to the floor.

  Cady lifted her chin, gearing herself for battle. She had no idea which failed her first, her resolve or her knees. Panic filled her and she turned to run back to the bathroom. She had taken two steps when Rafe hooked her around the waist. "No, damn you, let me go," Cady squealed, a mixture of anger and sensual trepidation com­ing through her pores. "I'm not your concubine. I'm not your slave," she spit out through clenched teeth as she struggled to free herself.

  "No, you're none of those things, but you are my wife, and I want my wife this evening," Rafe hissed, clamping her arms to her sides and pulling her back to the bed. "Behave yourself."

  "No, I won't behave your way, damn it. If you need a woman, buy yourself one." Cady thrashed on the bed, his arm holding her while he divested himself of his robe. She stopped writhing when she saw the pinched look around his mouth, the strain sharpening the planes of his face. "You should go to bed. You've had a big day," Cady whispered as he lowered himself next to her.

  "Isn't that what I've been saying?" Rafe let his head rest on her outspread hair, his hand coming up to globe one breast, his eyes closing. "Don't say you don't want me tonight, Cady. I'm dead tired, but I have to have you. It's been so long." His eyes fluttered open. "Even if I have to spend hours convincing you, I'm going to make you want me tonight."

  Cady heard the little voice that told her he was just stringing her along, that he would dump her as soon as he could. She also heard the voice that told her he needed her tonight. Shutting her mind to everything but that, she lifted her arms to let her fingers touch the faint blue shadows under his even bluer eyes, smoothing the lines that pain had drawn down his cheeks. "Oh, I don't think it will take hours." She sighed and met his eyes.

  "Cady?" Rafe growled softly, his hand going in ten­tative search at her breast as he pulled the towel free of her body. His hands rocked her close to him as he re­leased a pent-up breath.

  He leaned over her, his mouth opening on hers, his tongue running across her lips like a velvet letter opener. She welcomed the probe of his tongue like a hot knife on her senses. His body felt like an extended throb of she supervised the dismantling that the catering service was doing in the yard. By the time she entered the house, Trock was there to tell her that Rafe was in the sauna.

  "Thank you, Trock. Tell the senator I said good night. Make sure that the oils are rubbed into his back tonight."

  "Of course," Trock answered in a colorless voice.

  Cady could see the flicker of reproach in Track's gunmetal eyes. His gaze chided her that she would think he, Albert Track, would forget such a thing. She touched his arm. "Good night, Trock, and thank you for all your help."

  He inclined his head and left her. She sighed and began to ascend the curved stairway of the Federal-style colonial mansion. She trudged to her room, yawning, thinking only of the shower she would take.

  When she came out of the shower into her bedroom, wrapped only in a bath towel, she staggered with shock when she saw Rafe sprawled on her bed, a blue toga around his middle. He rolled onto his side on the bed, facing her. "Hello. I think we have some unfinished business."

  The unfathomable look was gone, and there was heated determination in his gaze. His jaw had the same granite look she had often seen before the accident, when he took the floor of the Senate and argued for a cause that he deemed just, an argument that brooked no rebuttal. The twist to his lips could be construed as a smile, but there was no softening there, no hint of compromise.

  Cady's momentum carried her forward two more steps, then she stopped, clutching the bath towel like a shield. "You'd better go to bed. You need the rest," she told him, her tone crisp, belying the jellylike condition of her insides.

  "You're not my doctor," Rafe answered in measured tones, swinging his legs to the floor.

  Cady lifted her chin, gearing herself for battle. She had no idea which failed her first, her resolve or her knees. Panic filled her and she turned to run back to the bathroom. She had taken two steps when Rafe hooked her around the waist. "No, damn you, let me go," Cady squealed, a mixture of anger and sensual trepidation com­ing through her pores. "I'm not your concubine. I'm not your slave," she spit out through clenched teeth as she struggled to free herself.

  "No, you're none of those things, but you are my wife, and I want my wife this evening," Rafe hissed, clamping her arms to her sides and pulling her back to the bed. "Behave yourself."

  "No, I won't behave your way, damn it. If you need a woman, buy yourself one." Cady thrashed on the bed, his arm holding her while he divested himself of his robe. She stopped writhing when she saw the pinched look around his mouth, the strain sharpening the planes of his face. "You should go to bed. You've had a big day," Cady whispered as he lowered himself next to her.

  "Isn't that what I've been saying?" Rafe let his head rest on her outspread hair, his hand coming up to globe one breast, his eyes closing. "Don't say you don't want me tonight, Cady. I'm dead tired, but I have to have you. It's been so long." His eyes fluttered open. "Even if I have to spend hours convincing you, I'm going to make you want me tonight."

  Cady heard the little voice that told her he was just stringing her along, that he would dump her as soon as he could. She also heard the voice that told her he needed her tonight. Shutting her mind to everything but that, she lifted her arms to let her fingers touch the faint blue shadows under his even bluer eyes, smoothing the lines that pain h
ad drawn down his cheeks. "Oh, I don't think it will take hours." She sighed and met his eyes.

  "Cady?" Rafe growled softly, his hand going in ten­tative search at her breast as he pulled the towel free of her body. His hands rocked her close to him as he re­leased a pent-up breath.

  He leaned over her, his mouth opening on hers, his tongue running across her lips like a velvet letter opener. She welcomed the probe of his tongue like a hot knife on her senses. His body felt like an extended throb of her own, and it didn't seem like months since they had made love. It felt as though yesterday the same sensations had flowed through her. His mouth left hers to course down her body like a brand. "God, I have no control," Rafe said hoarsely. "I don't know how long... Oh, Cady, Cady..."

  Her own body took fire at once, shocking her by the need that consumed her. She sensed his struggle to hold back so that she would be pleasured, and she became impatient with him. Didn't he know that she was burning for him? She let her hands feather over his body, pro­voking the heat in him. She became the aggressor as she heard him groan.

  "Cady! Cady, I can't.. .Darling." He lifted himself over her, sensing her eagerness, surprised and pleased by her response. He played with her body as though she were a rare violin, his touch sure and arousing. Their coming together was blinding, their gasps loud in the stillness.

  Rafe mumbled into her neck, but Cady couldn't un­derstand the words. She was just sure that he didn't want her to move away from him. He was asleep almost at once.

  Tired as she was, Cady couldn't sleep. There was much to think about, a life to plan. She and Rafe hadn't bothered about birth-control measures in a long time— not since the fifth year of their marriage. Then they had planned to start a family, and when no child had been conceived after a year of trying, Cady and Rafe went to their respective doctors for a thorough examination. The doctors had found no reason why the Densmores should not have the desired baby, yet still Cady didn't get preg­nant. Secretly she blamed herself, and sometimes she wondered if Rafe underwent the same torment of doubt. In recent years their lovemaking had been so infrequent that it rarely occurred to Cady to calculate if she was fertile; her cycle was irregular anyway.

  Certainly she had given no thought to getting pregnant since Rafe's accident. Nothing had intruded into her thoughts except Rafe's health and doing a good job for him in the Senate. She sighed as she cradled him to her. How ironic if she were to conceive now! Well, she wasn't going to use it as a lever if the miracle occurred, as she suspected was possible now. She would allow Rafe to get his divorce and she would raise the child herself. Rafe's child! How wonderful that would be! A smile curved her lips as she held him closer, her eyes fluttering shut.

  In the morning Rafe was gone. Only the indentation on the pillow told Cady that last night hadn't been just a pleasurable dream. When she tried to rise, she felt the unaccustomed ache in her lower body, the heat rising into her face as she relived the eager abandon with which she had given herself to her husband.

  She almost skipped to the bathroom, feeling the ful­filled happiness that had been a daily occurrence in the early days of their marriage.

  She looked at the tub longingly and then glanced at her watch. She shrugged and signed. It would have to be a fast shower.

  She was singing "He Touched Me" off-key when she felt a cold draft. She tried to wipe the shampoo from her face to see who had opened the cubicle door when a warm hand began to wash her back.

  "I thought for sure you would be able to stay on key after all the coaching I've given you." Rafe laughed as he brought the loofah sponge down over her derriere.

  "If I had had a music minor in college as you did, I might have overcome that tiny deficiency." Cady tried to keep her voice level.

  "Tiny deficiency!" Rafe pulled her back against him and reached around her to begin washing her front. He seemed to take eons with each breast. "There's a col­lection of cats waiting at the front gate. They think they've found their leader for an evening of caterwauling."

  Cady wrestled the loofah from his hand and turned to face him, trying to shove the soapy sponge into Rafe's mouth. "Caterwauler, am I? I'll show you." She strug­gled with him, wanting to see the soap froth from his laughing mouth, but even without his full strength, Rafe held her fast.

  "Easy does it, angel." He chuckled, lifting her with an arm under her buttocks so that they were face to face. "Still think you can take me on, do you?" His tongue flicked over her compressed lips. .

  "Yes," she gasped, loving every pore in his face, her hand coming up to touch the fading scar on his jawbone where he had been cut in the crash. She could remember sitting next to his bed and counting each stitch in his face, not really believing the plastic surgeon, Dr. Herra, when he told her that the marks would fade. "You shouldn't lift me the way you do. I'm too heavy, and you're not strong enough yet," she mumbled, not sure what she was saying.

  "You're talking gibberish, do you know that?" Rafe muttered, nibbling at her ear. "Are you lulling me into a false sense of security?"

  "Whatever." Cady bit at his chin and his cheekbones, loving the feel of him.

  "Are you going to make a meal out of me?"

  "Maybe. Do you mind?" Cady felt glazed from head to toe. She never wanted to leave the shower cubicle.

  "No. I don't mind at all." Rafe's throat worked as though he had swallowed a golf ball.

  Cady felt a sense of triumph that he was as aroused as she by their love play. Maybe she wouldn't be able to keep him forever, she thought, but while she had him she was going to love him.

  Rafe pushed open the shower door and grabbed for a bath towel, still holding her. She pouted when he had to release her to wrap the towel around his waist.

  He laughed down at her. "You look younger now than you did at eighteen." He touched her lips with one finger. "And don't pout like that or I'll take you here on the bathroom floor."

  Cady felt the heat start in her toes and course upward until her entire being was on fire. "Are we going to talk all morning?"

  "No." Rafe guffawed, sweeping her up into his arms. "We're going back to bed."

  As they sank together on the bed, the interhouse phone rang.

  "Damn them to hell," Rafe muttered, lifting the re­ceiver and barking into it. "What? When? Well, you tell Bruno I said to head them off and he'd damn well better do it. Yes. Yes, damn it, I'm coming." Rafe slammed down the phone. "That was Sam Davis down at the office. It seems my father's friend Greeley has mounted an assault against the senators backing the environmental bill. According to Sam, he has some pretty big guns," Rafe mused, his hand still drawing imaginary whorls on her abdomen. "I have to get to the Hill."

  "Of course," Cady agreed, edging away from him. "Would you like me to go with you?" she queried, trying to smother her frustrated longing. She was sure Rafe wouldn't want her along on one of the first big tests of his strength since taking back the reins of the senatorship.

  "Yes, I'll want you with me, but more important, I want you back here, lady, not over there." Rafe reached for her, chuckling at her open mouth. "They can wait a few more minutes. Bruno can handle it." Rafe's mouth sank onto hers as though he had been drawn there by a homing device.

  Cady could hear a purring sound as Rafe's head moved down her body. "Are you turning into a cat?" Rafe's laugh was uneven.

  "Yes." Cady turned her body to his, reveling in arous­ing Rafe as he had aroused her.

  "I think when I retire from public life, I'll take you away to a desert island," Rafe offered, seeming to be entranced with her navel.

  "You'll get no argument from me," Cady choked, not really believing what she heard him say, but treasuring the words as though they were precious jewels.

  Then there were no more words, just sensation after sensation, like waves crashing on a shore. Cady heard him cry her name in a hoarse climax. The ebb tide of their love seemed almost as satisfying as the act itself, and Cady was loath to release him, not wanting to come back to the real world where Rafe w
ould belong to other people, where as he became better he would be inundated in the river of persons that seemed to surround his every movement.

  He rolled to his feet, pulling her with him, a lazy, sensuous look in his eyes as they roved over her body. "You were so tiny when I married you, but you're even smaller now." His fingers circled her waist as he led her to thebathroom. "You don't diet, do you Cady?"

  "No." She wanted to tell him how pleased she was by his attention to her, but she turned toward the shower instead, mumbling that she would be right out. The quick, cold spray invigorated her without dispelling the glow that Rafe's lovemaking had given her.

  His freshly shaved face turned from the mirror as she wrapped herself in a bath towel. "Of all your clothing, that suits you best." The sensual droop to his lower lip sent Cady's pulse racing.

  She left the bathroom almost at a gallop, knowing that one word from Rafe and she would have dropped the towel and begged him to take her back to bed. Damn the man, she fumed to herself, she wouldn't let him rule her like that. She wasn't an eighteen-year-old girl any­more. She was a thirty-year-old woman. She could have run for the Senate. Cady looked in the dressing-table mirror as she applied a stroke of eyeliner. "And I could have won, too," she murmured out loud. She jabbed her pencil at the mirror. She had dealt well with those pol­iticians. Even Rob Ardmore had said so.

  All at once she put her face in her hands, moaning. Yes, but what would she do when Rafe didn't want her? Her head jerked up, her luminous violet eyes glittering with anger. Don't be a fool! she admonished herself. You can have a life! You can go to Greece and work in the digs. You were going to be a working archaeologist. You still can.

  She nodded her head at her image, accepting the nebulous comfort of her arguments. Then she stood sur­veying herself in the long mirror. The velvet corduroy suit in palest orchid with a weskit instead of a jacket and with a deeper orchid long-sleeve blouse should have had a spring look, but instead it had the purplish haze of the autumn color of upstate New York after the leaves have fallen. Her shoes were a champagne suede with a match­ing shoulder bag. She left her long hair down, swinging on her shoulders.