Tomorrow's Promise

by Sandra Brown

  "See? What'd I tell you?" Dax asked. "We'll have the place virtually to ourselves. I doubt if George and Martha ever had it so good." He chucked her under the chin before lifting his overcoat from behind his seat and getting out.

  He opened her door and held her coat while she slipped into the arms. His hands settled only slightly and briefly on her shoulders before he clasped her elbow and steered her toward the gate.

  The lady in colonial costume behind the grilled window said, "You certainly didn't pick a very nice day to visit us, but I hope you'll brave the rain and see all the outbuildings too. Tours start every twenty minutes or so. We don't keep to a rigid schedule except during the summer when we're crowded. There's a group waiting to go up to the house now. You can join it. A guide will be along shortly."

  "Thank you." Dax flashed his famous smile. "I wanted to come on a summer day, but this is the only day my sister could come."

  Keely gazed up at him in stupefaction. She felt her lower jaw drop to hang open stupidly. When they walked away, Dax's gait was jaunty. "You're crazy!" Keely admonished under her breath.

  Dax didn't look at her. He was busy fishing his collapsible umbrella out of his deep coat pocket. He pushed the button and it mushroomed open with a loud pop. "Do you really think people are going to believe I'm your sister?" she demanded, stopping on the gravel path leading up to the house.

  He looked down at her as he held the umbrella over them as protection against the light rain. He studied her objectively. "No, I guess they won't. We'd better practice the act. Here, hold this." He thrust the handle of the umbrella into her surprised hand.

  "Sis!" he exclaimed, grasping her by the shoulders. "Look at what a beautiful woman you've grown into." He lowered his head and kissed her soundly on the mouth. "Let me see you."

  Stunned by his playacting, Keely stood docilely while he unabashedly opened her coat, then moved aside the lapels of her jacket to rake is eyes appreciatively over her sweatered chest. "Never would I have guessed when you were all arms and legs and flat chested that you'd round out so nicely."

  Vexed, Keely opened her mouth, but she didn't have a chance to rebuke him before he rushed on. "You look gorgeous in any color. Do you know that?" His banter took on a different tone. Her cheek was grazed with gentle fingertips. "You're wonderful in black. I like you in that green you were wearing on the airplane." His voice lowered and became husky. "And you're delicious in yellow terry cloth. Is there any color in the rainbow that dulls your eyes, or makes your complexion sallow, or fails to make your hair come to life?"

  His thumb mesmerizingly traced the curve of her jaw. She saw herself mirrored in the dark depths of his eyes and was shocked at the wistful expression she saw on her face. He shouldn't stand so close, but she didn't want to destroy this moment by pointing that out.

  His fingers really shouldn't touch her lips. It was far too intimate a gesture and destroyed the brother/sister act. But even as her mind objected, her lips obeyed his urging and parted slightly.

  His head was lowering dangerously close when a party of four came hurrying along the path behind them. Dax backed away from her. "Come along, Sis," he muttered, taking the umbrella and ushering her toward the small group of tourists waiting at the base of the rise on which the stately house sat.

  After only a short wait a guide came down the path and led the soggy, but undaunted, group up the hill to the house. The guide's spiel was rehearsed, but thankfully, she made the recitation colorful and conversational. Like the others in the group, Keely and Dax listened. They climbed the stairs, they peered into roped off rooms, they noted what should be made note of, and they wouldn't remember any of it later.

  When the official tour was over, they were again invited to view the outbuildings and grounds. Most of the others trailed off toward the tack room and kitchen. Keely and Dax headed toward a small building that housed personal effects of the Washingtons.

  "Did you ever think," Keely said, "that if you ever become president, two hundred years later people will be traipsing around your house looking at your razor?"

  "I use a disposable razor, but remind me to always keep my false teeth polished." They laughed and quite spontaneously he hugged her.

  They walked to the tomb where the Washingtons were interred. Dax said quietly, "Did you know it was rumored that Washington was in love with another man's wife?"

  "He was?" Keely asked on an uneven breath.

  "Yes. So they say."

  "How tragic."

  "Maybe not," Dax countered. "The love he had for that woman may have been something very special."

  "Yes, maybe." Why did she feel like crying?

  "It certainly doesn't take anything away from what he did for his country. I can't see that it matters much."

  "Not now," Keely said thickly. "But then, when it was happening, it might have mattered a great deal to those who were involved."

  His sigh stirred her hair that had somehow come to rest against his lean cheek. "I guess you're right."

  They left the grave site and made their way back to the main compound. Trying to shrug off the pensive mood, Dax suggested they eat a snack before starting back. "I understand the restaurant here isn't too bad. And we certainly don't need a reservation," he said as he opened the door leading into the virtually deserted dining room.

  Maple tables and chairs were arranged in neat rows across the hardwood floors. Each window was flanked by starched white ruffled curtains. Brass candlesticks with tall narrow chimneys adorned each table and cast a soft glow on the provincially papered walls.

  Only three of the colonial tables were already occupied. Fires were glowing in the fireplaces and Dax led Keely to a table near one of them and close to a window that overlooked the manicured grounds. A waitress rushed to take their orders for clam chowder. When they had done justice to the soup, Dax signaled her and she scurried over again.

  "We'd like dessert too. What have you got?"

  "Homemade pies are our specialty; Cherry, apple, and pecan."

  "Terrific. We'll have two pieces of cherry."

  "No, I want pecan," Keely interposed.

  Dax looked comically thunderstruck. "You can't come to George Washington's house and not have cherry pie. It's anti-American."

  She laughed, but said to the waitress, "Pecan, please."

  "Okay," Dax said grudgingly. "And we want two scoops of vanilla ice cream on each."

  "No, I want whipped cream on mine.

  He turned and glared at her. "Who's doing this, you or me?"

  She and the waitress laughed at his villainous scowl. "You didn't ask me what I wanted and I want whipped cream."

  Dax shook his head in frustration then asked with exaggerated courtesy, "Coffee?"

  "Tea," she replied primly.

  The waitress, pen poised over her tablet, was shaking with laughter. "Cream?" she asked.

  "No,"

  "Yes," Keely answered at the same time.

  Dax looked up at the waitress and said in a loud stage whisper, "She thinks she's a liberated woman."

  The waitress leaned down and said to him, "I like to see marriages where each partner is considered an individual." Then she walked away with her skirts swaying saucily behind her.

  Keely stared down at her left hand, which lay on the tabletop. It was a natural enough mistake. There was the simple gold band encircling her third finger. Out of her peripheral vision she saw Dax's hand move closer until it covered hers.

  "She thinks you're married to me," he said softly. "As long as she thinks that and she doesn't recognize either of us, I suppose it's all right if we hold hands." His long fingers laced with hers and squeezed tightly.

  "I suppose so," Keely said, returning the pressure. They stared at the fire that popped and hissed cheerily. They stared at the rain that fell monotonously and heavily and ran in wide rivulets down the panes of glass. It blurred the scenery, softened the sharp angles of the world, dimmed the harsh light of reality, and made it easy for them
to pretend for a while that things weren't as they were. And because they couldn't help themselves, they stared at each other.

  The warm ambience of the restaurant surrounded them like a cocoon. The clatter of china and silverware in the kitchen couldn't override the silent messages each transmitted. The movements of the other patrons or waitresses didn't distract their eyes from the other's face.

  "I just noticed for the first time that your ears are pierced," Dax commented. "Did it hurt?"

  "Like hell."

  His grin was wide, but he didn't laugh aloud. "You'd never make a politician, Miss Preston. You're far too straightforward."

  Miss Preston. Not Mrs. Williams. Here with him now, she was Miss Preston. "How did you get that scar under your eye?"

  "Is it unsightly? I'll have plastic surgery."

  "Don't you dare! It's—" She was about to say beautiful, but amended it for fear he would take umbrage at such a feminine adjective. His dark brows arched in silent query at her pause. "It makes you appear very rakish," she said.

  "I'm a regular swashbuckler. As a matter of fact, there was a seedier Devereaux involved with the Laffites."

  She squinted her eyes and tilted her head. "Yes, I can see you as a pirate."

  "Maybe I should have my ears pierced. No, just one of them, I think. That's more … rakish."

  They were laughing when the waitress set down the tray between them.

  "Do you want something else?" Dax asked when they were finished.

  "Are you serious? I can barely breathe," Keely said. "Do you want to race to the car and burn off a few of those calories?"

  "I'll be lucky to waddle," she confessed as he held her coat for her. They settled the bill and regretfully left the warmth of the restaurant for the cold outside. They splattered through puddles and dashed for the car. The rain was coming down more earnestly than it had all day.

  The cold motor took some coaxing to get started, but then it roared to life, and Dax carefully steered it out onto the highway.

  "It's really coming down," Keely remarked worriedly when they had driven a few miles through sheets of rain. Even with the rapid, insistent cadence of the windshield wipers, the road was obliterated by a virtual wall of water.

  "It's crazy trying to drive in this. I think there's…" His voice trailed off as he searched the side of the road through the foggy windows. "There it is," he exclaimed and pumped the brakes until the car slowed enough for him to turn into the innocuous side road.

  "I'm going to stop here until this lets up."

  * * *

  Chapter 6

  «^»

  The lane was rutted and the sports car bumped along it for several yards before Dax braked it to a stop. He parked under the semiprotective branches of an oak and cut the motor. The ensuing silence was deafening. The radio's music ceased abruptly. The windshield wipers stopped their drumming. The motor's throb no longer vibrated. Only the rain persisted.

  Dax reached across the seat and touched her shoulder. "Are you warm enough? Do you need your coat?" They had taken off their outer coats and folded them behind the seats again before leaving Mount Vernon.

  "No, I think the heater had time to warm up the car enough for now."

  "If you get cold, tell me. I can either get your coat or let the motor idle for a few minutes." His hand slid down her arm and took her hand. He massaged it. "Your hand is freezing."

  "I know. I can't ever get them warm."

  "Put them in your pockets."

  "It doesn't help."

  "Then put them in my pockets." He was only half teasing.

  "Then what would you do to keep yours warm?" It was a challenge she couldn't resist issuing.

  His eyes twinkled through the gloomy atmosphere. "I'd think of something," he answered in a low rumble. His fingers aligned with hers and he pressed each one in turn. He studied the contrast of his hair-sprinkled hand with the smooth frailty of hers. Then he raised her hand to his mouth and lightly brushed his lips across the fingertips.

  "If I had to accidentally meet the wife of an MIA on an airplane, why did she have to look like you? Be you?" His mouth was moving against her palm now, talking into it, kissing it.

  "You shouldn't say—"

  "Shh. If I can't do anything else, at least let me talk, Keely." His hot tongue darted quickly into the center of her hand and her breath caught in her throat. "But then if you hadn't looked like you, I doubt if I would have gone barreling across the aisle of that airplane like some misplaced Sir Galahad to rescue you, would I?"

  She couldn't answer. His tongue was sliding between her fingers at their base, slowly, leisurely. It was too sexy a gesture to allow, but too blissful to stop. He covered his mouth with her hand and lifted his eyes to hers.

  The air in the small enclosure was redolent with ungratified passion. Their breath created a moist veil on the inside of the cold car windows. Each sound was amplified in the silence. When Dax leaned closer to her, the rustle of his clothing sounded like leaves in an autumn breeze. Each sight was magnified. He could almost count the dark lashes on her lower eyelid. The corner of her mouth quivered slightly with each breath. It was a beautiful mouth, and he had claimed it as his the first time he saw it.

  Keely never remembered feeling quite this helpless – knew indeed that she had never felt this way in her life. She was floating weightlessly, yet a heavy pressure made her lower body ache with longing. She felt imbued with a strength she had never before experienced, but her muscles seemed to have liquefied. Her whole body tingled with life, yet she knew this panting desire closely resembled dying.

  She didn't know she had reached for him until she saw her hand smoothing back a damp, errant strand of dark hair from his forehead. She watched as her thumb stroked across the faint scar beneath his eye.

  Only her name, spoken with the reverence of a prayer, hovered between them before his lips caressed hers. Had she closed her eyes she might never have known that he touched her, so light was the touch of his mouth on hers. But she had been watching and now saw him draw back. Disappointment swamped her. She wanted to know the heat and urgency of his mouth. He had told her impatience was one of his vices. She was desperate for a display of that impatience now.

  But Dax wasn't about to rush this moment or take advantage of her mood. He took her hands and slipped them under his sweater, pressing them against the hair-roughened skin. "Warm them on me." He dropped the sweater back into place and held her face cupped between his palms. Cautiously she moved her fingers against the skin that was as hot as a furnace. He watched her expression. Her eyes closed as she became braver and moved her hands in ever widening circles. Lips, soft and pliant, parted as she emitted a sigh. His mouth was suddenly there, resting on hers, drawing in the breath she expulsed so sweetly.

  His tongue slipped past her lips and traced the row of teeth. A gentle nudge was all it took for her to lift that barrier. The tip of his tongue found hers and explored it with erotic leisure. Then he searched each crevice of her mouth, wantonly investigating, sensuously seeking out the places that, when found, caused her to strain against him.

  His tongue withdrew, but hers followed. Tentatively, maidenly, she parted his lips and they opened for her. He was surprised at her inexperience, the youthful awkwardness, the timidity with which she kissed him. He accepted the timorous flutterings of her tongue until they became well-planned strokes. When it slid along the roof of his mouth, he groaned and crushed her against him.

  Breaking apart to draw breath, he rasped against her ear. "Don't ever he afraid of me, Keely. There is no need to be." He had taken her shyness as fearful caution.

  "I know, I know. It's not that. It's … I'm afraid I'm not good at – I was so young and it's been so long—"

  "You're sweeter because of that. If only you knew how much sweeter. And you'll learn. We'll learn together."

  He hooked a finger in the high collar of her sweater and towered it to avail himself of the skin underneath. Nibbling lips wandered
along her neck to her ear. He teased her earlobe with his tongue and caught at the gold sphere adorning it with his teeth. They laughed softly. Her laughter turned into gasps of ecstasy when he probed the inside of her ear with his tongue. She shuddered.

  "Are you cold?" he asked.

  She shook her head, just barely, not enough to dislodge his mouth. "No."

  "Tell me."

  "I will." Cold? She would never be cold around him. His mouth was relentless. She never thought a man could be so sensitive to what a woman wanted … needed. Dax seemed to glean and anticipate her every carnal wish. He wasn't greedy and fumbling. Every move was slow, practised, and choreographed to bring her pleasure.

  The increasing palpitations in her throat frightened her. She feared she might not be able to breathe much longer. Her hands moved restlessly under his sweater around to his back, seeking a handhold before she slid off the edge of the world.

  He kissed her again, deeper, with a hunger tempered by caring. His hands eased from her cheeks down to her neck and encircled it. His thumb charted her collarbone. When he lowered his hands to embrace her, they ghosted over her breasts.

  God help me, Dax requested silently. Don't let me touch her. If I do, I'll never be able to let her go.

  He felt her imperceptible reaction. Her soft, rapid breaths struck his mouth like puffs of cotton. He felt the muscles of her thighs contract as they lay against his. His hands lingered indecisively, waiting. Catching her bottom lip between his teeth, he worried it gently. Meeting his fervor equally, she murmured something incoherently and raised herself to just beneath his hands.

  Emboldened by her response, his good, honorable intentions dissolved and his hands closed over her. Their sighs of pleasure echoed each other. By slow degrees Keely relaxed and offered herself up for his further exploration. She leaned back into the car seat and locked her hands behind his back, pulling him closer.

  He kneaded her gently, caressed her. He learned her by the sensitive employment of his hands. He closed his eyes and visualized what he was touching – the texture, the color. It was agony not to see, but heaven to imagine. He had felt the bra immediately, but knew it couldn't be much. For as he cupped her and lifted her with his palms, his thumbs fanned her nipples, which were aroused and impertinently demanding his attention.