Stephen’s jaw tightened. His expression was tense. “I’ll probably be one of the last sent back to England, but there’s trouble all over the Middle East. I may be assigned elsewhere in the region.”
Dominique looked down at her plate, trying to hide her dismay. Suddenly the sight of the snails swimming in garlic butter made her feel ill. She pushed the dish away and took a sip of wine, trying to cover her distress. She was so happy working with Stephen. Why did things have to change?
“In any event,” Stephen continued, “we’ve worked together for almost two months and… how shall I say this?”
Dominique held her breath and lifted her gaze to his. Stephen’s expression relaxed—his eyes flamed with warmth. He drew closer and said, “I wanted to know you better.” He paused. “You are… unique.” Very briefly, he brushed her hand with his index finger, then withdrew. “When I first saw you, I thought, ‘This won’t do at all.’” He gave her a mischievous smile. “I was certain your looks would be a distraction.”
Dominique regarded him skeptically. For the second time that evening, she mentally compared herself with the two blondes in his life.
Stephen gave her a questioning glance. “You don’t seem convinced.”
Dominique said nothing. Solange had indoctrinated her with the notion that she was less than attractive, but Dominique had learned enough about the allure of confidence to hide her insecurity. She didn’t fish for compliments to bolster her ego, because she felt it betrayed weakness. Instead, she met Stephen’s eyes with a challenging look. “Then why did you hire me?”
“Don’t you remember the state of my desk?”
They both laughed at the picture his words conjured.
Then he continued. “When I saw your application, I knew you were smart. But I expected you to be frivolous and… well, like any other debutante. I didn’t expect to be able to trust you. I didn’t expect you to be so conscientious or capable or—”
With a flash of irritation, Dominique protested, “I haven’t been pampered, if that’s what you mean.”
Stephen grinned. “Come now!”
Dominique’s face softened. “My father pampered me, if you want to use that word…” Then her features grew hard and she said in a flat tone, “But my mother never did. I may have everything in the material sense, but… we’re constantly at odds.”
Stephen gave her an understanding look. “You’ll get over that.”
Dominique looked skeptical. She sighed. “I don’t know…” She loved her mother, but she wondered if it was possible that she and Solange would ever truly like each other. Then she shrugged. It was better not to dwell on the subject. It always upset her.
She searched her mind for a new topic. “Tell me about your children,” she said.
Stephen smiled broadly, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Why, they’re perfect, of course.”
“Just like their father,” Dominique joked.
Stephen’s smile faded. “I miss them,” he confessed. “I feel guilty that we spend so little time together.”
Stephen paused as the waiter cleared their appetizers and brought out their main course, roast pigeon. He opened a bottle of Bordeaux, which Stephen tasted and approved, then left the couple alone.
Dominique picked up her fork and cut into the succulent meat. “There’s something I have to ask you,” she said in a troubled voice.
Stephen’s expression turned grave, a reflection of her tone.
Dominique picked at her food halfheartedly. She was too preoccupied to appreciate it. “It’s about your… wife.” Her face turned crimson. What would he think of her for asking such a question on the first occasion they were alone socially? Should she have waited? But until when? It would be coy to pretend that this was just a friendly dinner. It was much more than that, and they both knew it.
Stephen nodded and put down his fork. He looked as though he were bracing himself. “You’re right. I need to explain.” He took a deep breath. “It’s the old cliché. You’ve heard it a thousand times. I stay with her because of the children. We essentially have no marriage.”
Dominique shook her head. “I haven’t heard it a thousand times. Because I’ve never… gone out with someone who was married.” She gave a short, self-mocking laugh. “I don’t approve of it.” She put down her fork as Stephen had done, and pushed her plate aside.
Stephen turned to her and took her hands in his. “I know. You don’t need to tell me. It’s one of the reasons I”—he stopped short. “These past weeks…” Again he faltered.
Dominique’s eyes were riveted to his. No one else in the room existed. “These past weeks…” He didn’t need to finish the thought. She knew! It was the same for her. Respect had turned into liking. Liking had sparked curiosity. Curiosity had led to attraction. And all of it had been fueled by the roller coaster of tension at work. There was a sense of something about to happen. And when she worked late with Stephen, there was a feeling of alliance and common purpose more binding than mere sexual attraction.
Stephen’s hands tightened around Dominique’s. He searched her eyes, as though trying to predict her reaction to what he had to say. Finally he spoke. “It’s much too soon for declarations. I’m afraid you’ll think I’m not serious.”
Dominique bit her lip. She was torn. A part of her longed for Stephen. Another part shrank from the involvement. If she were strong, she would tell him to take her home at once. She would forget about him, resign, and never see him again. There was still time to escape.
She withdrew her hands from his. “This is going too fast. I’m… I’m confused. You seem like such a good person. I’ve never respected anyone as much. But it’s difficult to reconcile with…” Dominique let her sentence fade.
Stephen gave her a sad smile. “It would be easier to blame everything on my wife, I know.”
Dominique looked down, ashamed. She wanted to blame his wife. To have an excuse she could live with.
Stephen put his index finger under her chin and lifted her face. “My wife is a victim of loneliness. I went away as soon as we were married and have been away ever since. Serena doesn’t care to leave England. I can’t blame her, really. Some of my posts have been beastly.” He sat back and took a sip of wine before continuing. “We’ve both done things that were wrong.” His voice was resigned. “The children… I think they need to know I’m somewhere about. She… Serena… is often… preoccupied. She has her interests. I’m afraid the children would feel quite isolated if I weren’t part of their lives. I go home for holidays. They come to my posts during the summers. I’m not sure Serena would be so generous if we were to divorce.”
“Can’t you get a post in England?” Dominique asked.
Stephen smiled bitterly. “I’ve had that. I’m afraid things didn’t work out. Serena insists that the children go away to school. How can I argue when I know I could be sent off and she’d have to deal with them on her own? So, with the children away, we end up alone together much of the time. And I’m afraid there’ve been too many ruptures to make that a happy circumstance.”
Dominique nodded. Her questions were answered, but there was little comfort in what she had learned. His wife wasn’t a lunatic, a drunk, or a witch. They simply didn’t love each other. Rumor was that Serena had strayed first—Dominique didn’t dare broach that subject. Couldn’t Stephen have divorced her then? Fought for the children? Perhaps even brought them to live with him? On the other hand, Dominique knew that courts seldom awarded custody of children to fathers. It seemed an impossible situation.
“Stephen?” Dominique had one more question. “Did you ever love Serena?”
Stephen thought for a moment. “When we married I was eighteen. I was going off to war and I wanted her more than anything in the world. But as to whether or not I loved her, I honestly don’t know.”
Dominique searched Stephen’s eyes. “Have you ever been in love?”
There was a long, tense silence. Stephen didn’t take his eye
s off Dominique. His face was serious when he replied. “Two months ago, the answer would have been no.”
When they left the restaurant, the night was a clear, midnight blue. It was too chilly to drive with the top down, especially as Dominique had brought no wrap.
She watched in silence as Stephen pulled up the little tan canvas. When she got into the car, she was shivering. Her teeth chattered as she rubbed her arms.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t notice how cold it was.” He removed his jacket. “Here, put this around you.” He reached around Dominique and she leaned forward in her seat so he could drape the jacket around her. Her arms burned where his fingers brushed her skin. Never before had the simple touch of a man had such an effect on her.
Once again they drove in silence. When they arrived in front of her apartment, Stephen got out and opened her door. “I’ll walk you upstairs,” he said.
Dominique nodded. When they reached her apartment door, she turned to face Stephen. He was standing so close, he seemed to tower over her. She looked up at him. “Thank you. I had a…” She couldn’t think of anything adequate to say.
Stephen reached for Dominique’s hands and pulled her close. The movement dislodged his jacket from her shoulders and it dropped to the floor. Both of them ignored it. He ran his hands up her smooth arms. This time when she shivered, it wasn’t from the cold. He cupped her face in his hands and looked at her for a long moment. Ever so softly, he rubbed his index finger in the little space between the top of her spine and the bottom of her hairline. The feeling was so deliciously sensual that Dominique thought she might faint. As though in a hypnotic trance, she drew closer to him; closer, until she could feel the buttons of his shirt against her breasts through the thin silk of her dress. She closed her eyes. She felt the warmth of his breath as he drew closer. And then he kissed her. His lips were sweet and hot. Dominique opened her mouth, wanting to taste him. His arms tightened around her as they pressed together. He moaned, then his mouth glided off hers and onto her neck. Dominique was sure that if he let go, she would be unable to stand, so she clung to him—abandoned herself to him completely.
This was what she had secretly wished—not just this, but more! And there was nobody to stop them. No Nanny standing guard at the other side of the door.
Suddenly Dominique felt like a trapeze artist without a net; free, yet frighteningly aware of danger. Her mind screamed a warning. Stop! She pulled away. She was breathless, her face flushed with desire.
Stephen stared at her, his expression startled. He looked as intoxicated as she.
Then he slowly released her. “I have to leave,” he said, his voice thick. He bent down and picked up his jacket.
The withdrawal of his touch brought Dominique jolting back to reality. As she stepped back toward the door, she stumbled and reached behind her for support. Seeing her falter, Stephen caught her by the waist. She found her footing and righted herself. She rested her palms on his chest and looked up at him. “This doesn’t seem real,” she said, her voice shaky. “Will it still be the same tomorrow?”
Stephen released Dominique’s waist. His eyes roved over her features.
She looked back at him, her pupils dilated with yearning. She was all eagerness and promise.
“Dominique, don’t you know?” he said tenderly. “For me, it will always be the same.”
When Dominique arrived at the office the next day, Stephen was already there. His face lit when Dominique walked tremulously through his office door. He stood up and came around his desk to greet her, but stopped a few feet away from her. They stood facing each other.
“I don’t think we should touch here,” he said, as the sparks flew between them.
Dominique, breathless, balled her hands into fists. He was right, of course, but she so wanted to feel his embrace. “No, of course not,” she murmured.
“I’d like to see you tonight.”
Dominique’s heart leapt. “Yes.”
“And… this Saturday. What about a trip to the beach?”
He wanted to see her as much as she wanted to see him! Dominique struggled to suppress a giddy burst of laughter. “That sounds… wonderful,” she whispered.
Over the next week, Dominique realized that the calls from Lieutenant Smythe had stopped. Clearly the woman had vanished from Stephen’s life, though Dominique never knew how he had managed it so quietly.
Just as Stephen had been open about his relationship with Smythe, he was open about the role of Dominique in his life. They dined together almost every evening. Weekends were taken for granted—there was no question of either of them dating another person. Every moment seemed precious. When Dominique saw Stephen’s car pull up in front of her house, her pulse raced with excitement. When they parted at the end of the evening, she felt as though she were losing part of herself. There was a physical void when she was apart from him. And she rarely was.
Stephen introduced her to his friends, and they seemed to welcome Dominique, to genuinely like her. Invitations no longer came for him alone. It was “Stephen and Dominique.”
“He’s had it tough,” explained the wife of an American diplomat who was a close friend of Stephen’s. “Serena gives him a dreadful time. And as for that stuck-up bitch Amanda,” she said with typical American frankness, “no one could stand her. We can see he’s a lot happier with you. It’s obvious he’s crazy in love. He can’t take his eyes off you.” She smiled wistfully. “My husband hasn’t looked at me that way for years. But,” she continued cheerfully, “we’re happy for Stephen. For both of you.”
Dominique was shocked at the American woman’s openness—she spoke as if Stephen and Dominique were married—but it made it easier for Dominique to say what was on her mind. “You don’t… blame me?” she asked hesitantly.
The American flipped her wrist nonchalantly. “For what? People have to be realistic. In a situation where there are long separations from a spouse, and where the marriage isn’t happy, who’s to blame for the consequences?”
Dominique thought of Solange. Solange would find someone to blame and it would most certainly be Dominique! She shuddered to think of the uproar if her mother ever learned that she was in love with a married man—and that he was in love with her.
The ballroom of the French officers’ club was awash in scarlet poinsettias. Banks of them obscured the murals on the walls and were reflected in the mirror-like parquet of the floor.
Dominique and Stephen stopped short just inside the entrance and gasped at the holiday display, their eyes widening at the extravagance of the scene. Now Dominique understood why ladies had been requested to wear Christmas red. Women on the dance floor spun to the music, their red gowns flying in circles about them, rubies and other precious stones sparkling against their bare skin. The effect was magical.
Stephen smiled down at Dominique. “Your dress matches the poinsettias.”
Dominique laughed and smoothed the skirt of her full, crimson velvet gown. Its portrait collar plunged to a low V in front and back, creating the perfect setting for the diamond and ruby necklace she wore, so delicate that it looked like the dewy silk of a spider’s web. The bottommost stone glittered enticingly at the apex of her lush cleavage.
Stephen gazed at the stone, then followed it with his eyes to the even more inviting sight below. He leaned close and squeezed her hand. “I’m so proud you’re with me.”
Dominique looked up at him, radiant with love. She tried not to think of their impending separation: he would return to England until after the New Year, she to Cairo. She got a knot in her stomach every time she thought of the three weeks without him. He had become such a fixture in her life that she could barely imagine it. Yet she knew he was eager to see his children and loved him for feeling that way.
The time would go quickly, she tried to reassure herself. There would be much required of her as Solange prepared for her annual New Year’s Eve gala. And then there would be a full calendar of invitations.
In any event, there was no use spoiling tonight’s beautiful party by brooding about Stephen’s departure. Dominique laced her arm through his and let him lead her through the crowd to their reserved table at the side of the room.
Amidst greetings and friendly kisses, the couple finally arrived at their table for two. Once seated, they were barely noticeable in the hubbub around them, and they liked it that way. They ordered champagne and settled back to listen to the orchestra. It was playing the lively “Shall We Dance” from The King and I. Stephen lightly drummed the tabletop in time to the music. Dominique couldn’t keep from tapping her foot. The waiter reappeared a few moments later and filled their glasses with a flourish.
When he had gone, Stephen lifted his glass and said, “Happy New Year, darling.” He uttered the words with zest, his spirits obviously high.
“Happy New Year.” Dominique matched his tone. It was impossible not to feel cheerful when the room glittered with such life and fun—and when she was with Stephen. He looked resplendent in his dress uniform, his shoulders broad and square, his face brimming with male vitality, his eyes sparkling. She remembered with amusement her initial impression of him. How could she have ever considered him distant?
A look of secretive excitement came over Stephen. He leaned across the table and took Dominique’s hand. “I have a special Christmas gift for you,” he said softly.
Dominique grinned at Stephen. “I brought your present, too.” She withdrew from her clutch a small box and slid it across the table to Stephen. “You first.”
Stephen at once recognized the name of the store embossed on the gold box. He asked with endearing enthusiasm, “Is this what I think it is?” He slid his finger under the seal and carefully removed the lid. “It is!” He withdrew an intricately detailed crystal paperweight in the shape of a book, which he had several times admired in a shop near Dominique’s apartment. Stephen held up the translucent object so that the light from the chandelier overhead passed through it. He smiled. “I don’t have to tell you that I love it, because you know it already.”
No More Lonely Nights Page 6