Mark, too, had referred several of his fellow legislators to Dominique, but from those she had secured contracts for only two campaign fund-raisers to be held in Washington. The other legislators had wanted events in their home states, and Dominique wasn’t equipped for such work. How could she possibly travel to California, for example, when she barely had time to finish her work in Washington?
It had already become clear to her that she needed more help, but she didn’t have the revenue to support it yet. As a result, she worked harder and longer than ever before in her life. Sometimes she felt a strange sort of panic, as though if she didn’t finish everything she had to do each day, she would sink into a quagmire of overdue work from which she would never emerge.
Now, Dominique sorted through the message slips on her blotter trying to decide whom to call back first. Probably the manager of the Hay-Adams, the hotel that would host seventeen members of the French president’s entourage. The most important, of course, would stay at Blair House, the U.S.-owned residence across from the White House, specially reserved for visiting dignitaries. Others would stay at the French embassy. Dominique wanted to ensure that those staying at the hotel felt in no way slighted. She had persuaded the manager to provide, gratis, several pampering touches.
As she thought of this, she smiled. She really was good at her job and, despite the problems, she loved being in business for herself. Mark, after all, had been right. She had to remember to tell him so when she saw him that evening.
Dominique picked up the phone and dialed the number of the Hay-Adams, then sat back and hummed a little melody as she waited for an answer.
The delicious scent of roast meat wafted through the front door of Dominique’s house. She looked at her watch and saw that it was only quarter to seven. Mark must have arrived early.
Her heart racing with anticipation, she unlocked the door. Laughter floated out from the kitchen. It was punctuated by the cozy sound of clanking pots and pans. Gabrielle was chattering rapidly in French, telling a story, while Mark and Solange interjected comments of their own.
Dominique paused, savoring the homey clatter. Someone turned on the tap in the kitchen sink. Solange asked Mark if she had sliced enough mushrooms. Gabrielle squealed as the oil on the stove started to sizzle and she was hit with a stray droplet.
Dominique closed the front door and moved through the living room, invisible to the others.
The three in the kitchen burst into laughter as Gabrielle reached the punch line of her story. Dominique tried to recall a moment in recent years when Gabrielle had shown such ease and happiness with Clay, but she couldn’t. With Clay, there had always been pressure, anxiety to please. Mark didn’t try to correct or improve—he relished people for who they were.
Dominique hugged herself and inhaled deeply, then, with a light step, hurried to join the others. As she opened the kitchen door, she was greeted with cries of pleasure. Such intense joy overwhelmed Dominique that she felt her heart would burst.
Gabrielle said, “Hi, Mom!” and threw an arm around her as Dominique wrapped her own arm around her daughter’s waist. Gabrielle breathlessly launched into a repetition of the story Dominique had just overheard.
Solange kissed her on both cheeks, then resumed her mushroom slicing. She had about her the air of a woman with an important mission.
Dominique turned to Mark as she listened to Gabrielle’s story with half an ear. His teeth flashed as he welcomed her from his position in front of the skillet. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to reveal the salt and pepper hair on his forearms. His tie, loose around the collar, was thrown comically over his shoulder to keep it out of the way. His wavy hair looked rumpled, as though he had bent down and risen a number of times.
Dominique let her eyes rove over him. She drank in the laugh lines around his eyes and mouth, his crooked nose, his broad shoulders, and the ever-so-slight love handles that were a testament to his enjoyment of life. Everything about him was comfortable and inviting. The lines on his face were the lines of a kind man, a funny man, a loving man. His looks would never inspire the awe that Clay’s did, but they were far more appealing.
Dominique longed to put her arms around him, to nuzzle her face in his shoulder. But it was not their habit to touch in front of Gabrielle and Solange, so she contented herself with smiling at him.
For Mark, the noises around him receded to a distant hum. Gabrielle’s chatter, the sound of Solange’s knife against the cutting board, the sizzling oil—all of it became background noise. He looked into Dominique’s eyes and saw the emotion he had awaited for years. He froze, spatula in hand, unable to move or breathe.
Dominique saw the response in Mark’s face. It was like a miracle, the power she had to make him happy. And suddenly, making this gentle man happy was of paramount importance to her. She wanted to show him how much she cared. She wanted to allow him to enter the hidden recesses of her soul, wanted to share her thoughts and dreams with him. She wanted to forget about caution and courtship. She wanted only to acknowledge the love that burst forth from her like the crescendo of a symphony.
She took a step toward him. Their eyes met. It was as though they were speaking aloud, so clearly did they read each other’s thoughts. Silently, Dominique confessed to Mark: I love you, too.
Dominique listened for the sound of Gabrielle’s breathing, regular and deep, then she closed the door of her daughter’s bedroom. She turned and faced Mark where he stood at the end of the hallway.
“It’s okay,” she mouthed.
He came toward her and entered her bedroom.
It was something Dominique had never thought she would do. She didn’t like the idea of making love with a man not her husband in the house where Gabrielle and Solange slept. Yet, tonight, Mark felt more like her husband than Clay ever had. Tonight it was inevitable.
Dominique shivered with anticipation—and apprehension—as she locked the door behind her. She was acutely aware of her lack of experience in comparison to Mark. What if she appeared clumsy, lacking in finesse? What if Mark was disappointed?
Mark studied Dominique’s pale face and smiled reassuringly. He pulled her to the armchair in the corner of the room. “Let’s talk for a minute,” he said quietly.
Dominique let out a long exhalation of relief. She hadn’t known what to do next.
Mark sat on the chair and pulled her onto his lap. Dominique snuggled against him and shyly rested her head on his shoulder.
A lone lamp burned on the night table, leaving their corner of the room in shadows.
“I love you, Dominique,” Mark murmured. He nuzzled the hair near her temple.
Dominique raised her face to his. She saw the tenderness and desire in his eyes—and the love. Mark made her feel like the most beloved woman on earth. How could she doubt him? A blissfully liberating sense of trust chased away her apprehension.
Mark saw the change in her, and his face brightened. He brought his hands to Dominique’s face and cradled it between his palms. The emotion that shined from his face was so intense that Dominique lowered her eyes. With a whispery rustle, Mark brushed the tips of her eyelashes with his lips. Dominique laughed at the fluttery sensation, then opened her eyes and gave Mark a grateful look. He knew just what to do to ease her anxiety. It made her heart ache with love for him.
Keeping his eyes fixed on hers, Mark lowered his head for a kiss, gentle and light. Dominique parted her lips and tasted the warm sweetness of his tongue. It tingled like spice. She kissed him there, where his lips curved upward, as though ready to smile, and there, on the dimple that appeared on his cheek when finally he did smile. She lightly stroked the side of Mark’s neck with her fingertips and felt him tremble under her touch. His hardness strained against the softness of her thigh, but Mark showed no sign of impatience; he was content to let things progress at Dominique’s pace. Dominique was unutterably moved by his combination of strength and vulnerability. He didn’t hide the fact that she held his emotions in her hands,
yet he seemed willing to trust her with that power. She had never known a person so open, so willing to give of himself.
As she met his eyes, the love between them was like a preternatural force that encapsulated them, blocking out the rest of the world. In her mind, Dominique said the words, make love to me, though it wasn’t in her nature to say them aloud.
But Mark reacted as though she had spoken. He gathered her close and gave Dominique a lingering kiss, then eased her from his lap and led her to the bed. They stopped at its edge and Mark pulled Dominique to him. For a moment they stood that way, their hearts pounding together. Then Mark kissed Dominique and his arms grew tense and hard as he wrapped her in his embrace. In unison, they sank to the bed.
Suddenly, they were both voracious to experience what they had so far only imagined. With a few deft movements, Mark freed them of their clothes. The cool air assaulted Dominique’s nerve endings and she closed her eyes and shivered at the delicious feeling. Mark stretched out at her side, his elbow bent, his palm supporting his head. And for a long time, he didn’t move. His regard swept over Dominique, as though to savor the fact that she was there. The heat between Dominique’s legs turned into an ache and her breath grew short. She wanted to reach for Mark, but was held rapt in unbearable, immobilizing suspense—the kind that preceded an orgasm—yet Mark had not even touched her.
Finally, Mark stretched out his hand and delicately smoothed his fingers over Dominique’s thigh. Goose bumps rose on her body. She remained breathlessly still as Mark traced the smooth curve of her arms, the smoother satin of her breasts. He circled his hand over Dominique’s hips, then eased it between her legs. The hot eagerness she felt was like a distant memory stoked to unprecedented heights. She could bear the tension no longer, and she reached for Mark, bringing him close.
Mark looked down at her. In the dim light, she was rosy with arousal. Her eyes glittered beneath half-open lids and her lips, swollen from his kisses, invited more. She had always seemed so discreet, so self-contained. He had dreamed one day of reaching the passion beneath, and was rewarded as he watched ecstasy transform Dominique.
To Dominique, it seemed Mark was everywhere at once. He filled her and covered her. His soft, rhythmic touch made her come alive. He moved slowly, testing the effect on her of each feathery movement of his hand. His desire to please, and his restraint, freed her inhibitions. Now she wanted to give him pleasure, to see him forget himself as he was making her forget herself. She slid her hand over the wiry hair on his chest, then downward until she encircled his member, felt it tremble at her touch. With her legs, she enfolded him. Ready for him. As he entered her, she exhaled a long, shuddering breath. Dominique was awash with sensation, outside herself. At first they moved gently, then with ferocious impatience. Dominique’s muscles grew rigid as the feeling held her in its thrall. Magnifying her pleasure a thousand fold was the awareness of their love. Their actions, their emotions, their tenderness were combining to make love. They were lost in each other—skin, muscle, touch, sensuality.
When Mark inhaled sharply and then, with a helpless tremor, climaxed, Dominique felt as though she were being filled with his soul. And, as the feeling sang around her and surged through her heart, she surrendered to it.
Afterward, they clung together in silence. Words weren’t adequate to describe what had passed between them and so they remained mute, respecting its power. When their desire rose again, they came together quickly, their hunger fueled by their new knowledge of each other. They were insatiable, greedy as they had never been for the lovers who had gone before. Their inhibitions vanished as they breathed, tasted, reveled in each other. They wanted to possess and be possessed.
Finally, as the night sky began to lighten, they reluctantly moved apart, their fingers clutching each other even as they slid from the bed. Dominique threw her robe around her, shivering with the absence of Mark’s warmth. But it was growing light—he had to hurry away.
With a sense of loss, she accompanied him downstairs, then stood at her front door and watched him pick his way down the uneven flagstones. When he reached the gate, he turned and looked back at her. The sky was still a deep, inky gray and Dominique could barely make out his features. But she saw the gleam of his eyes and she understood what they were saying to her. Her heart lifted out of her body, heavenward. She raised her index finger to her lips and lightly kissed it, then turned it in Mark’s direction.
From the dark came his whisper, “I love you.”
CHAPTER 27
IT WAS a deceptively crisp-looking Saturday morning, but Dominique knew that when she actually stepped outside, she’d be overwhelmed by the muggy August heat. She ran her fingers through her hair and stretched, reluctant to move from the cool kitchen. Then, bracing herself, she hurried out to get the newspaper.
Back inside, she settled at the table with a cup of coffee to await Danielle’s weekly call. Just as she poured her second cup, the phone rang.
“Well, I did it!” Danielle announced proudly in response to Dominique’s hello.
Dominique laughed at the cryptic statement, but her curiosity was piqued. “What?” she asked.
“I found a job!”
Dominique’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “You what?”
“That’s right. I thought about how enterprising you were to start your own business. You inspired me!”
“That’s wonderful! I knew you could do it!”
Danielle snorted. “It took a while. A lot of people just laughed in my face because I didn’t have any experience. Politely, of course, but still…”
Dominique made a sound of commiseration.
“Finally, I thought of a way to prove I was qualified.”
“Qualified? What kind of job did you get?”
“Financial planner at Pratt, Watkins.”
Dominique’s mouth dropped open. “You’re kidding! The one with the ads where everyone—”
“Exactly,” Danielle interrupted.
“But they’re huge!” Dominique exclaimed. “How in the world did you do it?”
“Well…” Danielle was clearly ready to launch into the story.
“Wait!” Dominique cried. “Let me put Mother on the extension. She’ll want to hear.” Dominique put down the phone and ran upstairs to rouse Solange.
“Danielle’s on the phone and she’s found a job! Pick up the extension in my room.”
Moving as quickly as a girl, Solange slid from her bed and grabbed her robe from the nightstand. A few seconds later, the three women were talking together.
“Mother, did Dominique tell you I found a job?” Danielle asked in French.
“Oui! Mabrook! Solange answered in a mixture of French and Arabic.
Dominique smiled as she realized that she had never heard her mother say congratulations in any language but Arabic. “Mabrook!” was her cry on every happy occasion.
Danielle continued in French. “Well, everywhere I went, they told me that they wanted someone with experience. Of course, I had none. Then one day it occurred to me that I did have experience. I mean, I’ve managed my own portfolio. But I didn’t realize how well until I put together a chart that showed my earnings over the past twenty years.” She paused dramatically. “Do you know that I’ve outperformed some of the best money managers in the business? I’ve averaged an annual growth of fourteen percent. Recently, because of inflation, I’ve doubled my money. Other times, I didn’t do as well. But the average is still fourteen percent. Pretty incredible when you compare it to a bank or bonds.”
“Oh, Danielle, I’m so proud of you!” Dominique said.
“You were always so bright,” Solange added adoringly.
“You should see the office… seventy stories right on Wall Street!”
“How long is the commute?” Dominique asked.
“Forty minutes. And the best part is, I get to buy a whole new wardrobe for work. I’m having the time of my life!” Danielle’s voice soared.
“That’s w
onderful,” said Solange. Then her tone became ominous. “How does Ronald feel about it?”
“He has no say in the matter,” Danielle said flatly.
“He’s not pleased, is he?” Dominique probed.
Danielle sighed. “Not especially.”
“Well,… he’ll come around,” Dominique said.
“He’ll have to,” Danielle said in a tone that brooked no contradiction.
“How is he? And the girls?” Solange asked.
“Oh, Ronald’s fine,” Danielle said indifferently. Then her tone became enthusiastic. “The kids are great. I can’t believe that Monique starts at Boston University next month.” She sighed. “At least Lana’s in Boston, too. Things are so crazy these days…”
“Give them my love,” said Solange longingly.
“I think Lana may visit you before school starts, Mother,” Danielle said. “If that’s all right with you, Dominique.”
“Of course,” said Dominique. “She can sleep with Gabrielle, or we can pull out the living room couch, if she’d prefer.”
“How is Gabrielle?” Danielle asked.
“Wonderful.” Dominique’s voice glowed. “She’s going down to New Orleans next week for another visit with her father.”
“And what about Mark? Is he still in the picture?”
“Oh la la!” Solange broke in with a laugh. “He’s here almost every evening.”
“Never mind that,” Dominique said with impatient good humor. “Danielle, when do you start your new job?”
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