Dare to Dream

by Modean Moon

  "No!" she cried. "I like you, Nick…" She closed her eyes against the golden daggers shooting from his. "I care for you. But I don't—I can't— love you."

  "I see," he said grimly. "There's no clutter in your closet or your kitchen. There's no clutter in your life either, is there? No room for any extraneous matter, such as human emotions? I'm sorry, Dani. I thought I'd seen something different in you. I guess I was wrong."

  She sat numbly while he finished dressing, yanking on his shoes and angrily stuffing his shirttail into his slacks.

  It was better this way, she told herself. Better that it end now. Better that they never see each other again. Better than what? her heart screamed as he strode toward the door.

  She was not aware of crossing the room. Without knowing how she got there, she found herself between Nick and the door. He stopped, waiting for her to speak.

  "Nick." Her words were free creatures, acting against any order her rational mind could give. "Please, don't leave me."

  He sighed in defeat. "You've got my guts so tied in knots now that half the time I don't know what I'm doing. Just what do you want from me?"

  She looked at him in silence for long seconds, and then, acknowledging defeat herself, she tipped her head forward to rest on his chest. "I don't know."

  The silence crushed in on her as she stood passively before him. She felt the tremor that worked through him before he gathered her in his arms. "Then," he murmured against her hair, "I guess we'd better find out."

  Chapter Six

  With Nick, Dani discovered, finding out proved to be a delightful experience, as long as she didn't let herself think about what she was doing and just did it. He captured her time, filling her waking hours, and her sleeping hours, with excitement.

  The hours she spent at the office, instead of being her reason for living now became hours that she must endure until she could again be with Nick. She began, for the first time, to understand Marcie's attitude. Pangs of guilt occasionally nipped at her for not getting as much done as she once had, but she learned to cope with those, grinning ruefully as she realized she was still turning out more work than anyone else would have expected had she not set such a driven pace for herself long before.

  She wondered, at times, how Nick managed his schedule to have so much time for her. But she wasn't going to complain, and she certainly wasn't going to remind him that he ought to have more important things to do than spend hours with her, hours that started out lazy and relaxed and evolved into ecstasy.

  As if by mutual consent they avoided discussions of their childhoods. Dani found little that was amusing to relate about her succession of foster homes. Nick seemed reluctant to tell her more than he had been raised in a home that was essentially fatherless—even before his father had died in an accident, because his father had followed the oil fields, and that his mother now lived in Los Angeles with his brother's family.

  The past didn't matter. There were too many new discoveries being made. The sinful luxury of having him fill the tub with water just the right temperature for her, hand her a chilled glass of wine, and then, grinning wickedly, slide into the tub with her, completely destroying any illusion of relaxation. The secret knowledge they shared as they sat with hands locked together in the concert hall, knowing they would feel the music long after the musicians had gone home. The delight that she took in learning, and he took in teaching her, the new dance steps. The awareness that his lightest touch or the fanning of his breath against her skin could draw her into a vortex of mindless pleasure and—wonder of wonders—that she seemed to have the same ability to ignite his response. No. There were too many wonderful new discoveries to allow the past to intrude.

  Lynde's, at the top of the tallest Brady Center Tower, appeared much the same as it had the first night they were there. The change was in her, Dani realized. With the russet silk swirling about her ankles, her hair cascading over her shoulders, and Nick's arm securely about her waist, she was a far different person from the businesslike shell who had walked through this same door only weeks before.

  The table overlooking the lights of the city awaited them. Nick paused only to order before taking her hand in his and leading her to the dance floor. Knowing the rhythm of each other's body as they now did, they moved with a fluidity that surpassed that earlier time. And now she felt free to revel in the sensations generated as his body moved with hers and against hers, as she felt free, later, to take his hand as it lay beside hers on the table, free to smile a sensual promise at him as they whispered and laughed together over dinner. When he drew her to her feet after dinner to lead her again to the dance floor, she felt free to slide her arm around his waist and lean confidently close to him as they walked the short distance.

  At the top of the steps to the polished floor, Nick paused, and even through the soft fabric of his jacket, Dani felt his muscles tighten under her hand. Puzzled by the abrupt tension in him, she looked up to see an incredibly hard expression in his eyes as he stared across the room. She glanced in the direction of his gaze, toward a candle-lit table on the edge of the dance floor. It took a moment for her to assimilate what she saw, and then the implications hit her and she tightened her hand on Nick's waist.

  Sam Wilson sat at the table, his handsome profile toward them so that he did not seem aware of their presence. He spoke quietly but insistently with the woman seated opposite him, a woman whose face had been indelibly engraved on Dani's memory that night at the restaurant when she first saw her, a stunning redhead with patrician features who now studied Nick as a Cheshire cat smile twisted her lips.

  Time stood still for them until Nick applied gentle pressure to her spine and urged her down the steps. He gathered her into the easy embrace of dance. "Now do you understand why he did it?" he asked.

  "No," Dani told him. "If anything, I understand less than I did before I saw him with your ex-wife."

  "It wasn't the paycheck he wanted, Dani. It was the satisfaction of putting something over on me. And it doesn't make much difference at this point whether it was his idea or hers."

  He led her through a complicated series of steps before she felt the anger and tension leave him. As he drew her to him, she felt his whisper brushing her cheek. "Poor bastard."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "He's not strong enough for her. She'll have him doing things he never dreamed of doing, tolerating situations that are intolerable. She'll break him."

  Had she tried that with Nick? Had that been what finally destroyed their marriage? Dani missed a step and stumbled lightly toward him.

  "Don't worry about them, Dani," Nick told her softly. "Neither one of them is worthy of your worry."

  She wouldn't. She determined that as she leaned against him and let the music carry them away from all thoughts of Marilyn or Sam Wilson. But they intruded after the next dance, a fast jazz tune that left her breathless and flushed. Laughing together, she and Nick were returning to their table when Dani caught sight of Marilyn watching her.

  Fully aware of how disheveled she must be after the exertion of the last dance, Dani drew a mental comparison between herself and the immaculately coiffed and made-up perfection of Nick's ex-wife and made a quick decision. When they reached their table, Nick pulled out her chair for her, but she shook her head and reached for her purse.

  "I'm going to freshen up," she told him lightly. "I'll be right back."

  She moved with apparent confidence across the room, inwardly berating herself for the insecurity she felt. After all, Marilyn was his ex-wife. And Nick had made it obvious that he had a very low opinion of the woman. Why, then, was Dani so concerned about not suffering in comparison with her?

  But she was, she admitted as she sank onto the padded bench in front of the lighted mirrors of the ladies' lounge and dragged her comb through her heavy hair. She heard the soft sounds of the door opening and the rustle of fabric, looked absently in the mirror, and then froze, her comb suspended in midstroke. Marilyn stood behind
her. Clad in a glittering green sheath that matched her eyes, she leaned casually and yet somehow ominously against the closed door.

  "Wise move, Miss Simms," she said, nodding toward the still suspended comb. "Nick always liked his women to be tidy."

  Dani dragged the comb through her hair one more time before tossing it in her purse and snatching the tube of lip gloss. Patience, she told herself. The woman obviously wanted something. She steadied her hand and applied the gloss.

  "Of course, you are a wise young woman, aren't you? You've promoted yourself from his"—Marilyn paused between the words—"lawyer to his dancing partner. I assume you fill his other needs as well."

  Dani slid the cap on the gloss and swiveled to face Marilyn. A cold rage was building in her at the effrontery of this woman, but she steeled herself in her best courtroom manner and spoke icily. "You may assume anything you wish. I have no control over that."

  "But do you have any control over Nick?" Marilyn's gaze raked over Dani. "I see no jewelry. Does that mean you haven't yet managed to inveigle any presents from him—no tokens of his affection?"

  Dani felt her rage building. How dare this woman intrude on her privacy and insult her? And insult Nick. It seemed as though she found nothing to value in Nick himself, only in what his money could buy. Dani snapped her purse shut and rose to leave. Marilyn was taller than she had thought, and she stood solidly blocking the door.

  "I see no reason to continue this discussion," Dani said. "Please step aside."

  "Oh, but I'm not through," Marilyn insisted in a maddeningly calm voice. "I want to make sure, before I leave you to his tender mercies, that you understand just how profitable a relationship with Nick can be."

  Dani marveled at the feeling growing within her, a good healthy anger such as she had not known in years. "I'm not exactly destitute," she said.

  "No, dear. I didn't mean to say that you were. But being 'not exactly destitute' and having access to Nick's considerable fortune are two completely different things. And you need to know, before you become too dependent upon Nick's bounty, that it can be dangerous to you."

  "Are you threatening me?" Dani asked with a calm she did not feel.

  Marilyn's laughter pealed through the room. "Me? No, I'm warning you. Apparently, you haven't seen it yet, but Nick does have his darker side. My dear Miss Simms, your only danger will come from him."

  What could she call this woman? She wanted to hurl a name at her, and she'd be damned if it would be Mrs. Sanders.

  "You speak from experience, of course." The words dripped with saccharine.

  "You little fool!" Marilyn snapped. "I'm warning you that Nick can be violent. Play him for all you want, but don't be surprised if he turns on you when you don't do what he wants, when he wants."

  Violent? Dani had no doubt that Marilyn had been able to provoke him to violence. After five minutes with her, anyone would be provoked to violence.

  "Get out of my way," Dani said as she moved toward the door.

  "And if I choose not to — yet?"

  Dani looked at the woman, thankful for the first time for her street wise and tomboyish childhood that Mrs. Simms, her former mother-in-law, had never failed to throw up to her. "You're at least six inches taller than I am, and you outweigh me by more than twenty pounds, but if you don't move away from that door, now, you're going to find out that you're not the only woman in this room who knows how to fight dirty."

  Marilyn smiled lazily, but she moved to the side of the door. "And Dani," she said as Dani opened the door, "ask him about the divorce. Or better yet, read the file. Frank Merriweather handled it for him."

  Dani jerked the door closed behind her and strode down the hall. The nerve of that woman! Nick had been married to her? Why? Ask him about the divorce? She couldn't do that. She wouldn't want to ask him to drag forth the wounds of his marriage any more than she would want him to—

  She clutched at the wall in sudden weakness. Any more than she would want him to probe at the wounds of hers. God! She hadn't thought of it once that entire day. She leaned her head against the wall and took a deep breath. And she wouldn't think of it now. She straightened her shoulders and stepped into the dining room.

  From the doorway she could see Nick watching for her at their table across the room. Undoubtedly, he had seen Marilyn follow her. She fixed a smile on her face and worked at calming herself as she made her way to his side.

  "Are you all right?" he asked as he pulled the chair out for her.

  Dani saw no need to hide what had happened. "I've had a decidedly unpleasant experience," she said.

  Nick rested his hands on her shoulders for a moment before he sat down and took her hand in his. The questions in his troubled eyes urged her to continue, but Dani hesitated. Marilyn's comments weren't worth repeating. Still, he seemed to want to know…need to know.

  Dani smiled grimly. "She warned me to be wary of your violence in my campaign to gain access to your checkbook."

  "And that was all?" he asked tensely.

  "Essentially. But I think I left before she had said all she wanted." Dani realized for the first time just how she had managed to leave, and a chuckle of surprise broke from her. "As a matter-of-fact," she told Nick sheepishly, "I think I threatened her with a little violence of my own if she didn't let me leave."

  Nick squeezed her hand resting in his and shook his head. A smile worked at his mouth, but his eyes remained troubled. "And are you now going to demand explanations from me?" he asked.

  The decision had already been made. Dani no longer had to consider it. With her free hand she traced a line from the outer corner of his eye, down his jaw, and across to his lower lip. "No."

  "Do you want to leave?"

  Dani did not have to consider that question. It could be uncomfortable to remain under observation and yet to leave now would only give Marilyn an unearned sense of satisfaction.

  "Not because of them," Dani said finally. "I think we've seen the worst either of them has to offer, and I refuse to let them spoil my time with you."

  Her hand rested on his cheek. He turned his face into it and placed a kiss in her palm. "Good girl."

  Dani had sounded much more confident than she felt. When Nick again led her to the dance floor, she was aware of Marilyn's watchful gaze. As they paused on the edge of the floor before moving into the dance, Sam Wilson turned toward her, a thin smile tightening his face as he nodded a grim salute. But all thoughts of the other couple faded as she moved with Nick to the haunting strains of "Night and Day."

  "I'll never be able to hear this song again without thinking of you," Nick told her as he pulled her close.

  Later, when they reluctantly returned to their table, Dani saw that Marilyn and Wilson were gone.

  Nick arrived at her apartment Saturday morning dressed in faded jeans, cowboy boots, and a nondescript shirt with the sleeves rolled up to expose the bronzed strength of his arms. He raised a quizzical eyebrow and looked skeptically at the beige linen slacks and coral silk shirt she wore.

  "You haven't gotten a pair of jeans yet?" he asked.

  She'd sworn that she'd never again wear jeans, but the reasons for that oath became more obscure each time he teased her.

  She shook her head, and he grimaced in mock dismay. "Well, don't say you weren't warned. Are you ready to leave?"

  Dani raised her cup to her lips for one last sip of coffee as she asked, "Where are we going?"

  "We're going to drill an oil well."

  She choked on the coffee and while he obligingly pounded on her back, she caught her breath. "Nick, this weekend is only two days long. I don't think even you can drill a well before Monday."

  He eased the pressure on her back to a gentle massage and laughed softly. "No," he admitted. "At least not where I want to drill. All we'll do today is stake and build the location."

  She shook her head. "Aren't you forgetting a few things?"

  "What?"

  She listed the items on her fingers.
"Oh, just leases, title opinions, pooling orders, spacing orders, and drilling permits."

  "No. I haven't forgotten them," he said and, maddeningly, said no more.

  "You're surely not just going to ignore them, are you?"

  "Come on, counselor. You don't have to be a lawyer today. Finish your coffee and I'll explain everything on the way out to the drill site."

  The reason he didn't have to worry about her list of necessities, he told her as they sped west into Creek County, was that this particular location was part of a large lease he had taken years before and on which he already had three producing oil wells. Everything had been taken care of long ago, except for obtaining the permit to drill, and he considered that a formality that would give him no trouble.

  They turned south off the highway and followed a graveled road for several miles before Nick turned in at an open gate. Inside the gate, two men were off-loading a bulldozer from a flatbed trailer, and Nick stopped the car and walked over to speak with the men. When he returned to the car, he carried a hammer and a wooden stake.

  "Now comes the hard part," he said as he eased his long frame back into the car. "I have to decide where we're going to drill this hole." . "You don't know?" Dani said and laughed. "What about the experts that you told me you surrounded yourself with? Didn't your geologists have any suggestions?"

  "Sure," he said, laughing, too. "The reason I went after this lease in the first place was that my geologists were certain that there is a—quote, unbelievable, end of quote—channel of Red Fork Sand, which contains a prehistoric riverbed chock-full of dead dinosaurs, run-ning under this property. The problem is that although they all say it has to be here, none of them seem to agree on where here is."

  They passed a black pump jack, moving up and down slowly in cadence with the rhythmic beat of an engine, resembling, Dani thought with a giggle, one of those silly gooney-bird drinking toys of her childhood. The site around the pump was scrupulously clean, devoid of any of the clutter and trash she had heard often existed around wells. To one side there sat a series of storage tanks, each gleaming white and bearing Nick's blue-and-white logo, an elongated diamond with the starkly modern initials of N.S.