Dare to Dream

by Modean Moon

  "D.J.?" Marcie called after her. "Aren't you going to explain that?"

  Dani tossed her head, delighting in. the feeling of her hair brushing her shoulders. "Nope."

  Chapter Seven

  It was easy for Nick to persuade her to leave work early the following Friday. Too easy, she thought with a frustrated sigh as she hurried to clear her desk. A smile quirked her lips. But the rewards were worth this little inconvenience. Well worth it.

  The thought that she was blatantly carrying on an affair both appalled and intrigued her. It was the sort of thing Rob's mother had always thought her capable of but so alien to her own rigid code of what was right that an occasional stab of remorse pierced through her contentment.

  There was a fine line, Dani thought, between loving what someone did for you and loving the person who did it. God knows I love the things he does for me, she mused. She loved the excitement he brought into her life. She loved the laughter he helped her to share with him. She loved the small courtesies he showed her, such as plumping her pillow and bringing her coffee in bed. She loved the way he brought her body to life, coaxing it to heights she had never dreamed possible.

  Stop that! she told herself. What she was feeling was a natural reaction. Never in her life had she been pampered and petted, and if Nick chose to do so for a short while she would enjoy it, and she would not feel guilty.

  She removed the tape from her dictation unit, clipped it into the folder, gathered up her purse and the stack of files, and walked to Marcie's cubicle.

  Marcie sat at the typewriter, earphones from her transcription unit clutched in her fist as she stared at the wall.

  "Marcie?"

  The woman turned toward her with a small shake. "Sorry, D.J. Guess I was lost in thought."

  Marcie's face was drawn, and her eyes were unnaturally dull. Dani studied her with a frown. "Are you all right? Maybe you're the one who ought to be leaving early."

  "Don't be silly," Marcie said, but her grin didn't light her face the way it usually did. "Your taking off a half day is almost as good as giving me time off."

  Dani wasn't convinced, but she smiled at the woman. "Just don't push yourself too hard, Marcie."

  "I don't, remember?"

  Dani remembered. She remembered the conversation she had had with Marcie days before, and belatedly, she also remembered that the woman's annual evaluation was still sitting on Chefs desk waiting for her signature.

  As she took the stairs down to the fifteenth floor, she chided herself for being so wrapped up in her own thoughts she had let something so significant as Marcie's annual raise slide into the background. What else had she let slide? As she opened the door to Chefs outer office, she was still taking herself to task. Her personal feelings must not interfere with her work. Work was the constant factor in her life. It had sustained her before, and it would sustain her again.

  "Good morning, Miss Simms." The young woman who spoke pleasantly looked familiar, but her sleek new hairstyle and the artfully applied makeup that emphasized her luminous gray eyes made such a striking difference in her appearance that Dani wondered for a moment if it could be the same person.

  "Robyn?"

  Robyn laughed and self-consciously patted her hair. "I couldn't believe it either when I first looked in the mirror. It still amazes me."

  "It's stunning," Dani told her, noting the glow of her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes that no makeup could have caused.

  "Thank you. Mr. Davis had an early lunch appointment today so he's already left the office. Can I help you with something?"

  Dani explained why she was there. Robyn efficiently produced Marcie's file from the banks of now organized personnel files lining one wall and handed the evaluation to her. Dani glanced over it before signing it and handing it back to Robyn.

  She's in love, Dani thought as she watched the soft glow on Robyn's face as she separated the copies and sorted them for distribution. Too bad for Chet. If Robyn's looks were any indication, the new boyfriend would have no trouble at all dragging her off to Glenpool or Broken Arrow or anywhere else he wanted. Dani felt a catch in her throat and mumbled her thanks as she all but fled from the room. How long had it been since she had been that young, that innocent, that full of hope?

  It was a beautiful, crisp May morning, but as Dani stood in the cavernous underground area of the parking garage waiting for her car to be brought down to her, surrounded by the smell of gasoline fumes, the echoes of car horns and the rumble of vehicles moving above her, she gave in to the gloom and isolation of her surroundings.

  Impatiently she glanced at her watch. She had almost two hours to wait before Nick would pick her up, and suddenly she wanted to see him so badly the two-hour wait seemed interminable. Forget the fact that she had wanted to tidy the apartment before he arrived. Forget the fact that she had planned a lingering soak in the tub. Forget anything except at this moment she needed the reassurance of his smile and the comfort of his presence.

  When the parking attendant screeched her car to a stop, she waited only until he slid from the seat before jumping into the car. He had barely cleared the door before she shifted the car into gear and shot forward into the light.

  Thank God, the street was free from traffic. Dumb! she thought. Get yourself together. You are a rational,, adult, professional person. You don't squeal your tires like an adolescent. You don't drive onto a busy street without looking. A bitter laugh choked her. You don't run to your lover in the middle of the day.

  But she knew where he was.

  Hanging steel, he had called it. "You have to experience it," he had told her only the night before. "There's an exhilaration that can't be -explained, watching the girders going up, seeing the building you planned taking shape from a pile of metal." His eyes sparkled while he spoke and his hands moved in restless gestures. "There's only one thing more exciting," he said, "and that's standing on the floor of a drilling rig with the bit pounding into the earth as you reach total depth and knowing you've made a well."

  He had turned to her, and she had melted at the look in his eyes as he took her into his arms. "Except maybe… There is one thing more exciting than either of those," he had murmured against her throat. And then there had been no more need for words.

  She saw the building across the gently rolling, rapidly developing landscape long before she reached it. It wasn't a small building, unless compared to the Brady Center Towers. Ten stories high, it would dwarf neighboring buildings along the Interstate Highway for a while. Twin cranes perched predatorily over it, and a cluster of trucks and sheds and trailers nested in its shadow.

  She missed the first exit and had a chance to view the structure from the height of an overpass. Nick didn't believe in building square cubes, she thought as she noted the as yet indefinable angles jutting out from a central core.

  She took the next exit and backtracked to the construction site, parking some distance from the building beside Nick's blue Mercedes. His fair-weather car. Her spirits lifted as she realized he had planned for this to be a fair weather day.

  Sand slithered into her pumps as she walked toward the site. A burly construction man in jeans, a yellow hard hat, and a blue workshirt with sleeves rolled up to expose a massive tattoo on an equally massive biceps stopped her approach.

  He wasn't impolite, just definite, and she had no trouble hearing his voice over the noise of groaning engines.

  "This is a hard-hat area, lady. You can't go any farther. You got business here?"

  "Nick Sanders," she shouted back at him over the roar.

  He shook his head, grinned, and jerked a thumb in the direction of the roof, or what would be the roof, of the building. Then Dani understood the groaning of the engines. One crane had hooked onto an enormous steel beam and was levering it toward the sky. On the beam, his khaki-clad legs spread slightly and flexed for balance, holding onto the supporting cable with only one hand, stood Nick. He faced the steel shell as he rose with the beam, but she knew by
the set of his shoulders, the tapered waist, the sheer size of him — What did it matter how she recognized him? She knew it was he. And she felt nausea rising within her as he grew smaller against the sky.

  "Oh, God," she murmured. One slip of the cable, one gust of strong wind, one faltering beat of the engine near her… She clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle an outcry and watched in horrified fascination as the beam reached the top of the building and Nick jumped from one precarious perch to another that couldn't have been any more substantial.

  "You want I should tell him you're here?" The man's voice finally penetrated her numbed consciousness.

  She forced down the bile in her throat. "What?"

  "You want I should go up and tell him you're here?"

  Dazed, she looked at the pile of construction clutter at the base of the building, half expecting to see Nick's broken body lying there.

  "Lady?" The rough voice drew her back from her thoughts.

  "No," she murmured. "No, thank you." She turned and stumbled back to her car.

  How could he? The thought raced through her mind, keeping pace with the racing of her heart. Drenched with perspiration by the time she reached her apartment, she tore off her clothes and let the shower beat at her, but even the steaming water pelting against her couldn't slow her thoughts. With odd jerking movements she dressed in the clothes she had planned to wear, and not even knowing she had done it until she finished, she straightened the apartment.

  She sank onto the couch to wait for him. How could he? In less than a month he had torn apart her calm, comfortable world, and now he was out prancing on a steel tightrope a hundred feet in the air. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to tie his feet to the ground so there would be no chance of his repeating the foolhardy stunt she had just witnessed.

  She glanced bitterly about the apartment. Already it had lost the impersonality she had so carefully maintained. Generous ashtrays were scattered about the three rooms. For Nick. Two comfortable homespun-covered throw pillows for floor sitting rested in the corner. For Nick. Blue ironstone coffee mugs replaced the Spode she had used. For Nick. Two stemmed crystal glasses now waited for the wine he sometimes wanted with dinner. For Nick. A bottle of Glen-whatsits, the scotch he liked with the three syllable name she never could remember, had its own place in the pantry. For Nick! And he was risking his neck in some foolhardy, daredevil stunt for the excitement of it?

  She brought her clenched fist against her knee. She was even wearing jeans—jeans, for God's sake!—because he had finally convinced her that they would be more practical for some of the places he liked to go than her silk or linen slacks. And flat-heeled walking shoes, so that she could keep up with his long strides without stumbling. And a gauze blouse, because tie had pointed one out and told her with that maddening twinkle in his eyes that he thought she'd look terrific in one—in blue. And he was playing Tarzan the Magnificent with a ton of steel!

  "Stop it!" she cried into the room and buried her face in her hands. Fingers raking her scalp, she tried to slow her breathing, her heartbeat, her thoughts. She stretched her hands in front of her. Already they were trembling so badly she couldn't hold them still. If she didn't do something, quickly, she would be a bundle of insensible nerves by the time he got here—if he got here.

  She sucked her lungs full of air and held it while she began the exercises. Clench, grip, extend. Her hands responded slowly to the once-familiar routine. She exhaled, breathed deeply, and tried again. Clench, grip, extend. Still they trembled. Clench, grip, extend. It was helping, but not enough, and not fast enough.

  She made her way into the kitchen and groped through the pantry. If all else failed, a good stiff dose of Glen-whatsits wouldn't. She fumbled with the lid, trying to unscrew it, until she remembered that this bottle had a cork under the cap. She pulled it free and poured a small amount of the amber liquid into a glass. Not enough, she thought, and added a little more. She tasted the liquid. It was harsh on her throat and the smell gagged her. Determined, she pinched her nose with her fingers and swallowed the contents of the glass in one gulp in much the same manner as she had taken distasteful medicine as a child.

  That ought to do it, she thought as she pounded the cork back in and stashed the bottle back in its nook.

  She settled herself onto the couch as warmth diffused through her. Her hands still trembled, so for good measure she resumed the exercises, concentrating only on the mechanics of them until she drove all other thoughts from her mind.

  A subdued Dani opened the door for Nick at the appointed time and stepped back to let him enter the apartment. With detached awareness she noted the sparkle in his eyes and the flush of excitement on his face, but she had, by now, neatly tucked everything away and refused even to acknowledge the enjoyment he so obviously felt. She turned wordlessly and started toward the couch.

  "Wait a minute!" He laughed and grabbed her into his arms, swinging her around before planting a boisterous and jubilant kiss on her mouth. She held herself passive in his arms until she felt him putting her away from him, setting her carefully on the floor. She kept her eyes open, looking squarely into his, and noticed the frown that clouded his face. He captured her head between his hands and bent to her again, but when his mouth claimed hers, it was not to kiss her. It was to taste her, Dani realized in stunned silence. He ran his tongue around her lips, forcing her lips apart and exploring their soft inner edges, then probing the moist recesses of her mouth. It was done without passion or warmth. It was, if anything, a cold and calculated examination.

  He pushed away and dropped his arms to his side. "Scotch," he said flatly.

  She turned and walked listlessly to the couch where she curled into a corner of it and sat silently. Nick sat on the other end of the couch, equally silent, aim studied her with troubled eyes. The only sound for long minutes was the persistent drone of a distant lawn-mower.

  Nick broke the silence with a sigh. "You've closed yourself off again."

  So what if she had? Dani thought resentfully. What right did this man have to disrupt her life, censure her behavior, or question her actions?

  "The only thing I've ever asked of you is that you not do this," he continued in the same dull, flat voice. "And you promised you wouldn't."

  "I promised to try," she corrected him in a voice as emotionless as his.

  "What happened, Dani?" Frustration crept into his question. "What caused it this time?"

  She stared at him without blinking for a moment and then let her gaze play across his familiar face. She no longer had reason to resent the obvious enjoyment written on his face. She had effectively erased that enjoyment. She had managed to wipe the smile from his lips and replace it with a tight slash. She had turned the merriment in his eyes to puzzled questions that demanded an answer.

  And she had promised to try.

  "I went to the construction site today," she said in a small voice.

  "I didn't know."

  "You were busy. On—on the roof."

  "You should have waited. I wasn't up there very long. I just rode up to check on the progress and then came right back down."

  "How, Nick?" Maybe she hadn't tucked it away far enough after all. She felt her throat tightening.

  "How what?"

  "How did you come back down?" She couldn't stop now. "You weren't on the roof when I got there. You were 'riding up,' dangling a hundred feet above the ground on a cable." Her voice grew tighter and shriller. She knew it and couldn't do anything about it. "How did you get back down? Did you slide down the cable like a monkey?" She broke off, fought for control, and lost. "Or did you sprout wings and fly?"

  The slash of his mouth softened. "You were worried about me?"

  She closed her eyes and once again saw the vision of him lying broken at her feet. She spoke into clenched fists held tightly against her mouth. "I was terrified."

  "Dani." Warmth returned to his voice, and he moved toward her on the couch. He took her f
ists in his hands, caressing them with his thumbs. Gently, but insistently, he pulled her from the corner of the couch and into his arms. With one hand he massaged the tight muscles at the back of her neck. With the other he smoothed the hair away from her face.

  "I've been riding those things since I was fifteen years old. I wasn't in any danger."

  She placed tentative fingers on his cheeks and looked deeply into his eyes. "Nothing must happen to you, Nick," she said with an urgency she didn't try to hide. "I couldn't stand it if anything happened to you."

  Then she was kissing him, kissing him with a desperation born of her fear and her anger and of a nameless need that rose from a hidden depth within her, grinding her mouth into his, pressing her body against him, unable to get enough of the feel of him. Then he took over, pushing her down on the couch, following her and stretching his length along hers, taming her wild assault, soothing her with languorous stroking, exploring and possessing her mouth with infinite gentleness.

  A shudder ran through her and she collapsed weakly against the cushions, no longer struggling to hold him to her. He pulled away and gazed down at her, his eyes as gentle as his touch had been.

  Suddenly she couldn't look at him. She cast about for something, anything, to focus on and concentrated on a spot on the ceiling.

  "I'm sorry," she said brokenly.

  "I'm not," he said with a shaky chuckle. He kissed the corner of her left eye. "I loved it." He kissed the corner of her right eye and then buried his face against her throat and kissed the place where her pulse jumped madly. "I love you," he whispered when he lifted his head.

  She lay immobile beneath him and felt herself being drawn into the depths of his eyes. Could he love her? No. If he really knew her, he couldn't. If he knew about all those months, if he knew about…about… She moved her head in protest, but of what she didn't know. He ran his fingers through her hair and held her still while he placed a teasingly soft kiss on her lips.

  "But we're not going to talk about that now," he said, unwinding his length from the couch and pulling her to her feet. "Come on. I have reservations for lunch."