by Sandra Brown
"Thanks," Keely cut in dryly.
"That's not a dig, it's a compliment. You're a woman, Keely. You need men – or if that's asking too much of your outdated morals – a man. I'll loan you one of mine."
Keely had laughed in spite of her pique. "No, thank you. I don't know any of yours that I'd have. Except for Charles, maybe." She slanted a shrewd glance at her friend.
"Him? He's not one of 'my men.'"
"No?"
"No!"
"He's in love with you, Nicole."
"Love! He's never even tried to take me to bed. All he wants to do is bug the hell out of me, which he does so well."
"He doesn't cater to your every whim, if that's what you mean."
"We're not discussing Charles and me," she said crisply. "We're discussing you and a man."
"Okay," Keely said dramatically. She planted her hands on her hips and faced Nicole. "Suppose I met a man. Do you think a man would be content for long to squire me around to movies and dinner without exacting some form of payment?"
"No. You're attractive, intelligent, and sexy as all get-out. He'd want to get you in the sack ASAP."
"Exactly my point. I couldn't do that, Nicole. I'm married to someone else. So, end of affair. End of friendship. I'm back to square one."
"Not necessarily. You could go to bed with him. You might even fall in this 'love' you put such stock in. You might even see your way to having Mark declared—"
"Don't say it, Nicole." The warning in Keely's voice silenced any argument.
Nicole hung her head in contrition and studied her well-manicured nails. Finally she looked up at Keely and smiled a repentant smile. "I'm sorry. I went too far." She came forward and embraced her friend warmly, kissed her on the cheek. "I only nag you because I love you."
"I know you do. And I love you. But we'll never agree on this subject, so let's talk about something else. Okay?"
"Okay," Nicole conceded. Then she mumbled. "I still think a terrific roll in the hay with some mean stud would do you a world of good."
If Nicole knew that Keely had passed up an invitation to go for coffee with Dax Devereaux, one of the country's most eligible bachelors, she would no doubt strangle her.
It's not to be, Nicole. Sorry, she thought as she switched on the fluorescent light in the bathroom. A good hot shower was what she needed to ease the tension that contracted every muscle in her body. Then she would curl up in bed and study her notes for her speech tomorrow.
The shower, as it turned out, was lukewarm, but it sufficed, and she felt better when she stepped out and wrapped her washed hair in a towel and pulled on her thick terry-cloth robe. The blue hotel towel and her yellow terry-cloth robe clashed, but what difference did it make?
She was flipping on the lamp beside her already turned-down bed when there was a soft knock on her door. With the characteristic caution of a woman who lives alone, she walked carefully toward the door and checked to make sure the chain lock was in place. "Yes?" she queried softly.
"Room service."
She slumped against the door and pressed her forehead to the cold surface. Vainly she tried to calm the immediate acceleration of her heartbeat. She opened her mouth to speak, found that it had gone dry, and swallowed hard. "Are you insane?" she managed to rasp.
"I must be," Dax said. "This is one of the dumbest things I've done recently, but…" She could imagine his shrug. "May I come in?"
"No."
"Keely, your reputation, not to mention mine and my campaign, will be shot to hell if anyone comes down this hallway and sees me at your door. It would be just like Carl Bernstein and Bob Woodward to find me here. So please open the door before something disastrous like that happens. I have something for you."
Some intuitive niggling in the back of her brain told her that he wouldn't go away until he saw her. She unlatched the chain and drew open the door. Dax was standing on the threshold with a tray in his hands. He was dressed in a casual shirt and jeans. He wore a bellman's cap on his head.
She laughed as she sagged weakly against the jamb. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here," he said and brushed past her, setting the tray on a small round table.
"You live here?"
"Yeah. Upstairs on the top floor. It's not practical for a bachelor to own a house in D.C. Expensive as hell. So I keep a suite of rooms here."
"That's why it was so convenient to follow me. You were coming here anyway," she teased.
"It made it easier. I would have followed you anyway." He wasn't teasing.
She shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the tray, which was draped with a white linen cloth. "What is that?"
"Room service," he said by way of a flippant explanation and took off the cap with a flourish. "I never lie."
Until then she had forgotten about the towel wrapped around her head, the homey terry-cloth robe, and her bare feet. Embarrassment climbed up her neck to blossom in her cheeks. She made to scurry past him. "I'll only be a minute."
"You look fine," he said, laughing and reaching out to grab her arm. If he hadn't touched her, it might never have happened. As it was, he did touch her.
It was the warmth of his fingers along the inside of her wrist that did more to halt her rush from the room than did the strength of his grasp. She skidded to a stop but didn't turn around to face him. His laughter subsided then died altogether.
It was with the merest tugging on her wrist that he turned her around to face him. Her eyes were wide with guilt and apprehension, his full of supplication. Gradually they inclined toward each other until his hand came up and cradled her cheek. Ebony eyes sought out and adored each feature of her face. His thumb stroked across her quivering mouth. Of their own volition her lids shuttered her tear-flooded eyes.
Dax hesitantly bent his head and brushed his lips across hers. White heat seared through him. Her breath escaped from slightly parted lips in a thin, anguished whisper. He stared down at her mouth, at the incredibly fragile eyelids fringed by long lashes, and succumbed to the temptation again. He touched her lips with his.
Instinctively she moved closer. Bodies brushed, eased away, touched, fused. Then primeval hunger seized them. Caution was thrown to the wind, the barriers were broken down, and a flood of sexual tension that had been building since they first saw each other burst free of the dams of conscience and prohibition.
He clutched her to him as his mouth melded into hers. Strong arms, yet gentle, wrapped around her back and molded her against his body with such an exquisite fit that Keely was made dizzy by the sensations. Her hands found their way to his waist and settled lightly on his belt. Then around to his lower back. Then up to explore the smooth muscles under his soft shirt.
The towel became dislodged from her hair and fell to the floor. Her wet strands were ravaged by his fingers before they cupped her head and held it immobile while the exploration of her mouth deepened.
His mouth moved over hers, testing each angle, delighting in each nuance, savoring the taste. His tongue slid persuasively along her bottom lip before it dipped repeatedly into her mouth, taking and giving equally. The plunder increased in tempo and ferocity until it became too evocative, too fiercely passionate, too erotically symbolic, for them to ignore. They broke apart under the impact.
A tear trickled down Keely's cheek and she covered her mouth with a shaking hand. Dax held on to her shoulders lightly, searching her face, his dark eyes pleading her understanding. She pulled herself free and flew across the room to the wide window. She leaned against the cold pane of glass, squeezing her eyes shut against her shame, sobbing in dry, heaving gulps.
Dax didn't follow her. Instead he dropped into a chair. His knees were spread wide, his elbows propped on them, his face buried in his hands.
After a while he rubbed his face hard. He looked at the woman still cowering at the window. "Keely, please don't cry. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I swore to myself that I wouldn't touch you, but…" he dwindled off lamely.
>
"It's not your fault," she said barely above a whisper. "I shouldn't have let you in." After a soul-searching moment she added, "I wanted to."
He was sitting in the chair, forlornly staring at the carpet between his shoes, when she turned around. "Dax, I haven't been fair to you. I want to tell you about me, my life. There are things you should know. Then you'll understand."
He looked up at her then bleakly. "You don't need to tell me anything, Keely. I know all about you. I'm one of the congressmen you'll be appealing to tomorrow."
* * *
Chapter 3
«^»
Had he whipped a switchblade out of his pocket and threatened her life, she couldn't have been more stunned. Speechless, she stood there and stared at him. "That's impossible," she husked.
He shook his head. He made no other movement.
"But your name isn't on the list. I've had a list of the members of that subcommittee for weeks. Your name isn't on it." She was trying desperately to remain sensible, to set the world right again, to get things back on the proper footing.
"Congressman Haley from Colorado was voted last week to serve on the Ways and Means Committee. My constituents thought it would be a good idea for me to replace him on this one when the chair became vacant."
Keely still maintained her post in front of the window. Was it a bulwark she had erected in her mind? She had to leave its tenuous security sometime. Unconsciously she tightened the tie belt on her robe and pushed herself away from the window. She walked toward the bed, only to stop several feet from it. Her hands had nothing to do, so she crossed her arms defensively over her chest before facing him.
Anger championed her shame. "Well, Congressman Devereaux, you've certainly armed yourself with an arsenal of rebuttal, haven't you?" she asked scathingly. "My carefully planned speech about how we still hope that our men are alive will be worth only so much smoke, won't it?"
"Keely—"
"You should be proud of yourself. Tell me, do you go to this much trouble on every political issue you want voted your way?"
"Stop that!" he snapped. "I didn't know who you were until I got upstairs to my room. I had reams of paperwork to read over, to familiarize myself with, before tomorrow. Quite by accident I read that the spokeswoman for PROOF was one Mrs. Keely Williams. How many Keelys do you know? When I checked the desk downstairs and found out that a Keely Preston Williams was in Room seven fourteen, I put two and two together. I swear I didn't know about you until then."
"But when you found out, you didn't waste any time getting down here to see just how sincere we grass widows are, did you?" She covered her face with her hands, furious with the tears that wouldn't be stemmed.
"Dammit, my coming here, my kissing you, had nothing to do with tomorrow, or the outcome of the hearing, or anything else."
"Didn't it?" she flared.
"No!" he roared. He was standing now, facing her, hands on hips, as angry and distraught as she. When he saw the visible pain on her strained features, he emphasized more softly, earnestly, "No."
She turned away from him, hugging herself tightly, fearing if she didn't hold herself together physically, her spirit would shatter and fly apart. If she had felt torn between decisions before, divided by loyalties, the interference of Dax Devereaux in her life had compounded her quandary a hundredfold.
"You can't understand," she whispered.
He longed to go to her, take her in his arms, reassure her that everything would work out well, but he dared not. The dejection he read in her posture indicated the terrible confusion that gripped her. It was better to let her solve it in her own mind. "Maybe I can understand. Why don't you tell me?"
She faced him again with glaring accusation in the green eyes. Hastily he added, "Not as Congressman Devereaux. Explain it to me as Dax."
She sat on the edge of the bed, tense, her shoulders hunched in self-protection. He returned to the chair. Quietly, methodically, and with no dramatic gesture or inflection, she told him a capsulized rendition of her courtship and marriage to Mark Williams, his disappearance, and the resultant havoc it had wreaked on her life.
"I have neither the status of a widow nor of a divorcée. I'm married, yet without a husband or home or children. I live as a single woman, but am most definitely not."
She stopped talking, but she didn't look at him, only stared at her lap. After a length of time he asked quietly, "You never considered freeing yourself?"
Her head shot up. "You mean have Mark declared dead, don't you?" she asked incisively. Involuntarily he flinched under the harsh quality of her question. "No. In spite of stringent advice against it, I've remained faithful to my husband and the belief that he's still alive. On the outside chance that he does come home someday, I want to be here for him. There would be no one else. Since he was reported missing, his father has died. His mother is in a nursing home. She is no longer able to take care of herself. The grief…" She sighed and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. "Mark's paycheck goes to support her. I don't keep any of it for myself." Now she looked at him. "Dax, it's her and the wives with children who desperately need that money. If that bill is passed to have our men—"
She broke off abruptly and raised her chin defiantly. "But then, you'll hear my formal speech tomorrow, won't you?"
He stood up then, looking as tired and despondent as she. "Yes. I'll hear it tomorrow."
Without another word he walked to the door and opened it. On the threshold he turned to face her. "Don't forget to eat something." He indicated the long-forgotten tray with a quick jerk of his chin. "Good night, Keely," he said softly. Then he was gone.
Keely stood in the middle of the suddenly empty room and stared at the closed door. A hopelessness that she hadn't acknowledged in a long while smothered her like a shroud. She felt desolate and lonely. So lonely.
And in spite of it all, she longed to feel again the strength of Dax's arms and the urgent pressure of his mouth.
* * *
Her critical appraisal of the image in the mirror determined that she looked as good as she could. Maybe she shouldn't have listened to Nicole and brought the gray blouse instead. It had a simple rolled collar that tied in a chaste bow. The one she had brought had tulle-lined lace inserts on the collar and across her collarbone. Well, she sighed, it was too late now. Maybe that touch of femininity relieved the severity of the navy suit with its straight skirt and blazer.
Navy suede pumps, a matching purse, and her cashmere coat the same color as her caramel-colored hair completed her ensemble. She tucked her trim leather attaché under her arm and took the elevator down to the lobby to meet Betty Allway for breakfast.
"You look gorgeous as always," Betty remarked with a spark of envy tempered by honest admiration. "How do you stay so slender living in New Orleans, the eating capital of the world? I'd weigh four hundred pounds in a month."
Betty's good humor was infectious and Keely found herself chatting about her work and asking Betty about her children. The older woman supplied her with an animated tale about each one of them.
"The baby was only four months old when Bill was reported missing. He's never seen him. Now that 'baby' is a strapping basketball player on the high school team." A touch of sadness came into her usually optimistic eyes and Keely reached over to cover the work-worn hand with her own.
"It never gets easier to accept, does it?" Keely mused aloud. "We learn to live with it. But I don't think we ever truly accept it."
"I know I can't and won't. Until I've got a positive confirmation of Bill's death, I'll go on believing that he is alive." She took a sip of coffee. "By the way, we may have a fly in the ointment. Congressman Parker, the chairman of the subcommittee, called me this morning."
Keely thought she knew what might be coming, but she said a cool "Oh?" before taking a small bite of her English muffin.
"One of the congressmen I thought we could count on for support has been chosen to serve on a standing committee. He's been replaced
by a Daxton Devereaux from Louisiana. Do you know him?"
Keely edged away from a direct answer and said, "Everyone in Louisiana has heard of Dax Devereaux." Cautiously she asked, "Do you think he'll be an opponent?"
Betty stared concernedly into her coffee cup while an unobtrusive waiter filled it for her. "I don't know. From what I understand, he's politically ambitious. He's a likely candidate for the Senate in the next election."
"That doesn't really mean anything. He may see taking our side as a point in his favor."
"What about his economic policy?"
"I'm not in his congressional district, so I don't really know," Keely answered truthfully.
"I've heard that he advocates tax cuts. He's a fanatic for trimming down government spending. That definitely worries me."
Keely tried to interject a bright nonchalance into her voice when she said, "Well, the jury is still out. There are ten other men on that subcommittee. Let's not concede defeat yet."
"Never!" said Betty heartily and then laughed without humor. Her steady gray eyes met Keely's over the cluttered table. "I know it's not fair, Keely, but we do depend on you so much to do our talking for us."
That was the last thing Keely wanted to hear this morning. She felt like Judas. "I know you do," she said. "I'll do my best." What would Betty think of her if she knew she had been kissing Dax Devereaux last night with an abandon that even now made her blush in remembrance?
"We'd better go," Betty said briskly. "Let's not give them the satisfaction of our being late. The others will meet us there."
They settled the bill and went outside. The rain was gone, but a cold, biting wind was sweeping through the capital. They hailed a cab, and the driver fought morning rush-hour traffic to deposit them in front of the House of Representatives.
Keely had never dreaded anything more than she did facing Dax. Her night had been a restless one. She had dreamed of Mark and that always upset her. It had been a regular occurrence when he had first left for Vietnam. Even after he was reported missing, he had played key roles in her dreams.