Tomorrow's Promise

by Sandra Brown

  He too was thrilling at the opportunity of holding her. Her breasts gentled against him. The tops of them swelled between the ruffles of her blouse and he was made dizzy by the sight and the sweet smell that rose from that velvet cleft. He longed to press his mouth there, to feel the texture of her skin against his lips, against his tongue. He ached. And the ache was made more profound by the way she naturally curved up against his middle, fitting him so well it made their dancing evocative of another act.

  All too soon the song ended. His wistful smile matched hers as he escorted her back to her table. She pulled up short when she saw the Robins woman standing beside it talking animatedly to Nicole.

  Dax propelled Keely forward until they reached the group. "There you are, darling. I wondered when you were going to remember who you came with." Madeline was smiling, but her eyes slithered menacingly over Keely.

  "Madeline, this is Keely Williams. Or Preston, if you prefer her professional name. She is actively involved with the MIA issue. We met recently in Washington." Dax said all of this unemotionally, as though he didn't feel the mounting tension around the table. "Keely, this is Madeline Robins."

  "Mrs. Robins," Keely said coolly.

  "How nice to meet you," Madeline said with a voice well-trained to conceal unspoken epithets. "It's such a pity about your husband. Nicole was just now telling me how bravely you face life without knowing whether you're a wife or a widow."

  There was no way to respond to that, so Keely didn't even try. Nicole broke in. "Keely, we haven't met the congressman."

  "Oh," she said, tearing her eyes away from Madeline who had possessively linked her arm through Dax's. In the shiny metallic green dress Madeline wore, Keely thought her long limbs resembled drooping seaweed as she tenaciously clung to Dax. "I'm sorry. Congressman Devereaux, this is my friend Nicole Castleman, Charles Hepburn, and Roger … uh…"

  "Patterson," the man supplied and stuck out his hand. "Congressman, I've been wanting to meet you for a long time. I'm an admirer of yours."

  "Thank you, Roger. Call me Dax."

  God bless Nicole, Keely silently offered up as her friend took over. She flirted harmlessly with Dax, saying how long she had wanted to meet him, but always missed him. He said he felt like he knew her from having seen her so often on television. He chatted with Charles, asking about rates politicians had to pay for television-commercial airtime.

  "Call me later in the week," Charles said. "We'll set up an appointment and I'll discuss it with you. Generally speaking, the more commercials you buy, the cheaper the rate per commercial. If your commercials run during the news shows, they are more expensive, but you reach the greatest number of people."

  "I'm lost." Dax laughed helplessly. "I'll need your expert opinion, so I'll take you up on your offer to discuss it."

  "I'll look forward to it. It will soon be time for you to start planning a media campaign," Charles added. "It can be expensive. I hope you're prepared for it."

  "I'm helping him be prepared for it," Madeline said, snuggling closer to Dax. "I've already got a campaign fund started. I'm going to see to it personally that Dax is elected to the Senate."

  A look of annoyance momentarily tightened Dax's mouth, but then he smiled genially. "I need all the help I can get."

  They chatted inanely about the reception and estimated how much cash it was raising for the various arts. The weather was discussed at length. Then an awkward silence ensued. They had said all that could he said in a group of strangers.

  "It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Williams," Madeline said by way of dismissal.

  "Thank you," Keely replied, and only courtesy forced her say, "It was nice meeting you too."

  Dax shook hands with Charles and Roger, kissed Nicole on the cheek with an old-world flourish, and did the same for Keely. His mouth touched the skin of her face only fleetingly, yet her body sang with sensations when he raised his head and for a moment his eyes met hers. "I enjoyed our dance, Mrs. Williams. It was a pleasure to see you in a less austere atmosphere. Congratulations again on your victory in Washington."

  "Did you support us, Congressman Devereaux?" she asked goadingly. The others might just as well have not been there. Dax filled her field of vision. His voice was the only sound she heard. The depth of his dark eyes was her firmament.

  "Do you even have to ask?" The dimple beside his mouth deepened with his smile. Regretfully he straightened and took Madeline's arm. "Good night, everyone."

  Roger held Keely's chair for her. As she sat down, making a production of smoothing her skirt, she heard Madeline purr, "I think everyone who should see us here has seen us. I'm more than ready to leave whenever you are, darling."

  Keely's throat squeezed shut and even the hasty swallow of the fresh drink Roger had had waiting for her didn't help relieve the tightness. Charles made some mildly humorous remark, but when she looked up with a stiff smile plastered on her face, she saw that Nicole wasn't laughing either. Instead she was staring at Keely. Her blue eyes lifted to the retreating couple, then dropped back to Keely. Her eyelashes fluttered guilelessly and her mouth curved angelically. Keely didn't trust that innocent expression for a moment and was immediately suspicious of the gleam in her friend's eyes.

  They availed themselves of the dessert buffet then decided they had had enough of the gala.

  While the men were getting the wraps, Nicole sidled up to Keely and said, "Devereaux's some hunk, isn't he?"

  Keely answered levelly. "Yes, I suppose he could be called a 'hunk.'"

  "You told me when I called you in Washington that you'd barely met him."

  "I had."

  "You could have fooled me by the way he danced with you. You two seemed real chummy out there."

  "He was only being polite."

  "Uh-huh. And I'm a three-toed aardvark, but let's skip that for now. What do you think of Madeline Robins?"

  "She's all right, I guess."

  Nicole leaned forward and whispered, "And you're a liar, Keely Preston. She's on the make and you know it and you don't like her any better than any other woman does." She pursed her pretty mouth and said, "I wonder how invoked the congressman is with her."

  "Is there any doubt?" Keely asked bitterly. Where was Dax taking her now that, as Madeline had pointed out, everyone who needed to see them had seen them? To her mansion? His house in Baton Rouge? A room in this very hotel?

  "Oh, I'll grant she has the hots for him," Nicole said. "But somehow I get the notion he's not quite as ardent as she is."

  "I wouldn't know about either's love life and I care less."

  Nicole only smiled blandly as Charles draped her coat around her shoulders. As they left the hotel Keely was grateful they didn't see the other couple. She tried to act unaffected, but wished more than ever that she hadn't come tonight. She should have gone with her first instinct and stayed at home, letting her desire for Dax Devereaux die a slow, graceful death. Now the wounds had been reopened just when they were about to heal. Now she had that recovery process to go through again. Only this time there was an additional irritant in the wound. Madeline Robins. And how many others?

  She shook Roger's hand graciously at her door and thanked him for the evening. "I hope you enjoyed yourself," he said, and Keely doubted that he had had any better a time than she had. Charles honked a goodbye when they pulled away from the curb.

  Inside her own house she let go her rigid control and slumped against the door. Tiredly, dispiritedly, she crossed to the sofa table and switched on the small brass lamp. Dropping her cape and purse on the love-seat-sized sofa, she leaned down and unfastened the tiny buckles that held the rhinestone bands around her ankles. Dax's words came back to her and she blushed. She told herself it was only the blood running to her head from her bending position, but his suggestion induced all kinds of sexual visions. She kicked the sandals from her feet, reducing her height by several inches without the high heels.

  She undid the covered buttons down the front of her blouse as she
was crossing to the staircase. The doorbell pealed loudly.

  Did I leave something in the car? was her first thought.

  Hastily rebuttoning her blouse, she opened the door a crack, peering out.

  "Hi," he said.

  "Hi," she answered.

  * * *

  Chapter 8

  «^»

  Instinctively her hand went to the wall switch to turn off the porch lights.

  His voice, tinged with humor, came to her out of the sudden darkness. "Do you think we're under surveillance?"

  "I don't know. Could we be?"

  She felt, rather than saw, his careless shrug. "I'm willing to take my chances."

  She moved aside and let him through the door. He took three steps into the room and looked around it with appreciative eyes. Keely was proud of her house. The building had been in sad disrepair ten years ago when someone had bought it and divided the rambling structure into two separate condominiums. It had been completely restored and modernized then, but when she bought her half three years ago, she had decorated it to suit her.

  The exterior of the house typified early New Orleans with its used red brick, white shutters, and black iron grillwork on the windows and around the narrow balcony on the upper floor. Keely had furnished it with a tasteful combination of old and new. Fruitwood antiques she had picked up in attics and out-of-the-way shops were mingled with pieces upholstered in contemporary fabrics. Stark white woodwork accented the sand-colored walls. Muted shades of rose, blue and green were used as accent colors in throw pillows, framed graphics, and the padded fabric that covered one wall in the dining room. The effect was beautiful.

  "I like your house," Dax said without turning around. "It looks like you."

  "A hundred and seven years old?"

  He turned to face her then and the twinkle in his eyes was mischievous. "It's amazing how you relics are holding up." He shook off his overcoat and came back to the door to hang it on a brass hall tree. He pivoted slowly until they were standing face-to-face.

  It might have been hours, years, small eternities, or it might have been only seconds that they looked at each other. For however long, it was enough to convey all the longing, need, and frustration that each had suffered since last they were together.

  The facades of decorum were torn down and all that was left standing was the naked desire that each had for the other. There were no observers, there were no rules, there were no conventions that had to be satisfied. For the moment it was only them, and they put away conscience, yielded to the attraction that continued to haunt them, and lived only for the present.

  He extended his arms slowly and closed them around her. Her arms lifted to his shoulders. Their bodies gravitated toward each other, until they touched from breast to knee in one unbroken line.

  He lowered his head and nuzzled her hair, her ear, her neck. His lips made a pass across her jaw, up to her cheekbone, over her brow, and down her nose until they came to rest at the corner of her mouth.

  "I couldn't stay away from you. I tried. I couldn't."

  His mouth closed over hers and it blossomed open. He drew on her as though she were the energy supply necessary for his life force. She gloried in her ability to sustain him and hoped his appetite for her would never be satisfied.

  His tongue played havoc with her senses, first plunging deep, then teasing with rapid, elusive dartings. The sensual lingual stroking went on and on, robbing her of breath, yet bringing her to life. Every cell in her body was awakened to his touch, his smell, his taste, and the low sounds that emanated from his throat. Her breasts were imbued with desire, much as a mother's would be with milk. They ached to be relieved of this tingling fullness. Conversely, her womb contracted against a vague emptiness that longed to be filled.

  His arms relaxed, but only enough to cradle her face between his hands and look down into her swimming eyes. "Why did you do that to me, Keely? Why did you leave without a word of goodbye? Do you know how frantic I was at that airport? How was I to know you hadn't been abducted or something? Horror scenes out of the worst nightmares came to my mind. Why did you do it?"

  "Dax," she groaned. "I thought it was best if we didn't see each other alone again. Things were … are … getting out of hand."

  "I'm sorry about what happened after we left Mount Vernon. Keely, I'd never do anything to hurt or insult you. My God! I wanted to apologize to you. I tried, but you took your phone off the hook and then the next day there wasn't an opportunity."

  For torturous moments his fingers lightly explored the features of her face, gliding over them, comparing textures. "Despite what my adversaries say, I do have some moral fiber. I know you're another man's wife. If you were my wife, I'd kill any man who touched you." Now he pulled her close in a smothering embrace. "But God forgive me, I want you."

  "Ask for my forgiveness too, Dax."

  He didn't need a second invitation. His tongue delved past her lips and swept her mouth like a searing torch. His body melted along her in a heartstopping juxtaposition.

  She knew she was slipping from a world held together by gravity into one of random bliss. His mouth drew her beyond the boundaries of conscience and regret and she never wanted to return. Without anchor, aimlessly, she floated in a sea of passion. In her thirty years she had never known the seductive power of a man's touch. Desire rioted through her veins, seeking an outlet, electrifying her nerve endings until they hummed.

  "You're beautiful," he said against her mouth. "While we were dancing, I wanted to do this." His head came down to kiss the valley between her breasts just above the edge of her bra. His head oscillated with agonizing slowness, stroking her not only with his mouth, but with nose and chin as well. His hand closed over one breast and treated it to a lazy massage. The top curve of the other was kissed by parted lips and a languid tongue. He kissed again. And again. Lower. And lower still until…

  "Keely, Keely." Her name was an agonized cry ripped from a hoarse throat. He rested his forehead on hers. "We can't do this any longer, Keely."

  "I know."

  "I can't bear it."

  "Neither can I."

  "I have to go."

  "I understand."

  "Are you getting up at five tomorrow?" he asked, taking his overcoat from the hall tree and pulling it on.

  "Yes." She tried to smile, but her lips quivered uncontrollably.

  He checked the tailored wristwatch. "You won't get much sleep. It's late."

  She couldn't have cared less. "Are you driving back tonight? To Baton Rouge?"

  He shook his head. "No. I have business here tomorrow. When I'm in New Orleans, I stay at the Bienville House. Do you know it?"

  "In the Quarter on Decatur?" He nodded. "I know it, but I've never been inside."

  "It's clean and quiet."

  "I suppose it is." They were saying nothing they wanted to say, only biding time until they would have to part.

  "Who lives in the other side of the house?"

  "An older couple. He's a philosophy professor at Tulane. They share the house with a Great Dane that's taller than I am." Another attempted smile. Another failure.

  "You were lucky to get the side that—" His amiable mood finally played out and the temper erupted with volcanic impetus. He cursed viciously as he slammed his fist into his opposite palm. "Dammit! What in the hell am I standing here babbling for? I don't give a damn who lives in the other side of your house. I'm only talking to keep my hands off you. I don't even know what I'm saying. I'm only thinking of how I want to be making love to you, naked and freely, and not like two grappling adolescents.

  "I want to see you naked, Keely. And I want to lie down beside you naked. I want us to maybe hurt each other a little, and soothe each other a lot. I want to kiss your breasts and stomach and watch your face while I'm doing it. I want to know what your thighs feel like.

  "If any of this disgusts you, I'm sorry, but it's what I feel, what I've felt since I first saw you on that damn airplane." Hi
s voice had risen to a level she had never heard before. At his sides his fists clenched and unclenched as though he were trying to grip the reins of his temper and haul it in, but couldn't.

  "It's not just something I feel in my loins. I could satisfy that anywhere. But it's something I feel in my brain and in my heart too. I deluded myself into thinking I could be your buddy, your pal. But I can't, Keely. I can't be with you and not touch you. Do you understand? These clandestine meetings compromise us both and, speaking for myself, will soon lead to insanity. It will be best for both of us if we don't see each other again. Goodbye."

  Without another word he flung open the door and closed it behind him with finality. Keely stood motionless, though tremors of anguish were tearing through her body.

  He's right. He's right. We've known all along that nothing could come of this. It's better this way. It is. It is.

  Then why was her face bathed with tears?

  * * *

  "Here we are at eight fifty-six and I'm going to let Olivia Newton-John take you into the second shift this morning. One more word from you, Keely. How do things look from up there?"

  Keely spoke into the small microphone that curved around her cheek from the headpiece she wore. "It's looking good, Ron," she said to the rush-hour DJ. "The police are still working that Six-car pileup on the Pontchartrain Expressway at the Broad Street exit. All but one lane are still closed. Anyone going that direction may want to consider an alternate route. All in all it's been a rather calm morning."

  "Thank you, darlin'. How about coffee later?"

  "No, thank you, Ron. I'm all tied up today."

  He groaned heartbrokenly. "Folks, our angel in the sky has a heart of stone."

  Keely switched off her mike as the DJ said his farewells to their audience and switched on the promised recording. Every day they carried on that ridiculous repartee over the airwaves and their listeners seemed to eat it up. She often received fan mail that asked her not to be so hard on poor old Ron who was obviously in love with her. Little did the writers of such mail know that he was married, had three children, and lived in relative peace under his real name in Metairie.