Tomorrow's Promise

by Sandra Brown

  "And then when those pitiful specimens of men faced that room of us so bravely, so … warily. I saw myself for just how selfish I am. Or am I?

  "All afternoon we listened to those men recounting their experiences. Time and again they stressed that they had lived as they had to, doing whatever was necessary for survival. I suppose that would encompass every aspect of living, wouldn't it?"

  She didn't expect an answer, so he gave none. She darted him a fleeting look and licked her lips before she continued. "What I mean is that those MIAs said they knew of American servicemen who didn't necessarily want to come home. What if Mark has a life there he doesn't want to leave? He may have a wo-woman and children. He may have lived with her for years. She, not I, would be his real wife.

  "I had to face an undeniable truth about myself today, especially after I saw Bill and Betty together. It's not really Mark that I miss. He may very well he dead. But if not officially, he's been dead to me for many years. What I miss is the status of being married. Had it not been for Mark, whom I loved very much at the time, I might have chosen to live singly for years. Or had his death been reported, I might have chosen to marry again. But as it turned out I didn't ever have a choice.

  "I've grown accustomed to the fact that I may be a widow. What I can't reconcile is that I still don't know. Fate has robbed me of having a choice in the direction my life will take." She looked at him then, pleading with her eyes for his understanding. "But I do have a life, Dax. And I don't want to waste it."

  For long moments they didn't speak. The waiter, ever watchful, didn't approach the table. Something in the way the man looked at the woman, the way she stared into his eyes, the way they seemed oblivious of their surroundings, kept him at his discreet distance.

  When at last the heavy silence was broken, it was Dax who broke it. "You're wrong, Keely. You make a great deal of sense. And you are positively entitled to a few selfish thoughts. You have one uncommon virtue that you don't credit yourself with."

  She raised her head and met his glowing gaze across the table. "What?"

  "You're totally honest, with yourself and now with me. Very few of us are willing to admit to shortcomings, or even to recognize them. Yet you've confessed to a questionable selfishness when a truly selfish person wouldn't even see themselves as such."

  "Are you just saying that to make me feel better, to absolve me of guilt?"

  "No."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. I'm trying to be honest too."

  She sighed and he thought he detected relief in that sigh. She tried to smile. "I did ramble, though."

  He caught her effort to relieve the portentousness of the moment. "A bit," he said, smiling.

  "I still have ambiguous feelings about … everything."

  "You most probably always will, Keely."

  "Yes." A melancholy tone crept into her voice and she stared out the window for a moment, lost in thought. Then she looked at him again. "Thank you for being … for being you."

  "I didn't do anything."

  "You listened."

  "That's not much."

  "It's a lot."

  Covering his self-consciousness over praise he didn't feel he merited, he said, "Shall we leave or would you like something else?"

  "No, thank you."

  They stood and Dax left a roll of French francs in the center of the table. He saluted their waiter before he followed Keely through the door.

  "What now?" he asked, taking her arm companionably. "Sightseeing, a nightclub, or home to bed?"

  It took him a moment to realize that she was resisting his guiding hand and he glanced back to where she stood rooted to the sidewalk while Parisians hurried past her.

  His eyes locked with hers and held. He took two steps back until he was standing inches from her, searching her eyes for what he wanted so desperately to see. "Keely?"

  Her eyes didn't waver. If anything they widened, deepened, darkened, until he was drowning in their green depths. "I want you," she whispered. "I need all of you." He couldn't hear her, but he read the words on her lips.

  She saw him swallow, saw the Adam's apple bob in his throat before coming to rest again. He hadn't misinterpreted her meaning. His hands came up to rest on her shoulders. He came half a step closer until she could feel the fabric of his clothing rustling against hers.

  "You know—" He tried to get the words out, but they stuck in his dry throat. He had to make a second effort. "You know that I want that more than anything else in the world, and I will hate myself later if I change your mind. But, Keely, you're extremely vulnerable right now. Your emotions are running high. We've shared an intimate dinner with candlelight and wine and this is Paris, the most romantic city in the world. I'd never want you to look back on this night and think that I had taken advantage of you and your state of mind."

  His grip became tighter, his voice more urgent, breathless almost. "Are you sure, Keely? Because if we go to a room together and get even the least bit comfortable, there'll be no stopping me this time. I want you to know that. Are you sure?"

  Romance was still very much alive in Paris. There was even a smattering of applause by passersby when she came up on her tiptoes, placed her hands on his cheeks, and kissed him gently on the mouth.

  * * *

  The room they checked into was in a small family-owned hotel on one of the side streets off the Boulevard Saint-Germain. It was only four stories tall, and the second story was given over to several sitting rooms and a kitchen available for guests' use with certain stipulations that were painstakingly explained to an impatient Dax and Keely.

  They were led up wooden stairs to the third floor. Each floor was only two rooms deep divided by a central hallway, and there were only eight rooms on each floor. The wainscoting was oak. The wallpaper was outmoded. The runners down each hall were tasteful Oriental imitations. All was spotlessly clean.

  Dax conversed fluently with their hostess, a short, plump, rosy-cheeked woman with luxuriant white hair piled carelessly on top of her head. He translated their conversation, telling Keely they were lucky that an occupant had left earlier that day. They had been given the corner room that had two windows. She smiled at him as they followed their hostess's quick, surprisingly light footsteps down the hall.

  Indeed the room did have two windows perpendicular to each other in the corner of the room. They were shown how to open the exterior shutters once the windows were raised. The bathroom was proudly opened and they were treated to a demonstration of how the faucets worked, how the commode flushed, how the shower nozzle in the narrow tub was to be handled, and how to use the bidet. Her cheeks flaming, Keely refused to meet Dax's amused eyes.

  After being assured that they didn't need any more towels, an extra blanket, nor wine or coffee, their hostess departed. She graciously, but firmly, refused Dax's offer of a tip and closed the door behind her after wishing them a good night.

  Alone now, they were suddenly stricken with bashfulness and nerves. Their eyes didn't know where to look. They didn't know what to say. Their hands seemed idle and useless.

  Keely finally slipped off her coat and draped it over the old-fashioned Boston rocker in one corner of the room. The cushions on it matched the patchwork-print pillows decorating the bed, which was covered with an ecru chenille spread. The fringed border grazed the polished wood floor.

  Keely moved out of his way as Dax took off his lightweight overcoat and laid it across the opposite arm of the rocking chair. There was a chest of drawers with a framed oval mirror hanging over it. Keely went to it and stared unseeingly at her reflection before making a show of fluffing her hair. Dax was at the window fiddling with the latch.

  At the same moment they turned to each other wordlessly. As if programmed to move with synchronized motions, they walked toward each other, meeting in the center of the room. His hand was raised to caress her cheek. They jumped apart when a timid knock was magnified in their ears to sound like a battering ram against the door.r />
  Dax lunged toward it and pulled it open. Apologizing profusely, their hostess handed him a bouquet of fresh flowers in a china bowl. She had arranged the flowers that morning, but had failed to bring them up. Dax took the bouquet, thanked her, and closed the door again.

  He stood awkwardly, holding the flowers as though at a loss as to what to do with them. He looked at Keely.

  "They're pretty," she said. "Why don't you put them on the chest of drawers?"

  "Yeah." He sounded grateful for the idea and rushed to place the flowers on the chest as though their container were burning his hands. He inspected the flowers. They could have been a rare masterpiece. "They look good there."

  "Yes, they do."

  He turned to look at her again. "Uh … would you like to use— You can have the bathroom first."

  She looked toward the door to the bathroom. "I'm not sure I need – I mean, why don't you go first."

  He smiled tensely, briefly, so that it was really just a nervous jerking motion of his mouth. "Okay. I'll be right out."

  The door closed behind him and immediately Keely heard the faucets running full blast and wondered what he could possibly be doing that would require so much water.

  She gazed around her in perplexity. What should she do? Undress? Get in the bed? Should she take off everything or just partially undress? God, she couldn't believe her stupidity. She was thirty years old and she didn't know how one went about going to bed with a man.

  She decided to split the difference and only take off a few garments. That would indicate interest, but not aggression. With that in mind, she stepped out of her sloes and unbuckled her belt. What to do with them? The closet? Yes.

  She went to the narrow door and opened it. She placed her shoes neatly on the floor and hung her belt in a hook behind the door. Now what? Panty hose were the least sexy garment she could imagine. Better to dispose of them now than have to worry about them later.

  The water in the bathroom was suddenly turned off. She panicked, fearful that he would come through the door and catch her ungracefully peeling off her panty hose. She virtually ripped them from her legs and balled them up. The doorknob on the bathroom door rattled noisily. She threw the panty hose into the closet and slammed the door shut just as Dax opened the bathroom door.

  He looked at her curiously. "All done," he said. "It's yours."

  "Thank you." She grabbed up her purse and brushed past him toward the sanctuary of the bathroom. There was no sign of all the water he had splashed. He must have dried the basin with the damp towel that hung from the shower curtain rod that encircled the tub.

  Needlessly she washed her hands. Needlessly she brushed her hair. She dabbed perfume from a tiny purse vial behind her ears and on her neck. She wished she hadn't cried earlier. Her eyes still showed evidence of her weeping, but there was no help for that. Taking a deep breath, she left the bathroom, switching off the light behind her.

  Dax had turned off the overhead light and left on only a soft lamp beside the bed. The bed! It was turned down. The linens were snowy white in the softly glowing light.

  Dax was shirtless and his feet were bare. Since the clothes he had taken off weren't visible, she wondered if he had seen the discarded panty hose when he put his clothes in the closet.

  She dumped her purse in the rocker on top of her coat. When she turned around, he was standing close.

  He took her breath away. Broad shoulders sloped down to the wide muscles in his chest. His ribs were leanly covered with taut skin and tapered down to a flat stomach and narrow waist. It was all forested with dark springy hair that grew in a fascinating pattern.

  Was it her imagination, or was his hand trembling when he reached up to smooth it down from the crown of her head, past her ear, to rest on her shoulder? Still keeping space between their bodies, he leaned down to kiss her sweetly on the mouth. The kiss was excruciatingly tender as his lips pressed upon hers, held, then moved. Lips parted, tongues touched, mouths opened, passions ignited.

  "Keely," he grated against her lips. His hands roamed up and down her back. "I've waited so long for this and now I can't believe it's happening."

  "It's happening." He moved closer and she felt the angles and planes of his body adjusting to fit hers. "Dax," she said anxiously. "I'm nervous."

  His self-derisive laugh was a soft puff of air against her ear. "I am too."

  "You are?"

  "Yes." His fingers tangled in her hair and forced her head back. "But I want you, Keely. I want you." His mouth claimed hers again in a consuming kiss. His breath in her ear had caused cold chills to race along her spine. Instinctively she moved toward him for warmth, and all the loneliness she had felt that day, had felt in her lifetime, was incinerated by his heat. His arms closed around her. His mouth sipped at hers and she knew what it was to be cherished. Her fear and anxiety vanished. This was Dax. She wanted this as badly as he. This wasn't a performance. This was a sharing experience. When the time came, she would know what to do.

  He stepped back from her and, staring directly into her eyes, brought his hands to the back zipper of her dress. His eager fingers finally released the tiny hook from its eyes, then he drew the zipper down with agonizing slowness. His eyes never left hers and the only movement apparent was the leaping flames of desire.

  When the zipper tab was at last at the end of its track, he pulled aside the two back panels of her dress, slipped them over her shoulders and down her arms until they were freed. Rather than simply drop the dress to the floor, he stooped down, and she placed her hand on his bare shoulder for support as she daintily stepped out of it. He straightened and almost reverently folded the dress over a low footstool in front of the rocker.

  His eyes showed supreme discipline when he faced her again and looked, not at her body, but into her eyes. His hands closed around her throat gently while his thumbs stroked along her moist lips. They parted slightly and his fingers detailed the row of perfect white teeth. He felt the soft purring vibration in her throat when his thumbs glided down her slender neck to her collarbone. Tracing it with sensitive fingers, he marveled at its delicacy.

  Then all ten fingertips combed down her chest so slowly that she closed her eyes, begging him silently to hurry, but all the while reveling in the time he was taking.

  His fingertips brushed across the top curves of her breasts. Skin on skin was such a delicious sensation. But it wasn't enough. They both ached for more. His hands closed over her and she leaned into his palms. Only then did he lower his eyes from her face to watch what his hands were about.

  He unclasped the front fastener of her peach-colored bra and the veil fell away. His eyes riveted on the desire-swollen breasts as he removed the brassiere and tossed it away.

  Keely had expected him to touch her again, so she was mildly surprised when his hands caught her wrists and brought them around his neck, overlapping them and securing them behind his head. Then his hands stroked down the undersides of her arms, over the valleys of her underarms, the sides of her breasts, and around to her back as he pulled her against him. "Keely, you feel so good," he ground out with an insufficient breath.

  She buried her face in the curve of his shoulder and languidly moved her torso against his. The crinkly hair teased her skin and set all her nerve ends laughing in sheer joy at the differences in their bodies.

  He kissed her then and she could tell by the hot insistence of his mouth that he was suffering from and thrilling to the same driving desire that had her whole body sensitized to a high level. His mouth explored hers thoroughly then trailed down her neck and chest to her breasts.

  "Let me taste you, Keely."

  "Yes, Dax, yes."

  He bent over her and she fell across his arm for support. Her head went back and her back arched as his open mouth first skimmed her breasts randomly, then closed around one nipple, drawing on it gently.

  She had never known such erotic possession. Out of all the men in the world, was it Dax alone who knew how to use h
is lips and tongue, his whole mouth, to bring pleasure beyond description? It seemed that there was a cord that wound through her from the tip of her breast to the secret part of her body. When Dax's tongue touched her nipple, she felt that touch deep inside her womb. Her femininity became full and warm with an ache that demanded to be assuaged.

  Her fingers slid upward from his neck where he had placed them to weave through his thick raven hair. She felt her arms lower even as his head moved down to kiss the underside of her breasts and continue downward to count her ribs with nibbling lips.

  Dropping to his knees, his hands smoothed over the satiny half-slip that was the same peach color as her bra. He placed his mouth against her stomach. His breath was hot and moist as it filtered through the fabric.

  Then the elastic waistband was lowered over belly and hips until her slip dropped around her ankles in a frothy, lacy heap. His hands spanned her naked waist, his thumbs pressing into her navel. Then as his hands slid around to her back, his mouth replaced his thumbs and gave that shallow indentation ardent attention. He kissed it as he would have her mouth.

  His palms were warm as they slipped beneath the scant swath of cloth that was her panties. His hands molded to the curve of her hips. Then the panties went the way of the half-slip over her hips and thighs and past her calves to the floor. What was revealed was revered with eyes and hands and mouth that looked and touched and kissed. With his tongue he branded the skin of her stomach, hips, and thighs until she couldn't bear any more and, with a desperate cry, felt her knees buckle and thump against the wall of his chest.

  He was ready. Standing quickly, he pulled her against him and caught her under the knees and back and lifted her to carry her to the bed. She was laid down with a care usually reserved for breakable objects.

  He was away from her only long enough to rid himself of his clothes. The zipper of his pants rasped softly in the room. The snap clacked loudly. Then in one swift motion pants and underwear were gone and he was splendidly naked and looking down at her hungrily. Had he not been Dax, the starved, glazed look in his eyes would have frightened her. Instead she felt an answering hunger deep in the pit of her stomach.