Turn Back the Dawn Page 7

  The feeling had crept up on her, unseen and unsensed because she had been so frightened and wary. He had surprised her because in so many ways, he was unpredictable. Even tonight, as Kate had gone around the store with him, he had surprised her—at one moment acting like the consummate playboy, charming a young woman into a

  near trance, but at the next helping out an old man as if the man were the most important person in the world. And she felt easy with him—as if he wouldn't pressure her; yet, when she was ready for him, he was hers with a force that showed he had held himself back with all his might.

  But as she looked at him, with a tug of fear and sadness she realized there were many, many things she didn't know about him. Could she love him? And was he ready for love? He wanted her; but was he ready for all that went along with the fulfillment of that desire?

  She shuddered involuntarily, and he pulled her closer. "Cold?" he asked, the light of affection and desire still bright in his eyes.

  She smiled and shook her head, and slung her arm around him and held him close.

  On the taxi ride to Ben's apartment on East Seventy- ninth Street, they talked quietly, sporadically, each lost in thought more than in conversation. Though there was little talk, Kate felt there was more communication, more connecting, than if they had spoken. For she knew, with the same deep certainty that told her he wanted her, that he was thinking about her. Thinking, wondering, perhaps wishing. And she wanted to keep everything just as it was, with no clouds on the horizon: just two people filled with possibilities, and questions that could be answered another time.

  The taxi stopped at an impressive-looking prewar building, with a scallop-trimmed canopy over the entranceway and hedges to its sides. A uniformed doorman came to the curb to open the taxi the moment it pulled up, and soon Kate and Ben were walking through a beautiful lobby with

  marble floors, high, chandeliered ceilings, fine antique furniture, and gilt-framed oil paintings. The atmosphere somehow didn't quite fit Kate's image of Ben; she would have expected a more casual, less obviously monied building. But then, she reminded herself, Ben was a man of many paradoxes; and though he dressed very casually, he obviously did have money.

  The apartment, one of two on the fifteenth floor, was another surprise. She had thought it would be modern and sleek like his office, perhaps with the stark emptiness that came after divorce. But it was the opposite: the foyer and living room were warm and cozy-looking, filled with antique oak and walnut furniture, old Americana, and beautiful braided rugs. Old posters and prints on the walls showed that Ben had spent much of his time antiquing, and everywhere Kate looked, there was something unusual and beautiful to look at: an old spice cabinet weathered with age, a simple painting of a village square, a rocker burnished golden from use.

  She followed Ben into the living room and sat down on a fluff-filled couch that felt like a cloud. "This is so comfortable!" she said. "Where is it from?"

  He smiled. "I had it specially made. My interest in antiques ends where the discomfort begins, and one day I thought, hell, I work hard enough, I can damn well come home and sink into something great And this is the result."

  "Well, it's wonderful," she said.

  "How about a drink to go with it? Martini?"

  "Great. How long have you lived here, by the way?" she isked as Ben went over to the small bar across the room.

  "Oh, let's see. Fourteen years, I guess. We bought it when Eliza was two and Christopher was one."

  "It's a coop?"

  "Yes. And at the time it was way beyond our means. But I knew that we could manage—we would have to manage—if I made that kind of financial commitment, and we did. I wanted the kids to grow up in a nice neighborhood, and in a safe building." He smiled. "And for a time, they did."

  He came back to the couch carrying a tray with two glasses and a pitcher, and he sat down. "Well. To us," he said, handing her a glass and then raising his own. He caught her in his gaze, and added, "I mean that."

  She smiled and drank.

  The liquid was warm, deliciously smooth as it spread its radiance through her body. She looked at Ben and smiled again, more lazily this time. "I love your apartment," she said. "But nice as it is, Fm surprised you kept it after the divorce." She paused. "I hope you don't mind my asking."

  "Of course not," he said. "And please, Kate—never hesitate. I won't with you. Anyway, naturally I had thought of putting the apartment on the market when Celia and I separated. But I realized I loved it. It had happy memories as well as sad ones, and I felt that giving it up would be running away, trying to deny something that had once been very important. And I wanted a place the kids could stay when they visited."

  "Do you see them often?"

  He looked down into his drink for a moment. When he looked up, there was a vulnerability in those eyes that almost broke her heart. "Not as often as I'd like, natural

  ly." He smiled. "I guess every divorced father feels that way."

  She shook her head. "No. Not at all," she said quietly.

  He was silent. "It's funny, really—looking back. I don't know if you've ever lived with someone"—she shook her head—"Well, at the beginning, it's heaven on earth. You're in heaven when you're together, nearly in pain when you're apart." He frowned. "I'm surprised that you haven't been married. Or at least lived with someone."

  She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "I—it just hasn't happened." She smiled ironically. "I tend to have rather misguided taste in men, I'm afraid—present company excepted."

  "What about your folks?" he asked. "Are they still together?"

  She quickly shook her head. "No. My, uh, father left us when I was five, and my mother's been remarried—let's see, twice. The second time was last year."

  "That must have been very hard for you—when you were young, I mean."

  "Oh, well," she said, trying to shrug it off. "It's all over now."

  His eyes were serious. "You're very important to me, Kate." He paused. "Over the past couple of nights I've thought about some of the things I've said to you, and some of the things I've done—and if I've seemed too forward or too confident or smooth, it's only because I've been confident of you—that you're very, very right for me.

  He set his drink down, then reached forward and took hers out of her hand. She looked into his eyes, knowing this was the moment, this was what she had wanted, and

  also, at some level, feared. She wanted him—wanted to believe what he said about her, wanted to believe that she could love him, wanted all of it to work out—as it never had before. Yet the moment was so familiar, so reminiscent. This moment—before a kiss, an embrace, a touch that would lead to fulfillment of desire—she had experienced before. With the same fluttery anticipation, the same hope, the same need. She knew it well. And she hoped that somehow, Ben would be different, that this moment would lead to something more than she had ever

  had.

  "Kate," he said softly.

  Her gaze slid back to his.

  "Tell me," he murmured, leaning forward so his lips were only inches from hers. "Tell me what you want,'* he whispered, brushing his lips against hers. The movement triggered a rush of desire, and the feel of his rough cheek against hers made her wind her arms around him, feeling for the strength of his shoulders, the softness of his hair.

  "I know what you meant," he breathed, moving a hand on to her thigh. "I know what you meant about spontaneity, about being unpremeditated and completely free." His hand moved upward, kneading her flesh with persuasive fingers. "But, Kate, you have to tell me if you want me, if the time is right or wrong or bad or good. Because every time I'm with you, I'm thinking of our making love." Her hands moved over his shoulders and downward, roving across his chest, finding his hardened nipples beneath the fabric of his shirt. "I imagine my lips awakening you," he breathed, nibbling at her ear, "and my touch arousing you," he murmured, his hand moving between her thighs

  "Ben," she whispered, melting against him.


  She sank back, looking up at him as he gazed down at her with smoldering pleasure, his fingers sending surges of molten yearning through her.

  She reached out, wanting to feel the strength she craved, wanting to bring him the pleasure he was giving her.

  But he sat back and murmured, "Not yet," as she whispered his name.

  "I've thought of you so often," he said softly, "of this moment, of seeing how beautiful you are." And his hands moved downward then, along her thighs and then up to the buttons of her dress.

  As they parted the fabric and exposed her small, high breasts, he inhaled sharply. He knelt over her then, awakening each nipple with a long, warm kiss, sending a flush of desire through her whole body. His lips brought each nipple to a tingling peak, and then he gently nibbled, sending sparks of flame through her body and soul.

  She quivered, as he rose and trailed his hands down over her stomach and hips, in lazy, tantalizing circles. The touch of his fingers was light but incredibly arousing, sweeping from her thighs over her hips, across her stomach, over the softness they had brought to a pitch of trembling want, and Kate arched under his touch.

  She reached out for him then, but again he whispered, "Not yet." And deftly he slid the silk of her dress from her body, pulled the lace bikinis from her hips and off, and she lay naked under his smoldering gaze. "Oh, Kate," he murmured, and slowly, achingly slowly, he began a lazy, fervid exploration of her body, lowering himself and melting her with pleasure in the touch of his fingers and the warm tip of his tongue.

  She was lost in dizzying rapture as his hands played over the softness of her breasts and their sensitized peaks, as his wet lips roved across her stomach. He kneaded her nipples between his fingers until she whispered his name, then slid his hands lower, over her hips to her thighs. And then he began a flaming onslaught of pleasure as he moved lower, his fingers coaxing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, his tongue gently exploring with a delicacy that made her tremble.

  She reached for him, clutching at his hair with her fingers, writhing beneath him in the ever-growing glow of passion.

  "Ben, take me." She needed him with her, deeply and with a passion that was all-encompassing.

  And he rose then, looking at her with deep amber eyes heavy with desire. He began unbuttoning his shirt, never taking his eyes from Kate, and she rose up to help him, pulling off his shirt, unfastening his belt, fingers quick in the heat of the moment.

  His body was magnificent standing before her—lean, strong, ready. Then he lay beside her, moved warm hungry hands back to the place that had given her so much fiery pleasure, and she clutched at him, raking her hands along his firm back, moaning into his neck. "Ben, take me," she whispered.

  As he shifted, fitting his beautiful body over hers, she looked into his eyes and saw love—deep, giving, shining down into her eyes with the brightness of stars.

  "I've wanted this so much," he said breathlessly. And he brought them together in one magnificent movement, crying out her name as she melted into him. The rhythm of their love was fast, deep, rolling, punctuated with sighs of pleasure, moans of need, whispered words of love. She

  loved the feel of his back, wet and strong under her fingers, the scent of his maleness, the feel of his chest against hers as he stoked the fires within her with masterly flaming thrusts. And then Kate was aware of nothing but the deepest of surging pleasures, rapture that brought her together with Ben in a bliss that dissolved all but sensation, all but a feeling that they were a perfect oneness.

  And then slowly, gradually, she was aware of an awakening love that would grow, she was sure now, deeper than any she had ever known.

  Never had she felt so wonderful—so thoroughly happy, relaxed, free. She felt weightless, free of all cares, all worries, everything but the moment. As she and Ben shifted, her cheek against his warm, strong chest, arms and legs entwined with his, she knew that she had finally come to know what she cared for so deeply in him. She had found his core, the essence of his being: it was his strength, the self-knowledge that was so strong and so deep that it allowed him to give as no other man could give.

  "Darling," he murmured, wrapping his warm arms more tightly around her. He moved so he could look into her eyes.

  She smiled happily into his. "I'm so glad," she said quietly.

  "I wonder if you're as happy as I am," he mused. His hands stroked the curves of her body, the rise of her hips and the valley of her waist, and she loved his touch now more than ever. "It's been a very, very long time since I've felt anything close to what I feel now," he said quietly.

  "Have you—has it been a long time since you've been involved with anyone? I don't even know." She hesitated. " There's so much about you I don't know." In a sense she

  felt that was no longer true; for in their lovemaking he had given of himself, shown himself, as no other man had. But there were still questions. . . .

  "I haven't been involved with anyone in quite a while," he said. "Let's see—nearly a year now. I've gone out here and there with women I already knew, and a few I'd just met, but I haven't been serious . . . and in the past year, I've always broken off the relationships early on."

  He turned on his side and faced her, putting a warm thigh between her own and a hand at her waist. She loved looking into his eyes as he talked. They looked deeper somehow, as if she hadn't truly realized their beauty until now.

  "I guess I made a decision," he said quietly, "a couple of years ago, when I was almost forty and kind of taking stock of my life, looking at what I had done and what I hoped to do. I was happy about some things—pleased with my work, though not satisfied, but I felt I had achieved some measure of success. And pleased that I had married, that I had had something to do with raising two great kids. But I knew I was ready for more." He paused, gently caressing the soft skin of her waist. "I don't think of my first marriage as a failure. Celia and I were very, very happy at the beginning. And we had Eliza and Christopher. But I want to try again. I've had kids; I don't need to have more. But I do want a partner again, a woman I can share my life with. There are a lot of men out there who are afraid of commitment, Kate. Maybe like your friend Kurt. But I'm not one of them." He sighed. "I've had some awful moments over the last couple of years, when I've broken off relationships because I knew there was no potential. And obviously, it's gone both ways, with

  women I really liked who thought the relationship couldn't go any farther." He smiled. "Anyway, that's a very long answer to your question, Kate, but it's the best one I can give."

  She smiled. "Those women who broke up with you were fools." She reached up and pushed a dark lock of hair back from his forehead.

  He laughed. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. But they seemed very, very sure of what they were doing."

  "Well they were crazy," she said, cuddling her leg over his and resting her cheek on his shoulder. She loved looking up into his eyes like this, holding him so close, talking so quietly.

  Such a contrast, too, to those times with Kurt and others, when there was silence after lovemaking, or almost worse, forced conversation, as if they thought they were "doing the right thing" by saying how wonderful it was, using stock phrases out of magazines and movies.

  As Kate began to fall into a dreamy half-sleep, lulled by the comforting rhythm of Ben's breathing and the warmth of his arms around her, she felt her carefree sense of security and happiness begin to ebb away. Gradually, as lien fell asleep, Kate grew more and more awake, her eyes wide open against the smooth skin of his shoulder.

  It had been too good. She couldn't shake the feeling, couldn't suppress the growing voice from somewhere deep inside that said, Don't fall for this. Don't be so blind. He's much too good to be true.

  She shut her eyes, trying to think. What had he said? I hat he wanted to be serious; that he was ready for a n'latiopship; that he wasn't afraid. He hadn't said any of

  those things about her, but he didn't have to; the implication was clear. Wasn't it?

&n
bsp; She tried to remember more. He had said he had broken up with women he had been involved with, when he had seen that there was no potential in the relationship. Had that been a warning of sorts, a statement that the same could happen with her? And when she had said she thought the women who had broken up with him were crazy to have done so, had she gone too far?

  Her heart quickened as she tried to think of the answers. And she cursed herself for having driven the beautiful feeling of peace she had had from her mind. Ben was lying entwined with her, sleeping, dreaming already, and she was racking her brain for answers she couldn't possibly know.

  She supposed it was the legacy of the life she had led, a lifetime of wrong decisions and misguided choices. And she silently cursed the men she had been involved with, too. She knew her once-burned twice-shy attitude wasn't their fault, but she couldn't help resenting them anyway. For she desperately wanted her relationship with Ben to last—at least for a while. And she couldn't help feeling, deep down, that there wasn't a chance in the world that this could possibly happen. At some point, very soon or in the near future, he would turn out to be like the others.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Kate's worries drifted away as she drifted off into sleep. And with sleep came a peace she desperately needed. In her dreams she made love with Ben, and he told her he loved her as he had never loved before. But then the dream turned into a nightmare: Kate opened her mouth to tell Ben she loved him, but when she tried, no words came. Only silence.