Turn Back the Dawn (5 page)

He smiled.
" 'We.' That's a nice way of putting it."

She
shrugged. "It's true. Why should I be naive and
pretend
I have nothing to do with what's happening be
tween us—
that I'm an innocent who doesn't know what's
going
on?"

"Many
women do just that."

"Well,
I used to. But not anymore."

He looked
into her eyes. "Have you made any deci
sions? About—
what was his name
—
Kurt?"

She
nodded, trying to read his tone, wondering whether
he was really
as concerned or caring as he sounded. How
could he be, when he
didn't even know her? "Look," she
said. "Your asking me that is just the kind of thing I'm
talking about. Let's just forget girl friends, boyfriends,
past loves, future loves, and concentrate on trying to get
some work done."

For a moment the amber of his eyes flashed into gold
reflecting his deepening interest. They held her in thrall,
telling her she was making a foolish mistake by protesting.
And she wondered. For when she gazed into those eyes,
she imagined them as they would be if she were in Ben's
arms, his lips ready to melt with hers, his gaze as smooth
and strong as silk.

As he looked at her, saying nothing, she resisted the
impulse to tell him to forget what she had said; she fought
against her natural desire once again to touch him, if only
for
a moment; she held herself
—
body and mind, impulse
and words
—
in check.

And then he spoke. "I'm not going to sit here as we
work together in the coming weeks and pretend that I'm
not curious about
you.
Nor am I going to sit here and
pretend I'm not interested. What if we both pretended
—
and we parted, in the end, never knowing what we might
have meant to each other?"

She smiled. "That's a point. But really—I
don't
know
you, Ben. I don't even know if you're married, for God's
sake."

He tilted his head. "Do I act married?"

She laughed. "In a way, yes."

He didn't smile. "When I
was
married," he said slowly,
"and I don't mean to sound sanctimonious
—
but I did not
act as I have with you. In the first years of my marriage
I never even looked at another woman."

"And then what happened?" she asked quietly.

"Something I'll
never let happen again. We drifted
apart,
as they say. It's such an overused expression that
it sounds
trite, only partially true. But that was exactly
what
happened, in the most classic of ways. We had our
kids,
Eliza and Christopher, only a year and a half apart.
F
rom the
moment Eliza was born
—
and then Christopher,
so quickly
afterward it seemed like weeks
—
we did nothing
hut talk
about the kids. I went to work
—
I was a teacher
then—came
home, and from the moment I was home until
I left the
next morning, all that was on either of our minds
was the
kids. We stopped talking, really. We were both
reciting,
going through questions and answers, litanies of
the day. I'
d tell her a few things about work, she'd tell me
a few
things about the babies, and we might as well have
been
talking to walls, though neither of us noticed because
we were
so damn wrapped up in our problems. We caught
ourselves
when I decided to try my hand at advertising.
I think
Eliza was three at the time."

"Why
did you switch?" Kate asked, settling more com
fortably
back in her chair.

"Money,"
he said simply. "I was already working a
twelve-hour
day. And I knew we weren't going to be able
to raise
two kids the way I wanted to on my salary."

"Are
you sorry you switched?"

"Sometimes,
yes. I went back to teaching after Celia
and
I
were
divorced. She was working by then and refused
anything but
child support." He paused and took out his
pipe.
"But anyway," he said, packing the sweet-smelling
tobacco
in and then lighting it, "it worked for a while
again,
when I began in the ad business. We thought of it
as a
new
beginning,
and we acknowledged that we needed

one. But it never did work after that." He puffed on his
pipe, and then smiled, his eyes flickering with warmth.
"So much for getting down to business," he said. "How
did we get on to marriage?"

She smiled. "You were telling me that you never looked
at another woman at the beginning of your marriage."

"Well, I seem to have taken us off track once again." He
smiled. "Maybe we should actually get started."

He took out two cups of coffee he had brought in a
paper bag
—
a nice and surprising touch, she felt
—
along
with the layouts Tommy Sullivan had sketched out, and
they set to work. He began by reviewing the basic concept
—
talking quietly, slowly, intensely. He was relaxed but
totally absorbed, and as Kate listened and occasionally
questioned him, she was silently congratulating herself for
having been wise enough to choose Ben Austin's campaign. Without him it would have been very, very good.
With him and all the attention and enthusiasm he would
bring to it, it was destined to be nothing short of wonder-
ful.

They worked hard until lunch, and Kate was annoyed
to find that it was she, not he, who tended to break the
businesslike mood. She was constantly breaking her promise against giving double messages. When he would look
up from a chart or sketch or layout he was showing her,
she would catch his gaze in a look that said not, "How
interesting," or "I agree," or anything relating in any way
to what he had said. All she said with her eyes was "I wanl
you." At those moments he tried to fight back. At the
beginning, at least. He would look away as if he hadn't
seen, or look at her in reproach and surprise, as if to say,

"I'm
keeping
up my end of the bargain. Why can't you?"
Yet, for
a reason she couldn't fathom, she kept it up:
simmering
glances, gentle touches on the hand or knee,
her
softest,
lowest, most bedroom-seductive voice.

When
the intercom buzzed and she rose to answer it,
she
silently
warned herself that when she returned to
Be
n's
side,
she would be wise to cool down. And, for a few
moments,
as Linda told her she was going to lunch, Kate
was
distracted
from Ben and her apparently uncontrolla
ble
behavior.
But once she hung up and returned to the
table,
she could
feel herself
—
with one glance at Ben—slip
back
into her
most seductive of roles.

"That was Linda," she said. "Going to lunch. I hadn't
reali
zed it
was so late."

He smiled.
"Time flies when you're breaking your
promise."

Her lips
parted and then curved into a smile. "Ah. Not
too
s
ubtle, then."

He laughed.
"Very subtle. Very lovely. But sometimes
thing
s
that
are very subtle and very lovely have a very
str
ong
impact."
He inhaled deeply. "For instance
—
that
perfume
you
were wearing the other day. It was gentle,
almos
t not there.
At one moment I would sense it, and at
the
next, wonder
if it had just been my imagination. But
that
night, when
I closed my eyes and thought of you,
Kate,
I knew
that every part of you, every aspect of you,
had been
real."
He reached out and gently stroked her
hand. E
ach stroking
movement sent a rolling wave of
war
mth through her,
a hazy heat that made her feel heavy
with
longing.

She gazed at him
with a lazy half-smile. "Now I'm not

the only one breaking the promise."

He grinned. "But you started it. Which, as it turns out, is as meaningless a phrase as it is in childs' fights—because it could have been me." His hand moved upward, making bot, lazy circles along her arm, and she found herself leaning toward him, lips parted in desire, breathless. "And I hope you know that the reason I tried so very hard to resist," he murmured, his warm fingers moving over from her arm to the sensitive skin of her neck, "is that I just wanted to please you," he whispered.

Please
me, she thought. Oh, God, she wanted him to, but not by staying away.

As she gazed into eyes of liquid honey, she was seared by the movement of his fingers just inside her collar. His fingers were warm, persuasive, and her breath quickened as his touch grew warmer. She could barely find her voice through thickening layers of desire. "And are you still trying to please me?" she whispered.

"I can think of nothing better," he said huskily.

For one moment their gazes were locked in a searing, breathless hold. And then, just as she wondered how long she would be able to wait, his hand at the back of her neck began to urge her forward, and his lips met hers in a blazing touch of exquisite lightness and intoxicating pleasure. His mouth on hers was warm, sweet, urgent, with the promise of unending passion. And then, somehow already attuned to each other's needs and wants and pleasures, they deepened the kiss together, lips parting in a moan of shared wonder and desire.

A fierce warmth spread through her body, igniting into a deep fire within her. The swiftness of her response was

frightening and exhilarating at the same time, for somewhere in the back of Kate's mind was the thought This is only a kiss—how can I be responding so deeply? But her body had no questions, no doubts—only a smoldering certainty of coursing desire that craved this man in a much, much deeper way.

He tore his mouth from hers and looked at her with stormy eyes. "I've made a mistake," he murmured huski- his breath coming quickly.

"What do you mean?" she asked, still hazy and reeling from the pleasures of his lips.

"I had thought that perhaps we'd see—that we'd kiss, and all the undercurrents we've been fighting against wouldn't be there after all. But . . . Kate."

She smiled lazily.

His face was close to hers—inches from her own—and she loved the scent that had intoxicated her moments before, the closeness of his hazel eyes, the feel of his breath soft against her cheek.

'You know what this means," he said quietly, drawing her to him once again for a gentle kiss.

Her senses were filled with exhilaration and desire, and * :th wonder as well—for she wondered at this man whose most gentle of touches could fill her with such pleasure.

He drew back, eyes serious. "Do you?" he asked.

"Do I what?" she asked dreamily, her voice barely there.

"Do you know what this means?" he asked, smiling.

She answered with a smile of her own. "No. Tell me what you think this means," she said playfully.

"It means there's no turning back," he said quietly.