Turn Back the Dawn (9 page)

what Ben had said about the scent—that it was lovely, subtle, something he had remembered when he was apart from her. And she wished that she were with him, in his arms instead of in some ladies' room putting on makeup under fluorescent lights.

Sighing, she left the ladies' room and went down the hall to the elevators; she'd do what she had done every Thursday night over the past weeks—start at the ground floor, where most of the customers were, and work her way up from there.

When the elevator doors opened, she drew in her breath and started. Ben was standing there, and he smiled and stepped out as if it were the most natural thing in the world that he had come.

"Ah. Just in time," he said, as he put his arms around her and kissed her lightly on the lips. "I rushed to get here."

She smiled and looked into his eyes. "I'm so glad. I was just thinking about you."

"I thought you might like some company." He smiled. "We might even do a better job of it together, you know."

"Great," she said. "Then, let's go. This might not be the most interesting evening you've ever spent, Ben, covering all the floors of this store, but I'm really glad you came." She turned to press the elevator button, but he caught her arm.

"Wait a minute," he said. When she looked into his eyes, they were shining with spirit. "Why do you say something like that? I came to be with
you
, Kate—and, I hope, to spirit you away afterward if you're not too tired. I'm not here by chance, or because I feel a great need to meet your customers. I'd like to, but that's secondary."

As he leaned downward, his eyes closing as his lips drew
near,
she wrapped her arms around him, and she tried to
quell
the small inner voice that wondered if Ben could
possibly be real. She had decided to put her doubts aside,
decided—
finally—to open herself up to a relationship
with
him; yet now, once again, she was nagged by doubt.
She
had been wrong so many times. Every time. How
could
now be any different? But as his lips gently brushed
hers,
and she opened her eyes and looked into his filled
with
desire, wonder, and affection, she moaned and pulled
him closer.
Doubt was replaced by pleasure, uncertainty
replaced
by deep need, and she hoped, viscerally and as
deeply
as could be, that someday she would stop doubting
Hen forever.

When
he drew back, he smiled. "Kate Churchill, you're a
liar."

Her eyes
widened. "What? Why do you say that?"

"Because
anyone who kisses like that and responds to
me
as you
did now has to know what she means to me."
He
ran
a hand along the length of her back, sending a
trem
or of
pleasure through her. "And there's no use deny
ing it.
Your body doesn't lie."
She laughed.
"Well. You might be right," she said lightly.

He shook
his head. "You know damned well I'm right,
Kate
want
you to see that."
She smiled.
"Maybe I do," she said softly. "Maybe I do."

The next few
hours were an unanticipated delight. Kate and Ben
started
at the ground floor of the store, made up
of the
usual perfume
and cosmetics displays, along with

the dozens of small boutiques that made Ivorsen and Shaw special.

Together Ben and Kate talked to more people than in all the weeks Kate had been doing her Thursday-night tours. They went through the ground floor slowly, then through Nighttime Secrets lingerie and on to the men's- wear, resort-wear, and sporting-goods departments, then almost an hour in the home-gifts department. Kate had a better sense of the store's customers than she had ever had before; somehow, Ben managed to draw each one he talked to out of his or her shell. And after their initial surprise at being approached by anyone who wasn't a salesperson, most were more than forthcoming, welcoming Ben's form of indirect help and in turn helping him.

Finally, after they had talked to half a dozen people in the gifts department, Ben led Kate off to the store's restaurant, II Trattoria. In addition to its small tables it had a counter where shoppers could get the restaurant's fare to take home. Decorated in clean, modern lines, with white tile floors and walls and butcher-block tables, the restaurant was a big draw for the store's customers. It had delicacies difficult to find even in New York—perfectly smoked molasses ham, the finest fresh Russian Malossol caviar, perfect paté de canard, three hundred kinds of cheeses—and it was all served and displayed absolutely beautifully, with the freshest of fruits and vegetables and breads almost everywhere one looked.

Now, all the tables were filled, but Ben led Kate to the small line of customers standing at the counter. "I assume we can eat in your office?"

She nodded.

"I had had other places in mind," he said, smiling, "but I suppose this will have to do."

"Oh, this place is great," she said. "I love it. And it's a perfect cure for the midtown lunch syndrome." lien smiled. "What's that?"

"Well, you probably don't know because you've always
been at too high a corporate level to experience it. It happened to me when I used to be a secretary and it still happens when I'm in a rush. Basically, you go shopping
or window-shopping, at the beginning of your lunch hour and then before you know it you only have half an hour left. So you go into restaurant after restaurant in the forties and fifties and at every single place, either the prices are too high, or there's a long line, or you sit at the counter and wait forever to be served. So you go back to the office with a container of yogurt and a cup of coffee and plan to move to another city. But with this place, you really can find something incredibly good for not that much money. And it's clean as well."

Ben was smiling. "And how many people know about this place, Kate?"

She shrugged. "We advertised in the newspapers when it first opened. But the board cut my budget; they felt the Trattoria wasn't big enough to devote that much ad money."

Ben shook his head. "It may be the first department we advertise. Depending, my dear, on whether the food is truly as good as you say. Oh—by the way, Christina Casey over at my agency just finalized the arrangements for the campaign kickoff party. It will be at Xenon, downtown."

"That's wonderful!" Kate said. "I feel as if it's all starting to fall into place."

A few minutes later they were taking the employees' elevator up to the eighth floor, where Kate's office was, with bags filled with black forest ham,
pâté de campagne,
Jarlsberg, Montrachet, and Swedish fontina cheeses, Swiss peasant bread, Russian coffee cake, and fresh cold cider

The halls were dark and quiet, lit only by red-and-white exit signs here and there.

"I'm glad you're here," Kate whispered, taking Ben's arm. "I hate coming up here after hours."

"You don't have to whisper," he said, smiling.

She laughed. "You're right. But I do feel as if we're sneaking around."

They reached her office, and she unlocked it and turned on the light* When they stepped inside, Ben closed the door and locked it, then took the bags and put them down on the conference table. Then he turned and took Kate in his arms, his strong hands deliciously warm at her waist, the pressure of his fingers sending a surge of pleasu through her. "Well, we
are
sneaking around, in a way," he said.

"Oh, really?" she asked, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I didn't know that."

He nodded, the light of mischief in his eyes. "Oh, yes," he said softly. "After all, you're getting paid to be down stairs, dutifully talking to your loyal customers—not up on the eighth floor enjoying yourself with me behind closed doors."

She smiled. "Locked doors, I hope."

"Oh, yes," he murmured. "But why the concern?"

His eyes were dark and cloudy with desire, heating her with need as she whispered, "Because I have an idea."

"And what is that?" he breathed, lips only inches from hers.

"Just this," she said softly, pulling him close as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her lips parted instantly and she moaned, eager for the sweetness of his mouth, the urgency of his tender lips. His tongue played with hers, entering her mouth, drawing her in to the depths of desire. The kiss was deep, smoldering, sending surging desire to the center of Kate's soul, heating her body in radiating waves.

"You look so beautiful tonight," he whispered. "God, Kate, to have you with me all evening without a touch." His fiery gaze roved downward. "You must have worn that dress to drive me crazy," he said huskily, moving his hands over the thin silk of her dress.

"I didn't know you were coming," she said, her voice thick with desire.

His fingers lightly circled, catching her nipples and tan- talizingly moving on, and Kate warmed under his touch and the heat of his gaze: he took such obvious pleasure in her body, in her responses.

"You knew I'd come," he whispered. "You knew I'd come with the certainty my fingers have of you right now," he murmured. "And the certainty that's in your hands as you touch me, Kate, and know how quickly your touch arouses me."

"Ben," she murmured thickly as he pulled her against him. She felt the hardness of his frame and moved her hands over his back and down his sides. She parted her lips to receive his scorching kiss while his hands traveled over her shoulders and down to her hips. She could have him now, she realized. She could have this lean, strong man

bring her to the heights of fiery pleasure, to the exploding pitch of ecstasy. She knew the satisfaction deep inside would be greater than any she had ever felt. He needed her—in the urgency that lay just beneath his tenderness, she felt a force that matched the strength of her own desire.
*

"Kate," he muttered, placing a warm hand on her thigh, caressing it and dissolving her into mindless passion as his fingers became more insistent against the material of her dress.

She reached for him. She felt the hard strength of his need tremble under her touch, and she achingly wished she could touch him, feel his heat, his strength inside, stroking and filling her with pleasure.

He moaned, his breath hot in her ear.

She could feel him holding back, feel the urgent need beneath her fingers. "Ben," she whispered. "I want you so much, but not here."

"Darling," he interrupted, gazing into her eyes. His breath was still coming fast, and his eyes were dark with passion. "Darling, it doesn't matter where we are, does it?"

"Yes," she murmured, the heat of her desire unwinding, spiraling down. "It matters to me. I wouldn't be able to let go, to really be with you."

He lowered his head and rubbed his sandy-rough cheek against hers. "Then we'll wait," he answered hoarsely. "I wouldn't want to make love with you unless you wanted it as much as I did, darling." He raised his head then, and looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes. "It's difficult for me to hold back when I want you as much as I do, but
never—never would I make love to you except when you wanted me to."

"You know how much I want you." She smiled. "And how much Í wish we were somewhere else right now."

He brushed a strand of dampened hair back from her forehead and kissed the spot where it had been. "Come to my apartment, then?"

She sighed. She wanted to so much. Physically, emotionally, in every way. Yet part of her held back. She looked into his clear amber eyes. "Ben," she began quietly, "I don't know how to say this. And I hope you understand when I do. But. . . when we're finally together, I want it to be spontaneous, something that absolutely must be, something completely unpremeditated." She looked at him wistfully. "I don't even know whether what I just said makes any sense. But it's the way I feel."

"It makes sense," he said quietly. "And I'm glad you said it, Kate. I want you always—always—to tell me how you feel. And I know that's difficult. It's difficult for me, too."

She smiled. "I have an idea," she whispered, warming once again to the feel of his body against hers, to the heat t hat was once again emanating from every inch of him. As she looked into his eyes, the ache inside her grew, knowing he was feeling as she did, knowing his desire was growing as quickly as hers.

"I hope it's the same one I have," he said, moving against her.

"Ben," she uttered, closing her lips over his. She had been planning to say she would go to his apartment later— if she wanted, as spontaneously as she could manage. But now she was awash in waves of overpowering longing,
engulfed in fluid desire as she felt with every inch of her body what it would be like to make love with Ben. His desire was so obvious, his feelings so tender, so ardent, so generous. He was everything she had ever wanted. In her arms, ready to please her, ready to give, ready to bring her to the heights of pleasure and let her take him along the same fiery path.

"I've changed my mind," she said huskily. "I've changed my mind, Ben. Take me home with you."