A Promise to Cherish (22 page)

“I . . . what?” Lee stammered.

“Plan to be gone overnight,” he repeated. “I just don’t see how we can fly to Denver, attend the equipment auction, and get back here in one day, especially if we end up buying something. There’ll be financial arrangements to make, and we’ll have to find a yard to rent.”

His words hit her like a blow in the stomach. He’d been standing there making plans for the two of them to attend the heavy-equipment auction in Denver with no more compunction than he’d announce the same to Frank or Ron or any of the other guys. Lord o’ mercy, did he expect her to go off on an overnight jaunt with him and keep it totally platonic? What did he think she was made of . . . PVC, like the pipes they laid in the ground? His lack of sensitivity infuriated her . . . and the prospect of being alone with him left her weak and trembling.

 

 

T
HEY flew out of Kansas City on a golden mid-October day, and as the plane looped westward, leaving the cloverleaf design of K.C. International Airport behind them, Lee had a feeling of
déjà vu,
because they were going back to the same place where they’d met.

Before they crossed over mid-Kansas, Sam had slumped back and fallen asleep beside her. He woke up long enough to decline breakfast, leaving Lee to eat alone, ever aware of his slow, slumberous breathing at her shoulder, remembering mornings when she’d awakened to that sound on the other side of her bed. He was still sleeping peacefully when the seatbelt sign flashed on in preparation for landing. She studied his shuttered eyes, the long, dark lashes fanning his cheeks, his lips and limbs in repose, and a renewed sense of longing sprang up inside her. Hesitantly she touched his arm, which lay lax over the armrest between them.

“Sam?”

His eyes opened abruptly and looked directly into hers. There was a moment of disorientation, a sweet, compelling return to the days when they’d awakened together, a sensual smile of hello beginning to tip up his unwary mouth before he seemed to realize where he was and curbed the warm response.

“We’ll be landing in a minute,” Lee said, casting her eyes away when he clasped his hands, stiffened his elbows, and stretched, uncoiling and shivering in the old, familiar way.

“God, I slept like the dead,” he said, reaching for his seat belt.

You always did, she wanted to say. Their elbows bumped when they were latching their buckles, and Lee wondered how she would survive this torture for two days.

Inside Stapleton International Airport they stood side by side, watching the luggage bump toward them, both reaching for the first familiar suitcase when it arrived. Lee backed off, letting Sam retrieve it and check its I.D. tag. “This one’s yours,” he stated, setting it at her ankle with no further comment or clue to what he was thinking. His suitcase arrived, and they set off to rent a car.

Sam stowed their identical suitcases in the trunk, unlocked the passenger door, and waited while Lee got in. How many times had he done this for her when they were lovers? Yet now there was only the impersonal politeness he’d show to any woman as a matter of course. When he was behind the wheel Lee was assaulted by the familiarity of his movements, his scent, his hands on the steering wheel.

The auction was to be held at the Adams County Fairgrounds in Henderson. By the time they arrived, Lee was only too happy to escape the confines of the car with its taunting reminders and inescapable memories. But the day proved as distressing as the ride, for it was a remarkably mellow one, the kind in which lovers revel. The Colorado sky was a cloudless cerulean blue, none of Denver’s usual brown haze blocking out its deep color. The state’s famed aspens were at their peak of brightness too, shimmering like golden coins beneath a butterscotch sun. Accompanying Sam, inspecting machinery, discussing the needs of the company for the upcoming spring job here where their relationship had begun, Lee had difficulty concentrating on business. Time and again she drifted into thoughts of the man at her elbow—the texture of his skin beneath the golden mountain sun; the shadows of his shoulder blades under the knit shirt that delineated the well-remembered shape of his chest and arms; the sheen of his dark hair, which she had first touched in a brush in a motel room not far from where they now stood; the outline of his thigh muscles within his trousers, those muscles she’d first seen on her doorstep on a summer’s morning that changed her life forever; his voice, which had spoken countless intimacies into her ear and soothed her shattered soul with reassurances when she’d most needed them.

Being alone with him this way yet not alone at all only tightened the string of emotional tension to a higher pitch, until Lee felt as if one more inadvertent nudge of his arm against hers would snap that tensile thread.

He bid on several pieces of machinery, bought two, and made arrangements for payment and pickup with the auctioneering company’s financier.

By the time they made their way back toward the rented car, it was late afternoon and the Denver freeways were packed. Lee had no idea where they were staying, but feared Rachael might have made reservations at the Cherry Creek again. To her relief, Sam drove to a different hotel—an airport high-rise. They checked in side by side, but took two separate rooms. Sam extended his company credit card without the slightest hint of uneasiness. He handed Lee one of the keys, and they rode up to the ninth floor together. The hall was carpeted and silent as they moved toward adjacent doors.

Lee thought Sam might suggest meeting for dinner, but instead he unlocked his door, glanced inside, and remarked casually, “Mmm . . . looks like a nice room.” Then he picked up his suitcase, turned and answered the question that had been burning within her all day: “See you in the morning, Lee.”

It would have been graceless and ill-advised to declare that she was lonely and missed his company and wanted terribly to spend the night with him. Instead she stepped into her own lonely cell and leaned weakly against the closed door to stare at the avocado green carpeting and matching bedspread without seeing either. What she saw was the face and hands and body of the man she loved, the man separated from her by a plaster wall and the equally as palpable barrier of their self-imposed strictures. To know he was there, so close, yet untouchable, was torture. While she stared at the lonely room, tears threatened. A tight constriction squeezed her chest. She crossed to the window and took in the view of the Denver skyline—the Great West Towers, Denver Square, and Anaconda Towers off in the distance. The sun was setting behind the Rockies, which appeared in the foreground like a triple-tiered Mexican skirt, fading from dark purple to light lavender in three distinct layers, from the earth skyward.

She turned away from the stunning view and fell across the bed, battling tears.
You know I love you, Sam. Why are you doing this to me?
When she cried, she felt better and got up to wash her face, refresh her makeup, and go down to dinner, since it was obvious Sam had no intention of asking her to join him for the meal.

As she ate in solitude, anger began to replace her hurt. Her ego smarted.
Damn you, Sam Brown, damn you! Damn you! Damn you!

Back in her room, she flung her key down on the dresser and glared at the wall. A minute later she pressed her ear to it. She thought she could make out the sound of his T.V. but wasn’t certain. She turned on her own, but it had no appeal whatsoever. She flounced onto her bed, plumping the pillows behind her back, but the short-lived anger had dissipated now, leaving her with despair and a crushing yearning that blotted out common sense.

At five minutes after nine o’clock she picked up the telephone and dialed Room 914.

“Yes?” he answered.

She closed her eyes and rested her hand against the headboard. Her heart beat like a tom-tom, and her tongue felt dry and swollen.

“Th . . . this is an obscene phone call from Room 912. W . . . will you pl . . . please come and . . . and . . .” But her voice faltered as she clutched the phone and swallowed.

“And what?”

Oh God, he wasn’t going to help her at all. He was going to keep up this sham. She swallowed her pride, closed her eyes, and admitted, “I was going to say and make love to me, but I need you for so many more reasons than that. I miss you so much that nothing is good in my life anymore.”

She thought she heard him sigh tiredly and pictured him, perhaps leaning his back against the wall only inches behind her. The earth seemed to turn one complete revolution before he finally asked, “Are you sure now, Lee?”

Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. “Oh, Sam, what have you been trying to do to me these past weeks?”

“Give you a chance to heal.”

Through her misery she felt a first glimmer of hope. She let her eyes drift closed, realizing it was what she too had been doing.

“Sam, please . . . please come over here.”

“Okay,” he agreed softly, and hung up.

An instant later a soft tap sounded on her door.

When she’d opened it, she stepped far back, interlacing her fingers and pressing them against her stomach. They stared at each other for an interminable moment as he leaned a shoulder against the doorframe. He was dressed in black socks, gray trousers, and a pale blue dress shirt held together by a single button at the waist. The shirttails hung out of his pants and it looked disheveled, as did his hair.

“Were you asleep already?” Lee asked guiltily.

He shook his head tiredly, no. “I don’t think I’ve slept for the last six weeks—except on that plane today.” How had she failed to notice the pinched lines at the corners of his eyes and the tired droop of his mouth?

“Because of me?” she asked hopefully.

He pulled himself away from the doorframe and, with his head drooping forward, turned and slowly closed the door. His shoulders rose in a great sigh, and at last he faced her again. “What do you think?” he asked quietly.

She stared back at him, blinded by pain and tears that threatened to spill from her lashes. “I haven’t known what to think since you walked out of my house that night. I . . . you . . . it’s been . . .” Her palms flew to cover her face and sharp sobs jerked her shoulders. “I . . . I . . . love you so,” she choked out against her hands.

He moved to stand before her, and his warm hands encircled her wrists, forcing them away from her face. He placed a gentle kiss on the heel of each, where salty tears had left them wet.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice softened by pain.

With a small, throaty cry she flung herself against him, arms looping up to circle his neck and cling. His arms, too, clasped her tenaciously while he pressed his face against her warm neck. He rocked her back and forth, back and forth, standing with feet spread while holding her body firmly molded to his, neither of them speaking, drawing comfort from their nearness.

Her breasts, belly, and thighs flattened to his rigid body, Lee’s mind seemed filled with his name—Sam, Sam, Sam—and the sweet realization that he was what she needed to complete not only her body but also her life, her
self
.

At last he raised his head and she hers. Their eyes delved, dark into darker, speaking of the ache each had borne during their separation, speaking of anguish about to end in triumph.

Their mouths met wordlessly and drank and sought to make up for the emptiness of six weeks alone. Silky, wet tongues twisted together, speaking of a want grown one hundredfold since last they’d touched. The kiss lasted for endless, reckless minutes—glorious! greedy!—until their hearts clamored and their blood pounded. Sam bit Lee lightly, and her tongue slid back to feel the texture of his teeth scraping atop and below it. Her fingers found the warm hollow behind his ear, and she made a throaty sound that sought to tell him everything she felt for him.

His palms slid to her hips, moving them securely against his own complementary curves. He pressed his face into the scented side of her neck and as she tipped her head aslant, he whispered roughly, “What are you doing with all these clothes on?”

Her heart seemed to trip over itself as she raised her lips to his ear and answered in a tremulous voice, “Waiting for you to ask me again to marry you.”

His head lifted in surprise, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Bring it up later, when we have nothing better to talk about.”

Then he sobered again, running his eyes over her hair, face, and breasts in a sweeping glance that brought them back once more to the black, searching Cherokee eyes that were alight with love and longing.

He lifted her chin, and his face lowered, while with infinite tenderness he circled her lips with the tip of his tongue. Then they were kissing again, openmouthed and seeking, while she felt the flutter of his fingers at the valley between her breasts.

He lifted his head, and their eyes met again, then dropped together to his bronze fingers that slipped buttons through holes, then tugged the blouse from the waistband of her slacks. Wordlessly he slid it from her shoulders. Wordlessly, too, he reached behind her and when he backed away again the white brassiere was draped over his dark hands. He tossed it behind her and looked down at her stomach. A moment later he had freed the button at her waist and lowered the zipper beneath it, revealing a wedge of skin above low-slung briefs. He dropped to one knee, pressing his face within the open garment, kissing her stomach where weeks ago he’d traced the line she was so afraid to explain. He traced it again, this time with the feather-light tip of his tongue.

“There’s nothing I don’t love about you . . . nothing,” he vowed as his strong arms cinched her hips and his eyes slid closed. He turned the side of his face against her flesh while his voice grew gruff with emotion. “You never have to be afraid to tell me anything. Always remember that.”

Tears trembled close to the surface as she twined her fingers in the hair at the back of his head and pressed him nearer. She closed her eyes against the sweet swelling sensations his words brought to her chest, welcoming the faintly abrasive scratch of his whiskers. The top of his hair brushed the undersides of her breasts, and she leaned low over his head, cradling it in both arms.