No More Lonely Nights (8 page)

When they left the restaurant, the night was a clear, midnight blue. It was too chilly to drive with the top down, especially as Dominique had brought no wrap.

She watched in silence as Stephen pulled up the little tan canvas. When she got into the car, she was shivering. Her teeth chattered as she rubbed her arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t notice how cold it was.” He removed his jacket. “Here, put this around you.” He reached around Dominique and she leaned forward in her seat so he could drape the jacket around her. Her arms burned where his fingers brushed her skin. Never before had the simple touch of a man had such an effect on her.

Once again they drove in silence. When they arrived in front of her apartment, Stephen got out and opened her door. “I’ll walk you upstairs,” he said.

Dominique nodded. When they reached her apartment door, she turned to face Stephen. He was standing so close, he seemed to tower over her. She looked up at him. “Thank you. I had a…” She couldn’t think of anything adequate to say.

Stephen reached for Dominique’s hands and pulled her close. The movement dislodged his jacket from her shoulders and it dropped to the floor. Both of them ignored it. He ran his hands up her smooth arms. This time when she shivered, it wasn’t from the cold. He cupped her face in his hands and looked at her for a long moment. Ever so softly, he rubbed his index finger in the little space between the top of her spine and the bottom of her hairline. The feeling was so deliciously sensual that Dominique thought she might faint. As though in a hypnotic trance, she drew closer to him; closer, until she could feel the buttons of his shirt against her breasts through the thin silk of her dress. She closed her eyes. She felt the warmth of his breath as he drew closer. And then he kissed her. His lips were sweet and hot. Dominique opened her mouth, wanting to taste him. His arms tightened around her as they pressed together. He moaned, then his mouth glided off hers and onto her neck. Dominique was sure that if he let go, she would be unable to stand, so she clung to him—abandoned herself to him completely.

This was what she had secretly wished—not just this, but more! And there was nobody to stop them. No Nanny standing guard at the other side of the door.

Suddenly Dominique felt like a trapeze artist without a net; free, yet frighteningly aware of danger. Her mind screamed a warning. Stop! She pulled away. She was breathless, her face flushed with desire.

Stephen stared at her, his expression startled. He looked as intoxicated as she.

Then he slowly released her. “I have to leave,” he said, his voice thick. He bent down and picked up his jacket.

The withdrawal of his touch brought Dominique jolting back to reality. As she stepped back toward the door, she stumbled and reached behind her for support. Seeing her falter, Stephen caught her by the waist. She found her footing and righted herself. She rested her palms on his chest and looked up at him. “This doesn’t seem real,” she said, her voice shaky. “Will it still be the same tomorrow?”

Stephen released Dominique’s waist. His eyes roved over her features.

She looked back at him, her pupils dilated with yearning. She was all eagerness and promise.

“Dominique, don’t you know?” he said tenderly. “For me, it will always be the same.”

When Dominique arrived at the office the next day, Stephen was already there. His face lit when Dominique walked tremulously through his office door. He stood up and came around his desk to greet her, but stopped a few feet away from her. They stood facing each other.

“I don’t think we should touch here,” he said, as the sparks flew between them.

Dominique, breathless, balled her hands into fists. He was right, of course, but she so wanted to feel his embrace. “No, of course not,” she murmured.

“I’d like to see you tonight.”

Dominique’s heart leapt. “Yes.”

“And… this Saturday. What about a trip to the beach?”

He wanted to see her as much as she wanted to see him! Dominique struggled to suppress a giddy burst of laughter. “That sounds… wonderful,” she whispered.

Over the next week, Dominique realized that the calls from Lieutenant Smythe had stopped. Clearly the woman had vanished from Stephen’s life, though Dominique never knew how he had managed it so quietly.

Just as Stephen had been open about his relationship with Smythe, he was open about the role of Dominique in his life. They dined together almost every evening. Weekends were taken for granted—there was no question of either of them dating another person. Every moment seemed precious. When Dominique saw Stephen’s car pull up in front of her house, her pulse raced with excitement. When they parted at the end of the evening, she felt as though she were losing part of herself. There was a physical void when she was apart from him. And she rarely was.

Stephen introduced her to his friends, and they seemed to welcome Dominique, to genuinely like her. Invitations no longer came for him alone. It was “Stephen and Dominique.”

“He’s had it tough,” explained the wife of an American diplomat who was a close friend of Stephen’s. “Serena gives him a dreadful time. And as for that stuck-up bitch Amanda,” she said with typical American frankness, “no one could stand her. We can see he’s a lot happier with you. It’s obvious he’s crazy in love. He can’t take his eyes off you.” She smiled wistfully. “My husband hasn’t looked at me that way for years. But,” she continued cheerfully, “we’re happy for Stephen. For both of you.”

Dominique was shocked at the American woman’s openness—she spoke as if Stephen and Dominique were married—but it made it easier for Dominique to say what was on her mind. “You don’t… blame me?” she asked hesitantly.

The American flipped her wrist nonchalantly. “For what? People have to be realistic. In a situation where there are long separations from a spouse, and where the marriage isn’t happy, who’s to blame for the consequences?”

Dominique thought of Solange. Solange would find someone to blame and it would most certainly be Dominique! She shuddered to think of the uproar if her mother ever learned that she was in love with a married man—and that he was in love with her.

The ballroom of the French officers’ club was awash in scarlet poinsettias. Banks of them obscured the murals on the walls and were reflected in the mirror-like parquet of the floor.

Dominique and Stephen stopped short just inside the entrance and gasped at the holiday display, their eyes widening at the extravagance of the scene. Now Dominique understood why ladies had been requested to wear Christmas red. Women on the dance floor spun to the music, their red gowns flying in circles about them, rubies and other precious stones sparkling against their bare skin. The effect was magical.

Stephen smiled down at Dominique. “Your dress matches the poinsettias.”

Dominique laughed and smoothed the skirt of her full, crimson velvet gown. Its portrait collar plunged to a low V in front and back, creating the perfect setting for the diamond and ruby necklace she wore, so delicate that it looked like the dewy silk of a spider’s web. The bottommost stone glittered enticingly at the apex of her lush cleavage.

Stephen gazed at the stone, then followed it with his eyes to the even more inviting sight below. He leaned close and squeezed her hand. “I’m so proud you’re with me.”

Dominique looked up at him, radiant with love. She tried not to think of their impending separation: he would return to England until after the New Year, she to Cairo. She got a knot in her stomach every time she thought of the three weeks without him. He had become such a fixture in her life that she could barely imagine it. Yet she knew he was eager to see his children and loved him for feeling that way.

The time would go quickly, she tried to reassure herself. There would be much required of her as Solange prepared for her annual New Year’s Eve gala. And then there would be a full calendar of invitations.

In any event, there was no use spoiling tonight’s beautiful party by brooding about Stephen’s departure. Dominique laced her arm through his and let him lead her through the crowd to their reserved table at the side of the room.

Amidst greetings and friendly kisses, the couple finally arrived at their table for two. Once seated, they were barely noticeable in the hubbub around them, and they liked it that way. They ordered champagne and settled back to listen to the orchestra. It was playing the lively “Shall We Dance” from
The King and I.
Stephen lightly drummed the tabletop in time to the music. Dominique couldn’t keep from tapping her foot. The waiter reappeared a few moments later and filled their glasses with a flourish.

When he had gone, Stephen lifted his glass and said, “Happy New Year, darling.” He uttered the words with zest, his spirits obviously high.

“Happy New Year.” Dominique matched his tone. It was impossible not to feel cheerful when the room glittered with such life and fun—and when she was with Stephen. He looked resplendent in his dress uniform, his shoulders broad and square, his face brimming with male vitality, his eyes sparkling. She remembered with amusement her initial impression of him. How could she have ever considered him distant?

A look of secretive excitement came over Stephen. He leaned across the table and took Dominique’s hand. “I have a special Christmas gift for you,” he said softly.

Dominique grinned at Stephen. “I brought your present, too.” She withdrew from her clutch a small box and slid it across the table to Stephen. “You first.”

Stephen at once recognized the name of the store embossed on the gold box. He asked with endearing enthusiasm, “Is this what I think it is?” He slid his finger under the seal and carefully removed the lid. “It is!” He withdrew an intricately detailed crystal paperweight in the shape of a book, which he had several times admired in a shop near Dominique’s apartment. Stephen held up the translucent object so that the light from the chandelier overhead passed through it. He smiled. “I don’t have to tell you that I love it, because you know it already.”

Dominique flushed with pleasure.

Stephen returned the paperweight to its box and moved it to the middle of the table, where it would be out of harm’s way. Then he reached into his breast pocket and drew out a satin-covered jeweler’s box. Without a word, he placed it in front of Dominique.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise at its unmistakable shape. Ever so slowly, she reached forward and opened it. Embedded in soft white satin lay a diamond solitaire. For a moment, Dominique could do nothing but stare. It seemed alive with fire, its facets reflecting each light from the chandelier, each flicker of the candle on their table.

Dominique raised her eyes to Stephen. There was no misreading the intention behind the ring. One part of her soared at this evidence of his love. The other part, the stronger part, shrank from it. She slammed the box shut. “I’m sorry,” she said, heartsick, “I can’t accept this.”

Stephen looked dumbfounded. “What do you mean?”

“No, Stephen,
what do you mean?”
Dominique hardened her voice to cover the shaky feeling inside.

Stephen stared at the box. With quiet determination, he said, “I mean to marry you.”

Dominique’s reaction was immediate. She shook her head in a rapid, panicky movement. “We can’t do that!” she cried.

Stephen’s eyes bore into her. “We can’t keep on this way!” He was emphatic. “We’re together
more
than most married couples. We hate being apart. It’s like the best sort of marriage, except—” He stopped and looked away with a sound of frustration.

There was only one thing missing, but they both knew the rules. Dominique couldn’t have spoken of it if Stephen had been looking directly at her. But to his profile, she was able to say, “I’m grateful you haven’t pressed me about that—”

He turned then, and the expression on his face brought her to a dead halt. For the first time, Dominique saw the fighter pilot he had once been. His mouth was taut and strained; his eyes, gray steel, unwavering; his nostrils pinched. In his temple, a vein throbbed. He was almost frightening in his intensity. And he seemed devastatingly powerful. Did he know how much she wanted him, too?

“Dominique, I’m not a boy anymore.” His voice was as steely as his regard. “This is torture and I can’t keep pretending otherwise.” He leaned forward and took her hands in his. Something he read in her eyes softened his expression. “I know what your upbringing has been. For God’s sake, it’s practically medieval how young women are raised here!” He swallowed, then went on in a calmer voice. “Look, I want to marry you more than anything in the world. It’s the only way for us.”

Dominique couldn’t suppress the euphoric drumming of her pulse at his words. She wondered if Stephen could feel it pounding where his fingers brushed her wrist. “If you were free!” Dominique’s voice was fervent. “Or maybe if it was just your wife. But”—her eyes grew moist— “I remember when my father died. And… I can’t put another child through that kind of loss.” Stephen opened his mouth to protest, but Dominique continued hurriedly. “I know it’s not the same situation, but…” She straightened and withdrew her hands from his.

Stephen looked wounded by the action. “But you know how things are! This is inevitable!” he argued.

Was it? What a mess if he left his family! What a quagmire of hurt feelings and accusations. Stephen would find it more odious than he would ever admit, Dominique knew. “You’re lying to yourself—and to me—if you say that you could leave your children,” she said dully. She picked up the box from the table and placed it directly in front of him. It was the hardest thing she’d ever done.

Stephen blanched. He sat perfectly still. When he spoke, his tone was one of absolute conviction. “I’m going to work this out.”

Dominique’s face was tight, frozen. “Put the box away, Stephen. Please. This is already too difficult.”

Stephen’s expression was implacable. “Look, I don’t want to embarrass you with a scene so I’ll do as you ask for now.” He glared at the box for a moment. Then he snatched it from the table and, with an angry, jerky motion, returned it to his breast pocket. “But this isn’t the end of the discussion!”