To See The Daises ... First (13 page)

***

Ben's feet felt like lead weights as he walked up the last flight of stairs. It had been surprisingly easy finding out about her. Too easy. Why hadn't some benevolent fate stepped in and made the job more difficult, letting him keep her just a little while longer?

Chelsea Barron. Even the name had a moneyed ring. The Barron heiress, socialite. . . Twenty-eight and sophisticated, not twenty-five and naive. Already he could feel Sunny slipping away from him, and the hole she would leave behind gaped painfully.

He had been so afraid he would find that she was married. God, what a laugh. Married would have been better. He could have fought a man for her. But he couldn't compete with a lifestyle, a heritage. She represented everything he had left behind, only in gigantic proportions.

When her memory returned, there was no way she would stay. What did he have to offer her that could compare with what she already had? An uncertain future with a man who hadn't even decided what he wanted out of life? Not much to offer an heiress.

He paused outside the apartment door, postponing seeing her for as long as possible. He knew he couldn't keep her here now. Not after learning what he had today. People frantic with worry were searching for her.

His shoulders drooped in defeat as he considered what her leaving would mean. How could he let her go? Life had allowed her into his world for such a brief, beautiful time. What kind of lousy fate would tempt him with heaven, only to jerk it away before he could grasp it?

Suddenly his lips thinned and his gray eyes flashed tempered steel as his chin came up in determination. Why should he let her go without keeping a part of her for himself? He had as much right to her as anyone in her world. He had found her, named her, loved her.

No, he corrected silently. He loved an illusion. An illusion he called Sunny. Maybe Chelsea Barron wouldn't want a dreamer like him, but Sunny did. And he had the right to keep the illusion as his own. Right or wrong, when she left, he would have a part of her that could never be taken from him.

His face set in harsh, immovable lines, he unlocked the door and walked in.

***

Sunny stared out the bedroom window at the overgrown garden below. The past two days had seemed an eternity. Ben had not changed his mind about finding out who she was and he had worked at it with the grim determination of a bulldog. She screamed silently as she felt her world crumbling around her and was powerless to stop it Letting the curtain fall, she turned away from the window. She walked restlessly toward the living room, then paused when she heard the front door close.

He was back. Already she could feel his presence in the apartment and her steps quickened, a smile of greeting curving her lips. But when she entered the room and saw him standing stiffly in the middle of the room, her smile faded.

He knew. Her eyes ran frantically over the harsh lines of his face, the thoughts careening wildly in her brain. How could it have happened so fast? It had been only two days. It should have taken longer.

Her gaze slipped away from him, darting around the room in panic. She had to stop it. She couldn't allow it to happen. Some way there had to be an escape from what she saw in his eyes,

A muffled sound made her jerk her gaze forward, and she watched warily as he walked steadily toward her. When he was standing directly in front of her, the harsh lines in his face suddenly faded, to be replaced by a painful vulnerability. He needed her. The desperation in his tense body reached out to her, pulling her toward him.

He lifted a hand to touch her face, a gentle, hesitant caress that tore at her heart. Suddenly his hand fell to his side and his eyes closed, but not before she had seen the stark, ugly pain that filled them. Turning away abruptly, he strode across the room to the window, pulling back the curtain with a hand that shook.

She wouldn't let him run away from it this time. Not when he needed her so badly. Not when she needed him with the same desperation. She moved swiftly to stand behind him at the window, reaching out to touch his arm.

The touch was a catalyst, loosing a storm that shook them both as he dragged her into his arms and buried his face in her neck. She felt the trembling need in his body as he held her close. Then he raised his hands to thread his fingers through her hair, bringing her lips to his and holding her fast.

In that moment two civilized people disappeared and in their places stood a man and a woman. Basic, beautiful, natural, their bodies fashioned to fit together in exquisite pleasure.

"We won't stop this time." The words she murmured against his lips weren't a question, but a prayer of thanks.

"No. We won't stop." Bending down, he picked her up and carried her into the bedroom, his movements never faltering as he placed her gently on the bed.

Kneeling beside her, he stared into her eyes, and somehow she felt as though he were trying to reach down into her soul. "It's what you want, isn't it?"

She reached up to touch his face, absorbing the warmth through her fingertips. Her next words came out in a hoarse whisper. "More than anything on earth."

Exhaling a deep, shuddering breath, he reached down and began to ease the top button of her blouse open. Hands that shook didn't impede his progress, and when the last button was free, he spread the fabric slowly, with exquisite care.

From that moment on, Sunny felt she was seeing their loving through special eyes. Each movement, each caress was being etched indelibly into her brain. She eagerly helped him remove her clothes, and held close to her the hunger in his face. She felt his touch run through her like an electric shock, and the secret eye recorded the beauty of his dark hand cupping her pale breast. She felt his tongue swirl around the dark, erect nipple, and she filed away the concave shape of his cheeks as he sucked it deep into his mouth.

And when he stood to remove his clothes, she felt the heat and need vibrating between them, but her mind kept the image of his rough, masculine beauty—the broad chest with its thick mat of curling hair that narrowed to a thin line on slim hips before spreading again between hard, muscular thighs.

And taking up the better part of the file being built by her secret eye was the intensity, the deep pleasure etched on his face when he saw the effect his touch and his presence had on her. When she reached out to stroke the places her eyes had already found, he gave a harsh animal cry and clasped her close, bringing the full length of her naked body to his.

This was it. The reason for her existence, the reason they had found each other after stumbling around in the dark. It was for this, because they were meant to be one.

Running frantic hands over his hard, male body, she sought to imprint the essence of his being on her soul. It didn't matter what happened tomorrow. Now and forever they were inescapably bound.

***

Ben couldn't prevent a groan of near pain from escaping when she wrapped her slender legs around him. Dear Lord, what had he ever done to deserve such a miracle of pleasure? She gave so freely. She needed and hungrily accepted what he had to give.

Please God, don't let me hurt her. Let me give her as much pleasure as she's giving me.

Slowly he drew back, hesitating for the first time. Then what he saw in her face wiped out his doubts. She was waiting for him. Her need was as great as his.

Grasping her buttocks with his hands, he raised her and with luxuriously slow movements eased his pulsating shaft inside her warmth. He stopped before penetrating fully and, holding her firmly, began short, teasing strokes.

He felt her nails digging into his shoulders, heard her wild little animal cries, and joy exploded inside his chest. Never before had he been more concerned with a woman's pleasure than his own. He could feel the rippling sensations quiver through her and it fed his hunger, making him ache to give her more.

"Please, Ben—now!" she gasped and the words struck a place deep in the heart of him.

"Yes—" Was that hoarse croak his? "Now!"

He thrust deep and hard, feeling the intensity build to incredible dimensions as her moist warmth surrounded him. He drove fester and faster as his actions were taken out of his control and he moved to the command of a need that was basic and older than memory.

Then the miracle happened. He heard her cry out his name and felt violent shudders ripping through her body, vibrating down his heated length. As though they were bound soul to soul, her pleasure triggered his own, and he felt the chaotic explosion of senses in his body before her release had barely begun.

When finally he eased out of the euphoric mists, he lay beside her, pulling her slick, heated body to his, his heart swelling when he felt her nestle closer and bury her face in his neck.

***

Together they lay on the disheveled bed, watching the afternoon turn into evening, the evening into night: With each spell of loving, after each sensuous storm, they thought surely now they would have their fill. And each time they found their hunger for each other growing. On into the night they loved, each pushing aside the knowledge that this one night might have to last them forever, but each sharing the secrets of their bodies and their minds, holding nothing back, making each moment count, because they knew the night would inevitably bring tomorrow.

Nine

Sunny tried again to open her eyes, but the lids were too heavy to obey the weak commands her brain was sending. Something was nagging at the edges of her mind. There was something she needed to do, something she wanted to remember.

Suddenly a rush of warmth flooded her body as memories of the night before rushed to the surface. Ben, loving her, pleasing her, bringing sensations that even now she found hard to believe. He had hidden nothing from her, had allowed her to hide nothing from him. He had shown tenderness and hunger, vulnerability and strength. He had given her new dimensions of himself to love.

She rolled sideways, needing to renew the promises she had made with her body last night, to feel the loving warmth of him again, but her arms met emptiness. Forcing her eyes open, she gazed for a moment at the indentation in the pillow beside her, then buried her face in it, inhaling the scent of him that still lingered there.

Stretching her arms above her head, she came fully awake. "If the mountain won't come to Mohammed, Mohammed will go to the mountain," she murmured, smiling as she rose from the bed and walked toward the living room.

She had reached the middle of the room when he walked in. Halting abruptly, he stood paralyzed as though the sight of her were unexpected. Then a steely flame kindled in his eyes as he slid his gaze over her naked body. He started toward her, only to stop again, shaking his head sharply as if he needed to clear it.

Turning away from her, he said, "We need to talk as soon as you're dressed."

His stiff, toneless voice trailed behind him as he left the room, and suddenly the memories of the night in his arms faded, to be replaced by other less beautiful memories. He knew who she was.

The soaring happiness she had felt on awakening drained away in a weakening rush, leaving her pale and shaken. Turning away from the open door, she pulled on her clothes with jerky, mechanical movements, then walked slowly into the next room. He was standing at his usual place in front of the window as though something out there would provide answers he couldn't find anywhere else.

Apparently, he heard her footsteps, for he said in a quiet voice, "Sit down, Sun—" He stopped abruptly and she saw his fingers tighten their hold on the curtain. "Sit down."

She sat down on the couch, waiting. Slow, silent moments passed before he spoke again, and when he did the lack of emotion in his voice frightened her.

"Your name is Chelsea Barron. You're twenty-eight years old. You live with your father, R. L. Barron, on the outskirts of Houston, and you were kidnapped two days before you—the day before you awoke in that room."

"Kidnapped?" she whispered. Why would anyone want to kidnap her? The facts were coming too fast. "R. L. Barron?" The name told her nothing about the man who was supposed to be her father.

"I take it the name means nothing to you?" He turned and walked to the chair behind the desk. She shook her head in a mute, negative gesture. It was all too much. How was she supposed to react? Surely he didn't expect her to be pleased? "R. L. Barron is one of the San Francisco Barrons. You are one of the San Francisco Barrons." When she stared at him blankly, he continued impatiently, "Money . . . power . . . you name it, the Barrons have it. Old money. Inherited power. You're one of the beautiful people, Sun—Chelsea."

"Don't call me that," she gasped. "I'm not Chelsea. I'm Sunny."

"For now. But as soon as you remember, you'll be Chelsea again." He laughed harshly. "You just took a little vacation away from her."

The bitterness in his voice tore at her. He didn't like Chelsea Barron. Suddenly something about the name struck her. "Barron? Then I'm not married?" Relief quivered through her body, then she raised her head and saw a new element in his eyes that chased away the relief.

"No, you're not married. Apparently you don't believe In it. Just in engagements."

What had happened to the man who had held her in his arms last night and told her things he said he had never told anyone else? When had the other Ben taken over? "Tell me, please," she said in a choked whisper.

For a moment it seemed that her Ben was back. She saw a flash of deep pain in his eyes, but only for a second. Then it was gone and she saw only cold steel.

"Last night—" He stopped and looked down at his tightly clenched fists. "Last night I made a decision. Maybe it was the wrong one, but I don't regret it. I knew Sunny wanted to give what I was so desperate to take. And I knew Chelsea wouldn't miss it."

She laid a hand to her throat as the tightness threatened to choke her. "Just tell me." Don't punish me any more, she begged silently. "Please, just tell me."

She stared across the room at him and suddenly, as though it were written on the wall behind him, she knew. He wasn't punishing her. He was punishing himself. He was frightened and it was an emotion he had never learned to handle. He was punishing himself for being afraid.

He lifted his head and their eyes clashed. They stared at each other silently for a moment, then, with what seemed like a great effort, he pulled away from her gaze. "That part doesn't matter," he said huskily. "What matters is that your father is going crazy trying to find you."

"If he's so rich, why didn't the newspapers carry the story of my abduction?" she asked, praying there had been a mistake. "That was part of the reason I felt I didn't belong to anyone."

"The kidnappers threatened to kill you if your father contacted the police. He got in touch with the authorities immediately, but kept it under wraps. If he had let the newspapers get hold of the story, the kidnappers would have known he had broken his word."

He certainly seemed to have all the facts. "How did you find out about all this? Did you get in touch with the police?"

"No, I was going to let Charlie handle that for me, but as soon as I gave him your description of the man who attacked you, he recognized him. Apparently the man has been in and out of trouble for years. We found him and—" He paused and his face twisted in remembered fury. "We found him and he told us what we wanted to know." He stared past her as though viewing something she couldn't see. "He won't hurt anyone else," he finished in a voice that sent shivers down her spine.

She didn't want to know what had happened to the man with the blond hair. She didn't think she could handle that on top of everything else. She sat unmoving, concentrating fiercely on what he had told her. Then it occurred to her that he hadn't touched on the one thing that had haunted her so unflaggingly.

"The man, Ben. The one in my dreams. Did you find out who he is—and what I did to him?"

Strangely, the question seemed to disconcert him, as though he had forgotten about the dream. "No." He stood and walked around the desk to lean against it. "To tell you the truth, I just assumed he was . . . one of your fiances."

"Fiances? How many did I have?" she choked out in astonishment.

Suddenly, miraculously, his eyes sparkled with amusement. "Apparently even when you're Chelsea, you don't do the expected. In the last four years you've had six fiances."

"Six!" She jumped to her feet, swinging around in agitation. "No one has six fiances."

"You did." He chuckled. "Two of them lasted less than a week. None of them held on for more than three months."

"That's—that's depraved!" she sputtered, turning to face him. She started to say more, then realized she was losing the opportunity to talk to her Ben. She had to make him open up to her before he disappeared again.

"Ben." She moved closer to him, searching her mind for the right thing to say. "Chelsea doesn't have a fiance right now, does she?"

He watched her warily. "No . . . According to the old newspapers I went through, you broke your latest engagement a week before you were kidnapped."

"Then there's really nothing that can change what"—she swallowed nervously—"what we have."

"Nothing but a dream and a name," he said stiffly. "Even if you^weren't engaged to the man in your dreams, you love him. You said so yourself." He took a deep breath. "And if he didn't exist, there's still the matter of who you are."

"I'm Sunny." She stared at him stubbornly, daring him to deny it.-

"You were born Chelsea and you'll go back to Chelsea."

Closing her eyes, she let the quiet determination in his voice sway her. Could he be right? "I don't want to go back to Chelsea," she whispered.

"You have no choice." He moved away from the desk and turned his back on her. "I've called your father. I told him, you would come home this morning. He wasn't too happy with me for not telHng him where you were, but I thought you would like to go on your own."

"I don't want to go at all!"

"I phoned for a cab and IVe already given them the address." It was as though she hadn't spoken. "It will be here in half an hour."

She turned away, wrapping her arms around her waist. "Last night you said you loved me."

He didn't speak for a moment, but she could hear his harshly drawn-in breath. "Last night I gave in to a fantasy. Today I'm facing reality."

"Is that all we had? A fantasy?"

"That's it." His voice had the hard ring of finality. "An illusion created by the'warped mind of a man who makes Don Quixote look like a model of reason."

She moved her hands to her chest as the pain became unbearable. "And when I remember everything, when I'm what you consider real, you won't want me?" With angry movements, she brushed her fists across her cheeks to wipe away the tears that were streaming down her face.

She waited—and waited. It seemed that she waited forever. Then she knew his silence was her answer.

Turning around, she saw him through the blur of tears. She tried to shape her lips into a smile, but couldn't seem to control their trembling. "I think I'll wait downstairs for the cab."

His head jerked up. "That's not necessary," he said, his voice harsh.

"Yes—" She gave a choked laugh. "Yes, it's necessary," she whispered urgently, then walked out of the room.

Sunny covered the three flights of stairs in a daze and it was only as she reached the main floor that she slowed and gave the banister a last, lingering caress before walking out the front door.

Lowering herself wearily to sit on the stoop, she wrapped her arms around her knees and laid her head against her arms, waiting for the arrival of a cab that would take her away from everything that was dear in life.

It was several moments before she felt a touch on her elbow and opened her eyes to see Mary Louise sitting beside her.

"I saw you leave and called you, but you didn't hear," she said, her voice seeming even more gruff than usual.

Sunny raised her head and smiled. "Mary Louise, how would you like to have a rich friend?"

The girl looked at her thoughtfully. "I have a friend," she said at last.

Sunny ran her eyes over the girl. "You look good In jeans. I'm sorry we didn't get around to cutting your hair." She sighed in regret. "Now, I want to rephrase that question. Would I still be your friend if my name were different and I had pots of money?"

Suddenly Sunny saw fear in her eyes, quickly hidden by accusation and anger. "You're leaving!" she shouted. "You're leaving and you won't be back."

"Mary Louise," she began, laying a hand on the girl's arm. "We can still be friends. You can—"

"Who are you trying to kid?" she sneered. "If you're rich, why should you have anything to do with people like Ben and me? And what makes you think we'd want you to?" she added for good measure. Jumping up, she ran back into the house, her plump body moving clumsily in anger.

Sunny watched her in silence, then dropped her head back to her knees. Fear again. Would it never end? It was ruling them all, controlling their every action.

As she sat waiting, counting the minutes that ticked swiftly by, she could feel all the emotion drain from her. When at last the cab pulled up before her, she rose and walked to it, numb to all feeling.

It was almost a relief to be able to view the passing scenery without emotion, without feeling the pain of knowing the car was taking her farther and farther away from Ben.