“Were you in love with him?” Sam asked her, feeling brazen.

“Probably. For a while anyway. At twenty-one, it's awfully difficult to tell the difference between love and good sex. I'm not sure I ever figured out which one it was.” She smiled cheekily at him, and as he looked at her, he wished suddenly that he were young enough to have her. She was terrific. But then he thought of Alex. And it was as though Daphne saw that.

“And what about you? Are you in love with your wife? I hear she's very pretty.” She was, for forty-two, for any age. But she was not quite as outrageous or even as striking as Daphne and he knew it.

“Yes, I love her,” he answered firmly, as Daphne watched him intently.

“That's not what I asked you, is it? I asked if you were in love with her. There's a difference,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Is there? We've been married for more than seventeen years. That's a long time, you get very attached to someone by then. I love her very much,” he said, as though trying to convince himself, but he still hadn't answered Daphne's question.

“Are you telling me you don't know if you're still in love with her? Were you ever?” she persisted, playing cat and mouse with him, but he didn't mind it.

“Of course I was.” He sounded shocked at the question, and Simon was amused by the intense look on their faces from across the table. They were huddled together, as though solving all of life's greatest problems.

“Then when did it change? When did you stop loving her?” Daphne accused, sounding like a lawyer, and Sam wagged a finger at her.

“I never said that. That's a terrible thing to say.” Especially now. But all he could think about as he looked at her was Daphne.

“I didn't say it. You did. You said you were in love with her, but you don't seem to be able to tell me if you are now,” she said, looking incredibly sexy as she persisted.

“Sometimes marriage is like that. There are dead spots in the water sometimes, when you kind of run dry and get stale, and none of the right things seem to happen.”

“Is this one of those times?” she asked, her voice a velvet purr that tore at his insides.

“Maybe. It's hard to say.”

“For any particular reason? Did anything happen?”

“That's a long story,” he said almost sadly.

“Have you had affairs?” she asked bluntly, and this time he laughed at her.

“Has anyone ever told you that you're outrageous?” And beautiful …and sensual …and have skin like velvet….

“Completely.” She smiled dazzlingly at him. “Actually, I pride myself on it.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn't,” he tried to chide her unsuccessfully.

“At my age, I can do almost anything I want. I'm not quite old enough to be held seriously accountable, and old enough to know what I'm doing. I hate really young girls, don't you?” She leapt from one subject to another, as she flipped her long black hair over her bare shoulders, and she was incredibly alluring. In some ways, she was so much like Alex, and in others she was very different. She was much bolder, more outrageous, yet she had that razor-sharp mind, and the same long, lanky body. But she was much more overtly sexual than Alex had ever been, and Sam was embarrassed to admit that he liked it, but he hoped that no one knew it. She made him constantly want to tease her back, to play with her, to play a game that neither of them could lose. But he also knew full well that he was not free to play it. She knew that too. But it didn't seem to stop her from playing.

“What about you?” he teased her in answer to her question about young girls. “Do you like young men, or old ones?”

“I like all men,” she said naughtily, “but I prefer men your age,” she said smoothly.

“Shame on you,” he scolded softly, “that was pretty obvious.”

“I'm always obvious, Sam. I hate wasting time.”

“Me too. I'm married.”

“Is that a problem?” Her eyes bore straight into his, and he knew he had to be fair here.

“I think so. I don't do this.”

“That's too bad. It could be amusing.”

“I want more in life than ‘amusing.' That's a dangerous sport. I haven't played it in years. That's a game for a single man. The lucky devils.” He laughed right into her eyes, wishing for just an instant that he were younger and free again. She made him feel good, even if just for a minute. It was like eating cream puffs.

“I like you,” she said honestly. She liked the way he played fair and square and she thought his wife was a lucky woman.

“I like you too, Daphne. You're a terrific girl. You almost make me wish I were single.”

“Will you come to the discotheque with us after dinner?”

“I probably shouldn't. But I might.” He smiled at her, thinking about how much he'd have liked to dance with her, but how dangerous it might be, particularly right now, with Alex in the state she was in, and the tension between them.

But after they left the restaurant, the limousine was just standing there, and Daphne took his hand and pulled him in with the others, and he didn't have the heart to resist her. They went all the way downtown, to a place in SoHo he'd never heard of, and there was a wonderful blues band wailing away, and it seemed inevitable that they wound up in each other's arms, dancing in the dark nightclub, as he felt her body pressed against his, and he had to force himself repeatedly to think of Alex.

“I should go,” he said finally. It was very late, and there was a growing feeling of duplicity to what they were doing. There was no fooling himself now. He was married and she wasn't. No matter how attractive she was, he couldn't do this.

“Are you angry at me?” she asked softly, as he paid for their drinks, and he prepared to leave her with Simon.

“Of course not. Why should I be?” He was surprised by her question.

“I've made a shocking play for you tonight. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” She was apologizing for her behavior.

“You didn't. You flattered me. I'm twenty years older than you are, and believe me, if I could, I'd be after you in a flash, but I can't.”

“You flatter me,” she said demurely, looking at him with eyes that tore his heart out.

“No, but I'd like to.” And then he volunteered something he hadn't meant to. “My wife is very sick.” He looked away as he said it, trying not to think of everything that had happened in the last two days, or the words that had passed between them. “It made things a little difficult. I'm not sure what's going to happen.”

“Very sick?” She didn't want to say the word “cancer,” but he understood what she was asking.

“Very sick,” he confirmed to her with a look of sorrow.

I'm sorry.

“Me too. That's not easy for her, or for me. And it makes things a little confusing.”

“I didn't mean to add to the confusion,” she said, sitting so close to him that he could see down her dress and he loved what he saw there.

“You didn't add to the confusion at all. Don't apologize. This is the most fun I've had in years …and I need it, very badly.” He looked at her again and something came between them just then that surprised him, there was an exchange of real feelings. This wasn't playtime anymore, this was a person he could talk to, and suddenly he didn't want to leave her. “Shall we have a last dance?” It was not what he had intended at all, and he was annoyed at himself for a moment, and then overwhelmed with tenderness and desire for her as they danced cheek to cheek to the music. Her body molded against his, it was as though he'd been made for her and she for him, and they danced through two more songs, and finally he forced himself to leave her. He walked her back to Simon, regretfully, like a borrowed jewel he hated to return, but knew he had to.

“You two seem to be having a good time,” he said pointedly. He could see what had been happening, and he was intrigued by it. Sam didn't seem the type for extramarital adventures, but he was sure coming on to his cousin. Then again maybe he was all talk, he was going home, wasn't he? “She's a little vixen, isn't she?” Simon teased.

“Take good care of her,” Sam said seriously, and then left them. He was lost in thought all the way home in the cab, remembering what it had been like dancing with her. It was a memory he wouldn't soon forget, and as he walked into the apartment, he felt guilty toward Alex. And even more so, when he walked into his bedroom and saw Carmen's message from her on his pillow. But that night it wasn't Alex's face he saw as he drifted off to sleep. It was Daphne's.





Chapter 9

He called Alex the next morning when he got up, but the nurse said she was in therapy, and wouldn't be back for half an hour. And by then, he was on his way downtown to the office. He had a client waiting for him, and a thousand phone calls to make, and he didn't have a chance to call her again. And after his clients left, he ran into Daphne in the hallway. Her face lit up like spring the moment she saw him, but she was extremely polite and businesslike as they chatted for a few minutes, and then she walked slowly back to his office with him and said that she hoped she hadn't made a nuisance of herself the night before. She had gotten carried away, and from now on, it would be strictly business, she promised.

“How disappointing,” he laughed at her. “I think I was the nuisance.”

“Not at all.” Her voice was a caress, but her behavior was completely proper, and very English. “I don't usually make a habit of chasing married men. You're just so attractive, Sam, you really should be sprayed with dark paint, or have a bag over your head before you go out with strangers. You're really quite dangerous.” She flattered him and she played, and he loved it.