Call My Name (10 page)

She had ignored both the unsought compliment and the crux of his words, choosing, rather, to focus for the moment on the final exam that begged to be finished. With deadlines in sight, there was no choice, mercifully. The requests of the senator’s home office were quietly filed behind the myriad more important things that occupied Daran’s mind; they would wait, she reasoned, until the proper motivation struck her.

Subsequent phone calls from the persistent Mr. Morrow did nothing on that score. Each time, she assured him quietly that she would get something to him as soon as it was humanly possible. To her own amazement, she felt little guilt at the deception. The facts of a resume, a biography, and a photo were unimportant compared to the matter at the core of it all, the issue of children’s rights. On that vein, these local staffers were as helpless as she. It was the biggest fish that would either nourish the children or overturn the boat. Subconsciously she waited for him to nibble at the bait she offered.

CHAPTER 4

For two weeks she heard nothing. To her chagrin the frequent references to the senator, both in the papers and on television, attracted more of her attention than it had in the past. Not only was she unusually interested in everything he said—and none of it dealt with the Rights of Minors Act—analyzing his positions on the various issues, but her eye remained glued to every image of the man, comparing it with her own perception, then chiding herself accordingly when her own surpassed the other each and every time. With no further word from his office—
could they have given up so easily?
she wondered—and clear indication from the media coverage that the senator was part of a Congressional delegation on a fact-finding mission in Central America for the week, she relaxed in the knowledge that, while nothing positive could be done until he returned, nothing negative could happen either. The cynicism of the past was the dominant emotion guiding her approach to the senator. Whether she would indeed be working with him this summer remained to be seen. Though she would not go to Washington, there did appear to be several advantages to an agreement with him for some type of collaboration. His bill had not yet gone to committee; there would still be hearings, with witnesses and senators alike speaking on the merits and faults of the legislation. If she, in some small way, could influence the senator who had sponsored the bill at the start, the bill might be just that much stronger. Arrogance played no role at all in her reasoning; only the firm belief in her cause steadied her for the long, uphill climb.

Having spent a full two hours of vigorous physical movement, a climb of any kind, aside from that into a long, hot tub, was the furthest thing from her mind when she pulled the VW up to the house that Wednesday night. She hadn’t even bothered, with the weather warming in this first week of May, to change from her leotards and tights following her modern dance class. Rather, she had simply thrown the thigh-long sweater-jacket she had worn to school that morning over her shoulders as she ran from the gym to her car. This she pulled close about her as she climbed out now to eye the sporty silver Cimarron which stood, parked, before her front door. In another situation, particularly had the vehicle been a battered pick-up truck, she might have been alarmed. But this small, late-model Cadillac bore a low number plate and another, more unusual insignia, one which, in the darkness, she could not quite distinguish, but which spoke of some type of membership to something other than the State Penitentiary Inmates’ Association.

“Hello?” she called toward the car, intent on determining the identity of her mysterious caller. When no answer came, she slowly approached the silver door, gleaming now in the full moonlight. The car was empty. Instantly her eye flew to the front door, half hidden in shadow as the narrow overhang filtered the moonbeams randomly. There, distinct yet dark, was a tall form, relaxed back against the stucco surface of the house, just beside its door. Unsure, though not frightened, she waited for some sign that the figure saw her. It came in a low and tired flow of inexplicably exciting words.

“In another few minutes, I’d have been asleep on your doorstep. That would have been quite a thing for you to find when you returned. Where have you been so late? It’s nearly ten o’clock.” To her surprise, there was no indignance in his tone, but rather an unexpected concern which was too soft and sweet to ignore.

“I have a dance class every Wednesday night. It’s over at nine-thirty. I came directly.” Her heart was racing, though she certainly hadn’t run all the way. Now, as the dark figure stepped forward into the moonlit drive to which she had been rooted, she wished she had; at least, then, there might have been a plausible explanation for the thudding of her heart. “I-I thought that you were out of the country.” It was the first and only thing that came to mind.

The deep intonation was smooth and soothing, despite the fatigue it reflected. “I was. We returned this evening. I wanted to stop … home, before I returned to Washington. It was a tiring trip.” That went without saying.

“Why don’t you come in?” The offer came of its own accord, totally naturally. “I’ll make us a cup of coffee.”

Running the short distance back to her car, she retrieved her pocketbook, books, and the clothes she had worn that morning, only then realizing that the outfit she wore outlined her every curve. The shadows held her blush in confidence as she fumbled for her keys, then extended them to Drew as she flipped the car door shut with the force of one slim hip. The lights were ablaze in the front hall and living room by the time she entered. Had she been worried, however, about the provocation of her costume, it had been needless. Without a word the senator proceeded to the sofa, sank down on it, lay back his head, and closed his eyes, exhausted.

Dropping her things in a chair, Daran escaped to the kitchen, put on some coffee, retreated to her bedroom to put on a more conservative pair of slacks and a blouse, then returned to the living room, having taken the coffeepot and two cups from the kitchen. This time, however, there was no mistaking it. He was sound asleep, sprawled exactly as he had been when she left him, making no movement upon her reappearance. The full-cushioned armchair opposite him easily took her meager weight when, having placed the second cup on the coffee table, she sat down with her own, sipping slowly as she studied the man before her.

It was a unique opportunity. His tawny eyelashes made no flicker. His breathing was as steady as hers was not. With the luxury of leisure, her golden eyes absorbed the vision. His legs were long, one flexed at the knee, one straight, both lean and muscular as suggested by the mold of his charcoal gray slacks. His chest was as broad as she remembered it, the cuffs of his shirt were rolled to the elbow to tempt her with forearms that bore a manly smattering of hair of the same sun-bleached gold that she had seen on the backs of his hands. His face was a picture of relaxation, all tension gone, leaving a serene blend of suntan and the barest hint of a five o’clock shadow. The features were strong—eyes, nose, and mouth—yet strangely vulnerable at rest like this. The casual swath of hair that half-covered his forehead was lighter than it had been, bleached at scattered points by the heat of the Central American sun.

He was rugged yet handsome, virile and commanding; even in sleep, he mesmerized her. Sitting deeper into her chair, she tried to steady her breathing. Yet, looking at the form on her sofa rendered that task impossible. It was that biological attraction she had already recognized, and she could do nothing to blunt its force. A strange knot of emotion gripped her throat; swallowing, she willed it away. The faint tremor in her limbs was another matter. Helpless to move, she could only sit and stare at the man asleep on her sofa.

Minutes passed and the coffee in both cups cooled as she pondered the situation. In its entirety, it was an enigma. At best she could look at one moment to try to understand it. Strangely the tall and handsome man bore no resemblance to the senatorial presence others would have expected. For the second time now, he had appeared, on the spur of the moment, at her door. At the first, surprise and puzzlement had overwhelmed her. This time was different. Bizarre as was the scene, it seemed perfectly natural to her, that she should be waiting, watching, while Drew Charles slept. He was a man, and she found herself attracted to him as such. His work was another matter; but that had no relevance here.

As though awoken by the intensity of her thought process, he moved his head to the side, lifted a sinewed forearm to shade his eyes from the bright light in the room, then paused in mid-air, recalling at that moment exactly where he was. Slowly the sandy head turned toward her; slowly warm gray eyes reached out to her. A smile, soft and gentle, greeted her.

“Hi.” His voice had the force of a roar in its low whisper, tingling through her as she watched his awakening intently. “Sorry about that,” he murmured, though making no move to straighten or sit up. Rather, his gaze enveloped her in a snug cocoon. When he extended a hand in silent invitation, she had no choice but to accept it. The sureness of his grasp drew her down to sit on the edge of the sofa by his waist, her body turned sideways to face him. Unbelievably she was more comfortable than she had been before.

“How long did I sleep?” he asked, peering at his watch through sleepy eyes.

“Only about forty-five minutes. You must have been worn out. Was it a good trip?” Conversation was simpler than she had ever imagined, the words flowing spontaneously.

“Was it a good trip?” He shrugged faintly as he repeated her question. “I suppose it was. We met with diplomats and presidents and all sorts of other dignitaries. The usual smiles were exchanged and handshakes given. We were carted around to see the extent of progress in the various countries. And now we’re back. Yes, it was a good trip. I learned a great deal. As to how useful, in the long run, that information will be, I can’t say.” The note of futility in his last sentence discouraged her, as did the shadows that lingered beneath his eyes, nearly hidden among the sun-streaked lines radiating from their corners, but visible nonetheless.

“Will you get a chance to rest now?”

“Right now,” he confirmed with a grin. “And tomorrow morning. By noon, it’s back to work.”

Daran was aware of the hand that now curved around her waist, as his other continued to hold her own. If sex appeal was the term, the man had it. His presence cast over her a hypnotic spell, such that few thoughts could infiltrate the delicious feeling of peace that surrounded her. Her free hand itched to touch the lips that still held in the barest hint of a smile as he looked at her for a time that seemed infinite. Knowing she should say something, words escaped her. Entranced, she could do nothing but await his move. It was barely perceptible, the airiest shift of his hand from her waist to the curve of her spine, then to her neck, where it tangled in the mass of waves by her ear. When the pressure came gently, she acceded to it, allowing him to guide her head lower until their lips met in a soft, slow kiss. A shudder of excitement passed through her as it deepened gradually, pulling her into its force, sparking a response from her which quickly caught up with his in intensity.

His other hand released hers to travel the length of her arm, caressing the soft curve of her shoulder for but a minute before inching its way along the sensitive cord of her neck to mirror the first in its splay along the side of her head. She could not have lifted her head had she wanted to; his long fingers possessed it with merciful tenderness as his lips continued their soul-reaching kiss. She was breathless when he finally drew her back to look upon her flushed cheeks and soft lips. She was devastated when his eyes lingered on her own, tormenting her with the cushioned offer of their warm gray depths. Desirous only of recapturing the pleasure of the kiss that had ended, it was Daran’s head that now lowered, her lips that parted, her hands that journeyed the length of his chest to his shoulders and neck, then wound into the sandy fullness of his hair.

Sensual shock waves reverberated from one fingertip to the other as the heat of passion fanned out from her core to warm every inch of her. Never in her life had Daran been as aroused by a kiss; never had she ached as unconscionably for more. Reading her need, he touched her, a gentle hand circling her breast with deliberate slowness, building her pitch of arousal higher than before, driving her mad with frustration when his finger caressed the erotic nub, its pebbled peak responding instantly. Mindless amid the sensual eddy, she arched closer to him. A soft sigh of delight was her only protest when the buttons of her blouse gave way to his expert touch and the soft material fell to the side.

In a flash of movement, she found herself beneath him, pinned by the line of his thighs. His lips caressed her, his tongue racing fire down her neck as his hand released the catch of her bra, then moved to touch the creamy skin beneath. So lost was she in the pleasure of the moment, a pleasure that had been denied her woman’s body for far too long, that she was oblivious to the fact that he had lifted her from the sofa, his lips drugging her further as he carried her toward the room at the far end of the hall, the one lit, her bedroom. It was the feeling, abruptly returned, of time and place and identity, as her head touched the pillow and the looming form lowered itself over her, that triggered her resistance.

“Wait! P-please!” Whether it was the fact of a bed and its implications that shattered the web of primitive response, Daran would never know. In a wave of horror came other images of a bed and a man and the pain she had suffered, both physically and emotionally. “Stop!” she whispered hoarsely, temporarily confusing the time and place as she fought a rising panic.

Beneath the scrutiny of a bewildered silver-eyed gaze, the fact of her terror was inescapable. “What is it, Daran?” Drew asked softly. “What are you afraid of?”

The sound of his voice positively identified the man with her now, yet her fear persisted. He had seen hint of it before; never would he have expected as sharp a mushrooming, however, of something that seemed so out of place in this day and age. Levering himself farther from her, and astonished by his ability to do so when the height of his own arousal was so acute, he pondered the beauty of the face below, drained now of color and shot with tension.