could look at Victor and be pleased
with the thought of what their life could be like together. Maybe it was only because of what had
happened today that she felt trapped. After Chance it all looked so sterile.
"How do you feel about having children someday?" she asked suddenly.
He froze in surprise, then smiled indulgently, "I think children might be wonderful, someday.
When both our careers are going well, anything could happen."
"But that could be years for me. I'm twenty-six what if I don't want to wait that long?" she
persisted, feeling her eyes prickle.
His smile twisted, and his eyebrows drew together.
"And throw out all your hard work? You're tired, darling. Everything will look better tomorrow."
"Will it?" she whispered.
"Of course it will." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her lips.
It was a light, undemanding pressure, warm and pleasant enough, but no fireworks. Mary
dutifully kissed him back, and kept her eyes closed to hide how teary she was.
He pulled back, looking as smooth and unruffled as ever. "Good night, darling."
No "I'll walk you -to your door", no gentility, no protectiveness, no romance. "Good night, Vic,"
she whispered.
She climbed out of the car, entered the house without looking back, and went disconsolately to
bed.
Mary slept long and hard, and then a large, shadowed figure slid into her bed. He was a familiar
figure, that man, very much loved and desired. She murmured wordlessly and held her arms out
to him, and he pulled her against his warm, naked body.
His wise, sensual fingertips woke her to a piercing pleasure. He whispered things in her ear, love
words, promises. She clung to him, believing in the passion, the promise. He knew everything
about her and cherished the knowledge, and spent his life protecting what they shared. Just one
thing bothered her. She couldn't remember what he looked like. She stroked the hair off his
forehead, felt it slide silkenly between her fingers, and tried and tried to picture his face.
It was too dark to see his features. She reached to turn on' the bedside lamp, but the light switch
was broken. Then he kissed her hard and slid away. She awoke, still aroused, her sweaty legs
tangled in the bed sheets. Loneliness flooded her as she realized it had just been a dream.
A splinter of bright sunlight showed in the crack of her bedroom curtains. She rolled over to
glance at her clock. It was almost three in the afternoon. Mary curled into a miserable ball, a
pillow tucked against her stomach. What was the matter with her? She'd never had such an erotic
dream before, and certainly had never dreamed with such longing of a life partner.
Sure she wanted to get married. Sure she wanted children. But those had always been rather
distant desires, something that she wanted to have, someday, when she was older and ready for it,
when she'd met the right man.
Then she would explore, with eagerness and faith, all the intimacies that a husband and wife
shared, both the physical and emotional. Until then she would be content to wait, a chrysalis in a
cocoon, for that first trembling emergence.
Tim had been five years old when their parents had died, and Mary had been just seventeen. The
latter part of her teenage years-indeed, all through undergraduate school-had been devoted to
being his surrogate mother.
She hadn't needed to take on such a demanding role. Their family was rich, and they could have
afforded all kinds of quality child care; But she loved her brother deeply. She had wanted to do
it. At a time when other young women were dating and exploring adult relationships, and often
making disastrous mistakes,
Mary had been either studying or watching Tim grow up, sharing with her grandfather Tim's
childhood milestones. She'd taught him how to ride a bike. She'd been there, cheering and
waving a tearful goodbye on his first day of school. More than a brother, Tim was almost her
son.
By the time things had settled
with the thought of what their life could be like together. Maybe it was only because of what had
happened today that she felt trapped. After Chance it all looked so sterile.
"How do you feel about having children someday?" she asked suddenly.
He froze in surprise, then smiled indulgently, "I think children might be wonderful, someday.
When both our careers are going well, anything could happen."
"But that could be years for me. I'm twenty-six what if I don't want to wait that long?" she
persisted, feeling her eyes prickle.
His smile twisted, and his eyebrows drew together.
"And throw out all your hard work? You're tired, darling. Everything will look better tomorrow."
"Will it?" she whispered.
"Of course it will." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against her lips.
It was a light, undemanding pressure, warm and pleasant enough, but no fireworks. Mary
dutifully kissed him back, and kept her eyes closed to hide how teary she was.
He pulled back, looking as smooth and unruffled as ever. "Good night, darling."
No "I'll walk you -to your door", no gentility, no protectiveness, no romance. "Good night, Vic,"
she whispered.
She climbed out of the car, entered the house without looking back, and went disconsolately to
bed.
Mary slept long and hard, and then a large, shadowed figure slid into her bed. He was a familiar
figure, that man, very much loved and desired. She murmured wordlessly and held her arms out
to him, and he pulled her against his warm, naked body.
His wise, sensual fingertips woke her to a piercing pleasure. He whispered things in her ear, love
words, promises. She clung to him, believing in the passion, the promise. He knew everything
about her and cherished the knowledge, and spent his life protecting what they shared. Just one
thing bothered her. She couldn't remember what he looked like. She stroked the hair off his
forehead, felt it slide silkenly between her fingers, and tried and tried to picture his face.
It was too dark to see his features. She reached to turn on' the bedside lamp, but the light switch
was broken. Then he kissed her hard and slid away. She awoke, still aroused, her sweaty legs
tangled in the bed sheets. Loneliness flooded her as she realized it had just been a dream.
A splinter of bright sunlight showed in the crack of her bedroom curtains. She rolled over to
glance at her clock. It was almost three in the afternoon. Mary curled into a miserable ball, a
pillow tucked against her stomach. What was the matter with her? She'd never had such an erotic
dream before, and certainly had never dreamed with such longing of a life partner.
Sure she wanted to get married. Sure she wanted children. But those had always been rather
distant desires, something that she wanted to have, someday, when she was older and ready for it,
when she'd met the right man.
Then she would explore, with eagerness and faith, all the intimacies that a husband and wife
shared, both the physical and emotional. Until then she would be content to wait, a chrysalis in a
cocoon, for that first trembling emergence.
Tim had been five years old when their parents had died, and Mary had been just seventeen. The
latter part of her teenage years-indeed, all through undergraduate school-had been devoted to
being his surrogate mother.
She hadn't needed to take on such a demanding role. Their family was rich, and they could have
afforded all kinds of quality child care; But she loved her brother deeply. She had wanted to do
it. At a time when other young women were dating and exploring adult relationships, and often
making disastrous mistakes,
Mary had been either studying or watching Tim grow up, sharing with her grandfather Tim's
childhood milestones. She'd taught him how to ride a bike. She'd been there, cheering and
waving a tearful goodbye on his first day of school. More than a brother, Tim was almost her
son.
By the time things had settled
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