Free Passion's Promise by Danielle Steel Page A

It was dark in the apartment. Mark leaned out of bed to light a candle and then snuggled back into her arms. "Want to go out for dinner?" "No."
    "Me neither, but I'm hungry, and you didn't buy any food, did you?" She shook her head. "I was in too much of a hurry to get home. Somehow I was more anxious to see you than to see Fiorella."
    "No big deal. We can sup on peanut butter and Oreos." She answered with a choking sound and a hand clasped to her throat. Then she laughed and they kissed and they made their way to the bathtub where they splashed each other generously before sharing his one purple towel. With no monogram. From Korvette's.
    She was thinking, as she dried herself, that SoHo had come too late for her. Maybe at twenty it would have seemed real, perhaps then she might have believed it. Now it was fun . . . special . . . lovely . . . Mark's, but not hers. Other places belonged to her, all those places didn't even want, but inadvertently owned.
    "Do you dig what you do, Kezia?" She paused for a long moment before answering, and then shrugged.
    "Maybe yes, maybe no, maybe I don't even know."
    "Maybe you ought to figure it out."
    "Yeah. Maybe I should figure it out before noon tomorrow." She had remembered the luncheon engagement with Whit.
    "Is there some big deal tomorrow?" He looked puzzled, and she shook her head as they shared a handful of cookies and the last of the wine.
    "Nope. No big deal tomorrow."
    "You made it sound like there was."
    "Nope. As a matter of fact, my love, I've just decided that when you reach my age very little is a 'big deal.'" Not even you, or your lovemaking, or your sweet delicious young body, or my own bloody life. . . .
    "May I quote you, Methuselah?"
    "Absolutely. They've been quoting me for years." And then in the clear autumn night, she laughed.
    "What's so funny?"
    "Everything. Absolutely everything."
    "I think you're drunk." The idea amused him, and for a moment she wished that she were.
    "Only a little drunk on life maybe . . . your kind of life."
    "Why my kind of life? Can't this be your kind of life too? What's so different about your life and my life for christ-sake?"
    Oh Jesus. This wasn't the time.
    "The fact that I'm running for state senator, of course!"
    He pulled her around to face him as she tried to laugh him off.
    "Kezia, why can't you be straight with me? Sometimes you give me the feeling that I don't even know who you are." His grip on her arm troubled her, almost as much as the question in his eyes. But she only shrugged with an evasive smile. "Well, I'll tell you, Cinderella, whoever you are, I think you're gassed."
    They both laughed as she followed him into the bedroom, and she wiped two silent, unseen tears from her cheeks. He was a nice boy, but he didn't know her. How could he? She wouldn't let him know her.
    He was only a boy.

Chapter 5
    "Miss Saint Martin, how nice to see you!**
    "Thank you, Bill. Is Mr. Hayworth here yet?"
    "No, but we have the table waiting. May I show yon far
    "No, thank you. I'll wait at the fireplace."
    The "21" Club was crammed with lunch-hungry bodies. Business executives, high-fashion models, well-known actors, producers, the gods of the publishing world, and a handful of dowagers. The Scions of Meccas. The restaurant was alive with success. The fireplace was a peaceful corner where Kezia could wait before entering the whirling currents with Whit "21" was fun but she wasn't quite in the mood.
    She hadn't wanted to come to lunch. It was strange the way it was all getting a little bit harder. Maybe she was getting too old for a double life. Her thoughts turned to Edward. Maybe she'd see him at "21"
    for lunch, but he was more likely to be found at Lutece or the Mistral. His luncheon leanings were usually French.
    "How do you suppose the children would feel about it if we took them to Palm Beach? I don't want them to feel I'm pushing out their father." The wisp of conversation made Kezia turn her head. Well, well, Marina Walters and