He hadn't been able to stop himself from asking her out. It was too quick. Too early. Too hurried.
Too important to wait.
She'd refused him.
She'd tried to ease them through from the awkwardness he'd created, but he'd persisted, stopping only one step short of forcing her to declare that she didn't want to date him.
But now, she was dancing with him. She fit so seamlessly against him that it felt as if he'd been born to hold her.
Clark knew he'd been born to love her.
And he did.
From the moment he'd seen her, he'd loved her.
And his life would never be complete without her.
Part 3
The music faded. Their feet stalled.
Time, place, and other people encroached into their world-just-for-two.
Lois straightened. Clark's hand slid down her back to the upper curve of her hip. She ventured up, into his face, and saw her own dazed wonderment and awed disbelief reflected in his eyes.
"Thank you, Lois," he whispered. "That was beautiful."
It had been beautiful.
Two people had come together to dance. The music had blurred the distinction of individuality so thoroughly that her mind had seemed able to direct his movements.
But perhaps it hadn't been the music. Perhaps it was him.
That thought was exhilarating. And petrifying. Lois took half a step back. Clark's hands dropped from her body. She swayed.
He clasped her shoulders, swiftly, but with such gentleness that she trembled under his hold. "Lois?" he said. "Are you all right?"
She nodded and tried to smile. "I think I've just realised how tired I am."
He rotated his arm, allowing him to glance at the watch on his wrist without releasing her shoulders. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I should have thought. You've had a long day."
"Would you mind calling me a cab?" Lois asked. "And I need to get my suitcase."
"I'll get your suitcase," Clark said. "But …"
"But?"
"There's usually a long wait for cabs on Friday nights."
"I'm staying at the Holiday Inn," Lois said. "Is that too far to walk?" Anything further than fifty yards was going to be too far.
"It's about three miles from here," Clark said. "Would you let me drive you?"
That sounded blissful. Except …
Lois had filed too many stories detailing the terrible consequences of women leaving a public place with a stranger. "I can't take you away from the party," she said.
"It will only take a few minutes," Clark said. "But if you prefer, I can ask one of Jane's female friends to drive you."
He'd understood her qualms. And he hadn't been offended.
When he'd wanted a date with her, he'd asked.
With straightforward simplicity.
When she'd refused, he'd accepted her decision.
And although every alarm bell in her well-orchestrated chorus should be clanging a warning, they had been silenced by the guileless honesty emanating from those velvet brown eyes and the most compelling smile she had ever seen.
But Clark was far more than a gorgeous face and a set of spectacularly broad shoulders.
He hadn't tried to hide his eagerness for a date. And despite his palpable disappointment at her refusal, he'd continued to be considerate. He'd brought her exquisite coffee. He'd asked her to dance.
He hadn't assumed that the best dance of her life automatically earned him her trust.
"I'd like you to take me," Lois said shyly. "If it's not too much trouble."
"I'd like that, too," Clark said with a smile that permeated deep into her soul. "I'll get your suitcase and be right back."
The music began again as he disappeared from view, and Lois drifted through the whirl of dancers to a quiet spot on the sidelines.
Her body was exhausted. But her heart …
Her heart was soaring, still lost somewhere in Clark Kent's arms.
Would he come into the hotel? He didn't seem like the type of guy who would stop at the kerb to let a woman out and then drive away.
Would he come into her room? To carry her suitcase perhaps?
If he did, would he linger?
Would he try to kiss her goodnight? They had danced together and eaten together, but it hadn't been a date.
What would be standard for a date with Clark?
Would he open doors for her? Would he insist on paying? Would he make it abundantly clear how much he appreciated being in her company?
He would.
Would she enjoy it? Or would it make her feel constricted?
Jane rushed up to Lois. "I'm sorry I haven't spent much time with you," the soon-to-be-bride said. "But I could see that Clark was looking after you."
"I'm really tired, Jane," Lois said. "Clark is going to drive me to the hotel."
"The hotel, huh?" Jane said.
"It will only take a few minutes," Lois said primly. "Clark will be back here before you've even noticed he's gone."
Jane looked abashed. "I'm sorry, Lois," she said. "I didn't mean to imply anything. It's just … Clark is a great guy. I'd love to see him happy."
"I'm sure there are hundreds of Des Moines women who could make him happy," Lois said, doing her best to ignore the passionate protest marching across her heart like an army bent on defending its territory.
"I thought that when he arrived," Jane said. "But as far as I know, he hasn't had a girlfriend in the last two years."
Deciding not to comment on that piece of information, Lois said, "Thank you for inviting me to your wedding."
Jane beamed, and her attention swung to Clark as he walked towards them, carrying Lois's suitcase. "I don't think I'm the only one who's glad you came," she whispered loudly.
If Clark heard her comment, he gave no obvious response. "I'm driving Lois to her hotel," he said, addressing Jane. "Cabs are hard to find at this time of night."
Jane nodded, her smile including both of them. "See you tomorrow, Lois," she said as she hugged her guest. "Sweet dreams."
"Goodnight, Jane."
Outside, the air was cool, and Lois clasped her arms against her chest.
Clark removed his jacket and held it up for her.
"Won't you be cold?" she asked.
"No."
"OK. Thanks." She slipped her arms into the sleeves. His warmth caressed her. His cologne wafted into her nostrils. And the memory of his arm around her tingled across her skin.
"My car's this way," Clark said, pointing to the left, but not moving until she did.
At his car, he opened the passenger door for her. Once she was settled, he stowed her suitcase in the trunk and slipped into the driver's seat. "The Holiday Inn?"
"Yes, please."
Clark eased the car out from the parking bay and drove sedately towards a large intersection.
The contrast of darkness after the bright lights and the muted purr of the engine after the merriment and loud voices made this feel like a period of transition. The evening was over. The dance had finished. The music had fallen silent.
Soon, Lois would be in the hotel room, alone with her memories.
Memories she would do well to banish.
She was a hard-nosed reporter from Metropolis who had deliberately eradicated all traces of sentimentality from her life.
But when Clark had held her as they danced …
That hadn't felt like sentimentality. That had felt strong and secure. It had felt real.
What if exhaustion had paralysed her jerk-radar?
Could any man be as flawlessly noble as Clark appeared to be? As decent and honourable?
Lois had to know. And uncovering his real motivation was not going to be difficult for the woman who had dismantled an entire Senator's office in search of the truth.
||~||
At the hotel, Clark opened Lois's door and took her suitcase from the trunk. He waited at a discreet distance as she checked in to her room.
Lois accepted the key from the man behind the reception counter and turned to Clark. "Would you carry my suitcase to my room, please?" she asked with a sugary smile.
"Of course," he said evenly.
They located her room in silence. Lois unlocked the door and went in. She put her handbag on the bed and turned to where Clark was standing in the doorway. "Come in," she said.
He took a step forward and placed her suitcase on the floor. "Goodnight, Lois," he said pleasantly. "See you at the wedding tomorrow."
He walked out, softly closing the door behind him.
Lois stared at it. Clark had gone. He'd come into her room to bring her suitcase. At her invitation.
He'd put the suitcase down and left. No delaying tactics. No attempting to snatch a kiss - or more - as reimbursement for the ride to the hotel.
She had no way to contact him. No number. No address. She would see him at the wedding, but -
Lois grabbed the handle and yanked the door open.
||~||
Clark trudged away from Lois's room, his heart recoiling from cruel truths he didn't want to accept. He would be in the same room as Lois for a few hours tomorrow, and then the most amazing woman on earth would walk out of his life forever.
"Clark!"
He spun around.
She came out of her room, holding his jacket towards him. "You forgot this."
He moved forward and took the jacket from her. "Thanks." He started to step away, not wanting to prolong the anguish of this penultimate goodbye.
"Clark?"
He paused, heart thumping, and turned back.
"About breakfast. I have to eat. You do, too." She shrugged. "We could eat together."
His heart catapulted, and a torpedo of glittering possibilities burst through his mind. He swallowed, hoping his voice wouldn't squeak. "What time?"
"Is seven-thirty too early?"
Any time would be fantastic. Any time. Any place. Any occasion. "Seven-thirty's fine," he said. "I'll be here."
"OK."
"See you then."
"Thanks for the ride."
"You're …" He dragged some oxygen into his lungs. "You're welcome, Lois."
With a small wave of her hand, she stepped into her room and shut the door.
Clark donned his jacket and managed to walk with serene composure until he reached his car. Then, his restraint shattered and he shot up into the darkness, spinning and twirling in jubilant celebration.
In less than nine hours, he had a date.
With Lois.
||~||
Lois checked her watch for the twentieth time. It was seven twenty-six.
She'd been ready for fifteen minutes, waiting with simmering impatience for time to dawdle towards half past seven.
Despite her exhaustion, she hadn't slept easily. Slumber had shied away from a mind utterly absorbed in one thing.
One man, actually.
Clark Kent.
She'd relived every moment they'd spent together - rewinding, pausing, and replaying her library of memories.
She would never forget the moment she'd first seen him. And seconds later - the first time his eyes had rammed into hers, forging a connection powerful enough to quell the strands of cynicism woven through her heart.
She remembered the delicious shivers she'd felt the first time she'd heard his voice. They were still echoing through the corridors of her mind like a softly thrummed melody.
And that first fluttering, oh-so-devastating, smile.
His touch. The first time her hand had slid into his, adding tactile memories.
Seven twenty-seven.
Their small talk had evolved into questions about her relationship status. Flouting all the practicalities of time and distance, he'd asked her for a date. He'd met her excuses with gallant resolve.
When she'd rebuffed him with an unequivocal 'no', his civility hadn't faltered.
He'd bought her superb coffee. He'd divulged personal information about his family. He'd staunchly affirmed his belief in love.
I would gladly risk it all for a woman I loved.
The speeches had interrupted their conversation but not their on-going communication. Lois couldn't remember one word spoken about the bridal couple, but the messages that had flowed from Clark's eyes were written across her heart in indelible ink.
And then, they had danced.
Seven twenty-eight.
His arms had felt like a sanctuary of excitement. And Lois, who fervently guarded her personal space, had felt cocooned in freedom.
Freedom to be the woman she didn't dare to be.
The music had finished, and Clark had reverted behind a shield of polite and proper behaviour.
She'd had to know the truth. Was he real? Or was he a master at playing the role most likely to deliver him the outcome he wanted, knowing his looks provided him with a potent accessory?
He'd accompanied her to hotel room.
He'd said 'goodnight' and left.
And in that moment, she'd been forced to accept the unpalatable, uncomfortable truth.
Clark Kent was different. His differences were not just a mask donned to curry approval. He was different from any man she'd ever met.
He'd dissolved a few more atoms of her scepticism with every smile.
He'd thawed a few degrees of her frostiness with every look from those clear brown eyes.
He'd peeled another layer from the hard crust of her heart with every touch from his gentle hands.
He'd begun to turn her world right-side-up.
She'd known she couldn't let him walk away.
When she'd suggested breakfast, his smile - bursting with not-quite-able-to-believe joy - had melted his slightly detached manner, setting her heart ablaze all over again.
Seven twenty-nine.
He would be here soon. Actually, Lois was surprised he wasn't here already. She wished he would hurry.
Because she missed him.
She'd been away from him for just a few hours, and she missed him.
Which was ridiculous.
Because nothing could change the fact that tomorrow morning, she was going to board a plane and return to her life in Metropolis.
Back to being the tough, successful, uncompromising reporter who saw, revealed, and wrote but never emerged from behind a wall so thick she didn't have to feel.
She would dive back into her work. Find another scandal. Follow up every thread from the corrupt-senator story.
But she feared that even the most enthralling story would not dispel her memories of Clark.
She didn't want to forget him. She wanted to remember every single moment with him.
She had to forget him.
She wanted to create countless memory-moments with him and carefully catalogue them in the library of her mind.
Seven thirty.
Lois walked over to the mirror and checked her appearance again. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks dusky pink. Despite her restless night, all the tiredness from yesterday had vanished. The grime from chasing stories in Metropolis's underbelly had melted away, leaving her feeling refreshed and invigorated.
How was Clark feeling? Had he gone to sleep thinking about her?
Had his sleep been laced with smiles as his subconscious had played memories of their time together?
Why was he late? Had he changed his mind?
Had he realised the foolishness of continuing whatever had seized them last night?
Or was he rushing around, trying to make everything just right?
Didn't he realise that she was in need of another hit of his smile? Another touch from his hand?
Lois went to the window and looked out.
It was raining.
Not hard. Just drizzle, really.
Had he planned an alfresco breakfast and was now frantically amending his preparations in deference to the weather?
Lois leaned forward and peered through the window but she could only see a small, damp garden and a fence that blocked her view of the road.
Was he here already? Walking towards her room?
How was he feeling?
Nervous?
Excited?
Petrified?
All of those melded into a jumble of emotions that defied definition?
Because that's how she felt.
Would he kiss her? Would he want to kiss her? Had he thought about kissing her?
She'd thought about kissing him.
And every time she thought about it, a rush of anticipation cascaded through her body like just-poured champagne.
How would he kiss?
Gently? Cautiously?
Maybe at first.
But after that …
Once he knew she welcomed his kisses …
Even then, Lois couldn't imagine Clark being demanding or rough.
Seven thirty-one.
He was late.
That surprised her.
Shocked her.
Relieved her.
Devastated her.
Forced her to face the reality that a woman living in Metropolis dating a man living in Des Moines was abject stupidity.
She shouldn't do it.
Not even once.
Because one date with Clark Kent was never going to be enough.
What had he planned for breakfast? Did he have a favourite café? A quiet place where they could eat? And talk? Where she could learn more about his life?
Would they be able to sit together during the wedding? Perhaps there would be opportunity to dance at the reception.
What was she thinking?
Actually, she wasn't thinking. She was feeling. And, as Lois had realised a long time ago, giving any ground to feelings was akin to asking for a bomb to be dropped right in the middle of your ordered, neat, and perfect life.
Except her life wasn't perfect.
It was lonely.
And isolated.
And empty of everything except her work.
But it was better to be alone by choice than to risk becoming a blubbering globule of regret at having surrendered control to something as flaky as feelings.
It was time to regain that control.
Seven thirty-two.
Lois went to the door and pressed her ear against it, listening for footsteps.
There was only silence.
She was usually at her desk by seven thirty, already downing her second cup of coffee.
But in Des Moines, it was different. Quiet. Calm. Sleepy.
Perhaps because it was Saturday.
Lois couldn't remember the last time she hadn't worked on a Saturday. It had been before she'd begun dismantling the Senator's private life.
What sort of stories did Clark write?
Were there bad guys in Des Moines? Did Clark investigate corruption? Misuse of authority?
Why had Jane chosen to leave Metropolis and come here?
Had it been choice? Or necessity, because this had been her only job offer?
Where were her family? From the moment Lois had realised that the hunk with the stunning smile wasn't Shane McVane, she hadn't noticed much other than Clark.
She couldn't remember anyone from Jane's family having spoken at the speeches. Clark had said he'd picked up Shane's relations from the airport. He'd said Jane had never mentioned any family.
Seven thirty-three.
He would come. He would. There was a reason he was late.
Traffic, perhaps.
There was an explanation. There had to be.
But whatever it was, Lois just wanted him to stroll down the corridor, knock on her door, greet her with his smile, and remind her just how wonderful it felt to be with him.
Lois Lane didn't believe in love. She didn't believe in marriage. She certainly didn't believe in 'happily ever after'.
But she was perilously close to believing in Clark Kent.
Seven thirty-four.
