To Have Vs. To Hold

by MJ Rodgers

  “I was attending college on a scholarship. But I was ready to give up college and my dreams of a career in law to stay home and be his wife. I fell for Michael heart and soul, as one does for a first love. We even had the names picked out for the children we planned to have.

  “I told Patrice all about him long before I introduced them. I considered her my friend, my confidante, the sister I never had. And then she repaid my affection and friendship by deliberately going after Michael the moment she laid eyes on him.”

  Whitney paused to flash Adam a look. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking it was Michael and not Patrice who made the first move. You’re wrong. I watched Michael when he met Patrice. He looked at her with appreciation as men do with a woman that beautiful. But when he looked back at me, the light of love was still burning brightly in his eyes.

  “I realize now that’s what Patrice couldn’t forgive. Even after seeing her perfection, Michael still preferred me. From that moment on she made Michael her conquest, determined to win him. It didn’t take her long. Three weeks later Michael broke off our engagement.

  “I was bewildered, heartbroken by what I had watched taking place right before my eyes. I told myself that Patrice must have immediately fallen in love with Michael and not been able to help herself. I believed that Michael’s response proved they were meant to be together. I neither blamed nor reproached them. But I couldn’t stay around and watch them together anymore.

  “I moved out of the dorm room I shared with Patrice into an apartment by myself and nursed my broken heart. Almost immediately afterward she came to see me. She told me she missed our talks. She said she’d break up with Michael if I’d move back in with her.

  “At first I didn’t understand. I thought that she felt so bad about losing our friendship that she was willing to give up the man she loved to make amends. When I told her that I couldnever accept such a sacrifice from her, she laughed and told me it wasn’t a sacrifice. She said she didn’t love Michael. She never had.

  “I was angrier at her than I had been at anyone in my life. ‘If you really want him, I’ll send him back to you,’ she said, as though her offer should square things between us and make everything all right.”

  “She never understood how much she hurt you,” Adam said.

  “She didn’t know what it was to love.”

  Adam rubbed Whitney’s shoulder gently, understanding that despite how long ago this was, she could still remember the pain. He felt her body relaxing against him, responding to his touch, to his understanding, as she went on.

  “Even though I told her it was all over between me and Michael, she sent him back to me. The next morning he was on my doorstep, begging my forgiveness, talking about being temporarily led astray by lust, assuring me Patrice had come after him. He professed his undying love for me.”

  “How did you feel about that, Whitney?”

  “I felt that if Michael had really loved me, he would have resisted Patrice. What good was his love without his loyalty? I had received a final warning that if I didn’t bring my grades up by semester’s end, I would lose my scholarship. I threw Michael and his apologies and pledges out the door and buried myself in schoolwork.

  “When I received my grades after finals and found I had brought my grade-point average up enough to retain the scholarship, it felt wonderful to reclaim my dream of becoming a lawyer.”

  “And Michael?”

  “I never saw Michael again. Mutual friends told me he had left the university to continue his graduate studies elsewhere.”

  “And Patrice?”

  “I ran into her several more times during my undergraduate years. Each time she greeted me with open friendship, just as though the Michael episode had never happened.”

  “And you, Whitney? How did you greet her?”

  “By then I had focused my sights on law school too strongly to acknowledge my weakness and folly of having come so close to giving it all up for that damn faithless man.”

  Adam gently stroked Whitney’s hair. “Do you still think about him?”

  “Only to count myself lucky that the Patrice episode had happened before Michael and I had married and had kids and I ended up with a hole in my heart like my mother.”

  “Did you ever tell Patrice how you felt about her callous disregard of your feelings in going after Michael?”

  “No. She never intended it, of course, but she really did me a favor in showing me that I couldn’t count on Michael. I didn’t want to ever be put in the position of thanking her for that painful episode. The few times we had coffee together, she filled the conversation with unsolicited advice on the kind of law I should practice. The last time we were together, she told me that one day she’d come to see me when I became a lawyer. And one day she did—the day she gave me that envelope to hold for you.”

  “You mean she just walked into your office one day after not seeing you since undergraduate school?”

  “And treated me like her bosom buddy from college. She told me she had married the man who was the perfect husband and would be the perfect father. I remember thinking that now that she knew what love was, she’d understand and apologize for what she had done to me. But she didn’t speak of it at all. And I let her walk out that day without ever even mentioning Michael’s name.”

  “And you’ve regretted that because you never understood why she did it,” Adam said.

  “Not then. But I think I know now. Michael’s reserved response when he first met Patrice must have proved too enticing a challenge for her to resist. Like Esther described and I had observed, every other man she’d met had immediately fallen at her feet. She felt slighted when he didn’t immediately bestow what she felt was her due. That’s why she set out to get it.”

  “You’re probably right,” Adam agreed.

  “After meeting you and experiencing the sophisticated formality you exude so naturally, I became certain that’s why Patrice fell so hard for you, too.”

  “I remember when you first commented to that effect,” Adam said. “It brought to mind the way Patrice had openly flirted with me the night we met—despite the fact that we were both with other dates.”

  “Yes, she couldn’t resist conquering your implacable reserve,” Whitney said. “However, it wasn’t until Esther spoke of how she had been raised that I began to understand how ingrained such behavior was to her. She never knew how much she had shattered my faith in the enduring quality of love.”

  Whitney paused to look up into his face. “I thought that was what her betrayal had done to you, too, Adam. I thought I understood your reaction because I understood mine. But that isn’t what happened to you. You never lost your faith in love, because you never lost your love for her.”

  Adam rose and brought Whitney with him, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and directing her toward the desk. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

  She didn’t resist, but she didn’t look too eager to even come near the picture of Patrice that lay there.

  Adam released his hold on Whitney and picked up the picture. He took off the felt backing on the frame and slipped out the photograph. He turned it over. Whitney stared at the note written on the back of the photo in Patrice’s flowery handwriting. She read it aloud.

  “Adam,

  Peter and I will be in Canada by the time you read this. I know our deciding to go away together will come as a surprise.

  I would have told you in person if I could. But I couldn’t. I was afraid of what you would say and do.

  Peter loves me and needs me. I need to feel needed, Adam.

  I must go now. Have a good life.

  Patrice.”

  “This is how you found out?” Whitney said. “She left you this note on the back of her picture?”

  “It was lying on the kitchen counter when I came home that day she left me.”

  “Have a good life. What an imbecilic thing to say! Her words are so damn cold and unfeeling. You’re sur
e you had no warning that there was anything going on between them?”

  “None.”

  “Adam, please tell me you don’t love her anymore.”

  “What I feel for Patrice is not love, Whitney.”

  “It’s not hate, either,” she said.

  “No, it’s not hate.”

  “You still have strong emotion tying you to her.”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re so damn honest, it’s scary.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment.”

  He smiled. “I know.”

  Their eyes locked for a long moment. Whitney was consumed with a breathless heat. She dropped her gaze. “What is this map scribbled beneath her note?”

  “Nothing of importance,” Adam said as he gently took the photo out of her hands and laid it back on the desk. His hands cupped the sides of her cheeks as he tilted her face up to his.

  “Whitney, being around you and trying to pretend that there is nothing but a business relationship between us has been more than uncomfortable. It’s been dishonest. I can’t deny my feelings for you.”

  “Your feelings for me, Adam?”

  There was an eagerness in her voice and face that poured through him like hot rain.

  He caressed her cheeks and ran his fingers down her neck and across her shoulders, aware of the quiver of her skin beneath his touch. He could feel the excitement leaping inside him and hear the growing huskiness of his voice.

  “Yes, Whitney. I want you to be mine—all mine. Stay with me tonight.”

  The hopeful look died in her eyes. Adam was certain he understood why.

  “I’m not talking about a physical affair. I’m talking about an affair of the heart. I care for you, respect you, admire you. I won’t make you any undying-love pledges. We both know what they’re worth. And I’m not a man who repeats his mistakes. But for every minute you choose to spend in my arms, I do promise you this. You will feel cherished.”

  His hands ran down the sides of her arms to her waist. He gently drew her body up against his.

  “Well cherished,” he said as he took her lips with his.

  Whitney eagerly met the hot claim of his kiss, his touch. Her senses reeled at the warm, wonderful scent of him, the feel of his hard body holding hers so closely, the beautiful word, cherish, on his lips.

  Adam picked her up and carried her to his bedroom, his lips raining hungry, burning kisses across her face and down her throat.

  He laid her gently on the black satin bed comforter and locked her eyes with his as his hands strayed to her hair, down her arms and over her breasts with intimate, loving sweeps that sent exciting shivers up and down her spine and legs.

  She dropped her head back with a delicious sigh and gave herself up to the incredible, incendiary sensations of his touch. As he removed her blouse and bra, she could feel the cool satin at her back and his cool hands on her naked skin. Both were in delicious contrast to the hot intensity of his look riveting her eyes to his. He slowly bent down to kiss her.

  It was a deep, hungry kiss that drove all reason out of mind and runnels of excitement through her belly. And all the while his hands—his strong, gentle hands—were touching her skin, telling her how much he cherished her. She could feel it in his fingers, his lips, his every focused caress.

  “Tonight, Whitney,” he said, his voice a branding whisper against her skin, “you are all mine.”

  She thrilled at the possessive tone of his words. He continued to hold her eyes captive as he leaned down to softly lick her nipples, setting off small explosions inside her. She jolted at the force of them and could see his eyes smoldering in response.

  His hand slid beneath her skirt, up her inner thigh. She arched her back eagerly as his mouth closed greedily over her nipple. His fingers slipped inside her panties to softly caress her.

  She shivered as an electrifying wave of pleasure shot through her. Again and again it rippled through her as his fingers played and teased her soft folds beneath her curls.

  And through it all, he held her gaze a willing slave to his, just as her body had become a willing slave to his touch.

  She tingled from head to toe, streaming with sensations. She said his name over and over until she had no breath to speak at all. His gentle caresses became bolder, harder, faster. He nipped at her nipples. The heat swelled through her breasts and belly until she was on fire and arching helplessly against him and crying out.

  And the intensity of her feelings was right there in his beautiful pale blue eyes, reflecting them, heightening them.

  She exploded with a burst of passion so sharp and so sweet she didn’t believe it possible. And she didn’t just feel it inside her body. She watched it happening in his eyes, first the roaring flash of the flame, then the burning embers.

  She lay back against the cool satin, breathless, basking in the glowing heat still reflecting in his eyes.

  “You are all mine, Whitney,” he repeated.

  She was all his. She could see it in his eyes, feel it in her heart.

  He stood to take off his clothes, once again never moving his eyes from hers. She watched him shed his suit, shirt and tie with a growing wonder at the magnificent body being uncovered.

  She had felt the physical strength of his arms. But his suits had hidden the well-developed muscles of his shoulders and smooth mountains of his chest wall now swelling in the light. The corded scar that snaked down his neck to stop just above his heart added yet another dimension of strength and mystery rather than detracted from the perfection of his form.

  Another time she would ask again about that scar. But not tonight. Tonight she did not want to talk. Tonight she only wanted to feel. Him.

  He lay beside her and slipped off the rest of her dress, garter belt, nylons and panties, touching and kissing every part of her he exposed with his gentle caresses.

  And never once did he drop his eyes from hers.

  He kissed her ears, her neck, her breasts, her nipples, until every inch of her was warm and humming. She had never been loved like this—with such a sweet, focused intensity. Her body never felt so wanton or willing.

  He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him.

  She straddled his waist, reveling in the way he kept kissing and touching her, never letting the physical contact between them break, just as he never let his eyes move from hers. He slipped his hands over the globes of her bottom and stroked her intimately. She moaned in pleasure as the wet heat soared through her once more. She called to him. Hungrily he took her mouth as he came to her.

  He filled her completely. He was part of her and she was part of him, as close as two human beings could become. She felt it in every cell of her being as their rhythms matched, as they rolled together on the bed in the celebration of the physical joy they gave to each other.

  It wasn’t until many hours later, when she lay wrapped in his warm, strong arms, that she allowed herself to face the truth. She loved him.

  She could see now that she had been falling in love with him all along. She had just been afraid to face it. And with good cause. Here she had finally found the man she could count on, as well as love, and he could not love her in return.

  I won’t make you any undying-love pledges. We both know what they’re worth.

  Yes, once she had thought them worthless. But now she knew that if this man gave her such a pledge, he would keep it.

  But she also knew he would give her no such pledge. I’m not a man who repeats his mistakes.

  This was all she would ever have of him. These moments in his arms. That beautiful word cherish on his lips.

  Maybe it would be enough. Maybe she could make it enough.

  FRED DYKSRA SLIPPED into the back seat of the limousine and closed the door behind him.

  “You have it?” he asked.

  Carver handed him a single piece of paper. When Dykstra reached for the thick manila envelope, however, Carver held it back.

  �
�I’ll send you the proof an hour before your TV spot tomorrow, Dykstra. Not a moment sooner.”

  Fred’s eyes riveted on the paper he was reading, then rose to the man sitting beside him. “You’re going to be supplying me proof of this?”

  “I’m not supplying it. You are getting it from an anonymous source. Remember, anonymous.”

  Dykstra didn’t like the stubborn look on Carver’s face. In truth he hadn’t liked the looks of the guy from the first. Ever since he’d cornered Crowe-Cromwell’s big-league lawyer coming out of the Justice Inc. offices that morning, he hadn’t been sure who had captured whom.

  “Look, Carver, my refusing to name my source won’t fool Justice. He’s going to know you’re the one supplying me with this stuff.”

  “Even if he does, there is nothing he can do.”

  “Nothing? I don’t call suing both our heads off for slander nothing. I need that proof. Now.”

  Carver snatched the sheet of paper out of Dykstra’s hands. “It appears I was wrong in selecting you for this exclusive. I’m sure there are reporters at other stations who will be eager to air this news tomorrow.”

  Dykstra was sure there were, too. What’s more, his producer would skin him alive if he reneged on this story, particularly after his bragging to her about it all day. But if Carver’s proof didn’t come in on time, she’d have to cancel his segment. And it might just make her mad enough to cancel it permanently.

  A thin slick of sweat coated Dykstra’s palms as he licked lips gone very dry.

  “Well?” Carver asked.

  Dykstra snatched back the sheet of paper. Then he shouldered open the passenger door and lunged out of Carver’s limousine before either of them could change their minds.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I appreciate your coming here directly from the airport,” Adam said as he poured coffee into Gavin’s and Piper’s cups. They had drawn up bar stools to the island in Adam’s kitchen, where Whitney already sat sipping her morning coffee.