Words of Silk

by Sandra Brown

  “And when is your next vacation?”

  “March. I plan to have the baby during the spring break.”

  “No holiday until then?”

  His questions were a little too casual, a little too subtle, a little too much like a shrewd attorney’s preliminary probing before the thundering interrogation. Immediately she became suspicious. Setting a wineglass carefully on the tray, she looked at him steadily. “Why? Why are you asking about holidays?”

  He shrugged nonchalantly. “I was trying to decide when we should get married.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Deke had expected a reaction. He got more of one than he’d bargained for. At his mention of matrimony Laney paled visibly and the tray of dishes almost slipped from her shaking hands. Her eyes rounded with disbelief and something akin to fear. Her breasts heaved beneath the soft tunic she was wearing over maternity slacks.

  “I will never get married.” She swallowed hard. “You’ve gotten your way about everything else, Mr. Sargent, but understand this: I will never marry you. I’ll never marry anybody.” She whirled away from him and went into the kitchen.

  Deke was stymied for only a moment. His impulse was to charge after her and demand why she was so opposed to marriage. But taking into account the determination that had made the bones of her face stand out prominently, he realized that browbeating would be the wrong tack. She had adamantly refused. Pressing her for an explanation would only make her retreat into that invisible, but nonetheless real, corner where she often hid. For the past several days he had coaxed her out of that shell, and he didn’t want to do anything that might undermine the confidence he had won.

  He entered the kitchen behind her. She was rinsing dishes and placing them in the new dishwasher. “I’ve heard of women’s liberation, but I didn’t know it precluded marriage.”

  “I’m not a women’s libber. I just never want to marry.”

  She wouldn’t look at him and that was irritating. He wanted to jerk her around and insist that she look at him. But her body was strained as tight as a piano wire. He wanted to see her relaxed and smiling again. Something haunted her. If it was the last thing he did, he intended to find out what that something was and exorcise it.

  “I thought most young girls grew up dreaming about a husband and children.”

  “I’m hardly a young girl. And I told you I thought I couldn’t have children.”

  “I assumed you were just saying that.”

  She turned around then, and inside he gloated. He had nettled her, provoked her to anger, but he had succeeded in getting her to face him.

  “It’s the truth. I was told when I was thirteen that I would be barren because of a secondary infection resulting from appendicitis.”

  “So that’s when you made up your mind never to marry.”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  “When?”

  “I always knew I would never have . . . I didn’t want . . .”

  “A man in your life?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any man?”

  “Yes.”

  “You could have fooled me. Especially that night in New York.”

  Her jaw clamped tightly shut. “Don’t be disgusting.” She faced the sink again and began to scrub a cooking pan ruthlessly.

  “I’m not trying to be disgusting,” he began with a level voice. “I’m trying to be practical. I’m trying to find out why a beautiful young woman about to have a baby won’t even consider marrying the father of said baby when he could make life so much easier, and I think happier, for her and her child. And dammit, please look at me while I’m talking to you,” he finished in a shout.

  He berated himself for letting his temper get the better of him, but when she turned icy eyes on him and faced him with a belligerent set to her jaw, his contrition dissolved. If she wanted a fight, a fight she would get. It was a foregone conclusion she would lose. His eyes treated her to the same truth-seeking stare he gave to a witness he knew was lying.

  “You’re not frigid.” His voice lowered to a silky tone. “We both know that.”

  “I’m glad you told me you weren’t trying to be disgusting. Otherwise I might think you were.”

  “You like my touch, you like my lovemaking, I think you even like me. So what’s the problem, Laney? Why did you panic when I mentioned marriage?”

  “You want to be practical? Okay, we’ll be practical. We’re from different worlds. I don’t want your life. And judging by the number of telephone calls you take all day, I don’t think you could move your practice here and become a part of my life.” She turned away and began sponging clean the range top. “But all that is irrelevant, because even if we had grown up next door to each other, I still wouldn’t want to get married.”

  “Well, I do. I want my child to have a name.”

  “He’ll have one. Mine.”

  “I want my child, my only child, to bear my name, Laney.”

  “Then we’ll compromise by hyphenating it or something.”

  “McLeod-Sargent? Sargent-McLeod? What the hell kind of a name is that to stick on a poor defenseless kid?”

  “It’ll have to do.”

  Out of sheer frustration he ran his hand through his gray hair. “You would subject our child to going through life explaining why his parents don’t have the same last name, why they don’t live together, why they aren’t married?”

  “A lot of children have parents who aren’t married.”

  “True. But most were married at one time. Besides, just because it’s almost the norm these days, that doesn’t make it right.”

  “It wouldn’t be like he had come from a broken home. He would never know anything different.”

  “What about dividing his time between the two of us, in two vastly different parts of the country, two different cultures? Does that sound ideal to you? That’s not a decent life for a child, Laney. A child should grow up with both parents visible, a father and a mother.”

  “I told you you would be visible. You can see him whenever you want.”

  “I don’t want my kid to grow up with only one parent around.”

  “Well, I did and I survived!”

  By then both were shouting. Laney’s words reverberated off the walls of the kitchen and rendered them both momentarily speechless. Their rasping breath was the only sound that remained. The air was charged with tension.

  Laney was the first to look away and Deke’s heart twisted with pain at the defeated slump of her shoulders. He wanted to go to her, hold her, comfort her, but he wisely kept his distance. He knew when to back off from a witness.

  “Leave the rest of the dishes. I’ll do them,” he said quietly.

  She spun around as though to argue with him, but she reeled with fatigue and he saw the argument die on her lips. Her face was wan and there were dark circles under her eyes. Deke cursed himself for driving her so hard, for forcing her to make that admission. It was a bit of history that he knew she would rather not have revealed. She nodded and left the room without speaking.

  A half hour later he found her burrowed under the covers of their bed, her knees drawn as close to her chest as possible. She was absently rubbing her stomach, where he could see the vigorous movements of the baby. He sat down beside her.

  “Are you all right?”

  Her look told him that his question was absurd. “Oh, yes. I’m just wonderful.” She came upright, gripping the counterpane with white fingers. “A man I don’t even know moved in on me and began to rearrange my house. Now he wants to rearrange my life. I won’t marry you, Deke. Do you understand?”

  “Laney,” he said gently, and pressed her back onto the pillows. She was working herself into another lather and he was afraid she might suffer another attack of cramps. “No, I don’t understand, but I won’t ask you again.”

  Her hysterics subsided. She looked at him like a child who had just been assured that the nightmare was after all only a dream. “You won’t?”

&n
bsp; “No. Not when it causes you this much distress.” His hands came out tentatively to touch her. “You’re a case for the books, Laney McLeod. Another woman in your position would be framing a man into marrying her. That’s what I liked about you in the first place. You’re so different.”

  The backs of his fingers stroked her cheek. “What happened to your father?”

  She wet her lips and avoided his eyes. “He died.”

  He could smell a lie. It was his job to be able to. And this lie Laney had just told him stank to high heaven. But for now he was going to let her get by with it. “I’m sorry I forced you to think about it. I told you once that I would never do anything to hurt you. Do you believe that?”

  Her eyes returned to his. “Yes. I also believe that you’ll keep pressuring me about marriage.”

  He smiled then, though his expression remained tender. “You’re coming to know me well.” Switching off the lamp, he stood.

  She grasped his hand. “Where are you going?”

  “To take off my clothes.”

  “Oh.”

  When he had stripped to his underwear, he joined her in the wide bed and took her in his arms. His mouth sought hers in the darkness. “Are we back to that?” he asked a few seconds later.

  “Back to what?”

  “Back to your shrinking and stiffening every time I hold you and kiss you. I thought we’d overcome that.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Did you have a merry Christmas?” he asked out of context, interrupting her. His hands glided up and down her arms, over her shoulders, across her stomach.

  “Your gifts were too extravagant,” she chastised mildly.

  She had been embarrassed by his generosity. He had bought her expensive maternity clothes, which she objected to, saying she had plenty to finish out her term. Perfume, accessories, a frothy negligee that had made her blush as she stammered a thank you, a string of pearls that even now were around her neck.

  For the baby there had been a complete nursery of furniture—baby bed, chest, rocking chair, a cradle for when he first arrived home. A huge gift-wrapped box sent all the way from F.A.O. Schwartz contained a stuffed panda bear, almost life-size, and a teddy bear that, when wound up, simulated the sounds of fetal life, including the mother’s heartbeat.

  “I never saw anything like this,” Laney exclaimed when she unwrapped the teddy bear, impressed in spite of herself.

  “They’re new.” Deke beamed, glad of her approval.

  There was also a baseball mitt and a pair of pink ballet shoes. “For whichever,” he had said, chagrined when she looked at him as though he were mad.

  She had surprised herself by sneaking off a few days before to buy gifts for him. One was a sweatband to wear around his forehead when he jogged. He was a fanatic about getting in a few miles every day and had complained about sweat running in his eyes. She had also bought him a canvas sling to facilitate carrying fireplace logs. When measured against his gifts, hers looked paltry and she was almost embarrassed for him to open them. But he received them enthusiastically, kissing her soundly after opening each.

  He had taken her in his arms and said, “But none is as wonderful as my other gift.”

  “What gift?” she asked, mesmerized by the dazzling multicolored reflection of the Christmas tree in his eyes.

  “This gift.” They had been sitting on the floor. He lowered her to her back on the rug in front of the hearth and laid his head against her stomach. He kissed it softly. “I think I can hear Scooter’s heartbeat,” he had whispered.

  Now he burrowed his nose into the fragrant hollow of her neck. “I didn’t ask you about the presents. I asked if you had a happy day.”

  She closely examined the way she had felt before their postdinner argument and decided that it had been one of the most joyous days of her life. “Yes. It was wonderful.”

  “Good. I wanted it to be.” His lips nibbled at hers.

  She was responding to his caresses now. Her body was malleable as he pulled her into a closer embrace and her arms went around his back. She sought his warmth, gravitated toward it in spite of her earlier protests. Lately her body often ignored the instructions of her mind.

  When his lips blended with hers, he heard her murmur of pleasure and felt it deep in his own throat. He felt, too, the response of her mouth and the tightening of her nipples against his hard chest. His tongue beckoned to hers and they indulged in an erotic game.

  He brought one of her hands from around him and pressed it against his chest. He waited, holding his breath. At first tentative, then curious and emboldened, her fingers combed through his chest hair and pressed more firmly to massage the hard muscles beneath the taut, warm skin. Every cell in his body rioted. He was about to burst into flame but knew he couldn’t risk ruining everything.

  Damning himself for being a masochistic fool, he eased her away. “Good night, Laney,” he said hoarsely.

  Her hesitation was her giveaway. He read in it the reluctance with which she turned away from him. She spoke a faint “Good night.”

  He adjusted himself to her, fitting her bottom into the curve made by his pelvis and thighs. He heard her soft gasp when she felt his rigid manhood against the back of her thigh, but when she didn’t pull away, his arm curved around her. Under the covers, his hand slipped beneath her nightgown and smoothed over her stomach. Her hair tangled with his on the pillow. She nestled closer.

  And in the darkness he smiled.

  She was alone when she awoke the next morning. She sat bolt upright in the bed and for one panicked moment was afraid that he had left for good. But the closet was open and his clothes were still there, hanging next to hers. She flattened a hand over her breasts to calm her thudding heart.

  Would she care that much if he were to disappear as suddenly as he had appeared?

  Irritated with the answer, which flashed like a banner headline across her mind, she threw the covers back. The bedside clock indicated noon. She must have been exhausted to have slept so late.

  Deke returned from jogging while she sat at the kitchen table, sipping orange juice. She had showered and was dressed in a pair of maternity jeans and a huge cable-knit sweater she had found at the army-navy store. The sleeves, much too long for her arms, were rolled back to her elbows, and the turtleneck almost swallowed her chin.

  “Stand up,” Deke said, grinning broadly as he came through the back door. He was dripping wet with perspiration despite the temperature outside. She was pleased to note that he was wearing the sweatband she had given him.

  Puzzled, she obliged him. Taking her hands, he stretched her arms wide on either side of her body and inspected her appraisingly. “You’re absolutely precious.” He patted her tummy. “I love that outfit.” Lifting his eyes back to hers he asked, “A kiss?”

  “A shower?” she retorted, sniffing the air.

  He laughed. “You’ve got a point.” He flicked a drop of sweat from his index finger onto her cheek.

  “Go!”

  “All right, all right.”

  Laney was laughing as she put two slices of wheat bread into the toaster. She was relieved by his mood. Everything was back to normal. Last night’s argument wasn’t going to carry over to today.

  But as the days of her vacation time dwindled and she and Deke spent more time alone together, she was held in a constant state of suspense as to when he would bring up the subject of marriage again. And he would. She knew he would.

  She wouldn’t marry him. That was an indisputable fact. There could be no marriage for Laney McLeod under any circumstances, especially those she found herself in.

  She had no adolescent illusions about Deke’s affection for her. It stemmed from the fact that she was pregnant with his baby. Nothing more. She dismissed his claims that he had pursued her long before he even knew about the baby. Perhaps he had. But that wasn’t surprising either. Deke Sargent was used to winning. He wouldn’t like having his trial cases dismissed on a technicality. He wou
ld have felt that her running out on him without an explanation was like that. A default. An unsatisfactory resolution. She represented a challenge to his ego. He wasn’t accustomed to women sneaking away the “morning after.” A man like Deke would have been compelled to go after the one woman who had.

  No, he wanted her because he wanted his baby. That was the one thing lacking in Deke’s life. He was professionally successful, wealthy. He had everything except someone to bear his name into the future. And Laney suspected by the hints he had dropped that he was concerned about that. He came from a large family that apparently placed importance on lineage. Deke was well into middle age. If he was going to have a family he could enjoy, he needed to get started. Laney was only the means of providing that one missing element in his well-put-together life.

  He would persist in his determination that they marry. She would continue to refuse. An impasse. Then what? What would happen after the baby came? Would he—could he—take the child away from her?

  She watched him as he pored over a legal brief. The heavy, cumbersome envelopes containing contracts and documents arrived with each day’s mail. The firelight silvered his hair. His brows, also sprinkled with silver, were drawn with concentration. His lips were thoughtfully pursed. Each unconscious gesture, each intense expression, was familiar and endearing.

  Surely he wouldn’t try to rob her of her child. He wouldn’t execute a power play like that, would he? Then she remembered how he had bulldozed his way into her life and she knew that he would. Her blood ran cold. They would go to court and he knew all the machinations, all the strings to pull, all the right words to say.

  He would tell the court how she had failed to notify him about his own child. He could point out her meager salary. He would grant that it was sufficient to rear a baby, but to send a child to school, pay doctor bills, buy clothes, send a young person to college? It wasn’t enough.

  Her face must have shown her anguish, for when Deke looked up, he said her name solicitously. “Laney? Are you having those cramps again, darling?”

  His voice was gentle and seemed to float across the space separating them and stroke her. His brow was wrinkled now with concern for her. He wouldn’t hurt her, she insisted to herself. He had said so repeatedly. “No, I’m fine. Just thinking about going back to school next week.”