Sarah's Child

by Linda Howard

  Pushing his characteristic possessiveness aside, he walked her back to her office, and his critical eye noted that Max’s kiss hadn’t brought the delicate apricot tint to her face that she wore whenever he made love to her. Leaning over her desk, he gave her a quick hard kiss, as much to watch that entrancing rise of color as to taste the sweetness of her mouth. “Tonight? We can go through the newspapers and mark those apartments that look suitable.”

  Pleased, Sarah smiled at him. “Would seven be all right? That will give me time to have some sort of meal almost finished.”

  “Forget about cooking. I’ll bring something over.”

  Watching him walk out of the office, Sarah had to pinch herself to be certain she wasn’t dreaming. They were really going to be married.

  He’d made love to her the night before, and the thought of it made her heart leap into her throat. If the first time had been unbridled passion, the second had been a lesson in the rewards of self-control. It had all begun so casually, while they were watching the evening news on television. During a commercial, he’d tilted her face up to kiss her, and the kiss had lingered, become many kisses. Soon she was lying naked on the sofa, and he had patiently, carefully guided her to full satisfaction, lingering at each plateau and savoring her response, making her as hungry for him as he was for her. He’d also taken care of the protective measures, which had prompted Sarah’s call first thing that morning to her doctor, which was why she had an appointment at one o’clock.

  It was two thirty when she finally got back to the office, a packet of pills in her purse and her head ringing with Dr. Easterwood’s warnings and advice. At the age of thirty-three, she was becoming almost too old for taking birth control pills to be safe. Dr. Easterwood had prescribed the lowest dosage available, with the stern warning that she wanted to see Sarah every six months, and that two years was the maximum length she’d give Sarah before an alternative method would have to be decided on.

  Max came out of his office when he heard her enter, a slight frown marring his classic brow. “Are you all right? You were gone longer than I expected.”

  “I’m fine. I had a doctor’s appointment, and you know how it is: you never get in at the time of your appointment.”

  “Rome has already called twice,” he informed her impishly.

  She worked with a smile on her face and an inner happiness that was based on the attitude Rome was exhibiting. Love or not, the way he was acting told her that he cared, and she would take whatever she could get. He wasn’t showing the often impatient possessiveness with which he’d demanded Diane’s time, but Sarah didn’t expect that he’d feel that way with her even if he did eventually come to love her. Diane had been beautiful, vibrant, a live wire who caught everyone’s attention the moment she walked through the door. Sarah felt that too often she herself resembled a white mouse more than she did anything else. Vivid makeup made her look like a clown, while sparing makeup just tended to be more of the same. She’d found a compromise, over the years, that kept her from blending completely into the background, but her coloring was so fair that she’d never be able to use the kind of dramatic makeup that would draw all eyes to her immediately. She’d like to make Rome sit up and take notice whenever she walked into a room, but somehow she felt that that role was beyond her.

  That night, after they’d eaten the sweet-and-sour chicken he’d brought, they spread the newspapers on the table and went over the ads for apartments for rent, with Rome circling the ones he thought might be suitable. Sarah carefully kept herself from thumbing through the columns of houses for sale, knowing that he’d never agree to buying a house. The suburban routine would remind him too strongly of the family he’d lost, and the playing children would drive him insane.

  He tapped his pen on one ad that he thought particularly likely, and Sarah leaned over to read it. Her hair, loosened from its knot, swung forward over his tanned forearm, and he went very still. Not noticing, she read the ad, pursing her lips as she considered it.

  “It sounds good. Roomy enough, but it’ll probably cost the Earth—” As she spoke she turned her head to look up at him. He moved swiftly, and her words were broken off with a gasp as he turned her and pulled her onto his lap, his mouth coming down to stifle the rest of what she’d been saying, cradling her on his left arm while his right hand moved boldly over her body, searching out all of the erotic places that he knew would reward him for his diligence.

  Sarah made a soft sound in her throat, sinking against him. His powerful body made her feel surrounded, utterly secure, and she had the thought that she didn’t need a homey, comfortable apartment to make her feel safe as long as he held her in his arms. The strength that he kept under control when he was handling her was evident in the steely sinews of his thighs, the rock hardness of his chest. She sought the warm solid contours of his flesh beneath his shirt, sliding her hands beneath the fabric to clench her fingers on him. He nibbled at her mouth, finally releasing it; then he tilted her head back and kissed his way down her throat. “So what if it costs the Earth?” he muttered. “We’ll look at it tomorrow.”

  “Hmmm,” she agreed dreamily, no longer interested in apartments.

  He unbuttoned her shirt and pressed a kiss to the top swell of her breast, above the lacy edge of her bra. “That damned Max! He knew I was watching.”

  “Yes.” She opened her eyes and smiled at him, her eyes misty with pleasure. “He’s a devil.”

  “He’s lucky you weren’t kissing him back.” He returned her smile, but his tone was feral, his dark eyes narrowed. “Then I wouldn’t have been so civilized.”

  As it had been, he hadn’t liked it—he hadn’t liked the idea of Max’s kisses lingering on her mouth. He wanted only his taste on her lips, so he’d kissed away Max’s touch. He kissed her again, for good measure, then reluctantly buttoned her blouse and hoisted her back to her own chair. “We’d better not push our luck,” he grunted. “I came over straight from the office, and I don’t have anything with me.”

  Sarah cleared her throat. “About that…my appointment today was with a doctor. I got a prescription for birth control pills.”

  He leaned back, draping his arm over the back of his chair while he looked at her searchingly, alerted by the hesitancy in her manner that she’d tried very hard not to reveal. His craggy black brows lowered. “Is it all right for you to take them?”

  “She’s letting me try them, but only if I go back for regular checkups,” she admitted on a sigh. “She gave me two years, maximum, before I have to switch to something else.”

  “If it’s dangerous, don’t take them.” He reached out and took her hand, tracing his thumb over the soft skin on the back of her hand. “I’ve been thinking about having surgery. It’s safe, and permanent.”

  Sarah shied away from that solution. Its permanency was the one big drawback, for her. Sometime in the future Rome could change his mind about not wanting anymore children, even if this marriage with her didn’t work out. She was so acutely aware that he didn’t love her that she had to allow for the possibility of him falling in love with another woman, and perhaps that woman would want his children. Perhaps he would want her to have his children. Feeling herself shatter inside at the thought, she pulled away from him before she revealed too much about how she felt. Instead, averting her face, she said in a stifled voice, “We can talk about that later, if the pills don’t work out.”

  Puzzled, he stared at her, running the words they’d just said through his mind again and trying to decide what he’d said that had made her withdraw from him and put on that frosty face he so detested. She’d been so relaxed and natural with him lately, forgetting to guard her actions, and he’d become used to her smiles, her gentle teasing. Now she was Miss Ice-Queen again. She’d begun getting edgy when she’d first mentioned the pills. She wasn’t telling him something, and he knew it. He’d thought, when he’d first made love to her, that he’d discovered the reason for her reserve, but now he was seeing it spring
up again, and he knew that Sarah had other secrets hidden behind the green shadows of her eyes. He would have liked to delve inside her mind and find out how her mind worked, why she hid so much of herself. He wanted to know her; he wanted all of her secrets laid out where he could see them. The way she withdrew from him triggered in him a primal, violent response to pursue and subdue, an instinct bequeathed from the age when men lived in caves and wore animal skins, and chose their woman by force.

  “One of these days,” he said in a soft voice, deadly in its intent, “I’m going to find out what makes you tick.”

  Sarah looked up at him with panic running just below the controlled surface image she presented to him. If he did, if he found out that she loved him, what would he do? Would he accept it, or would he promptly bow out of a marriage that was more than he wanted?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  They were married three weeks later on a Friday evening, after work, by a judge who’d agreed to perform the ceremony in his chambers. To her complete surprise, Max was one of the witnesses, and he winked at her as she and Rome took their places before the judge. About fifteen friends from work stood behind them in the small chamber, their feet shuffling about and their discreet whispering providing a rustling background to the ceremony. Sarah had worked out her two weeks notice and had spent the last week driving herself into the ground trying to get their apartment ready and everything that they weren’t going to use either sold or put into storage.

  The apartment that they’d finally taken had seemed much too expensive to Sarah, but Rome had overridden her objections to it. It was a big roomy condo, as big as a medium-size house. It had seven rooms, and a large terrace-balcony where they could barbecue and lie in the sun, and where she could put her multitude of plants. It also had a gas fireplace in the living room, which she suspected was what had sold Rome on the apartment. He’d looked at the fireplace with an expression of almost fiendish satisfaction, and she’d had to admit to a few shivers of anticipation herself when she thought of the coming winter and the nights they would spend in front of the flames.

  The best thing about the apartment to her way of thinking was the building manager, who lived on the bottom floor. Marcie Taliferro was a thirty-two-year-old divorcée, a freelance writer as well as building manager, and she had the most fantastic fifteen-year-old son Sarah had ever seen. Derek Taliferro already stood six feet tall, and was a hard and lean hundred and seventy pounds, and not only was he shaving every other day, he really needed to, which was mind-boggling. His voice was a smooth, deep baritone, and he had inherited his father’s classic Italian looks, from the dark curls on his head to his imperious Roman nose. He worked after school at a small grocery store and helped his mother around the condo, as well as being at the top of his class in school. Rome had yet to meet Derek the Wonder, as even Marcie called him, with a little awe in her voice as if she couldn’t believe she’d really mothered that perfect specimen. Derek was saving his money to go to college, but from what Marcie had said, he’d still be a long way short, and unless he was lucky enough to get a scholarship, he was going to have a long, hard haul getting through college. Sarah didn’t know if Rome had any strings to pull with any colleges, but if there was ever a kid who deserved a break, it was Derek Taliferro.

  Marcie was a friendly, commonsense type of person; a little short, a little plump, but the plumpness was mostly muscle. She had red hair, and freckles dashed across her nose, but she lacked the temper that was usually associated with red hair. She tackled every job with a casual manner that made it seem much easier than it really was; she’d helped Sarah move their furniture in and arrange it, since Rome had left that Monday morning on a business trip and hadn’t returned until Thursday night.

  Sarah eyed him covertly as the judge ran through the ceremony. He was dressed in a dark blue suit, with an impeccable pale blue pinstripe shirt, a discreet tie of navy and burgundy silk, and a burgundy silk handkerchief peeking out of his breast pocket, the splash of color looking smashing with his dark coloring. Suddenly she found it a little difficult to breathe, and her heart began racing in anticipation of the night to come. They’d found the opportunity to make love only three times, as a spate of trips had taken him away several times, and her own natural functions had displayed the world’s worst timing. She wanted him, and her body felt weak and warm.

  He was tense, his arm rigid where her fingers lay lightly in the crook of his elbow. His deep voice was strained, and his hand shook when he slipped the plain gold band on her finger. As soon as the ring was on, Sarah closed her fingers into a fist, as if she could anchor it to her flesh. Then he was brushing her lips with a light kiss, and it was over. He drew back, his hand locking with hers, and he gave her a smile that merely twitched at the corners of his mouth, then faded.

  Everyone came up to shake their hands and congratulate them. Max was the last of all; he shook Rome’s hand, then framed Sarah’s face in his palms and said softly, “My word, you’re lovely! Are you so happy, then?”

  “Yes, of course,” she whispered, and lifted her face for his kiss, his mouth barely touching hers in the lightest of caresses.

  “Damn it, Max,” Rome said impatiently. “Why does it seem that you kiss her more than I do?”

  “Maybe I’m just smarter than you are,” Max returned, grinning.

  Sarah clung to Rome’s hand, wondering if he thought she looked good. Several people other than Max had commented on her glowing looks, and she knew that it was due as much to the new makeup job she had as it was to her happiness. She’d gone to a hairstyling and makeup salon, and the makeup artist had showed her some new delicate translucent shades that gave her color without being too harsh. Her eyes were made up only slightly darker than usual, but that small difference was a gigantic one. Her Egyptian eyes were more exotic, her lashes feathered, while shadows and secrets lurked in the green depths. Apricot color dusted her cheekbones, and her mouth had a soft, lush quality to it. That wasn’t lipstick; that was the way she felt. Beneath the pale rose silk dress she wore, her body was quivering, aching, needing him.

  But not yet. Reservations had been made at a swank restaurant, and everyone went along. Lobster and champagne seemed the perfect feast, but Sarah was so nervous that she scarcely noted the snow-white meat of the lobster or the sparkling champagne that slipped down her throat. She wasn’t aware that she was getting tipsy until she turned her head to say something to Rome and the room suddenly dipped. She blinked, surprised.

  For the first time that entire evening Rome grinned, his dark face lighting as his teeth flashed whitely. “Were two glasses of champagne too much for you?”

  “You let me drink two glasses?” she asked weakly, clinging to the edge of the table. “Rome, I wasn’t joking about my alcohol tolerance. I won’t be able to walk out of here!”

  “We were just married; everyone will think it’s romantic if I carry you out,” he said calmly.

  “Not if I’m waving the tablecloth like a flag and singing Highland ballads at the top of my lungs,” she predicted darkly. He chuckled but moved the champagne glass away from her plate and signaled the waiter. Shortly thereafter a glass of milk appeared by her side, and she sipped it gratefully. Everyone at the table groaned and predicted dire results from the mixing of champagne and milk, but Sarah knew a lifesaver when she saw one, and she wasn’t about to turn it down. Even with the milk slowing the rate at which the alcohol was absorbed into her bloodstream, she knew she wouldn’t be steady on her feet when they left the restaurant.

  She wasn’t; Rome’s arm was clamped around her waist like a vise as he helped her to his car. He settled her in the seat and walked around to get behind the wheel, calling out good-byes and acknowledgments to all the best wishes their friends were giving them. After he closed the car door, he sat for a moment, fiddling with the key ring in his hand. Finally he put the key in the ignition and turned to look at Sarah, who was lying back in the seat with her eyes half-closed and an intriguing smile on her lips
. The streetlight caught her eyes, making them sparkle like moon dust. She was so soft and feminine, and her subtle perfume rose to his nostrils, tempting him to search it out all along her satiny skin. She was his wife now, a legally intimate partner…his wife!

  He almost groaned aloud, thinking of another wedding, and Diane’s radiant face as she came down the aisle to him, the hunger in the kiss he’d given her at the end of the ceremony. His wife! Diane had been his wife, and he’d never thought another woman would occupy that position, bear that title. Until the ceremony had begun, he hadn’t had any doubts about this second marriage, but when the familiar, haunting words reached his ears, he’d broken out in a cold sweat. He didn’t, couldn’t, regret marrying Sarah, but suddenly the memory of Diane was haunting him. Diane was gone from him now, really gone. He couldn’t call her his wife now, because by the grace of the laws of Texas and the United States, and his own determination, the woman at his side was now his wife.

  Sarah Matthews. He said the name in his mind, imprinting it there. Sarah Matthews, his wife. Pale, elegant Sarah, always so distant, but now she was his. He knew that no other woman should be in his mind tonight, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Diane, couldn’t stop comparing her to Sarah. Diane had been so much more forceful than Sarah, capable of standing up to him and arguing with him toe-to-toe, chin-to-chin, then kissing him with all the fervor of her fiery nature. She’d glowed with color, her skin taking on the gold of the sun, her head full of bright gold-brown curls, her eyes as blue as the midsummer sky. Diane had been the sun, warm, shining, while Sarah was the moon, pale and cold and aloof. Sarah…what was it about her that made her so mysterious? Her veiled, shadowy eyes? Had he ever wanted anyone before the way he wanted Sarah? Her mysteries only lured him on, making him want to solve them.