Sarah's Child

“Sarah, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she interrupted, the sound of that deep voice shredding the fragile control she’d gained over her emotions, and she began to weep again. The soft sobs were evident in her voice despite her efforts to hide them. “I may not know anything about men, but you don’t know anything about me! I don’t want to talk to you anymore, do you hear?”

“God, you’re crying.” He groaned softly, a harsh, masculine sound that filled her with equal portions of pain and longing.

“I said I don’t want to talk to you!”

He somehow divined her intentions and said “Don’t hang up on me!” in sudden wrath, but she did anyway, then buried her face in the pillow and cried until her eyes were dry and burning.

“You don’t know anything at all about me,” she said aloud into the darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

It was a good thing the next day was Saturday, because after a horrible night spent alternately crying and staring at the ceiling, Sarah slept late and rose still feeling tired, her eyes heavy-lidded, her movements slow. She forced herself to do her routine chores, then that afternoon flopped down on the sofa, too tired and uninterested to tackle anything else. She needed to shop for groceries, but simply couldn’t face the hassle. A quick mental inventory of her cabinets reassured her that she wouldn’t starve, at least not for a couple of days.

The doorbell rang, and she got up, answering the summons without thinking. As soon as she opened the door and looked up into Rome’s dark face, a feeling of despair settled on her shoulders. Why couldn’t he have waited until Monday? She’d have recovered by then and wouldn’t be at such a terrible disadvantage. She didn’t even have the comfort of being properly dressed. Her long hair was loose and hanging down her back; her jeans were old, tight, and faded; and the oversize jersey she wore probably revealed the fact that she was braless. She fought the urge to cross her arms protectively over her chest, even when his eyes dropped to survey her from her feet, clad in blue socks, all the way up to her face, which was bare of even a trace of makeup.

“Ask me in,” he commanded, his voice even deeper than usual.

She didn’t extend a verbal invitation; she couldn’t. Instead she stepped back and opened the door, and he moved past her into the room. He was dressed casually, in well-cut tan slacks and a blue pullover shirt, but he still made her feel like something found in the city dump. “Have a seat,” she invited, finally controlling her voice enough to speak. He sat down on the sofa, and she seated herself across from him in an oversize armchair, unable to make polite chitchat, just waiting for him to break the tension by speaking.

Rome wasn’t aware of any tension; he had been taken too much by surprise by her appearance, and he was having difficulty dealing with this startling new aspect of her character. He’d expected her to be dressed in heels, sleek black pants, and a silk blouse, her coldness firmly in place as a barrier between them. Instead she looked very young, very relaxed, and very sexy in those comfortable old clothes. She had the sleek, aristocratic grace of form and carriage that made it possible for her to wear anything, even an old football jersey, with casual elegance. He knew that she and Diane had been the same age, so that made her thirty-three, but there was a freshness about her bare face that took at least ten years off her age. This was how he’d often imagined seeing her, or at least a variation on the theme. The remote poise he’d expected was gone, and he realized that he had her at a disadvantage. With relish, he looked her over again, his eyes lingering on the obvious freedom of her breasts beneath the jersey, and to his surprise and intensified desire, a warm blush heated her cheeks.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said abruptly. “At least, about what I said. I’m not sorry I kissed you, or that I almost went to bed with you.”

Sarah looked away, unable to meet his intense gaze. “I understand. We were both—”

“Upset. I know.” He gave her a crooked little smile as he interrupted her. “But upset or not, I kissed you the second time because I wanted to kiss you. I’d like to see you, take you out to dinner, if you can forgive me for what I said.”

Sarah wet her lips. Part of her wanted to jump at the opportunity, any opportunity, to spend time with him, but the other part of her was cautious, afraid of being hurt. “I don’t think it would be a good idea,” she finally said, choking the words out of her dry throat. “Diane…Diane would always be in my mind.”

His eyes went black as pain assailed him. “And in mine. But I can’t lie down and die with her; I have to keep living. I’m attracted to you, and I’ll tell you up front that I always have been.” He ran an agitated hand through his dark hair, disturbing the lock that usually fell over his forehead. “Hell, I don’t know,” he burst out in confusion, “but last night, for the first time, I could talk about them. You knew them, and you understand. It’s all been dammed up inside me, and I can talk about it with you. Please, Sarah, you were Diane’s friend. Now be my friend.”

She sucked in her breath, staring painfully at him. What irony, that the man she’d loved for years should come to her begging for her friendship, because he felt he could talk to her about his dead wife. For the first time she resented Diane, resented the hold Diane had on Rome that hadn’t loosened even in death. But how could she say no to him, when he was staring at her with desperation tightening his features? How could she say no to him regardless of what he asked her? It was the raw truth that she couldn’t deny him anything.

“All right,” she whispered.

He sat there for a moment; then her words sank in and he closed his eyes in relief. What if she’d refused? In a way he couldn’t understand, it had become vital to him that she not freeze him out. She was his last link to Diane, and more than that, the night before he’d finally broken the ice that surrounded her and found that she wasn’t cold at all. He wanted to do that again. The thought of bringing her to passion interfered with his breathing and made his loins grow heavy.

To take his mind off his growing desire, he looked around the condo and was again surprised. There was no glass or chrome, only comfortable textures and soothing colors. Her furniture was all sturdy and overstuffed, inviting to a tired body. He wanted to stretch out on her sofa, which was long enough to accommodate his long legs, and watch a baseball game on television while idly munching on freshly popped, salty popcorn, with a can of frosty beer in his hand. The room was that soothing, that comfortable. This was where she let her hair down, literally, he thought, surveying with pleasure the pale tumble of her hair. When she pulled it back into the tight, severe twist she wore at work, she subdued all hint of curl, but now he could see that her hair wasn’t weed-straight. The weight of it pulled most of the curl out, but the ends had a tendency to form frothy, bouncy curls. She was so blonde, it was startling.

“I like this room,” he said, his eyes on her.

Sarah looked nervously around, aware of how much of herself was revealed in the atmosphere she’d created for her private lair. Here she’d made a home that gave her the warmth and security she craved and had lacked all her life. She’d grown up in a home that had provided physical comfort, but left her out in the cold when it came to love. The house had been immaculate, and “done” to perfection by a hideously expensive interior decorator, but the coldness of it had made Sarah shiver, and she’d invented excuses, even as a child, to escape it. The coldness had reflected the hostility of the man and woman who lived there, each of them so bitter at being trapped in a loveless marriage that there had been no warmth or laughter for the child who, though innocent, had been the chain that held them together. When they finally divorced, only a few weeks after Sarah had entered college, it had been a relief for all three of them. Never close to her parents, since then Sarah had drifted even farther from them. Her mother had remarried and lived in Bermuda; her father had also remarried, moved to Seattle, and was now, at fifty-seven, the doting father of a six-year-old son.

The only example of warm home-life Sarah had known was that provided by Diane, first with Diane’s parents, then with the home she’d made with Rome. Diane had had the gift of love, a warm outpouring of affection that had drawn people to her. With Diane, Sarah had laughed and teased, and done all of the normal things that a teenage girl did. But now Diane was gone. At least, Sarah thought painfully, Diane had died without ever knowing that her best friend was in love with her husband.

Suddenly she collected her manners and scrambled to her feet. “I’m sorry. Would you like something to drink?”

A cold beer, he thought. And salty popcorn. He’d bet anything he had that Sarah wasn’t a beer drinker, but he could picture her curled by his side, sipping on a soft drink and delving her hand into the bowl for popcorn. She wouldn’t talk during the game either, but during the commercials he’d tip her head back and kiss her slowly, tasting the salt on her lips. By the time the game ended, he’d be so wild for her, he’d take her there on the sofa, or maybe on the carpet in front of the television.

Sarah shifted uneasily, wondering why he was watching her so intently. She put a hand to her cheek, thinking that she could dash into her bedroom and do a fast cosmetic job on her face. Anything would be an improvement over nothing.

“I don’t suppose you have beer?” he asked softly, not taking his eyes from her.

Despite herself, she chuckled at the question. She’d never bought beer in her life; all she knew about it was the catchy jingles on television. “No, you’re out of luck. Your choice is limited to a soft drink, water, tea or milk.”

His eyebrows rose at that. “No spirits?”

“I’m not much of a drinker. My metabolism can’t handle it. I found out in college that I’m the world’s cheapest drunk.”

When she smiled, her face took on an animation that made him catch his breath. He shifted uncomfortably. Damn! Everything she did made him think of sex.

“I think I’ll pass on a drink, unless you’re inviting me to dinner?” His eyebrows rose in question.

Sarah sank back into her chair, unnerved by the speed with which he presumed on their newly formed friendship. How could she invite him to dinner? It was already late in the afternoon, and she hadn’t bought groceries. The most nutritious meal she could offer him would be peanut butter sandwiches, and Rome didn’t look like a peanut butter man. What did he like to eat? Frantically she tried to call to mind the type of meals Diane had prepared, but Diane had been such a total disaster as a cook that her efforts had been limited to the simple things she could prepare without too much risk, and which reflected necessity rather than anyone’s preference. Sarah was an excellent cook, but there was a limit to what could be done with a partial loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter.

Finally she turned up her palms helplessly. “My cupboards aren’t bare, but they’re the next thing to it. I can invite you to dinner, but it will be a late one, because I’ll have to go shopping first.”

Her candor delighted him, and he laughed, a genuine laugh that made his dark eyes dance with light. Sarah caught her breath. He certainly wasn’t handsome, but when he laughed, Rome Matthews could charm the birds out of the trees. That dark velvet laugh made her spine tingle, and she thought of lying in bed with him in the darkness, after making love. They’d talk, and his voice would wash over her, the rumbling tones making her feel secure and protected.

“Why don’t I take you out to dinner instead?” he offered, and suddenly Sarah knew that he’d planned that all along, but had decided to tease her first.

“All right,” she accepted softly. “What do you have in mind?”

“Steak. If we can’t find the world’s biggest steak in Texas, then it can’t be found. I haven’t had lunch,” he confessed.

Because he was so hungry, they had an early dinner. Sarah sat across from him and chewed her steak without really tasting it, her mind on Rome and every nuance of his expression, every word he uttered. She felt bemused by the turn of events; she simply couldn’t believe she was eating dinner with him, making normal conversation, as if the abrupt, searing moments in his arms the night before had never happened. She’d been out to dinner hundreds of times before, but always with men who had never ruffled her layers of indifference. She wasn’t indifferent at all with Rome: she felt bare, exposed, though it was an inner vulnerability that wasn’t revealed by her calm expression. Her nerves were quivering, and her heartbeat was accelerated.

Still, she managed to make normal conversation, and it was inevitable that the talk should turn to their work. Sarah’s boss, Mr. Graham, the senior vice president, nominally outranked Rome, but it was no secret that when Mr. Edwards, the chairman of the board, retired, Henry Graham wouldn’t be the one who advanced to the chair. Rome was young, but he was a brilliant corporate strategist, and he understood every phase of the company. Sarah thought he was perfectly suited for such a high position of authority; he had the forceful personality, the intelligence, the charisma, needed to handle the job. In the years she’d known him, she’d only seen him lose his temper once while at work, and that display had sent people scurrying for cover. He had a temper, but it was usually under iron control. That made it doubly surprising that he’d lost his temper with her the night before, with so little provocation.

At first Rome was a little stiff, as if wary of saying too much to her, but as the hours wore on he relaxed with her, leaning forward over the table in interest, his gaze fixed intently on her face. Sarah didn’t generally volunteer her opinions, but she was unusually observant, and her years of concentration on her job had given her a lot of insight into the hidden mechanisms of office politics, and the capabilities and weaknesses of the people they worked with. With Rome, her usual guards were gone, wiped completely out of her consciousness. She simply responded to him on all levels, too happy just being with him to think of protecting herself. Her face, usually so remote and shuttered, became alive under the glow of his attention, and her Nile-green eyes lost their shadows to sparkle at him beguilingly.

The conversation didn’t lapse when he drove her home, and they were so intent that, when he stopped the car in front of her condo, they sat in the car like teenagers reluctant to end a date, rather than going inside for coffee to finish the evening. The streetlights illuminated the interior of the car with silvery light, washing away all shades of color except for the darkness of his hair and eyes and the pale sheen of her hair. She was ethereal in the artificial moonlight projected by the street-lights, her low voice gentle in the darkness.

Rome suddenly reached out and took her hand. “I’ve enjoyed this. It seems like forever since I’ve been able to talk to a woman. I haven’t had a relationship with a woman since Diane died. I don’t mean sex,” he explained calmly. “I’m talking about being able to be friends with a woman, to talk to her and enjoy her company, to relax with her. I think I’ve missed that the most. Tonight…well, it’s felt good. Thank you.”

Sarah turned her hand in his and squeezed his fingers lightly. “That’s what friends are for.”

He walked with her up to her apartment. Sarah unlocked the door and opened it, reaching inside to turn on the light before she turned to face Rome again. Her smile was gently sad, for she hated to see the night end. It had been, for all its lack of drama, one of the best times of her life. “Good night. It’s been fun.” More than fun. It had been heavenly.

“Good night.” But he didn’t leave. Instead he stood in the doorway, soberly regarding her. He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek with his forefinger, then slid his hand around to cup her chin in his palm. He leaned toward her, and Sarah went weak with anticipation, her eyes widening as fevered delight shot through her. He was going to kiss her again. Lightly his mouth touched hers, his lips moving with tender expertise over her parted, breathless mouth. His warm taste filled her, and Sarah’s lashes fluttered, then slowly closed. With a zephyr of a sigh she swayed into his arms; he needed no more encouragement than that. Locking his arms around her, he pulled her up against his chest and gradually deepened the kiss, as if he were wary of going too fast for her, giving her time to accept or reject each new move.

There was no question of her rejecting him. It wasn’t in Sarah’s makeup to say no to Rome in any way. She felt the heat of his body burning her through the layers of their clothing, and the warmth was a beacon that drew her closer. She wound her arms around his neck and eagerly accepted the more intimate intrusion of his tongue. A naked, wanting heat began building in her, and she wanted to be closer to him, to mold herself against him so tightly that his flesh would be hers.

His hands moved restlessly over her back, wanting to seek richer ground but restricted by the tight control he kept on himself and the situation. Sensing her safety with him, Sarah kissed him with undisguised hunger, not caring that he might look beyond the obvious explanation for her behavior and arrive at the correct conclusion that her attraction to him went beyond sex. But sex with him would be so good, she thought giddily, clinging to him. His experience was obvious in the firm but gentle way he touched her, the leisure with which he approached every caress. If he’d taken her into the bedroom right then, she’d have followed him without a murmur of protest.

But he lifted his mouth from hers, though he sighed and rested his forehead against hers for a moment before reaching up and disentangling her arms from about his neck, then setting her away from him. “Now it really is good night. I’m going to be in bad shape if this goes on much longer, so I’m stopping it here. I’ll see you Monday morning, at work.”