Lonely.
Empty.
Pick one.
"I'd like you to meet David."
She closed her eyes for a second. "Yes," she said. "I'd like that, too." It would be interesting to see if she could look at Michael's son and not feel a stab of jealousy so intense that it took her breath away.
"He's had it rough since his mother died," he said, picking his words the way a soldier picks his way through a mine field. "I'm not going to let him get hurt."
She stiffened. "Meaning?"
"Meaning I don't want you to get too close to him. Not unless you're going to stick around for the long haul."
She let out a long, shuddering breath. "You don't beat around the bush, do you, McKay?"
"Not when it comes to David. There's too much at stake."
She thought about Michael's in-laws, the custody threat, the terrifying pain of losing a parent.
"That's a lot for a child to go through," she said. "I understand why you're worried."
He leaned toward her, his dark eyes guarded but hopeful. "He's a great kid. Smart as hell. He's having trouble believing I'm not going to leave him the way his mother did."
Who could blame him? Seeing the dark side of life so young made a mockery of childhood. It was something Sandra could well understand.
"Maybe we should skip the meeting for the time being," she said, wishing she could blink away this whole conversation and start over. "Your son has had enough traumas to last him awhile."
"Spell it out," Michael said. "Are you telling me this is going to be short-term?"
"I'm not telling you anything." She felt like the target in a shooting gallery. "Who knows what's going to happen? I'm just thinking of David." Wasn't that what this whole conversation was about?
His two-syllable Anglo-Saxon curse brought her up short. "I can't change the fact that I'm a father, Sandy."
"I wouldn't want you to."
He gave her a measuring look. "Then why do I get the feeling you wish David would disappear?"
"Because you're paranoid?" Her tone was flippant. She hoped it masked her surprise over just how close he'd come to the ugly truth. A living, breathing reminder of the years she'd let slip away would be difficult to bear.
"Because I know you."
"I'm not seventeen any longer, Michael. You can't read my mind the way you did then."
"Level with me this once, because if you don't, we won't have a chance in hell of making this work."
Emotions she couldn't name, much less control, broke free, and she smashed her fist into the pillow bunched against the headboard.
"I hate this!" Hot, angry tears slid down her cheeks. "I know it's lousy and reprehensible and every other rotten adjective you can think of, but I'm so damned jealous right now that I'm seeing red."
"Jealous of David?" He was looking at her as if she were an escaped felon, and she almost laughed.
"Diana, you idiot."
"You're jealous of Diana? It was a bad marriage. A rebound thing. I was trying to get back at you, and I ended up hurting a lot of other people instead."
"Damn it, Michael! It's not your marriage that bothers me." Why was he being so dense? She'd had relationships. She'd even been engaged. But no other man had come close to reaching the secret, hidden part of her that Michael had, and she felt certain the same was true for him.
Or at least she had been certain up until now.
"I don't get it," he said.
She brushed away the tears with the heel of her hand and wished she'd had the foresight to keep a box of Kleenex by the bed.
"For all that you say your marriage was terrible, one pretty important fact comes through loud and clear: Diana gave you a son." A strangled laugh rose up in her throat. "That's one hell of a tough act to follow."
He pulled her into his arms, gripping her so tightly she knew his fingers would leave impressions on her skin. "I never figured you for a coward."
Their faces were inches apart, and she had to force herself to meet his anger and pain head-on.
"I wanted everything to be like it was. I didn't want any shadows following us around."
"Too bad, lady." His words were like sharp, spiny rocks beneath the surface of a smooth lake. "Too bad you can't always get what you want."
She tried to look away, but he turned her face back to him.
"I hate you," she whispered.
"I almost wish you did. Life would be a hell of a lot easier." Although he still gripped her tightly, she sensed a subtle shift in the emotion behind the touch, and her body began to respond. "I love you, Sandra Patterson. I never stopped loving you. The only thing that kept me from making love to you that night at the Plaza was the fact that I loved you too much to hurt you any more than I already had."
"You don't know how much I wanted you. I burned for you, Michael. I wanted you more at that moment than my career, my degree, anything on earth. When you walked out that door, I wanted to die."
"But you didn't," he said. "I knew that. You're a survivor, Sandy. You always were. You always will be."
It was that same deeply rooted will to survive that made the ultimate giving of herself so difficult. So terrifying.
"Even with Diana, I never managed to break free of you. I'd take her to bed and feel your breasts beneath my hands. I'd kiss her, and it would be your mouth I'd taste. Even the sounds she made were the sounds I imagined you would make when I moved inside of you. You were in my brain, Sandra, like a fever I couldn't shake."
She was trembling uncontrollably. His words clawed at her heart.
How could she tell him about the nights with Andrew, nights when she'd prayed to feel something – anything – when he touched her?
How could she tell him about the bone-deep loneliness that had driven her into a relationship as practical as a money-market account, and about as warm?
But she'd needed something of her own. She had finally reached a point in her career where she felt secure, and some of her mother's old dreams for her no longer seemed so foolish. She'd believed Michael was lost to her forever.
Had it been so terrible to want a family of her own? To want to give birth to a baby, to create a child who could receive the love bottled up inside her?
Was it so awful to want someone to share both the joys and the sorrows?
Why was she finding it so difficult to understand Michael's needs?
The truth was more complicated than simple jealousy.
She already had the overwhelming responsibility of her mother's medical care. The thought of taking on the added responsibility of a child scared hell out of her.
The realization that Michael just might say goodbye when he heard about Elinor terrified her. The same ugly feeling of relief that had washed over her when Elinor swore her to secrecy resurfaced, shaming her as she realized she would honor her mother's wishes.
So now there was just one way out. Take what she could, while she could, and try not to look too far ahead.
Maybe reality could be held at bay.
"Let's take it slow," she said finally. "Why can't we see where we stand before we bring David into the picture?"
"Spell it out," he asked a second time.
"An affair," she said bluntly. "Don't tell me you've brought every woman in your life home to meet your son."
There was a long silence. "There haven't been any other women in my life since I got custody."
It was her turn to be silent. "Why is it I believe you?"
"Because we've come too far for lies. We're thirty-five years old, and if we're ever going to have a life together, we'd better get started."
"You make thirty-five sound like we're ready for Social Security."
"How fast did the last fifteen fly by? We don't have time for any more false starts. We've been given another chance." He put his finger under her chin and tilted her face up to his."Let's give it our best shot."
He was right, and she knew it.
They had this one last opportunity for happiness
together; she'd be a fool to let it slip through her fingers.
She swallowed hard. "When did you say your son was coming home?"
"Tomorrow," he said, watching her. "You could meet him tomorrow night."
"He might hate me." She forced a smile. "I used to think Sesame Street was a cooking show. David may find me too ignorant to talk to."
"He'll love you."
"Don't be so sure. Maybe we should put this offer."
"Forget it."
"A clandestine affair has its charm, Michael." There was definitely something to be said for pretending reality didn't exist.
Especially a five-year-old reality whose existence could spell the end to their future together.
"Not for us." He pulled the sheet away from her torso, and she felt herself melting beneath his gaze like a quick-burning candle. He cupped her left breast gently in his palm, and her heart almost leaped through her ribcage.
She couldn't speak. With him watching her like that, as if he knew every corner of her heart, she couldn't even breathe.
He bent down and flicked her nipple with his tongue. When he looked up, his eyes glittered with a light that seemed both savage and tender.
"Make no mistake about it: I want your body, but lady, I'm not going to rest until I claim your soul."
~~
Chapter Eight~~
" . . . Oust two hundred and fifty clerical workers from Sioux Falls before we can begin to balance – are we boring you, Patterson?"
Sandra's head popped up, and she met the angry gaze of Ed Gregory.
"Sorry." She flipped her notes to the appropriate page. "I had a rough night."
"We've all had it rough since the hurricanes," Ed said, his voice ominously low and controlled. "Lousy excuse."
Her face burned, but she managed to keep her expression neutral. "It's the best excuse I can come up with, Ed."
It was certainly a hell of a lot better than telling him his presentation could have cured the most hard-core insomniac.
Carol Richter shot her a quizzical look as Ilene McGrath scribbled something on a ledger sheet and passed it to one of the other assistant vice-presidents at the conference table.
Ed picked up his speech where he'd left off and Sandra tried her best to keep from sneaking a peek at the time.
Her mentor's flash point was pretty low, and she knew he was already halfway to homicide.
She was meeting Michael and his son at the Cathedral of St. Matthew the Divine at six o'clock, which meant maneuvering the god-awful Long Island Expressway at the height of the rush hour. Granted, most people were going to other way, but Long Island highways were nothing if not crowded.
Her plan to slip away from work early was clearly not going to work now; if she knew Ed, he'd monitor her desk until closing time.
She looked over at Carol, who was turning to yet another page in the mega-report in front of her. Everyone else was doing the same.
Sandra caught a glimpse of the page number and forced her attention back to the work at hand.
If she could just hang in a little longer . . .
An hour and a half later, after the meeting had broken up in a flurry of company spirit fostered by a catered late, late lunch with rolling bar, Sandra slipped back to her office to try to get at least something accomplished.
She had just finished making notations on the morning's meeting and was about to dive into the monthly forecast for international property rates when Ed tapped on the fiberglass partition that surrounded her work area.
"I thought you liked Beef Stroganoff, Patterson."
She ignored him and continued to read the report.
He stepped into the cubicle and sat on the edge of her desk.
"I made sure they were generous with the sour cream."
"Thanks." She continued with her reading.
"The vultures are making short work of it," he said. "If you don't move your butt, you'll be out of luck."
She glanced up at him over the top of her glasses. "I'll take my chances."
"Come on, Patterson." She could hear the sarcastic edge to his voice, and it immediately got under her skin. 'Can't you take some constructive criticism?"
She tossed down her pen. It hit the edge of her blotter and bounced to the floor.
"Constructive criticism is great, Ed. Public criticism is something else entirely."
"Don't go getting sensitive on me. You were out of line."
"You could have saved the hurricane remark for after the meeting."
"Judgment call. I made a bad one. Are you going to sulk the rest of the day?"
"I won't dignify that with an answer."
"What the hell's wrong with you, Patterson? What happened to your pleasant personality?"
"Did you hire me for my personality or my work habits?"
He threw his head back and laughed, and Sandra had to plunge her fists into her jacket pockets to keep from knocking him flat.
"I wouldn't pursue that line of questioning today if I were you," he said. "You're not scoring too high on either count."
"Terrific." She stood up and reached for her briefcase and purse. "Then you won't miss me if I take the rest of the day off."
For a woman who had always prided herself on her professionalism, she was behaving in a way that horrified her.
But there was no hope for it. Her emotions were at the breaking point, and there was nothing she could do to stop herself.
Hold on a minute." Ed blocked her exit. "Exactly how rough a night did you have?"
She regretted having said anything.
"You're strung tighter than a piano wire," he went on. "What gives?"
She'd already said more than enough. She definitely wasn't going to tell Ed she'd spent the night worrying about meeting a five-year-old boy.
"I told you. Digging out after Henry and Iris was tougher than I expected."
"Damn." Ed sagged against the side of the cubicle. "I promised to get someone out there for you, didn't I?"
She nodded. Ed was always filled with good intentions that rarely amounted to anything.
He reached for the phone. "Let me get my nephew on it. If you can hold out, I'm certain he can get that roof done by the weekend."
She took the receiver from him and put it back in the cradle."No need. It's been done."
He shot her a look. "For someone who's been back in town less than a month, you're pretty well-connected. Who do you know? Good help is harder to find than dock space on the Sound."
"He's not for hire." She tried to control the edge in her voice. "It was a favor."
Ed's eyes narrowed. "You're not talking about that black-haired monolith you bumped into at Burger King Friday night, are you?"
"It was White Castle, and yes, that's who I mean." Her words were clipped and tight. There was something else going on here besides an interest in her house repairs.
"He did the repairs himself?"
"What is this, Ed? Twenty Questions?"
"Just curious. I may need a repairman someday."
"You have a townhouse, remember? Call the maintenance crew. That's what you pay them for."
She went to push past him, but he held his ground. More than anything, she wanted to avoid the confrontation she seemed to be rushing toward.
"We begin putting together the end-of-the-year reports in a week or two. Things are going to get pretty hairy around here."
"The end-of-the-year reports are legendary, Ed. I've been upping my B-12 intake in preparation."
A brief smile flickered over his face, then died. "It seems to me you have enough to worry about as it is."
He'd had to initial some changes in her health-insurance package when Elinor was stricken, so he knew full well what was going on and one of the reasons why career stability was so important to her.
This was the first time that he'd ever alluded to the situation, however. "Maybe you should think twice before you take on anything else."
She forced a smile. "Are you
planning to give me an extra two weeks' paid vacation?"
"The hell I am. If I could get you in here seven days a week, I would."
He moved aside so he was no longer blocking the door, but Sandra knew he wasn't through.
Not yet.
"If you have something to say, Ed, then say it. I'm not in the mood for games."
"You want it straight?"
"Yes."
He looked so serious, so angry, that suddenly she was no longer sure she wanted to hear it.
"We've been working together a long time. I've seen you through some tough spots and watched you turn into one of the best financial analysts around."
He paused. She'd seen Ed operate before; she knew the routine.
First the praise.
Then the bomb.
She cleared her throat. "And?"
"I put myself out on a limb to bring you back here to headquarters. If you fail, I take the heat." He met her eyes. "I don't like taking the heat for anybody. Not even you."
"And I don't like to fail, Ed. You should know that."
Her mother's medical bills made money more of an issue than ever before, but Sandra's need for a career went far beyond that. She liked what she did; a part of her self-esteem was defined by it, and always would be. That part of her emotional makeup had been decided in childhood, and wasn't likely to change.
But she was beginning to let herself understand that there were other, stronger needs she had long ignored.
Needs that Michael McKay had awakened in her once again.
"Then keep on track," Ed said, his voice sharp. "A few more rough nights and you might find yourself trapped here permanently."
"Would that be so terrible? This is headquarters, isn't it?"
"I have bigger plans for you." He dropped the names of three of their most prestigious overseas branches. "Don't let your social life hold you back."
"What happens when I leave the office is my business, not US-National's."
"When it affects your work, it's US-National's business."
"I'll keep that in mind."
Ed stepped out into the hallway. "I'm not trying to run your life. I just want to make sure you stay on track. You've come too far to blow it all now."
"Meaning?"
"Your friend. That unexpected reunion might be the worst thing to ever happen to you. I – "
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