Reluctant Wife

by Carla Cassidy

He grinned at her. “Showing you just how unpredictable I can be.”

  He carried her upstairs to his bed, wanting to make love to her against the backdrop of his navy sheets, in the room where he’d dreamed of her on so many lonely nights.

  As their lips met, all restraint, all control shattered between them. The first time they’d made love, it had been slow, careful—a time of discovery and wonder. This time, there were no gentle caresses, no building of fire and heat. The fire flamed out of control, the heat exploding as they tore at each other’s clothing.

  He knew it was a mistake. He could forgive himself the error of making love to Samantha once, but this was sheer madness that could lead nowhere. Still, these thoughts did nothing to temper the need that roared through him like a blazing inferno.

  Later. Later he would regain some distance. Later he would learn how to deny to himself and to her his desire for her. For now, he simply wanted to love her.

  They moved like two starving animals, falling on each other with hungry kisses and feverish caresses. As Tyler entered her, rationality vanished and he lost himself in the sweet heat of her.

  Afterward, they remained in each other’s arms, their breaths slowing as their hearts sought a more normal rhythm. Tyler felt the need to say something, to talk about the spontaneous combustion that had just occurred between them, but he didn’t know exactly what to say.

  He couldn’t distance himself from her completely as long as the Marcola trial was going on. He’d promised her he would help with Dominic’s defense. And he couldn’t promise himself he wouldn’t make love to her again and again if given the opportunity. However, he knew it would be best for them both if they could finish the trial without falling into bed another time.

  “Samantha?” He pulled his arm out from beneath her and sat up. She didn’t answer. He reached out and turned on the bedside lamp, and saw that she was sleeping—as soundly, as peacefully as a babe.

  He watched her for a long moment, memorizing each and every feature that made her distinctly Samantha. The strong jawline, the arrogant arch of each pale eyebrow, the nose with its impudent upturn—all made the face of the woman he loved. But the knowledge of his love for her filled him with alternating joy and despair; he had promised himself long ago that no woman would own his heart, that he would never again make himself vulnerable to losing a woman he loved.

  He closed his eyes, a vision of his mother invading his mind. Laughing. She was almost always laughing, as if life were a carnival and she was just along for the thrill of the rides.

  It was Tyler who had reminded her to pay the electric bills, who had made out grocery lists and cooked meals. It was Tyler who had spent hours waiting for her return, wondering if she would come back safe and sound. And the one night he hadn’t waited—the one night he’d decided to be late and make her wait for him—she had died.

  He couldn’t handle feeling that kind of pain...that kind of rage again. He wouldn’t. And loving Samantha made him afraid that one day he would have to face those feelings again. She was simply too impetuous, and so filled with life, he feared she made herself a target for fate.

  Silently, not wanting to rouse her but unable to remain near her any longer, he crept from the bed. He pulled on his slacks and left the room.

  Downstairs in the study, he started a fire, then poured himself a brandy and sat down. As he stared into the flames, emotions battled in his heart. He envied Samantha her peaceful sleep. Apparently she suffered no moral dilemmas, was able to separate their mutual physical attraction and any pretense of love.

  For ages women had complained of men’s capacity to make love without being in love. Apparently Tyler was an anomaly; he couldn’t imagine making love without feeling it in his heart, in his soul.

  He tried to envision himself making love to Sarah. She was an attractive woman. He’d kissed her before, found kissing her pleasant enough, but lacking the intense response he felt just thinking of kissing Samantha.

  He took a sip of the brandy and closed his eyes. It seemed impossible to believe that he’d once considered proposing to Sarah. He realized now that the idea of marriage to her had seemed attractive because he didn’t love her. He knew she would make him a good wife and his heart would never have to be vulnerable.

  He also realized that now, marriage to Sarah wasn’t an option. He couldn’t cheat her like that—marry her with no love in his heart, commit to her when his heart was committed to another. He frowned, refusing to consider the depth of his feelings for Samantha.

  “What time is it?”

  Samantha’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see her standing in the doorway. Clad in her long, silk navy robe, with her hair tousled and her lips still swollen from his kisses, she looked so sexy it made him ache. “Not late. Just after eight.”

  She walked over to the window and peered out. “It’s disconcerting when it gets dark so early in the evening.” She turned back and looked at him. “Would it bother you if I worked for a little while in here?”

  “Not at all,” he lied. Of course, it would bother him. Everything about her bothered him. He sipped his brandy and watched as she retrieved her briefcase from the kitchen, then opened it and took out a handful of papers. She curled up in the chair across from him and began to read.

  He watched her covetously, wondering if there would ever come a day when he tired of looking at her. He didn’t think so. Hers was a face filled with character and emotion, always changing, always beautiful, but never the same.

  It wasn’t just her physical attributes that touched him. He admired her intelligence, loved the vulnerability she tried to hide behind a layer of bravado, and was touched by her utter loyalty.

  In one of their many conversations over dinner, she’d told him about her childhood escapes to the cemetery, where Jeb Marcola had soothed her anger, hugged away her tears. Tyler knew it was loyalty, the need to repay an old debt that drove her to want to help Jeb’s son.

  He frowned and took another sip of his drink, then once again stared into the flickering fire. He’d promised he would help her with the Marcola trial, and he would keep that promise. But once the trial was over, he intended to leave.

  He would sell out to her, pack up his bags and start over. The idea was not appealing, but it was far more appealing than remaining here and loving her. That simply couldn’t be an option.

  Samantha broke into his thoughts. “Did Melissa tell you she’s pregnant?”

  “No, she didn’t. Although she called to tell me to stop her divorce proceedings.” Tyler looked at her. She’d placed her paperwork on the floor next to her chair and was staring into the fire as if hypnotized.

  “You ever think about having kids?” she asked, her gaze still transfixed.

  “No.” A tightness grew in his chest. His answer was a lie. Sometimes in the vulnerable moments just before sleep or just upon awakening, he longed for a family. But it was a dream he never let take hold of him, knew he could never realize. “I decided a long time ago that with my background, I wasn’t a good risk as father material.”

  She finally looked at him, her brown eyes thoughtful. “What do you mean...with your background?”

  His fingers tightened around the stern of his brandy glass. “I loved my mother. She was all I had when I was younger. But I haven’t idealized her in death.” He paused for a moment to sip his drink. “She wasn’t a good parent. Oh, she wasn’t abusive or anything like that. She was forgetful, ruled by impulse. When she remembered she was a mother, she was good at it. The problem was, she often didn’t remember.”

  “But that doesn’t mean you’d make the same mistakes,” Samantha countered. She stared into the fire. “If I had children, I wouldn’t parent like my father did. I’d make sure not a minute passed that they didn’t know they were smart, and wonderful, and loved.” A smile curved her lips and her features softened. “That’s the way my mother was.”

  “You have good memories of her?”

  Sh
e nodded, her hair shining in the firelight “My mother filled the house with laughter. She was always either laughing or singing.” She wrapped her arms around her shoulders as if to hug the memory closer. “I remember my father once saying that she was one of those special people in the world, that being with her made everyone else feel special.”

  “Your father must have loved her very much.”

  She turned her head to look at Tyler once again, her features registering surprise. Tilting her head, she thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose he did.”

  “Just another example of loving, then losing somebody,” Tyler observed, bitterness creeping into his voice.

  Samantha continued to gaze at him. “Is that why you’ve never married? Because you’re afraid of losing the person you love?” Tyler didn’t reply. She laughed, a low chuckle that lacked real mirth. “Aren’t we a pair? Both of us pretending not to have hearts when the real truth is our hearts are so wounded we can’t trust again.”

  “I’m not afraid of anything,” Tyler answered tersely. “I haven’t married because I haven’t met a woman I could abide living with for any length of time. What’s your excuse?”

  She grinned cockily. “I’m not married because I haven’t found a man who could abide living with me for any length of time.” The smile fell away. “Besides, I’ve decided I don’t want a man in my life, but I would like children someday.”

  “Samantha, you might be able to accomplish many things, but children without a man I don’t think even you can achieve,” he said dryly.

  “I need a man for conceiving, but not for anything else,” she returned.

  Tyler looked at her in horror. Had that been the sole reason she’d slept with him?

  “No,” she declared softly, as if she knew exactly what thought had flitted in his head. “Although I have no doubt that we’d make beautiful babies together, you don’t have to worry. I’m on birth-control pills. I knew eventually I’d be ready for sex, but I’m not ready for children yet.”

  “Then why did you sleep with me?” The question fell from his lips without his volition.

  Her gaze didn’t waver from his. “Because I wanted to. Because even though I find you one of the most irritating men I’ve ever known, I’ve always been attracted to you.”

  She stared into the fire again. “Because while the rest of the high-school girls were having fantasies about the star football player or the latest rock star, I was having fantasies about you. Just don’t let it go to your head, okay?” She stood. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” Without waiting for his reply, she left the study.

  Tyler wished he hadn’t asked. The idea of her lying in bed, fantasizing about making love with him, touched his heart. She’d been an unloved young woman and he’d been her fantasy. But a fantasy could rarely sustain itself in the cold glare of reality.

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to imagine Samantha as a mother. She would be a good mother. Like her own mother, she would fill her house with laughter and love, nurturing her child as she’d wanted to be nurtured. He sat up and shoved the evocative images from his mind.

  Samantha’s father had broken her heart and he knew with certainty that she would never make that kind of mistake with her own children.

  Tyler might have been her fantasy once. But he would never become her reality. He knew that if she made the mistake of falling in love with him, he would become just another man who’d betrayed her...just another man who’d broken her heart.

  Samantha stood on the balcony in her mother’s bedroom. The brisk prewinter-night air whipped her hair around her head and chilled her body through her thin robe. But, she felt she needed the cold clean air to help clarify the thoughts swirling in her head.

  The conversation with Tyler had unsettled her. She picked through the remnants of his words, concentrating on the least threatening statement he’d made: “Your father must have loved her very much.”

  The moment Tyler had said those words, half-forgotten memories had shifted into focus. She remembered a particular breakfast, with all of them around the table. Her mother had been chattering, describing a women’s club meeting to Jamison in vivid, comic detail. What Samantha suddenly remembered clearest of all was the expression on her father’s face as he’d listened to his wife. Loving indulgence...utter devotion.

  That memory recalled others. The sound of her parents’ laughter from their bedroom...the secretive looks they would exchange...the way they touched frequently.

  He’d loved her. Completely. Desperately. Awe swept through Samantha as the memories of her parents’ relationship became clearer in her mind. And while their mother had been alive, Jamison had loved his daughters.

  Tears burned Samantha’s eyes. Her father’s arms surrounding her, his lips pressing a kiss on her forehead before she fell asleep. Sitting on his shoulders when they’d gone to a circus. He’d loved his daughters when his wife had been alive. So what had happened? How had it all changed?

  For the first time Samantha wondered if it was possible to love somebody so much that when they died, they took with them the best of the person they left behind. Had that happened to her father? Had his mourning been so intense, so deep that he couldn’t face the two little girls left behind with him? Had she and Melissa reminded him daily of his loss, making loving them too difficult to bear?

  And was that what had happened to Tyler? Had his mother’s death taken with it the best of him—his capacity to love?

  She swiped at the tears that flowed down her cheeks and stepped back into the bedroom. She closed the balcony door and carefully locked it, then drew the curtains across the door. If only she could close her heart off as easily.

  She’d once feared herself incapable of love. She’d taken her father’s rejection of her to mean that she wasn’t fit to be loved. But now, for the first time, she realized her father’s treatment had not been a reflection of her, but rather a sickness of his own that had little to do with her.

  As this final piece of knowledge clicked into place, she realized she loved Tyler. Perhaps had been in love with him for years. Always, before, the thought of being in love had filled her with fear—the dread of being vulnerable, of getting hurt. This time, it glowed in her heart, warming her from within.

  She loved. And she was worth loving. Now, all she had to do was convince Tyler of that fact.

  Chapter 12

  The following day there was little time for declarations of love or thoughts of her private life. Tyler, coming downstairs late, missed breakfast and seemed preoccupied. Although Samantha’s new realization of her love for him ached with the need to be voiced, she knew the timing wasn’t right.

  Once they got to the firm, he disappeared up the stairs to his office and Samantha went into hers. Within minutes, all thoughts of Tyler and love were shoved aside as she focused on Dominic’s case, which would resume the next day.

  She knew the prosecution probably had a day or two left of their case in chief, then it would be her turn to present for the defense.

  Although she’d managed to poke some holes in the prosecution’s theory, she worried that she hadn’t done enough to promote reasonable doubt.

  Dominic’s life weighed heavy on her mind. She had little to present to the jury, nothing substantial that might make a difference when they deliberated. Old boyfriends were always good for muddying the waters when a young woman was murdered. Unfortunately, Dominic was the old boyfriend.

  She sighed in frustration, then jumped as a knock sounded on her door. “Come in.”

  Edie entered, a foam take-out carton and a can of cola in her hand. “It’s after one and you haven’t eaten lunch. I got you a roast beef and cheese on white and a soda.” She set the sandwich and the drink on the desk.

  Samantha smiled. “Thanks Edie. That was really thoughtful.” She opened the container and gestured for Edie to sit in the chair opposite the desk. “Sit down, visit with me for a minute.”


  “Actually, I can’t take the credit for your lunch. Tyler came down a little while ago and told me if you hadn’t eaten yet, then I should order you something.”

  “Did he eat?” Samantha asked, trying to decide if she should be touched or irritated by his mothering.

  “He was on his way to a late-lunch meeting with a client.”

  Samantha nodded, deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth. She eyed the woman who had been a part of her life for so long. “Why aren’t you married, Edie?” Relationships suddenly seemed fascinating to Samantha.

  Edie shrugged. “Just not in the cards for me, I guess.”

  “Were you ever in love?” In all the years Samantha had known her, she’d never heard Edie mention dating or having any sort of relationship with anyone. It seemed curious. Although a bit colorful, Edie was attractive, and possessed a huge, loving heart.

  “I was in love...but he was unavailable.” Edie looked down at the floor, as if embarrassed by the admission.

  “Married?” Samantha asked softly.

  “I...I didn’t realize the depth of his commitment,” she replied, then stood. “I’d better get back to my desk.” She left, closing the door behind her.

  Samantha stared at the door, sympathy swelling inside her. It was a shame. Edie would have made a loving, caring wife. She’d certainly been a loving, caring surrogate mother to Samantha and Melissa. Too bad she hadn’t fallen in love with a man who could return that love. Too bad she hadn’t had a family of her own.

  By the time Samantha finished her lunch, the conversation with Edie was forgotten as she once again focused her attention on the Marcola trial.

  She’d lined up her first few witnesses, all friends of Dominic who had offered to be character witnesses. A beginning, but a weak one at best. What she needed more than anything was one of those Perry Mason moments. She closed her eyes, imagining the actual guilty person on the stand crumbling beneath her brilliant questioning.

  She snapped her eyes back open, shaking her head ruefully. It was a nice fantasy. Unfortunately she didn’t have a clue who the real murderer might be.