No, as much as she liked Luisa Russo, she found it hard to imagine the woman being happy that her eldest son was having an illegitimate daughter with Lydia Harper’s illegitimate great-niece.
Maybe she would mind less if he was having a legitimate daughter with Lydia’s illegitimate niece, if Nick and Faith were married before the baby came. It wouldn’t stifle all the gossip, but wasn’t late better than never? Wasn’t Amelia Rose’s legitimacy more important than her own pride? Nick obviously thought so, or he never would have proposed. Her mother’s heart thought so, too — thought there was no sacrifice too great for the good of her child.
Her woman’s heart, though, threatened to break in two at the thought.
“What are you thinking about?”
Tilting her head back, Faith gazed up at Nick. She could see only one side of his face, but it was a perfect side. He was a handsome man. He was the sort of man who dated beautiful women, the sort who never looked at women like her, the sort that women like her had crushes on that never developed into anything real. That long-ago night in her kitchen, she had looked at him and had felt exactly like a schoolgirl with a crush. She had been nervous, clumsy, at a loss for words.
But he had looked at her. He had touched her, kissed her, made love to her, and her little crush had mushroomed into dreams, hopes and fantasies of happily-ever-after. She had thought those dreams were dead, the hopes snuffed out by the reality of never hearing from him again, the fantasies destroyed by the news of his make-believe marriage. But somewhere deep inside her, they still existed. There was still a small part of her that wanted not just love, romance and marriage—she had always wanted that with her entire soul—but love, romance and marriage with him. With Nick, who was offering only the marriage part.
Nick, who was looking down at her now, waiting for an answer to his question. “What are you thinking about?” he had asked, and she could answer truthfully. She could tell him that she wanted to marry him and raise a family with him more than almost anything in the world. More than that, though, she wanted him to love her. She needed him to love her, because she was very afraid that she just might be falling in love with him.
Grasping for any topic that would keep her from being truthful, she thought back to their earlier conversation. They’d been talking about grandparents, about his father in particular. “Why do you call your father Pop? None of the others do.”
He shifted her weight just a little, leaving her lying a little more snugly against him. “We all did when we were kids. We started with Papa—that’s what he still calls his father—then we shortened it to Pop. The others eventually started calling him Dad. It was less old-fashioned, I guess. Less Old World.”
“What do you want—” She had to stop, clear her throat, then start again. “What do you want Amelia Rose to call you?”
His expression turned serious and thoughtful. “I don’t know. What would you prefer?” Then he grinned. “Mr. Russo? That man?”
She smiled. Then, hearing a similar phrase in a similar tone, she let the smile slip away. “My mother’s name was Sally. I didn’t know it until I was about six years old. Lydia always called her that girl. She always made it sound so contemptible.”
“Lydia was a hateful old woman,” he said flatly. “You deserved better than her.”
Faith closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing deeply, on letting all the tension of the day—of the past week, of the past nine months—slip away. She had never experienced moments like this—quiet moments, peaceful moments, with a man’s arms around her—but she could grow used to them. She could learn to love the end of the day if it meant sharing such simple intimacies as her head on his shoulder, his arms holding her close.
Marriage—most marriages, at least, and all happy ones—were full of moments like this. Snuggling like this could be commonplace instead of a rare experience. Sharing a bed, waking up in the morning to another face instead of alone, considering someone else’s likes and dislikes as well as her own, coming in each evening to a warm, welcoming home instead of a big, empty house—all of those things were a part of marriage. All of those were things she wanted very much in her life — things she wanted very much with Nick. If only he could love her.
“That night last February—” His voice was soft, curious. Contented. “Did I hold you?”
“Yes.” Her voice was softer. “Afterward. You fell asleep.” Then, regretfully, she added, “Or passed out.”
He let another moment or two pass, the only sound between them the creak of the rockers as the chair moved lazily back and forth. Then his direct gaze connected with hers as he asked, “Why did you leave me alone in bed?”
How many times had he asked her about that night, and how many times had she avoided telling him much at all? She treated her memories of the night as something to be ashamed of, or something that belonged solely to her, and neither was the truth. “I felt guilty,” she admitted.
“Because you let Lydia down?”
“She didn’t want me to be like my mother, and neither did I, but having sex with a stranger was exactly the sort of thing my mother would do. I’d broken the promises I’d made to Lydia and to myself, and I hadn’t even had the decency to not enjoy doing it. After you fell asleep, I felt guilty, so I removed myself from temptation and went to my room.”
With one hand he tugged out the band that secured her hair, then worked his fingers through, loosening the braid, combing lightly, soothingly, through her hair. “So this whole thing is Lydia’s fault—your not being able to tell me about the baby, my not finding out until last week. If she hadn’t raised you to be such a prim and rigidly proper young woman, you would have stayed in bed with me where you belonged, and when I woke up the next morning and found you there, I would have stayed, too. I would have made love to you again and again. I would have guaranteed that you got pregnant, and when you found out, I would have been the next to know.”
Laying the blame on her great-aunt amused her, but even as she smiled, she wondered about his assertions. If he had awakened beside her, would he have stayed? Would he have wanted her again? Would he have been there to find out about the baby right at the beginning? Would he have cared from the very beginning?
Her head said no. He still would have been hung over. He still wouldn’t have remembered. Instead of waking up alone in a strange room, not knowing how he’d gotten there, he would have awakened in a strange room with a strange woman naked at his side, not knowing how either of them had gotten there.
But her heart disagreed. So he would have been hung over and would have forgotten the night before. They could have recreated the magic. They could have created new memories. They could have changed everything.
Maybe... maybe they still could.
Using one foot Nick slowed the rocker to a gentle stop. The house was quiet and cool, the silence disturbed only by Faith’s slow, steady breathing. He couldn’t seem to breathe at all as he studied her. There was an incredible tightness in his chest that squeezed his lungs flat, that made him feel warm and cold, eager and reluctant, nervous and more than a little afraid, all at the same time.
She looked so damned sweet, her eyes closed, her lips slightly parted. She looked like someone who needed his protection, someone who needed him. With or without his baby, she looked like his future.
He had never wanted to fall in love, had never wanted to get married and have kids. Those were decisions he’d made half a lifetime ago, decisions he had lived by for more than sixteen years. Not once in all those years had he been tempted, not as his friends and sisters had gotten married, not as they’d started their own families, certainly not as some of his friends’ marriages had ended. Not one of the beautiful, sexy, sophisticated women he’d dated and made love to had ever made him think even briefly about changing his mind, about marriage or love or forever. How had Faith — sweet, innocent, shy, frightened, insecure Faith—ever managed?
It was fate, his father would tell him. Everything
happened for a purpose, his mother would insist, and he suspected that they would both be right. So much that had brought him and Faith together had been uncharacteristic, like his getting drunk at the engagement party. He had long ago outgrown the practice of drinking too much, and yet he had done exactly that at the party. Or seducing a stranger. He’d given up that practice, too, for his health, his safety and his self-respect—and Faith had never taken it up. For years she had kept the men in her life at arm’s length, had worked at not becoming like her mother, had insisted on—the old-fashioned phrase made the corners of his mouth lift in a smile, albeit a grateful one—saving herself for marriage. Yet she had invited a man she didn’t know to spend the night, had willingly let him seduce her and, as she’d admitted earlier, hadn’t even had the decency to not enjoy it.
It must have been fate that had led him into her shop to ask for directions last week. Why else would he—affirmed non-husband, non-father material—choose a boutique for babies, of all places, to ask for directions that he could have easily gotten from the office supply store, the bookstore, the newspaper or any of the other places on that block?
And Faith fainting—that had been a guaranteed attention-getter, causing him to carry her into the back room, leading him to recognize her from his dreams. “Do you often faint like that?” he had asked later, and she had replied more than a little sarcastically. No, but I’m pregnant. I do all sorts of things that I don’t ordinarily do. He would bet that she hadn’t fainted before that day, and he was pretty damned sure she hadn’t since.
Fate. Purpose. Luck. Whatever he called it, it came down to one thing: he and Faith belonged together. They were meant to be together. It would have been nice for her sake if they could have managed it differently, if they could have met under different circumstances, if they could have fallen in love and gotten married before bringing Amelia Rose into the family, but he was damned if he was going to turn his back on their destiny simply because the circumstances were less than ideal. Damned if he was going to let her push him away because they’d done things in the wrong order.
She shifted restlessly in his arms, turning, settling, drawing closer. Cradling her carefully, he got to his feet and carried her down the hall before stopping for a breather at the foot of the stairs. “It’s a good thing you’re so slender,” he murmured. “Otherwise, I couldn’t even think about carrying you all the way to the top of these stairs.”
For a moment, all he did was think about it. Even though she was a delicate little thing—who happened to be carrying an extra thirty pounds or so—she was still an armful, and those stairs were long. Still, he was strong, and her bed—soon to be their bed—was waiting at the top. Hadn’t he wanted this morning to crawl under the covers with her and hold her while she slept? Didn’t he want it enough now that he could manage all these stairs and then some?
Taking a deep breath, he started up, and he did manage, though he was winded, his muscles achy. In her bedroom, he made his way through the dim light, laid her on the bed and removed her shoes, all without disturbing her rest. He kicked off his own shoes, tossed his jacket on the chair and joined her in bed, where her only response was to turn toward him, to move easily into his arms again, exactly where he wanted her.
He untucked the quilt from around her so that it lay underneath them, then pulled the covers over them. It wasn’t exactly the intimacy he desired. She was sleeping soundly, and he was tired himself. They were both fully dressed, and even if they were naked, the way he would like to be, there was nothing they could do about it. No matter how she aroused him, he had a long, long wait until he could make love to her again.
Still... He yawned, brushed her hair from his face, tucked her more snugly against him, then let his eyes close. Even fully dressed, unable to make love and with little to do but sleep, this was exactly where he wanted to be.
The vague sensation of being watched penetrated Nick’s sleep and brought him fully awake but not fully alert. It was the middle of the night, the room was dimly lit by moonlight from outside, he was in bed, still wearing his clothes, and someone was lying only inches...Faith. He smiled lazily and opened his eyes. He was in bed with Faith, who was lying on her side, one arm tucked under head, watching him.
“Hey,” he greeted her, rolling onto his side to face her.
“Good morning. Or good night, whichever it is.”
He checked the luminous numbers on his watch. It was 3:00 a.m. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” She was silent a moment before curiously asking, “How did I get here?”
“You don’t remember?”
“No. Did you carry me?”
He grinned. “You wake up in the middle of the night in bed with a man, and you don’t remember how you got there or what you did once you were there?” He chuckled. “And you thought I was bad.”
“At least I know what I didn’t do,” she said, trying to scowl but not succeeding. “And at least I’m waking up fully clothed.”
He ran his fingertip along the lace collar of her dress, then let it slide down to the beginning swell of her breast. “More’s the pity. I would like to see you naked.”
Catching his hand, she pulled it away, but didn’t let go. Instead she twined her fingers around his. “Oh, right,” she said scornfully. “I’m such an appealing sight.”
“I’ve seen you naked before,” he reminded her.
“Yes, but you don’t remember.”
And that was really a pity. “I wish I did,” he murmured, lifting her hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her palm that made her shiver. “We’ll just have to make new memories.”
“Memories of Amelia Rose.” Her voice was soft, her tone uncertain, asking for agreement. He didn’t give it.
“That, too. But, darlin’, there are going to be certain aspects of our lives that won’t involve our daughter. There are going to be times when it’s just you and me, and they’re going to be sweet.”
“Right,” she whispered again, but this time the scorn was missing, replaced by longing so pure he could feel it deep inside himself. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe in him, but she was afraid. Someday she would get over that fear. Someday she would believe in him. More importantly, she would believe in herself. He could wait. He had the rest of their lives to wait.
“The Russos are all optimists—cockeyed, some might say. I can’t believe I’m marrying a cynic like you.”
“I never agreed to marry you,” she reminded him, still in that soft, wistful voice.
“You’re right,” he teased, stroking her hair. “You told me no. No way. Never. Not in this lifetime. When hell freezes over—”
“I did not.”
“Well, that was what you implied. But you’re wrong, Faith. You will marry me, and soon. Before Christmas. And you’ll live with me in this house and sleep beside me in this room, and when the doctor says it’s okay, you’ll make love with me in this bed. You’ll make me damned glad Michelle’s demon-seed nephews spiked the punch last February. You’ll make up for all those months I dreamed of you, and I’ll make up for all those months you were alone.”
Her fingers tightened around his until her grip was painful. “Don’t do this, Nick,” she pleaded. “Don’t tempt me.”
He liked the sound of Faith tempted by him. He liked it a lot. “Remember last week when I asked you to dinner? You asked if that was how I caught crooks, if I badgered them until they said what I wanted.”
“Just to get rid of you,” she added, helpfully supplying what he had left out.
“I’m good at badgering, and I’m hard to get rid of.” Pulling his hand free of hers, he touched her again, her face this time, drawing his fingertips along her jaw, brushing her cheek, her soft lips. “And, darlin’, you don’t yet know the meaning of temptation.”
Then he kissed her.
Surely he’d done it before, that night, that infamous February night, but how he possibly could have forgotten was beyond him. Her kiss was so sweet,
so innocent, so tantalizing and tormenting. Inexperienced, maybe. Enticing, definitely. Erotic, absolutely. Full of promise, passion and pleasure. It was a kiss that outranked all the first kisses and best kisses a person could ever experience rolled into one. It was the sort of kiss a man remembered forever in his soul... or his dreams.
He pulled back, drew a deep breath and wished like hell for a light so he could see her face to see if she was similarly affected. He suspected she was. In the dimness he could see that she was unmoving, unbreathing, still and awed. Then, her breath catching audibly, she raised her hand, her fingers trembling as they touched his mouth.
He kissed the tip of her index finger before she pulled it back. “That was —” At a loss for the right word, he simply shook his head.
“That’s what it was like that night,” she said simply. “Everything. When you touched me, when you kissed me, I knew what we were doing couldn’t be wrong. Even though we were strangers, even though you were going back to Houston the next day, even though I’d always been taught that it was such a sin, I knew. I knew it was meant to be.”
Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the pale shape that was the ceiling. “I’m so sorry, Faith.” He’d never told her that, not once, and he owed it to her. He owed her big-time.
“For what?”
“Sorry I got drunk. Sorry I left the house that morning without seeing you. Sorry I never came back. I’m so damned sorry that I can’t remember. No matter how many times we make love the rest of our lives...” His sigh was full of sorrow, “I’ll always regret not remembering that first time.”
Chapter 10
Seated at the desk behind the counter, Faith plucked a flower from the bouquet the florist delivered weekly and twirled it between her palms. It was straight-up twelve noon, and it had been a quiet Thursday so far. Nick had gone to pick up lunch, the shop was empty, and she was alone. With a sigh, she pulled one petal from the flower, letting it fall to the floor. A moment later another petal followed it down, followed by a third.
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