by Sandra Brown
"If you stay, I swear I won't touch you. Not even a single friendly gesture." She raised her head slowly and gave him a skeptical look. "Right. Who am I kidding?" he asked himself out loud.
Miserably Ria tottered between what she wanted and what she knew was best for her. She loved him too much to stay, and she loved him too much to go. Since he was looking at her with such evident longing, how could she leave? But how could she not, knowing that every day she stayed would only make leaving more difficult?
She didn't delude herself into thinking that he loved her, or that he would eventually fall in love with her. If there had been a chance of that, he would have contacted her after Christmas Eve. Since they'd been living together, he'd had countless opportunities to profess his love. Passionate times in bed. In the quiet aftermath of lovemaking. Moments when they'd met each other's eyes across the room and a special smile was the only intimacy they'd exchanged.
He claimed to admire and respect her, to revere her for conceiving his child, and to lust for her. But he didn't love her. That he could be so ignorant of and insensitive to her love for him made her not only disconsolate, but angry.
"What do you suggest?" she asked him. "That we continue to live together, granting each other sexual favors, until it's convenient for you that I move out?"
The cutting edge of her voice was rapier-sharp, and Taylor automatically threw up a shield. "No," he replied just as harshly. "I suggest a compromise. You stay, but we'll keep it strictly platonic. No sleeping together. No nothing."
"We tried that. It didn't work."
"We'll make it work this time."
Her conviction was wavering. "One of us will have to take the couch."
"I will. It's my career we're trying to protect. I'm the one who's insisting."
"If I stay, I demand equal time on the couch."
"Look," he said crossly, "allow me to cling to chivalry and offer the lady the bed, all right?"
"Oh, all right. How long does this have to last—until you're sworn in?"
"Right. The middle of May."
"Six weeks," they said simultaneously.
Ria recovered from the coincidence first. "What happens if I get a clean bill of health before you get sworn in?"
"You tell me."
Her chin went up. "Nothing happens. The same rules apply."
"You have my word of honor." He gave her a lecherous once-over. "Do I have yours?" he drawled.
"Yes," she said, seething.
"All right, then, it's agreed. We can congratulate ourselves for approaching this in an adult, civilized manner. As soon as our obligations to each other are fulfilled, we'll separate and pursue our own interests." He stuck out his hand. "Deal?"
The terms of the agreement were rotten, but Ria shook his hand.
* * *
CHAPTER EIGHT
« ^ »
"What do you think?" Ria asked her husband over her shoulder.
"You're a genius."
"Can't you be more original? You told me that the night we met."
"I did?"
"Something to that effect. You said I was pretty, smart, and had a good sense of humor and my own fur coat."
"You've even got good teeth."
Smiling because he remembered as well as she did, Ria rolled up the blueprint she had been showing off and stored it in a cabinet. She'd only been in her office for two weeks. So far she'd managed to keep things tidy. Unfortunately, neatness wasn't a priority. Before long she hoped to have so much business, she wouldn't have time to keep things straight.
The set of house plans she had shown Taylor tonight was her first commission. She had demanded a hefty sum and had gotten it. The money would retard the steady dwindling of her bank account. That was one thing she had stood firm on—the segregation of the family income. Taylor had offered to help her through the transition of becoming self-employed, but she had refused to accept financial aid from him. Because their tenuous marriage was working out well in all other areas, he'd let the subject drop.
After switching out the light and locking the office door, the two of them went down the steps and got into the Corvette. "Hungry?" he asked.
He had dropped her at her office several hours earlier, and she had burned the midnight oil while he went to his health club to burn calories.
"No, just tired. I'm ready for bed."
"Yeah, me too."
They glanced at each other quickly, then away. It had been almost a month since the miscarriage, a month since Ria had agreed to live with him in a platonic relationship. They had made an effort not to rock the boat, going overboard only when it came to being polite and courteous. Each had become a model roommate. They shared cooking and cleaning duties, ideas, jokes, a TV Guide, toothpaste. They shared just about everything. Except a bed.
"Tough day?" Ria asked, deliberately avoiding what could have developed into a discussion of sex or the lack of it. They swapped hairbrushes, but never sexual innuendos. References to sex were prohibited. For that very reason it was always uppermost in their minds.
"No tougher than usual. Bleeker is slinging mud about my city-council attendance record. He failed to point out that during the week he's referring to, I had the flu."
"What a sore loser."
Taylor smiled, but let the conversation lapse. By now she was sensitive to his moods, and recognized this as a reflective one. He had something disturbing on his mind. In deference to that, she didn't interrupt his thoughts with unnecessary chatter.
When they arrived home, Ria excused herself and went into the bathroom to undress. These days Taylor was sleeping in the den, on the new sleeper sofa he'd had delivered to the house. Ria had offered to take it over and give him back his bedroom, or at least to take turns sleeping in the den, but he'd been as adamant about that as she'd been about maintaining her financial independence.
Every night she went into the bedroom alone. After she came out of the bathroom, he went in. Tonight there was no break in their routine, except that when he came out of the bathroom, he didn't immediately say good night and leave the room.
Instead, dressed only in his briefs, he hesitantly moved toward the bed. Ria's mouth went dry at the sight of him. The indirect lighting cast erotic patterns of light and shadow on his body. She had often wondered if God himself had implanted each strand of Taylor's body hair. The placement of it was that perfect.
"Would you mind rubbing some of this on me?" He held out a tube of ointment.
"Sure," she said lightly, revealing none of the desire pumping through her. He handed her the tube and sat down on the edge of the bed, facing outward. "Where?"
"Do I get to choose?" Breaking their rule against innuendo, he shot her a naughty glance over his bare shoulder.
"Yes," she replied with just as naughty a wink, "but think twice before you do. This stuff is mentholated."
He winced. "In that case, you'd better make it my right shoulder."
Laughing, she squeezed a nickel-sized pool of the cream into her palm, then, kneeling behind him, applied it to his shoulder. "There?"
"A little to the … ah, there. Right there."
There, right there, Taylor.
You're so tight, so good.
Right there. Don't stop.
I won't.
Ria's hands were trembly as she squeezed out more of the cream. Her knees were tucked up against his firm buttocks. His skin was sleek and taut. He kept it tanned by doing yard work every Saturday, wearing nothing but cutoffs. Ria had longed to smooth her hands over those supple muscles, at which stolen glances had kept her glued to the window more than once. She indulged herself now and leaned against him, spacing her thighs so that they pressed against his back on either side of his spine. As she rubbed in the ointment, the tips of her breasts grazed him, becoming stimulated in the process.
"Did you pull a muscle?"
The massage, which should have been soothing, was having the opposite effect on him. His breathing was choppy and his mus
cles were contracting, not relaxing. "I must have. It was sore after my workout."
"You were pushing too hard."
Is that too hard? Am I pushing too hard?
No, no, no.
"Yeah, well, I try to exhaust myself at the gym so I don't come home wanting—"
She snatched her hands back as though his skin had burned her. Rolling her lips inward, she held them there as long as she held her breath. Then, tentatively, she resumed rubbing the ointment in. "Taylor?"
He cleared his throat. "Hm?"
"You could go to somebody else."
He turned his head. "What?"
She hadn't realized how hard the words would be to get out until she tried to say them. "I don't expect you to be faithful."
"How do you know I have been?"
The question stunned her, dazed her, as though he'd walloped her in the head. "I—I don't. Have you?"
"Look at me and I think you'll know the answer to that," he said with a growl.
Ria quelled the surge of happiness in her breast and tried to analyze their situation from a masculine point of view. "I'd understand if you, you know, went to another woman."
"And got laid?" Ria lowered her eyes and nodded. He swore softly. "It's not that easy."
"It used to be."
"I wasn't married then."
"You aren't married now. Not in that sense."
"But that's our little secret, isn't it?"
"I'm sure there are plenty of women who wouldn't care whether you're married or not."
"I'm sure there are too. But I care."
"Oh, of course. Because of your position in the community."
He sprang off the bed, yanking the tube of ointment from her hands. "Thanks." He stamped out of the room without looking back.
Five minutes later Ria stood in the open doorway of the den. He was on his back on the sleeper sofa, lying across it diagonally to accommodate his height. His head was resting on one hand. The other was lying on his chest. When he saw Ria, a muscle in his cheek twitched, but he didn't move.
"May I come in?"
"What for?"
"To apologize."
He only shrugged indifferently. She had to hide her smile. He was pouting. On bare feet, she crossed the room and sat down on the edge of the mattress. It was the best sleeper sofa money could buy, but that still wasn't saying much.
"I didn't mean to make you angry."
That was like slicing through the leash of a greyhound. He was off. "I can't just go out and invite the first woman I meet into the sack, Ria. It's not that simple."
Experience proved otherwise, but now wasn't the appropriate time to point that out.
"It's hard to cruise the clubs and pick up women when you're married and you're the mayor-elect and everybody in town knows your face," he said.
"I don't remember suggesting that you cruise. I thought you might have someone you could go to, someone who would understand our arrangement." She paused for several beats before she added, "Like Lisa."
He laughed scoffingly. "It peeved her just a little that I got married. She's not speaking to me."
Ria swallowed thickly. "You've seen her?"
"We run into each other now and then."
Why hadn't she learned a lesson from Pandora and kept the box closed on this topic? A very ugly surprise had jumped out to mock her. Apparently it had crossed Taylor's mind to take up with Lisa Burton again. It was Lisa who was unwilling.
"Well, anyway, I'm sorry for bringing it up," Ria said softly, her heart aching. "I didn't know it would upset you."
Twin blue eyes nailed her to the spot. "You've been bringing it up for a month, and it never fails to upset me." The huskily spoken words sounded kissable. They looked kissable, lingering there on his sulky lips. "The reason I haven't gone to another woman is because I haven't wanted another woman."
Ria bowed her head and closed her eyes, willing herself not to bend over him and treat herself to a taste of his mouth. He was keeping to their agreement; she mustn't tamper with it.
When he saw that she planned to stick to her resolve, he told her good night and rudely reached for the lamp. "No, wait, Taylor. There's something else on your mind tonight, isn't there?" If she couldn't be his lover, she could be his confidante. "I was so caught up in the house plans that I didn't notice your moodiness earlier. Do you want to talk it over with me?"
"No. I wish I didn't have to mention it at all." He gazed at the ceiling for a moment. She waited him out. At last he looked at her. "We, as a couple, were invited to attend an official opening. I was told that we were the committee's unanimous choice as the guests of honor, perfect for the occasion, since we are young and newlywed."
"What did this committee invite us to open officially?"
"The new wing of the Presbyterian hospital."
Everything inside Ria shriveled up. "Oh."
"You know, then, what the new wing is for?"
"Obstetrics. Babies."
"Yeah, babies. Nurseries full of them. New fathers acting like fools and grinning like imbeciles. Grandparents taking snapshots through the window."
"Mothers with milk in their breasts," Ria said tonelessly, staring into near space.
Taylor reached up and stroked her neck. His hand slid down into the neckline of her nightgown and covered her breast. "I'm sorry, Ria. I didn't want to tell you about it, but I was afraid you'd find out some other way."
"We're going to do it, aren't we?"
"No."
"What did you tell them?"
"I stalled them. Said that I had to check your schedule and get back to them."
"When is the grand opening?"
"The day after tomorrow. The committee didn't build in much time for us to decline gracefully," he said with a bitter laugh. "But that's just too damn bad."
"Taylor, we must do it. Even if we weren't young and newlywed, you're the mayor-elect. We're a natural to make the opening official."
Taylor shook his head adamantly. "I hated to turn them down flat, but I refuse to put you, us, through that, Ria."
"They don't know about the child we lost. I wasn't in that hospital. They'll think it's odd if you refuse."
"Tough. I'm a public servant, but not a slave."
"There's been so much publicity about this facility. I'm sure the opening will get a lot of media coverage. You need to be there. As your wife, I need to be there with you."
"Ria, no."
She covered his hand, which still rested against her breast. "Yes. You have to represent city hall."
"Screw city hall."
"You don't mean that."
"I do if it means you have to officiate at that damned ribbon cutting."
"It will be good therapy for me. Sort of like getting back on a horse after he's thrown you."
"You're sure?" he asked, his gaze probing.
"I'm sure."
A long silence fell between them as they stared at each other. They knew that sooner or later they'd have to acknowledge that he was still fondling her breast, but each seemed content to let it be later.
At last, speaking in a low, throbbing voice, Taylor said, "You feel very full."
"I am."
"I saw the wrappers in the wastebasket, Ria."
She had intentionally left the wrappers where he could see them. Without having to come right out and tell him, that was her way of letting him know that she was healing properly.
"Everything's okay?"
"Yes," she replied hoarsely. "And on schedule too."
"Good."
His hand continued its gentle kneading. They became the nucleus of each other's universe. Finally, propping himself up on one elbow, Taylor kissed her, pressing his lips fervently against her breast.
When he eased back he said thickly, "You'd better go to bed now, Ria. Good night."
"Good night."
Somnambulantly, she left him.
It was like dressing for a funeral. She wanted to look her best, but she cou
ldn't understand why it should matter. Even the first dress she had considered wearing was black. She changed her mind and selected a red one instead, but wore a wide-brimmed black straw hat with it.
Taylor did a double take when she came into the living room, where he was waiting for her, already dressed. "You look fantastic."
"Thank you. Is the hat too much?"
"It's great. And you know how partial I am to those pearls."
It just slipped out, that innocent reminder of their not-so-innocent wedding night, when Ria had met him in bed wearing only an inviting smile and her pearls.
To cover the resulting awkwardness, she turned and picked up her handbag. Taylor went in search of the car keys. They made several attempts at conversation during the trip downtown, but they were too edgy to think logically, and finally gave up trying.
When they arrived at the hospital, he reached across the console and squeezed her hand. "It's not too late to back out. We can call in sick."
"Don't be silly." In fact she did feel sick to her stomach.
"I can do this alone."
She shook her head and gave him a shaky smile. "Part of my duties as the wife of a mayor-elect. Let's go."
They made a picture-perfect couple as they were escorted into the wide marble foyer of the new obstetrics center. Ria was half a foot shorter than her husband. They were physically compatible. Both had dark hair. One had vivid blue eyes, the other vivid green. Taylor was dressed in a dark gray suit, but the fabric was lightweight enough to fit the season. Ria could have stepped out of the pages of Vogue. They dazzled the crowd that greeted them.
The photographers had a field day, posing them for snapshots with hospital executives and other dignitaries. Delia Starr was among the reporters covering the story. She alone knew what private agony the MacKensies must be suffering, and gave them a thumbs-up sign for encouragement.
Taylor was the public official, but Ria was handed the oversized gold scissors with which to cut the plaited pink-and-blue ribbons. When she did, everyone applauded.
"If you would indulge us, Mrs. MacKensie, Councilman, we'd like to take your picture with the first woman to give birth in the new facility."