TIDINGS OF GREAT JOY

by Sandra Brown

  Ria and Taylor graciously conceded. They were led down the corridor. Taylor's hand encircled Ria's elbow. "Damn, I'm proud of you. Everybody adores you. You're wonderful." He had to duck beneath the brim of her hat to whisper directly into her ear. "I know this is agony for you."

  "I can't cry," she said fiercely. "But all this baby stuff…"

  "I know. Hang in there, darling. A few more pictures and I'll get you out of here fast."

  The honored mother was a woman in her early twenties, who had given birth to her first child the day before. She had prettied herself up for the photographers, and lay against the pillows of the hospital bed smiling beatifically. She blushed furiously when Taylor shook her hand, and seemed intimidated by Ria's sophistication. Her husband, who was just as young as she, stood nearby, grinning proudly.

  By the time the photographers had finished, the new mother had lost her bashfulness. "Do you have kids?" she asked Ria.

  "No." Ria groped for Taylor's hand. "We've only been married a couple of months."

  Taylor not only clasped Ria's hand, but placed a supportive arm around her waist. "We plan to. Soon."

  "I recommend it," the young woman said. She and her husband exchanged a smile. "It's great. Have you met Jennifer yet?"

  "Jennifer?" Ria asked weakly.

  "That's what we named our daughter."

  "Uh, no, we … we haven't seen the nursery yet." Thank God, Ria was thinking.

  But just then a member of the hospital staff wedged his way forward. "That's our next stop. Please, everybody, this way. We're going to show Councilman and Mrs. MacKensie the nursery. Technologically, it's state-of-the-art. I want you to see the neonatal nursery too. The strides that have been taken…" He rambled on, flanking Ria on one side while Taylor lent support on the other.

  "Excuse us just a moment," Taylor said. Halting the procession, he drew Ria aside and looked at her closely. "Let me make our excuses."

  "No, you can't," she said, gripping his arm. "I'm fine."

  "You're as pale as a ghost."

  "Fluorescent lighting doesn't flatter my coloring."

  "Don't joke with me, Ria. I want to get you out of here. Now."

  "No, please."

  "Is anything wrong?" the hospital administrator inquired from a discreet distance.

  "No." Ria turned a brilliant smile on him. "Taylor was only asking me to remind him to send a bouquet of flowers to the new mother and Jennifer." She looked up at her husband, begging him to go along with her lie.

  Their hosts breathed a collective sigh of relief. "How thoughtful," one of them murmured.

  "That's one of the reasons I married him." Ria hooked her arm through Taylor's. He covered her cold, clammy fingers with his own. Only he realized that she was clutching his arm for support, and not out of affection.

  They toured the neonatal nursery first, but there were no preemies there yet. When they moved toward the regular nursery, Taylor felt Ria's grip tighten on his arm. He tried to listen to the information being fed him by one of the hospital's public-relations staff, but he was concentrating so hard on Ria, he didn't digest any of the statistics.

  Through the panes of glass they watched a nurse pick up a crying baby. "That's Jennifer. Our first baby," they were told.

  "May I hold her?"

  Ria's softly spoken request caused a hush to fall over the group of dignitaries. It even paralyzed and rendered mute the press people, who were as ill-behaved and restless as children in church. Taylor looked like he'd just swallowed an egg whole.

  One of the newspaper photographers shouted, "Hey, that'd make a great shot." Several of his cohorts agreed.

  The staff held a brief consultation, after which Ria was led into the nursery. Taylor felt like a prisoner's visitor, separated from his loved one by a glass wall. He could see Ria, but he couldn't touch her, couldn't alleviate her pain, and that was hell. She had prescribed this torture for herself as some kind of therapy or self-flagellation. He was powerless to help her through it.

  She smiled at the nurse, then held out her arms to receive the squirming, squalling baby girl. She handled the infant far more carefully than the nurse had done, as she lowered herself into a rocking chair.

  Cameras clicked and flashed around him, but Taylor wasn't aware of them. Comments and questions were batted back and forth, but he didn't hear them. His attention was focused solely on his wife, whose lovely left hand, wearing his wedding ring, supported the child's head.

  "Your wife's got guts, Taylor."

  Recognizing Delia Starr's voice, he nodded. "You're damn right she does," he said proudly. He remembered how delicious, yet how undaunted, Ria had looked the day she came to his office to tell him she was carrying his child. She looked just as ravishing and in complete control now, but he knew she was dying on the inside.

  He'd never known a woman who was as much starch as cream puff.

  She gazed down into the baby's face. Taylor could tell by the way she held her lips that she was crooning to it. The baby stopped crying. Ria's smile became a soft laugh of pure delight. He couldn't hear it, but he felt it deep in his gut.

  Ria addressed several comments to the nurse, but she never took her eyes off the baby. Unwrapping the pink flannel blanket, she studied the mottled limbs. She measured a foot along her thumb. She ran her finger down the child's cheek.

  Before returning the baby to the nurse, she prized open one tiny fist and laid a gentle kiss in the palm.

  She didn't cry until they reached home.

  Taylor drove them straight there, though it wasn't even noon yet. Ria had smiled for the cameras and congratulated the hospital staff on the new facility. She'd shaken hands with everyone before they left. But on the way home she held herself ramrod-straight in the passenger's seat and didn't utter a single sound.

  They went in through the front door. She set her handbag on the hall table. Taylor dropped his keys beside it. He reached for her and pulled her against him. She didn't resist.

  "Hold me, please."

  "You don't have to ask."

  Only then did she let go her tears.

  Taylor knocked her hat to the floor. He pulled out her hairpins and worked his fingers through the heavy strands as they unwound. With his fingers pressing directly against her scalp, he tucked her head beneath his chin and held her tight. The sobs hammered through her body, pounding their way up through her chest and throat. She gripped his lapels and soaked the front of his shirt with thick, heavy tears.

  When her weeping subsided, he lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He stood her beside the bed and turned her around. He unzipped her dress and pushed it down until she dutifully stepped out of it, leaving her in a satin slip with a lace top.

  Treating her like a child, he turned her to face him again and placed his hands on her shoulders, applying pressure until she sat down on the edge of the bed. Kneeling, Taylor removed her high-heeled pumps and set them aside.

  He left her sitting there while he took off his suit jacket, vest, and shirt. He stepped out of his shoes and peeled off his socks; then, wearing only trousers, lay on the bed and pulled Ria down with him.

  She lay across his torso with her cheek resting on his breastbone. He wrapped his arms around her protectively and propped his chin on the crown of her head.

  "Tell me everything about it."

  "She was beautiful," Ria whispered.

  "No newborn is beautiful."

  She didn't take umbrage, because she knew he was teasing. "She was."

  "It's amazing how small she was."

  "Tiny. I don't think you could see her toes, but they were incredibly small. And her fingers, almost translucent."

  He lifted Ria's hand to his mouth and kissed the backs of her fingers. "What did it feel like to touch her?"

  "Her skin was very soft." Her brow puckered, remembering. "But it was dry and flaky in spots. I asked the nurse about that, and she said it was normal for newborns. They spend nine months immersed in
water, so their skin is dry for a week or so after they're born, and they often peel."

  "I didn't know that. What else?"

  "Her heartbeat was fast. You could see it in her chest and in the soft spot on her head. Her body was warm. That's why they don't smother them with blankets. Their bodies generate much more heat than ours."

  Taylor doubted that. At the moment he didn't think any human body had ever generated more heat than his. His motives were honorable, but holding Ria this way was having a profound and involuntary effect on him.

  The ecru satin slip molded to every curve of her body, delineating breast, waist, and hip. Her breasts lay full and lush on his chest, overflowing the stretchy lace cups of the slip. Her nipples were rosy-brown disks that one moment he longed to gaze at, and the next hoped that he wouldn't even catch a glimpse of. Each time he did, he ached to stroke, to taste.

  The circuits in his mind were going haywire, trying consciously to tamp down his mounting desire and blot out what his imagination was projecting onto his brain. He could see the outline of her garter-belt suspenders beneath the clinging slip. Above the tops of her stockings he knew her thighs were smooth and soft. They formed a satiny passage to the sweet, dark mystery of her femininity.

  Ria must have been alerted to his arousal. She tried to move, but he drew her back. "I ought to change and go to work," she said.

  If she'd spoken with conviction, he would have let her go. But her limp protest was his indication that she really didn't want to. "As mayor-elect, I decree that we take the rest of the day off."

  "And do what?"

  "This."

  "What exactly is this? A wake for the baby that never was?"

  "If you want to look at it that way. You're not through grieving yet."

  Ria's hand covered his heart. Her thumbnail mindlessly raked his nipple. "Am I being ridiculously self-centered, Taylor? Thousands of women each day, all over the world, suffer miscarriages."

  "Each one feels exactly the way you do, if she cares anything about the child."

  "And if she cares for the man who fathered it." She lifted her head and looked down into his face. "Most men in your situation would have been relieved when I lost the baby."

  "Never that, Ria."

  "It got you off the hook."

  "I didn't feel hooked. I wanted the baby too."

  Tears welled up in her eyes again. She caught her lower lip between her teeth. "You did, didn't you?"

  "Very much."

  "I wonder if it was a boy, or a little girl like Jennifer."

  "Don't."

  "Did we lose a prima ballerina or an Olympic gold medalist, a statesman or scientist or artist?"

  "Don't, don't." He rolled her to her back and levered himself above her. "We'll go crazy if we think about that." He sipped the tears off her cheeks and lips. "And I'll go crazy if I don't kiss you."

  At first it was a gentle kiss. His lips merely settled against hers. They breathed each other's breath. Then his lips parted and took hers in a possessive, wanting kiss. His tongue was bold and invasive and made rapacious love to her mouth.

  She threaded her fingers up through his hair.

  "Taylor, Taylor"—she groaned—"kiss me until it doesn't hurt anymore."

  "Where do you hurt?"

  "Everywhere."

  He covered her tear-streaked cheeks with random kisses, returning again and again to her mouth. He worked the straps of her slip down her shoulders and buried his face in the fragrant velvet softness of her cleavage. He kissed her breasts, pressing his lips firmly into the giving flesh, then tongue-massaging her nipples to stiff peaks.

  He nuzzled her delta through the warm satin that slid over her flesh as though caressing it. Lifting the slip's fluted hem, he burrowed his face in the cushion of her belly, kissed her navel lightly, airily, then probed it aggressively with his tongue.

  "Oh, Taylor, stop. I'm getting—"

  "What?"

  "Wet."

  "Good."

  "But what good will it do to go so far and—"

  He pushed his hand into her panties and between her thighs. "Ride with it."

  She demurred. Seductively he ground the heel of his hand against her. Craving freedom from the ribbons of desire his kisses had bound her in, Ria followed his whispered instructions.

  And when the waves of release washed through her sex, his lips were there to catch them, sighing endearments.

  Minutes later, her body still aglow and tingling, her breath still uneven, Ria felt Taylor ease himself off the bed. She opened her eyes and spoke his name lovingly.

  "I'm not going far." He leaned over her and brushed damp strands of hair off her shoulders and chest. "I'll be right back."

  Shaking her head, Ria sat up and inched to the edge of the bed. She slid her arms around his narrow waist and rested her cheek against his bare stomach before kissing it. And again, more wantonly, using her tongue.

  "Ria," he rasped out.

  Then she seductively unbuckled his belt.

  * * *

  CHAPTER NINE

  « ^ »

  Ria pressed her foot hard against the emergency brake and pushed open the car door. As she got out, her handbag slid to the driveway, and everything spilled out. Muttering unladylike swear words, she scooped it all up and hurriedly let herself in the back door.

  The telephone was ringing. "Hello?"

  "Hi," Taylor said. "You sound breathless."

  "I just came in."

  "I thought you'd be here by now."

  "I thought so too. But I got held up." She was supposed to have been at his office fifteen minutes before. He might be irritated with her now, but he wouldn't be when he learned where she'd been and why she was running late. "It'll only take me half an hour to change."

  "That'll put us late getting there, Ria."

  She thought for a moment. "You go on and I'll meet you there."

  "I hate to, but maybe I should."

  "They can't start without you, and they'll be frantic if you're late. I'll catch up with you at the hotel."

  "There's a predinner cocktail reception. I'm not sure which suite it's in."

  "This is one night you can't possibly get lost. Don't worry. I'll find you."

  "If you have any trouble—"

  "I won't. Now, say good-bye. I don't want to make you late."

  "Okay, 'bye. Oh, Ria, what held you up? Work?"

  "I'll tell you when I get there."

  She hung up before he could say any more. Tonight was the big night. Taylor MacKensie was being sworn in as mayor, following a formal banquet in the ballroom of one of the city's major hotels.

  Ria raced into the bedroom, kicking off her shoes and shrugging off her suit jacket as she went. Usually neat to a fault, she dropped clothes as she shed them on her way to the shower. The water was hot and invigorating.

  But it couldn't compare to the effervescence that was bubbling inside her. She'd seen her doctor that afternoon. Knowing she was going to be cutting it close to get to the banquet on time, it had been annoying to arrive for her appointment, only to learn the doctor's schedule was backed up due to an emergency that morning. She'd gone through every National Geographic twice and had read much more about wildebeests than she wanted to know, before she'd finally been summoned into the examination room.

  But what the doctor had to tell her had been worth the long wait and all the frustration. She was fit as a fiddle. There was no reason why she couldn't resume marital relations.

  Ria's hands trembled now as she poked earrings into her ears. Tonight when they got home she would tell Taylor the good news. Thinking about what would inevitably follow made her giddy. Since the afternoon of their "wake," they'd been like drops of water on a hot skillet. They sizzled.

  For that reason they'd cautiously avoided touching each other. He hadn't begun sleeping with her again, as she had expected, and secretly hoped, that he would. That night, and every night since, he'd stayed in the den on the sleeper sofa. />
  She had tried to figure out what had made their love-making that afternoon so different. It had been as passionate as ever, but there had been another quality added. An intensity. They had entered into a dimension of sexuality where giving superseded receiving. It had frightened them, this emotion behind their passion.

  They worked at keeping the mood in the house light and friendly, while beneath the surface it teemed with suppressed longing and unspoken feelings. They couldn't last much longer without cracking under the pressure. Now they wouldn't have to.

  Ria felt certain that once they resolved their sexual relationship, the subject of an annulment would be tabled for good.

  The evening was cool enough for her to wear the sequin dress she had worn on Christmas Eve. She misted herself with the perfume Taylor liked best, put a Kleenex and a lipstick in her silver handbag, snatched up her car keys, and left by way of the back door.

  She could swear that her feet weren't touching the ground.

  Most of those who had attended the predinner reception had already migrated from the suite to the ballroom several floors below. Taylor excused himself to use the rest room. When he came out, only one other person remained in the suite—Lisa.

  Looking sensational in a slinky black dress that set off her blond hair, she smiled at him from the wet bar. "Refill?"

  "No, thanks, I've got to hurry and get downstairs."

  "Can you spare me a minute, Taylor? We've hardly spoken to each other in weeks."

  "You seemed to want it that way."

  She stirred her fresh drink with her fingertip, then sucked it clean. "Do you blame me for being upset when you went behind my back and married that Lavender woman?"

  His lips narrowed in irritation. "Her name is Ria. And blame is too strong a word. Surprised would be more like it. I'm surprised that you've been upset over my marriage. We were always free to see other people."

  "See, but not marry."

  Taylor was enough of a politician to recognize a Mexican standoff. Instinctually he knew when to retreat. "Excuse me." He headed toward the door.