The Best Is Yet to Come

by Diana Palmer

  "Does it please you, knowing that?" he whispered, reeling from her headlong response.

  "Yes!" Her eyes opened, worshiping him. "I wanted you to be the first. Oh, I wanted you, for so long," she whispered, letting it all out. "When I was only fifteen, I used to watch you and dream about how it would be if you came to me in the night and made love to me!"

  "What?" he asked hoarsely.

  His expression made her self-conscious. She faltered. "I thought you knew," she said. "I told you that I never felt that way about Ben. It was because…because I only felt it with you, and he knew it."

  "Ivy, do you realize what you're saying?" he asked un-steadily. "I didn't know! I never knew you'd wanted me like that, for a long time!"

  "But I was sure you did. You avoided me after that night…" she reminded him.

  "It was mutual. You avoided me like the plague and went running to Ben."

  "Because I knew I couldn't have you," she whispered huskily. "You didn't want me because I was too young; more like a sister than a lover. I thought that was what you were telling me without words when you stayed away from me. Even when you asked me for a date, that time, I thought it was just out of pity, because you knew how I felt about you. So when Ben asked me out, I went."

  He stopped breathing. "God!" he said hoarsely.

  "What is it?"

  He couldn't speak. He couldn't breathe. She'd wanted him. She hadn't known how he felt, because he'd thought she was too young. So he'd walked away and she thought it was rejection, so she'd married damned Ben. Ben had known that she wanted Ryder instead of him, and that was why he'd been cruel to her. His head whirled. He couldn't bear it.

  "I've got to go and check on our plane reservations and wind up a few things," he said roughly. "I'll see you later."

  He went without looking back, preoccupied and solemn. And Ivy stared after him with her heart breaking, because she'd just told him how she felt and he'd walked away as if she had disgusted him.

  Had he felt only desire, and now that it was satisfied, he didn't want the complication of her love for him? Was that it? Tears stung her eyes. Now what was she going to do?

  Ryder deliberately didn't come back to the hotel until almost lunchtime. He'd said goodbye to his colleagues, double-checked the reservations, and then gone walking in the rain, trying to come to grips with what he'd done. Why hadn't he known how Ivy felt? Why hadn't he seen her hunger?

  But he finally realized that hunger was all it was, perhaps mixed with affection and infatuation. Hunger was all she'd felt the night before. Ben had never fulfilled her, and now she knew what it was to be a whole woman. Ryder had given her that, and she was his because of it. But it wasn't love. It was more affection, infatuation and desire. And he wanted her love.

  He felt guilty when he saw her puzzled unhappiness as he entered the room. He didn't know what to say to her now, to make things right again. He should never have touched her. Now she was aroused and whole, and she was going to want a full sexual relationship that he couldn't give her. He cared too much to let what they'd shared turn into a casual affair.

  He took off his hat and laid it on the table. "Ivy," he began quietly, his pale eyes searching her wounded black ones, "we need to talk."

  "There's no necessity," she said with what pride she could muster after his rejection that morning. She'd brooded on it all day, until she'd decided that the best way, the only way, was to pretend sophistication and let him off the hook. He didn't want marriage and she didn't want an affair, so this was the best way out for both of them. She could always blame her behavior on the madness of being in Paris.

  "You don't have to explain anything," she continued. She didn't try to understand the odd look on his face. She just plunged in. "You were hungry and so was I. We…we satisfied a mutual need, that's all. You don't have to worry that I'll make things difficult for you."

  He sighed wearily. How could she put it like that? The satisfaction of a mutual need, when it had been so much more to him.

  Her casual dismissal of their lovemaking angered him. Well, if it had meant so little to her, he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her what it had meant to him. Two could play at that game. He lifted his chin and studied her wan face. She was wearing a simple black dress that made her look ever more pale, but it gave her a regal kind of elegance. How beautiful she was, he thought in anguish. And now for the rest of his life he had to remember her nude body sprawled over his bed, her mouth welcoming him, her long, soft legs sliding against his, her cries of pleasure echoing in his ears. He could have groaned out loud.

  "I'm glad you understand," he said tersely.

  "I'm a grown woman, not a child," she said, avoiding his eyes. "It will be business as usual from now on. We'll just be friends, I…won't embarrass you."

  "As if you could," he muttered. "But we've forfeited friendship, Ivy," he said heavily.

  She hesitated, because she didn't want to hear that. "Have we?"

  He laughed bitterly and poured a drink from the bar, something he couldn't seem to stop lately. "You don't know." He emptied the glass in one shot, his eyes dangerous. "Then let me enlighten you. Every time you look at me for the rest of your life, you'll see me naked in your arms. And I'll see you the same way."

  She flushed and her hands clenched in her lap. "It might be a good idea if I get another job."

  "That won't be necessary," he said curtly. "I'll be out of the country a good bit in the next few weeks, so it's more than likely you won't even have to see me."

  She lifted her wounded eyes to his. "Ryder," she whispered miserably.

  Her turned away, his face unreadable. "We'd better get to the airport Ivy," he said in a voice that was almost normal.

  "I've already packed," she said. "I'll just check one last time."

  Not for one second would she admit that she was disappointed that they were leaving so soon. She'd wanted to see Paris, to visit the Eiffel Tower at least, but all they'd done was work. She colored as she checked the dresser drawers. No, that wasn't quite all they'd done, she thought, averting her eyes from the bed. Her breath caught as her body reacted to the memory, making her tingle all over and long for Ryder. If only he'd come in and tell her that it was a mistake, that they were staying another week, that he wanted her again, that he loved her She stared around the room one last time with a heartfelt sigh Paris was a city for lovers, they said. Well, she and Ryder had been lovers, but only once really and if their lovemaking meant anything special to Ryder, it didn't show. He seemed much the same as usual, if a little more abrasive.

  What had she expected, she wondered miserably, professions of undying love and eternal commitment? It was just as well that she hadn't, because it was obvious that she wasn't going to get them.

  In the days that followed their return from Paris, Ivy often wondered if she worked for a ghost. Ryder took off for parts unknown the day after he and Ivy arrived home. She went into the office in Albany a little nervously, but her anxieties were for nothing, because Ryder left word with his vice president's assistant that he'd be out of the office for a month and for Ivy to take care of the mail, the filing and the phone until he got back Other than that, there was no message. None at all.

  Ivy wished that Eve was in the country, so that she could sit down and cry on her shoulder. It would be pretty difficult, of course, since the root of her problems was kin to Eve. She couldn't talk to her mother about what had happened in Paris. It wouldn't do at all to admit to that kind of madness. She loved her mother, but Jean was very straitlaced and not at all modern. She wouldn't understand.

  With a long sigh, Ivy sat down to go through the mail and wondered how she was going to manage the rest of her life with her heart in a sling.

  The sad thing was that Ryder had been her friend before they became involved physically. Removing him from her life was going to be impossible unless she moved to Mars. Even then, her mother would find a way to get messages to her and tell her all the latest news about him. There w
as no place to run.

  Her appetite dwindled until she was living on toast and black coffee and salads. She had no interest in the world around her and she grew weaker and less energetic by the day. Depression was taking a terrible toll on her.

  Jean inevitably noticed her condition. "Don't you think you'd better see a doctor?" she asked worriedly one night.

  "I'm just tired," Ivy protested. It was barely seven o'clock, and her eyelids were drooping.

  "Tired! My goodness, you're always tired. You go to sleep sitting up, you won't eat…oh, honey, I'm so worried about you," Jean wailed.

  "If you want to know the truth, I guess I'm depressed," Ivy said after a minute, lowering her sad eyes. "I do miss Ryder so much."

  Jean relaxed. "So that's it."

  Ivy nodded. "He's been away almost a month, and he hasn't even phoned me," she said, revealing the most hurtful part. "He sends messages through Mr. Wood's assistant about what he wants done, and he sends emails about contracts, but he never actually talks to me."

  "Did anything happen in Paris?" the older woman asked softly.

  Ivy turned away before her mother could see her scarlet face. Jean was nobody's fool, and Ivy didn't want to discuss such a personal subject with her mother.

  "The only thing that happened was that he said he didn't want to get married," Ivy replied.

  "My poor baby," Jean sighed, taking the remark for the whole truth. She hugged her daughter warmly. "Do keep one thing in mind, though. Most men don't want to be married. Sometimes it just takes a little time for them to come around to it." She laughed softly. "You know, your father was one of those. But he decided that marriage wasn't so bad, and once you came along, he was the happiest husband you ever saw. He did adore you."

  "I wish I could have known him," Ivy said with a sigh.

  "So do I. He was very special." She let go. "Do you think you could eat something now?"

  "I'll try. I just haven't had much appetite," Ivy replied, sitting down at the table. "And the oddest thing, the smell of bacon makes me sick. Do you suppose there might be something wrong with my stomach?"

  "Maybe a little indigestion," Jean agreed with a smile, thinking privately that it couldn't be anything else, since Ben had been dead for over six months. She moved to the stove and began dishing up supper.

  Three more weeks passed before Ryder came back. Ivy had gotten over much of her nausea, but the weariness in the evenings seemed to get worse. Her appetite was still sketchy, but she stopped worrying because her waistline was growing. That, she decided, had to be proof that she was healthy.

  Ryder walked into the office unexpectedly early one Monday morning. Ivy looked up from her desk and saw him, and her dull eyes brightened in her thin face.

  She couldn't know how different she looked to Ryder, who hadn't seen her in almost seven weeks. He remembered a healthy, bright woman with an exquisite complexion and sparkling eyes. Now that same woman was rail-thin with lackluster hair and skin, looking as though she'd been desperately ill. The smile she'd been hoping for from him didn't materialize. If anything, he looked positively grim as he stood frozen in the doorway looking at her.

  "My God!" he burst out, staggered at what he saw. "What's happened to you?"

  "Why, nothing," she stammered. She got up from her chair and walked around to the front of the desk, forcing a wan smile to her mouth. "It's good to see you again, Ryder."

  He didn't budge. He was carrying an attaché case, and he did put that down on the floor. But he looked worried.

  Seconds later, there seemed to be reason for his concern. Ivy blinked, felt her head begin swimming suddenly, and with a tiny cry of protest, she felt the floor coming up to meet her in a nauseating whirl.

  Chapter 10

  Ryder caught her up in his arms and frowned as she rallied almost at once.

  "I'm all right," she assured him, smiling gently. He was home. Everything would be all right now. She looked up at him with her heart in her eyes, while she clung to him with delight. "Don't I get a kiss?" she teased in the old familiar way, even though her voice was strained and her eyes pleading rather than afraid.

  "You'd get one, if I was certain I could stop," he murmured, wary of passersby even though the door was partially closed. He searched her big, dark eyes. "You don't weigh anything at all. Aren't you eating?"

  She loved the concerned note in his soft, deep voice. "I had a virus, I guess," she murmured drowsily. "I stayed sick forever, and now I just don't have much appetite. The oddest things turn my stomach when I'm cooking."

  He could hardly believe that she didn't realize what she was describing. She'd told him she couldn't get pregnant, so apparently she hadn't made the connection. But what she was describing certainly sounded like morning sickness to him. He should know, having heard in detail about his sister's three pregnancies. His head spun with the delicious possibility.

  "Have you seen a doctor?" he asked softly, standing very still while he waited for an answer.

  "You sound like Mama," she said, laughing. "No, I haven't. I don't need to, Ryder. I'm all right now, even if I do still tire easily. I expect it was something like flu."

  "You don't look all right."

  "If we're going to trade insults, you look sort of drained yourself," she remarked, seeing new lines in that hard, lean face and dark circles under his pale eyes. He smelled of expensive cologne and soap, and the scent of him was very sensual. "Too many long nights with pretty girls?" she murmured dryly, but with an underlying curiosity.

  He glared down at her. "As if I could ever touch another woman after that night with you," he said quietly.

  Her heart felt as if it might try to jump right out of her chest. "Really?" she asked huskily.

  "Really." He bent his head and brushed his mouth softly over hers, feeling her lips part, accepting him without reservation. It felt as it had that night in Paris. He groaned softly and pulled her closer as his mouth grew gently insistent. He was still carrying her, and instead of carrying her into his office, he sat down on the edge of her desk and held her across his thighs and kissed her until he had to stop to draw breath. She was almost certainly pregnant, and it amused and delighted him that she apparently didn't suspect it. Jean might, but he doubted that Ivy had mentioned that wild night to her mother. She would have been too shy. He was astonished at the force of his own feeling, at the pleasure that washed over him at the thought of Ivy pregnant with his child. He could have danced a jig.

  But as he lifted his head and looked at her shyly welcoming face, it occurred to him that he couldn't tell her he knew. Not yet. She didn't think she could get pregnant, so he was going to have to steer her toward a doctor. Then he was going to have to watch her very carefully to make sure she didn't go off the deep end. After that, he'd have to act surprised when she told him, because if he let on that he knew, she'd think he only wanted her because of the baby. It was a sticky proposition all around, and he only hoped he could handle it properly. The first step, he decided, was to court her. No rushed loving, no intimacy. He had to prove to her that he was loyal and trustworthy and desperately in love. He should have done all that before he took her to bed, he realized, but he'd been too far gone to think it through. Thank God, there was still time, if he was careful.

  He nuzzled his nose against hers and smiled. "That was a nice welcome. Can I come to supper?"

  Her breath caught. "Yes, of course! Kim Sun can come, too," she began.

  "Kim Sun is visiting his parents for a much-needed vacation. He won't be back for two weeks. Lucky me," he chuckled wickedly.

  "You know you miss him," she chided. "Not nearly like I missed you," he whispered. His mouth touched hers again, with breathless tenderness while he cradled her against his hard chest. "All the color went out of the world."

  "Just like here, without you," she whispered back. Her arms tightened around his neck and she moaned as she kissed him hungrily. "Can we go to bed together?" she asked boldly.

  He stiffened. H
is cheek slid against hers as he rocked her. "I want to. You don't know how much! But you and I need to start again, at the very beginning. Holding hands, going to movies, out on dates…that sort of thing."

  She jerked in his arms. He couldn't be saying… But she lifted her head and looked at him, and it was very apparent that he was saying it. He was talking about a commitment. What kind she couldn't guess, but she didn't care. Having him home again, having him want to be with her, that was all that mattered.

  She said so. He looked as rapt and wondering as she felt, as if her feet wouldn't even touch the floor when she walked.

  "I used to dream about going on a date with you," she confessed.

  "I had some dreams of my own. You made most of them come true in Paris," he murmured and kissed her flushed face. "Don't be embarrassed about it. It was the sweetest loving I've ever known."

  "Yes, but you've known a lot," she worried.

  "Neither of us has known that kind," he emphasized. His eyes kindled. "And in several ways, you were virginal. Remember?"

  She did. Her body trembled in his arms as the memories came back full force.

  "I hate myself for bringing that up," he groaned when the words aroused him. He got up quickly and put her down. "I'm sorry, but I've got a problem."

  She leaned back against the desk, delighted that he did, because it was proof of how easily she could stir him. Her eyes were dreamy as they watched him. "But we can't do it again?"

  He shook his head. "Not yet."

  "Eventually?" she persisted.

  He chuckled. "Eventually neither of us will have a choice. But we've got a lot to learn about each other."

  "Can you spare the time?" she asked mischievously.

  "I'll make the time," he assured her. His pale eyes narrowed. "I'm going to take very good care of you, Miss McKenzie."

  "You make it sound as if I need to be looked after," she mused.

  "Don't you? Honest to God, you're as thin as a spaghetti strand—vermicelli, at that."