by Nora Roberts
“He’s very attractive.”
“Yes, he is.”
“And nothing like Peter.”
“No,” Laura agreed. “Nothing at all like Peter.”
“Is that why you’re attracted to him? Because he’s the antithesis of your ex-husband?”
“I’m not using Peter as a yardstick.” Restless, she rose. “Maybe I was, to some extent. It’s difficult not to compare when you’ve only been with two men. I’m not sleeping with Michael to prove anything to anyone, but because it’s—he makes me . . . I want him. And he wants me.”
“Will that be enough for you, Laura?”
“I don’t know. It’s enough for now.” She turned away, paced to the fire. It was quiet tonight, just a warm glow and a subtle hiss. “I failed before. I wanted it to be perfect. I wanted to be perfect. Maybe I wanted to be you.”
“Oh, honey.”
“It’s not your fault,” Laura said quickly when her mother got to her feet. “Please don’t think I mean that. It’s only that I grew up seeing you, how you were, how you are. So competent and wise and flawless.”
“I’m not flawless, Laura. No one is.”
“You were to me. You are. You never faltered, never stumbled, never let me down.”
“I stumbled.” She crossed the room, took her daughter’s hands. “Countless times. I had your father to help me get my balance.”
“And he had you to help him. That’s what I always wanted, dreamed of. The kind of marriage and life and family you made. And I’m not foolish enough to think it didn’t take effort and mistakes and sleepless nights to make it. But you did. I didn’t.”
“You make me angry when you blame yourself.”
Laura shook her head. “I don’t, completely. But I know I’m not blameless either. I set my sights impossibly high. Every time I had to readjust them, lower them, it was harder. I don’t ever want to do that again.”
“If you set your sights too low, you can miss a great deal.”
“Maybe. But I’m not pushing for more here than what I have. Part of me will always want what you and Dad have. Not only for myself but for my children. But if it’s not in the cards, I’m through crying over it. I’m going to give them the best life I can, and make the best one for myself too. Right now, Michael’s an important part of it.”
“Does he know how important?”
Laura shrugged her shoulders. “It’s often difficult to tell how much Michael knows. But I know this. Peter didn’t love me, not ever.”
“Laura—”
“No, it’s true, and I can live with that.” In fact, she discovered it was easier to live with than she had imagined. “But I loved him, and I married him, and stayed with him for ten years. Both of us, and certainly the children, would have been better off if I hadn’t been so determined to make it work. If I had just accepted the failure and let go.”
“I think you’re wrong,” Susan said quietly. “By doing everything you could do to hold your marriage and your family together, you can look back and know you did your best.”
“Maybe.” And perhaps one day she would look back. “With Michael I don’t have to carry the burden of making something work, or of living with the illusion that I have a man who loves me and wants what I want. And I’m happier than I’ve been in too long to remember.”
“Then I’m happy for you.” And will keep my own counsel, Susan thought, for now. “Let’s go rescue your father,” she said, tucking her arm through Laura’s. “Before those girls have him wrapped around their fingers so tight he bounces.”
The year Thomas Templeton married Susan Conroy, he added the tower suite as his innovation for Templeton House. The house had already stood a hundred years, with nearly every generation of his family toying with or expanding the original design.
He had built it out of fancy, and a love for the romantic. He had made love with his wife there countless nights, conceived both of their children within the charming rounded walls, in the big rococo bed. Although Susan often said Josh had been made on the Bokhara rug in front of the fire.
He never disputed her on such matters.
Now with flames simmering in the Adams fireplace, a bottle of Templeton champagne chilled in a silver bucket and moonlight filtering in through the high windows, he curled with his wife of thirty-six years on that same rug.
“I think you’re trying to seduce me.”
He offered her a glass brimming with frothy wine. “You’re such a sharp woman, Susie.”
“And smart enough to let you.” Smiling, she touched a hand to his face. “Tommy. How could so many years have gone by?”
“You look the same.” He pressed his lips to her palm. “Just as lovely, just as fresh.”
“Now it takes me hours to maintain the illusion.”
“It’s no illusion.” He nestled her head on his shoulder, watched the fire leap as a log gave way to the heat. “Do you remember the first night we slept here?”
“You carried me up the steps. Up every single one. And when you brought me in here, you had flowers everywhere, gardens of them, roses strewn over the bed. Wine chilling, the candles lighted.”
“You cried.”
“You overwhelmed me. You often did, and do still.” She tilted her face up, brushed her lips over his jaw. “I knew I was the luckiest woman in the world to have you, to be loved the way you loved me. And to be wanted the way you wanted me.” She shut her eyes, turned her face against his throat. “Oh, Tommy.”
“Tell me what’s troubling you. It’s Laura, isn’t it?”
“I can’t bear to see her hurt. I can stand anything but that. Even though I know that children have to go their own way, fight their own battles, it breaks my heart. I can still remember the day she was born, the way she curled into my arms. So small and precious.”
“And you think Michael Fury is going to break her heart?”
“I don’t know. I wish I did.” She rose, walked to the window that looked out over the cliffs. Cliffs, she knew, that Laura had haunted since childhood. “It’s knowing she’s already had it broken that kills me inside. I spoke with her tonight when you were up with the girls. And I realized as she talked to me, that as hard as she’s worked to rebuild her life, part of her is still so vulnerable, so raw. So . . . exposed. She believes she’s failed, Tommy.”
“Failed, my ass.” Incensed, he sprang up. “Peter Ridgeway failed, in every way possible.”
“And did we fail, by not preventing?”
“Could we have stopped her?” It was a question he’d asked himself dozens of times over the last few years. “Could we have?”
“No,” Susan said after a long moment. “We might have postponed it, we might have persuaded her to wait. A few months, a year. But she was in love. She wanted what we have. That’s what she said to me tonight, Tommy. She wanted what we have.”
When he laid a hand on her shoulder, she reached back, gripped tight. “I hate that she couldn’t have it. That she was denied the security and excitement and beauty of it. Now she doesn’t believe she ever will have it.”
“She’s a young woman, Susie. A lovely and loving young woman. She’ll fall in love again.”
“She already has. She’s in love with Michael, Tommy. She hasn’t admitted it to herself yet; she protects herself by thinking of it as sex.”
“Please.” He winced. “It’s not easy to think of my little girl that way.”
It made her laugh and turn to him. “Your little girl is in the middle of a hot affair with Josh’s rebellious young friend.”
“Should I get the gun?”
So she laughed again, embraced him. “Oh, Tommy, here we are, with no way to stop it again. Nothing to do but wait and hope.”
“I could have a . . . little talk with him.”
“You could. I could. But nothing we say is going to change Laura’s mind, or her heart. He’s gorgeous.”
Intrigued, Thomas eased her back, frowned into her eyes. “Is that so?”
“Is that what you think?”
Flattered, she patted his cheek. “I think I admire her taste and, as a woman, her luck. As a mother—I’m terrified of him.”
“Maybe I will have a chat with him. Soon.” Then he blew out a breath. “Damn it, Susie, I’ve always liked the boy.”
“So have I. There was always something rawly honest about him. And whatever Annie thinks, he wasn’t, and isn’t, a hoodlum. What he is, is basic.”
“And do we want our daughter involved with a basic man who ran off to sea at eighteen and has done any number of things not discussed in polite company?”
She winced. The same thought had passed through her head. “That sounds so snobbish.”
“It sounds like parental concern to me. It doesn’t matter if she’s three or thirty, it’s still our job to worry about her.”
“And men like Michael come and go on their own whim,” she murmured. “They aren’t looking for roots. Laura would wither without them. And from what she said, the girls are attached to him. How will it affect them to have another man walk out of their lives?” She burrowed against him. “There’s nothing we can do but be there for them.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do. We watched Margo and Kate find the way through their problems. Laura will get through.”
“And they have each other.” She shifted so that they could look out toward the cliffs together. “The three of them are always there for each other. That shop of theirs has worked magic for them. Whatever happens, Laura has them, and the pride in what they’ve built together. But I’m greedy, Tommy.”
She took his hand, laid it on her heart. “I want her to have her dream. I want her to have what we have. I want to believe that she’ll stand at the window, look toward the sea, with a man’s arms around her. A man who loves her and will stand by her. A man who can make her feel the way you make me feel.”
She cupped his face in her hands. “So I’m going to believe it. And if she’s got any of me inside her, she’ll fight for what she wants. The way I fought for you.”
“You ignored me,” he reminded her. “Wouldn’t give me the time of day.”
Her smile bloomed slowly. “And it worked, didn’t it? Perfectly. Then one day I let you find me, by calculated accident, alone in the rose garden at the club. And I let you kiss me, like this.” She lifted her mouth, drew the kiss out, warm and slow. “And Tommy Templeton, never seeing the punch, went down for the count.”
“You always were sneaky, Susie.” He swung her up into his arms and made her laugh.
“And I got exactly what I wanted. Just,” she murmured as he lowered her to the rug, “the way I’m going to get exactly what I want right now.”
Laura saw the lights in the tower room as she walked toward the cliffs. And for a moment she stood watching the silhouette of her parents embracing. It was a lovely sight, stirred her heart. And her envy.
They fit so perfectly together, she thought, turning back toward the song of the sea. Their rhythms, their styles, their goals, their needs.
She’d learned, the hard way, that what her parents had, what they worked for and preserved, wasn’t a given but a rarity to be celebrated.
Her new perspective only brought her more admiration for them.
She walked the cliffs alone, something she hadn’t done for weeks. She wanted Michael. The low hum of desire was constant and thrilling, but she wouldn’t go to him tonight. Nor, she believed, did he expect her.
They had parted awkwardly. She, undeniably embarrassed at having been caught frolicking in the pool by her own mother. He, obviously uncomfortable. She thought they both would need time to adjust.
The light was strong, glowing, with the clouds chased away to clear skies by a stiff westerly wind. As familiar with the cliffs as with her own parlor, Laura picked her way down, easily negotiating rocks and a path slippery with pebbles until she came to a favored ledge.
There she sat, letting the wind whip at her face and the sea thunder in her ears. And there, listening for the whisper of ghosts, thinking of lost love, she was content.
From his window, Michael watched her go down the slope, the long, loose jacket she wore streaming out behind her like a cloak. Romantic, mysterious. He pressed his hand to the glass as if he could touch her. Then drew it back, irritated with himself.
She wasn’t coming to him. Small wonder, he thought, hooking his thumbs in his pockets as he watched her climb down rocks as gracefully as a fawn. Her parents were back, and with them, he expected, came a reminder of the difference in their positions.
Laura Templeton may have been working for a living, she may have scrubbed a few bathtubs, but she was still Laura Templeton. And he was still Michael Fury, from the wrong side of the hill.
She’d be busy now, he supposed. Entertaining, scheduling dinner parties during her parents’ stay. Those fancy, flower-bedecked, exclusive affairs that Templeton House was renowned for.
There would be lunch at the club, quick rounds of tennis, erudite conversations over coffee and brandy.
The ritual was more foreign to him than Greek.
And he had no desire to learn either.
So, if she was going to brush him off, what was the difference? With a shrug, he turned away from the window and stripped off his shirt. He could lure her back into the sack another time or two if he wanted. Sex was nothing more than a weakness. He could exploit hers to satisfy his own.
He heaved the shirt aside, frustrated that it wasn’t something hard and breakable. Goddamn it, he wanted her. Now. Here. With him.
Who the hell did she think she was?
Who the hell did he think he was?
Eyes grim, he pulled off his boots and threw them both against the wall, where they at least made a satisfying thud.
He knew exactly who he was, and so, he thought, did she. Laura Templeton was going to find herself hard-pressed to shake him loose until he was damn good and ready. He wasn’t finished with her yet, not by a long shot.
She could have tonight, he thought, stripping off his jeans. He’d let her have tonight all quiet and safe. Because her nights weren’t going to stay quiet, and they weren’t going to stay safe.
He dropped naked to the bed and glared at the ceiling. And he would have her right back where he wanted her. The hell with her parents, her fancy friends, and her perfect pedigree.
She’d taken on a mongrel. Now she’d have to deal with him.
From her perch on the ledge, Laura stretched her arms up. Cool, damp air caressed her skin where the sleeves of her jacket fell down to her elbows. She thought of how Michael caressed that skin. Rough and demanding one moment, then the next with surprising and devastating tenderness.
He had so many moods, she thought, so many needs. He had in such a short time awakened so many moods, so many needs in her. No, she was no Sleeping Beauty, she reflected, but she felt as though she’d been sleeping for decades. Waiting for him to find her.
And he had, she realized. They’d found each other. So why was she sitting here alone, trying to reorganize her schedule for the next day, and the day after that? Tomorrow would come anyway. She could be with him right now. She’d go to him. Laura closed her eyes tight, wished. If his lights were still on when she stood and looked back, she would go to him. And he would be there waiting, wanting.
She stood, holding her breath, and turned. And let it out again as she saw nothing but night and the deeper silhouettes of darkened buildings.
He hadn’t waited.
She brushed the chill from her arms, calling it foolish. It wasn’t rejection, it only meant he was tired and had gone to bed. And she should do that herself. There were dozens of things that needed to be done the next day
that would be done better after a good night’s sleep.
And they weren’t bound to spend every night together. There’d been no promises between them. None at all, she thought, furious that her eyes stung as she turned back to the sea. No promises, no plans, no soft words.
Was that what she wanted, still? After she should have known better? What weakness was this in her that craved those words, those promises, those plans? Couldn’t she be content with what was and not always dream about what could be?
It didn’t matter what she’d told herself, she realized, as she sat down again. It didn’t matter what she’d told her mother, or Margo or Kate. Or what she’d told Michael. It had all been lies. She, who was famous for being a pathetically poor liar, had pulled this one off beautifully.
She was in love with him. She was so stupidly in love with him, and no one had a clue. Part of her had already seen them together, tomorrow, a year from tomorrow, ten years. Lovers, partners, family. More children, a home, a life.
She’d lied to him, to everyone, including herself. And now, as it was with lies, she would have to continue to spin them, and live them, to make the first of them hold.
It wouldn’t be fair to him otherwise. For he hadn’t lied. He had wanted her, and she had no doubt that he cared for her. He cared for her children, was willing to offer a hand to help. He gave her his body, had awakened hers, and had offered her a friendship that she valued.
And still she wasn’t satisfied.
Selfish, she wondered, or just foolish? It hardly mattered. She had created the illusion and would continue it. Or lose him.
When it was over, whenever it ended, she wouldn’t regret it or curse God. She’d go on, because life was long and precious and deserved the best she could give it. When the time came and she had no choice but to live without him, she’d remember what it had been like to feel again, and to love. And she’d be grateful.
Steadier now, she braced a hand on the ground to push herself up. Her fingers closed over the disk as if they’d known it was there, waiting for her. With her heart drumming, loud as the waves below, she lifted it up, turned it under the stream of the moonlight.