Golden Vows

by Karen Toller Whittenburg

  Cradling his face in her palms, she smiled. “Unbearable,” she agreed as her fingers went to the button tab of his shirt. With impatient, but steady movements she unfastened the buttons and then tugged the material from the waist of his jeans. He lay still while she pulled the shirt up and over his chest. Pliantly, he shifted to aid in slipping it from his shoulders and head. She couldn’t resist the appeal of his bronze chest and pressed a hungry kiss there.

  Her hand went to his belt buckle, but he stopped her and drew her fingers to his lips, touching them one by one as his eyes held hers. Then, with a lithe, graceful motion, he stood and stripped off the rest of his clothes.

  His tanned, virile body was as familiar as the response it evoked, and Amanda let her gaze admire him while the slumberous desire awakened to fiery life. Her fingers touched his ankle and etched a feathery trail upward along his calf. Slowly, he sank to his knees and her palm smoothed his thigh with easy, unhesitating strokes. She caressed him with her eyes and then with her hands, lovingly, gently, knowing and savoring the effect.

  As she coaxed him down beside her she marveled at the perfect planning that had created male and female, her body and his. She was formed for his pleasure just as he was made to pleasure her. Individual differences bonded into an exquisite union of body and spirit.

  He explored the silken curve of her stomach and the slender line of her inner thigh as he slipped off her panties. He pulled the strap of her bra down her arm and freed one breast. Sensuously, his tongue circled the darkened tip while he unfastened the hook and lifted the bra away. Suddenly, she was throbbing with the need to possess and to be possessed. Dane, her heart called, its rhythm staccato and quick against her ribs. Her back arched in fierce longing.

  He answered her mute appeal with a stormy taking of her lips. When he lowered himself onto her, she welcomed him with the urgency of beautiful memories and the breathtaking splendor of reality. The moment of joining, the feel of flesh against flesh, arms and legs entwining in the glorious embrace of love—all of these, she experienced anew, remembering their magic and yet learning them as if for the first time.

  His chest moved over her in chafing arousal, teasing her breasts into taut peaks of yearning. Her hands discovered the even slope of his waist and followed it to sinewy hips and muscled thighs that pressed erotically into hers. She moved as one with him, the burning sweetness of their loving filling her as nothing else could.

  “I love you.” The words floated through her and from her to linger like music in the air. And then she was gathered closer in his arms as passion fused them together like two colors that blended into one.

  Dane lay awake long after Amanda had led the way upstairs to bed. She had curled as close to him as possible and gone to sleep.

  He rested his head on his hand and gazed down at his wife. His, he thought with fierce possession. He had won her back. She was his again. He had won.

  In the darkness his eyes caressed her, seeing more from memory than in actuality. She was the loveliest woman he had ever known. Her complexion was as creamy and smooth as a child’s, her eyes, so deeply blue that the heavens paled in envy, were hidden by thick, heavy lashes as black as the strand of hair that graced her cheek. Reverently, he brushed the strand back and tucked it into the cloudy darkness that splayed across the pillow.

  His heart ached with emotion. Amanda was all he asked of life. And she was here beside him just as he’d determined she would be. Yet, even in sleep, she’d moved from his embrace, distancing herself from him and reminding him that she was accustomed to sleeping alone.

  He had wanted to talk, to forever vanquish the past, but she had interrupted him when he’d mentioned the baby and he’d understood that the subject was forbidden. The pain was behind them, never to be spoken of, never to be shared. He had known when they stood outside in the snow and she had said she loved him. There had been something in her expression, a shadowy secret in her eyes, and he had known. Oh, yes, he had known that this new commitment wasn’t complete. Her lips had pleaded with him to stay, but her heart?

  Be careful of the things you wish for, he thought ruefully. He had wished to have Amanda again and he had won, but the victory—if it could even be termed that—was oddly hollow. She loved him, he didn’t doubt that, but for the first time he wasn’t sure that loving was enough.

  Chapter Ten

  Her hand trembled. Amanda curled her fingers under until her nails pinched into her palm. The trembling stopped, then began again. She walked to the window, pulled back the draperies, let them fall into place.

  I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. The denial marched ceaselessly through her thoughts.

  “Where are you, Dane?” she asked, her voice toneless in the silent house. He would be home at any moment. She longed to see him. She dreaded seeing him. I can’t. I can’t.

  She made herself turn to the room, forced her concentration on the home she’d created. Martha’s rental house had finally become home when Dane moved in; the rooms had taken on color and personality and Amanda had felt alive again.

  He had wanted to return to the house they’d planned and built together, but she had persuaded him to stay at the cottage. He had wanted to begin seeing friends they hadn’t seen in months, but she had teasingly replied that this time together was private, like a second honeymoon. He had suggested she look for another job in her chosen field of interior design, but she had wanted to continue working at the child-care center for a while. She would be ready to move again in the spring, she had promised, and he had smiled that oddly wistful smile.

  And now spring was just a month away. How had the three months since Thanksgiving Day flown by so fast? Why hadn’t she been more aware of the passing days, more conscious of the halcyon contentment she had known within these walls, within her husband’s arms?

  Their relationship wasn’t perfect, but it had grown from a tenuous trust to a steady acceptance. The uneasy silences had all but vanished between them and she had thought that spring would truly mean a new beginning—for him, for her and for their marriage.

  A new beginning.

  Oh, God! I cannot do this.

  She stiffened at the sound of his car in the drive and her heart stopped. Beat, she told it. Beat. You can’t stop now.

  Not now, when Dane would walk through the door at any second. Not when he would see her weak and shaking. No, she wouldn’t let him see her that way. Beat, she commanded and felt it settle into an uneven rhythm as the car door slammed outside.

  Dane was home and Amanda wished he hadn’t come.

  Dane slammed the door of the Mercedes and glanced toward the house. Amanda would be waiting for him and the thought brought a discordant contentment. She usually met him at the door with a kiss and a smile. Sometimes the smile was too determinedly cheerful and often the kiss was a little too intense, but he pretended not to notice.

  It had become almost a game ... the pretending, the make-believe world they had created. A second honeymoon, Amanda was fond of saying, but he didn’t share the analogy. It was more like probation, he thought, and then immediately stripped the word from his mind, knowing it wasn’t fair. She was trying to put everything in the proper balance; she was trying to make him happy.

  And he was happy.

  He only wished it didn’t take so much effort.

  He walked to the house, his briefcase knocking wearily against his leg. The door didn’t swing open at his touch and as he reached into his pocket for the keys he wondered why it was locked. Amanda’s car was parked in the drive, but he supposed she might have walked to Martha’s. Still, it seemed odd.

  He shrugged aside the uneasy feeling and stepped inside the house. The hallway was dim and empty. He set his briefcase on the floor, his eyes seeking Amanda as he moved to the living room.

  Relief flowed through him when he saw her standing by the window. Three months of being with her again should have eased the fear that it was only a dream, the sense of wonder that it was not. But each t
ime he saw her, it was the same.

  Her back was to him and she was staring out at the hazy February day through a narrow opening in the draperies. She seemed so small, so delicate, and his lips curved with tender pleasure. The black slacks she wore fit neatly, if a little loosely, over her hips. A white lacy-weave sweater had just the right amount of cling to look elegantly tantalizing. Stylish waves of sable hair tumbled indiscreetly around her shoulders. It smelled of sunshine and a soft spring rain, a fragrance he knew by memory and that lingered in his mind and on his fingertips.

  “I’m home.” His greeting skimmed through the air, sincere, symbolic, and he wondered if she had any idea of how much he loved her.

  Amanda felt frozen, but from somewhere within herself she found the courage to turn and face him. In a dark suit he looked professional and distinguished. His hair was deeply gold and disarrayed by the wear and tear of a day’s work. His brown eyes warmed her, made her want to run into the strength of his arms.

  But if he touched her, she would dissolve in an agony of tears and then he would know how very weak she was. She relaxed the tight clasp of her hands and thought that outwardly she must appear quite calm.

  “Dane?” Her voice was raspy with nerves and she cleared her throat. “I’m pregnant.”

  Her words knocked the breath from him and his stomach winged to the floor only to jerk unsteadily into place again. Pregnant? A baby?

  A baby!

  His arms lifted, ready to catch Amanda and whirl around the room with her, yelling and laughing with excitement. But he saw the wide sapphire eyes watching him and the joyous excitement gave way to concern. She must be remembering and feeling very uncertain.

  He opened his mouth to ask if she was all right, but she stole the words from him.

  “The doctor said I’m in good health. Everything should be fine.” She paused, thinking that she’d been told that once before. But everything hadn’t been fine. The crushing fear inside her grew larger, pushing the air from her lungs in quick, sharp stabs. “I didn’t have any idea. I walked into that office believing I was just having the same old problems with my cycle and Dr. Samuels asked me….” A mirthless laugh cut off the words and she half-turned away from Dane’s probing gaze. “He wanted to know what method of birth control we’d been using and I laughed. Laughed! And then I told him how hard it had been for me to conceive the first time and that it just wasn’t possible. I couldn’t have gotten pregnant so easily this time. There had to be a mistake.”

  Dane took a tentative step toward her. “But there’s no mistake? The doctor’s sure?”

  Amanda closed her eyes as the fear engulfed her. The nightmare was beginning again. “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, he’s sure. Yes, I’m sure.”

  Yes, yes, yes. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

  “Amanda,” Dane said gently, comfortingly. “It will be all right this time, you’ll see. Everything will be all right.”

  Blue eyes fastened on him with undisguised panic. “How do you know that? How can you possibly know that? It’s all starting again. I know it is and I can’t go through with it. Do you hear me, Dane? I won’t do it. I can’t. I just can’t.”

  She was distraught by her fear. He could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice, but he felt strangely distanced from her emotion. If she had come to him, made an effort to share her feelings or simply sought comfort in his arms, he would have soothed her, loved her. But she stood apart from him, rejecting him by the very distance she kept between them. Three months hadn’t made a dent in that wall around her heart.

  Amanda watched him, seeking to interpret the cool self-control that shuttered his thoughts from her. Was he afraid or indifferent? Resentful? She wouldn’t live through that again. “I know you don’t want children, Dane. I know you resented my longing to have a child.”

  “Resented?” His fist clenched in alarm. “Are you out of your mind, Amanda? How could you believe such a thing? Do you think I’m so shallow I’d resent a child?” He pressed his palm to his forehead, hardly aware that he did so.

  Confusion wrapped around her memories, clouding the facts in her mind. “But you never wanted to—to touch me or make love when....”

  “Sex by appointment is not my idea of making love. Two years of charts and gauging success or failure at the end of each month is frustrating, but I never resented it. Didn’t you know how much I wanted a baby? Didn’t I tell you?”

  “You didn’t act like it,” she defended herself. “You didn’t stay home long enough to convince me you meant anything you said.” She saw the flicker of guilty concession in his eyes, and held her ground.

  “What was I supposed to do?” he asked. “You were unpredictable and moody. I honestly thought you were happier when I wasn’t around. And besides, while you were decorating the nursery I was planning for the future. I felt I had to work harder to make that future possible for our child. Damn it, why am I telling you this now?” He jerked at the knot in his tie, loosened it, and pulled it off. Tossing it onto a chair, he removed his jacket and attempted to calm his thundering heartbeat.

  “Why didn’t you tell me then?” Amanda tried to sort through this new reality and free truth from the lie she’d believed.

  “Why didn’t you ask?” He pinned her with a probing stare. “You could have asked. Oh, what difference does it make? We made mistakes and God knows we paid for them, but we won’t make the same ones again. Not this time,”

  “No.” The fear crawled down her back. This time. It was all going to happen again. No matter how wrong she’d been before or how many mistakes she’d made, she knew Dane could never understand the desperation she felt right now. There were some things a man couldn’t possibly understand and some things she just didn’t have the strength to face. “I can’t go through with it, Dane. I can’t.”

  Her pain wound its way through him, twisting and tearing at him until he knew it must be stopped. Did she think he was a stranger to fear? That he offered reassurance as a token for her sake alone? He wanted to give her the strength she needed, but still she stood alone, maintaining the distance she’d put between them.

  The anger began slowly as he faced her, but it built rapidly to a chilling fire. “You can’t? What does that mean, Amanda? You are pregnant. Nothing is going to change that fact. Unless…?” He couldn’t finish the thought, much less the sentence.

  The cold logic of his words washed over her and she bowed her head, appalled at the idea of ever, in any way, harming the new life within her. From the moment she’d heard the incredible, unbelievable fact of conception, she had allowed the past to dictate her reaction. She hadn’t thought of the alternative; she’d known only that she couldn’t survive another long and torturous tragedy.

  Her hand crept quietly, protectively, to her stomach and like a glimpse of light in a dense fog she realized what he must think of her. Lifting her gaze to his face, she felt the white-hot heat of his anger scorch her.

  “You’re a fool, Amanda, if you think, for one second that I’ll allow you to terminate this pregnancy.” His voice faltered, then steadied. “I don’t give a damn about what you think you can’t do. You’re so wrapped up in self-pity that you’re not capable of loving anyone but yourself. Right now you’re certainly not demonstrating any love for our unborn child. And don’t tell me you’re afraid of what might happen. Everyone’s afraid, Amanda. Even me. But you can’t see that. All you can see is the past. You can’t forget the past.

  “Well, you’re not going to blame me because you can’t cope with life, not this time.” Dane consciously slowed the rapid rise and fall of his chest as he stared dispassionately at her pale face. Her eyes seemed huge and misted with betrayal, but he hardened his heart against the sympathetic tug. He’d sheltered her long enough—that was his mistake—but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, do it anymore.

  “I’ve tried to understand. Tried to be patient with you and give you time to come to grips with your emotions, but I don’t have any patience left.
When I came back from overseas, I wanted and needed to comfort you, but you turned from me at every opportunity. So I told myself it was the circumstances; you couldn’t think of anyone except our child. I could accept that, but then he died and you rejected my need to share that grief with you. I wanted to hold you, to give you my strength and to draw strength from you, but you didn’t need me.” His voice was low, but thick with anger. “The night he died, I was so empty, so completely destroyed, but all of my emotions seemed insignificant when I thought of you and how I had to help you survive the loss of our son.”

  He altered his stance, turned away from her, turned back. “I was so concerned for you, Amanda. And do you know what you said? ‘It should have been me. I should have died too.’ ” His hand brushed at his hair, then jammed down into his pocket in barren remembrance.

  “Do you know what that did to me, Amanda? Have you even once considered how I felt or that I hurt every bit as much as you did? Damn you, Amanda. I’m tired of fighting you and I’m tired of fighting for you. Everyone is entitled to his own private hell, so don’t expect me to share yours any longer. I’ve found my own.” Pivoting from the lost expression on her face, he walked from the house, slamming the door behind him with loud finality.

  The sound of his leaving echoed through the empty house just as his words echoed violently through her mind, shattering the wall of protection around her heart in one blow. With rapid-fire clarity his accusations seared the truth into her soul.

  How could she have been so blind? So insensitive? So utterly selfish? She hadn’t considered him at all. Since she had carried the baby in her womb and given birth, she had believed that his feelings were less important, less intense than her own.

  He had needed her, wanted the comfort she could give, but she had shut him out because she’d thought he couldn’t understand, couldn’t share the depths of her grief. She had withdrawn from him at the first sign of pain and, in doing that, she had selfishly denied them both a vital part of loving.