With This Ring

by Patricia Kay

  * * *

  Justin had done nothing but think for two days. And he'd finally faced what he had known ever since Sam's return.

  Amy didn't love him the way she loved Sam.

  And Justin wanted that kind of love. He wasn't willing to settle for less.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  She would get over this. She would get over him.

  After all, hadn't she gotten over a lot worse?

  She tried to pretend the heaviness of her heart and the aching emptiness of her body did not exist.

  * * *

  Friday night was the worst night of Sam's life. Worse even than those first nights after his accident. Then what he'd felt was physical pain. This pain was infinitely worse. Amy.

  It hurt to think of her, hurt to remember the stunned look on her face, the disappointment and betrayal in her eyes.

  He told himself he'd done the only thing he could do. By releasing her, he'd ensured her future happiness. He told himself he would get over her. He told himself he had lived most of his life depending on no one, and he could do so again. Nothing helped.

  At three o'clock, knowing he would not sleep this night, he got up, dressed in his running clothes, and headed for the hotel's exercise room, which was open twenty-four hours a day. He would wear himself out. And if that didn't work, he'd find an all-night bar.

  * * *

  Amy lay awake most of the night. She told herself Sam's decision to take the book deal and leave her should have made everything easier for her. Now, as he'd said, she could marry Justin and live happily ever after.

  At four o'clock, knowing she would not get any sleep, she got up and walked out to the living room. Shivering a little—she hadn't bothered putting on her robe—she reached for the afghan folded over the arm of the rocking chair and wrapped it around herself. Then she headed for her storage cupboard. Minutes later, the half-finished portrait of Sam that she'd banished so long ago, was once more sitting on her easel. Moonlight spilled over the likeness, giving his face an ephemeral quality.

  She stared at the portrait for a long time. And as the first blush of dawn tinted the eastern sky, the final truth settled around her with absolute certainty.

  She could not marry Justin. It wasn't fair to him, because she didn't love him the way she should. And she never would.

  * * *

  When Amy called Saturday morning, Justin said, "I was just going to call you."

  "Would you like to come over?"

  He tried to determine what she was feeling by the tone of her voice, but it told him nothing. He wondered if Sam had told her about the book deal yet. He guessed he'd find out soon enough.

  Later, as he drove to Amy's, he felt calmer and more resigned than he'd felt in weeks.

  His resolve teetered only slightly when she opened the door to his knock. The impact of seeing her after a week of being away from her was almost his undoing. But he reminded himself of everything he'd been thinking, and within moments, he'd regained control of his emotions.

  "I've got fresh coffee. Do you want some?" she said.

  He shook his head. He just wanted to get this over with and get out of there.

  He followed her into the room. She sat on one end of the couch, but Justin was too edgy to sit. Instead, he walked to the bar and propped one elbow on it.

  She bit her bottom lip.

  Before she had a chance to say anything, Justin plunged in. "I've been thinking," he said, carefully keeping his voice as free of emotion as possible. He took a deep breath. "And I think you should marry Sam."

  Her eyes widened.

  "Because he's the one you're in love with," he rushed on. "You've always been in love with him. I just haven't wanted to face it."

  "Justin—"

  "No, wait, let me finish. I don't want you to feel bad about this. I know this isn't your fault. You can't help how you feel. And I thought I didn't care. I thought I'd take you any way I could get you, but I've discovered something about myself in the past couple of days, Amy. I'm not willing to settle. I want the kind of love you and Sam have. Nothing less is acceptable."

  For the second time in twenty-four hours, Amy felt stunned. She knew it was unworthy of her, but she also felt ridiculously hurt. She'd gone from being a woman two men professed to want to a woman neither man seemed to want. Then she immediately felt ashamed of herself. She should be grateful to Justin. He was making everything so easy for her.

  "Some woman is going to feel awfully lucky one of these days," she said softly. "Because she'll be getting one of the greatest guys I know." She slowly removed the diamond ring.

  Amazingly, Justin felt no pain as he took the ring and they said their good-byes.

  That, he knew, would come later.

  * * *

  Lark was just getting out of the shower on Saturday afternoon when her doorbell rang.

  "Damn you, whoever you are, this better be important," she muttered, grabbing her terry cloth robe. "Or else you're gonna be dead meat!"

  Charging to the front door, she peered through the peephole. Her heart leaped. Justin! She fumbled with the safety chain, unlocked the dead bolt, and threw the door open. "Hi," she said.

  His smile didn't quite make it to his eyes. "Hi."

  So Amy had finally lowered the boom. "C'mon in. What brings you here?"

  "Oh, nothing much. My life just went down the toilet, that's all." Then he laughed wryly.

  "Sounds to me like you need a beer."

  "Is beer your solution to everything?"

  "You got a better one?"

  He laughed again, and this time it had a more genuine ring to it. "I see your point. Sure. I'll have a beer."

  Ten minutes later, she'd combed her hair, thrown on jeans and a shirt, and she was sitting across from him at her miniscule kitchen table. "Okay, spill it," she said. "Why has your life gone down the toilet?"

  He grimaced. "The wedding's off. Amy and I aren't getting married."

  His matter-of-fact reaction, the acceptance she saw in his face, in his eyes, in his entire body, surprised her. "For someone who said his life had just gone down the toilet, you don't seem as miserable as I would have thought you'd be," she said carefully.

  He nodded, even smiled. "I know. But see, I'd already decided it was never going to work. In fact, I told Amy so. And you know what?"

  "What?"

  "It doesn't hurt as much as I thought it would."

  "So you didn't come here to cry on my shoulder?" Lark said it lightly and tried to ignore the tiny seedling of hope that wanted to sprout.

  His eyes met hers. God, she loved his eyes. A woman could drown in those eyes.

  "I don't know why I came here," he said slowly, "I only know you are the person I wanted to see. Do you mind?"

  Her smile bloomed slowly, just like the seedling. "No. I don't mind. I don't mind at all."

  * * *

  Late Saturday afternoon, Amy walked over to her parents' house. Her mother wasn't home, but she found her father in his study.

  "Hi, sunshine," he said, looking up from his book. Then he frowned. "Is something wrong?"

  She tried to smile, but it wasn't easy. "Justin and I have broken our engagement."

  He nodded slowly, his eyes thoughtful. "Does that mean you're going to marry Sam, then?"

  "No."

  "No?"

  Slowly, she told him everything. About Sam's visit. About the book deal. About her decision regarding Justin. And then how Justin had beaten her to the punch.

  Alan listened quietly. When she was finished, he said, "Amy, do you love Sam?"

  Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she said, "Yes."

  "Then why aren't you going with him?"

  "But Dad, can't you see? Mother . . . everyone was right. Sam will never change."

  Her father was silent for a long time. And then he said the words that changed her life. "If the way Sam is is so bad," he said, "then why did you fall in love with him in the first place?"

&n
bsp; Amy's heart beat in slow thuds as her father's question reverberated in the air. "Oh, God," she whispered. "I'm so stupid."

  Her father smiled. "No, you're not."

  "Yes! Yes, I am!" Amy jumped up, her head whirling. "You're absolutely right! All the things I love most about Sam are all the things I wanted to change. I-I probably wouldn't even like him if he were different. Why, all those reasons I gave him for not being able to marry him . . . none of them are really important, are they?"

  "I don't know if they are or not," her father said. "Those are things you two need to work out. But I do know one thing. The only safe place to be is with the person you love. Everything else is just window dressing."

  * * *

  "I'm here to see Sam Robbins," Amy told the desk clerk.

  "Name?" said the bored-looking man.

  "Amy Carpenter."

  She listened as the clerk rang Sam's room. "Sorry," he said, replacing the receiver. "There's no answer there."

  "Oh. Okay. Thank you." Disappointment rose like bile in her throat.

  "Did you want to leave a message?"

  Amy was still thinking about her answer when, from the arched restaurant entrance across the lobby, Sam, hardly limping at all, emerged.

  Her heart skyrocketed. He looked freshly showered and shaved. His hair was neatly combed, his eyes questioning, his smile cautious as he walked slowly toward her.

  "Amy?" he said when he reached her side.

  "Hi." She felt suddenly uncertain. Did he still want her?

  "What are you doing here? Has . . . " He lowered his voice, taking her arm and moving her out of earshot of the obviously-interested clerk. "Has something happened?"

  She smiled up at him, heart in her eyes. "Yes. Something's happened. I-I've finally come to my senses. I was wrong. I love you, Sam, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you . . . wherever that life takes us." She took a deep breath. "Do . . . do you still want me?"

  "Still want you!" he shouted, forgetting about the clerk, forgetting about the other people in the lobby, forgetting about everything except the miracle of Amy's presence. Laughing, he swung her up in his arms.

  She laughed, too, heart soaring.

  He kissed her then, a thousand-watt kiss filled with love and hope and happiness and the promise of all things magical. Neither one of them cared that there were dozens of people looking at them.

  They were together, at last, as they'd always been meant to be.

  Epilogue

  Western Nepal - November, 1994

  Sam had been worried that maybe the hike would be too much for Amy, but she'd proven to be just as game as their two Sherpa guides.

  "There it is," he said, pointing to the cluster of huts dotting the tiny valley. "There's the village."

  Amy's eyes shone with eagerness as they met his.

  An hour later, they were there. The villagers milled around them, all talking at once.

  Sam's eyes misted over at the warm welcome.

  "Namaste, namaste . . ." The greeting came from dozens of lips.

  After much hugging and excited babbling, the little knot of villagers parted. Standing a little ways back was a beaming Reena.

  "Sam," she said.

  Sam's voice caught as he spoke her name. And then he opened his arms, and she came into them. He hugged her tightly, smelling her familiar, not-unpleasant scent which was a mixture of the soap she made herself and her womanly musk.

  When they drew apart, Sam reached for Amy's hand and brought her forward. "My wife," he said. "Amy." He pointed to the plastic-encased photo Reena had seen him finger so many times.

  "Amy," Reena said, drawing the name out. Her dark face was wreathed in smiles as her eyes searched Amy's face. Then she put her arms around Amy, and they hugged.

  Sam watched them. Two women who had so profoundly affected his life. With any luck, he thought happily, there might be a third one of these days, because Amy had confessed just last night that she thought she might be pregnant again.

  "I'm a week late," she said, eyes shining. "And I'm never late. Y-you don't mind, do you?"

  No, he'd told her, he didn't mind. He was thrilled and knew he was luckier than he had any right to be. There was something else he wanted to tell her, but he decided he'd wait until they were back home again, until she was certain. Then he'd tell her what else he'd been thinking about—asking Justin if he'd consider being the baby's godfather.

  Justin might say no, he might say their friendship wasn't mendable. All Sam knew was, he had to try.

  As Reena and Amy drew apart, Sam put one arm around his surrogate mother and one arm around his wife.

  He was the luckiest man in the world, he thought, as the three of them walked forward together.

  And this was only the beginning.

  The End

  Here's a sneak peek of a brand new e-book from Patricia Kay. THE OTHER WOMAN was first published in 2001 by Berkley, a division of Penguin-Putnam. Once you read the Prologue, you won't be able to resist getting your very own copy. Enjoy!

  New York City, New York December 1997

  Adam Forrester whistled as he took the stairs leading to Natalie’s apartment two at a time. Although this wasn’t the way he would have chosen to live, for some reason tonight he felt more optimistic than he’d felt in a long time. He couldn’t wait to see Natalie. It had been at least six months since they’d had an entire weekend together, but with Julia gone to Mamaroneck, he was free. They were free.

  Maybe they would go somewhere. He’d bet Natalie would like that. He smiled. It would be nice to take her somewhere.

  Clutched in his hand was a bottle of her favorite port. Whenever he came to her place, he always brought her something—wine or flowers or books—because from the very first she had refused to take any money from him. She wouldn’t even let him pay for half the food they ate.

  “No,” she’d said, “when you take me out somewhere, then you can pay. When we’re at my apartment, I’m the hostess, and I’ll pay.”

  “But—”

  “I won’t be a kept woman,” she insisted. Her beautiful blue gray eyes held that determined glint that meant she would not change her mind, no matter how much he protested or what arguments he used.

  Adam, shaking his head, finally gave in. Natalie might look delicate, but underneath that slender frame and deceptively gentle manner was a core of steel.

  He was huffing a bit by the time he reached her third-floor landing. He grimaced as he rang her doorbell. Lately, he hadn’t been going to the gym as often as he should. He’d better remedy that. Forty-four was no age to slack off on your exercise program.

  He waited impatiently, but finally he heard the sound of her footsteps, followed by the distinctive grind of her deadbolt being released. In that last second before she opened the door, there was a familiar tightening in his gut. There had been times over the years when he’d wondered if he would still feel the same excitement and anticipation about being with her if they were married, if he saw her every day, if their relationship wasn’t clandestine. The answer was always the same. It wouldn’t matter what their situation was. From the day he’d first laid eyes on her, Natalie had been the only woman in the world for him, and she always would be. She was the reason he looked forward to each day. Without her, his life would be empty.

  He smiled when the door opened.

  “Hi.” Her return smile seemed a bit tired. “You’re early.”

  “Yes, the meeting didn’t last as long as I thought it would.” He shut the door, set the wine down, then took her into his arms and gave her a lingering kiss. Afterward, he held her close, reveling in her warmth and softness. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  “It’s only been three days,” she said with a soft laugh. But she didn’t try to pull away. Instead, she lifted her face to his again. Just before their lips met, he saw a glimmer of something in her eyes that disturbed him, and he wondered if there was anything wrong. But he quickly forgot about it, because this
time there was a kind of desperation in the way she clung to him and in the intensity of her kisses so that dinner and everything else was wiped from his mind. All he cared about was Natalie. Loving her. Wanting her. Needing her. Blood pounding in his veins, he swept her up and into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

  Most of the time, when they made love, Adam didn’t like to rush. He loved touching Natalie, brushing his fingers over her breasts and belly and thighs and looking at her while he did. He loved seeing the way her eyes would drift shut and the way her body trembled as desire built. He loved hearing the little catches in her breath, the soft moans and whimpers. Her pleasure excited him and increased his own anticipation. He especially loved taking her close to the brink and then stopping—giving her a few seconds to fall back a little—then starting again so that her eventual pleasure—and his, too—would be more prolonged, more intense and satisfying.

  But tonight there was none of that long, slow buildup of passion. Tonight she was ready for him almost immediately, and he was more than ready for her with one of the most painful erections he’d ever had.

  “Adam, Adam!” she cried as he plunged into her, pushing deep and hard. Her fingernails dug into his back.

  “I love you,” he managed to gasp before he shuddered out of control.

  When his body calmed, she wouldn’t let him pull away. Instead, she held him tightly. So tightly Adam remembered his earlier misgiving. Something was wrong.

  It was then he felt the wetness on her cheek. She was crying. Natalie rarely cried, at least not in front of him. She hadn’t even cried that day so long ago when he’d told her he was going to marry Julia instead of her.

  This time when he tried to pull free, she didn’t stop him. “What’s wrong?” he said, sitting up. Was she sick? Had something happened?

  She sat up, too, and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Let’s get dressed first.”

  Adam stared at her. Fear caused his heart to pound. Still he managed to answer calmly, “All right.”