The lawyer sat back and folded his hands on his desk. "I see."
Faith could tell that he didn't. He looked puzzled. Well, why wouldn't he be? She'd made it clear that she had nothing to safeguard. No money. No property.
"There is something I have that Mr. Cameron wants."
"In that case, let me get my secretary in here. She can set up an appointment so you and I can discuss-"
"I was hoping you could write the document now, Mr. Bookman. It will only have one clause."
"Just one?"
"That's right." Was the air draining out of this room? Faith felt as if it were. She took a couple of shallow breaths. "I want you to make it clear that I will have sole custody of my son, should Mr. Cameron dissolve the marriage for any reason. In exchange for that, I'll agree to function as his wife in all possible ways except-except -"
"Yes?"
"...in all possible ways except that I won't be intimate with him." Faith saw the stunned look on the lawyer's face, felt the heat rising in her own, but her voice, at least, was steady. "I want it written into a prenuptial agreement, Mr. Bookman. I will never, not as long as I live, have Cole Cameron in my bed."
CHAPTER NINE
AT DUSK, Cole stood on the balcony of his suite at the Liberty Inn and looked out over the water to the jack pines that lined the curving shoreline.
He was no stranger to the lake. He knew the shore and all the little tucked-away coves the trees hid. When he was a boy, he'd ridden here on his bike to fish for trout, though he'd never caught anything more exotic than a catfish.
In his teens, he'd come out here with Ted. They'd drink beer and have what they used to call Deep Talks about the Future. Mostly, Ted had talked and he'd listened, because the future had never looked terribly fascinating.
Once he bought the Harley, he came to the lake even more often, almost always with a girl seated behind him, her arms wrapped tight around his waist. There were lots of places far from the bright lights of the inn where a boy and a girl could explore the mysteries of each other's bodies.
But after he brought Faith here, he'd never come with anyone else. Those balmy nights. Faith, breathless with excitement and nerves. Him, wanting her so badly he ached. He'd take the blanket from the motorcycle's saddlebag, spread it on the grass and lie down with her in his arms. Then he'd kiss her. Touch her. Every inch of her, turned on by the little sounds she made, by her innocence, by the way she'd put her hand over his as if to stop him from exploring her secrets and then how she'd slowly, so frustratingly slowly, loosen her grip and let him stroke her until they were both trembling on the brink of completion...
"Hell," Cole said, and turned his back to the lake.
Great. Just great. Faith would be here any minute and what was he doing? Getting himself worked up as if he were a stupid kid instead of a man who understood that some women would do anything to get what they wanted.
He took a cold ale from the minibar, opened it and tossed the cap into the wastebasket. He tilted his head back and took a long, cooling drink as he walked onto the balcony again.
The town had changed in the past nine years. There was a monster shopping mall out toward the highway and a fancy coffee bar on Main Street
, but the old saying was true. The more things changed, the more they remained the same. The inn was still handsome, the town center still small. The residents of Liberty, the ones who'd lived here when it was still a sleepy village instead of an Atlanta suburb, were as clannish as ever-and gossip among them was still the town's life force.
He'd forgotten that until he checked in the other night. A clerk with an artificial smile handed him a key and a kid wearing the red jacket with the inn's logo on the pocket grabbed his one piece of luggage.
"This way, sir," he'd said.
Cole hadn't needed the kid's services. He preferred to do things for himself, but he'd once spent the Christmas holidays doing just what the kid was doing. His motorcycle had died; he'd been short a hundred bucks for the needed parts to bring it back to life. Every tip had counted-he could still recall how it felt, each time some dude pressed a dollar bill into his hand. So he'd let the boy lead him to his room and do his thing, opening the French doors onto the balcony, pointing out the view over the lake, turning on the air-conditioning, turning off the air-conditioning...
"That's okay," he'd said quickly, when the kid started to explain the phone system. "I used to work here." "Yeah?"
"Yeah," he'd said, smiling. "I lived in this town once upon a time." And he'd put a bill a lot bigger than a dollar into the boy's hand.
Big mistake.
"Wow," the kid had breathed.
Wow, indeed, Cole thought as he watched a sailboat catch the wind down on the lake.
In New York or London, in the financial capitals of the world, a bellman would have accepted the generous tip without blinking. In Liberty, the boy had probably told the story to a dozen people within the next hour. By the end of the day, Cole figured there wasn't a person in town who didn't know he was back and with money in his pocket.
"You didn't tell us you were the Cole Cameron, sir," the desk clerk had gushed.
"Yeah," Cole had replied, with a grin. "Well, that's because I've always been the Cole Cameron."
The joke had fallen flat on its face. "Absolutely, sir," the clerk had said. "And we're proud to have you stay at our establishment."
For a man who valued privacy, it was an uncomfortable situation. You could be relatively anonymous in a big city, but not here. Everybody in town had something to sell him and the kid who'd handled his luggage popped up at the door like clockwork to see if there was anything he wanted. Cole finally had to ask the clerk to screen his calls, the kid to back off.
He lifted the bottle of ale to his mouth and took another drink.
He had to admit, the irony was incredible. At eighteen, he'd been the town pariah. Now he was the town celebrity, Liberty's claim to fame in the big world beyond its borders. Too bad his old man wasn't around to see it. Or the sheriff. Or even Jeanine Francke, who'd framed him, but he'd done some discreet checking and learned her husband had thrown her out on her butt years ago. Too bad. How he'd love to have shoved his success in their faces...
His throat tightened.
And how he wished he could share it with Ted. His brother had always believed in him. He'd been the one positive force in his life. They'd loved each other, relied on each other ... until first Cole, then Ted, had fallen under the spell of a witch.
Cole put the empty bottle on a small table, then curled his hands tightly around the wrought-iron balcony railing. Faith might as well have been a witch, the way she made a man blind to the truth, but she didn't need black magic. All she needed was that beautiful face and lush body. That sweet, hot mixture of innocence and sensuality. She'd always been able to turn him on.
She still could. One look, and he'd wanted her. He'd taken her in his arms, kissed that silken mouth until it heated under his, until she'd made that soft sigh that used to drive him out of his head with longing.
Cole stood straight. She was good at what she did. Well, so was he. Her specialty was men. His was risk, not so much of assets but of situations, and the course he was about to take proved it. He'd be part of Peter's life-he loved the boy already. He'd give him what he needed, the love and direction a good father should provide. Faith would be a good mother. He had to admit, she obviously loved the kid. With a man to keep her in line and pay the bills, she'd bring Peter up right.
He went back into the sitting room and took a document from the coffee table. He'd phoned his attorney late last night and explained what he wanted, a prenuptial agreement but with certain specific provisions. Ray Foss had tried to disguise his surprise but it had crept into his voice.
"You're sure?" he'd said.
Cole had assured him that he was, although he couldn't fault the man's reaction. The request for a prenup on such short notice had been unexpected enough but the provisions he'd i
nsisted on were, he knew, harsh. The prenup spelled out the generous benefits Faith would reap from being a faithful, dutiful wife but it also made it clear that she'd lose everything, including whatever money or possessions she might have gained through the marriage, if she didn't live up to the letter and spirit of the agreement.
"No settlement sum?" the lawyer had asked. "None," Cole had replied.
"I don't think you can really do that, Cole. No court in the country would-
"I can do whatever I choose," Cole had said crisply.
"Whether or not a court would uphold my right to do it is a different story. Draw up the document and get it to me by tomorrow morning."
The people who worked for him all knew better than to ask for explanations but Ray had been with him for a long time. He'd persisted, suggesting Cole might want to pull back a little, take a day or two to think things over. He hadn't said it like that, of course; instead, he'd talked about the importance of meeting to discuss Cole's plans, the future, what he'd called the overall intent of the prenup.
"The overall intent," Cole had replied bluntly, "is to make sure my blushing bride understands that the gravy train stops if she ever decides to walk out of this marriage. I'll expect her to be like Caesar's wife, entirely above any kind of suspicion, as long as she belongs to me."
"Belongs to you?" his attorney had repeated with caution.
Cole had silently cursed himself for the slip. He hadn't meant it. He certainly didn't want Faith to `belong' to him ... although she would, whenever they were alone in the bedroom...
"A poor choice of words," he'd said briskly. "I meant that I want to ensure her compliance. Do you understand, Ray? Can you draw up such a prenup and do it fast?"
Ray could. He did. The document, delivered by messenger this morning, a seemingly endless list of Draconian whereases and wherefores, had put a grim smile on Cole's lips.
He was sure Faith would turn pale at the sight of it.
"Sign this," he'd say, and she would because she had to, but she'd know she was turning her life over to him...
And that they would set the night on fire each time he took her in his arms.
Cole felt his body stir. He took a breath, expelled it, and waited for the moment of truth to arrive.
The clerk at the reception desk was leafing through some papers and barely looked up when Faith approached him.
"Yes?"
"Cole Cameron's room, please."
"Mr. Cameron has the Lakefront Suite. Who shall I say is...?" The man looked up, eyes widening. "Oh. Mrs. Cameron. How nice to see you."
"Thank you." She'd never seen him before, not that she could recall. "What floor did you say the suite is on?"
"The fourth. Mr. Cameron is expecting you. Let me ring for a boy to show you-"
"No," she said quickly. "That's all right." "It will only take a minute."
"Thank you, but it's not necessary."
She saw the clerk reach for the phone as she started toward the elevator. He was probably phoning Cole to tell him she was on her way. On her way, she thought, like a ritual sacrifice to the altar.
The elevator was old and slow. That was fine. She was in no rush to see Cole or to deal with what lay ahead. If it lay ahead. She'd had time to think, on the drive back from Atlanta. Elmore Bookman had confirmed what she'd already suspected. Cole couldn't get Peter from her. He could only tie the both of them up in an endless legal knot. Increasingly, she doubted if he really intended to go ahead with what he'd threatened.
A man wouldn't deliberately marry a woman he despised. If he did, though, her insurance lay inside the shoulder bag swinging against her hip with every stride.
A small brass plaque pointed the way to the Lakeside Suite. Faith started down the corridor, past a wall of mirrored glass panels that reflected her image in seemingly infinite number. Nervously, she smoothed down the skirt of her white cotton dress.
I should have worn jeans, she thought, just to show Cole how little I think of this meeting... and then the door at the end of the corridor swung open and she saw him waiting, and her heart almost stopped because he was-there was no other word for it-he was magnificent.
No finely tailored suit. Not today. Cole wore chinos, a navy cotton shirt with the collar open and the sleeves rolled up. He was incredibly handsome and dangerously masculine, and in that one instant Faith knew that she had never stopped wanting him, that in some dark, terrifying way she couldn't begin to comprehend, a woman might want a man and despise him at the same time.
She came to a halt, her pulse hammering so loudly that she half expected he could hear it, too.
"Faith." His voice was low-pitched, rough around the edges. There was a dangerous glitter in his eyes, a tension around his mouth as he stepped forward. She wanted to turn and run, but she couldn't. He thought he had her right where he wanted her and the last thing she could afford to do was show him any weakness. It was bad enough she'd melted under his kisses last night, but it would not happen again. Her body had betrayed her with this man nine years ago and that betrayal had changed her life, forever.
"Cole," she said, pleased with how calm she sounded. She smiled politely and continued toward him. He stepped aside and she took what felt like a final breath before she moved past him into the suite and the door swung shut after her.
He gestured toward a blue silk sofa flanked by a pair of matching chairs. Faith ignored the sofa and took one of the chairs. Cole leaned against the balcony door, his feet crossed at the ankles, his hands tucked into his pockets. He stood so close to her that she had to tilt her head back to look at him. It was vaguely discomforting and she suspected he knew it.
"How is Peter?"
She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "He's fine."
"You haven't told him our plans, have you?"
Her spirits lifted. That sounded hopeful, as if he was going to admit he'd only been bluffing. "No," she said, "no, I haven't."
"Good. I prefer breaking the news to him myself." "Then-then, you're really going to-to-"
"To force you into this marriage?" He smiled coolly.
"That's how you see it, don't you, Faith?"
"You gave me an ultimatum. You told me what you'd do if I didn't agree. How would you see it?"
Cole sat down on the sofa, took a handful of papers from the coffee table and held them toward her. "I'd call it an opportunity," he said. "Perhaps you'll agree, once you've read this."
Her hand shook as she took the papers from him. Stop, she thought furiously. She could feel Cole's eyes on her as she tried to read the words on the top of the first page but she was too upset to see them as anything but an incomprehensible jumble of symbols.
"It's a prenuptial agreement," he said.
She looked up, caught by the purr of anticipation in his voice. He was smiling, though his eyes still held a dangerous gleam.
"Of course," she answered, as if men handed her such things every day of her life. She looked down again and began to read.
Cole had thought of everything. Her life had been planned in meticulous detail, legal paragraph after legal paragraph. She'd expected a prenup that would detail what she wasn't entitled to, but this one began with the things he would provide her.
Clothes. Jewelry. All her personal needs to be charged to his various accounts. Additional accounts, if she required them, to be opened in his name. So many dollars per month to be paid into a checking account, the sums to be reconciled by his accountants every three months. He must have seen her pause at that because he said, pleasantly, that surely she could understand the requirement.
"I have no intention of permitting you to stash away a little nest egg of your own," he said. "I'm sure you see the need for that."
The coldly vicious explanation combined with his obvious intention to treat her like a well-paid but little-trusted concubine enraged her. She thought back to that moment in the hall when she'd imagined herself still wanting him and she wanted to laugh but she
'd get that chance, soon enough. She could wait.
"Oh, yes," she said, "yes, I do."
Faith continued reading. On page three, the agreement detailed what he would expect of her. She would travel with him. Act as his hostess. Organize his household staff.
She looked up. "You left out the details of how you want me to mother my son," she said politely. "You know, supervise his baths, his bedtime, check his homework ... or are you willing to trust my judgment?"
Cole smiled. "I'm willing to grant you your maternal instincts."
"Thank you," she said, even more politely, and returned to the document.
On page four, she discovered what she would get if she ever ended the marriage.
Nothing.
And what she would get if she ever had an extra-marital affair.
Nothing, again.
And how Cole would have her declared unfit to raise Peter if she did either.
"What if you choose to end the marriage?" she said, lifting her head and looking at him.
"I won't."
"Or if you have an affair?"
"I won't do that, either."
"I see. Am I expected to take that on face value?"
"Yes," he said, without hesitation, "you are. Perhaps you've forgotten the reason for our marriage, Faith. I intend to provide a moral, stable home for Peter. I couldn't do that, could I, if I divorced you? Or if I slept around."
"No. No, you couldn't. Sorry. I guess I forgot what a great moralist you are, Cole. Silly of me."
A muscle knotted in his jaw. He watched her as she continued reading the agreement. He kept waiting for her to look up and ask if he really thought he could get away with this, but she didn't. When she'd finished, she put the papers on the table and looked at him.
"Fine."
He tried not to let his surprise show. "You don't want to discuss anything you've read?"
"No."
"Did you understand it all?"
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