Cole Cameron's Revenge

by Sandra Marton

  "No," she said again, her voice trembling. "That's impos­sible."

  "The hell it is." His mouth turned down. "I know you worship this-this pile of brick, but say goodbye to it, baby, because I'm selling it for the first offer I get."

  She could tell that he meant every word. Panic turned her blood to ice. She didn't want to go to New York. She was safe here, in the town she knew. In unknown territory, the rules would change.

  "I'm not going. I'm not really your wife, no matter what you-, "You're right. You aren't." He slid his hands up her throat and cupped her face. "But you will be, once we get to New York and I show you how worthless that damned prenup you're so proud of really is."

  "Don't," she said, but his mouth covered hers. He kissed her hard, his hands holding her captive, his mouth plundering hers until she began to tremble. "Don't," she said again, but it was a moan, a plea, and she lay her hands against his chest, caught his shirt in her fingers, lifted herself to him.

  Cole groaned with pent-up desire. He swept his hands under her cotton T-shirt, cupped her breasts, felt the swift, tight bead­ing of her nipples beneath the soft lace of her bra. The front closure tore apart in his hands and he spread his fingers over her naked flesh. Faith sobbed his name against his lips, dug her hands into his hair, dragged his face down to hers.

  He could take her now. Put an end to all the sleepless nights. He could strip off her clothes, kiss every inch of her sweet body and make her his, forever, not because he'd forced her to sign an agreement but because she'd want to be his.

  The enormity of the thought stunned him. He let go of her and she swayed unsteadily. Her face was pale but her cheeks were hot with color and when she opened her eyes and looked at him, it was through pupils so huge that all he could see of her irises was a thin rim of blue.

  "Faith," he said "Faith-"

  He saw her hand lift and he knew what was coming but he did nothing to stop it. She slapped him, hard enough to make his head snap back.

  "You son of a bitch," she whispered. "I hate you!"

  She turned and raced up the stairs. He watched her go. Who gave a damn if she hated him? He'd never meant more to her than a ticket out of a trailer park. And all she'd been to him was a hot, easy lay.

  "Goddammit," he whispered.

  Her heard her bedroom door slam. Slowly, he walked to the library. In the dark, he went to the cabinet where his old man had kept the booze. He wasn't much for hard liquor but he wanted something that would take the taste of ashes from his mouth.

  A light came on inside the cabinet as he opened it. There were bottles lined up on the shelf. He reached for one marked Bourbon, not caring how long it might have stood there, poured an inch into a shot glass and downed the whiskey in one quick, searing gulp.

  Faith hated him. So what? He really didn't give a damn.

  And maybe, just maybe, if he told himself that often enough, he might even start to believe it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THEY flew to New York Friday afternoon, sitting in stiff si­lence side by side in the first class section of TransContinental Flight 937.

  Faith wanted to be anywhere but on that plane. Still, at least they were alone. They could stop pretending everything was fine. They hadn't exchanged more than a handful of words in two days, except when Peter was around, and he was so ex­cited about going to camp that it hadn't taken much effort to fool him.

  The fiction ended when they boarded the plane. Faith ac­cepted a magazine from the flight attendant without bothering to look at the cover. Cole opened a briefcase that he'd filled with documents from Ted's desk.

  "I'm going to go through my brother's personal papers," he'd said last night. "Any objections?"

  Why would she object? She and Ted had shared a house for nine years but they hadn't shared a life. In all the ways that mattered, they'd remained strangers. Still, as she watched Cole reach into the briefcase, she wondered if she should have gone through the papers first. Could there be anything in them that would give away Ted's secret, or hers? No, of course not. Ted had been cautious to the point of paranoia about what he'd called his other life, and she had Peter's birth certificate safely locked away.

  Cole would be reading his brother's meticulous household records, nothing more.

  Actually, he wasn't reading anything. He was staring out the window, the contents of the briefcase forgotten. Well, she wasn't doing much better. The magazine in her lap could have been printed in Sanskrit for all the attention she gave it. Anger still hummed in her blood and, she guessed, in his. She'd caught him looking at her with a light in his eyes that could only be fury.

  What the hell did he have to be furious about?

  Had he really expected her to bubble with joy when he announced that he was moving her from her home? Not that Liberty or Cameron House had ever actually felt like `home', but that wasn't the point. Cole was taking over her life. First marriage, now the move to another state ...and his threat about proving that the conditions of her prenuptial agreement were a travesty. The only way he could do that would be to take her by force and she couldn't imagine him doing that. Taking a woman who didn't want him. Carrying her to his bed. Sub­duing her struggles with kisses, with caresses, until her cries of protest became moans of desire...

  A muffled sound slipped from her lips. Cole turned toward her.

  "Did you say something?" he asked politely.

  "No," she said, "I didn't." She opened the magazine and made a show of turning the pages until, at last, the plane touched down at La Guardia Airport.

  A black Mercedes pulled to the curb as they exited the ter­minal. A young man in pressed blue jeans and a white shirt stepped out from behind the wheel, greeted Cole pleasantly and took her suitcase and his.

  Don't bother packing anything but a toothbrush, Cole had told her curtly, you can find whatever you need in New York. She'd ignored him. Did he really think he'd buy her off with a shopping trip?

  "This is John," Cole said. "He's the man you'll want if you need the car to take you anywhere. John, this is my wife."

  John didn't so much as blink. "Mrs. Cameron," he said politely, "it's a pleasure to meet you."

  Faith nodded but she didn't answer. Was she supposed to lie and say it was a pleasure to meet him, too? The only "plea­sure" she could imagine would be Cole telling her he'd come to his senses and was setting her free.

  Cole took her arm. She jerked it away, got into the Mercedes and scooted as far into the corner as she could. The car merged into a long line of vehicles and onto a traffic clogged highway.

  "This part of the city is called Queens," Cole said, after a few minutes.

  Wonderful. Did he actually think she cared?

  "Take the bridge please, John, so Mrs. Cameron can see the skyline."

  The skyline. So what? Who hadn't see the New York sky­line in the movies? And why would she give a damn? Tall buildings weren't going to make up for what was happening to her.

  "Frankly," Faith said coldly, "I don't much care if I see the skyline or..." Her mouth dropped open. Just ahead, be­yond a wide stretch of pewter-colored water, spires of con­crete, glass and steel shouldered their way into the sky over the island of Manhattan. Faith forgot everything, her anger, her disdain, her determination to let nothing touch her. "Oh," she whispered, "oh, my!"

  Cole could feel some of the tension seep from his muscles. Not that he cared whether or not his wife liked his city... Okay. Yeah, he did. It had nothing to do with how he felt about the place, that he'd come to love the energy of it, the bustle of its streets and the tranquility of its parks, it was just that-it was just that...

  Maybe he did want her to like New York. To feel what he felt. From the awed expression on her face, she just might. "It's beautiful," she said.

  He nodded. "I remember the first time I saw that view." A smile softened his voice. "I couldn't decide whether I was excited or scared stiff."

  Faith raised an eyebrow. "The great Cole Cameron, scared?"


  Her ready disdain angered him. What could she possibly know about how far he'd traveled to get where he was? Not in miles, though he'd put on lots of those. In sweat. In hard work. In risks taken with only the hope of a better future on the distant horizon.

  "Sorry," he said coldly. "I didn't mean to bore you."

  Faith looked at him. He was staring straight ahead, his pro­file stern and implacable, but some quality in his voice made her regret her words.

  "You didn't," she said quickly. "I just ...it's hard to imag­ine you afraid of anything."

  A long moment went by. Then his expression eased, if only a little. "Maybe scared is the wrong word. Intimidated. That's what I was." He laughed. "Intimidated, all the way down to my toes. I guess I'd never pictured a place bigger than Atlanta or Corpus Christi."

  "Corpus Christi?"

  "Yeah. That's where I went after-after I left Liberty."

  "Ah. After you left Liberty." She spoke politely. "And how long had you planned that?"

  Cole heaved a sigh. So much for the temporary thaw. "I never had a plan."

  "Really?" she said, even more politely. "You could have fooled me."

  Cole swung toward her. "You think you know me," he said coldly. "But I promise you, Faith, you don't."

  No. No, she didn't. And she didn't want to. She'd been foolish, letting him lead her into this conversational dance. Did he think she'd be easier to deal with if she knew what he'd been doing for the past nine years? She didn't care where he'd been or why he'd gone there, didn't care if he loved New York or Timbuktu.

  The Mercedes turned onto Fifth Avenue

  . She recognized it the same way she had the skyline. Who wouldn't find those elegant apartment buildings familiar, or the green of Central Park? So what? Did he think he could impress her with his wealth?

  The driver pulled to the curb. A uniformed doorman opened the door to the car just as Cole reached for the handle.

  "Mr. Cameron, sir. It's good to have you back."

  "Otto. Thank you. It's good to be back." Cole stepped onto the sidewalk and offered her his hand. Faith made a point of looking at it before brushing past him on her own. Cole's eyes glittered dangerously. She felt a shiver of apprehension, as if she were five years old again, playing with a matchbook she'd found in the trailer. "This is my wife," he said. His hand closed on her elbow, hard enough so she knew it would be a mistake to try and pull away. "She's quite an independent ­minded woman but I'm sure she'll permit you to find her a taxi when she needs one."

  Otto smiled pleasantly. "Hello, Mrs. Cameron. It'll be a pleasure to serve you."

  Faith smiled politely, just as she smiled at the concierge seated behind an antique desk in the lobby. Cole led her to the elevator and inserted a key opposite a number on the panel. The doors whooshed closed and the car began a smooth ascent. Smooth or not, her stomach still dropped. This is my new life, she kept thinking, the life I'm expected to lead with a stranger.

  The elevator stopped and the doors opened on an endless expanse of marble. A man dressed in a black suit came toward them, smiling pleasantly.

  "Welcome home, Mr. Cameron."

  "Thank you, Dobbs." Cole drew Faith forward. "Dobbs, this is my wife. Please have a key made for her as soon as possible."

  "Certainly, sir."

  A key. Of course. This was some kind of upstairs lobby ...but where were the doors to the other apartments?

  "We're on the penthouse level," Cole said quietly. Had she spoken out loud or was he as good at reading minds as he was at turning all her expectations upside down? "You'll need the key for the elevator. It opens directly into the entry foyer."

  "Shall I take your things up now, sir?"

  "Thank you, Dobbs. That can wait until later. Just now, I think Mrs. Cameron and I would like some coffee." Cole's hand tightened on Faith's elbow. "Faith?"

  She looked up at him, her eyes dark with bewilderment. He thought about all the changes he was making in her life and felt a stir of compassion. His hand slid down her arm his fingers twined in hers. Never mind the coffee. She needed to rest for a little while. He'd take his wife upstairs, take her in his arms, lie down with her on the bed-their bed-and she could put her head on his shoulder, close her eyes and maybe she'd realize this wasn't the end of the world.

  It could be a new beginning for them both.

  "Faith," he said gently. "Let me show you to our room."

  Our room? Our room? The two simple words jolted her into reality. Faith twisted her hand free of Cole's.

  "You can show me to my room," she said, "not to our room. I've no intention of-­

  "Up you go," Cole said briskly, and swung her into his arms.

  Caught by surprise, she gasped and looped her arms around his neck but by the time he'd carried her through the foyer and up a curving staircase, she'd recovered her senses.

  "Damn you," she said, "put me down!"

  Cole marched into a room, shouldered the door shut and dumped her on her feet. His face was white with anger.

  "Do not," he growled, "ever do that to me again!"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You'd better beg my pardon. You will not speak to me that way in front of people. You are my wife, and I expect you to behave like it."

  "Why?" Faith slapped her hands on her hips. "Will it make your audience think less of you if I don't?"

  "Get this through your head, baby. I've taken as much of your antics as I'm going to take." Cole took a step toward her. "You got that?"

  "Oh, I've got it. You expect me to kowtow like the rest of your entourage."

  "You are my wife. I expect a show of respect."

  "Just as long as you understand it's only a show."

  Cole stripped off his jacket and his tie and tossed them on a chair. "I'm warning you," he said through his teeth. "Don't push me. I've had just about enough."

  "You've had enough?" Faith flung her purse after his jacket and tie. "You uproot me from my life, take me to this­ this place where people do everything but prostrate themselves when they see you coming-"

  "They do no such thing!"

  "Oh, give me a break. Of course they do." Her words took on a tone that made him think of oil oozing from the ground. "`How are you, sir? 'Welcome home, sir.' `It's a pleasure to serve you, sir."'

  "Would you prefer they boo and hiss at the sight of me?"

  She looked at him. He was right. There was nothing wrong with the way anybody had greeted him. His driver, the door­man, the butler-they'd been polite, not obsequious. He had been polite to them in turn. He'd been polite to everyone but her. He only snapped orders at her.

  "You're the one who needs lessons in courtesy," Cole said sharply. "Did you once think of responding properly to John or Otto or anybody else? Did you think of extending your hand and saying you were pleased to meet them?"

  "I'm not pleased. I don't want to meet your servants."

  "Dammit, Faith, they are not my servants. They're my em­ployees."

  "There's a difference?"

  "There sure as hell is." Cole stalked across the room as he opened his shirt. A button popped under his angry touch and dropped to the carpet. "Servants take orders. They say `Yes, sir.' 'No, sir.' `Right away, sir,' and I'll be damned if I'd ever expect a man or woman to do any of that crap for me." The furious rush of words stopped. In the sudden silence, Faith could hear the ragged sound of his breathing. "I don't have servants," he said tightly. "I have people who work for me. I pay them well. I respect them and they respect me. I would never dream of humiliating them. And I will not tolerate hav­ing you humiliate them or me. Is that clear?"

  Faith stared at this stranger who was her husband. Nothing was clear. The more time they spent together, the less she understood him, but he was right and she knew it. He hadn't treated anyone badly. She had. And she had no idea why.

  "Is it?" he demanded.

  He was glowering at her, lines of anger etched into his face. Her throat tightened. She made him angry all the time. Sh
e hadn't, years ago. Back then, he'd always smiled when he saw her. Faith, he'd say, in a way that turned her name into a caress, Faith, baby, and her heart would turn over with the rightness of it.

  "I didn't..." She hesitated. "I didn't mean to treat anyone badly," she said quietly. Her head came up. "I know it's not their fault that all of this is happening."

  "You don't want to live here." Cole spoke stiffly, as if each word were difficult to form. "I know that. But I live here. I have offices here." He let out a slow breath. "This is my home."

  But it wasn't hers, she almost said ... except, had she ever really thought of a place as "home"? She'd certainly never felt that way about the trailer, when she was growing up, or about Cameron House. The only place that had ever felt re­motely like home had been Cole's arms, but look what had come of those foolish daydreams.

  Her spine stiffened. "And you expect me to make the best of it."

  His mouth thinned. "Yes."

  "In that case, I want separate bedrooms, the way it was at Cameron House."

  "To hell with Cameron House," he roared. Faith jerked back in shock. What was wrong with him? Anger boiled in his blood and for what reason? Because his wife wasn't sing­ing hosannas over the city he loved or the life he'd carved for himself? Because she didn't see he could give her things no man had ever given her?

  Was he really that crazy? Did it matter?

  Yes, he thought furiously, yes, it did, and he grabbed her shoulders and yanked her to her toes.

  "You're my wife and you're damned well going to begin behaving as if you are! Forget Cameron House. Forget my brother. This is your life, Faith, starting right now. You're going to share this room. This bed. You're going to treat me like a husband, and don't waste your breath telling me about that damn-fool piece of paper I signed because I'm not interested. Have you got that?" He looked down into her eyes, into her white face and he cursed, bent his head and kissed her.

  She reacted instantly, twisting against his hands, trying to tear free and when he slid his hands up, cupped her face and held her prisoner to his passion, she sank her teeth into his bottom lip. Cole said something under his breath, tunneled his fingers into her hair and kissed her again, his mouth relentless his grip remorseless, and suddenly Faith sobbed and opened her mouth to his. Cole gathered her closer against him and she wound her arms tightly around his neck, lifting herself to him melding her body to his.