by Mallory Rush
"Wine or before-dinner drinks, sir?" the maitre d' asked.
"I'd like a Manhattan," Larry said. "My wife would like wine. Chardonnay."
"Thank you, dear," Carol said.
"Scotch for me, please," Myles said. "Sparkling water for—"
"I'll have half a glass of wine," Faith cut in. "I'd like the Chardonnay as well." As the waiter left, she leaned forward and sent Carol a pleasant smile. "It's my favorite too."
"Excellent choice," she agreed.
"Faith," Myles said in a low voice, "you know you shouldn't be drinking since you're—"
"But Myles," she protested with a gracious wave of her hand, "the doctor said an occasional small glass wouldn't hurt. And besides"—she nodded to the other couple, who were watching them with great interest—"I'd like to toast to our... engagement. Especially since we have the pleasure of sharing the evening and our very recent news with Larry and Carol."
"Recent?" Carol repeated. "So I take it you haven't been planning this long?"
"Oh, no," Faith answered. "We were engaged very recently. You didn't possibly think that we would, well, under the circumstances you surely realize I'm not nearly as far along as I appear. I'm showing very early, is all. What Myles said is true. Neither of us would have done something immoral and hurt a person we both loved very much. Fate simply intervened at a very crucial time."
Myles breathed a silent prayer of thanks. In spite of her anger, she was helping them maintain their moral dignity.
"I'm glad to hear that," Carol said, apparently satisfied with the explanation. "We thought the world of your sister. She's missed by many. Please accept my belated condolences."
"Thank you, Carol. Time helps."
Carol nodded her head in approval. "So does having something as joyful as a wedding and a baby to look forward to. I love babies more than anything."
"Then you'll have to come hold ours once it's here. Won't she, Myles?"
She was setting him up! Faith was trying to make him squirm since she apparently thought his trumped-up marriage plans weren't going to come to pass. She expected Carol to see their child but still no wedding ring and, my oh my, wouldn't he have some explaining to do then.
When he didn't immediately reply, Faith made good on her promise and stepped on his foot.
"Of course," he agreed smoothly, managing not to grimace when she increased the pressure. "We'd love for you to pay us a visit." He smiled conspiratorially at his partner, who removed her heel and was suddenly busy trying as discreetly as possible to remove the hand sliding intimately up her thigh. "You'd like the nursery. We're doing it all in white. Except for a teddy-bear mobile I set my heart on."
Faith turned to him, pleasant surprise and physical distress heightening the color of her cheeks. Point for the home team, he thought victoriously, and gave her a wink.
"How delightful. I can't wait." Carol accepted her glass, which was delivered promptly. "Really, Myles, you shouldn't make such a fuss over Faith wanting to join us for one drink."
Faith patted his hand. "That's okay, he's just being protective. Myles is very doting when it comes to my health. Most women should be so lucky." Faith accepted her wine and nodded in the other couple's direction. "By the way, our engagement is so recent, I can hardly believe it myself. Except for me, you're the first to know about our wedding plans."
Carol clapped her hands together and exclaimed, "What a nice thought!"
"I see you found a charming young woman, Myles. You're a fortunate man to strike gold not once but twice." Larry lifted his glass. "It must run in the family."
"I'll drink to that," Myles said, fighting the urge to down his glass in a single gulp. He squeezed Faith's thigh beneath the table one last time and whispered, "Though at the moment it feels more like acid than gold."
Faith's response was a defiant tilt of her chin and a triumphant spark igniting her eyes.
"A toast," Larry announced. "May your joys be many and your sorrows few."
Their glasses clinked.
"I'm ready for some joy," Myles said candidly. "I think we've both had enough sorrow to last a lifetime."
Carol hesitated. "I... I apologize if I was, shall we say, insensitive earlier. Whatever happened along the way, I know you grieved over your loss."
"I appreciate you giving me credit for that." Myles took a long swig off his Scotch. "But thanks to Faith, I'm getting past that. The future's not dreary anymore, but something to look forward to."
He decided the liquor must have gone to his head, because he was leaving himself wide open for Faith to scrape another piece out of his heart.
She remained quiet, however, as she took a small sip of her wine.
Myles clamped down the impulse to take the glass away. Faith glanced at him and murmured, "Don't worry. I made my point. I don't even want to drink it now."
A round of appetizers arrived, and the shift of attention on the other side of the table gave him the chance to whisper, "Still mad at me?"
"You bet I am," she whispered back. "But you can relax. I promise to be good until we leave."
"You are good. A spitfire I don't know how to handle yet, but good in more ways than one."
"We'll see how good you think I am once we're alone. This spitfire's liable to torch you, so you'd better handle with care."
The challenging set of her mouth set off fireworks that sparked from his head down to his legs. He wanted to kiss her crazy until she quit fighting him and cried for mercy.
If he didn't cry for it first.
"By God, Faith, I think I've met my match."
"Flint and steel?" Her expression softened in direct contrast to her whispered words.
"More like friction and combustion." He sensed a little easing of her resentment when she smiled in spite of herself. "A lot like last night," he murmured seductively. "I keep remembering the way you cried out my name and whimpered for more."
Faith's cheeks turned scarlet, and he had the satisfaction of hearing the sharp intake of her breath.
"When is the wedding?" Carol suddenly asked.
"We haven't set a date yet—"
"Next month—"
They answered at the same time.
"Which is it?" Larry speared a shrimp into his cocktail sauce.
"Both," Myles answered, shooting a beseeching glance at Faith.
"Umm, right. Next month, but we don't know which day."
"By all means let us know when you do," Carol said. "I love weddings almost as much as babies."
"But you can't," Faith hastily interjected. "I mean... well—"
"It's going to be small," Myles supplied.
"Yes, small. Just the immediate family."
"Oh." Carol sighed. "Well, perhaps we can see the pictures."
While the appetizers were cleared away and the entrees served, Myles muttered, "Thanks, Faith."
"You owe me, buster. And I can't wait to see the pictures either. Maybe you can just cut and paste and switch faces in your old album."
She reached for her wineglass and took a drink without looking at him.
He was stunned. Not just by the insensitive remark but by the underlying anger that seemed to go deeper than the awkward situation he'd gotten them into.
Dinner progressed with dinner talk, business talk, and more questions about the wedding. Faith was charming, an entertaining conversationalist, and resourceful in fending personal questions, though she spoke to him directly as little as possible. He felt a distinct coldness in the way she shifted away from him as far as her chair allowed.
Larry and Carol were obviously impressed. Faith managed to make up for his lack of participation, his own answers reduced to monosyllables while his mind remained stuck on Faith's bitterness.
Her unspoken hostility became more untenable with each passing minute. When he'd had all he could take, he interrupted the conversation.
"I hate to be a killjoy, but I think it's time for us to call it a night."
"Why, Myles? I'd
like to hear more about Carol's grandchildren."
"Because," he said in a tight voice, "you need your rest." He got up and pulled her chair back, firmly grasping her elbow until she followed suit. "Say good night. Faith."
Her back stiffened, and he knew she was madder than a hornet.
"Yes, Myles, I do believe you're right. I am feeling tired all of a sudden." She kept her tone polite, and he had to admire her poise. "Thank you for a lovely evening, Larry and Carol. I'll look forward to more dinners like this."
The sarcastic remark went unnoticed by the older couple, who quickly returned the seemingly gracious comment. Myles smoldered.
"I'll take care of the bill on our way out," he insisted, ready to run Faith out of there at a fast trot.
"I wouldn't hear of it." Larry stood and shook Myles's hand in parting. "Just consider it an early wedding present."
"Thanks," Myles said with as much politeness as he could muster. "We'll do that. But next time's on us."
"Let's make it soon," Carol told him. "I want to hear more about Faith's artwork. It's so nice to have someone to talk to while you men talk cars and money into the ground. And again, congratulations. I know you'll be very happy."
"Ecstatic," Myles gritted out.
"What's your problem?" Faith demanded as he marched her out the door.
"You," he said curtly, signaling for their car.
"But why, Myles? I kept my end of the bargain. I thought you'd want to thank me for being the perfect future Mrs. Wellington."
"I'll thank you to keep your mouth shut until we get home. You've got some explaining to do."
"If anyone's got explaining to do, it's you," she retorted, dropping her icy politeness.
The roadster stopped in front of them, and Myles tipped the valet.
"Great wheels," the young man said enthusiastically.
"Yeah, great," Myles said, for once unable to care less about promoting his line. Nudging Faith, he muttered, "Get in."
She stiffly obeyed, sweeping past him with haughty grace before he slammed the door shut. While Myles was on the way to his side, a Mercedes pulled up behind them, and Martin got out, dinner partner in tow.
Before Myles could pretend not to notice them, Martin called out.
"Myles," he said, introducing his date as he pumped Myles's hand. "How are you? I was going to call, but you saved me the time. Just wanted to let you know I'm headed for Europe."
"Vacation?" Myles asked, pretending interest. The only thing he was interested in was getting Faith alone and having it out. "Take lots of pictures," he added shortly, remembering Faith's earlier retort, which was as confusing as it was maddening.
"Not that kind of trip," Martin said, oblivious to the tenseness around him. "Big opportunity with a big firm we're joining forces with on a limited scale. We're branching out internationally, and... hey, you're not interested in all that stuff. But I'll be gone for a few months as a liaison."
"Be sure to call when you get back." Myles curtailed his desire to be rude and cut him off.
"Hey, is that Faith in there?" Martin leaned past Myles and waved. "Wow, do you look sensational. How's the little mother-to-be?"
"Terrific, Martin. Simply... terrific. Get Myles to tell you about our big plans."
Martin looked from Faith to Myles as they glared at each other. Martin backed up, apparently coming to the realization all was not terrific.
"Big plans, huh? What's up, Myles?" he added, beginning to look uncomfortable.
"It's a surprise. When you get back from Europe, we'll let you in on it."
Faith audibly snorted with disgust.
Martin cleared his throat. "I'll look forward to it. I think. But at least I'm leaving on a happy note," he added, vainly trying to improve the mood. "The little one should be here by the time I get back. Got a name picked out yet?"
Myles dropped his facade. His face went stony.
"Good-bye, Martin," he said shortly. "Enjoy Europe."
"Thanks, I—"
The door banged shut with a resounding thud, and the roadster leaped forward over the asphalt.
Faith turned around to see a disconcerted Martin staring after them.
"You didn't have to be so rude," she charged. "You embarrassed him in front of his date."
Myles stared straight ahead at the road, his hand clenching and unclenching over the mahogany knob of the stick shift.
Silence was the only answer she got, and it thickened with each passing mile. The tension between them was stretched so taut, she felt as though fingers wrapped around her throat. She was chilled to the bone with an ominous foreboding of what was to come.
Risking a glance at Myles, she saw the profile of the man who had battered her emotions, had shredded her pride, had thrust a horrible farce upon her, a farce that had mocked her heart's deepest and longest held dreams.
Chapter 9
"Get in the house," he ordered, flinging the front door open.
Faith kept her back rigid as she brushed past him. She was so angry. And hurt down to her soul.
"I don't think we should talk tonight," she said as evenly as possible, trying with all her might not to let her jumbled emotions and heightening anxiety show.
"Yes, tonight. Now." Myles booted the front door shut, and it closed with a harsh, resounding finality.
"I don't think so, Myles," she said quietly. "We're both too distressed after a strained evening. Let's just say good night as civilly as possible and talk with clearer heads tomorrow."
"I have no intentions of being civil. And I don't care to let all hell break loose as it's about to, where we are. Head to my study while I make a drink, and get ready to take me on."
"You just proved my point. Good night. I'm going to bed."
Faith turned for the stairs, but before she could take a single step, she felt his fingers clamp tightly around her arm, then snap her around to face him.
"You asked for this, so don't try running away. Go to the study, or else..."
"Or else, what?" she challenged, refusing to let him intimidate her.
"Or else I'll simply follow you to your bedroom." His gaze lowered to her bosom and his eyes narrowed. "And I really don't think you want that, Faith."
"Are you threatening me? You wouldn't dare—"
"I dare a lot. And frankly, I'd love to hear you beg after having your nails sunk in my back half the night."
"Don't give yourself that much credit, Myles."
He pulled her against him and thrust a hand into her hair, loosening it from its pins, while his head lowered to hers.
She tried twisting away, knowing just how vulnerable she was to him. A primitive passion made her body respond immediately to his hardness pressing between her thighs.
"Stop it," she said urgently, trying to push him away at the same time her body rebelled and greeted his upward thrust with an answering movement. "I don't want you."
"I think you do. So let's find out."
Myles locked her against him. He insinuated his hand beneath her dress and found her heat. His fingers slid easily against her. She tried not to cry out, but she did, her legs buckling.
"That's what I thought," he said, pressing deeply inside her. "I'd never resort to force with you, Faith, but then again we both know I'd never have to."
"Please," she whimpered. "Please..."
"Please, what? Take you on the floor, against the wall? Or up to the bedroom you were so eager to escape to? We can do all of that, but not before questions are answered." He slowly withdrew his hand.
She wanted to cry—in frustration that he'd left her aching with the need for release, with hurt pride that he'd made her succumb so easily. She was angry with herself for letting him win. Keeping that anger in mind, she was able to gain a semblance of outward control, even though her breathing was still close to a shallow pant.
Not trusting herself to speak, she strode toward the study. Once inside. Faith prowled it restlessly, trying to think, trying not to give h
im an edge by getting more unnerved than she already was, and avoiding a portrait of her sister on a carved oak credenza.
Myles entered the room, his coat off, black tie dangling, tuxedo shirt a quarter unbuttoned and revealing a portion of the chest hair that had caressed her breasts the night before. The drink in his hand was generous. She declined the sparkling water he offered with a quick shake of the head, her unbound hair brushing her shoulders to remind her with a sensual pang of the way he'd loosened it.
By silent, mutual agreement they kept a physical distance between each other. Myles took a generous swig of his drink while he wandered over to the credenza and opened a drawer. Casually he took out a photo album, flipped it open, and held it out for her examination.
Faith's heart seemed to skid to a halt as her gaze locked on the picture of a wedding party: Gloria in her white gown, beaming and radiant, Myles looking pleased and much younger, a dashing, handsome groom. He was smiling and looking at... her. Faith. Her smile looked strained, her complexion pallid. And her eyes were focused on Myles, revealing sadness. Longing.
How could he look at this and not know?
"We'll start with this. If you want to make good on your earlier suggestion, I've got scissors and glue in my desk drawer."
Her stomach bottomed out as if she'd just been dealt a bodily blow. Her words, born of anger and agony, came back with clarity. She felt as if she'd spit on something holy.
She couldn't look at the photo and dropped her gaze. Only once had she seen the pictures, when good manners dictated she subject herself to look at the proofs the happy couple had selected. Next to the wedding it remained one of the worst moments of her life.
"Don't you have something to say?" he demanded. "Or maybe some artistic guidance on how we should go about doing this."
He quickly moved around to his desk, taking another gulp of the Scotch before setting the glass on the wood with such force the liquid sloshed over the rim. He opened a drawer and rummaged around before finding the necessary tools. Holding up the scissors, he offered them to her.
"Come on, Faith. Let's get started. You cut. I'll paste."
"Stop it, Myles!" she cried miserably.