She wrenched her mouth free, heart thundering, Emma's cries ringing in her ears. "Let me go! Richard-"
He brought a hand to the back of her head to hold her immobile as he found her mouth again. This time, as he forced his tongue into her mouth, he ground his pelvis against hers, his erection-and intention-obvious.
Hysteria rose up in her. She struggled, pushing against his chest, twisting and kicking. Dear God, who was this man? What had happened to the loving and gentle man she had been married to for ten years?
She jerked sideways and wedged her arms between them, then brought her heel down hard on his instep. With a grunt, he released her and stumbled backward, the pain seeming to penetrate his liquor-induced frenzy.
He looked at her, his bleary-eyed expression becoming one of dawning horror at his own actions.
She spun around, snatched up Emma and cradled her to her chest, talking softly as much to calm her own fears as Emma's. Tears burned her eyes and throat, choking her.
"Kate?" he murmured brokenly. "Kate?"
She couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the anguish in his voice, couldn't bring herself to even look at him- not now, when her mouth still burned from his brutal attack, when her limbs still trembled from the effort expended fighting him off.
"She's not even ours," he whispered. "And still you love her more than me."
Kate felt as if her world were crumbling around her. She'd never been so angry, so hurt, in her life. She looked at her husband then, acknowledging that he was a total stranger.
"What's wrong with you?" she asked, voice quavering. "How can you say that? She is ours. Parenting is about loving and nurturing. Not about a physical act of copulation." She struggled to speak around her tears. "I thought we both believed that, Richard."
When he said nothing, just simply stared at her, her tears welled and spilled over, her heart hurting so badly she feared it would break. She bent and pressed her head to Emma's. "Get out," she said. "Get out because I don't want you around Emma. And I can't bear to look at you."
Without a word, he turned and left the nursery. A moment later, the sound of the front door slamming echoed through the house.
Emma snuggled safely in her arms, Kate sank onto the rocking chair and sobbed.
40
Richard found himself at Julianna's front door. For long minutes, he simply stood there, staring at the door, wanting to knock but knowing he shouldn't. It was late. He was her boss. Being here crossed an invisible line, one that separated employer from employee, professional from personal.
Richard told himself to turn away, to head home, tail tucked between his legs. He stood frozen to the spot instead. He closed his eyes, imagining Julianna opening the door, ushering him in. She would gaze up at him in the way she always did, the way that made him feel ten feet tall and invincible. She would listen and understand.
Julianna believed in him. She thought he was special.
The way Kate used to.
He lifted his hand and rapped lightly on the door. The moment he did, twin emotions of exhilaration and panic coursed through him. Panic won, stealing his breath, bringing him to his senses. What the hell was he doing? He was a married man. Julianna was his employee. Forget the moral ramifications of his behavior, what about the legal ones? This could surely be labeled sexual harassment. He was a lawyer, for God's sake. He hoped to be St. Tam-many Parish's next district attorney.
He took a step backward, then swung around and started down the steps, grateful some sense had wormed its way into his booze-fogged brain before it was too late.
Not before it was too late. Her door opened; light spilled out into the night. "Richard? Is that you?" He turned and met her eyes, and she made a sound of surprise. "What in the world are you doing here?"
He flushed, wishing he could think clearly, wishing he had not had so much to drink. "I'm sorry, Julianna. Kate and I…we had a fight, and I didn't know where else to-" He drew in a deep breath. "I feel like a total ass about this. I hope you can forgive me this horrible breach of professional etiquette."
She opened the door a bit wider and stepped more fully into the rectangle of light. "You and Kate had a fight?"
Backlit that way, her gown became nearly transparent. Even as he told himself not to, Richard lowered his gaze. His mouth went dry; the blood began to pound in his head.
"Yes." He dragged his gaze back to hers, both embarrassed and aroused. "I needed someone to talk to, and I…I thought of you."
She pushed the door the rest of the way open. "I'll get my robe."
Her apartment was small and shabbily furnished but neat as a pin. Even exhausted and inebriated, he noticed expensive, elegant touches here and there: a vase of exotic flowers, a shimmery, soft-looking throw on the couch, groupings of scented candles of varying sizes and shapes.
She returned several moments later, wrapped in a white chenille robe and carrying two steaming mugs of coffee.
"Have a seat," she murmured, a smile tugging at her mouth.
Richard realized he hadn't moved from just inside the door and crossed to the couch and sat down. "I shouldn't be here. I feel like a jerk."
"We're friends. I'm glad to be here for you."
She bent and handed him his coffee. As she did, the front of her robe gaped open, giving him a view of her breasts, clear to their tight rosy nipples.
Arousal hit him, taking his breath. He jerked his gaze up to hers. "Thank you."
She straightened; the flaps of her robe fell back into place. "Do you need cream or sugar?"
He looked blankly at the mug in his hand, then back up at her. "Black's fine, thanks."
She took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, curling her legs under her. "Tell me what happened."
He hesitated a moment, then began to speak. "You weren't wrong. She lied about the book." He wrapped his hands around the mug. "She went to see Dallas."
Julianna was silent for a moment, then she made a sound of regret. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "Back at Tulane, we were all friends. Or so I thought. Then I discovered Dallas was in love with her. All along, while he pretended to be my friend, he schemed to steal my girl. The bastard."
"Yet you remained his friend?"
"It wasn't until right before graduation that I found out what he'd been up to. He told me, flat out." He looked at Julianna. "That's some balls."
"It is," she murmured. "I'm sure Luke Dallas meant nothing to Kate. After all, she chose you."
Richard thought of his and Kate's fight, of the question he had asked her. Why did you marry me, Kate? For my money?
She had denied it, of course. She had been indignant, incensed. He wanted to believe her, but a voice of doubt buried deep within him taunted that was exactly why she had married him.
"In college, Luke didn't have a pot to piss in. Now look at him, rich and famous. Brushing elbows with celebrities."
Even without family money or connections Luke had bested him, Richard thought angrily. Just like he had always said he would. Cocky bastard, he hated him. Hated him with a fire that burned deep inside him, raging nearly out of control.
"He got lucky," Richard said, setting aside his coffee and launching to his feet. He began to pace. "Lucky," he repeated. "That's all. It could happen to anyone. To hear Kate talk, you'd think he was the second coming. Selling a couple of books certainly doesn't mean he's special. Or that he should be put up on some goddamn pedestal."
"Of course not," she cooed. "And I know some women find all that fame and money a powerful lure, though I don't understand it." She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. "I'm sure Kate wouldn't be swayed by such superficial things."
He stopped pacing and looked at her. "You really think so?"
"I do. Besides, so what if Dallas had a thing for Kate? It would be different if they had been lovers. But they weren't. Right?"
It would be different. It would make all the difference in the world.
He sat back down, h
is legs refusing to hold his weight a moment more. He flopped against the sofa back, resting his head against the cushion and staring up at the ceiling. All these years a suspicion that something physical had happened between Luke and Kate had burned in the pit of his gut. More than a suspicion, really; a kind of awful certainty. But he had been able to shrug off the suspicion by reminding himself that he, not Dallas, had won the prize.
Kate had lied to him. So she could see Dallas.
"Richard?"
"Right," he said. "No sex. They were just friends."
"Then you have nothing to worry about. Be patient. I'm sure she loves you very much."
"I don't know." He shook his head. "Just a few months ago I believed that. I believed I had the perfect marriage. Now I…now it seems like everything's falling apart."
Disgusted with himself, with his self-pity and whining, he stood again and crossed to the window. Julianna's street was dark, deserted. Not a light shone down either side; Richard realized how late it must be. Was Kate still awake? he wondered. And if so, did she worry where he was?
Julianna came up behind him. She laid her hands on his shoulders and began to massage them, working at the tight, aching muscles. It felt great, and a sound of pleasure slipped past his lips.
"I should go," he murmured, though leaving was the last thing he wanted to do.
"Yes."
He turned and faced her. "Thank you for tonight. I don't know what I would have done without you to talk to."
She smiled sadly. "How could she not love you? You're everything a woman could-" Her throat closed over the words, and she looked quickly away.
"Julianna?" He brought a hand to her face. "Look at me."
She did and he saw that she was crying. He made a sound of surprise. "Baby, what's wrong?"
She shook her head and took a step away from him. "Nothing. Just go."
He caught her hand, stopping her from leaving. "You're crying. Something must be wrong."
A single tear rolled down her cheek. "It's not right for me to say. You're a married man."
"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong." He brought both hands to her face, cupping it. "Talk to me, Julianna."
She drew in a shuddering breath, tipping her face into his palm, rubbing herself against him like a cat. "All my life I've…I've waited for a man like you. And Kate, it's like she's just tossing…doesn't she see…doesn't she know how special you are?"
Warmth for this girl, this innocent, swelled inside him. "Sweetheart." The endearment slipped from his lips, as naturally as his breath. She lifted her gaze to his again and his heart turned over. Her eyes were filled with longing- and with regret, that it was not to be.
At that moment he could think of nothing but her lips, their color, how they would feel against his, how they would taste. Giving in to the questions, his longing, he bent and ever so lightly brushed his mouth against hers.
Her lips trembled, then parted. With a groan, he deepened the kiss, spearing his tongue into her mouth, tasting, exploring. Conquering.
Cause for Alarm 287
She curled her fingers around his shoulders, clinging to him for one perfect moment, then flattened her hands and pushed him away.
"No, Richard." She sucked in a shaky breath. "We can't. You have a wife. A child."
Richard struggled to get ahold of himself. Struggled for the equilibrium that until tonight had rarely escaped him.
"I'd give anything to be with you," she said softly, "but not like this. You'd hate yourself later. And I couldn't bear that."
"Julianna-"
"No." She placed a finger against his lips. "Don't say anything. Just go home, Richard. To Kate. To your baby daughter."
She was right, he knew. His responsibilities lay elsewhere. But still, he was torn. There was such a sweetness about her. Such vulnerability.
It called to him. She called to him.
He opened his mouth, though he hadn't a clue to say what. Nothing seemed adequate, everything meant nothing. Would change nothing.
He was a married man.
With one last look at her, he walked away.
41
For a long time after Richard left, Julianna sat alone in the dark, reliving Richard's visit, their kiss. She brought a hand to her mouth, still feeling the imprint of his lips against hers. Hot. Searching. Desperate.
Julianna shuddered at the memory. She had wanted him just as desperately. Pushing him away had been one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. She had only found the strength of will to do it by reminding herself of the things her mother had told her over the years about winning a man. To reel him in slowly. To never give in to sex too quickly. That nothing would send a man scurrying back to his wife faster than guilt. That a man had to feel his behavior justified, even when he was cheating. He had to feel righteous for having held out as long as humanly possible.
Julianna smiled. Richard had tumbled once, he would again, falling deeper under her spell. How could he not? Now that he'd had a taste of what he could have with her, Kate's distracted kisses and hurried lovemaking would be less satisfying than before. More frustrating.
Besides, she simply couldn't lose. She had destiny on her side.
Richard didn't know it yet, but he was already hers.
42
The next morning, Richard was contrite. Distraught. He begged Kate's forgiveness and cuddled Emma to him, saying how much he loved her. He blamed his behavior on stress and booze; he must have been out of his mind, he said and promised it would never happen again. During the day he sent Kate a huge bouquet of flowers; that evening he came home from work with a stuffed bear for Emma.
Kate agreed to forgive him. How could she not? He was her husband; she had made him a promise of for better or for worse, had made it in front of their family, friends and God.
And this was definitely one of those times in the "worse" category, she thought later that night as she stood on the upper gallery, gazing out at the dark lake. She lifted her face to the starless sky. She had said she would forgive him and she would. Forgetting would be the problem. For as hard as she had tried, she'd been unable to put out of her mind the way he had forced himself on her, the things he had said. Especially the ones about Emma.
And she couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone terribly awry in their marriage, that they were being manipulated by forces outside themselves.
She had felt that way for weeks.
Kate frowned, thinking back. Since the day of Luke's book signing, she realized. The day the photo of Richard and Emma had disappeared, the day Old Joe had told her about the girl on the swing.
The girl on the swing.
Julianna. Emma.
Kate rubbed her arms, chilled despite the warm night, her head whirling with thoughts of Emma falling into their lives so suddenly. Of Richard's new assistant and of the surprising and intense dislike she had taken to her. Of Richard's behavior and the missing photograph. Of her own feelings of helplessness.
One had nothing to do with the other. Nothing except swirling together to create an unsettling brew, one that had knocked both her and Richard completely off balance.
"Kate?"
She turned. Richard stood in the doorway, his expression boyish and guilty. She couldn't control the anger that speared through her, though she tried.
"Trouble sleeping?" he asked.
"Yes."
He crossed to her, but didn't touch her. She glanced at him, then back out at the lake. Had things gotten so bad between them that he was afraid to touch her? And that she didn't care if he did?
"I'm sorry," he said. He turned to her. "I really am, Kate."
She had heard those words from him, said in exactly that way so many years ago. She sighed. "I know."
"Will you ever forgive me?"
"I'm trying." But it wasn't as easy as it had once been. And that frightened her to her core.
He caught her hands. "Come to bed. Let me make love to you. Let me prove
how much I love you." When she hesitated, he brought her hands to his mouth. "Everything's going to be okay with us, Kate. The way it's always been. Trust me."
She acquiesced and he led her to their bedroom, to their bed. They made love and she clung to the familiar, to the Richard she had known and loved for so long. The Richard she had been happy with.
But even as she did, she feared that nothing would ever be the same between them again.
43
Richard lay on his side and watched Kate as she slept. Two weeks had passed since the night he and Kate had fought. Two weeks since he had run to Julianna and held her in his arms. Two weeks of hell.
He moved his gaze over his wife's face, knowing each curve and hollow, each line and shadow by heart. They had been together long enough to know each other inside and out. He loved and admired her. He wished he had her goodness, her strength. He couldn't imagine his life without her.
Yet even as he lay beside her on their bed, he felt himself slipping away from her and toward Julianna. It was wrong. He knew that. Each day he headed to work armed by a night with Kate, by a night spent reminding himself of his responsibilities, his moral obligations, that a man was only as good as his word.
The minute he saw Julianna, reason, reminders and moral responsibilities flew out the window. She made him feel young again. Sexually potent. She awakened in him feelings, urges, he hadn't had in years.
He had become obsessed with the other woman. With thoughts of sex with her-how she would taste, how it would feel to be inside her, the sounds she would make when she climaxed.
It had been two weeks of hell, of being torn between two different women, between right and wrong, love and lust.
Richard rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling and the gently whirling fan. Only an hour ago he and Kate had made love. When he'd climaxed he'd thought of Julianna. He had pictured her writhing under him, bucking against him with her own release, crying out his name.
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