by Linda Howard
Again he lifted a sardonic eyebrow, leaning against the checkout counter. “About the store, or Derek?”
“Well…both.”
“I’m surprised as hell,” he said bluntly. “By both Derek and the store. I was expecting a lot of bare space, not this permanent, been-here-for-centuries feeling. The handmade stuff is really something; where do you find it?”
“People bring it here. I sell it on commission. People will pay dearly for handmade quilts and pottery.”
“So I saw from the prices on those quilts,” he murmured. “Derek is something else too, isn’t he? Are you sure he’s only fifteen?”
“Marcie swears he is, and she should know. He’ll have a birthday next month.”
“Sixteen doesn’t sound that much better. The kid’s a rock.”
“I’ve hired him to help me in the afternoons and on weekends. He was working in a grocery store, but one of the cashiers was chasing him, so Marcie asked me if I’d hire him. I snapped him up.”
“He’s young to be working like that.”
“He’s saving for college. If he wasn’t working here, he’d be working somewhere else, whether Marcie liked it or not. I get the feeling that once he’s decided on his course of action, a stick of dynamite couldn’t blow him off it.”
Their conversation was interrupted when the bell jangled again, as a young mother entered with a toddler in her arms and a boy of about five right on her heels. Rome glanced at her; then he saw the two children and something congealed in his eyes. He went still, a blank mask taking all the life from his face. He moved back, and Sarah gave him a helpless glance as she walked over to offer her assistance to her new customer. The young woman smiled and expressed interest in a collection of clowns with stuffed bodies and china heads and limbs. Her mother collected clowns and was having a birthday soon. As the woman examined the selection, she put the toddler on the floor; the older boy hung over the counter, staring wide-eyed at the clowns.
It was a moment before either Sarah or the young mother noticed that the baby had strayed. “Justin, come back here!”
The baby giggled and toddled around the end of the counter, heading straight for Rome. A spear of pain had gone through Sarah at the mention of the baby’s name, and she almost cried out when she saw the chalky look on Rome’s face. He stepped aside, avoiding the baby, not even looking down at it. “I’ll wait in the car,” he said in a harsh, strained voice that didn’t sound like his, and he walked out, his back stiff. The young woman hadn’t noticed Rome’s reaction; she scooped up her errant off-spring, tickling his stomach and making him laugh. “I guess I’ll just have to hold you, you big lug!”
She bought two of the clowns, and as soon as she’d left, Sarah flipped the sign to CLOSED and began locking up. Her heart was pounding heavily, and she wanted to go to Rome. Peering out the window, she saw him sitting in his car, parked just a few parking spaces down the street, staring straight ahead.
Deciding it was better to give him a few minutes alone, she finished securing the store for the night, then went out back to her own car. When she drove out of the back alley onto the street, Rome’s car nosed in behind her.
He was completely silent on the elevator going up to the apartment, his jaw set, his eyes bleak. Sarah said “Rome?” hesitantly, but he didn’t look at her or indicate that he heard her.
She waited until the door was closed behind them in the apartment; then she put her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry. I know how you feel—”
“You damned well don’t know how I feel,” he said harshly, throwing off her touch. “Let me know when dinner’s ready.”
Sarah stood in the foyer for a moment after he’d turned his back and walked off, feeling as if he’d slapped her. Moving as if in shock, she took off her coat and hung it up, then went into her bedroom to change into older clothes before starting their dinner. Her face in the mirror was pale and taut, her eyes darkened with hurt. She set her mouth and deliberately blanked her expression. She’d overstepped his boundaries and been coldly rebuffed for it. He wanted a distinct emotional distance between them, and she had to remember that.
She didn’t allow herself to hide in her bedroom, though she felt a need to lick her own wounds. She went out to the kitchen and began calmly preparing the meal she’d already planned, not letting herself think about his absence from the kitchen. He usually helped, and she was accustomed to having his tall form taking up a lot of space, to talking to him while they worked.
She called him to the table, her manner carefully free of reproach or hurt. He didn’t initiate any conversation, so she didn’t either. When they were finished, he lingered for a moment at the table, as if searching for something to say. Not wanting him to feel uncomfortable, Sarah kept herself busy clearing the table and cleaning up the kitchen, even humming quietly to herself as she worked, though she couldn’t have identified what tune she was humming. Then she said casually, “I’m going to take a shower and make an early night of it, since this is a chance to catch up on my sleep.”
He didn’t reply but watched her narrowly as she went to her room.
She didn’t tell him good night after she’d taken her shower and put on a nightgown; there was a limit to her self-control. She simply turned out the light and went to bed, then lay curled on her side, staring at the wall, unable to fill the emptiness inside her.
Much later she was still awake, listening to him in his own room, hearing his shower running. The water stopped, and she heard no other sounds. When her door was opened, she jumped, startled, and rolled over onto her back.
He was a darker outline against the night. He pulled the covers back and bent over her, pulling the nightgown over her head and dropping it to the floor. Sarah felt his hands on her breasts and thighs; then his heavy weight came down on her and his mouth closed fiercely over hers. A shudder of relief shook her, and she put her arms around his neck, letting him part her legs and take her.
“All of me,” he demanded harshly, as she lifted her hips up to him. “Take all of me. More. More! Yes, like that. Just like that!”
He was silent then, taking her with barely controlled violence. Sarah gave herself up without a struggle to the tumultuous responses he demanded of her, knowing that the comfort of her body was the only comfort he’d accept from her. She quickly reached her pleasure, and he slowed then, forcibly bringing himself to an easier rhythm and a lighter touch. When she began to move under him again, telling him without words that the tension was building in her once more, he unleashed his strength and drove into her with a power that took her breath and shattered her senses, sending her spiraling over the edge of pleasure again. Never before had he taken her like that, with such raw, unbridled need, holding her so tightly that she felt crushed. But when it was over, he began moving away from her, and panic seized her.
Before she could stop herself, she reached out for him. “Please,” she whispered tightly. “Hold me, just for a little while.”
He hesitated, then stretched out on the bed and pulled her up against him, settling her head on his shoulder. Sarah clenched her fingers in the hair on his chest, as if she could hold him in place during the night. She melted against him, her soft body flowing to meet the contours of his, adjusting and fitting. Suddenly she felt herself going to sleep, as her body relaxed and a sigh of contentment escaped her.
Several minutes later she was almost asleep when she was awakened by the feel of him moving away from her, cautiously disengaging their limbs. He eased himself out of the bed, obviously trying not to awaken her, and she forced herself to lie still, her eyes closed until she heard him leave the room and close the door behind him. Then her eyes flared open, hot and bright with unshed tears. She curled into a tight little ball and thrust her hand against her mouth to stifle the sound of the sobs that couldn’t be controlled.
Over breakfast the next morning he said abruptly, “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings last night.”
Reminding herself not to overreact and
blunder past his boundaries again, Sarah gave him a smile that was friendly but faintly aloof. “That’s all right,” she said, shrugging it away, then changed the subject by asking if he had any suits that needed to be cleaned.
He regarded her thoughtfully, and there was a hint of iron in the set of his jaw. Sarah braced herself for one of his patented interrogations that were the terror of Spencer-Nyle, but she reminded herself that she was no longer an employee of the company and didn’t have to let him delve into her emotions. Perhaps he sensed how remote she was, for after a moment he accepted the change of subject.
As he left he said, “I have a business dinner tonight, so I’ll be late getting home.”
“All right,” she replied calmly, not asking him where he’d be or what time she could expect him.
A frown touched his brow, and he paused. “Would you like to come along? You know him, Leland Vascoe, with Aames and Vascoe. I can call him and have him invite his wife too.”
“Thanks, but I’ll pass. Derek and I will be painting this afternoon, so we’ll probably be working late anyway.” The smile she gave him was casual, as was the kiss he leaned down and took. She sensed that he would have made the kiss deeper and longer, but she moved back, still smiling. “I’ll see you tonight.”
The hint of iron was stronger in his expression as he left.
Determined not to fall into the mopes, Sarah didn’t let her thoughts linger on him during the day. She kept busy, and whenever the store was empty of customers she went back to the other rooms and worked on them. Derek came in as soon as school was out, with a hamburger in one hand and a large soft drink in the other.
When no one else was in the store, Derek was warmer and friendlier. He grinned at her and held up the burger. “Mom’s really into that article. I’ll probably have to live off these things until she gets it finished.”
Sarah smiled in return. “I tell you what, Rome’s working late tonight, so when we get finished here, why don’t we pick up a super pizza and take it home for dinner? Maybe we can entice your mom away from the typewriter.”
“Put pepperoni on the pizza, and I’ll guarantee it,” he said placidly.
He painted by himself until Sarah closed the store; then she put on a pair of coveralls and helped. With both of them working, it was finished by seven, and Derek went home while Sarah drove to a pizza parlor and ordered the largest pizza they made. When she drove up to the condo, Derek came out to get the pizza, and she knew he’d been standing in the entrance, watching for her.
As they entered the ground floor apartment he and Marcie lived in, he whispered, “Watch this. Ten seconds at the most.” He walked over to the closed door from behind which came the staccato clattering of typewriter keys, and he gently waved the pizza box back and forth. In a few seconds, the clattering faltered, then stopped altogether.
“Derek, you fiend!” Marcie shrieked, and the door was wrenched open. “Give me that pizza!”
Laughing at her, he held it out of her reach. “Come on, sit at the table and eat it like it should be eaten; then you can go back to the typewriter and I swear I won’t say a word to you about eating until sometime tomorrow.”
“Like breakfast, tomorrow?” asked Marcie whimsically. Then she saw Sarah. “Are you in on this plot too?”
Sarah nodded, admitting everything. “We’re calling it the Pepperoni Plan.”
“It works, damn it,” sighed Marcie. “All right, let’s pig out on pizza.”
The family warmth, the unquestioning love between Marcie and her son, lured Sarah like a magnet, and she lingered in their apartment long after the pizza was gone. Her own apartment, which she’d tried so hard to make into a warm, secure haven, was painfully empty because it wasn’t filled with the one thing that was most important to security: love. Marcie filled her in on how the article was developing, then excused herself and locked herself in her study again. Derek invited her to play a game of gin, but halfway through the game they began talking about blackjack, and the game was abandoned while Derek began teaching her how to be a card counter, employing the one system most likely to get a gambler invited out of any casino in the world. From there he went on to the different types of poker, and Sarah decided that Derek was a cardsharp as well as a wonder kid. He was sharp in reading people too, because she sensed that he knew she was at loose ends, and was devoting himself to keeping her entertained until she felt she could go to her own apartment. He was a kind boy, wise beyond his years.
At ten o’clock she said good night to Derek and went home, opening the door to rooms that were dark and chilled. Hurriedly she turned on the lights, then the heat. She hadn’t been home five minutes when the door slammed shut, signaling Rome’s arrival. She was in her bedroom, preparing to take a shower, and she went to the door to greet him. They almost ran into each other, and she stepped back hastily.
“Where the hell have you been?” he barked, coming into her bedroom and standing over her like an infuriated angel of vengeance. “I’ve been ringing the phone off the hook since seven thirty, and don’t tell me you were at the damned store, because I tried there too.”
Sarah looked at him, stunned, unable to think why he was so angry. And he was angry, blazingly so. His eyes were black with fury. And he’d said “damned store.” Did that mean anything? She’d thought he approved of the idea of her having another job, but there had been disparagement in his voice and words. She wasn’t good at arguing, at countering a display of his temper with her own, as Diane would have done. Instead she withdrew into herself, erecting a mental shield against any hurt he might deal her.
“Derek and I painted until seven; then I bought a pizza and shared it with Marcie and Derek, rather than eating alone. Derek and I have been playing cards since then. Why were you trying to call me?”
Her calm, cool, remote voice seemed to inflame him even further. “Because,” he ground out from between his clenched teeth, “Leland Vascoe brought his wife and they wanted you to join us. You didn’t have to eat with the Taliferros, if eating alone was your only problem. I’d already invited you to have dinner with me, but you had to paint some grim little back room instead. Now you tell me that you were finished by seven, and you could’ve had dinner with me anyway. Your support is overwhelming,” he said with biting sarcasm.
Sarah was very still, her delicate shoulders erect. “I didn’t know what time we’d finish painting,” she said quietly.
“Damn it, Sarah, you worked for years for the corporation, and you know the routine. I expect you to be available for these mixed business and social meetings, not puttering around in that—”
“Grim little store,” she finished for him, not flinching or looking away from him. She was beginning to feel sick inside, a cold feeling spreading through her chest. “Before we married, you said that we’d respect each other’s business responsibilities. I’m willing to attend whatever business dinners you want me to attend, and after the repairs are finished at the store, I shouldn’t have to stay late. But that isn’t the real issue, is it? You don’t want your wife to work outside the home at all, do you?”
“There’s no need for you to work,” he rapped out.
“I won’t sit here all day and twiddle my thumbs. What else is there for me to do? I can only dust so many times in one day before even that fascinating occupation becomes boring.”
“Diane wasn’t bored.”
The lethal jab was right on target, and Sarah’s eyes widened, but that was the only clue she gave as to how much that hurt. Staring bleakly at him, she said, “I’m not Diane.”
That was the whole problem, she thought, turning away from him. She couldn’t stand there and let him cut her to ribbons. Diane would have been jaw to jaw with him, and their argument by now would have deviated far from the original subject. In another two minutes they’d have been kissing and falling on the bed, which was how Diane had told her they always ended their arguments. Sarah couldn’t do that. She wasn’t Diane, but herself, lacking Diane’
s fire and strength. That was the one thing Rome could never forgive her for: not being Diane.
At the bathroom door, she turned to face him again, her expression a pale mask. “I’m going to take a shower and go to bed,” she said without inflection. “Good night.”
Rome’s eyes narrowed, and suddenly, chillingly, she knew she’d made a mistake by retreating. It was his aggressive male nature, as a hunter, to pursue his fleeting prey. Sarah froze, expecting him to spring across the room and capture her; it was in his eyes, in the tension in his stance. Then he visibly controlled the urge, dampening it down, though his eyes were like black marble as he stared at her. “I’ll be in later,” he finally said, his voice a deep purring threat.
Sarah took a deep breath. “No. Not tonight.”
The primitive male rose up in him again, and like a great stalking cat he crossed the floor to her, cupping her chin in his hand. “Are you refusing to go to bed with me? Be careful, babe,” he warned, still in that dangerous purr. “Don’t start a war that you can’t win. We both know I can make you beg for it.”
Sarah went even whiter, and the force of his hard fingers left reddened imprints on her jaw. “Yes,” she admitted in a stifled tone. “You can make me do anything you want, if that’s really the way you want it to be.”
He looked down at her, at her colorless face and closed expression, and something savage moved in his eyes. Then he dropped his hand to his side, releasing her jaw. “Have it your way,” he snapped, striding out of the room and closing the door behind him.
Shaking, Sarah took a shower and went to bed, lying awake for a long time and waiting to see if he’d come to her in the later hours, as he’d done the night before, but she heard him go to his own room and this time her door remained closed. Her eyes burned rawly as she stared into the darkness. How ironic that she should have to defend her outside work, when her dream had always been of a typical, traditional family life. It should have been Diane passionately defending a woman’s right to a career: she’d never been short of arguments or opinions. Their plans had been derailed, and they had each taken the route meant for the other one. Diane was to have been the career woman, while Sarah was the housewife. Now, even more ironically, Sarah had the chance to devote herself to her husband, only to find that she had to cling to her career in order to keep some stability in her life. Rome wasn’t offering her anything more than convenience and sex, and she needed more. She needed a place where she belonged, and that belonged to her, where she felt safe. If she had Rome’s love, she knew she’d feel safe anywhere, but she didn’t have his love. She was still on the outside, wistfully peering through the window.