Sarah's Child

by Linda Howard

  “Something like that.” He unzipped his pants and shoved them down, then knelt on the bed, between her relaxed thighs. “You’re my credit card; I don’t leave home without this.”

  She laughed, twining her arms around his neck as he lowered his weight to her. The laughter caught in her throat at the slow delicious shock of his entry, and he heard the little intake of breath she always gave when he took her. It was music to him, and he buried his face against her neck in sudden need, pulling her legs up around his waist. “I miss you like hell when I’m gone,” he said roughly, and with his confession he began thrusting deeply into her, reconfirming their partnership with the bond of their flesh.

  Sarah didn’t drive him to the airport; he preferred leaving his car there, so he’d always have ready transportation home or to the office without taking a taxi. Despite herself, tears glittered in her eyes as she kissed him good-bye at the door, and he swore softly, dropping the suitcase to take her in his arms again.

  “I’ll be back for Christmas, I promise,” he said, giving her a hard kiss. “You won’t have to spend the holiday alone.”

  As if she cared about the holiday! She hated for him to leave regardless of the time of year, or what holiday was coming up. She blinked back the tears and managed a shaky smile for him. “It’s all right. I’m just being silly.”

  It had to happen: he called at midnight on the twenty-third. “Chicago is having a blizzard,” he said with grim sarcasm. “All flights are grounded until this mess clears.”

  Sarah sat up in bed, clutching the telephone so hard that her fingers were white. “Any weather predictions?” she made herself ask with a fair amount of calm, though she’d been counting the hours until he’d be home again.

  “Early afternoon. I’ll call you when I have a definite flight.”

  She spent Christmas Eve moving restlessly around the apartment, adjusting ornaments on the small fragrant evergreen she’d put up for a Christmas tree, fluffing pillows and moving articles of furniture that seemed a fraction of an inch out of place. She’d worried about how Rome might feel about celebrating Christmas, when the holiday must bring painful memories for him of his two small sons and their wide-eyed excitement, their toys underfoot, the complete chaos they’d created every Christmas Day in their ecstasy over the presents they’d received. So far, she hadn’t detected any sign that he might be dreading the day, and she was keeping her fingers crossed that this would be a good holiday for him.

  She couldn’t wait for him to get home; she felt more on edge than she’d ever been before while he was gone, and she knew it was because of what he’d said while he’d been making love to her that last time. “I miss you like hell when I’m gone…” It was the only indication he’d ever given her that he might dislike leaving her while he went on a business trip. She’d always assumed that he even looked forward to the trips to give himself a break away from her. But if he missed her…

  She tried to caution herself against hoping too much. Rome was so virile, he could have meant merely that he missed making love to her. But what if he was missing her, her companionship, the things they shared? Her heart was thumping crazily in her chest at the thought. Christmas was the season of miracles, after all.

  The waiting made her restless, and she thought of going down to visit Marcie, but she didn’t want to intrude during the holiday, and she was afraid she’d miss Rome’s call. She baked an apple pie for him and put clean sheets on their beds.

  The phone rang, and she nearly broke her neck getting to it, tripping over her own feet. Snatching up the receiver, she said breathlessly, “Hello.”

  “My flight is supposed to be leaving within the hour,” he said, his deep voice making her knees go weak even over the telephone lines. “But everything’s stacked up, so it’ll probably be later than that. I estimate I’ll be home close to midnight. Don’t wait up for me, baby. Go on to bed.”

  “I…maybe,” she stammered, knowing that she’d still be awake even if he didn’t get in until midnight the next night.

  He laughed, a low promising sound that made her swallow. “All right, then, stay awake. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

  It was just after eleven that night when she heard his key in the lock. She jumped up from the table, where she’d been sitting nursing a cup of hot chocolate, and ran to meet him. He dropped his suitcase with a thud and caught her as she launched herself into his arms; then he kissed her, so long and hard and thoroughly that she shuddered and pressed herself against him.

  His eyes glinting, he released her and rubbed his shadowed jaw with his hand. “I need a shower and a shave, in that order. I spent the night at the airport, so I’m pretty grimy. Go to bed; I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, tops.”

  Sarah poured out the rest of the hot chocolate and turned out the lights, then went to her bedroom. She sat down on her bed and clasped her hands tightly together when she noticed how they were trembling. He was home. In only a few more minutes, he’d be in here, in the bed with her, and he’d make love to her as if he’d like to devour her. Then…then what? Would he make another tantalizing confession, another small indication that his feelings for her were deepening? Or would he silently hold her until she pretended to fall asleep, then go to his own solitary bed?

  She sucked in a painful breath at the thought, and suddenly she knew that she couldn’t bear for him to walk away from her again after making love to her. She was on her feet before she realized what she was doing; if anyone left afterward, it would be her. That way she wouldn’t have to watch his back as he left. If, when the loving was finished, he didn’t make any indication that he wanted more, then she could kiss him good night and calmly leave his bed without looking back. She couldn’t lie there any longer, waiting for him to break her heart by leaving.

  He came out of his bathroom just as she opened his door and walked in, and he lifted a black brow at her in astonishment. “In a hurry?” he drawled, dropping the towel that he held to the floor.

  Sarah looked at him, at his tall hard body, and her mouth went dry. “Yes,” she whispered, pulling her nightgown over her head and dropping it to the floor also.

  He walked past her and threw the covers to the foot of his bed, then extended his hand to her in silent invitation. She walked into his arms.

  He told her a lot of things: he told her how much he wanted her, what he wanted to do to her, what he liked for her to do to him. His whispers were raw, elemental with need. He told her how sleek and pretty her body was, how he wanted to bury himself in her, how it felt when he took her. But he didn’t tell her the one thing she needed most to hear.

  When his tumultuous passion had been satisfied, he lay sprawled on the bed, stroking her back with lazy possessiveness. Quivering inside, she knew that she had to leave now, while he was still content and drowsy, before the familiar impatience began eating at him. Lifting herself to her elbow, she kissed him quickly and whispered “Good night,” then left the bed before he could react.

  Rome’s eyes snapped open, and he watched her scoop up her nightgown, then practically run out the door. Grim lines of tension settled around his mouth. As much as he wanted her, as crazy as he went when he was making love to her, he always dreaded when it was over because he knew she would withdraw from him, curling away from him and pretending to go to sleep so he would leave. But at least she usually wanted to cuddle, and he could hold her in his arms a little longer; tonight, despite the wild response of her slim body when he’d made love to her, she hadn’t even lingered for a moment of gentle caresses. Sometimes, when her eyes lit up at the sight of him, when she clung desperately to him in the heat of passion, he’d think that he was making progress, slowly beating down her defenses and getting to the soft, warm woman behind them. But then she’d withdraw from him again, as if she had to compensate for any gains he might have made.

  Sex with her was fantastic…more than fantastic. The physical awareness, the passion between them, was so intense, it overshadowed every se
nsual experience he’d had before her—but it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t enough. He wanted it all, everything she had to give, her body and mind and, yes, her heart.

  For Christmas, she gave him a hideously expensive designer briefcase. She’d outraged the clerk at the hideously expensive department store by having the designer’s insignia removed and substituting Rome’s initials in its place. He laughed when she told him the tale, then casually gave her a tiny box wrapped in gold paper. Her mouth fell open when she saw the diamond stud earrings; she tried to thank him, but no words would come. Each brilliant diamond glittered with icy fire; those stones had to be a carat each, and she was stunned by the magnitude of the gift.

  Smiling at her reaction, he pushed back her heavy veil of white-gold hair and removed the earrings she was wearing, then slipped the studs into her ears himself. She lifted her hand to touch them. “How do they look?” she asked nervously, finding her voice at last.

  “You look fantastic,” he said deeply. “I want to see you naked, with your hair loose, and the diamonds in your ears.”

  She watched his face, watched his eyes grow heavy-lidded with desire, and her body began to warm. A delicate tint rose to her cheeks. She knew, even as he reached for her, that he was about to get what he wanted.

  He surprised her by swinging her up in his arms. “Where are we going?” she asked breathlessly, having expected him to make love to her on the sofa, as he’d done several times before.

  “To bed,” he answered briefly, and her eyes widened.

  In the quiet aftermath, he kept her beneath him in his bed, settling himself on her and keeping their bodies together. There was no way she could get up and leave. He turned his face into the warm fragrance of her neck, feeling the heavy satisfaction of his body. He dozed, then came awake sometime later when she wiggled beneath him, seeking a more comfortable position.

  “Am I too heavy for you?” he murmured, pressing his lips into the warm hollow below her ear.

  “No.” Deep pleasure was in her voice, and her arms tightened around his back. He was crushing her, and she could barely breathe, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was the warm, heavy feel of him against her, the almost tangible contentment that radiated from him. This was how she’d always wanted it to be.

  Outside, the short winter twilight was deepening into dusk, bringing a growing chill to the room because he kept the heat vents in his bedroom almost closed. He reached down for the sheet and pulled it over them, settling himself on top of her again, with his head on her breasts.

  Lazily he kissed her nipples and the sensitive undersides of her breasts before finding a comfortable place for his head. He covered one breast with his hand, then sighed softly and went to sleep. Sarah put her hand on his dark hair, then moved it slowly down to his strong neck and wide, powerful shoulders, feeling the hard muscles beneath his smooth, warm skin. Feeling safe and protected, wrapped in the cocoon of his body warmth, she too slept.

  He woke her for a late dinner, his eyes sleepy and satisfied as he watched her try to sort out the jumbled mess he’d made of her clothes when he’d taken them off. With her wild pale tangle of hair streaming down her back and the glitter of diamonds in her ears, she looked like some primitive queen in her glorious nudity. In more barbaric times, she’d have been worshipped for the color of her hair, the incredible pale gold with streaks of almost pure white running through it. He’d often suspected her of bleaching her hair, until he’d seen her naked for the first time. His wife. The thought filled him with possessiveness, and satisfaction.

  In the middle of February she caught a cold that lingered for an unreasonable length of time, her stuffy nose robbing her of sleep and making her cranky. Rome tried to get her to stay home from work and give herself a chance to get over it, but Erica had both children at home with the flu and Sarah had no one to open the store, so she had to work, though she felt listless and achy. Rome had to take another trip, one that could stretch into two weeks, and he frowned at her pale face as he kissed her good-bye.

  “Take care of yourself, and stay warm. I’ll call you tonight to see how you’re feeling.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she reassured him, hating the congested sound of her voice. “Don’t kiss me; you’ll get germs!”

  “I’m immune to your germs,” he said, kissing her anyway. He folded her in his arms, gently rubbing her back. “Poor baby. I’d like to stay with you.”

  “I’d like for you to stay with me too,” she grumbled, something she’d never have said if she hadn’t had a cold. “Actually I feel a little better today. I’m not as tired.”

  “Maybe you’re finally getting over it.” He surveyed her critically. “It’s about time. If you aren’t better tomorrow, see a doctor, and that’s an order.”

  “Yes, sir,” she said smartly, earning herself a slap on the bottom.

  He called that night as he’d promised. She’d closed the store early when a cold rain turned into sleet, as she hadn’t wanted to get trapped by bad weather, so she’d been home long enough to spend an hour lolling in a hot tub, with the steam clearing her stuffy nose, and consequently she felt much better. Her voice was almost normal when she talked to him.

  The next morning, however, she woke with a terrible pounding headache, and every joint in her body felt as if someone were beating her with a hammer. Her throat was on fire, and nausea roiled in her stomach at the very thought of food. “Great,” she told her bleary reflection in the mirror. “I’ve got the flu.”

  Having the flu was the very devil. She ached all over from the fever that accompanied it, but every time she tried to take anything for her temperature, her stomach revolted. She tried drinking hot tea, but that didn’t work. She tried drinking a cold soft drink, but that didn’t work. She tried drinking milk, and that was awful. She made Jell-O and tried to eat that, but she was gagging after the second bite. Giving up, she made an ice pack for her head and took a lukewarm bath, lying in water that felt cool to her feverish body, with the ice pack reposing on her head.

  When a sudden chill swept over her, making her shake so hard that she could barely climb from the tub, she gave up trying to deal with it and simply went to bed, pulling the covers over her while she was having a chill, and throwing them back when she was feverish. Her head was aching so badly, she’d have sworn she’d never rest, but she fell into a deep sleep and woke only when her telephone rang.

  “Sarah?” demanded Marcie anxiously. “Thank God! Derek just called me from a pay phone because the store wasn’t open. He thought something must have happened to you.”

  “It has,” Sarah croaked morosely. “I’ve got the flu. I’m sorry, I should’ve thought to call Derek this morning before he left for school.”

  “Don’t worry about that. Let me call Derek back at the pay phone to let him know you’re all right, then I’ll be up to see about you.”

  “I’ll be okay, and you might catch—” Sarah began, but Marcie had already hung up.

  “I’m not going to die,” she grumbled, as the knowledge that Marcie was coming up forced her to drag her weak, aching body out of bed to unlock the door. “Why does she have to see about me today? Why can’t she wait until tomorrow? Maybe I’ll be ready to die by then.”

  She walked like someone with a hangover, holding her pounding head with both hands, as if she were afraid it would fall off. The truth was the exact opposite: The way it was hurting, she wished her head would fall off. Every step she took was torture, with her body aching and her head throbbing. Even her eyes hurt.

  She unlocked the door and crept into the kitchen, thinking about trying another bite or two of Jell-O. She opened the refrigerator door, looked at the green mass quivering wildly at her, and slammed the door again. No way could she eat something that was moving.

  The door opened, and Marcie called, “Where are you?”

  “I’m in here,” Sarah croaked. “Honest, Marcie, you don’t want this. For your own sake, leave.”

  “I’
ve had my flu shot this year,” replied Marcie, entering the kitchen. “Ye gods, you look awful!”

  “Then, I look exactly the way I feel. I’m starving! I want something to eat, but all I have to do is look at food and I start upchucking.”

  “Crackers,” said Marcie. “Saltines. Do you have any?”

  “I don’t know,” Sarah moaned.

  “Where would they be?”

  “Up there,” she replied, waving her hand at the highest cabinet.

  “They would be,” Marcie muttered, dragging over a chair she could stand on. She got down the box of saltines and took out a sealed pack, then replaced the rest of them.

  “We’re going to try the routine doctors give pregnant women: weak tea and soda crackers. Think you can manage it?”

  “I doubt it, but I’ll try.”

  Marcie hustled Sarah back to bed, dampened a washcloth in cool water and placed it over her forehead, then stuck a thermometer in her mouth. She came back several minutes later bearing a cup of tea and one lone soda cracker on a napkin. After plucking the thermometer from Sarah’s mouth, she looked at it and lifted an eyebrow. “You definitely have a fever.”

  Sarah sat up and nibbled at the cracker, almost afraid to swallow even a crumb. The tea tasted good as it wet her parched throat, and for a moment she felt better. Then her stomach began to twist, and she hauled herself out of the bed. “No good,” she reported, then had to bolt.

  Derek came up to see her, and she groaned aloud. “What is it with everybody? Why do you want to catch the flu? I’m contagious!”

  Derek gave her a serene look. “I don’t get sick.”

  Of course not. What germ or virus would dare even sit on that perfect body?

  The second day Marcie wanted to call Rome, but Sarah refused to consider it. What could he do from a distance of a thousand miles? All the call would accomplish would be to distract him. Marcie was concerned because Sarah’s fever had climbed even higher and she had a wracking cough. She couldn’t eat anything the second day either. Marcie kept her sponged off with cool water, trying to keep the fever down, but Sarah grew even more listless and pale. Marcie spent the night on the floor beside Sarah’s bed, listening to the deep hollow-sounding cough, prepared to haul Sarah off to a hospital at any time.