The next morning, despite her reassurances that she was much better and could safely be left by herself, he called his secretary to let her know he wouldn’t be working that day. “I’m staying,” he told Sarah firmly after he’d hung up the telephone. “Now, what about breakfast?”
“Anything! I’m starved!”
She ate an almost normal breakfast, and decided that food was the answer to everything. She was much stronger, able to walk without weaving, and except for a lingering headache and a cough that occasionally seized her, she felt fine.
Rome worked in the living room, spreading papers out around him, instead of working in the small study, as he usually did. Sarah knew he wanted to keep an eye on her, and the thought made her feel pleasantly warm. Being spoiled had its good points.
Around noon, she became sleepy and dozed off in the chair where she’d been reading. Rome glanced up, saw her closed eyes, and got up to carry her to bed. She woke when he began undressing her but didn’t protest when he made her put on a nightgown. She was asleep again before he could pull the covers up over her.
She slept for almost four hours. She woke to use the bathroom and drink several glasses of water; she felt as if she couldn’t get enough water. Still feeling drowsy, she went back to bed and had just pulled the sheet up when the door opened and Rome came in.
“I thought I heard you moving around,” he said, seeing that she was awake. He came over and sat on the side of the bed, gently touching her face. There was no fever at all. She was warm, but it was the rosy warmth of sleep.
She stretched lazily, then sat up to put her arms around his shoulders, hugging him. The way she’d stretched had pulled the thin fabric of the nightgown tight across her breasts, and now he felt the soft mounds pressing against him. He caught her to him and cupped her chin, lifting her mouth for his kiss. Sarah melted against him, her lips parting to accept the play of his tongue. He kissed her several times, and each time his kiss was harder, more demanding. Gently he lowered her back to her pillow, and he went with her, his mouth still on hers. She felt his hand close warmly around her breast, and she arched to his touch. It seemed as if it had been forever since he’d made love to her; the cold she’d had prior to the flu had made her feel miserable too, and he’d left her alone. “Yes,” she said against his mouth, pulling at his shirt. “Please, don’t stop now.”
“I wasn’t going to,” he said huskily, sitting up and removing the offending shirt. He dropped it to the floor, then stood to unfasten his pants and step out of them. Sarah watched him with wide dreamy eyes, her body already tingling in anticipation of his touch. Leaning over her, he removed her nightgown, enjoying the sight of the soft, slim body that belonged to him. He put his hands on her and stroked her silky flesh, finally cupping both her breasts and leaning down to kiss them, then sucking both nipples to hardness. Drowning in pleasure, Sarah reached for him, pulling him down to her.
When they got up later, she felt satisfied in every pore of her body, and the satisfaction was plain on her face. She was radiant, her skin glowing with the warmth generated by his caresses. As they sat across from each other at dinner, Rome felt his gaze returning again and again to her face. He’d put that look on her face, and he knew it. When Sarah looked at him like that, something moved inside him. He’d wanted to break down the barriers of her reserve, to find the heat of her passion, but he’d found much more than that. The ice-queen was gone, and in her place was a woman who glowed from his touch. Was she falling in love with him? He liked the idea of that; having the devotion of a woman like her was nothing to be taken lightly. Her love would warm the years, provide a tender, safe haven for him to come home to, a cushion against the painful memories of his past.
As she showered and got ready for bed Sarah wondered if he’d sleep with her that night. She was actually trembling, wanting him so much, wondering if the past two nights had been due to unusual circumstances. If he went back to his bedroom that night, she didn’t think she’d be able to bear it, not after having the two best nights of her life. He’d acted as if he really cared, giving her a glimpse of paradise. If the gates closed again and left her on the outside, it would be a blow she’d never recover from.
A brisk knock on the door made her jump. “Are you going to spend the night in there?” Rome asked, impatience in his voice.
She opened the door, gasping as she found him leaning against the facing, totally naked. He was awesome, so tall and muscular, with that virile field of dark curls on his chest. Her breath coming quickly, she dropped the towel that she’d wrapped around herself and reached for her nightgown, then dropped it too. “I don’t think I need a nightgown,” she said breathlessly.
“I don’t think so either.” Dark amusement lit his eyes for a moment as he held his hand out to her, but the amusement faded into something far more intense when she walked into his arms.
They made love, then slept, and he made no move to seek his own bed. He woke after midnight and took her again, sliding deeply into her before she was really awake, enjoying the spontaneous response she gave him. He lingered over her that time, using his expertise to prolong the experience and carefully raise her to shattering heights. Sarah was totally lost in the intensifying physical sensations as he fondled her breasts and sucked them in just the way she liked, as he stroked her and touched her in ways that made her cry out. His slow, steady thrusts were driving her mad, carrying her just to the brink of satisfaction but not putting her over.
She clutched at him with damp, frantic hands, begging for release. He held her hips, not letting her speed the pace, holding her to his rhythm. He kissed her deeply, then lifted his mouth just enough to command deeply, “Tell me you love me.”
Her response was automatic, plucked from a deep reservoir of primitive need that she couldn’t control. Without thinking about it, without even realizing the significance of what he asked and what she answered, she moaned, “Yes. I love you.”
He shuddered, the soft words setting off small explosions deep inside him that signaled the swift approach of his own satisfaction. He slid his hands beneath her and lifted her to receive his deep thrusts. “Tell me again!”
“I love you…I do…love….” Her voice trailed off, and a choked cry came from her throat. Feeling the exciting gut-wrenching sensual inner convulsions that signaled her release, he groaned aloud, ground his teeth, then was totally lost in his own response.
Lying under his heavy body, Sarah came to slow awareness of what she’d said to him, and cold dread filled her. “I…about what I said….”
He lifted his head from her breasts, primal satisfaction etched on his face and in his eyes. “I wanted to know. I thought you might, but I wanted to hear you say it.”
She sucked in her breath at the possessiveness of his manner. “You don’t mind?” she whispered.
He stroked a bright strand of hair back from her face and lingered to trace the soft outline of her lips with his finger. “It’s more than I expected when I asked you to marry me,” he admitted deeply. “But I’d have to be a fool not to like it. You’re a warm, loving, fantastic lady, Mrs. Matthews, and I want everything you have to give.”
Hot blinding tears gathered in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. He gently wiped them away, a little shaken by the trust and devotion she offered to him. In swiftly rising passion, and in an effort to comfort away her tears, he made love to her again.
Rome had already left for the office the next morning, and Sarah was rushing around trying to get ready so she could open the store on time, but memories of the night before kept distracting her. She’d find herself standing in the middle of the floor, staring dreamily at nothing, instead of putting on her makeup or dressing, as she should have been doing. He hadn’t said that he loved her, hadn’t returned the words, but a deep feminine understanding told Sarah that the wish she’d made in the deepest recesses of her heart, in the darkness of countless nights, was coming true. He cared for her, and he was growing to love her. A m
an didn’t treat a woman with the solicitous, tender concern he’d shown if he didn’t feel far more for her than a lukewarm respect and liking. The intimacy of their married life had spun a web that had drawn him to her, binding them together. She was so happy, she felt almost blinded by the sheer brilliant glory of it.
Shaking herself back to awareness once again, she dashed to the dresser to get out a bra, and happened to see her small packet of pills. “Whoa! I almost forgot,” she said and took out the pack.
Abruptly she realized and dropped the pills from her suddenly nerveless hand. She’d taken the last pill the first day she’d been so sick, though she doubted it had stayed down. She’d missed six pills. Frantically she searched through the dresser drawer for the instructions she knew were in there, finally locating the folded sheet way in the back.
If more than three pills were missed, don’t resume taking them. Wait until the fourth day of the next cycle, then begin taking as normal. Pregnancy was unlikely, but not impossible, so normal precautions should be taken during intercourse. Sarah read the words over again, trying to calm the wild galloping of her heart. Unlikely, but not impossible. She tried to forget the last three words, and just concentrate on the reassuring “unlikely.”
She thought of how Rome would look when she told him and knew immediately that, wrong or not, this was something she couldn’t tell him. She couldn’t even worry him with it. The way he’d looked when that young mother had called the name Justin had broken her heart, and she still remembered the pain of the way he’d rejected her comfort. She couldn’t face that again.
But she’d have to tell him. She realized with a sinking heart that there was no other way she could explain having to take other precautions. When she thought of the closeness they’d shared, the possibility that it would be shattered made her clench her fists in pain. Not now. Please, not now.
She pulled herself together, dressed, and managed to make it to the store just as Erica did, right at opening time. She didn’t have time to worry about anything—soon the store was busier than it had ever been, with regular customers who’d gotten to know her over the months coming in to see how she was, as they’d heard she’d been ill. People needed yarn and patterns, odd buttons, supplies from the doll room, finishing nails and picture frames. It seemed as if all her customers had simply waited until Tools and Dyes was open again, instead of going to another store, and the thought filled Sarah with a special warmth. A small but energetic woman of at least eighty brought in an afghan made from the softest yarn, in varying shades of green, and insisted on giving it to Sarah as a gift. “To keep the chill away from you,” the old woman said, her faded blue eyes twinkling.
Sarah almost cried, and hugged the old woman. She’d been making afghans and bringing them to the store to be sold on commission, and Sarah knew that the money they brought did a great deal to supplement the woman’s fixed income. It said a lot that she’d spend her time and supplies on a gift.
Just before lunch Rome came in. Sarah glanced up at the bell, her eyes widening as she recognized him.
“Let’s go in the office for a minute,” he said gently, and Sarah called Erica to run the cash register for her.
When the door closed behind them in the tiny cubicle that she used for an office, she looked at him worriedly. “What’s wrong?”
“I have to leave, to finish up everything I left in the lurch when I came home to see about you.” A crooked smile touched his mouth. “I could’ve told you out there, but I want to kiss you too, and the way I’m going to kiss you shouldn’t be done in public.”
She went weak and leaned back against her desk. “Oh? How is that?” Her voice was husky, almost a purr.
An almost predatory expression crossed his face, and he reached out to lock the door. “Naked,” he said.
That night, lying alone in bed and missing the warmth of him beside her more than she would have thought possible, she knew. Even then, with an almost telepathic insight, she knew, and her hand strayed to her stomach. “Rome, I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the empty darkness.
“It’s not unheard of,” Dr. Easterwood said quietly. Her own examination had told her all she needed to know, even without the confirmation of the tests that lay before her on her desk. “Those pills were the lowest effective dosage available; given the right timing, a pregnancy is very possible when the dosage is interrupted as yours was. In your case, pregnancy is a reality.”
Sarah was very composed. She’d had weeks to accustom herself to the idea. She didn’t know what she’d do, but she’d already accepted the reality of the small life inside her, and already she loved it. She’d loved it from the moment of its conception; how else could she feel about Rome’s child?
“You’ll be thirty-four when the child is born,” Dr. Easterwood continued. “That’s late, for a first child, but you’re healthy, and I don’t expect any complications, though of course I want to keep a very close watch on you, and I want to run certain tests on the child at various stages of its development. I’m going to set you up for a biweekly checkup, rather than once a month. The only possibility of a problem that I can foresee at this stage is that, if the child is large, you’ll probably have to have a cesarean section. Your pelvis is very narrow.”
Sarah listened, too full of other concerns now to worry about the circumstances of the child’s birth. That was months in the future, and she had a very big problem to handle in the present. How was she going to tell Rome? More important, how would he react?
Dr. Easterwood gave her enough vitamins to put a corpse well on the road to good health, then did an odd thing. She hugged Sarah and kissed her gravely on the cheek. “Good luck,” she said. “I know you’ve wanted this baby for a long time.”
Forever. She’d wanted it forever. How cruel it would be if she had to choose between Rome and this baby!
She told Rome that night. The temptation had been strong to keep it a secret for as long as she could, to put off the confrontation and steal every moment she could with him, but she knew he had a right to know. If she kept it from him, he’d rightly resent that as much or more than he’d resent her pregnancy. Telling him wasn’t easy; she tried all through dinner to say the words, only to find them sticking in her throat. After dinner he went to the study to work on some papers he’d brought home with him, and finally Sarah went into the study. Very simply, she told him.
Every vestige of color washed out of his face. “What?” he whispered.
“I’m pregnant.” She kept her voice steady, and her icy fingers were laced together in front of her to keep them from shaking.
He dropped his pen, his eyes closing. After a moment he opened them, and they were black, full of bitterness. “How could you do this to me?” he asked rawly, shoving himself away from the desk to stand with his back to her, his head bent while he rubbed his neck.
The accusation lashed her with pain, robbing her of speech. She’d known it would be a shock to him, but somehow she had never dreamed he might think she’d become pregnant deliberately, in spite of his wishes.
His wide shoulders were tense. “You knew how I felt. You knew…and you did it anyway. Is that all you married me for? To use me as a stud?” He turned, revealing a face full of pain and rage. “Damn it to hell! Sarah, I trusted you to take the damned pills! Why didn’t you?”
Very thinly, she said, “I had the flu. I couldn’t take anything.”
He froze. Swallowing, he looked at her paper-white face and the hell in her eyes. As he realized what he’d said and how it must have hurt her, remorse hit him with a force that almost doubled him over. She loved him. If he knew anything, he knew that, and he also knew she would never have purposely betrayed him.
He moved, reaching for her, but she stepped back, her hand coming up to ward him off. “I saw Dr. Easterwood today,” she said, her voice still thin and expressionless. “When I had the flu and couldn’t take the pills, the break in the schedule allowed for ovulation…and conception.”
r /> She’d seen the doctor that very day, and had had the courage to tell him immediately, had loved him enough to tell him. He’d reacted by lashing out at her for something that was more his fault than hers. If he’d thought, he’d have known that she hadn’t been able to take the pills; the first day she’d felt better he’d tumbled her into bed. Had it been then, he wondered, or the other times he’d made love to her that night? Or the next day, in her tiny cramped office, with her perched on the desk, her lovely face ecstatic from his rough, hasty, and wonderfully satisfying possession? “I’m sorry,” he said gently, wishing more than anything in the world that he hadn’t hurt her. He saw the stiff way she was holding herself, as if braced against further pain, and an odd pain squeezed his own heart. In that moment, despite his own pain and desperation, he knew he loved her, and the realization made it vital that he ease her hurt. Slowly he reached out for her again, and this time she allowed him to take her in his arms.
He folded her against him, rubbing his hands up her slender back, trying to take away the hurt that he’d dealt her. She wasn’t crying, and that worried him more than violent tears would have; if she’d been crying, she’d have had an outlet for the emotions she was holding inside. Her body was stiff in his arms, and she hadn’t put her arms around him. He kept holding her, stroking her back and murmuring gently to her, until she began to relax against him. Slowly her arms crept up to his shoulders.
It took some time before he could coax her completely out of her shocked, silent condition, before he felt that she would be able to discuss the best solution to the problem. Still holding her, reassuring her with his touch, he asked, “Did you make an appointment?”
Sarah was confused, not quite understanding. “Dr. Easterwood wants me to see her twice a month.”
He shook his head. “I meant an appointment for an…an abortion.” Even the way he felt, it was hard to say, and he shuddered with the effort it took.