Sarah's Child by Linda Howard
CHAPTER SIX
Rome put his key into the lock and opened the door, stepping inside the apartment with a deep sense of relief and anticipation. This trip had seemed to drag on unendingly, and he was deeply, utterly weary of hotel rooms and hotel food. Just stepping inside the foyer, he was instantly aware of the comfort and serenity that Sarah had brought to the apartment, a sense of being home, which was something that he’d been missing for a long time now. He couldn’t say just what it was that she did, but somehow everything was more comfortable.
Even though they’d only been married two weeks, he’d looked forward to the trip, feeling an uneasy need to distance himself from the soft, unseen bonds that were pulling at him. It wasn’t that Sarah demanded anything; rather, she demanded nothing. But still he found himself thinking of her at odd times during the day, wanting to talk to her about some little detail of the job, or wanting to make love to her, an urge that could have embarrassing results when he was at work. It took very little to remind him of making love to her: hearing her name mentioned, or walking by Max’s office. Any small detail could plunge him into the memory of how she tasted, how she felt, how she responded. She was so astonishingly sensual, he was still astounded by the contrast of her cool, quiet image and the moaning, writhing woman in his arms.
He’d wanted time away from her, but the trip had dragged on too long; what was originally to be a three-day trip had become eight, and Sarah hadn’t seemed upset at all when he’d called and told her he’d be delayed. She’d simply said “All right; just let me know when you’ll be home” and gone on to other subjects. He’d felt a little deflated by her lack of interest, and suddenly the trip and the myriad details he had to deal with had become tiresome. He wanted to go home.
The need to relax and be with Sarah had become so compelling that he’d pushed himself and everyone else to the breaking point, but he’d wound everything up a day earlier than he’d told Sarah to expect him, and now he looked around the quiet apartment, the sunlight streaming in the windows, a faint, tantalizing aroma, the smell of homemade apple pie, lingering on the air. He sniffed and grinned, because apple pie was his favorite.
“Sarah?” he called, dropping his briefcase and overcoat, suddenly anxious to have her in his arms again. What would she think when he hustled her off to bed? But it had been a long, frustrating eight days, and he wasn’t accustomed to celibacy. He was, however, as he’d described himself to Sarah, a faithful husband, preferring domesticity and one woman to a multitude of brief tawdry encounters. Besides, he hadn’t wanted any other woman. He’d wanted Sarah, with her cool reserve and comfortable silences, and her fairy-pale hair wrapped around his arms like silken ropes.
But she didn’t come running out, and a frown drew his black brows together. Impatiently he searched through the apartment, already knowing she wasn’t there. Where was she? Shopping? She could be job-hunting; she’d mentioned that she had a few interesting prospects. He checked his watch. It was almost four, so she should be getting back anytime.
He unpacked, then sat down to read the newspaper. He watched the evening news. As the sun went down, the temperature dropped sharply, and he turned on the heat and sat for a long time watching the blue flicker of the fire. The October twilight was short, and soon there wasn’t a hint of daylight left.
Keeping his irritation under control, Rome prepared his dinner and ate it alone, and he helped himself to a big chunk of the apple pie. As he cleaned up the kitchen a sudden black rage seized him, compounded in part by the unspeakable fear that he wouldn’t name, even to himself. Diane had gone out and not returned; he wouldn’t even let himself consider anything happening to Sarah.
But, damn it, where was she?
It was almost ten when he finally heard her unlock the door, and he got to his feet, a mixture of relief and pure fury filling him. He heard her say “Thanks, Derek. I don’t know what I’d have done without you! See you tomorrow.”
A deep, quiet voice said, “Anytime that you need help, Mrs. Matthews, just call me. Good night.”
“Good night,” Sarah echoed, and in a moment she walked into the kitchen, turning left instead of right into the living room where Rome was. At that moment she became aware of the puzzling fact that the lights were on, when everything should have been in darkness, and she stopped in her tracks. Standing where he was, Rome could see her slender back stiffen; then she whirled, and her face lit up like the Fourth of July.
“Rome!” she said, and launched herself at him.
Her open enthusiasm disarmed him, and he found himself forgetting about being angry; instead he was just glad to see her. He opened his arms to her, then at the last moment grabbed her shoulders and held her back, away from him.
“Whoa!” he commanded, laughing a little. “I’m not certain…who are you? The voice is familiar, but I’ve never seen this dirt before.”
Sarah laughed ruefully, so happy to have him home again that she wanted to whirl on her toes like a child. She wanted very much to kiss him, but she was filthy and she knew it. She looked down at her jeans, blackened down the front with grease and grime and various other stains, including one ketchup stain where she’d dropped the hotdog that she’d had for lunch in her lap. Unfortunately the grease and grime extended from her toes to her head. She’d covered her hair with a red bandana and now she carefully pulled it off; beneath it, her hair was still in a pristine knot, and the contrast was incongruous.
“I’m a mess,” she admitted. “Let me take a quick shower; then I’ll tell you all about it.”
“I can’t wait,” he said dryly, wondering what catastrophe could have turned his spotless, impeccable wife into that ragamuffin. Her shirt-sleeve was torn, he noticed. Had she been in a fight? Impossible, and there were no bruises or cuts, which also ruled out an accident.
He followed her to the bathroom. “Just tell me one thing: Have you been doing anything illegal, or has something happened to you that will require police action?”
She gave the low, husky chuckle that always started a fire low in his gut. “No, nothing like that. It’s good news!”
He watched as she stripped off her soiled clothing, her dainty nose wrinkled in distaste as she dropped each garment to the bathroom floor. Hungrily he gazed at her slender fluid curves, the body that was his, with the sweet honey nipples and pale gold curls, all his. He noticed the way she flexed her shoulders, as if they were stiff, and an unconscious sigh of weariness escaped her.
“Have you had anything to eat?” he asked.
“Nothing since lunch.”
“I’ll get something together for you while you’re showering.”
When she left the shower, feeling clean again, Sarah felt as if the warm water that had washed away the grime covering her had also washed away the last dregs of her energy. She was so tired, she could have fallen facedown on the bed and slept through the next day, but Rome was waiting for her, and she had to see him. He hadn’t even kissed her yet, and it had been forever since she’d touched him, felt his mouth on hers. She pulled on a robe, the only garment she bothered with, and went to the kitchen.
He’d opened a can of soup and made a grilled-cheese sandwich for her, and that seemed like ambrosia. She stumbled into the chair, already reaching for the sandwich as he placed a glass of milk beside the plate.
“So, tell me your good news,” he invited, turning a chair around and straddling it, propping his arms along the back. For a long moment she simply stared at him, unable to believe how good he looked to her. His thick dark hair was tousled, and his face was tired, but he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
“I’ve bought a store,” she said.
He rubbed his cheekbone with a finger, a little surprised at how the news made him feel. He’d told her that their respective careers gave them much-needed independence from each other, but when it came down to the nitty-gritty, he wanted Sarah’s undivided attention. Reminding himself yet again not to push her, that she expected, and deser
“A combination do-it-yourselfer and handicrafts store. I bought it for a song, because the building was in ratty shape,” she explained blithely. “The location is great; it’s only a mile from here. But the stock is included, and most of it is handmade. Just wait until you see the pottery! The pottery wheel is in a back room, and I might try my hand at it. I did some pottery in high school. I’ve been killing myself trying to get it ready before you saw it,” she said. “We’ve cleaned and painted and put up new shelving, and Derek has put in new lighting fixtures—”
“Who’s this Derek?” Rome interrupted, remembering the man who’d come with her to the door.
Sarah made an exasperated sound at him. “Derek Taliferro, Marcie’s son. I’ve mentioned him to you. He saw me to the door.”
“That was Derek? I thought he was fourteen or fifteen.”
“He is. Fifteen. Just wait until you meet him! He looks twenty, at least, and he’s a great kid. I don’t know what I’d have done without him. It’s a school night, and he should have been at home studying, but he wouldn’t leave me alone down there.”
“Smart kid,” Rome said, lifting his brows at her in a way that told her he didn’t like the idea of her being alone in the store so late at night.
Ignoring that comment, Sarah devoted herself to her meal, demolishing it with well-mannered greed. Just as she finished, she looked up to find him watching her intently, an unreadable expression in his eyes. “You’re back a day early,” she finally said.
“I tied everything up this morning and caught the first flight home. I got in about noon, dropped by the office for an hour, and got here a little before four.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here,” she said softly. “I wish I’d known.”
He shrugged, and the indifferent gesture made her draw back. She’d been about to reach out for him, but now she kept her hands tightly in her lap.
“I ate half of that pie,” he said, changing the subject. “Do you want a slice?”
“No. No, I—” She stopped, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over her. She tried to fight it off, but weariness overwhelmed her, and she couldn’t keep going any longer. “I’m so tired,” she sighed, closing her eyes for a moment.
She heard the clatter of dishes as he cleared the table, and with a supreme effort she opened her eyes to give him a sleepy little smile, one that sent a surge of electricity through him. “Let’s go to bed,” she invited.
Without waiting for a second invitation, he bent and lifted her into his arms, his mouth at last finding hers in a long penetrating kiss. He knew she was tired, and he’d meant to wait, but when she’d asked him to go to bed, all of his good intentions fled. After carrying her quickly to her bedroom, he pulled back the covers and placed her on the bed, leaning down to loosen the robe and pull it away from her, baring her to his gaze.
She sighed and closed her eyes, and he stripped quickly, dropping his clothes to the floor. It took him only a moment, then he slid naked between the sheets and drew her into his arms.
She snuggled against him with a little murmur, and her bare breasts pushed against his chest. With sure, hard fingers he cupped her breast, his thumb rubbing against the small tight nipple. Aching with desire, he bent his head to kiss her, and in that moment realized she was asleep.
A low growl of frustration rose to his throat, but he lay back against the pillow, cradling her to him because he needed to feel her silken flesh in his arms; he had to hold her, if just for a while. She was exhausted, and he could wait, but every fiber of his body, every masculine instinct he possessed, wanted him to bury himself in her. There would be times when his work would demand long hours of him and he’d be too tired to make love, he reminded himself, trying not to resent the unseen store that had already taken her away from him. It was just that…hell, she was so comfortable to have around! Everything was right where it should be, and organized to the nth degree. He had the whimsical thought that, give Sarah a roomful of worms and within an hour she’d have the worms crawling in formation. The humor lightened his mood, and he lay for a long time, holding her while she slept, because he began to feel drowsy and reminded himself that if he didn’t get up then, he probably wouldn’t, and she’d made it plain how she felt about sleeping together. Making love with him was fine, and she obviously enjoyed it, but afterward she wanted her own bed and privacy. Easing away from her, he went to his own room.
Sarah woke several hours later, uncomfortable from the glass of milk she’d drunk at such a late hour. Automatically she reached out for Rome, but her hand encountered the empty pillow and fell back listlessly. He wasn’t there, and no matter how often he left her to go to his own bed, she couldn’t become accustomed to it. Her body, her mind, just couldn’t accept that he wasn’t where he belonged.
She got up, feeling suddenly bleak, and wondering if she had any chance at all of ever winning any emotion from him other than mild affection. And lust, she reminded herself. But that wasn’t an emotion—it was a physical reaction.
There was a bad taste in her mouth from the milk, so she brushed her teeth, then yawned, and stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. Her hair was a mess. She was too tired to worry about it right then, though, so she pushed it back and stumbled her way back to bed, where she promptly fell asleep once more.
In the gray light of dawn, she came slowly awake, stretching under slow, warm caresses that roamed over her body and touched her with familiar intimacy. There was a magnetic warmth beside her and she turned to it, her head finding the hard pillow of Rome’s chest, her arms wrapping around him without thought.
“Wake up,” he crooned softly in her ear, nipping at the lobe with his sharp teeth, then kissing his way along her jaw to find her mouth.
“I’m awake,” she murmured, sliding her palms up his naked back and feeling the hard ripple of muscle under his warm skin.
He took her immediately. She was warm and pliable from sleep, her body rosy, and she drew in a quick breath of pleasure as he moved with slow power into her. “I can’t wait; I have to have you,” he muttered.
The room was considerably brighter when he lifted his head from her breasts and said on a note of astonishment. “Damned if I’m not going to be late for work.”
“You’ve been away for eight days,” she murmured, snuggling against him. “You deserve to sleep late.”
“But I haven’t been sleeping.” His wry observance brought a sleepy smile to her lips, a smile of complete physical satisfaction. During the normal course of the day, he treated her as if she were an old, comfortable house slipper: easy to have around, but nothing to get excited about. He wasn’t affectionate with her, didn’t often call her by endearments, and in fact often seemed to discourage any signs of deepening emotional intimacy between them. But in bed there were no barriers, no polite distances. In bed with him, she could forget about everything else and simply savor their closeness. The world was blotted out by the grip of his hard, strong arms and the heavy pressure of his body.
His hand stroked slowly down her side and found the curve of her hip, his fingertips feathering over the smoothness of her buttock. He’d missed more than the startling passion of her lovemaking, he realized in astonishment; he’d missed the silences that so often fell between them, comfortable silences that held no sense of strain. He could talk with her, and he could also be silent with her. There was a sense of ease that enveloped him when he was with her, as if she were a very old friend who expected nothing but his company.
“If I don’t get up,” he announced five minutes later, when his stroking hand had begun making bolder forays that were already exciting him, “Max will probably come over just to pull me out of your bed.”
“Then, I’ll help you by removing temptation,” Sarah volunteered, rolling away from his hand and carefully sitting up on the side of the bed. She’d have liked nothing better than to stay in bed with
He left the bed and went to her, putting his hand on her shoulder as she selected her underwear from the dresser. “Are you all right?” he asked a little gruffly, and she understood the meaning of his question. He was a big, strong, highly-sexed man, and he dwarfed her in bed, in every way. He usually handled her slender, fine-boned body with a great deal of care and patience, but there were times when his passions were too strong and he took her with shocking powerfulness. That morning had been one of those times.
“Yes, I’m fine,” she said, and because he was still frowning, she added, “I’m sore all over from working in the store, which is where I need to be right now. You’re not the only one who’s late.”
He dropped his hand, not liking the idea of her doing heavy physical work. Some women could handle it, but Sarah was too delicate, like a fragile, translucent piece of china. He wanted to see about this store himself, decide what had to be done, and hire people to do it. If Sarah wanted to supervise, she could do that, but he didn’t want her to hurt herself. Only the knowledge that he didn’t have the right to interfere kept him from laying down his strictures; if he used the dictatorial hand on her that he used at Spencer-Nyle, she’d merely give him one of those patented iceberg looks and remind him of their bargain.
“I’d like to see the store,” he began carefully, following her into the bathroom.
She gave him a surprised look. “Of course. I’ll probably still be there this afternoon when you get off work; why don’t you come by? The name of it is Tools and Dyes, spelled with a y.”