Sarah’s Child
Linda Howard

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

COMING NEXT MONTH

CHAPTER ONE

It was the end of a long week, and Sarah knew that she should go home, but just the thought of facing the broiling late August heat was enough to keep her sitting in her chair with the air-conditioning humming pleasantly overhead. She wasn’t working; she’d swiveled the chair around and spent the last fifteen minutes simply staring out the window, too relaxed to really care that it was getting late. The sun had dipped low enough that the Dallas array of dazzling skyscrapers of glass and steel was outlined against a bronzed sky, which meant she’d missed the six o’clock news yet again. It was Friday evening; her boss, Mr. Graham, had left over an hour before. There was no reason why she shouldn’t join the mass exodus on the streets below, yet she felt reluctant to go home. She’d taken such pains with her condominium; made it as homey and comfortable as she could, but lately the emptiness of it had been haunting her. She could fill it with music, rent any movie and watch it on the VCR, lose herself in reading and pretend that she was in any other country in the world, yet she would still be alone. Lately it was becoming a state of loneliness, rather than one of solitude.

Perhaps it was the weather, she thought tiredly. The summer had been hot and humid, wearing everyone down, but she knew inside that it wasn’t the heat that was bothering her. It was the inevitable sensation of time slipping away, as summer died once more and became another autumn. It seemed that even in the fierce heat she could feel the chill of winter in her bones. It was more than the passing of another season: it was her own youth slipping away, inexorably draining from her grasp. The years had passed, and she’d devoted herself to her work, because there was nothing else, and now she realized that all the things she’d wanted had passed her by. She hadn’t wanted riches, or material things. She’d wanted love, a husband and children, a home filled with laughter and security, the things she’d never had as a child. She’d stopped even dreaming about them, she realized, and that was the saddest thing of all. But then she’d never really had a chance: she’d fallen in love with the one man she couldn’t have, and it appeared that she was one of those women who loved only once in their lifetime.

Her phone gave a muted ring, and a slight frown of puzzlement touched her brow as she reached for the receiver. Who would be calling the office at this hour?

“Sarah Harper,” she said briskly.

“Sarah, this is Rome,” a deep voice said by way of identification.

Her heart gave a jump and hung in her throat. She didn’t need to hear his name to know who was on the other end of the line. She knew his voice as well as she knew her own, and the clipped accent that hadn’t softened despite years in the south would always give him away. But she swallowed the lump, straightened her spine, and pretended this was just another business call. “Yes, Mr. Matthews?”

He made an impatient sound. “Damn it, don’t call me that! It’s all right in the office, but this…this isn’t business.”

Sarah swallowed again, but she couldn’t say anything. Had she conjured him up? Had thinking about him produced this call? After all, it had been months since he’d said anything to her other than a polite “good morning” whenever he came into the office to talk to Mr. Graham.

“Sarah?” He was really impatient now, and his rising ire was revealed in the way he barked her name.

“Yes. I’m still here,” she managed.

“I’m selling the house,” he said abruptly. “I’m boxing up Diane’s things…and the boys’…. I’m going to give them all to the Salvation Army. But I found a box of things that Diane had kept from high school, stuff that the two of you did together, pictures, and I thought you’d like to go through it. If you want any of it, you can have it. If not….”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but she knew. If not, then he’d burn it. He’d take all of those memories and destroy them. She winced inside at the thought of going through the box and reliving the years she’d grown up with Diane, because the loss still hurt, but neither could she let him burn Diane’s mementos. Perhaps she couldn’t go through the box yet, but she’d keep it, and in later years she’d be able to take the things out and remember without too much pain, with only sadness and nostalgia.

“Yes,” she said hoarsely, forcing the word out. “Yes, I want it.”

“I’m about to leave now, to go to the house and finish packing. You can get the box anytime tonight.”

“I’ll be there. Thank you,” she whispered, and he hung up, leaving her with the phone still pressed to her ear and the dial tone buzzing.

Her hand was shaking as she replaced the receiver, and suddenly she noticed that she was no longer sitting. At some point during the conversation, tension had propelled her to her feet. Quickly she leaned down to get her purse from the lower drawer of the desk, then locked the desk and turned out the lights, locking the door behind her as she left.

It wasn’t only her hand that was shaking; her entire body was quivering. Talking with Rome always did that to her. Even after years of training herself not to think about him, of not allowing herself to even dream about him, just hearing his voice had the power to reduce her to jelly. Working for the same company was bad enough; she’d even transferred to a different department so she wouldn’t see him as often, but that had eventually backfired on her: He’d been promoted steadily through the ranks and was now one of the corporate vice presidents. Her position as secretary to the senior vice president threw her constantly into contact with him; the only salvation she’d had was that his attitude toward her was strictly business, and she’d forced herself to treat him in the same manner. What else could she do, when she’d been foolish enough to fall in love with her best friend’s husband?

Even though the shadowed multilevel parking deck was at least ten degrees cooler than the street, the heat still slapped her in the face as she walked quickly to her car, a late model, low-slung Datsun 280-ZX. The car was, she feared, an example of her growing tendency to collect things to replace the emptiness at home. All her life she’d sworn to avoid the cold hollowness of her parents’ home, yet as she grew older she tried harder and harder to fill the empty places with things. The car was gorgeous, and it got her where she was going faster than she needed to be there; she enjoyed driving it, she liked it, but she hadn’t needed it. The car she’d traded in had been a good car, and it hadn’t been that old.

Rather than drive straight to the house where Rome and Diane had lived, in one of the posher Dallas neighborhoods, Sarah deliberately drove to a restaurant and wiled away an hour and a half, picking at her seafood while all of her instincts screamed at her to hurry, to see Rome as soon as she could. But some part of her was reluctant to enter the house where he’d lived with Diane, where she and Diane had laughed and played with the babies. She hadn’t been inside it in two years…it had been almost two years since the accident.

When her watch told her it was eight o’clock, she paid her tab and drove slowly, carefully, to the house. Her heart was pounding again, and she felt a little sick to her stomach. Her palms were damp; she clutched the steering wheel more securely to make certain it didn’t slip in her grip.

How did she look? She hadn’t checked her appearance. Her lipstick had worn off surely, but she didn’t bother to replace it. With one hand she felt to see if any strands of hair had escaped from the severe twist she wore while working, but it still felt reasonably tidy, so she sighed and forgot about it.

Rome’s dark blue Mercedes was in the driveway, so she parked behind it and got out, walking slowly up the sidewalk to mount the five shallow steps and press her finger to the doorbell. The grass had been kept mowed, she noticed, and the shrubbery was trimmed. The house didn’t look empty, but it was. Heartbreakingly empty.

After a moment, Rome opened the door and stepped aside to let her enter. After a brief glance at him, Sarah felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She hadn’t expected him to be wearing a three-piece business suit, but somehow she’d forgotten how powerfully he was built, how impossibly virile he looked in tight jeans. He wore track shoes, no socks, an old pair of jeans, and a white T-shirt that clung to his muscled torso, and he looked absolutely beautiful to her.

He glanced down at her, taking in the trim business suit she still wore. “You haven’t been home yet?” he asked.

“No. I stopped to eat dinner, but I haven’t gone home.” It was uncomfortably warm in the house; he’d opened some windows but hadn’t turned on the central air-conditioning. She pulled off her light linen jacket and started to hang it in the closet as she’d always done when visiting Diane, then caught herself and instead simply tossed it over the stairway railing. As he led the way upstairs she loosened the collar of her white tailored silk blouse and rolled the sleeves up to her elbows.

Rome paused before the doorway to the bedroom he’d shared with Diane, and his dark eyes were shadowed, his mouth grim, as he looked at the closed door. “It’s in there,” he said briefly. “In the closet. I’ll be in the boys’ bedroom packing their things. Take your time looking through the stuff.”

Sarah waited until he’d gone into the other bedroom before she slowly opened the door and entered Diane’s bedroom, turning on the light and standing for a moment looking around. Everything had been left as it had been the day of the accident. The book she’d been reading was still lying on the bedside table. Her nightgown was tossed across the foot of the bed. Rome hadn’t spent a night here since Diane had died.

Sarah pulled the box out of the closet and sat down on the floor to go through the contents, tears blurring her vision as she picked up the first photograph of her and Diane together. God, if it hurt her this much to lose a friend, how did Rome feel? He’d lost his wife and two sons.

She and Diane had always been best friends, all the way through school. Diane had been a human dynamo, laughing and chattering, propelling the quieter Sarah along the way. Her blue eyes had sparkled, her honey-brown curls had bounced, and she’d infected everyone who came into contact with her with the enthusiasm for life that brightened every day for her. Oh, the plans she’d made! She was never going to marry. She was going to be a famous fashion designer and travel all over the world. Sarah’s dreams had been only of a real family, one with love in it. Somewhere along the way their plans had been switched. Diane had fallen in love with a tall dark-eyed young rising executive who worked for the same company where Sarah had gotten a job, and from that moment on Sarah had known that her dream would never come true. Diane considered a glamorous career as a fashion designer well lost when she could have Rome Matthews, when she could give birth to his two adoring and adorable sons and bask in his love. Sarah quietly devoted herself to the job that was her only solace.

She’d tried not to love Rome, but she’d discovered that emotions weren’t easily controlled. If she hadn’t loved him before he met Diane, she might have kept her feelings from growing into anything serious, but she’d been his from the first. From the moment she’d met him, she’d known, deep inside that he would be more to her than just a colleague. It was his eyes, she thought; they were so deep and dark, eyes with a burning inner intensity. Roman Caldwell Matthews was no lightweight. He had drive and ambition, coupled with a lightning intelligence that had carried him through the ranks of middle management like a meteor. Oh, he wasn’t handsome: his face had a rough-hewn, slightly battered look to it; his cheekbones were too high and sharp; his blade of a nose had been broken once; and his jaw was as solid as a piece of granite. He was a man who would reach out and grasp life, and shape it the way he wanted. He’d been friendly enough to her, but Sarah knew she was too pale and quiet to interest a man with his forceful personality.

Still, the summer when she’d invited Diane to the company picnic she hadn’t expected him to take one look at Diane’s vibrant beauty and claim her for his own. But it had happened, and Diane and Rome had married five months later. Three months after their first anniversary Justin had been born, and two years later Shane. Two beautiful little boys, with their mother’s looks and their father’s determination, and Sarah had loved them because they were Rome’s children.

She’d remained as close to Diane as before, but she’d always been careful not to infringe on the time Rome spent with his family. He traveled a great deal, and Sarah limited her visits to the days he was out of town. She couldn’t say just why, but she sensed that Rome disapproved of her close friendship with Diane, though to her knowledge he’d never said anything. Perhaps it was that he simply didn’t like her, though she’d never done anything to earn it. She’d tried to stay out of his way, and she’d never, never told Diane anything about how she felt. There was no point in it; it would only have distressed Diane, and hurt their friendship.

Sarah had dated, and still did, but only casually. It wouldn’t have been fair to some other man to encourage a closer relationship when there was no way she’d be able to return any love offered to her. Everyone who asked, teasingly, when she was going to marry, had received the same reply: She loved her work too much to wash dirty socks for some man. It had been a lighthearted, stock answer, and it had served the purpose of protecting her vulnerable heart, but it had been a lie. She’d never wanted a career, but it was all she had left, so she’d given it her best. The charade had fooled everyone but herself.

Rome had been devoted to Diane and the boys. The freeway accident, almost two years before, had almost destroyed him. It had destroyed the laughter in him, the fierce-burning fire in his eyes. Diane had been driving the boys to school, and a drunk weaving his way home in the early-morning traffic had crossed out of his lane and hit them head-on. If he hadn’t been killed immediately, Sarah felt that Rome would have choked the man with his bare hands, he’d been so insane with grief when he’d been told. Justin had been killed on impact; Shane had died two days later. Two weeks after the accident Diane had died without ever regaining consciousness or knowing that her sons were gone. During those two weeks, Sarah had spent as much time as she could at her friend’s bedside, holding the limp hand and trying to will her to live, but fearing that Diane wouldn’t want to wake up from her death sleep. Rome had been a permanent fixture on the other side of the bed, holding the hand that bore his ring, his face gray and drawn, locked inside himself. Diane had been his only hope, his only remaining bit of sunshine, and her frail light had flickered and gone out, leaving him in darkness.

Gently Sarah went through all of the snapshots, seeing herself and Diane in various stages of their childhood and adolescence, mixed in with photographs of the boys as babies, toddlers, and rowdy little boys. Rome was in some of those pictures, romping with the boys, washing the car, mowing the grass, doing all of the normal things that fathers and husbands do. Sarah lingered over a picture of him lying on his back in the grass, wearing only a brief pair of denim shorts, holding Justin dangling over his head. His strong brown arms were steady as he held the toddler up, and it was evident that the child felt secure in his father’s hands. Justin had been shrieking with laughter. On the grass beside them, Shane had been trying to climb to his baby feet, and one tiny plump hand had clutched the hair on Rome’s chest in an effort to pull himself up.

“See anything you want?”

The question startled her, and she jumped, dropping the picture back into the box. She realized that he was asking in general and hadn’t noticed her staring at his picture with sick longing, but her shadowy green eyes were wide and wary as she scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirt.

“Yes. I’ll take the box. There are a lot of pictures in here of Diane and the boys…if you don’t—”

“Take them,” he said curtly, walking into the room. He stopped in the middle of the floor and stood looking around, as if he’d never been there before, but his eyes were bleak, and his mouth looked as if it would never smile again. He did sometimes smile, Sarah realized, after a fashion, but it was merely a polite movement of his lips rather than an expression of humor. Certainly the smile never reached his eyes and lit the dark fires that had once smoldered there.

He jammed his hands into his pockets, as if he had to do something to keep them from knotting into fists. His shoulders were tense, braced against the impact of memories that this room must bring to him. He’d slept in that bed with Diane, made love to her, wrestled with the boys on early Saturday mornings when they came running in to wake him up. Quickly Sarah leaned down to pick up the box, turning her gaze away from him to keep from witnessing his anguish.

The anguish was as much in her as it was in him. She loved him enough to wish Diane back for him, so he could smile again. He would always be Diane’s anyway, because her death hadn’t stopped his love for her. He was still grieving for her, still hurting from her loss.

“I’m finished in the boys’ room,” he said remotely. “Everything’s packed up. I…I—” Suddenly his voice broke, and Sarah’s heart broke with it. He drew a ragged breath, his chest heaving with the effort it took to control himself.

Suddenly his face twisted with rage, and he whirled to slam his fist against the dresser, rattling the bottles of perfume and cosmetics that still littered the top. “Dammit, it was such a waste!” He cursed violently, then groped for the dresser as his body sagged under the weight of his anger and grief. He’d never known defeat until his family had been taken from him. Death was final, permanent, striking without warning and destroying the life he’d built for himself.

“In some ways, losing the boys was worse than losing Diane,” he said in a muffled tone. “They were so young; they hadn’t had a chance at life. They never knew what it was like to play high-school sports, or go to college, or kiss their girlfriends for the first time. They hadn’t made love, or seen their own children born. They never had a chance.”

Sarah clutched the box to her breast. “Justin kissed his girlfriend,” she said shakily, a tiny smile breaking through in spite of the pain. “Her name was Jennifer. There were four Jennifers in his class, but he told me very firmly that his Jennifer was the `pretty one.’ He kissed her right on the mouth and asked her to marry him, but she got scared and ran away. He told me that he ‘spected she just wasn’t ready for marriage yet, but he’d keep his eye on her. That’s practically verbatim,” she added, laughing a little. She’d imitated Justin’s way of talking, drawling and tough for a seven-year-old, and Rome’s mouth twitched. He glanced at her, and suddenly his dark brown-black eyes were dancing with golden lights. He made a choking sound, then he was laughing, throwing back his dark head on the deep healthy sound.

“My God, he was a tough little nut,” he chuckled. “Poor Jennifer wouldn’t have had a chance.”

Neither had poor Sarah. Justin had received all of his tough charm straight from his father.

Her heart jolted at his laugh, the first genuine laugh she’d heard from him in two years. He hadn’t talked about the boys, or Diane, since the accident. He’d bottled up all of his memories with the pain, as if he had to keep them locked away in order for him to function on even a basic level.

She shifted, still clutching the box. “These pictures…if you ever want any of them, they’re yours.”

“Thanks.” He shrugged his wide shoulders, as if trying to ease the tension in them. “This is rougher than I thought it would be. It’s still…almost more than I can handle.”

Sarah ducked her head, unable to answer or look at him without crying. This was so traumatic for her that she was beginning to doubt her ability to get through it, but she couldn’t do anything to make it any harder for him. If he started to cry, she’d probably die on the spot. Part of the agony she’d felt after the accident had been for Rome, knowing how he was suffering. She hadn’t even been able to put her arms around him at any of the services; he’d held himself stiffly erect, his face utterly white and withdrawn, sealed off by his grief from everyone around him. Rome had been alone, unable to share his pain.

When she looked up again, Rome was sitting on the bed where he’d slept with Diane, her silk nightgown in his strong hands. His head was bent, and he pulled the silk through his fingers over and over again.

“Rome—” She stopped, not knowing what to say to him. What could she say?

“I still wake up at night and reach for her,” he said in a rough tone. “This is the nightgown she wore the last night we spent together, the last time I made love to her. I can’t get used to her not being there. It’s an empty pain that won’t go away, no matter how many women I take.”

Sarah gasped, her Nile-green eyes widening and becoming shuttered; he glanced up, his eyes bitter. “Does that shock you, Sarah? That I’ve had other women? I was faithful to Diane for eight years, never even kissing another woman, though sometimes when I was on a trip I’d lie awake all night, wanting a woman so much that I hurt all over. But no one else would do; it had to be her. So I’d wait until I came home; then we wouldn’t sleep that entire night.”

Sarah’s throat tightened, and she retreated from him as an unexpectedly savage pain slashed at her. She didn’t want to hear this. She’d always tried not to think of him in bed with Diane, trying not to envy her friend, eternally striving to keep jealousy from ruining their friendship. She’d succeeded while Diane was alive, but now Rome’s words were tearing at her, forcing images into her head that she didn’t want to see. She turned away from him, her face averted as she tried to avoid hearing his words. The bed squeaked as he left it; then suddenly his hands were gripping her arms with a hard grip, jerking her around to face him. His face was white and full of rage, a muscle jerking in his temple. “What’s wrong, Saint Sarah? Are you so buried in that mental convent of yours that you can’t stand hearing about normal people who enjoy the sinful activity of sex?” He was snarling at her, and Sarah was frozen in his grasp, stunned by the anger that had erupted in him. Dimly she realized that he wasn’t angry at her as much as he was angry at the fate that had taken his wife from him and left him with only emptiness in his arms, but still, Rome in a temper was a man to fear.

He shook her, as if he wanted to punish her for being a warm, living woman, when Diane was forever gone. “I still can’t sleep with another woman,” he rasped in a voice harsh with pain. “I don’t mean sex. I had sex with another woman only two months after Diane died, and I hated myself for it the next morning…hell, as soon as it was finished! It felt as if I’d been unfaithful to her, and I felt so guilty that I went back to my hotel room and threw up. I didn’t even particularly enjoy it, but I did it again the next night, so I’d feel guilty again. I tried to make myself suffer, to make myself pay for being alive when she was dead. There’ve been a lot of women since then; every time I…need sex, there’s always a woman who’s willing to lie down with me. I need sex and I’ve been taking it, but I can’t sleep with them. When it’s over, I have to leave. In my mind, I’m still Diane’s husband, and I can’t sleep with any woman but her.”

Sarah felt suffocated, suspended in time by his hard grip on her arms, his hot breath on her cheek, and his enraged face so close to hers. She wrenched away from him, her hands tightened into fists. She couldn’t hear about his intimacies with another woman, with any number of other women. She gave Rome a wild, desperate look, but he didn’t notice. With a groan, he sank to his knees on the floor, burying his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook.

There wasn’t enough oxygen in the room; she gasped at it, feeling her restricted lungs strain in an effort to drag enough air into her body. Her senses whirled, as if she might faint, but she didn’t. Somehow she found herself on her knees beside him, and she put her arms around him as she had longed to do so many times. Instantly his strong arms locked around her, holding her in a grip that threatened to crack all of her ribs. He buried his face against her soft breasts and cried, harsh sobs that tore out of his body in great shudders. Sarah held him, stroking his hair, letting him cry; he was entitled to it, and he’d gone for too long without letting someone else share in his grief. Her own face was wet, but she didn’t notice the hot tears that blurred her vision. All that mattered was him, and she rocked him gently back and forth, with no words, but only her presence to shield him from the bitter loneliness that had turned his heart into a winter land of desolation.

Gradually he quieted, and he moved closer to her, his hands moving up her back. She felt the deep breaths he was taking as they expanded his chest, then the warmth of the expelled air on her breasts. Her nipples tightened in automatic, shameful response, hidden beneath her silk shirt and lacy bra, and she clenched her fingers in his hair in a movement that was beyond her control.

He lifted his head, his eyes still damp, and the darkness of his pupils had become so total that there was no brown in them at all. He stared at her, then reached out and tenderly wiped the moisture from her cheeks with his thumb. “Sarah,” he said on a whispering sigh, and touched his mouth to hers.

She went still, all breath suspended in her body, as thousands of her prayers were answered in that light touch of his lips. Her hands moved to his shoulders, the nails digging into the layers of muscle that corded his frame. It was just a simple kiss of thanks, but the bottom dropped out of her stomach and the blood rushed from her head, so intense was the pleasure that assailed her. She sank against him, her soft body melding to his from shoulder to thigh, as they knelt there on the floor. Automatically he supported her, his hard arms around the female curves of her body, holding her to him.

He drew back and looked at her again, and now the expression in his eyes had sharpened to a look of glittering awareness. He was too much of a man not to recognize her feminine response. His gaze dropped to her tremulous, generous mouth, her lips softly parted, and instinct drove him to dip his head to drink from her sweetness again. This time there was nothing light about the touch of his lips; it was a kiss that was man-hungry and fiercely demanding. She gasped, and he thrust his tongue into her mouth with masculine need and command, an intimate kiss that almost shattered her with delight, and she whimpered softly into his mouth. His arms cradled her to him, his body controlling hers as he took her down to the floor.

Her senses reeled; it was so like the few forbidden dreams she’d had that she forgot where they were, forgot everything but the man who leaned over her, his mouth hot and tasting of passion. Her digging nails telegraphed her response to him, her body warming and arching to his, seeking the intoxicating heaviness of his weight.

There was no sense of time or location, nothing but the spiraling physical need that had flamed between them, unexpected and out of control. She felt his hands on her body, touching her breasts, dipping down beneath her skirt to rub her thighs and stroke intimately between them, wringing a wordless cry of need from her lips. No word of protest surfaced in her mind. She let him do as he wanted, mindless of everything but the delight his knowledgeable hands were bringing to her. He knew women, and his expertise made her wild. She offered her slim body for his delectation with no conscious thought of anything except how sweetly, hotly satisfying it was to be in his arms, to know his kisses and his caresses.

He surged to his feet, lifting her in his arms, her slight weight no trouble at all for his powerful muscles. In a few swift steps he was at the bed, lowering her onto it, coming down to join her with a low growl on his lips as he pulled her under him, spreading her legs with his and settling himself against her in a movement as natural and as basic as breathing.

Sarah clung to him, dizzy with the need he was arousing in her, her mouth tender and fervent under his. She’d loved him for so long, and at the moment she felt as if all of her wishes on falling stars were coming true. She was willing to let him do anything with her, and she knew what he wanted. She could feel the virile hardness of his body as he pressed against her. The layers of clothing between them were too much, unbearable barriers that kept their fevered flesh apart.

Then suddenly heaven ended. He stiffened on top of her, then rolled away and sat up on the edge of the bed, bending over to drop his head in his hands. “Damn you,” he said thickly, his voice full of disgust. “You’re supposed to be her friend, but you’re rolling with her husband, in her bed.”

Dazed, Sarah sat up and straightened her clothing, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She heard the accusation in his voice and found that she couldn’t get angry with him; she understood how guilty he was feeling, and how emotionally vulnerable he was after the emotional storm he’d just experienced. “I was her best friend,” she said shakily.

“You’re not acting like it!”

She slid off the bed, standing on wobbly legs. “We’re both upset,” she said to his bent head, and her voice was wobbly too. “We both went a little out of control. I loved Diane like a sister, and I miss her too.” She began to retreat, unable to stand there any longer, feeling as if she’d borne all she could for one night, and her tongue was out of control, babbling without her choosing the words she’d say. “There’s no need to feel guilty about it; there wasn’t anything really sexual about it. It was just that we were both so upset—”

He shot off the bed, his face wrathful. “Nothing sexual, hell! I was between your legs! Another minute, and we’d have been having sex! What would you have called it then? Would we have been `comforting’ each other? My God, you wouldn’t know sex if it bit you on the leg! You’re too much of an iceberg to know anything about men, or what they want!”

Sarah spun around, her face white, her green eyes stricken. Her generous mouth trembled. “I don’t deserve that,” she whispered, and bolted for the door, flying down the stairs before he realized that she was leaving. With a roar, he started after her.

“Sarah!” he yelled furiously, reaching the front door just as she turned the ignition key and started her little red fireball of a car, jerking it into gear and reversing out of the drive with the squeal of rubber on pavement. He stood in the doorway, watching the red glow of the taillights until they disappeared around the corner; then he slammed the door shut and cursed violently for several minutes. He noticed that she’d left the jacket to her suit, and he picked it up. Damn! How could he have said that to her? She was right; she hadn’t deserved it. He’d lashed out at her because of his own guilt, not just over what had happened that night, but over the years he’d spent looking at her and wanting to take her to bed, even though she was Diane’s best friend.

Rome stared at the linen jacket in his hands, and his mouth tightened. Didn’t Sarah realize what a challenge she was to men? She was so cool and pale and distant, so complete unto herself. She was devoted to her career, and she made it pretty plain that she didn’t need a man for anything beyond casual companionship. It had been rumored for years that she’d been the mistress of the chairman of the board, but Diane hadn’t thought so, and he trusted Diane’s judgment. Instead Diane thought that Sarah must have had a love affair that had gone sour, but as she’d said more than once, Sarah was deep and kept a lot of things to herself.

He remembered the first time he’d wanted Sarah; it had been at his own wedding. He’d been impatient to leave with Diane, and then he’d seen Sarah, standing a little alone as she so often seemed to be, her white-blonde hair twisted up on top of her head, her pale face wearing a polite mask. Was she never hot or mussed, he had wondered. Never fidgety? He’d thought of how she’d look if he’d had her in bed with him, that pale hair tangled by the wildness of their passion, her mouth red and swollen from his kisses, her slim body dewy with perspiration. His own body had suddenly become taut, swollen with need, and he’d had to turn away to disguise his condition. How he’d resented her, because even at his wedding to Diane, he’d been lusting after Sarah.

The years hadn’t changed the situation. She was always aloof, cool to him, and she never stayed around if he came home while she was visiting Diane. He loved Diane and was faithful to her, totally satisfied with her in bed, but there always remained, in the back of his mind, the knowledge that he wanted Sarah. If she’d given him the come-on, would he have remained faithful to Diane? He wanted to think so, but he couldn’t be certain; look what had happened the first time he’d kissed Sarah! He’d been ready to take her right then, on the floor, but he’d had a moment’s concern for her soft skin and he’d lifted her to the bed, a break in his concentration that had eventually stopped him. But she hadn’t been cool and reserved in his arms; she’d been warm and responsive, and her legs had parted for him without hesitation. Her cheeks had been flushed, and a few fine tendrils of hair had escaped their confinement to curl enticingly around her temples.

That was how he wanted her: with that neat, aloof image of hers shattered. He’d come home early from a trip once, and she’d been in the pool with Diane and the boys. She’d been laughing and frolicking like a child herself, her long hair loosened for once and floating around her like a fairy cloud. He’d changed into his own swimsuit and gone out to join them, and as soon as he’d appeared, Sarah had stopped laughing. She’d been very casual about it, but she’d made her excuses to Diane, hauling herself out of the water, and swiftly dried off before pulling on a ragged pair of denim shorts that only accentuated her long lovely legs. The sight of her in a pale yellow bikini had so aroused him that he’d had to take a fast dive into the water, and when he surfaced, she was already walking swiftly away.

A man couldn’t have asked for a better wife than Diane, or a more loving one. But as much as he loved her, as much as he still ached for her, he still wanted Sarah. It wasn’t a question of love at all; the finer emotions didn’t enter into it. His attraction to her was purely physical. He’d lashed out at her because, with her, sex would be more of a betrayal than it had been with those other nameless, faceless women. They’d been only bodies, without personality. But he knew Sarah, and he couldn’t wipe her identity out of his mind. He wanted sex with her; he wanted to watch her when she went wild beneath him, he wanted to hear her call his name during the throes of passion. And she was Diane’s best friend.

Hours later Sarah curled numbly in bed, her tears finally exhausted, but she couldn’t sleep. She felt battered, her insides torn apart with hurt. When the phone rang, she was tempted to ignore it, because no matter who it was, she didn’t feel like talking to them. But any call at two o’clock in the morning could be an emergency, and finally she reached over to lift the receiver. When she said hello, she winced at the sound of her own voice, which was still thick with the tears she’d shed.

“Sarah, I didn’t mean—”

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she interrupted, the sound of that deep voice shredding the fragile control she’d gained over her emotions, and she began to weep again. The soft sobs were evident in her voice despite her efforts to hide them. “I may not know anything about men, but you don’t know anything about me! I don’t want to talk to you anymore, do you hear?”

“God, you’re crying.” He groaned softly, a harsh, masculine sound that filled her with equal portions of pain and longing.

“I said I don’t want to talk to you!”

He somehow divined her intentions and said “Don’t hang up on me!” in sudden wrath, but she did anyway, then buried her face in the pillow and cried until her eyes were dry and burning.

“You don’t know anything at all about me,” she said aloud into the darkness.

CHAPTER TWO

It was a good thing the next day was Saturday, because after a horrible night spent alternately crying and staring at the ceiling, Sarah slept late and rose still feeling tired, her eyes heavy-lidded, her movements slow. She forced herself to do her routine chores, then that afternoon flopped down on the sofa, too tired and uninterested to tackle anything else. She needed to shop for groceries, but simply couldn’t face the hassle. A quick mental inventory of her cabinets reassured her that she wouldn’t starve, at least not for a couple of days.

The doorbell rang, and she got up, answering the summons without thinking. As soon as she opened the door and looked up into Rome’s dark face, a feeling of despair settled on her shoulders. Why couldn’t he have waited until Monday? She’d have recovered by then and wouldn’t be at such a terrible disadvantage. She didn’t even have the comfort of being properly dressed. Her long hair was loose and hanging down her back; her jeans were old, tight, and faded; and the oversize jersey she wore probably revealed the fact that she was braless. She fought the urge to cross her arms protectively over her chest, even when his eyes dropped to survey her from her feet, clad in blue socks, all the way up to her face, which was bare of even a trace of makeup.

“Ask me in,” he commanded, his voice even deeper than usual.

She didn’t extend a verbal invitation; she couldn’t. Instead she stepped back and opened the door, and he moved past her into the room. He was dressed casually, in well-cut tan slacks and a blue pullover shirt, but he still made her feel like something found in the city dump. “Have a seat,” she invited, finally controlling her voice enough to speak. He sat down on the sofa, and she seated herself across from him in an oversize armchair, unable to make polite chitchat, just waiting for him to break the tension by speaking.

Rome wasn’t aware of any tension; he had been taken too much by surprise by her appearance, and he was having difficulty dealing with this startling new aspect of her character. He’d expected her to be dressed in heels, sleek black pants, and a silk blouse, her coldness firmly in place as a barrier between them. Instead she looked very young, very relaxed, and very sexy in those comfortable old clothes. She had the sleek, aristocratic grace of form and carriage that made it possible for her to wear anything, even an old football jersey, with casual elegance. He knew that she and Diane had been the same age, so that made her thirty-three, but there was a freshness about her bare face that took at least ten years off her age. This was how he’d often imagined seeing her, or at least a variation on the theme. The remote poise he’d expected was gone, and he realized that he had her at a disadvantage. With relish, he looked her over again, his eyes lingering on the obvious freedom of her breasts beneath the jersey, and to his surprise and intensified desire, a warm blush heated her cheeks.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he said abruptly. “At least, about what I said. I’m not sorry I kissed you, or that I almost went to bed with you.”

Sarah looked away, unable to meet his intense gaze. “I understand. We were both—”

“Upset. I know.” He gave her a crooked little smile as he interrupted her. “But upset or not, I kissed you the second time because I wanted to kiss you. I’d like to see you, take you out to dinner, if you can forgive me for what I said.”

Sarah wet her lips. Part of her wanted to jump at the opportunity, any opportunity, to spend time with him, but the other part of her was cautious, afraid of being hurt. “I don’t think it would be a good idea,” she finally said, choking the words out of her dry throat. “Diane…Diane would always be in my mind.”

His eyes went black as pain assailed him. “And in mine. But I can’t lie down and die with her; I have to keep living. I’m attracted to you, and I’ll tell you up front that I always have been.” He ran an agitated hand through his dark hair, disturbing the lock that usually fell over his forehead. “Hell, I don’t know,” he burst out in confusion, “but last night, for the first time, I could talk about them. You knew them, and you understand. It’s all been dammed up inside me, and I can talk about it with you. Please, Sarah, you were Diane’s friend. Now be my friend.”

She sucked in her breath, staring painfully at him. What irony, that the man she’d loved for years should come to her begging for her friendship, because he felt he could talk to her about his dead wife. For the first time she resented Diane, resented the hold Diane had on Rome that hadn’t loosened even in death. But how could she say no to him, when he was staring at her with desperation tightening his features? How could she say no to him regardless of what he asked her? It was the raw truth that she couldn’t deny him anything.

“All right,” she whispered.

He sat there for a moment; then her words sank in and he closed his eyes in relief. What if she’d refused? In a way he couldn’t understand, it had become vital to him that she not freeze him out. She was his last link to Diane, and more than that, the night before he’d finally broken the ice that surrounded her and found that she wasn’t cold at all. He wanted to do that again. The thought of bringing her to passion interfered with his breathing and made his loins grow heavy.

To take his mind off his growing desire, he looked around the condo and was again surprised. There was no glass or chrome, only comfortable textures and soothing colors. Her furniture was all sturdy and overstuffed, inviting to a tired body. He wanted to stretch out on her sofa, which was long enough to accommodate his long legs, and watch a baseball game on television while idly munching on freshly popped, salty popcorn, with a can of frosty beer in his hand. The room was that soothing, that comfortable. This was where she let her hair down, literally, he thought, surveying with pleasure the pale tumble of her hair. When she pulled it back into the tight, severe twist she wore at work, she subdued all hint of curl, but now he could see that her hair wasn’t weed-straight. The weight of it pulled most of the curl out, but the ends had a tendency to form frothy, bouncy curls. She was so blonde, it was startling.

“I like this room,” he said, his eyes on her.

Sarah looked nervously around, aware of how much of herself was revealed in the atmosphere she’d created for her private lair. Here she’d made a home that gave her the warmth and security she craved and had lacked all her life. She’d grown up in a home that had provided physical comfort, but left her out in the cold when it came to love. The house had been immaculate, and “done” to perfection by a hideously expensive interior decorator, but the coldness of it had made Sarah shiver, and she’d invented excuses, even as a child, to escape it. The coldness had reflected the hostility of the man and woman who lived there, each of them so bitter at being trapped in a loveless marriage that there had been no warmth or laughter for the child who, though innocent, had been the chain that held them together. When they finally divorced, only a few weeks after Sarah had entered college, it had been a relief for all three of them. Never close to her parents, since then Sarah had drifted even farther from them. Her mother had remarried and lived in Bermuda; her father had also remarried, moved to Seattle, and was now, at fifty-seven, the doting father of a six-year-old son.

The only example of warm home-life Sarah had known was that provided by Diane, first with Diane’s parents, then with the home she’d made with Rome. Diane had had the gift of love, a warm outpouring of affection that had drawn people to her. With Diane, Sarah had laughed and teased, and done all of the normal things that a teenage girl did. But now Diane was gone. At least, Sarah thought painfully, Diane had died without ever knowing that her best friend was in love with her husband.

Suddenly she collected her manners and scrambled to her feet. “I’m sorry. Would you like something to drink?”

A cold beer, he thought. And salty popcorn. He’d bet anything he had that Sarah wasn’t a beer drinker, but he could picture her curled by his side, sipping on a soft drink and delving her hand into the bowl for popcorn. She wouldn’t talk during the game either, but during the commercials he’d tip her head back and kiss her slowly, tasting the salt on her lips. By the time the game ended, he’d be so wild for her, he’d take her there on the sofa, or maybe on the carpet in front of the television.

Sarah shifted uneasily, wondering why he was watching her so intently. She put a hand to her cheek, thinking that she could dash into her bedroom and do a fast cosmetic job on her face. Anything would be an improvement over nothing.

“I don’t suppose you have beer?” he asked softly, not taking his eyes from her.

Despite herself, she chuckled at the question. She’d never bought beer in her life; all she knew about it was the catchy jingles on television. “No, you’re out of luck. Your choice is limited to a soft drink, water, tea or milk.”

His eyebrows rose at that. “No spirits?”

“I’m not much of a drinker. My metabolism can’t handle it. I found out in college that I’m the world’s cheapest drunk.”

When she smiled, her face took on an animation that made him catch his breath. He shifted uncomfortably. Damn! Everything she did made him think of sex.

“I think I’ll pass on a drink, unless you’re inviting me to dinner?” His eyebrows rose in question.

Sarah sank back into her chair, unnerved by the speed with which he presumed on their newly formed friendship. How could she invite him to dinner? It was already late in the afternoon, and she hadn’t bought groceries. The most nutritious meal she could offer him would be peanut butter sandwiches, and Rome didn’t look like a peanut butter man. What did he like to eat? Frantically she tried to call to mind the type of meals Diane had prepared, but Diane had been such a total disaster as a cook that her efforts had been limited to the simple things she could prepare without too much risk, and which reflected necessity rather than anyone’s preference. Sarah was an excellent cook, but there was a limit to what could be done with a partial loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter.

Finally she turned up her palms helplessly. “My cupboards aren’t bare, but they’re the next thing to it. I can invite you to dinner, but it will be a late one, because I’ll have to go shopping first.”

Her candor delighted him, and he laughed, a genuine laugh that made his dark eyes dance with light. Sarah caught her breath. He certainly wasn’t handsome, but when he laughed, Rome Matthews could charm the birds out of the trees. That dark velvet laugh made her spine tingle, and she thought of lying in bed with him in the darkness, after making love. They’d talk, and his voice would wash over her, the rumbling tones making her feel secure and protected.

“Why don’t I take you out to dinner instead?” he offered, and suddenly Sarah knew that he’d planned that all along, but had decided to tease her first.

“All right,” she accepted softly. “What do you have in mind?”

“Steak. If we can’t find the world’s biggest steak in Texas, then it can’t be found. I haven’t had lunch,” he confessed.

Because he was so hungry, they had an early dinner. Sarah sat across from him and chewed her steak without really tasting it, her mind on Rome and every nuance of his expression, every word he uttered. She felt bemused by the turn of events; she simply couldn’t believe she was eating dinner with him, making normal conversation, as if the abrupt, searing moments in his arms the night before had never happened. She’d been out to dinner hundreds of times before, but always with men who had never ruffled her layers of indifference. She wasn’t indifferent at all with Rome: she felt bare, exposed, though it was an inner vulnerability that wasn’t revealed by her calm expression. Her nerves were quivering, and her heartbeat was accelerated.

Still, she managed to make normal conversation, and it was inevitable that the talk should turn to their work. Sarah’s boss, Mr. Graham, the senior vice president, nominally outranked Rome, but it was no secret that when Mr. Edwards, the chairman of the board, retired, Henry Graham wouldn’t be the one who advanced to the chair. Rome was young, but he was a brilliant corporate strategist, and he understood every phase of the company. Sarah thought he was perfectly suited for such a high position of authority; he had the forceful personality, the intelligence, the charisma, needed to handle the job. In the years she’d known him, she’d only seen him lose his temper once while at work, and that display had sent people scurrying for cover. He had a temper, but it was usually under iron control. That made it doubly surprising that he’d lost his temper with her the night before, with so little provocation.

At first Rome was a little stiff, as if wary of saying too much to her, but as the hours wore on he relaxed with her, leaning forward over the table in interest, his gaze fixed intently on her face. Sarah didn’t generally volunteer her opinions, but she was unusually observant, and her years of concentration on her job had given her a lot of insight into the hidden mechanisms of office politics, and the capabilities and weaknesses of the people they worked with. With Rome, her usual guards were gone, wiped completely out of her consciousness. She simply responded to him on all levels, too happy just being with him to think of protecting herself. Her face, usually so remote and shuttered, became alive under the glow of his attention, and her Nile-green eyes lost their shadows to sparkle at him beguilingly.

The conversation didn’t lapse when he drove her home, and they were so intent that, when he stopped the car in front of her condo, they sat in the car like teenagers reluctant to end a date, rather than going inside for coffee to finish the evening. The streetlights illuminated the interior of the car with silvery light, washing away all shades of color except for the darkness of his hair and eyes and the pale sheen of her hair. She was ethereal in the artificial moonlight projected by the street-lights, her low voice gentle in the darkness.

Rome suddenly reached out and took her hand. “I’ve enjoyed this. It seems like forever since I’ve been able to talk to a woman. I haven’t had a relationship with a woman since Diane died. I don’t mean sex,” he explained calmly. “I’m talking about being able to be friends with a woman, to talk to her and enjoy her company, to relax with her. I think I’ve missed that the most. Tonight…well, it’s felt good. Thank you.”

Sarah turned her hand in his and squeezed his fingers lightly. “That’s what friends are for.”

He walked with her up to her apartment. Sarah unlocked the door and opened it, reaching inside to turn on the light before she turned to face Rome again. Her smile was gently sad, for she hated to see the night end. It had been, for all its lack of drama, one of the best times of her life. “Good night. It’s been fun.” More than fun. It had been heavenly.

“Good night.” But he didn’t leave. Instead he stood in the doorway, soberly regarding her. He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek with his forefinger, then slid his hand around to cup her chin in his palm. He leaned toward her, and Sarah went weak with anticipation, her eyes widening as fevered delight shot through her. He was going to kiss her again. Lightly his mouth touched hers, his lips moving with tender expertise over her parted, breathless mouth. His warm taste filled her, and Sarah’s lashes fluttered, then slowly closed. With a zephyr of a sigh she swayed into his arms; he needed no more encouragement than that. Locking his arms around her, he pulled her up against his chest and gradually deepened the kiss, as if he were wary of going too fast for her, giving her time to accept or reject each new move.

There was no question of her rejecting him. It wasn’t in Sarah’s makeup to say no to Rome in any way. She felt the heat of his body burning her through the layers of their clothing, and the warmth was a beacon that drew her closer. She wound her arms around his neck and eagerly accepted the more intimate intrusion of his tongue. A naked, wanting heat began building in her, and she wanted to be closer to him, to mold herself against him so tightly that his flesh would be hers.

His hands moved restlessly over her back, wanting to seek richer ground but restricted by the tight control he kept on himself and the situation. Sensing her safety with him, Sarah kissed him with undisguised hunger, not caring that he might look beyond the obvious explanation for her behavior and arrive at the correct conclusion that her attraction to him went beyond sex. But sex with him would be so good, she thought giddily, clinging to him. His experience was obvious in the firm but gentle way he touched her, the leisure with which he approached every caress. If he’d taken her into the bedroom right then, she’d have followed him without a murmur of protest.

But he lifted his mouth from hers, though he sighed and rested his forehead against hers for a moment before reaching up and disentangling her arms from about his neck, then setting her away from him. “Now it really is good night. I’m going to be in bad shape if this goes on much longer, so I’m stopping it here. I’ll see you Monday morning, at work.”

Quickly Sarah reached for her composure, drawing it about her like a garment, and she tried to disguise the raggedness of her breathing. Her body felt betrayed, but he was right: it had to stop there, or it wouldn’t stop at all. “Yes. Good night,” she breathed, before stepping into her apartment and quietly closing the door.

Rome went to his car, but sat in it for a long time before starting it and driving away. No, she wasn’t cold at all, despite the way she looked and that ice-queen manner she used. He hadn’t wanted to leave her; all his senses had been clamoring for the comfort to be found in her soft, warm body, but to his surprise, he’d found that he couldn’t take her as casually as he’d taken the other women who’d been with him the last two years. She was Diane’s friend, and Diane had loved her; his conscience wouldn’t allow him to treat her as a sexual convenience. Besides, he really had enjoyed having dinner with her. She had a surprisingly keen sense of humor, and when she relaxed, she was really lovely, with her eyes sparkling and her soft mouth curved into a smile.

And when she kissed him, she’d kissed him as if she meant it. The unquestioning response she’d given him had almost driven him beyond the boundaries of his control. The feel of her soft hips pressing into him was enough to make him forget everything but the warm female body in his arms. Far from diminishing on closer acquaintance, the physical interest he’d felt in her for years was intensifying every time he saw her. He’d seen her long white-gold hair in a shimmering halo around her shoulders, and now he wanted to see it spread across a pillow as she lay waiting for him, her slim, graceful body bare, her mouth swollen and pouty from his kisses. A possessive surge made him grind his teeth, and he thought of the cold shower he’d have to take before he’d be able to sleep. If he’d stayed with her, he’d be relaxed and sleepy by now, all of his tensions drained out of him.

But she wasn’t just any woman. He couldn’t use her and then toss her aside. Apart from the fact that they had to work together, he wanted more from her than that. A one-night stand wouldn’t do it with her; he wanted to unlock all her secrets, thrill time and time again to the sweet, hot way she melted against him. He thought of having an affair with her, and was surprised to suddenly find himself wondering if an affair would be enough to satisfy him. He wanted to know everything about her; he wanted to completely shatter her cool control and learn all the things that he could do to give her pleasure. He was adrift, and he needed Sarah right then more than he could comprehend, in all ways.

It was more than just physical, he realized abruptly. He could talk with her; she was intelligent, amusing, but there was the added bonus that he didn’t have to talk to her, because she had a quality of serenity that made silence possible. Whenever he looked into the shadows of her exotic green eyes, he had the feeling she understood everything, without words.

But she was a dedicated career woman; she’d made it pretty clear over the years that she did just fine on her own, thank you, without a man making demands on her time. She’d probably reject out of hand any hint of seriousness from him, so he had to keep it light, casual, let her become accustomed to being in his company. He had doubts, though, about his ability to keep it light whenever she turned into his arms and answered his kisses so ardently. He wanted to throw her across a bed and kiss her from her head to her feet, feast his senses on the sleek womanliness of her body. But what would she say?

Maybe she wouldn’t reject an offer of an affair. She was, after all, a modern, adult woman; if her response to him was anything to go by, she was willing to have sex with him, but he knew from working with her that she kept her personal life strictly separated from her business life. That would be one strike against him, but he thought he could eventually convince her. He’d take it slowly with her, not rushing her, letting her lower all those defenses of hers. He couldn’t say why, but he sensed that she was wary with him, deep inside where he couldn’t see. Perhaps she was wary with all men. Diane had wondered aloud sometimes if Sarah hadn’t had a married lover and been burned pretty badly by him.

There was a well-camouflaged vulnerability about her, and he wondered what fool had been stupid enough to have all that pale glory in his bed and let her slip away from him.

Sarah hadn’t expected to hear from Rome again that weekend, so when she answered the phone the next afternoon and heard his voice, a thrill of pleasure sang through her. Before she could do more than say hello, however, he cut across her greeting.

“Sarah, Henry’s had a heart attack, a bad one.”

Shocked, Sarah almost dropped the phone, and she tightened her grip on it. Her boss hadn’t seemed the sort to be struck by heart trouble. He was a small man, wiry to the point of thinness, and very active. He was an avid golfer, jogged every day, and in Sarah’s memory had never indulged in any of the excesses people were warned against. He wasn’t the dynamic man that Rome was, but Sarah was fond of him. “Will he live?” she finally asked quietly, going straight to the most important question.

“It’s touch and go. His wife called me; I’m at the hospital now.” Someone in the background said something to him, and Rome said, “Hang on a minute.” He covered the receiver with his hand, reducing his words to a muffled jumble of sounds. Then he came back to her, his voice brisk. “He took some reports home with him this weekend that we’ll need Monday morning. Can you go over to his house and pick them up? The housekeeper will let you in.”

“Yes, of course,” she agreed automatically. “Which reports do you need?”

“The Sterne financial statement, and the projected growth pattern. Look, go through his briefcase and pull out whatever you think we’ll need. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“But what hospital is he in—?” Sarah began, only to be cut off by a click. Well, there wasn’t anything she could do now anyway. She’d find out more the next morning, and perhaps then there would be a more definite prognosis than “touch and go.” Distressed by her boss’s sudden illness, she quickly combed her hair, then drove over to his house. As instructed, the housekeeper let her in, and the tiny little woman told Sarah the details. Mr. Graham had seemed fine that morning, and had played nine holes of golf. After lunch, he’d complained of pains in his left arm, then abruptly collapsed.

“It can come at any time,” the housekeeper said solemnly, shaking her head. “You just never know.”

“No, you never do,” Sarah agreed.

It was the next morning, when she was called to an unusual meeting in Mr. Edwards’s office, before Sarah realized that Mr. Graham’s heart attack could drastically affect her own job. Rome was present too, his dark eyes concerned as he watched her.

Sarah darted a quick glance at him, quivering as she thought of the way he’d kissed her, then just as quickly looked away. She couldn’t meet the intensity of his gaze and keep her mind on her job, and that was distressing. No matter how much pressure she’d been under, she’d always been able to perform her duties; it was upsetting to realize that Rome could throw her off balance with just one look.

“Sarah, sit down, please,” Mr. Edwards invited, his shrewd eyes kind as he watched her. Sarah had always gotten along with Mr. Edwards, but he’d never before asked her to attend a meeting. She sat down and calmly folded her hands in her lap.

“Henry won’t be back,” Mr. Edwards said gently. “I’ve talked to his doctor personally. If he takes it easy, avoids stress, and doesn’t have another attack, he may live a number of years, but he won’t be able to work. He’s going to take an early retirement. Rome is being promoted to senior vice president.”

Again Sarah risked a quick glance at Rome, to find him still watching her with that unnerving intensity. He leaned forward in his chair and offered, “I can’t hire you as my secretary. Kali has been my secretary for years, and of course she’ll move up with me.”

That wasn’t a surprise. Sarah gave him a gentle smile that ripped through his insides, causing his fist to clench suddenly. She hadn’t expected to be his secretary; it would never have worked anyway. She simply couldn’t have worked so closely with him, every day. It had been bad enough just seeing him occasionally. “Yes, of course. Am I being fired?”

“Good lord, no!” Mr. Edwards said, startled. “No, don’t think that at all. But we wanted to give you a choice. I’m bringing a man in from Montreal to replace Rome, and his secretary doesn’t want to relocate. If you want the job, it’s yours, and he’s agreeable. If you’d rather transfer to some other department, just say so. You’ve done an outstanding job for Spencer-Nyle over the years; the choice of jobs is yours.”

Sarah thought of transferring, but she really liked the intense atmosphere of the executive offices, where decisions were made that affected thousands of people. The challenge kept her interested, and though she was in proximity to Rome, the fast pace of her work tended to keep her mind off him during the day.

“I’d like to be his secretary,” she finally answered gravely. “What’s his name?”

“Maxwell Conroy. He’s been directing our Montreal office very competently. I believe he’s English.”

“Yes,” Rome confirmed. Probably Rome had already pulled Maxwell Conroy’s personnel file from the computer and memorized every word of it.

“Good,” Mr. Edwards said heartily, rising to his feet and signaling that they were dismissed. Rome followed Sarah out the door, but didn’t return to his own office. He was close behind her as she went into her office, and he closed the door behind them. Feeling absurdly nervous, Sarah moved away from him and sought refuge behind her desk.

“I want you to know,” he murmured, leaning over the desk and bringing his face close to hers, “I want you for my secretary…badly…but my common sense tells me that I’d never get any work done. I’d be the stereotypical boss who chases his secretary around the desk, so for the sake of the company, I suppose I’ll have to keep Kali.”

Sarah stared at him, losing herself in the dark wells of his eyes. “I understand,” she whispered.

“Do you?” He straightened, his smile quizzical as he looked down at her. “I’m not so certain that I do. Maybe you can explain it. Will you go out to dinner with me tonight?”

She normally didn’t make dates during the week, as she never knew when she would have to work late, but when Rome asked her, her usual caution flew out the window. “Yes, please.” She couldn’t hide the pleasure in her eyes, and he stared at her for a moment before he leaned down once again and kissed her once, hard.

“I’ll pick you up at eight. How does Chinese sound?”

“Wonderful. I love Chinese.”

Her hands shook after he’d gone when she tried to get through her routine paperwork. This was beginning to look like a serious relationship, and there was no way she could back off from it, no way she even wanted to. She thought of Diane, and her eyes closed briefly. She would have died in Diane’s place, if she could have, but no one had been given a choice. Rome was free now, physically and legally if not emotionally, and whatever chance she had with him, Sarah meant to take it.

If he didn’t have a business dinner scheduled, Rome took her out every night that week. Sarah didn’t question her good fortune; she simply enjoyed every moment she had with him. Reminding herself that he’d asked only to be friends, she tried not to say anything or make any gestures that he could interpret as being flirtatious, though sometimes that hardly seemed to matter. When he kissed her good night, his light kiss would linger, as if he were inexorably drawn to the soft warmth of her mouth, and soon she’d be locked in his arms as they kissed with all the pent-up fervor of teenagers. But there was no more than that; he always drew away before any deeper intimacy developed between them, and Sarah took that to mean that he didn’t intend any serious relationship to grow between them. He seemed content with things as they were; he had companionship and lively conversation from her, as well as the comfort of shared interests. She wanted more; she wanted everything he had to give, but perhaps he was giving her all he had. She knew that Diane was never far from his mind, and whenever they talked about her, as they inevitably did, his expression would grow bleak.

A week after Mr. Graham’s heart attack, Maxwell Conroy flew in from Montreal. He was a tall, lean Englishman with a precise British upper-class accent, a cap of golden hair, and the liveliest, most wickedly dancing blue-green eyes Sarah had ever seen. He was more than handsome; he had an ageless, aristocratic beauty to him that held women bemused, staring at him helplessly. If Sarah had been able to see anyone but Rome, she would probably have fallen in love with Maxwell Conroy on sight, but as it was, he received only her usual polite, slightly remote smile.

He wasted no time. The first time Sarah was alone with him he asked her out to dinner.

She looked up at him with startled, wide eyes. There was no way of mistaking his intentions, not with those luminous eyes so plainly telegraphing his thoughts. She bit her lip; how could she refuse him without making things difficult between them at work? She didn’t want to commit herself, though, because Rome could ask her out at any time. “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she finally refused, keeping her voice gentle. “We have to work together, and you know that although there aren’t any actual company rules against employees dating, it’s generally discouraged within the same department.”

“I also know that as long as people are discreet it’s generally ignored.”

She drew a deep breath. “I’m seeing someone else.”

“Would he mind?” Maxwell asked promptly, and Sarah gave a low chuckle.

“Probably not,” she admitted, her laugh fading into an echo of pain that was revealed in the way the soft green of her eyes grew misty with shadows.

“Then he’s a fool,” Maxwell said under his breath, his eyes on her sleek, pale knot of hair. “If you should decide to give someone else a chance, do let me know.”

“Yes.” For a moment, she met his warm, piercing gaze. “I will.”

In all truth, she was more attracted to Maxwell than she’d been to any other man in her life, except for Rome. She’d liked Maxwell on sight, and in a curious way she felt relaxed with him, for she sensed that he recognized the boundaries she’d set and would respect them until she gave him permission to go beyond them.

That afternoon Rome and Maxwell lingered in the hallway, finishing a discussion before leaving for the day. Sarah locked up the office and murmured a good night to them as she walked past, carefully not letting her glance linger on Rome.

Maxwell turned so he could watch her walk down the hallway, his brilliant eyes narrowed with interest. Rome’s dark gaze sharpened, and he too turned to watch Sarah, noting the grace with which she walked, the way her skirt moved fluidly about her lovely legs. He didn’t like the way Maxwell was looking at her, like a cat lovingly surveying the canary it was about to have for lunch, and a slow curl of anger began in his stomach.

“She’s a very pretty woman,” he commented, probing for a response, and every nerve in his body waited for Maxwell’s answer.

Maxwell shot him an incredulous look. “Pretty? She’s bloody beautiful. She’s so subtle, so understated, that you have to really look to see how pure and classic her face is.”

Rome had seen her face glowing with pleasure, her lips swollen from his kisses and begging for more. He was proceeding at an excruciatingly slow pace, waiting for a signal from her that she was feeling the frustration of ending their evenings with only kisses. Yes, she liked his kisses, but there was still an aloofness to her that he hadn’t been able to break, and no matter how torridly she kissed him, she didn’t invite him further. He was beginning to feel desperate, his body aching for release. He’d been devoting his evenings to her, so there’d been no casual meeting with any other woman to relieve his sexual urges. He hadn’t come up against such a mental stone wall since he’d been a randy teenager, determinedly trying to seduce his virginal girlfriend every Friday night in the backseat of his car.

But if Sarah ever lost her self-control enough to give in to passion, it would be with him. He’d be damned if he’d let Maxwell see her with that cool reserve melted into primitive heat and longing. Her desire would be his, and his alone.

“I’ve noticed how she looks,” he said evenly, but his tone signaled a warning to the other man. Maxwell looked at him sharply, then sighed.

“So, you’ve beaten me to her, have you?”

“I’ve known her for years,” Rome replied obliquely.

That elicited a snort from Maxwell. “I’ve known my mother’s housekeeper for years too, but I don’t warn men away from her.”

Rome laughed, something that had become easier during this past week. Despite himself, he liked Maxwell. Max might pursue Sarah relentlessly, but he’d never be sneaky about it; he’d simply take his chances. That made no difference to Rome’s determination to have her all to himself, but he relaxed, his eyes meeting Max’s with complete masculine understanding.

Max shrugged with an elegant movement of his lean shoulders. “I’ll be waiting in the wings, if you should fail.”

“I’m reassured,” Rome said sardonically.

Max smiled at him wryly. “Don’t be.”

CHAPTER THREE

The cocktail party to welcome Max to the Dallas headquarters was overflowing with people anxious to be seen by and talk with the upper echelon of Spencer-Nyle. Rome, Mr. Edwards, and Max were the center of attention, as they were the triumvirate that controlled billions of dollars and thousands of jobs. Mr. Edwards, a lean, quiet man whose shrewdness and corporate savvy had kept him at the top for fifteen years, had hand-chosen his lieutenants and been well-rewarded for his trust in them. Rome was being groomed for the chairmanship, which he would certainly attain when Mr. Edwards retired. Watching the ambitious young executives swarm around him, Sarah realized that it was common knowledge, up and down the ranks, that Rome was Mr. Edwards’s chosen successor. Max, on the other hand, was an unknown, but already there was an ease between him and his superiors that told everyone he was on the inside.

Tired of being pumped for information about Max, Sarah developed the strategy of staying on the move. It took a well-planned schedule to move in, take up a handful of peanuts or dip a stalk of celery into the cheese dip, then waltz on without pausing long enough to give anyone an opening. She clutched her single drink of the evening in her hand, taking tiny sips and trying to eat enough to absorb the alcohol before it could go to her head. Earlier, a quick foray into the tiny kitchen, where the caterers were frantically trying to keep pace with the appetites of the guests, had produced a small glass of milk, which she had slugged back with all the delicacy of a stevedore downing his first frosty beer after working all day in hundred-degree heat.

“You’re gobbling peanuts like you’ve been on a starvation diet,” Rome said in her ear, startling her. He took the cocktail from her hand and replaced it with a tall glass filled with a pale amber liquid and ice cubes. “There. Drink this instead. Ginger ale.” He winked at her, and finished the cocktail for her.

“I’ve already raided the refrigerator for milk,” she laughed, her eyes twinkling up at him. “Did you think I was in danger of falling on my face before the party was over?”

He regarded her somberly, noting that there was no hint of the usual sadness in her eyes that night. Whether it was the small amount of alcohol she’d drunk that made her laugh so gaily, or whether something had happened to make her happy, he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Since it was as much a business occasion as a social one, he hadn’t brought her to the party, but he fully intended to visit her when it was over. From the way she was looking at him now, she might be relaxing those invisible restraints that had kept her from responding to him more fully.

“No, you’d never do anything as disgraceful as getting drunk,” he finally said in answer to her question. “You’re too much the perfect secretary. You already have Max eating out of your hand.”

“Max is a dear,” Sarah responded warmly, looking around for his tall, graceful figure and missing the way Rome’s eyes darkened to a stormy black. “I was fond of Mr. Graham, but I’ll admit that I enjoy working with Max more. Max keeps things hopping.”

Introducing Max into the conversation had been a mistake. Rome moved instinctively, placing himself between Sarah and the rest of the room, blocking her view of Max.

“Do you mind if I come over tonight?” he asked, but there was a harsh note in his voice that commanded rather than asked, and Sarah eyed him warily.

“If you like. I wasn’t going to stay much longer anyway. Have you had dinner, or is this all you’ve had too?” With a wave of her hand, she indicated the colorful but unfulfilling array of dips, snacks, and fresh vegetables that she’d been raiding all evening.

Rome had a healthy appetite. “I’m starving,” he admitted. “Do you want to go out for a late dinner?”

“No, I think I’d rather stay home,” she said, after considering the invitation for a moment. “I have some chicken left over from yesterday; how do you feel about chicken sandwiches?”

“I’d trade all that rabbit food for just one chicken sandwich.” His mood lightening, he grinned at her, and Sarah smiled in return. He was more relaxed with her now than he’d ever been before, and she was blooming under his attention. Perhaps he was beginning to think of her as something other than a friend; the hope of it made her radiant, and the glow of her face beckoned more than one glance from the other men in the room.

Suddenly Max was at Rome’s elbow, his smile tender as he looked at Sarah.

“You really should be by my side,” he said lightly, noting how well the apricot color of her dress suited her creamy complexion. “After all, I’m still totally lost without you. Without you to point me in the right direction these last few days, I’d have made a perfect idiot of myself.”

He’d already stretched his hand out for Sarah when Rome forestalled him by extending his own arm, blocking the gesture. Something hard and frightening was in his dark face as he looked at Max. “I’ve already warned you once,” he said with soft, purring menace. “Sarah is off-limits to you.”

“Rome!” Shocked, taken completely off guard, Sarah gasped his name, dismay filling her. How could he behave like this at a business function?

“She isn’t wearing your ring,” Max pointed out calmly, not turning a hair. “You’ll have to take your chances.”

White with distress at the way a casual, lighthearted conversation had turned so abruptly into barely restrained male aggression, Sarah stepped back from both of them. “Stop it!” she ordered, her voice shaking so much that it was barely above a whisper. “Don’t either of you dare say another word!”

Rome’s nostrils flared and he moved swiftly, his hard arm passing around Sarah’s slender waist. “I’m taking Sarah home,” he said deliberately, his hard fingers biting into her soft flesh. His words were loud enough to be heard, and several people turned to look at them. “She doesn’t feel well. Make our excuses, Max; see you in the office.”

Sarah knew that she was pale enough to give credence to his lie, and he hustled her out of the suite before anyone could approach. The arm around her waist had lifted her almost off her feet; he was effectively carrying her. “Rome, stop it,” she protested, trying to wriggle away from him and walk under her own power.

He swore softly under his breath and adjusted his grip on her, leaning down to slide his other arm under her knees and lift her completely into his arms. Sarah caught her breath as the swift motion made her head whirl dizzily, and she clutched at his shoulders. The elevators were down a long corridor, and they passed a man in a white dinner jacket who stared after them with great interest.

“You’re making a scene,” she whispered. “What’s wrong with you?” She was too startled to even be angry, but she felt as if she were groping her way through a fog, because she failed completely to understand his motives.

He jabbed the down button with his elbow, then bent his head and kissed her with such deliberate intimacy that she curled in his arms, her mouth opening for his tongue. He could have been standing in the middle of the street for all she thought about their location. When he kissed her like that, every thought left her head, leaving her preoccupied only with the slow burning pleasure he gave her with just a kiss.

An electric ding signaled the arrival of the elevator. Still carrying her, Rome stepped into it; they were the only occupants, and she stared at him in bewilderment. His expression was clearly revealed under the bright artificial lights, but she was still unable to decipher it.

“You can put me down now,” she ventured softly. “Were you intending to carry me through the lobby of the hotel?”

“This is Texas,” he replied with a hint of wryness. “No one would be surprised, though for form’s sake I suppose I should throw you over my shoulder.” But he let her down, though he kept his arm firmly anchored around her waist.

“What was that all about?” she asked as the doors slid open and they stepped out into the vast ultramodern lobby, overwhelming with its glass and greenery.

“It’s called staking a claim.”

She considered that in silence for a moment. She wasn’t coy, nor did she believe in dissembling; she wasn’t going to simper and pretend she didn’t understand. On an instinctive level, though, she was a little alarmed by the swiftness with which he’d moved. She darted a quick nervous glance at him, one that he intercepted and read, and his mouth tightened fractionally. Looking at him, with his hard face set in determined lines, she knew that she’d been cut from the herd the way a stallion would isolate the mare he’d chosen. The thought made her mouth go dry, and her knees feel weak. Perhaps he wasn’t a native Texan, but he knew just how to go about it. The move Max had made on her had awakened a possessive streak in Rome, and instinctively he’d snatched her away from the other man; now he was determined to finalize his possession.

“My car is here,” she said, making a motion with her hand as if to halt him.

“Forget about it.” He didn’t even glance down at her as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, where the warm night breezes fanned his face. “I’ll bring you back for it in the morning.”

“I’d feel better if I drove it home.” She spoke firmly, and he sensed her decision, realizing immediately that the car gave her a feeling of independence that she needed, after the way he’d high-handedly whisked her away from the party. He didn’t want her out of his sight for a minute, but he was afraid that if he pushed too hard, he’d run the risk of making her retreat back behind her cool mask. He was close, too close, to breaking her reserve for him to let his impatience ruin things now. Having her was becoming an obsession with him; shattering her control was a goal that occupied more and more of his time and thoughts.

“All right,” he agreed, deciding to use the time alone during the drive to her apartment to cool himself down. He was feeling violent and caged, and he needed to ease himself with the soft magic of a woman’s flesh. Sarah’s flesh. She was the only specific woman he’d wanted since Diane’s death, and he wanted her so violently that he almost resented her for getting to him the way she had.

She was so pale and composed and sure of herself, like an ice-queen. Would she be that cool and controlled in bed, or would those shadowy green eyes blaze with animal need? He imagined her beneath him, writhing in the throes of desire he’d awakened in her, with wild cries tearing up from the depths of her slender body as he drove into her again and again and again…

He stopped his fantasy, sweat breaking out on his forehead as he watched the graceful swaying of her body as she walked away from him. He went to his own car and waited until her little red car passed him; then he pulled out behind her and followed closely on the drive to her apartment.

Sarah already had the door unlocked when he arrived, and she glanced at him warily as he entered behind her. His dark eyes still held that dangerous look, with a hunger in them that she understood but couldn’t measure. She wanted him—she’d always wanted him—but at the same time she didn’t want to be a one-night stand for him, a fast coupling for the purpose of easing him, forgotten as soon as it was finished. Spontaneously she tried to slow him down.

“Would you like coffee?” she invited, dropping her small purse on the sofa and moving away from him to the kitchen.

“No.” His refusal was flat.

“I think I’ll have something to eat, just to be on the safe side,” she called over her shoulder. “How about one of those chicken sandwi—”

Without warning, he seized her from behind, his hard hands locking on her waist and pulling her back against him. His head bent, and his hot breath blew over the curve of her neck, lightly touching her sensitive skin and awakening all her nerve endings. She shivered a little, but didn’t try to pull away; instead she pressed back against the virile contours of his body.

“I don’t want a sandwich,” he muttered, nipping at her neck with his teeth, then soothing the slight sting with butterfly strokes from the tip of his tongue. Sarah’s eyes closed in ecstasy, and she let her head fall back against his shoulder, baring the vulnerable curve of her throat to him.

His breathing was becoming hard and fast, rasping in her ear, and the way he moved against her buttocks vividly demonstrated his arousal. His right hand shifted from her waist, sliding boldly upward to rub and cup her breasts, his touch burning her through her dress.

“I want to break Max’s jaw when he looks at you as if he wants to do this.” There was a roughness to his voice that she hadn’t heard before, the guttural tone of fierce desire. His hands were all over her, stroking her as if to stake his claim as he’d told her he would do, and she leaned against him, her eyes closed, shaking a little as waves of pleasure assaulted her, each one stronger than the one before. With a harsh, impatient sound, he quickly tugged down the zipper of her dress and dropped the garment to her hips, then dispersed with her bra, freeing her breasts to his hands and gaze.

Sarah moaned softly as he cupped both of her breasts in his palms, kneading her soft flesh and gently pinching at her pink nipples. “You’re so beautiful,” he groaned and the rough desire in his voice made her feel beautiful. She loved the way the mounds of her breasts filled his palms, hardening and thrusting out to seek his touch.

Abruptly he turned her in his arms, holding her so tightly against him that her ribs ached, while he kissed her with blatant hunger. With his tongue, he told her what he wanted to do, and the symbolism was unmistakable. Sarah gasped under his mouth, seeking air to feed her starving lungs. “Rome…please!” But she didn’t know if she begged for mercy, or for more of the primal pleasure he was giving her. Her body was growing heavy and liquid, and a deep inner throbbing made her move restlessly against him.

“Yes,” he said against her throat, interpreting her plea as he chose. He bent her over his arm to give himself access to her tempting breasts, and she gave a thin cry when his hot mouth closed over her nipple, sucking it strongly into his mouth. Blackness swirled over her, a warm, velvet blackness that blocked out any reservations she might have had about belonging to him. She dissolved into a purely physical animal, instinctively seeking more of the pleasure he offered her. Her hands roamed his body as his had roamed hers, impatiently brushing away the layers of cloth that separated her from his hard muscled flesh. He trembled wildly at her intimate touch and pleaded with her for more.

At some point, they dropped to the floor, the plush carpet soft under her back. Too impatient to undress her completely, he lifted her skirt out of the way and stripped her panty hose down her legs. Sarah reached for him, her expression rapt, lost in the passion he’d aroused in her, and he caught his breath sharply. “Easy, easy,” he said hoarsely, not wanting it to end too quickly, and knowing he was perilously close to satisfaction. He wanted to make certain she was satisfied too; he wanted to see her face at the peak of her pleasure. He held back, twisting his body away from her inciting hands, while he stroked and petted her, bestowing fleeting, intimate caresses on her that had her arching for more.

Sarah cried out at the tension that was building in her, the sensation that was as frightening as it was pleasurable, as if she might explode into a thousand little pieces. His warm hand, his devilishly dancing fingers, were doing things to her that were destroying her control, her sense of self. “Let go, let go,” he cajoled in a rough whisper against her ear, and she did, crying out unintelligible sounds of passion fulfilled, her hands clutching at him as her body writhed in the glory that consumed her.

Just as she began the downward slide into peace and relaxation, he pinned her to the floor with his weight, adjusted himself between her thighs, and thrust into her with one powerful deliberate movement. Sarah was unable to hold back the sharp single cry that tore from her throat, and her body jolted in shock. But she reached up to wind her arms around his neck, clinging to him, as she offered him the comfort of her loving body. He groaned thickly against her throat and lost all control, taking her swiftly, a little roughly, and somehow, despite her discomfort, lighting again that small spark of desire in her. It was over before that spark could grow into the inferno that would consume her; with a cry from between his clenched teeth, he reached his own pleasure.