Sarah's Child Read online

  “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able to put her arms around him at any of the services; he’d held himself stiffly erect, his face utterly white and withdrawn, sealed off by his grief from everyone around him.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