Sarah's Child Read online

  “I don’t want children,” he said harshly. “Ever. After losing Justin and Shane, I can’t bear being around children. If you want children, then I’ll back off now, because I can’t give them to you.” Pain twisted his features; then he controlled himself, and an expression of bleak resignation settled in place. “I just can’t get over…” His voice trailed off, and she felt his shoulders draw up, as if bracing themselves under a burden that showed no signs of lifting.

  Sarah swallowed, wondering how many marriage proposals were followed by a bluntly honest statement from the prospective groom on why the woman shouldn’t marry him. How many women would want to marry a man who offered companionship instead of love, a man who didn’t want a family, a man who would be gone on frequent trips? And she remembered what he’d said the night he’d packed up all the boys’ things—that he hadn’t been able to sleep in the same bed with a woman since Diane’s death. She wouldn’t even be able to share the nights with him! A woman would have to be crazy to accept such a proposal, Sarah thought. Crazy in love.

  She stepped back from him and looked at his hard dark face, the face that had lived in her dreams for years. She thought only briefly of her dream of raising a houseful of children, his children, then gently told her dream goodbye. Those children lived, after all, only in her dreams, while Rome was very real, and if she turned him down now, heaven might slip forever out of her grasp. So he didn’t love her; he cared for her, respected her, enough to want to make their relationship legal. Miracles did sometimes happen, and as long as they lived, there was always the chance that he would grow to love her. But even if he never offered her his heart, he was offering her all that he could. She might turn him down, out of pride, but pride wouldn’t replace the living warmth of the man. Pride wouldn’t make love to her with the swift hard passion he’d shown her the night before. With a woman’s intuitive wisdom, she knew that, so long as he desired her so strongly, she had a chance of warming his wintry heart again.

  “Yes,” she said calmly. “Now what?”

  Her brief matter-of-fact acceptance didn’t shift him off balance—his only reaction was a deep intake of breath that swelled his chest—then he pulled her against him again. “What I’d like to do is strip you naked and take you on the nearest flat surface I can find—”

  Sarah interrupted, groaning. “The floor again,” she protested teasingly.

  “Or the table. Or the cabinet top.” The powerful reaction of his body told her that, while his words were teasing, his body was serious. Sarah held her breath, wondering if her already stiff muscles could survive an amorous encounter on the hard tile of the kitchen floor. Clasped against him as she was, she couldn’t see his face, or she’d have cried out at the passion etched on his features.

  Rome held her tightly to him, wanting to absorb her into his flesh. The relief that had flooded through him at her casual acceptance of his proposal was so great that he’d felt almost faint; then he’d been seized by the primeval desire to finalize their bargain in the most basic way possible. He wanted to brand her as his; feel again the softness of her body beneath him. He’d planned his proposal very carefully, couching it in the most logical terms he could present, letting her know he wouldn’t disrupt her carefully ordered world. The idea of marrying her had come to him during the night, and he really did feel that Diane would approve of his marrying Sarah. More than that, he liked the idea of her having his name and being in his bed every night. The fiercely possessive streak in him wanted to mark her off-limits to every other man, especially before that damned Max Conroy could work his potent charm on her. But until she’d looked at him after he’d asked her to marry him and very calmly said “Why?” he hadn’t realized how desperately he needed her to say yes. Her affirmative answer, finally given, and in such an offhand manner that he was shaken by how little enthusiasm she had for the idea, had lifted a weight from him that he hadn’t even known was there until it was gone and he felt his freedom from its restrictions. Lord, how he wanted her!

  He rubbed his beard-roughened chin against her temple and reluctantly shifted her away from him. “We can wait,” he said, wanting to embroil her in plans before she had a chance to have second thoughts. “We have to plan everything, and make arrangements.”

  “We have to make breakfast,” she added, taking her cue from him and keeping everything light and practical. “Unless you’ve already eaten?”

  “No, I hadn’t even thought about it. I didn’t realize I was hungry until you mentioned it, but damned if I’m not starving.”

  She smiled a little, thinking that he’d just revealed that he’d been suffering from an attack of nerves, though she wasn’t going to drive herself mad trying to decide whether he’d been afraid she’d turn him down or afraid she’d accept.

  “Let me comb my hair; then I’ll make the biggest breakfast you ever saw.”

  “While you’re combing your hair, I’ll start on the biggest breakfast we ever saw,” he amended. “Do you want the works?”

  She nodded, feeling happier than she ever had before, and her appetite seemed to have increased in response. Though normally a light eater, she felt hungry enough to put away a man-size breakfast. “I like my eggs over medium,” she informed him on her way out.

  “I’ll expect you back before then. It doesn’t take that long to comb your hair!”

  “How do you know?” she retorted smugly. “You’ve never seen me.”

  His low chuckle followed her as she went to the bedroom. When the door was closed behind her, she sat down on the bed and clasped her hands on her knees, every muscle in her body quivering in delight. She couldn’t believe it. After she’d torn herself to pieces over him for years, he’d walked in the door and asked her to marry him. His reasons were logical, but that didn’t matter. To a starving woman, half a loaf was better than no bread at all. She thought of the mornings they would share, cooking breakfast together, lingering over a last cup of coffee, and her heart felt so full of happiness that she had trouble dragging oxygen into her chest. A marriage opened up a whole new world of intimacy. Not just sexual intimacy, but the tiny things like sharing the bathroom mirror when they were in a rush to get ready for work, trading sections of the newspaper on Sunday mornings, having someone to rub the strain from her neck and shoulders after a hard day.

  Suddenly she didn’t want to be away from him a moment longer than necessary. She splashed cold water over her face, combed her hair and pulled it back with a clasp on each side, and swiftly changed into jeans and an oversize white shirt. She rolled the sleeves up as she returned to the kitchen.

  The bacon was frying when she entered the room, and she sniffed in deep appreciation. Rome was rummaging in her cabinets, and he emerged with a box of instant pancake mix. “Pancakes and eggs,” he announced. “Silver-dollar pancakes.”

  She shrugged and went along with him, not certain that her appetite was healthy enough for pancakes as well, but his probably was. While he was mixing the batter, she set the table, poured the orange juice, and got out the eggs.

  “We’ll have to find a new apartment,” he said casually. “Neither of ours is large enough to hold all our things.”

  “Ummm.” Thinking to spare him the necessity of spelling out to her that he wouldn’t be sleeping with her, she said casually, “I’d like to have a three-bedroom apartment, if we can find one at a reasonable price. It would be nice to have an extra bedroom in case anyone came to visit.”

  He went curiously still, but his back was to her and she couldn’t see his expression. To let him know that she wasn’t going to dwell on the subject, she said just as casually, “I’ll have to quit my job.”

  His head jerked around, his dark eyes incredulous.

  “Well, I, will.” She smiled at him. “I can’t work at Spencer-Nyle if I’m going to be married to you. It’s unprofessional, and I don’t think it would work very well, even if Mr. Edwards agreed.”

  His jaw set grimly. “I didn’t think of that. I can�