An Independent Wife (17 page)

The role that Marina played in those policies wasn't small, she realized. As Zain had vast influence with the King, so Marina had vast influence with Zain. She didn't know if he would admit it; a man who had kept a harem until fairly recently wasn't likely to admit even to himself that his wife was a major factor in the direction his politics had taken. Nor would the King be likely to be happy if told that Marina was the indirect influence behind his throne. Yet the smiling, beautiful young woman, so obviously in love with her husband, was playing a powerful role in a scenario that could affect the entire world through its effect of Sakaryan oil.

At last the conversation became more general and Marina asked if perhaps Sallie would be free to visit later on in the year. Sallie had opened her mouth to accept when Rhy broke in before she could say a word. "I'm set to be filming a documentary in Europe late this fall and early winter," he said, "and Sallie will be with me. I don't know yet how the schedule will be, but I'll let you know."

"Do," urged Marina. "We see each other so little now. At least when I lived in New York we managed to catch each other in town once every month or so."

Sallie didn't comment, but privately she thought that Rhy was taking a lot for granted. Was he in for a surprise when she walked out of his life and disappeared forever!

It was late when they left the palace, and as they just had time to catch their flight Zain had arranged for an escort to the airport. Sallie and Rhy rode in Zain's personal limousine, and their luggage was checked and they were waved on board without pause.

Rhy had been ominously silent during the entire ride, and he was still not speaking when they buckled themselves into their seats. That suited her fine; she was tired and she didn't feel like arguing with him.

Somehow she always came off second best when they fought. She was too impulsive, too reckless, unable to control her temper, whereas Rhy coolly plotted each move in advance.

When they were airborne the stewardesses began distributing the small airline pillows and blankets to those passengers who desired them, and because it was so late Sallie decided she would try to sleep and accepted them, then tilted her seat back. "I'm tired," she told Rhy's grim profile. "Good night."

He turned his head and his hard eyes burned her. Then he let his seat back, too, and slid his ann under her head, pulling her over to rest on his shoulder. "I've spent two hellish nights wondering where you were," he growled against her temple while he spread the blanket over her. "You'll sleep where you belong." Then he tilted her head back and his hard mouth closed on hers, claiming her lips in a possessive kiss that lasted long enough for him to be aware of her response. Then he drew back and resettled her head against his shoulder, and she was glad of the chance to hide her burning face. Why did she have to be so weak and foolish? Why couldn't she control her response to him?

After that kiss she was sure she wouldn't be able to sleep, but somehow she fell asleep immediately and woke only once during the long flight when she shifted and Rhy pulled the blanket up over her again. Opening her eyes in the dim cabin she looked up at him and whispered, "Can't you sleep?"

"I've been asleep," he murmured. "I was just wishing that we were alone." He pulled her close and kissed her again, leaving her in no doubt as to just why he wished they were alone. His kisses lingered and became hungry, pressing again and again to her mouth, until at last he muttered a frustrated curse and leaned his head back. "I can wait," he growled. "Barely."

Sallie lay against his shoulder and bit her lips to keep from whispering the words of love that sprang to her tongue. Tears burned her eyes. She loved him! It was so painful that she thought she'd scream. She loved him, but she couldn't trust him with her love.

They changed flights in Paris again and because the days they had spent in Sakarya hadn't been exactly restful jet lag hit both of them hard. Sallie had a splitting headache when they finally landed at JFK and from the taut, weary look on Rhy's face he didn't feel much better. If he had started an argument then she would have become hysterical, but instead he dropped her at her apartment and left without even kissing her.

Contrarily, that made her want to cry, and she lugged her suitcase up to her apartment and savagely emptied it. After taking a swift shower she fell on the bed and found to her fury that sleep eluded her.

She remembered the sleepy sensuousness of his kisses during the flight, how comfortable she had been cuddled against his shoulder, the security of his arms. She burst into angry, aching tears and eventually cried herself to sleep.

But when she awoke the next morning her mind was clear. Rhy was driving her crazy, and if she didn't leave now, as she had planned, he would eventually wear her down. She would go to work today, type up the interview she had gotten with Marina and quietly turn in her notice to Greg. Then she would come back home, close up the apartment, pack her clothing and get on a bus going anywhere.

She dressed and took the bus to work, arriving a little late due to an accident that caused a traffic jam.

When she entered the noisy newsroom the clatter dropped to almost silence, and it seemed to her that everyone turned to stare at her. A blush rose to her cheeks without her knowing why, and she hurried to her little cubicle. Brom was there, busy at his typewriter, but when she sat down and pulled the cover off of her own typewriter he stopped what he was doing and swiveled in his chair to look at her.

"What's wrong?" Sallie demanded, half laughing. "Do I have something on my face?"

In answer Brom leaned over and turned her wooden nameplate to face her. Aghast, Sallie stared at it. It was a new nameplate. And instead of SALLIE JEROME it blatantly declared for all the world to see, SALLIE BAINES. She collapsed in her chair and stared at it as if it would bite her.

"Congratulations," Brom offered. "That must've been some trip."

She couldn't think of anything to say; she just continued to stare at the nameplate. Evidently it had only appeared that morning, and she wondered at Rhy's motive. Uneasily she sensed that he was drawing the net tighter about her and that perhaps she had waited too long to make her break. But there was no help for it now, and her professional integrity wouldn't permit her to leave without finishing the interview with Marina.

"Well?" Brorn prompted. "Is it true?"

"That we're married?" she replied crisply. "It's true enough, for what you want to make of it."

"And just what does that mean, Madam Sphinx?" "It means that a wedding does not a marriage make," she mocked. "Don't take this too seriously."

"Listen, you can't be half-married, or casually married. Either you are or you aren't," he said in exasperation.

"It's a long story," she evaded, and was saved from further questioning when the phone rang. With a smothered sigh of relief she snatched it up. "Sallie Jerome."

"Wrong," Greg growled in her ear. "Sallie Baines. Your closet husband has gone public and it's a load off my mind. You had me in a tough spot if he'd found out I knew about you. But it's all over now and it's all between the two of you."

"What do you mean?" she asked warily, wondering if Rhy had done something else to hem her in that she hadn't yet heard of.

"Just that, doll. As far as I'm concerned you're not one of my best reporters now, you're his wife."

In blind anger Sallie forgot that she'd been planning on turning in her notice anyway and she hissed between her teeth, "Do you mean you won't give me any more assignments?"

"That's exactly what I mean. Take it up directly with him. For crying out loud, he's your husband and from what I can see he's more than willing to try a reconciliation."

"I don't want a reconciliation," she said, reining in her temper and keeping her tone low so Brom couldn't overhear. "But a reference will do just fine. Will you give me one?"

"I can't, not now that he's made it common knowledge that you're his wife. He's my boss, too," Greg explained dryly. "And he's made it clear that anything concerning you is to be okayed by him personally."

"Has he?" she demanded furiously as her anger broke out of control. "I'll have to see about that, won't IT' She slammed the phone down and glared at it, then turned her burning gaze on Brom, who threw his hands up in mock surrender and ostentatiously turned back to his typewriter.

She expected to be summoned to Rhy's office at any moment, and she couldn't decide if she wanted to see him or not. It would be an exquisite relief to unleash her temper and scream at him, but she knew that Rhy would also take advantage of her lack of control and would probably provoke her into revealing all her plans. The best thing she could do was to complete her report and leave. She knew her weaknesses, and the two worst ones were her temper and Rhy. The sensible thing to do was not to allow either of them to gain the upper hand.

She tried, but concentrating had seldom been more difficult. Her mind raced, going over her packing, the steps she had to take to close up her apartment, where she might go, and in the middle of all her plans would flash a picture of Rhy, naked, his eyes hungry as he reached for her, and her body would remember his touch and she'd tremble in reaction. She ached for him; why hadn't he come up to the apartment with her last night? Of course they'd both been tired, exhausted and irritable, but still... What a fool she was! The last thing she needed was more of his addictive lovemaking! It would be hard enough now to get over him, to forget again the wild sweetness that had consumed her.

The morning slipped past, and she grimly determined to work through lunch, but her plans were derailed when Chris stopped by her desk, his brown eyes shuttered as he silently lifted her nameplate and studied it, then returned it to her desk without comment. "Can you get away for a little while?" he asked quietly, but even so Sallie caught the undertone in his voice, perhaps because she was so miserable herself that she was sensitive to the suffering of others '.'It's lunchtime, anyway," she said without hesitation, turning off the typewriter and covering it. "Where do you want to go?"

"Will he mind?" Chris asked, and she knew who he meant.

"No," she tied, and gave him a cheeky little grin. "Besides, I'm not asking him."

He didn't speak again until they were out of the building and weaving their way through the hurrying, dodging, sidestepping lunch crowd that filled the sidewalks. He lifted his head and peered at the heat ball of the sun with slitted eyes as he commented, "Are you really married to him? It's not easy to get married that fast unless you detour through Vegas."

"I've been married to him for eight years," she admitted, not meeting the questioning glance that she felt him shoot at her. "And we've been separated for seven of those years."

They walked in silence for a while, then Chris caught her hand and indicated a coffee shop. That was as good as anything and they went inside, where they were shown to a small table along the wall.

Sallie wasn't hungry and she chose only fruit juice to drink and a small salad, knowing that the salad wouldn't be eaten. Chris didn't seem very hungry either, for when their food came he merely drank his coffee and stared broodingly at the tuna sandwich on his plate.

"It looks as if you're back together now," he finally said.

Sallie shook her head. "It's what he wants." "And you don't?"

"He doesn't love me," she said sadly. "I'm just a challenge to him. Like I told you, he just wants to play for a while. It doesn't matter to him that he's destroying my life in the process. He's already wrecked my career, and he swears that he'll blacklist me, keep me from getting another job as a reporter."

Chris swore, something he rarely did, and met Sallie's surprised gaze with gold lights of anger leaping in his dark eyes. "How could he do that to you?" he muttered.

She managed a careless shrug. "He says he's afraid I'll get killed. That he can't stand the thought of me in the middle of a revolution." But how many times had Rhy left her to do just that, leaving her behind in a frenzy of worry?

"Now that I can understand," said Chris, giving her a wry smile. "I'll admit to having a few worries about your pretty little carcass myself, and I'm not even married to you."

"But you won't quit for Amy," she reminded him bluntly. "And I won't quit for Rhy-if I have any choice. He's hernming me in, Chris. He's tying me down and smothering me."

"You love him."

"I try not to. I just haven't succeeded very well so far." Then she shook her head. "Forget about me. Is the situation still the same with Amy?"

He tilted his head a little to one side. "I still love her. I still want to marry her. But she still won't marry me unless I quit reporting, and the thought of stifling myself in a nine-to-five job makes me break out in a cold sweat."

"Can you give in? Greg did, for his kids."

"But he didn't for his wife," Chris pointed out. "He had to lose her before he left the field. If she were still alive he'd probably still be out there chasing down a story."

That was true and she sighed, looking away from him. The demands made by children were so much harder to deny than those made by adults because children saw things only in relation to themselves and couldn't comprehend that their parents' needs should be as important as their own. They had no compunction about making their needs clear, demanding that they be taken care of, while adults for some reason drew back, refrained from pushing too hard, knowing that no one owed them anything and therefore they didn't ask. Except she had asked-she had demanded-that Rhy change his job and stay with her, and it had gained her exactly nothing. Rhy had made it plain that her happiness wasn't his responsibility. He had his own life to live. Nor could she offer Chris any hope, any solution, for she could see none for herself No matter what they did, misery would be the result.

"I'm going to leave," she said aloud, then looked at him in horror, not having meant to announce her intentions.

He caught the look and waved his hand. "Forget it. It won't go any further," he assured her. "I kind of thought you might do that, anyway. You've got the guts to do what you have to do, no matter how it hurts. You're cutting your losses. I just wish I could."