Just a Little Misgiving (Shades of Deception, Book 3) (5 page)

Never had she seen her sister so ecstatic. Gloria, the salt of the earth, as solid as a rock while she, Faith, tended to be as changeable as the sea. Gloria, the gentle nurturer who protected her little sister with a mother's vengeance whenever she jumped in with both feet without looking first. Gloria, who bit back unkind words when Faith was apt to heap on scalding epithets and shake her fist if a jerk cut her off on the exit ramp.

Gloria, the loving, demure preschool teacher with a porcelain-doll face who feared she would never meet the right man, get married, and have a dozen of her own. Faith, the outrageous dresser who wore her hair in the latest "do," danced until she dropped, and had to decide which date to keep since she'd already scheduled two... did something worthy of her sister.

She kept her mouth shut for once and committed the most unselfish act of her life.

"Anyway," he went on, "I started seeing Gloria. And then you quit your job. I never did understand that, Faith. Why you left, just like that, when you had a promising future where you were."

"I—I guess I didn't realize it was so promising at the time," she said faintly, still disbelieving the attraction had been mutual, even a little. "And Denver was a pretty place to live. It was a chance to start a life of my own. Away from family and school and... anyway I figured it was time for me to grow up and try to make my mark in the world." She shrugged. "Funny how you think you're all grown up and know it all. Then the more grown up you get, the more you realize how much you don't know."

"One of the great universal truths," Myles agreed with a shake of his head. "Imagine, Denver of all places, without a job and not knowing a soul. I wonder, would you do it all over again, knowing what you know now?"

Would she? As much as she'd loved her sister, would she give up another chance at the one man she'd never been able to forget, who set the standard so that every other man was doomed to fail?

"I didn't do so badly," she said, skirting her own unsettling questions. "My career means a lot to me."
Because it's really all I've had.

"You've done well for yourself, which doesn't surprise me. But you were missed by a lot of your colleagues. And family."

And you, Myles?
she ached to ask.
What about you? Did you ever miss me until you cried or dreamed of holding me in the night? Or did you ever have one failed relationship after another because you kept comparing them to the way someone else made you feel—a never-to-be lover who made you burn with no more than a casual brush of the hand, who made every other touch leave you cold and empty inside? Did you ever have to leave the room when we were together because it hurt too much to know
it was
never meant to be? Did you? Did you?

"I missed everyone too," she said, while the memory of it all tightened her throat. "But it was the right decision to make. I think. A person can never be completely sure."

Myles sought her eyes, seeming to look for whatever it was she withheld deep in the reaches of her soul.

"Who was he?" he asked quietly. "The man in your sculpture?"

"It was a man," she confessed slowly. "A very special man."

"Was he the reason you left?"

"He had... more than a little to do with it."

"A lover, then?"

"No," she whispered. "I'm afraid he was married."

He hesitated, then drew her into his arms. Lightly. Companionably. But beneath the controlled exterior she sensed a tight leash on something building, something frightening because it was so powerful, so hungry; and because she was afraid she was imagining it.

"His loss," Myles murmured, and his voice took on that caressing timbre again.

"No." She gathered her courage and laid her palm over his cheek. Warm. Rough. Masculine. Infinitely better than she'd imagined. "No, Myles," she said. "The loss was mine."

Something flickered behind his eyes, something far more personal than compassion. And then she felt him slip a finger beneath the collar of her blouse, against the bare skin of her neck. He slid it around and released the strands of hair caught there.

She shivered. He tensed.

"I didn't mean... it's just that your hair is so pretty. It reminds me of..."

Gloria's,
she silently filled in when he paused.
Before she lost it.
The memory, as well as the knowledge that Gloria might always stand between them, hurt.

"It reminds me of wheat before the harvest. The way it's not quite dark but has a hint of gold... like the sun kissed it."

Thank God he was holding her, because otherwise she was sure she would have ended up in a puddle of ecstasy on the floor. She slumped slightly, and her breasts connected with his chest, the beat of his heart matching the steady throb of hers. Heat flared inside her and spread until she could feel an ache low and poignant, that only he could create and soothe.

He was pressed against her belly. He was aroused—blatantly so. She couldn't stop the soft gasp that broke from her lips. He was so hard she could actually feel him pulse through the layers of their clothing. Then he made a sound that was low and harsh and guttural as his body strained against her with a single, urgent rub.

The whys and wherefores and hows didn't matter at that moment, because right then heaven seemed to be making up for lost time. She closed her eyes with a long, rolling sigh. Loathe for the contact to end, she could feel her body reaching, shifting upward to urge him on at the same time that she struggled with the impulse to whimper, to seek his mouth with hers and slide her hand between their bodies.

"Oh, God," he groaned. "Oh—"

He abruptly thrust himself away. And there they stood, flushed, both breathing too fast and hard. Or maybe they weren't breathing at all, as they stared at each other with confusion and agony. Neither broke the thick silence that fell between them.

The diminishing rays of the sun slitted downward, and as if in accusation, they sparked against the gold of Myles's wedding band.

Faith's gaze was transfixed. How could she have disregarded it? As long as he wore that ring he belonged to her sister, and she had no right to feel the hungry longing that lapped at her now. That had held her captive since the moment they first met.

She wanted him more than ever, but in that instant she knew Myles would have to free himself before they could go any farther. She felt impotent, her thoughts muddied by her own unresolved questions of loyalty.

Had he read her thoughts? Or had he simply followed her gaze. He lifted his left hand and touched the band. Her breath caught when he twisted it around in a gentle, caressing gesture. He began to remove it, then stopped.

The conflicting emotions were too strong for him to hide, or perhaps he was making no effort to disguise them. But what she saw in his face was enough to make her forget her own distress and ache to soothe his away.

Myles dropped his hands to his sides and moved to another box. When he spoke again, his voice was rough, strained.

"Any problem with me opening this?" he asked.

"No," she answered in a wisp of a voice. "Open away."

Her attention gravitated to the half-uncovered sculpture. She repacked it, still trying to sort out the twists and turns of their encounter when Myles turned and fixed her with an enigmatic gaze.

"I know you don't exhibit your pieces. Faith, but I've always been interested in them. Maybe you'll show me that sculpture. After we've spent more time together and you feel comfortable sharing something that's... personal."

"That's possible," she said. She smiled at him then, cherishing his interest, his tenderness. But she could never forget the ring. Still the memory of his arousal flashed in her mind. He wanted her.
Her!

He unpacked a small stained-glass piece she'd earmarked for the nursery. A prism of colors danced above his head as he held it up to the light.

"In fact," she added as her eyes locked with his and she felt the tug of remembered passion. "I'd say your chances are actually very good."

Chapter 4

Faith tapped the receiver. She'd been in Detroit for five days and had yet to place a call to Martin. Why she didn't want to talk to him, she wasn't sure, except that they'd been in cahoots in the well-intentioned scheme that had gone awry. Or maybe it was because any conversation they had would inevitably lead to the woman they had both loved dearly and lost.

Since her weekend encounter with Myles, she'd been trying to reconcile her conflicting loyalties—loyalty to her sister's memory and loyalty to herself. She wanted to get on with her life.

In spite of all her mulling about, she was still torn. She carried an irrational load of guilt that she was trying to steal her sister's husband. On the other hand, she thought that unrequited love just plain sucked.

With renewed determination, she reached for the phone and dialed. The law firm's secretary answered, and after Faith identified herself, she was immediately patched through to her cousin.

"Faith!" Martin exclaimed. "How are you? No, don't tell me. Barefoot and pregnant, right?"

Faith glanced down at her bare feet and grimaced. "Did anyone ever tell you that you're a sexist pig, Martin?"

"Yes," he said with a chuckle. "And I believe you were the one who told me."

"Only for your own good and because you can be so damn pompous, when you're not being irresistible."

"And I only put up with your abuse because I love you." He was silent a moment; when he spoke again, all playfulness was gone. "How are you, Faith?"

"I'm doing fine... actually better than fine. I'm in Detroit."

"Detroit. Well, what d'ya know. About time you moved back."

Her brows knitted in confusion. Martin hadn't sounded surprised in the least. She'd imagined that he would jump out of his leather executive chair with an exclamation-point reaction.

"You sound almost as if you expected as much."

He hesitated, then said matter-of-factly, "You'd planned to move before Gloria died, and I thought you might go through with it. Besides, Myles is here. I take it he knows and you've worked out a solution. Or at least I hope so. None of us needs a legal mess."

"A solution of sorts," she said, disconcerted by the conclusions that he'd leapt to."Martin, I didn't tell him. Myles found the adoption papers in Gloria's strongbox. I thought we agreed that you would keep those."

"I did. She must have gotten a copy from the secretary. Hang on a minute, Faith." She heard him shuffling papers in the background, followed by the gruff message that he'd be in the meeting shortly. When he came back on the line, he said, "Sorry, but I'm going to have to cut this short. Just tell me one thing. How are you and Myles doing? Are you... I don't know how to say this exactly, but, are you helping each other get through this?"

"We're... coming along."

"I'm glad to hear it. I'd hate to think of the two of you getting into a custody battle. I know that's not what Gloria had in mind."

"What Gloria had in mind? What do you mean by that?"

"Just that—" He coughed, then as though he were making a lawyer's closing statement, he smoothly added, "Only the obvious. She loved you both and would have hated to see anything bad become of something that was meant to bring happiness."

"Yes," she agreed. "Gloria always wanted the best for everyone. I miss her terribly."

"Don't we all." After a few seconds he tacked on, "Do me a favor? Let me know if anything, uh, personal develops."

Faith pulled away from the receiver and stared at it as though it were Martin's face and he had just revealed a ghastly family secret.

"Faith? Faith, are you still there?"

"I'm here," she answered, then added under her breath, "Kind of. I think."

"How is pregnancy agreeing with you? No complications?"

Only emotional ones, she thought. "When I'm not in tears or pigging out, I love it. It's... miraculous."

"You'd do it again, then?"

"I'd do it again... and maybe even again." She wriggled her toes into the plush rug beneath her feet, relishing the image of conceiving a baby with Myles in a moment of love and passion. "Actually, Martin," she added, "I have to confess, I never much liked wearing shoes."