A Passion Denied (39 page)

She nodded. A silver trail of tears shimmered down her cheek.

He took her hand and held it between both of his. “John can’t love you that way, but I can. Will you let me? Will you let me love you like you deserve to be loved?”

She shook her head and looked away. “No, Michael, please . . .”

He lifted her chin with his finger, directing her gaze to his. “I love you, Lizzie. Never planned on it. Never wanted to. I came to Boston purely to force John to sign. And I came to you because I thought if I could make him jealous, he would do anything to keep me away. It was blackmail, pure and simple. Only it backfired. Instead of making John relent, I fell into my own trap. God help me, Lizzie, I’ve never been in love before, but I’m in love with you something fierce.”

“
No
. . . you can’t be . . .” Her voice was a weak moan and her face as pale as the moonlight that spilled across the whitewashed porch.

“I’m afraid I am,” he whispered. “And I have to know. Will you give me a chance?”

She shook her head. “Michael, I can’t. I promised Brady—”

“You want a man who seeks God? I’m seeking God. You want a Brady who will love you, body and soul, then I’m the man you need. My brother is just going to have to understand, because he’s not offering that, but I am.” He shifted close and took her hand. “Marry me, Lizzie. I can make you happy. Just give me a chance.”

He traced her jaw with his thumb. Seconds passed as he stared into her eyes, his pulse pounding in his veins. All at once, need overtook him, and with slow deliberation, he lowered his mouth to hers. The taste of her lips almost undid him. Heat pulsed through him, but he fought it off, caressing her lips with as much gentleness as she deserved. With every shred of willpower he possessed, he pulled away, his ragged breathing all but giving him away.

Lizzie felt as if she were suspended in time, eyes closed and chin elevated from the kiss that had taken her by surprise. The brisk fall air was alive with the sounds of night—a medley of tree frogs and baying dogs and the hooting of a faraway screech owl. But all she could hear was the low sound of her own blood rushing in her ears. For a moment she had been paralyzed, caught off-guard. And then the fantasy had kicked in—Brady kissing her—as she had always dreamed he would . . . tender, reverent, like the man she’d fallen in love with so many years ago.

She opened her eyes and blinked, and Michael’s handsome face blurred into view. Her heart clutched. He was so much like Brady with his gentle eyes that darkened to coffee brown whenever he was pensive, like now, as he studied her expression. His hard-chiseled face bore the same late-day shadow of beard as Brady’s, and both men possessed a smile that could weaken her knees. But there the similarity ended. Where Brady had a quiet strength that emanated from his relationship with God, Michael seemed to take his newfound faith in stride, his confidence clearly rooted in himself. He was louder and bolder, his lively sense of humor contrasting sharply with Brady’s unassuming manner and dry wit. Michael was the older twin, if minutes mattered, but it was Brady who owned the maturity that Lizzie loved.

She drew in a deep breath. But she
had
felt something when he’d kissed her. Something warm and sweet and compelling. Had the feeling been because of Michael? Or because of his brother?

“Will you, Lizzie? Will you give me a chance?” His voice was soft—like his kiss had been—breaking her reverie.

“I don’t know, Michael, I . . . I’d have to think about it, pray about it . . .”

He grinned. “That’s more than I hoped for.”

“And talk to Brady.”

His smile faded. He took a deep breath. “I figured as much. But you and I both know what he’s going to say. He’ll tell you I have no faith in God. But he’s wrong, Lizzie. You’ve changed me—opened my eyes to things I’ve never seen before. Things like God and family and love. My brother used to be right about me. But not anymore.”

His thumb skimmed along the curve of her jaw, causing her stomach to flutter. “So you’ll think about it?”

She nodded.

He smiled and feathered a loose curl away from her face. “While you’re thinking, Lizzie, do me a favor? Think on this.” And in slow motion, he held her face in his hands and kissed her again, as slow and heated as warm wax glazing the side of a steady-burning candle. A soft moan left his lips and merged with one of her own, locked deep in her throat.

With a faint shiver, he rose and pulled her to her feet, then led her to the door. He slowly caressed her cheek, the tips of his fingers heating her skin. He gave her a smile that left her as breathless as his kiss. “Think on it, Lizzie, will you? I know I will.”

14

Faith couldn’t stop blubbering. All it took was the sweet scent of her newborn niece, a glimpse at that tiny, rosebud mouth, and the heady realization that the baby she cradled in her arms bore the name of a twin sister she had loved and lost.

Hope Dennehy.
The very name infused Faith with some of her own—hope that this little girl would, somehow, someway, possess the sweetness and kindness of an aunt she would never know. Faith swallowed hard, desperate to thwart a sob that threatened at the back of her throat.
Oh, Hope, I wish you were
here!

Vivid blue eyes blinked back, sending Faith into yet another crying jag.

Charity looked up from the clean diapers she was folding. The sunlight streaming in the windows shone around her like a halo of contentment, highlighting golden wisps of hair escaped from the loose chignon at the back of her neck. Behind her, the “modern” kitchen Mitch insisted she should have was light and airy, the latest in Boone white enamel cabinets giving it a clean, open look. Pale yellow curtains fluttered on the windows, infusing the cozy room with an unseasonably warm breeze tinged with the earthy scent of fall. She grinned. “Babies are supposed to be a good thing, Faith. She’s going to think you don’t like her if you cry every time you hold her.”

Faith swiped the wetness from her eyes and pressed a soft kiss to Hope’s perfect little nose. “I can’t help it. You were once the baby that Hope and I doted on, and now here you are, with a baby of your own.”

Charity hoisted a brow. Her gaze flicked to where Lizzie sat at the table, bouncing Henry Patrick on her knee. Henry smiled and gurgled with every lift of Lizzie’s arms.

“Two,” Charity muttered with a good-natured smile. “But it’s my own fault. I should have known that my husband never does anything halfway.”

Faith pressed a cheek to the soft, blond fuzz that feathered her niece’s head. The smell of innocence plucked at her heart. Hope’s eyes fluttered shut, and Faith tucked her close to her chest. “Yes, that certainly sounds like Mitch Dennehy. But love him or not, I’ll have you know he’s caused me a lot of grief with Collin, especially where these two babies are concerned.”

Charity groaned as she bent to stack the clean, folded diapers into a wooden wash basket. She straightened and pushed a flaxen strand of hair from her eyes. “Don’t tell me he’s still nursing that grudge over you being engaged to Mitch?”

“Well, I didn’t think so . . . until you got pregnant.” She glanced at Charity, then at Lizzie. “Remember when I told you about my problem, where he wouldn’t leave me alone?” Her cheeks warmed the slightest bit, but she forged on. “You know . . . in the bedroom?”

Charity chuckled. “Oh yes. Your problem . . . my pipedream. Hold that thought for a moment. Anybody want tea?”

“Oooo, yes, please!” Lizzie said, cuddling a sleepy Henry in her arms. “Is it my imagination, or is it chilly in here?”

“Your imagination,” Charity muttered. “Everyone knows it’s always been a runaway train. I’m stifling.” She lowered the window sash to an inch and reached for the teakettle, filling it with water and putting it on to boil. She sighed and looked down at the bulge around her hips and tummy. “Of course, it could be all the extra weight suffocating my figure beneath layers of fat.”

“Charity, stop!” Faith said. “For pity’s sake, you just had twins barely two months ago. Besides, I don’t see Mitch complaining. We all know he’s never been an overly demonstrative man, but lately he’s been worse than Collin, nuzzling you all the time, mooning over you like some lovesick suitor. Face it, the guy is loopy over you, extra pounds or not.”

Charity propped her hands on her hips and stood up straight, thrusting already ample breasts, now engorged with milk, in a show of confidence. An impish grin curved her lips. “Yeah, he is, isn’t he? Poor guy. Since I’ve given him a son and a daughter, and the doctor has given us the go-ahead—” she winked—“he can’t seem to keep his hands off me.” A sigh parted from her lips as she plopped in her chair. “A dream come true . . . except for the exhaustion and weight.”

“It’ll come off,” Lizzie said with a grin. “Wait till the twins start crawling and walking. You’ll run yourself silly trying to keep up. You should be back to your old figure in no time.”

“And too tired to flaunt it,” Faith quipped with a tease in her tone.

Charity notched her chin in a stubborn stance all too familiar from their youth. “Never!” A playful glint lit her eyes. “But speaking of tired, I believe you were talking about Collin wearing you out?”

It was Lizzie’s turn to blush. “Stop! I’m too young to hear this.”

Faith shot her a crooked grin. “No, you’re not. It’s about time you hear about the real world instead of what you read in those books.” She shifted Hope to her other shoulder and sank back into the chair. “I hate to say it, but I think Collin is jealous of Mitch. It was bad enough before, while you were pregnant, but since you’ve had the babies, saints preserve us, he’s like a man on a mission.”

Lizzie cocked her head. “A mission?”

Faith shot her a sideways glance. “To get me pregnant.”

Lizzie blushed. “Well, don’t you want a baby?”

“Of course. But it’s not happening as quickly as it did for Charity, and frankly, Collin wants it so much that it makes me nervous . . . which, trust me, is not good for the process.” She blew a stray hair out of her eyes. “He thinks the problem is me.”

“You? Oh, doesn’t that sound just like a man?” A singsong whistle squealed from the teakettle, and Charity jumped up to steep the tea. She placed a spoon and steaming cup before each of her sisters, then retrieved her own, along with sugar and cream. The spicy citrus scent of Earl Grey drifted in the air. She blew on her tea, then frowned and took a sip. “What, he thinks you’re not fertile?”

“No, he thinks I’m stressed. Wants me to quit the
Herald
.”

Lizzie stopped stirring to look up in shock. “He wants you to quit what you love . . .
before
you get pregnant?”

Faith arched her brows and spooned some sugar into her cup. “My point exactly. For some strange reason, Collin thinks my job
is
the problem—claims I focus too much on it.”

“And not enough on him, I suppose. Excuse me, but is that not what a good employee is supposed to do?” Charity shifted in the chair and rolled her eyes. “That man needs to relax and let nature take its course.
And
enjoy his sleep. Once his dream comes true, a good night’s sleep will be pretty hard to come by, trust me.”

Faith scrunched her nose and sipped her tea. “I know, I tell him that all the time. But he’s dead set on having a family as soon as possible.”

“Well, it has been almost three years since you were married,” Lizzie said.

Faith sighed, her gaze suddenly lost in the steamy depths of Earl Grey. “I know.”

Lizzie touched her arm. “Are you afraid? That you won’t be able to have a baby?”

“No, not really. I know Collin is, but for some reason I’m not. I’m content with our lives right now. I trust that God will make me a mother in his own time. But for now, I don’t need a baby to be happy. I love Collin and I love my job. For five years I’ve been writing feature articles on the side while serving my time in the typing pool, not counting my year of copywriting in Dublin. Now, when Father has been hinting that I may actually be promoted to copywriter—a near-impossible feat for a woman from the typing pool—Collin suddenly wants me to quit.”

She cupped her warm teacup in her hands, idly stroking its rim, then exhaled and took a sip. “It’s not fair. All my life I’ve had this dream to be a copywriter, and now my husband thinks my dream stands in the way of his.”

“Well, you’d have to quit after you have a baby anyway,” Lizzie said.

“I know, and I’m fine with that. When God decides it’s time for me to be a mother, I’ll embrace it and give it my all. But it hasn’t happened yet, and I’m so close to getting that promotion at work, that I find myself . . .” She chewed on her lip and glanced up. “Fighting him.”

Charity’s eyes circled in shock. “You mean you tell him no when he wants to—?”

Lizzie popped from the chair like one of Katie’s tiddledy-winks, her face as pink as the blanket that swaddled little Hope. She quickly handed a slumbering Henry off to his mother. “Cookies, anyone?”

Both Charity and Faith ignored her. “No, of course not. I love Collin way too much, and God knows what a fragile ego the man has. When I say I ‘fight’ him, I mean—” she swallowed hard, then tapped several fingers to her heart—“in here.”

Charity draped Henry on her shoulder like a limp rag. She dipped her head in a nod that took in the whole of Faith’s body. “But not . . .”

Warmth surged to Faith’s cheeks. “No! As if I could. Telling him no would crush the man.”

“Then what’s the problem? How can he possibly complain?”

Without a word, Lizzie retrieved a saucer from the cabinet for some sugar cookies she took from a white ceramic crock on the counter. She placed them on the table and settled back in her seat.

Faith reached for a cookie and gave her a grateful smile. “Because from the very beginning, Collin and I have had this special connection, a sixth sense, if you will, where we seem to know what’s on the other’s mind. I worry about that. I think he knows I don’t want a baby right now, and he’s blaming my job. And part of it is his stubborn male pride too, wanting control—”

“Sweet mother of Job, what is it with men anyway, always wanting control? Mitch is the same way, and it drives me crazy.”