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Authors: Barbara Delinsky

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The only comfort came from Charlie, who had moved up from behind and propped himself on the arm of her chair. She watched as Sloane moved away, then looked up at the lawyer. “It's not as ominous as you make it sound, Justine,” he began soothingly. “You are a partner in the firm. Obviously, you have a say. What Dan is saying, I think”—he glanced quickly at the other for support,—“is that, of the partners, we feel you to be the best qualified to accompany Sloane.” Her peripheral vision caught the
client in question standing, back to her, facing the window. Charlie continued. “If making the trip is going to cause a major upheaval to your schedule, we can reconsider. It is
your
choice.”
A bit of the fox in everyone,
she had reflected once. Here was a perfect example; Charles Stockburne had slyly presented his case. Indeed, it was her decision to make—whether she should make the trip to Alaska with Sloane. But what really was her choice? Dan Logan was still the undisputed power in the firm, and
he
obviously had determined that she go. If she balked? Would her own place in the firm then be endangered? Was it a chance she should take?
And if she went—her eyes flew to the broad back across the room—what might that mean? It would mean, she realized with bristling annoyance, that Sloane had succeeded in manipulating her once more. What would he expect of her en route? What would
she,
perhaps, want? In the worst of her worries, she might well betray herself, knowing how deeply his presence affected her. Even now, as she stared, he turned slowly, a sterling icon of virility, and sent a shuddering message to and through her.
“Perhaps,” she began unsurely, clearing her throat, and tearing her gaze from his to face the others, “perhaps I might speak with Sloane more in detail. I have quite a few questions, many of which might bore you two.”
The senior partner, sensing her indecision, knowing that Sloane was, in the end, his own best advocate, acceded to her request. “Of course, Justine. That sounds like a fine idea. Would you like to use this office?”
“No”—she jumped quickly to her feet, then regretted it instantly as her knees silently rebelled—“my own office would be better, I think. That way I can take notes … check my calendar … that kind of thing …” On her home turf she would feel safer. The important thing, she mused, was to get away from these two other men and
isolate Sloane. Much as she questioned the wisdom of being alone with him, there were too many personal issues involved to remain here. Mustering her strength, she nodded to Dan and Charlie, then led the way back down that long, long hall.
Sloane Harper was beside her every step of the way, his lithe, lean frame slowing his strides to match her shorter ones. His personal aura surrounded her, crisping her senses, giving her second thoughts as to what in the world she was doing, daring her heart to stand up against him. Relieving unsteady legs of their meager burden, she settled into the chair behind her desk, then watched as Sloane shut the door and lounged back against it, hands thrust casually in his pockets, a distinctly smug grin on his face.
He was handsome,
every whimsical sense screamed within her, at war with those instincts of reason which stiffened her back.
“What are
you
grinning at?” she snapped testily. “I don't think I dropped anything this time—and I didn't trip over myself. What else could possibly be funny?”
Other than the fact,
she acknowledged with silent reluctance,
that you have planned this farce as a demonstration of your power! Were you that injured at my refusal to marry you,
she wondered,
that your need for revenge has come to
…
this?
“What is it you want, Sloane?”
His smile was undaunted by her attempted freeze. “How have you been, Justine?”
“Fine.” She held his gaze unwaveringly, gaining strength in her anger, power in her hurt.
“You look tired.”
“I am. And, so do you—look tired—by the way.”
“I am—too.”
Was it to be a battle of words as well? With a sigh, she took the offensive. “Then, let's make this brief. What do you
really
want? This trip and all—what does it mean?”
“I want your legal expertise, Justine. Nothing more.”
The cooling of his own tone did not go unnoticed, nor did the straightening of his body.
“Come on,” she goaded him. “It can't be just that. Any other lawyer would have served as well. Why me?”
Despite his alertness, he was the picture of innocence. His face was devoid now of smugness, his eyes of sensuality. For a minute she wanted to believe him. “I think you may be the best in this field,” he announced simply. “You know your law and you're creative in applying it. In my work I go for the cream of the crop. You already know that. What more would you have me say?”
Her eyes narrowed in lingering skepticism. “I want to know what's going on in that crafty mind of yours—below the surface. You haven't called me in a month. Now, you pop right in and deftly maneuver my exile for a month. This is
my
life, Sloane. You can't just—” Suddenly, in a flash of realization, she understood. A slow simmer lowered her voice dangerously. “That's it, isn't it? You want me away. Away from this—my work—the dealing with divorce every day.” Recollection of their last, prolonged discussion was instantly fresh. “You consider this to be an unhealthy atmosphere for me. Is that it?” Tapered fingernails dug into the soft flesh of her palm; with deliberation, she unclenched her fist and laid her hands flat an her desk.
Sloane, on the other hand, was maddeningly calm. Several fluid steps brought him from the door. “And what if it is true? Would it make much difference? After all, we're only talking about a month.”
“A month of my very personal time!” she cried out in frustration, realizing that he had, with characteristic cunning, avoided a direct confession.
He grew more sober. “I'm sure you'll be able to take your vacation later—”
“That's not the point!” She paused, catching her breath, suddenly overcome by fatigue and courting the germs of a headache. With merciful diversion, the telephone console
flickered. “Yes, Angie? … No, I'd rather not take any—who? … Yes, put him on.”
Swiveling her chair such that its back was to Sloane, she spoke softly into the receiver. “Hi, Tony! … Not bad … . Yes, I heard … . I'm glad … . Tonight? … No, uh, yes, I'd like that … . I am, but I'll be fine … . Good … . See you later.” The conversation had been quiet, its end in a near whisper. For long moments after Tony hung up, Justine held the phone against her. There was that special bond between them, and she badly needed someone to talk to. Perhaps he might be able to help her sort things out; if all else failed, his would be a welcome shoulder to cry on.
Swiveling back front, Justine caught the dark look on Sloane's face moments before his voice grated across the short distance. “Who is Tony?”
“Tony is a very special friend.” Fresh upon what she felt to be Sloane's betrayal of her, she had no intention of spelling out the true nature of the relationship. Half in spite, she added a pointed “I'm having dinner with him tonight.”
“So I gathered.” He hardened then, growing all business. “Look, there will be a meeting the week after next at my headquarters. You'll be able to meet the others then—” He caught her surprise. “—Yes, there will be others along on the trip.” A wry smile thinned his lips. “Two others on this initial team. I'll have more details at that meeting. Can you make it?”
Pouting seemed inappropriate. “I suppose so,” she stated calmly.
“Good.” He turned to leave. “I'll have some preliminary materials sent over for you to examine. And … Justine …”—it was the first true note of gentleness she had heard and she subconsciously perked up—“ … try to get some rest.”
“You, too,” she called flippantly, then, when he was no longer in sight, whispered more softly, “You, too.”
 
Tony was, indeed, a good listener, though he was far from sympathetic on all scores. Justine had already told him about Sloane, so the fact that she had fallen in love was no surprise to him. For the first time, however, she related Sloane's proposal of marriage and her subsequent refusal.
That
drew out the brotherly instinct.
“Are you sure you've made the right decision, Justine?” he asked. “I mean”—his eyes fell for a moment of hesitancy—“we haven't ever really gone into all that, but I know how badly you were hurt by Dad and your mother. I'm not quite sure, though, that you should let that one instance sour your feelings forever.”
To the best of her ability she argued her case, talking of her work and its lessons. And, though Tony did not broach the matter of the ugly experience of her childhood again, neither was he convinced of the justification for her beliefs. On the issue of Alaska he pointed out the positive, exuding excitement at the prospect of such a trip, such an experience. His mood was contagious; by the time he had kissed her good-bye at her apartment door, pleading an excess of coffee and an early appointment the next morning, she felt buoyed. Once again, however, the bubble burst as soon as she was left to her own psychological devices. Where the heart was concerned, she was fast discovering, reason was irrevocably altered.
As she approached the law so she approached her dilemma. The facts, as she saw them, were easily laid out. There was the fact that she loved Sloane and he loved her; their weekend in Westport had proven that decisively. There was the fact of his marriage proposal and her refusal; again, these were absolute. There was the fact of the CORE International project in Alaska and her own abduction into its realm. But there the facts ended.
From there things grew muddled. Fine lines blended together, confusing issues, complicating others. What were the offshoots of these facts? Would their love lead them to a viable compromise? Could Sloane discover that he might temporarily abandon the thought of marriage if being with her meant enough to him? Would this trip to Alaska be the deciding force
for
or
against
their future? What was that future to hold?
Above it all Justine only knew that Sloane's appearance in her life had brought with it the kind of upheaval she had never, in her well-paced designs, envisioned. To her chagrin she was ill prepared for it. Her emotional keel wavered left to right, high to low. There seemed no stable force to cling to.
Until that day,
a mere one before the meeting at Sloane's office, when she found that force around which to rally.
On that day, in early July, she discovered she was pregnant.
“You're
what?
” It was seven thirty in the morning. Susan Bovary had just returned from working her usual night shift. She was exhausted, to say the least, and now wondered if she'd heard correctly.
“I'm pregnant.” Justine calmly repeated her announcement, eyes sparkling, lips twitching up at the corners despite her own sleepless night. Still in her robe, she intended to spend the morning in bed. Her meeting with Sloane was not until one in the afternoon. She owed herself this small luxury—and she badly needed the rest.
Susan was suddenly wide awake. “You're pregnant? You're going to have Sloane's baby?”
“My
baby, Sue.” She smiled gently. “And yes, I
am
going to have it.”
Her roommate's eyes clouded momentarily. “Are you … pleased?”
Justine's continuing smile and the light flush on her cheeks heralded her answer. The night had been one of soul-searching. She'd been shocked at first, then terrified at the thought of being pregnant. And alone. From the first that was a given. But as the hours wore on, her mind had warmed to the thought of the microscopic seed growing in her body. Yes, she had alternatives and she considered each in turn. She could agree to marry Sloane … but she wouldn't. She could easily arrange for an abortion … but she couldn't. Hence her decision was made. Her future would hold love after all. She'd love her child with every ounce of her being.
She hadn't anticipated getting pregnant, hadn't planned on having a child. But it was marriage that frightened her even more than motherhood. Now she carried Sloane's
child, a child conceived in love. That knowledge gave a glow to her smile.
“After nearly eighteen hours of nonstop deliberation … yes, I'm pleased. In fact I'm feeling very … light-headed.”
Her joy was evident, much as it surprised Susan. “Oh, Justine, I'm thrilled for you then! I had no idea you wanted a baby.”
“Neither did I,” her friend retorted with humor. “And I was pretty shocked at first. Since I saw the doctor yesterday, I've had to totally rethink my plans. I do intend to have the baby and I plan to raise it myself.”
“Yourself? You mean”—Susan started in disbelief—“that you still won't marry Sloane?”
“No.” Soft but firm.
“But … what if he wants the baby?”
“He won't necessarily know about it—”
“You're not going to even
tell
him? Justine, it's his child, too! He has a right to know!”
“That's where I don't agree with you,” Justine argued, voicing her thoughts of the night gone by. “When Sloane realized that I wouldn't marry him, he more or less deserted me. I didn't hear from or about him for a full month. Then, I finally saw him in the office, and there was some harebrained scheme for me to act as the lawyer-specialist for his project. Well, I'll go with him to Alaska, and I'll give him the best legal advice I can. But that's all. After the month we will have nothing to do with one another.”
“But he'll see—”
Justine shook her pale-copper-covered head. “I've got it all figured out, Sue.” Her eyes reflected her excitement, gleaming a rich green beneath a thick red fringe. “I'm barely six weeks pregnant now. The trip is planned for August. I'll only be in my third month then, into my fourth at the end of the trip.” Her voice quickened with anticipation. “The doctor told me that, with a first pregnancy,
I probably wouldn't show until the end of the fourth or the fifth. If that's the case, Sloane will never know. And, I have this funny feeling that I won't be wearing the chicest of outfits there in the wilds of Alaska. All I have to do is to pick loose things, sweaters and jackets that hang fairly full and low. Very simple.”
Susan eyed her skeptically. “
If
he never sees you nude—”
“He won't!” It was a seething vow, reflective of the hurt Justine continued to feel inside along with her love for Sloane. Now, she had the baby to consider; instantly the thought soothed her.
Susan was quiet for a moment, before moving on. “And what about work—when you do show?”
Again, Justine had considered this. “I think that, given proper camouflage, I can work until my sixth month. Then, I will simply take a leave of absence. If the firm can so easily spare me for this month”—her dismay at the last fact surfaced unbidden—“they can just manage without me for a while longer. Then, I will find a nurse to take care of the baby during the day—when I decide to go back to work.”
“But the law … it's always meant so much to you, Justine. Will you be able to handle it?”
There was a flicker of doubt, of unsureness, in Justine's gaze. “I hope so, Sue. I'm certainly going to try,” she answered Susan as honestly as she could. “I do know that I want this baby … almost as much as I've always wanted that career. If determination is all that counts, I'll manage fine.”
The smile that her roommate bestowed upon her was filled with hope, tinged with skepticism. Justine accepted it, knowing it was only the first of many such friendly expressions of doubt she might expect. But she had to be prepared. Her life had undergone a total emotional reversal
in the past hours; it was up to her to set her course and follow it faithfully.
When she arrived in Sloane's office, a well-planned and decorated room in an ultramodern suite of offices, she was fully composed. Only the charcoal smudges beneath her eyes told of her need for rest. But that would come, she told herself. It was simply a matter of settling into a schedule once more. As for her eyes, her cheeks, her lips—they were full of life, bright and glowing, radiating the warmth she felt at the thought of the seed—Sloane's seed —that grew inside her.
“You're looking better,” he commented, staring hard at her when she arrived. For a moment of heart-stopping hesitation, she wondered if he could tell—or might guess—her secret. But the meeting went on without delay, setting her mind at ease. Having read the preliminary material Sloane had sent to her office, she could readily follow the directives he gave now. Taking notes on her long legal pad, she engrossed herself in the work, denying the very presence of the man whose lean frame was never far from her, whose eyes were uncomfortably keen and attentive, whose thick head of silver hair haloed about him deceptively.
Her seeming immunity to his manly appeal gave her courage—and the growing belief that she might just pull it off! The next few weeks passed, similarly without a hitch, further buoying her. In the presence of others, Sloane, it appeared, presented no threat to her sensibilities. So she told herself—over and over and over again at every weak moment of self-doubt.
The chore of shopping for clothing for the trip was simplified by the list which Sloane provided. In great detail it outlined the necessities—down parka and heavy denims, woolen socks, flannel shirts, mittens, long underwear, knit hat—that the chill of the Arctic nights, even these at the end of the northern summer, might require.
Justine carefully selected items that left room for growth, though her stomach remained as flat, her waist as narrow, as they had always been.
Having settled the basics in her mind regarding her pregnancy, she was determined not to worry. If Ivy, Gates and Logan balked at her plans, there would be other firms, other opportunities. Thanks to the professional reputation she had already established, she anticipated no trouble in supporting both herself and the baby.
Her dreams were filled with images of a child—tall, straight, and healthy. He would be a miniature of his father, with a dark headful of hair such as she might have imagined Sloane's to have been in his youth. With every dream her love grew, now given the outlet that Sloane's emotional estrangement had denied her. She had presented him with her terms, and he had rejected them. Here in her womb was one who would not. If Sloane's devotion was to be beyond her reach, she would find it in his child.
The thought of motherhood grew more appealing with each passing day. Indeed, everything seemed to be working out to her satisfaction—until the day of departure arrived and Sloane escorted her aboard the Lear jet used exclusively by his corporation.
“Where are Jerry and Bob?” she asked, seeing neither of the subexecutives whom Sloane had designated as part of this exploratory team.
He spoke quietly with the pilot before turning to face her. “They'll be meeting us in Juneau. We're making a slight detour.”
“Detour? To where?” Suspicion widened her eyes, giving her the look of a lost child. In her deliberate attempt to avoid a weight gain, she had somehow managed to lose several pounds. Her cheeks were more finely sculpted now, her arms and legs even more slender. The overall effect was not displeasing; rather, it gave her an air of studied maturity, becoming in a sophisticated way.
Sloane looked down on her indulgently. “Don't be alarmed. We're stopping in Atlanta for a late lunch, then we'll move on to St. Louis for the night. We'll catch the others tomorrow evening.”
The faint pallor which crept up beneath the blusher on her cheeks illustrated the sense of foreboding which suddenly assailed her. Justine felt cornered once more by this man. As the momentary terror at the thought of what she had, knowingly or not, let herself in for surged through her, she swallowed hard. “Is it a business lunch … in Atlanta?” She knew the answer even before Sloane confirmed it.
“No.” He spoke without hint of emotion. “We're having lunch with my parents at their home.”
“Sloane! How could you!” she exclaimed impulsively, then caught herself as quickly, lowering her voice. The hum of the plane's engine and the sensation of movement told her it was too late for escape; exerting her utmost self-control, she willed herself to calmness. “Why didn't you warn me, Sloane?”
“I told you to wear a comfortable traveling dress, didn't I? What other preparation do you need?”
Looking down at the soft fabric of her pale blue sundress and the length of slender leg which stretched from hem to stylishly tan high-heeled sandals, she knew that her appearance would be the least of her worries. Stomach churning, she regarded Sloane again.
“What do they know about me?”
“Only that you are a lawyer and that you'll be accompanying me to Alaska.” The rock hardness of his dark eyes was not hidden behind the studied relaxation of his face. Justine felt less than assured—until his eyes suddenly softened. “Take it easy, Justine. It won't be all that bad. They won't bite, you know!”
If only they
had
bitten, she was to rue later, things might have been easier to accept. As it turned out, Justine felt
herself drawn to Sloane's parents with a force comparable in strength, though different in nature, to that by which she had been drawn to their son from the start. James and Constance Harper exuded a warmth with every word and gesture—from their presence at the airport in Atlanta to greet the plane, to their vibrant chatter in the car along the route to their house, to the gracious intimacy of the house itself—a Georgian colonial decorated with taste and care —to the informality of the lunch which was eaten on an open patio overlooking lush orchards, to the send-off they gave Sloane and Justine, back at the airport, with heartfelt embraces all around.
In the airplane again, Justine found herself strangely sad. The tarmac blurred beneath the landing gear, and as the craft moved into position for takeoff, her cheeks were wet with tears.
“Are you all right, Justine?” Sloane's arrival from the cockpit startled her. “Has something upset you?”
Quickly she looked away, her feelings all too open, her heart all too vulnerable. “No,” she forced herself to whisper, then paused. “They're lovely people, Sloane. I enjoyed meeting them. I can understand why your childhood was such a happy one. They love each other very much.” Her mind replayed the small, nearly missed gestures of affection that had passed between the senior Harpers—the clasp of hands, the meeting of eyes, the quiet exchange of smiles, the shared pride in their son. Was that what it could be like?
“That they do, Justine. They may not have the physical energy they once had, but they are very much in love.” He settled into a seat near her and fastened his seat belt moments before the plane left the ground.
Justine's head was turned away, her eyes glued to the window. In those few short hours they'd spent in Atlanta, James and Constance Harper had touched her. Now, she felt the loss—a loss she never dreamed she might feel.
Against her every effort tears slid, one by one, down the softness of her cheeks. Loneliness overwhelmed her; guilt at the deception she'd practiced drove her deeper into her seat. As grandparents the Harpers would have undoubtedly offered a boundless love. Was it fair to deprive them of what would be a great joy to them? Was life fair?
Sloane's gentle voice broke into her daze, close and filled with concern. “What is it, sweetheart?” His use of the endearment hastened the flow of her tears, until his strong fingers reached out to brush them from her cheeks. “Was it that upsetting for you—meeting my parents?”

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