With This Ring (33 page)

They were together, at last, as they'd always been meant to be.

Western Nepal - November, 1994

Sam had been worried that maybe the hike would be too much for Amy, but she'd proven to be just as game as their two Sherpa guides.

"There it is," he said, pointing to the cluster of huts dotting the tiny valley. "There's the village."

Amy's eyes shone with eagerness as they met his.

An hour later, they were there. The villagers milled around them, all talking at once.

Sam's eyes misted over at the warm welcome.

"
Namaste, namaste . . .
" The greeting came from dozens of lips.

After much hugging and excited babbling, the little knot of villagers parted. Standing a little ways back was a beaming Reena.

"Sam," she said.

Sam's voice caught as he spoke her name. And then he opened his arms, and she came into them. He hugged her tightly, smelling her familiar, not-unpleasant scent which was a mixture of the soap she made herself and her womanly musk.

When they drew apart, Sam reached for Amy's hand and brought her forward. "My wife," he said. "Amy." He pointed to the plastic-encased photo Reena had seen him finger so many times.

"Amy," Reena said, drawing the name out. Her dark face was wreathed in smiles as her eyes searched Amy's face. Then she put her arms around Amy, and they hugged.

Sam watched them. Two women who had so profoundly affected his life. With any luck, he thought happily, there might be a third one of these days, because Amy had confessed just last night that she thought she might be pregnant again.

"I'm a week late," she said, eyes shining. "And I'm never late. Y-you don't mind, do you?"

No, he'd told her, he didn't mind. He was thrilled and knew he was luckier than he had any right to be. There was something else he wanted to tell her, but he decided he'd wait until they were back home again, until she was certain. Then he'd tell her what else he'd been thinking about—asking Justin if he'd consider being the baby's godfather.

Justin might say no, he might say their friendship wasn't mendable. All Sam knew was, he had to try.

As Reena and Amy drew apart, Sam put one arm around his surrogate mother and one arm around his wife.

He was the luckiest man in the world, he thought, as the three of them walked forward together.

And this was only the beginning.

New York City, New York December 1997

Adam Forrester whistled as he
took the stairs leading to Natalie’s apartment two at a time. Although this wasn’t the way he would have chosen to live, for some reason tonight he felt more optimistic than he’d felt in a long time. He couldn’t wait to see Natalie. It had been at least six months since they’d had an entire weekend together, but with Julia gone to Mamaroneck, he was free.
They
were free.

Maybe they would go somewhere. He’d bet Natalie would like that. He smiled. It would be nice to take her somewhere.

Clutched in his hand was a bottle of her favorite port. Whenever he came to her place, he always brought her something—wine or flowers or books—because from the very first she had refused to take any money from him. She wouldn’t even let him pay for half the food they ate.

“No,” she’d said, “when you take me out somewhere, then you can pay. When we’re at my apartment, I’m the hostess, and I’ll pay.”

“But—”

“I won’t be a kept woman,” she insisted. Her beautiful blue gray eyes held that determined glint that meant she would not change her mind, no matter how much he protested or what arguments he used.

Adam, shaking his head, finally gave in. Natalie might look delicate, but underneath that slender frame and deceptively gentle manner was a core of steel.

He was huffing a bit by the time he reached her third-floor landing. He grimaced as he rang her doorbell. Lately, he hadn’t been going to the gym as often as he should. He’d better remedy that. Forty-four was no age to slack off on your exercise program.

He waited impatiently, but finally he heard the sound of her footsteps, followed by the distinctive grind of her deadbolt being released. In that last second before she opened the door, there was a familiar tightening in his gut. There had been times over the years when he’d wondered if he would still feel the same excitement and anticipation about being with her if they were married, if he saw her every day, if their relationship wasn’t clandestine. The answer was always the same. It wouldn’t matter what their situation was. From the day he’d first laid eyes on her, Natalie had been the only woman in the world for him, and she always would be. She was the reason he looked forward to each day. Without her, his life would be empty.

He smiled when the door opened.

“Hi.” Her return smile seemed a bit tired. “You’re early.”

“Yes, the meeting didn’t last as long as I thought it would.” He shut the door, set the wine down, then took her into his arms and gave her a lingering kiss. Afterward, he held her close, reveling in her warmth and softness. “God, I’ve missed you.”

“It’s only been three days,” she said with a soft laugh. But she didn’t try to pull away. Instead, she lifted her face to his again. Just before their lips met, he saw a glimmer of something in her eyes that disturbed him, and he wondered if there was anything wrong. But he quickly forgot about it, because this time there was a kind of desperation in the way she clung to him and in the intensity of her kisses so that dinner and everything else was wiped from his mind. All he cared about was Natalie. Loving her. Wanting her. Needing her. Blood pounding in his veins, he swept her up and into his arms and carried her into the bedroom.

Most of the time, when they made love, Adam didn’t like to rush. He loved touching Natalie, brushing his fingers over her breasts and belly and thighs and looking at her while he did. He loved seeing the way her eyes would drift shut and the way her body trembled as desire built. He loved hearing the little catches in her breath, the soft moans and whimpers. Her pleasure excited him and increased his own anticipation. He especially loved taking her close to the brink and then stopping—giving her a few seconds to fall back a little—then starting again so that her eventual pleasure—and his, too—would be more prolonged, more intense and satisfying.

But tonight there was none of that long, slow buildup of passion. Tonight she was ready for him almost immediately, and he was more than ready for her with one of the most painful erections he’d ever had.

“Adam, Adam!” she cried as he plunged into her, pushing deep and hard. Her fingernails dug into his back.

“I love you,” he managed to gasp before he shuddered out of control.

When his body calmed, she wouldn’t let him pull away. Instead, she held him tightly. So tightly Adam remembered his earlier misgiving. Something
was
wrong.

It was then he felt the wetness on her cheek. She was crying. Natalie rarely cried, at least not in front of him. She hadn’t even cried that day so long ago when he’d told her he was going to marry Julia instead of her.

This time when he tried to pull free, she didn’t stop him. “What’s wrong?” he said, sitting up. Was she sick? Had something happened?

She sat up, too, and swiped at the tears on her cheeks. “Let’s get dressed first.”

Adam stared at her. Fear caused his heart to pound. Still he managed to answer calmly, “All right.”

She pulled the quilt off the bed and wrapped it around her—almost as if she was embarrassed to be naked in front of him—before walking to where their clothes lay jumbled together in a pile. Not looking at him, she began to get dressed.

Suddenly, with a sick feeling, Adam was afraid he knew exactly what it was she was going to say. Still, he told himself not to jump to conclusions. Maybe he was wrong.

But once they were dressed and seated next to each other on the sofa in her tiny living room, he knew he wasn’t wrong. The expression on her face, half sadness, half resignation, told him everything. The day he had feared for years, a day he had hoped and prayed would never come, was finally there.

She closed her eyes for a second and took a deep breath. “Oh, God. This is so hard. I... Adam, I can’t go on like this anymore.”

“Natalie, don’t—”

“No, wait. Please let me finish before you say anything. You know how much I love you. How much I will always love you. For a long time I’ve thought that would be enough and that the worst thing that could ever happen to me would be losing you again, but—” She swallowed. “But now I know that’s not true. Loving you isn’t enough.” Her eyes pleaded with him to understand. “You see, lately, I’ve realized that I have become a person I don’t like very much, and... I am so very sorry, but I just can’t be that person anymore.” For the second time that night, her eyes filled with tears.

Adam wanted to beg her. Get down on his knees and plead with her not to do this. Not to leave him. How could he go on without her? Yet he knew to do so would be the ultimate act of selfishness on his part. Knowing Natalie as he did, he knew she had not come to this decision easily, and if he tried to change her mind, he would only make things harder for her. She had already given up too many years of her life for him; he had no right to ask for more.

So, even though inside he was bellowing his despair and frustration and rage at the fates that had first given but were now taking away, he used every ounce of control he possessed to will himself to accept her decision and say nothing in protest.

“Your place is with Julia,” she continued brokenly. “I accept that.” Brushing at her tears, she took a deep, shaky breath. “But my place is somewhere else.” Her eyes met his. “I’m leaving New York, Adam. I gave Jack my notice on Wednesday. I’ll be gone before Christmas. I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Adam felt frozen, as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest and plunged into a tub of ice. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be warm again. “Where will you go?” he asked dully.

“To Emerson for the holidays.” Emerson, a small town in northern Connecticut, was her hometown. “After that, I don’t know. Maybe to L.A. Brooke has been after me to move out there.”

“I see.”

“Adam...” She touched his cheek.

Her touch was nearly his undoing. Suddenly he knew he had to get out of there. Now. Because if he stayed, he would do or say something he would be sorry for later. If he left now, at least he would still have his dignity.

“It’s okay,” he said stoically. “I understand. And I don’t blame you for feeling this way. But I think the best thing I can do right now is leave.”

“Oh, Adam, you don’t have to go. You can still stay the weekend the way we planned.”

He shook his head. “No. I can’t.” Blindly, he got up, found his coat, put it on. He didn’t look at her. Couldn’t.

“Adam, don’t leave like this.” She was openly crying now.

Somehow he managed to choke out, “I’ll always love you.” Then he opened the door and walked out.

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Claire Kendrick shifted in her chair and nervously glanced at her watch. She'd been waiting twenty minutes, and the longer she waited, the more fidgety and anxious she became. Why had Nick Callahan sent for her? she asked herself for at least the twelfth time. Was something wrong? Was someone dissatisfied with her work?

Surely not. She was doing an excellent job in the public relations department of Callahan, International. Besides, even if there
was
something wrong with her work, her supervisor would have called her in—not the president of the company.

Claire looked up. Rain sluiced across the bank of windows of the 50th-floor office and thunder rumbled nearby. She could barely see the fuzzy outlines of the other downtown buildings through the low-hanging gunmetal clouds. Houston in January could be as miserable as any northern city, she thought.

"Miss Kendrick?"

Claire turned.

Nick Callahan's secretary beckoned. "Mr. Callahan will see you now."

Thank goodness, Claire thought, relieved that she'd finally find out what was going on. The older woman led Claire down a short hall, through a set of double walnut doors, and into a massive corner office.

"Miss Kendrick is here, Mr. Callahan," said the secretary.

"Thank you, Wanda," he answered without looking up.

Wanda disappeared noiselessly across the thick pile of gray carpeting. Claire stood uncertainly in front of the enormous glass-topped oak desk. Nick Callahan scrawled on the top sheet of the stack of papers in front of him. Then he put them aside, and his dark head lifted. Brilliant blue eyes studied her, and in spite of her repeated assurances to herself that she had nothing to worry about, she couldn't help the sudden flutter of nerves that gripped her.

"Please have a seat, Miss Kendrick." His voice was low, the words clipped. He gestured in the direction of several burgundy suede chairs grouped on the right side of his desk. "Shall I ask Wanda to bring you some coffee or tea?"

"No, thank you." Claire sat and arranged her navy wool skirt neatly. Whatever this interview was about, she just wanted it to be over quickly.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," he said.

She shrugged. The thought flitted through her mind that he was better looking than she'd expected. From all the stories she'd heard about him, she'd expected someone who looked like a prizefighter. Instead, Nick Callahan looked as if he'd be more at home on the ski slopes than in the ring—fit and trim and tanned. He appeared to be tall, but since he was seated, it was impossible to tell. Thick, dark hair—expertly cut and styled—framed a strong, angular face. He wore an expensive-looking navy pinstriped suit, a glistening white shirt, and a dark red silk tie. Even if she hadn't known he was the president of a multi-billion dollar corporation, she would have known he was somebody. Everything about him suggested power and wealth.