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He took over. He unfastened his pants, undid his zipper, pushed the elegant material over his thighs and calves until the satin stripe was an undulating ribbon on the floor by her dress.

Pam touched him then. He was magnificently aroused and grew even more so in the few seconds that he allowed her caress. But patience deserted him. His hand went between her legs, found the snaps of her teddy, and pulled, baring her for his touch and, with a light boost and a bold thrust, his penetration.

Almost of one voice, they moaned, then laughed at the shared agony of the sound. “God, I’ve missed you,” he muttered into her hair.

She loved hearing the words, loved the ardor behind them, loved the pressure of him inside her. “I know.”

“Do you?”

“I feel it, too. I keep thinking the missing will stop.”

“It doesn’t.”

“I know.”

He pushed deeper, slowly withdrew, returned deeper still.

“It keeps . . .?getting . . .?better.” She looked up to find his head back, eyes closed, jaw tight against the pain of pleasure. In turn, her own pleasure grew. She tightened her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips, then braced herself when his hands flattened on the door on either side of her head. While he kissed the high-pitched sounds from her lips, he branded her his with long, brash strokes that shook the door on its hinges.

She climaxed first, but only because he’d meant it to be that way. Her body was still racked with sharp spasms when, with a prolonged groan, he rammed into her a final time and found his release.

The pulsing inside her went on and on. At length, he slipped trembling arms around her and slowly sank to his knees, then back on his heels. “Ahhh, babe.” His voice was hoarse, his jaw damp against her temple.

She whispered his name, but that was all. She didn’t have the strength for more. So she let him hug her, let his closeness be the tonic returning life to her limbs.

He held her tightly, almost compulsively at first, and she didn’t mind it a bit. Gradually his hold eased. He nuzzled her cheek, nipped at her earring, fingered its matching choker. The set was of tourmalines and pearls set in broad sterling sweeps. He traced the stones with his fingers, then dipped his head and let the tip of his tongue tell her how beautiful he thought she was.

In that instant, basking in the heady afterglow of love, she believed in the rightness of what they shared. Cutter was special. He was forbidden to her, yet he made her feel safe. He also made her feel whole, and feminine, and sexy. Even then, when she should have been sated, her body was beginning to hum again.

“You’re a demon,” she teased, shifting on his lap to better feel his growth.

He gave a very smug, very masculine grin. “Old habits die hard. I’ve been like this for days.”

“Hard?”

“Like a rock.”

“With no relief?” She knew it was unfair, still she wondered about his women. He was a sex symbol in his own right, and she, more than anyone, knew of his hunger.

“No relief from wanting you,” he said without quite answering her question, and Pam didn’t pursue it. He was lowering the slim straps of her teddy, baring her breasts. While he rubbed one puckered nipple with his thumb, he took the other into his mouth and drew on it deeply. Swallowing a cry, she arched her back, pushed her fingers into his hair, and clung.

Moments later, her back hit the floor, and this time when they made love, their eyes held. Visually they challenged each other, silent but for a bitten-off cry, a muffled moan, a ground-out grunt. The pace grew wild, their bodies damp and savage, but neither closed his eyes or looked away. And when it was over, when they’d pushed aside the last of their clothing and shifted to the bed, they settled on their sides, face to face, wide awake.

For a time they just lay there, touching gently, breathing softly. They talked, sharing news and thoughts as best friends do but inevitably one word or another conjured intrusive pictures. So they made love again, because that was what most aptly expressed their feelings.

This time it was more gentle, a poignant reunion of the flesh. It was a light hand to a knee, the nudge of a nose near a navel, the brush of knuckles on soft skin joining thigh and hip. It was the scent of musk, of man and sex and exotic flowers, and the sound of sighs. Inevitably, it was Cutter’s tongue circling the delicately fluted gold band on Pam’s left hand and her lips sipping her own tears from the pale, puckered scars on his back. Reality always intruded that way, despite their intentions to keep it at bay.

Then the heat rose again, blotting out all else but the moment, and in the fire they blessedly forgot why they had to part. So they kept it stoked, kept forgetfulness high. They loved and loved again, and by the time exhaustion overtook them, it was nearly dawn.

Pam awoke to the pale midmorning sun in a mussed but lonely bed. Clutching the guilt to her breasts, she sat up. “Cutter?” She pushed the hair out of her eyes and tried again, louder this time. “Cutter?” In the silence that followed, she caught sight of the small piece of paper that lay on the pillow by hers. His handwriting was the same barely legible scribble that had helped get him kicked out of school so long ago, but the only difficulty she had in deciphering it was caused by the tears in her eyes.

“Tu tiens mon coeur. C.”

For a long time she held the note, moving only to wipe at her nose or her cheeks with the back of her hand. Only when she glanced at the clock and realized that her own time was short did she carefully fold the paper in half, then half again, slip from bed, and tuck it into her purse. It would go, she knew, into her dresser drawer with the others, hidden beneath a cloud of lacy bras, satin camisoles, and silk tap pants. Condemning evidence? Oh, yes, but if those scribbles were the only physical reminders she had of him during the long stretches between trysts, she was willing to take the chance.

She brought another physical reminder of Cutter home with her from Paris that November. By January she knew she was pregnant, and she was ecstatic. She had begun to worry that the abortion had scarred her insides so that she couldn’t get pregnant, since four years of marriage to Brendan had produced no children. Now that fear was put to rest. She was being given a second chance. Not only could she make up for the baby she had lost, but she was giving Brendan a gift, too. He knew how much she wanted to be a mother and was as excited as she about the baby.

In August of 1984, Ariana was born. She was a healthy child, with her mother’s delicate nose and mouth and dark eyes that were as familiar to Pam as her own. She was, Pam knew, her father’s daughter.

Chapter 25

Boston, 1988

C
UTTER SAT ON A BENCH IN THE
Public Garden, his heart swelling as he watched Pam and Ariana approach. They were both beauties—Pam with her dark hair, her elegant features, and her gauzy bohemian look, Ariana with her bow of a mouth, her dark round eyes, and the shiny hair that shimmered on the ruffled shoulders of her tiny peasant dress. Her small hand was in Pam’s, and for every step Pam took, she took a skip and a half.

She was the most beautiful child in the whole of Boston, the whole of Massachusetts, the whole of America. Cutter was sure of it, and it wasn’t simply that she was his child. He’d spent hours looking at others since Ariana was born, and none could compare.

With a grin for Pam, he leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees, and, as soon as she was before him, said to Ariana, “Hi, angel.”

She gave him a shy smile. “Hi, Cutter.”

He didn’t think he’d ever get used to hearing her sweet voice say his name. He had Pam to thank for it. Although Ariana’s birth had been a death knell for sex between Pam and him, Pam had wanted Ariana to know him, and vice versa. Rather than arrange visits on the sly, she had come right out and introduced him to Brendan as an old friend from Timiny Cove. Brendan knew of Cutter’s occupation and particularly of his involvement with diamonds, and he accepted that Pam and Cutter had a lot in common. So Cutter had been included in things like Christmas parties, Fourth of July cookouts, and even an occasional dinner party. Ariana took to him easily.

Now, sharing his pleasure with Pam in a glance, he looked back at the little girl. “I hear it’s a special day,” he said softly.

Ariana nodded and grinned.

“How old?”

It was a minute of arranging before she had four fingers standing straight and separate.

“Four? Whoa. Four is really old.”

Her eyes grew wide with suppressed excitement and she nodded again.

“Are you having a party?”

She nodded. “Saturday. Wanna come?”

He tapped her tiny nose. “I think the party’s for your friends. You don’t want me along.”

“I do,” Ariana insisted, all serious. She looked at Pam. “He can come, can’t he, Mommy?”

But before she could answer, Cutter said, “I have to be back in New York. That was why I wanted to see you today.” He lowered his voice in a teasing way. “I have something for you.”

Ariana was all excited eyes again. “You do?”

“Yup.”

“Where is it?”

“Behind me.”

Clutching his arm, she climbed up on the bench and peered behind him. A small box was sandwiched there. She tried to pull it out, but couldn’t. So she tugged at his arm to move him. He wouldn’t budge.

“First a hug,” he said.

She reached up for his neck. He helped her, scooping her into his arms and hugging her with a fierce gentleness as he rocked her from side to side. It was a treasured moment. Eyes closed, he savored her warmth, the child smell of her, her delicate feel. He would have held her longer if she had allowed it. But she drew back, wanting her gift. While he continued to hold her with one arm, he reached back with the other and drew out the box. Settling easily onto his lap, she began to pull at its wrapping.

Cutter caught Pam’s eye. “She’s precious,” he said softly.

Pam nodded. “We’re very lucky.”

“She has your nose and mouth.”

“But the eyes and the hair—” She pointed at him.

He liked that thought. There was something about children as a perpetuation of their parents that he found reassuring. He would have hated to die without leaving something of himself behind in the world. Not that he was planning to die in the immediate future, but he knew that he wouldn’t have children with anyone but Pam. Ariana had been unplanned. He didn’t regret her birth for a minute, only the circumstances surrounding it.

“Is she a tomboy, like her mommy was?”

Pam blushed. “Nah. She’s a lady.”

“Like her mommy is. How was day camp?”

Pam waggled a hand. “The part she liked best was coming home.”

“Did you mind?”

“Are you kidding? I loved it.”

Ariana drew in a loud breath as she lifted a small, intricately carved gold box. “Look, Mommy. It’s so pretty.”

Cutter smiled. “Open it.” He helped. No sooner was the lid up than the music began. Ariana drew in another loud breath when a tiny ballerina started turning on her toe. She stared and stared, her eyes filled with wonder. When she darted him a look, he felt that wonder warm him from head to toe.

“Look, Mommy!” Very carefully, she turned the music box Pam’s way.

Pam sat down on the bench to take a closer look. “Oh my. It is beautiful.” She listened with a curious smile. “??‘The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy?’??”

“I found it in Salzburg when I was there last month.”

“It’s wonderful.” To Ariana she said, “What a lucky girl you are to get such a beautiful gift.” She leaned closer to whisper, “Do I hear a thank-you?”

Ariana turned another shy smile on Cutter. “Thank you, Cutter.” As an afterthought, but without any coaching from Pam, she craned her neck and planted a kiss on his jaw. Then, holding the music box gingerly in one hand, she maneuvered herself down from his lap with the other. Skipping across the dirt path in front of the bench, she perched on the base of a statue to listen to the music and watch the ballerina turn.

“She loves it,” Pam said.

“I’m glad. I wanted something special.”

“You found it. Thank you.”

“Thank
you
.”

“For what?”

“Bringing her here.” He shifted his gaze from Ariana to Pam. “Is it awkward?”

“Not really. I had promised her a ride on the swan boats for her birthday. I told Brendan that you were in town and that we’d probably stop by to say hello. He had no problem with that.”

Cutter thought of Brendan, thought of the times he’d welcomed Cutter to his home, thought of the business discussions they’d had, the give and take. He also remembered other, earlier times when he’d begged Pam to leave Brendan. In the last year or two, he’d come to understand why she wouldn’t—which made him more frustrated than ever. “He’s a nice man. A good man. I wish I could hate him, but I can’t.”

“He likes you, too.”

“He’s a good father to her.”

“Yes.”

Cutter looked at Ariana again. She was holding the music box on her knees, mesmerized by it. In turn, he was mesmerized by her—by little fingers, little shoes, a little nose, a little chin. As he watched, the sun glanced off her hair, giving its light caramel color an even warmer sheen. Pam was right. She had his hair.