Having Faith (12 page)

Her hand was still pressing on the phone when it rang. White-knuckled, she picked it up.

"Leave it, Sawyer. You've said enough for one night." She hung up again.

This time when the phone rang, she lifted the handset, but dropped it right back without even putting it to her ear. Before it could ring again, she took it off the hook.

Angrily she stalked across the living room, stood for a minute at the window with her arms pressed tightly across her breasts, then stalked back and headed for the bedroom. She wasn't quite sure what had gotten out of hand, but something had. All she'd done was to call him in concern over her client. It had been a professional call, that was all.

Storming back through the apartment, she put the phone back on its hook and dialed Sawyer's number. The instant she heard his gruff hello, she said in her most confident and business-like tone, "From what the Leindecker women have told me, we don't yet have grounds for a restraining order, but that may change. Please advise your client that if he continues to torment his wife, he'll give us those grounds." She hung up before Sawyer could get in a word.

Sawyer was livid. Sitting in the dark in his apartment that night, he couldn't remember ever being quite so angry with anyone as he was with Faith. He'd known she had an emotional bent, but he hadn't dreamed that she'd be so quick to fly off the handle at remarks as innocent as the ones he'd made.

Good Lord, she knew he was old-fashioned when it came to traditional male-female values. She'd told him so dozens of times. She'd ribbed him about it, which meant that she didn't think it was all bad. He certainly didn't. He liked to think he was honest and responsible. And chivalrous. Those were good things. They showed respect for a woman, and he certainly respected Faith. He might be furious with her, but he respected her--respected and trusted her, which was why he'd marry her in a minute if she was pregnant, and he'd do it happily. He wasn't committed to life as a single. Granted, it was nice to be free of Joanna's smothering, but freedom brought loneliness. Besides, Faith wasn't a smotherer.

God forbid!

She wasn't a smotherer, but she sure as hell was stubborn and hotheaded and. passionate. Ah, yes, she was that. Just as there had been fire in her voice tonight, there had been fire in her body Friday night. He couldn't forget it. His body wouldn't let him. Those same flashes of memory he'd seen through a haze on Saturday morning came to him now, only the haze had cleared.

He saw her as she'd come from the bedroom after she'd changed, wearing an over-size sweatshirt that hid her body, and slim jeans that didn't.

He saw the way she'd smiled up at him, her sandy hair covering her forehead in bangs, framing her face in a gentle bob that ended an inch below her chin. He saw hazel eyes that weren't spectacular in and of themselves, but that reflected what was inside, in turn intelligence, mischief, curiosity, enthusiasm and desire. He saw a small, straight nose and lips that were as whimsical as her firm chin wasn't.

Then he saw her naked in the night light, a vision that made his body harden. Her breasts were full, larger than he'd thought, though perhaps firm was the word, he decided. Her waist was slim, her hips flaring just enough to brand her a woman in ways that boyishly slim models couldn't be branded. And inside-inside she was hot and moist, welcoming, generous and demanding.

He wanted her, and he wanted her badly. One night--half-zonked, but obviously not zonked enough--and he was in physical pain. Hadn't he ever seen it coming? Over and over he asked himself that question, but he wasn't able to come up with an answer. He'd known Faith for over ten years, yet things that seemed so clear to him now--such as her sex appeal and his response to it--simply hadn't occurred to him before.

He'd viewed her as a friend, seeing only what was appropriate for a friend to see, overlooking the rest.

He couldn't see her that way anymore. That point of view had been lost beneath two bodies writhing on Faith's carpet Friday night. No longer could he view her only as a friend. After tonight, he wondered if she'd let him see her even as that. She was angry because she thought he was worried she'd hook him into marriage. Well, he was angry because she thought that! But she hadn't let him say a word, and that was the most infuriating part of it, as far as he was concerned. He didn't like being cut off. He didn't like being silenced when he had something to say. And he particularly didn't like being silenced by a woman.

That was why, shortly before ten the next morning, he barreled through the door of Faith's suite, tipped a finger from his forehead to Loni as he swept past,

went into Faith's office and swung the door shut behind him.

She was on the phone, but the stormy look on his face wasn't to be ignored. Nor was the way he planted his hands apart on the outside edge of her desk and, leaning forward, waited. Speedily and with as much finesse as she could manage, she got off the phone. The instant the instrument was out of her hand, he opened fire.

"Don't ever do that to me again. Faith. I'm not a stupid man, and I don't say stupid things. If you have an accusation to make, make it and let me rebut it. That's the way things are done in this world.

Nothing gets accomplished when a person makes an accusation and then turns and runs away. "

"I didn't run away." "Figuratively you did. You thought you knew what I was thinking and you didn't like it, so you flipped out, then you hung up on me--four times--without letting me explain myself. That was rude. Faith. Rude.

What's the matter? Were you afraid to hear what I had to say? "

"Of course not."

"I think you were. I think you knew that I'd come out smelling like a rose, because I wasn't thinking about marriage or being trapped. I wasn't thinking about myself when I talked about the chance of a baby, only you. You're the one whose body would be affected, and you can argue until you're blue in the face, but that's a fact. Faith. As far as conception goes, my body does its thing in seconds, then it's done, while yours is just beginning, so you're the one who'll bear the brunt of a pregnancy."

"I know the facts of life."

"I'm glad to hear that, because you obviously don't know the facts of friendship. A friend doesn't desert a friend when she's in trouble.

Even if there wasn't the slightest chance that I was the one who got you into trouble, I'd still be concerned. Okay, so we share the blame for what happened. I'll buy that. But I still feel guilty. I still feel I should have been more responsible. " He rushed on when she opened her mouth.

"And it doesn't have a god damned thing to do with selfishness. I was thinking of you. I still am. I'm concerned for you as a friend. And lover."

"Sawyer" -- "I'm concerned, Faith. But you don't want to think that. You want to be angry with me."

"Why would I want that?"

"So that you don't have to think of being attracted to me. You want to think of last Friday night as a mistake, because maybe you've thought about it a lot, and you're feeling things you don't want to."

"Like attraction?" She tried to make light of it.

"You're a friend.

Sawyer. You've said it a million times. We were tipsy. "

He leaned closer. His voice grew deeper, sounding alternately vehement and sensual. "We were aroused. We did it to each other, Faith. If you're honest with yourself, you'll admit that."

"We were tipsy."

Very slowly he straightened. The muscle in his jaw flexed. His eyes never left her face as he came around the desk. "What are you doing, Sawyer?"

"Making my point."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She tried to sound curious rather than nervous, still she backed up a little in her chair. He was very tall, dark and imposing in his navy suit with his eyes so intent.

"I think we have a problem. I think we stumbled onto something Friday night that's not going to go away."

"Look, Sawyer, if it's the thing about a baby that's got you worried" "I don't give a damn about that." He bent over, putting his hands on the arms of her chair.

"It's the other."

"What other?"

"The attraction."

"There isn't any attraction. I told you." She flattened a hand on his shirt to hold him off.

"Don't, Sawyer. This is very unprofessional.

It's criminal. It's. assault. "

His face hovered over hers.

"No assault."

"Please," she begged, breathing shallowly.

"Leave now. Loni's sitting right out there. If I have to scream" "No scream. You know damn well that I won't hurt you."

"I don't want this. Sawyer. I don't want this. Please. Sawyer, this isn't you" -His mouth took hers, and she was right. There was none of the teasing, none of the sampling, none of the gentleness he'd shown her on Friday night. His kiss contained the hunger that had been building since then, a hunger that he'd tried to ignore himself until he'd realized the futility of it.

Faith tried to turn her head, but he thrust a hand into her hair and held her still. When she tried to push him away, he took one of her hands, drew her right out of the chair and against him, where she was effectively immobilized. She even tried to keep her mouth closed and rigid, but she was no match for his persistence. The firm stroking of his lips was powerful; they kneaded the resistance from hers as though it had never been, then rewarded her pliancy with the kind of kiss she hadn't believed existed. It was wet and warm, unbelievably erotic. She was shaking inside, sagging weakly against him by the time he raised his head.

Unable to stand, she sank back into her chair. She knew Sawyer had allowed it, or he'd still have her clamped against him, but she wasn't about to thank him.

"Well?" he demanded. His voice was hoarse.

It was a minute before she could say anything. Then, eyes downcast, she whispered, "You've made your point."

"I didn't catch that."

"You caught it."

"Look at me and repeat it." "What for? So your victory will be complete?"

He caught her chin and turned her face up.

"No victory. I'm feeling as frustrated now as you are, but you're right, I made my point."

"And you're happy?"

"Fat chance. I have to be in court at eleven, then again at two on separate cases. I've got clients coming in at four and five-thirty. I have to prepare a motion that's due tomorrow. Somewhere in the middle, I'll have to return half a dozen phone calls and call Bruce Leindecker to discuss the issue of violence. So I'm frustrated as hell, but I can't do a thing about it. Happy? Not by a long shot."

Turning, he thundered from her office with nearly the same air of belligerence that had carried him in in the first place.

Sawyer didn't like starting days off that way. When he did, they invariably went downhill, and this day was no exception. The court appearance at eleven was forfeited when his client didn't show, and the one at two resulted in a continuance. He couldn't get a bead on the motion he had to prepare, because the phone kept ringing even after he'd returned the obligatory calls. The client who came in at four reported that he had inadvertently destroyed a piece of exculpatory evidence, and the client who was scheduled for five thirty called to say he'd be an hour late.

So Sawyer called Bruce Leindecker and received an earful the likes of which he wasn't prepared for.

"The woman's crazy," Bruce claimed in a voice that lacked its customary composure.

"Something's happened to her. After being utterly stoic for twenty four years, she's suddenly turned violent."

"Violent?" That was a new twist.

"Your wife?"

"Yes. I walked into the house on Saturday. I was prepared to sit down with her and try to explain why I did what I did, but she wouldn't listen. She kept cutting me off, telling me how cruel I am and how she's given me the best years of her life. I couldn't get a word in edgewise, but I kept trying, and that made her even more angry. So she started throwing things."

Sawyer knew all too well about trying to get a word in edgewise. He also knew how successfully an irate woman could prevent it. He didn't know about throwing things, though.

"She was throwing things?"

"A cup and saucer that we'd bought in Ireland, a vase filled with flowers, the engraved picture frame that I'd given her for our twentieth anniversary. She went berserk!"

"Did she hit you?"

"No, but not for lack of trying. She's a lousy shot. Never could do anything athletic. She broke her arm when we were playing tennis in the Bahamas, fell off a donkey when we were touring the Grand Canyon, tripped and broke her ankle on the steps of the Louvre when we were in Paris. Athletic? Hah! She couldn't hit me with her eyes closed."

Bruce's irritation was real, still Sawyer sensed a ghost of indulgence beneath it.

"But she kept trying?"

"Over and over, and our daughter stood there cheering her on." The indulgence vanished.

"Beth is ticked off at me because I wouldn't give her a job. Well, hell, she was in the bottom third of her graduating class, not because she didn't have the brains, but because she didn't want to study. Is this a good recommendation, I ask you? And did I treat her any different from her brother? No, sir.