Just a Little Misgiving (Shades of Deception, Book 3) (6 page)

She hung up with a smile, feeling better for having talked to Martin. Yet she had the intuitive feeling that he was hiding something, and that his meeting had come at a very convenient time in their conversation. What would Martin have to hide?

* * *

"No nausea this morning?" Myles inquired, inhaling the aroma of the fresh coffee she handed to him.

"So far, so good. But I'm not pushing my luck by joining you." She pulled her white bathrobe tighter around her, feeling self-conscious.

It was the first morning she'd ventured down without getting dressed first. But now she wished she'd spent more time on her hair and added a subtle dash of makeup. Myles hadn't touched her since that weekend, and the seven days that had passed seemed more like years. The way she probably looked this morning, he might never want to touch her again.

"I'm glad you're not drinking coffee. From everything I've read, caffeine's not too good for the baby."

"So, you've been reading up on the subject, have you?"

"Everything I can get my hands on."

The hands in question were large, strong, and well cared for, she thought, despite the stubborn bit of grease under his fingernails. He got it from tinkering with his "toy"—a one-of-a-kind automobile he nursed and cajoled and cursed in his backyard shop.

"I like your suit," she said, shifting her attention. "It's very... European."

"I call it my corporate straitjacket." He chuckled. "Damn monkey suit. Almost makes me wish I was back where I started—on the assembly line with Dad right out of high school. I always did like the nuts-and-bolts end of the business. Good thing, I guess. My ideas and designs wouldn't have gone too far if I didn't know how to make things stop and go."

"You were on the fast track before you were twenty," Faith said, feeling a familiar pride. He was a self-made man, and she had great respect for that. "The name Myles Wellington was legendary by the time I hopped on."

"I don't believe in resting on your laurels or believing your own press. It's too easy to become complacent that way. A person doesn't have that luxury, especially one with only a high school diploma to fall back on."

"That bothers you?" she asked, surprised.

"Sometimes," he admitted with a shrug.

"But how could that bother you, Myles? You've actually done the impossible—broken off and formed your own independent line."

"We're small," he reminded her. "Still in our infancy."

"True. But competitive."

"I could get buried." He laughed. "I'm not exactly giving the big guys a run for their money, Faith."

"Not yet. But you will," she insisted.

"I'm glad that you believe in me, but only time will tell. At least I've got my chance, thanks to enough backers who didn't laugh in my face and call me crazy behind my back. I heard it all so often, I started to half-believe it myself. Continuing on became as much a matter of pride as realizing the vision."

"You're not a quitter, Myles, and those investors apparently knew genius when they saw it—that, and a chance to get in on the bottom floor of a potential gold mine. I know it was a struggle, but look how far you've come. The last I heard you were getting more orders than you could fill, and they haven't even rolled off the assembly line." She looked at him anxiously. "Has that changed, Myles? Are you having problems with the EPA or the distributors or foul-ups with production or—"

"We've worked through most of that, and the loans are secured. But even at that, we've got our share of difficulties. That's life. The same way people never outgrow their roots or their need for acceptance, no matter who they are or what they become. That's life too."

"You mean your upbringing and never getting a college degree to hang on your office wall?"

"That's part of it. Sometimes I feel like an imposter running a big corporation. I'm no Lee Iacocca in the making, no Henry Ford incarnate. Deep down I'm just an ordinary grease monkey. Hell, I was taking old cars apart and putting them back together before I was ten. Practically everyone I knew depended on the factory to put food on the table. That's a far cry from most of the MBAs who work for me."

"I imagine most of the MBAs who work for you wouldn't mind being CEO for a day," she countered.

"Yeah? Well, that's the other misconception that bothers me. To use an old cliché, it can get pretty damn lonely at the top. If things go bad and I lose it all, I'm left with nothing but a mountain of debt and a ruined reputation."

"But it wouldn't be that way. If the impossible happened and you did go under, I'd still be there for you. You're not alone at all, Myles."

The words were out before she could stop them.

He went very still, his attention locked on her. At that moment she was incapable of moving or speaking or managing more than a shallow breath. He pinned her where she stood as he looked over the rim of his cup.

Her hand rested on the countertop; he covered it with his.

"No. I'm not alone anymore, thanks to you." His gaze drifted to her belly, and a warm smile touched his lips. "Your support means a lot to me, Faith. I'm not usually one for spilling my guts, but it helped to get some of that out of my system. When you've had to be a rock for a long time with no one to support you, it's hard to admit even a little weakness. It gets to a point where constantly needing to prove you're invincible becomes a weakness in itself."

"You're anything but weak, Myles."

"You're right, I'm not a weak person. But it feels damn good to know a woman who's strong enough to make me feel it's safe to show a chink in my armor."

The warmest feeling bloomed from within and rose up to her cheeks. "I'll treasure that, Myles. It's the nicest thing a man's ever said to me."

"As much as I'd like to think that's true, I find it very hard to believe."

Faith could feel her heart lift, her delight heighten. The scent of soap and aftershave filled her senses. He had a small nick on his jaw from shaving, and she longed to kiss it, or to lay her palm on his cheek. His hair was still a little wet from his shower, the dampness beckoning her to tread her fingers through it and capture the last bit of moisture between her fingertips as she cradled his head and urged his lips to hers.

She longed to grab the wonder of what they'd shared not so long, yet forever, ago, to make this perfect moment even more perfect. The niggling concerns, the horrible possibility that his need wasn't really for her but for the baby he wanted or that she simply made up for his great loss—no, she wouldn't think of any of that. She would concentrate on remembering the pulse of his arousal, the hum of mutual desire... and not consider that it could have been no more than a normal male reaction to
any
female after what she suspected had been a long period of celibacy.

No, she wouldn't let those possibilities steal her joy. What she had now was so much more than she'd ever dreamed possible.

"You are calling an obstetrician today, aren't you?" His lingering glance at her belly made her think he wanted to touch it. "I'm getting worried since you haven't seen one in almost a month. Take much longer and
I'll
call," he warned.

"I've already made an appointment with Dr. Laurentz. I understand she's very good."

"How good is she? I want only the best for you and the baby."

"Good enough to deliver another Taylor into the world, and that's good enough for me."

At the mention of her last name, Myles's jaw tensed. "Faith, I... there's something I want to talk to you about."

"Anything, Myles. What is it?"

"I..."He plowed a hand through his hair, mussing it provocatively. "You don't mind if I come along when you go, do you?"

The warmest sensation filled her heart.

"Mind?" She felt as though sunshine spread up from her toes. "I wouldn't mind at all. In fact I'd like it very much."

"Then that's settled." Myles returned her smile and he seemed hesitant to break the spell. Then he hooked a finger through his mug and took another swig of coffee. "Faith, there's something else we need to talk about."

"Yes, Myles?" she said, finding this domestic morning banter very appealing.

"It's just that... what else do you have planned today?"

"I have a few places for lease circled in the want ads. Since you said it might take a while to find a good house, I thought I should get right on it."

"I'd rather you let me go along."

"You would?" Could it be that he would miss her? She wasn't above fishing to find out. "You're not worried that I'll get lost, are you?"

"Of course not. You pretty much know what areas to avoid, since you grew up around here. It's just that I want to have a say about where the baby's going to live."

"Oh. Of course, the baby."
Not me.
She found herself fighting the ridiculous impulse to cry.

Myles reached for his briefcase. At the door he stopped.

"I don't want to be a bother or anything, but if you have the time, would you mind calling the dry cleaner's and asking them to pick up a few suits I left on my bed?"

A vision of Myles's bed—the bed he'd shared with her sister that was now big, empty, and somehow haunting—flashed through her mind.

Oh, to share a bed with Myles, how she wanted it. But not that bed. Never that bed.

"Sure," she said with feigned brightness. "I'd be happy to. In fact I need to get out anyway for some supplies, so I'll just drop them off myself."

"Are you sure you should be driving?"

"Of course. I'm just a little over four months."

"Okay, but be extra careful. And don't work too hard."

"I know." She sighed, then forced a smile to disguise her disappointment. "You're worried about the baby."

"About you, too, Faith. And by the way, did I mention that you do a lot for that bathrobe?"

As he exited the room, Myles took in the pleased expression on her face and held on to it, knowing it would help him face another grueling day. That Faith believed in him and would be there no matter what bolstered his confidence. Success was damn hollow when it couldn't be shared, and knowing Faith cheered for him in the wings fueled his determination to be the best he could be.

His step was light for the first time in a long, long while, and as he reached his personally designed roadster—which wasn't nearly as appealing these days as a station wagon—he realized that he had been whistling.

He felt... liberated. New. Faith had an inner fire, something that the primal man inside him responded to. Whenever he looked at her, he was gripped with the need to protect. To provide. To
mate...

He'd more or less gotten over the jolt of their encounter, shocked but immensely relieved that she hadn't recoiled from him, had unbelievably urged him on.

Since then an edge of tension had emerged between them, intensifying the fantasies he couldn't escape, even in sleep. Especially in sleep. Nights were hell. Waking up in a cold sweat was becoming the norm for him.

But if that was the price he had to pay for having Faith near him, so be it. He didn't want Faith to leave. When they looked at houses, he'd simply find something wrong with each one and say that it was unsuitable for his child. He'd neglect to mention his more personal reasons.

Reasons that continued to plague his conscience. They were like an octopus. He'd slip free of its grasp just long enough to inhale the sweetest air, air that made him feel drugged—yet acutely alive—with the headiest sensation he'd ever experienced. And then another tentacle of memory or guilt would grab him... until Faith made him laugh or touched him or he glimpsed the evidence of his baby, and again he would break free and gulp air with the desperation of a drowning man. Sweet, heavenly air he ached to draw from Faith's soft, moist lips.

How could he feel this way? Didn't Gloria deserve more faithfulness to her memory? He'd been a good husband, a faithful husband; he would have gladly died for her.

But he was alive. And every time he thought of Faith, he was reminded of that. His loss was a fact, but he had to survive. More than survive. Live.

The time had come to bury his grief. He and Faith were having a baby, and Lord, did he want that baby.

Almost as much as he wanted Faith.

As he glided his hand over the steering wheel, Myles felt the band of gold bite into his finger with a familiar pressure. He'd worn the ring since the day he'd taken his vows, the vows that he'd kept.

To love and to cherish. In sickness and in health...

Till death do us part.

He took a sharp turn to the right onto an exit ramp, then drove straight to the cemetery, which he hadn't visited since bringing Faith home.

He got out of the car and trudged up the icy hill. There was no one to see the tears in his eyes. Tears he didn't try to stop as he worked his ring against the calluses that time and labor had earned.

And no one but the silent residents heard the catch in his throat as he carried on his one-way conversation with a tombstone marking a grave, where the grass awaited spring to thicken and grow.