With This Ring (30 page)

Maybe it was time to move. Funny how, before meeting Sam, Amy had been perfectly contented to live so close to her parents. She'd never felt smothered, never felt as if they intruded on her privacy, never felt in any way inhibited or controlled. Now, though, she felt all those things. Not from her father. Her father was the same as he'd always been. No, it was the difference in her mother and the way she treated Amy that caused the feelings of resentment and anger.

But old habits die hard. And Amy had been raised to be polite, to honor her parents, to deal with negative feelings calmly and rationally, and above all—to think before she spoke. So she didn't give voice to the annoyance flooding her. Instead, she decided to confront the issue of Sam head on. After all, that topic was obviously what her mother wanted to discuss. "He looks different than he looked before, don't you think?"

Faith looked up. "Who?"

Amy smiled sardonically as she loaded the tea things onto a tray. "Oh, come on, Mother, you know who. Sam."

Green eyes met green eyes.

"Well," Faith said, "it's no wonder. He went through quite an ordeal."

Amy carried the tray into the living area and set it on the coffee table. "Yes, he did."

"He put you through a worse ordeal, though."

"It's not like he did it on purpose, Mother," Amy said, keeping her voice mild. Losing her temper would solve nothing. In fact, knowing how her mother viewed people who couldn't control their tempers, Amy would have cut off her hand before she'd lash out at Faith.

"Perhaps not, but he didn't exercise good judgment, did he?"

Amy shrugged, although this was still a sore point with her.

"Nor did he give much thought to you when he chose to do something dangerous and foolhardy."

"We all make mistakes," Amy pointed out. "And he certainly paid for his." It was ironic that her mother was only giving voice to thoughts Amy had had dozens of times, yet now Amy found herself defending Sam's actions.

Faith poured herself a cup of tea, saying, "That's true, but I think even you have to agree that Sam doesn't exhibit the traits of dependability or maturity."

Unsaid was the qualifier:
these are two traits essential in a husband.
Even though they were unsaid, the words throbbed in the air between them.

Amy sighed. "Look, I know how you feel about Sam. I've always known how you felt." She began to pour herself a cup of tea. "But I have to make my own decision about this."

Her mother sighed. "What's happened between us, Amy? We used to be able to talk about anything, and we almost always agreed with each other."

Amy's answer came slowly. "You mean I always agreed with you."

Faith stared at her. "No. That's not what I said, and it's not what I meant. I meant we had the same ideas about life."

"Maybe that's because I never cared enough about anything or anyone to disagree with you."

For a long moment, the silence between them was so profound Amy could hear the ticking of the wall clock and the high whine of a leaf blowing machine somewhere outside.

"You're going to go back with Sam, aren't you?" her mother finally said.

"I don't know."

"You don't know . . . or you won't say?"

For the second time, Amy had to bite her tongue.
Don't get mad,
she told herself. "I honestly don't know."

Faith nodded. "All right. But will you promise me something, Amy? Will you promise me to at least think about what I've said?"

"Yes, I'll think about it," Amy said slowly, "but in turn, I want you to promise
me
something."

"What?"

"I want you to promise me you'll support whatever decision I finally make."

It took Faith a few minutes, but she finally sighed in resignation. "I promise."

* * *

Justin called later that evening. They talked for a while, then he said, "I miss you."

She swallowed. "I know. I-I miss you, too." And it was true. She did. She missed the camaraderie, the comfortable conversation and the way he'd always understood her. And, as long as she was being completely honest with herself, she also missed the undemanding love he'd always given her.

"Come for dinner tomorrow night," she said impulsively. It wasn't right of her to shut him out. He had done nothing wrong. And he was still her fiancé. She hadn't called off the wedding. How could she have forgotten that?

After they said good-bye, she stood there for a long moment. She had to make some kind of decision . . . and soon. This waffling wasn't fair to anyone.

* * *

Sam took an earlier flight home than he'd intended to take, landing at Intercontinental Airport a little after one o'clock on Saturday.

He couldn't wait to see Amy. She'd sounded almost as excited about Holly calling as he'd been himself, and he was anxious to tell her all about the visit. He decided he would go straight to her apartment.

He arrived at two-thirty. He'd been half afraid he might see Justin's car in the driveway, but the driveway was empty. He peered into Amy's portion of the garage, grinning when he saw her Miata. Good. She was home.

He whistled their song as he walked up the stairs, something he hadn't done since that first day back. Before he'd gotten halfway up, the door opened, and she smiled and waved.

His heart lifted, and he thought how pretty she looked today in black tights and a long pink sweater that made her look younger and more carefree than she'd looked in weeks.

"You're back early," she said when he'd reached the top. Her eyes told him she was glad he'd come.

He nodded. He wanted badly to kiss her, but he decided he would wait. He contented himself with giving her a shoulder hug and kissing her cheek.

They went inside, and she cleared some papers from the couch. "Sit down. Want something to drink?"

"Got any Coke?"

"Uh huh. I'll get you some."

A few minutes later, two glasses in hand, she walked back to the living room. She handed him one, then sat on the couch, too, carefully keeping one pillow length between them. Suddenly, he was filled with memories of the first time he'd ever come to this apartment. He wondered if she ever thought about that night . . . and all the ones that had followed. He was gripped with sadness for everything they'd had and lost. Could they recapture that happiness?

"Tell me about Holly," she said.

He smiled. "She's really something. You'll love her."

Something flickered in the backs of Amy's eyes. "I'm sure I would."

He noticed how she'd said
would
instead of
will
but decided to ignore it for now. "She looks so much like our mother," he began, and then he talked and talked and talked.

Amy listened, watching his face and thinking how glad she was for him. She had always felt bad that he didn't have any family, and now he did.
If I marry Justin, at least he won't be completely alone . . . .
The thought made her feel unbearably sad.

"I might try to help her find a job here," he said, winding up his recital of the past week's events.

"Really? That would be great." She was ridiculously afraid she was going to cry. She put down her glass and stood, walking over to the windows and looking out. She fought to get her emotions under control. She was a pathetic mess, weepy all the time anymore.

"Amy?"

She hadn't heard him walk up behind her. She shivered as he touched her neck, then slowly turned her to face him. His eyes searched hers. "What's wrong?" he said softly.

She shook her head. Oh, God. She
was
going to cry.

"Ah, Amy . . . don't cry." Her tears were his undoing. He couldn't stand seeing her so unhappy. He put his arms around her and kissed her cheeks, her eyes, her nose, all the while telling her not to cry.

She finally stopped, but he kept kissing her, his lips eventually seeking hers. She sighed as his mouth slanted across hers, and she twined her arms around him. They kissed hungrily—kisses that became more and more heated, urgent, and frantic. Kisses that said everything they hadn't been able to say in words. Kisses that spoke of unfulfilled desires and longings that could no longer be denied.

Sam hurt, he wanted her so much. He had been without her for two long years, and he couldn't wait another day, another hour, another minute. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to stop kissing her long enough to pick her up and carry her into the bedroom.

"Amy, Amy," he groaned, laying her on the bed and climbing on top of her. He pushed her sweater up, filling his hands with her breasts, then bending to draw first one, then the other nipple into his mouth. Her indrawn breath, followed by a low groan, fueled his desire for her. His control was very near to the breaking point. Almost crying from his need, he managed to pull her tights down, and within seconds, his hands had found her.

Amy's body bloomed under his touch. She had forgotten this, forgotten how he could make her feel, forgotten the intensity of the pleasure they had always brought to each other. She moaned as he touched her, threw her head from side to side as his fingers gently slipped inside. All sanity, all reason, was gone.

And then, like a burst of icy water, reality, in the form of sunlight glancing off her diamond and causing brilliant prisms of color to dart across the ceiling, doused her. What in God's name was she doing?

"No," she cried, pushing at Sam. "No. Stop. Stop!" At first Sam didn't seem to hear her, but then, eyes bewildered, he pushed himself up and rolled off her. She couldn't meet his gaze as she pulled her pants up and her sweater down. Her face was on fire. "I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "I just can't do this. It's not right."

"It's the only thing in this whole crazy mess that is right," he said, still breathing hard, "and you know it."

Amy really felt like crying now. She was sick with shame, sick with the knowledge that she had almost done something irrevocable and despicable. "I can't betray Justin like this."

Sam stood. He carefully and deliberately rearranged his clothing. "You'll betray him even more if you marry him without loving him," he said quietly.

"I-I do love him." God, how many times had she said that? She buried her face in her hands.

"Amy."

She was too embarrassed to look at him again.

"Amy," he said, his voice softening, "Look at me. I love you, and I know you love me. We belong together. We always have."

Sam . . . Sam . . .

"Why don't we just pack a few clothes," he said urgently, sitting down next to her on the bed and gently pulling her hands away from her face. "We can fly to Vegas or Mexico and get married. Justin will get over it."

She shook her head. "No, no. I can't. I can't hurt him that way. I love him."

"You love me." He tipped her chin up and kissed her lips tenderly.

She shuddered and closed her eyes again.

"See?" he whispered. "You're in love with
me
. And I love you."

Shocking herself, she wrenched away from him, jumping up and glaring at him. "Then why did you break your promise to me?" she cried. "You said you wouldn't take any chances. And you did! If you really loved me, you wouldn't have, and if you hadn't, none of this would ever have happened."

Sam stared at her. "Now the truth comes out. You're angry. You're totally pissed off." He stood, too, standing too close to her.

She wanted to back away, but she didn't.

"Why don't you just take a swing at me and be done with it?" he said. "Maybe then we can finally settle this."

Furious tears threatened to overflow. She raised her hand, drew it back, stared at him. Later, she wondered if she really would have slapped him. He never gave her the chance. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him. And then he kissed her again, grinding his mouth against hers. At first, she struggled, but then, with a gutteral cry, she wound her arms around him and kissed him back desperately.

He released her so suddenly, she almost fell. When he spoke, his voice and eyes were very angry. "I'm tired of screwing around, Amy. The last two years haven't been a picnic for me, either. How long are you going to keep punishing me for my mistakes?"

She slumped back against the bed. "That's not what I'm doing."

"What
are
you doing?"

"Just trying to be fair. Just trying to do what's right."

"Yeah, well, maybe that's what you
think
you've been doing, but you sure as hell have been sending mixed signals."

Amy felt battered. Sam refused to understand. She couldn't just run out on Justin. It was wrong. How could she be happy hurting someone she loved?

"Make up your mind," he continued relentlessly. "Justin . . . or me. But if you decide you want me, don't wait too long, because if you do, I might be gone."

After Sam left, Amy wandered around her apartment in a daze. What a mess! She should never have allowed the situation today to get so out of hand. There was a nasty description for the way she had acted with Sam. She cringed away from the words, but she knew what they were.

She had behaved shamefully. She'd led him on, kissed him and let him touch her, and shown him in dozens of ways that she wanted him to make love to her as much as he wanted to. And then, at the last possible minute, she had cried wolf and pushed him away.

Her face flamed again as she remembered her abandoned response to him, the way she'd completely forgotten about Justin and her commitment to him.

She was disgusting. Saying one thing, doing another. Unable to choose. Trying to hold on to both of them and refusing to see the truth. There was no way she could ever have both of them. They knew it . . . and she knew it, too. She'd just been refusing to face it.

No wonder Sam had walked out. He was fed up.

And if Justin knew about this afternoon's little fiasco, he'd probably walk out, too. And she wouldn't blame him. It would be just what she deserved.

* * *

Sam drove too fast as he left Amy's, and he narrowly missed hitting some old geezer driving a big Lincoln town car at the intersection of River Oaks Boulevard and San Felipe. Sam laid on the horn and gave the old guy the finger, then was immediately ashamed of himself. He was also ashamed of the way he'd lashed out at Amy. He knew she hadn't been teasing him, the way he'd insinuated. She wanted him, but her conscience wouldn't let her do something she felt was wrong. She might be misguided, but she wasn't cruel or selfish.