She searched for the words to best express it, but her mind was reeling again, this time from his look.
"I feel," she finally managed to whisper back, "as though I've just finished off a magnum."
He grinned at her answer. "A little drunk?"
"A lot drunk."
"A little dizzy."
"A lot dizzy."
"But you didn't have a drop. Neither of us did, and still..."
She shaped a hand to his cheek, less sure with the trailing off of his words.
"Still what?"
"Still...! felt like I was taken out of myself... immersed in you... lifted..." He stopped, feeling foolish and more than a little inadequate.
"I'm not good with words."
But Faith had heard him in action more than once.
"You're incredible with words."
"Not when it comes to something like this. I can talk hard facts and make persuasive arguments, but I'm not a poet."
"You're on your way."
But he shook his head.
"I can't describe what it was like. Faith. It would take dozens of elaborate words and silvery phrases."
"Try plain ones."
"I love you."
She hadn't expected those particular words. Her eyes went wide, and for a minute she couldn't breathe, much less speak. Finally, diffusing the moment the only way she could, she tucked a hand against his neck and said softly, casually, "We've always loved each other."
"This is different. Faith. I love you."
"Like I love you."
"Only if you're talking forever." When she didn't have a comeback for that. Sawyer drew her to him. He cradled her head against his chest and the rest of her body fell into place, as though it knew from long experience just where to go. "Too much, too fast?"
After a minute, she murmured, "Mmm."
"Scary?"
"Yes."
"I'll give you time. I won't push. All I ask is that you let me see you." He endured a minute of gut- wrenching silence before prodding. ' "Will you let me do that?"
It wasn't so much that she'd let him, but that she didn't think she could keep him from it. Besides, it was what she wanted. She was still frightened; she knew she'd fear disappointing him even now, and it would be worse if she agreed to forever. Selfishly, though, she couldn't bar him from her life. She wanted more of him. She wasn't so inexperienced with men that she couldn't tell a good thing when she saw it.
"Faith?"
"Yes," she said, her breath stirring the drying hairs on his chest.
"We'll see each other?"
"Yes."
His body relaxed just that tiny bit, though not completely because her nearness was stirring his senses. He ran a hand lightly from her shoulders to the small of her back, loving the satiny feel of her skin, which, even aside from his scars, was so different from his. He half-wished it were broad daylight so he could look at her. Strange, but he'd never seen her, really seen her naked.
That wasn't all that was strange. Curving a large hand over her bottom, he drew her closer.
"Funny how things turn out sometimes."
His words registered through the light-headedness she was feeling again.
"Hmm?"
"Before, when we started to make love, I wanted to show you how good it could be between us. I wanted to show you that it would be better than the first time, much better. I wanted to show you that you were all I've ever wanted." He paused, buried his face against her neck, breathed in the erotic scent of woman and sex that he found there, made a low sound in his throat.
"I don't know how much of that I showed you, but I sure showed myself. You're it, Faith. You're what I want."
Being held so securely in his arms, feeling the strength of his body and its masculine warmth, Faith was just high enough to believe him.
1 hat belief lasted through the weekend, and understandably so. Sawyer rarely left her side. He got her talking about all the things she didn't want to talk about and many of the things she did, and in both cases he interspersed the discussion with light touches and impulsive kisses. He wasn't fawning, though; his timing was perfect in that way.
He knew when to touch, when to sit back and listen, when to ask a question, offer a comment, even tell her she was nuts. And he knew just when to take her in his arms and hold her tightly.
They made love often through Saturday night and then again on Sunday.
Faith had never thought of herself as the multi orgasmic type, yet Sawyer brought her to peak after peak. His own stamina--and the multiple releases he, too, found--seemed further proof of his claim of love.
Inevitably, though, they had to return to the city. Faith put off thinking about it until the last possible moment. She felt she was living a dream and didn't want it to end.
Sawyer had no intention of letting that happen. Intent on showing her that things would be just as good between them in the city, he deliberately put off have ing dinner until they were back. He went with Faith to her place while she showered and changed clothes, then brought her to his while he did the same. Looking distinctly urbanized, they ate at Locke Ober's-again a deliberate move on Sawyer's part, since the restaurant, with its sense of tradition, was symbolic of the Boston they knew professionally.
Nor was he letting her slip away after that. He insisted on staying the night, and while she made token argument, sensing he was prolonging the inevitable, she let herself be convinced.
He didn't make love to her that night.
"I've run out of condoms," he teased, and she almost believed him, given the number of times they'd made love.
"I think I'll just hold you."
That was just what he did, and in so doing, he touched Faith more deeply than his sex ever had. Tenderly he cradled her against his large body until she'd fallen asleep, and though his hold shifted during the night with the turns both of them made in their sleep, at no point was she aware of being cold or alone.
At dawn's first light, he brought her awake with soft kisses and slow strokings, then proceeded to make love to her until she was crazy with need. No condom was necessary; he had other ways to protect her. When it was over, when she was lying utterly replete in his arms, he gave her a final hug before easing himself from the bed.
She watched him dress, feeling a loss with each part of his body that he covered. Before he left, he came to her. Planting both hands on either side of her pillow, he looked her in the eye.
"I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that we're both going back to work today and everything will be over. You're thinking that I'll sit in my office wondering what the hell the weekend was about.
But you're wrong. I'll sit there thinking about you. I'll be wondering what you're doing for lunch and whether I can meet you, or whether I can manage to jimmy my schedule around so I'll bump into you in the courthouse. I'll be wondering what time you're getting home tonight and whether I can see you again. " He took a breath.
"I'll control myself during the day, Faith. I won't cut into your time. But I want you tonight." He stopped speaking on that declarative note.
Another time, Faith might have objected to his lack of a question--or if not objected to it, at least teased him about it. It was an extraordinarily chauvinistic thing to do, and she was a thoroughly modern woman. Just then, though, she wasn't feeling thoroughly modern.
She was feeling reassured by his forcefulness, even turned on by it, though she sensed that the latter had something to do with the spark in his dark brown eyes, the random muss of his hair, the piratical shadow on his firm-drawn jaw. He was a quintessentially virile man, to which her body, still warm and tender from his loving, could attest.
Taking a slightly uneven breath, she said, "How about a study date?"
He got the message.
"You have to work."
"I was planning to do lots this weekend, only a randy guy came by and swept me away."
He slanted her a grin.
"Randy guy, huh? Yeah, I guess he did get carried away. But he'd do it again in a minute." He paused.
"Study date? Is it that, or nothing?"
She nodded.
"Where?" he asked.
"My office. Around seven; We can bring in pizza."
Lowering his head, he fitted his face to the soft curve of her neck.
He breathed in her love-warmed scent for a last minute before pulling away.
"You've got yourself a date."
"He suggested we go on a date," Laura Leindecker told her on the phone later that morning.
"Can you believe it? After being gone all weekend, he wants a date. After twenty-four years of missed dinners and canceled parties and late arrivals home, he wants a date."
Faith wasn't in the mood for adversity. She'd made a successful appearance in court on behalf of a client and was back in her office feeling cautiously optimistic about life in general and Sawyer in particular. She wasn't looking for anything that might upset the moment's balance.
Nor did she think that the idea of a date was so stupid. She'd made one with Sawyer. It was standard practice for a person feeling his or her way in a relationship.
"What did he suggest?" she asked pleasantly.
"Dinner at the L'Espalier. But that's not even my favorite restaurant.
He knows what my favorite one is--or used to be--only he didn't dare suggest it. "
"He was being considerate," Faith reasoned.
"He knew how you'd feel.
He was respecting your right to feel that way. "
Laura wasn't fully convinced.
"Maybe." Her voice grew wary.
"He says he wants to talk." "Then you should go. Listen to what he has to say. You'll be safe.
He wouldn't dare act up in a restaurant. "
"I suppose not." She sounded nervous.
"But he's so good with words.
He'll convince me of something. I know he will. "
Faith tried to be supportive without yielding.
"You're a strong woman, Laura. Don't underestimate yourself. You don't have to forget your grievances because he's taking you to dinner. But you do need to talk about what's happened and why."
"He'll tell me about her. He'll probably lie."
"Will he?" She let Laura think about that for a minute.
"And if you don't want to talk about what's happened, talk about what you want to happen. Talk about the future. Talk about getting a divorce. Talk about the division of property. But talk. You have to communicate with each other."
"I don't want to communicate," Laura argued in a soft, pleading voice. "I want to file for a divorce. I want him to know that he can't do what he did to me and get away with it."
"You want to hurt him the way he hurt you, but will that give you what you want? Think about it, Laura. I can file a Complaint for Divorce with the court tomorrow, and a copy of the complaint will be served on your husband. Once that's done, it's a matter of public record, and once that happens, even though you can withdraw the complaint, something changes. Deeper feelings get stirred up. It's harder to go back. That's why you have to be really sure of what you want." She paused.
"You're paying me to guide you through a divorce, but my first priority is your well-being. If your well-being is best served by a divorce, fine. If not..."
Her words trailed off, but she'd hit the right button, because Laura did agree to have dinner with her husband. Faith felt as though she'd achieved a minor victory. She would have called Sawyer to tell him if it hadn't seemed improper. It also seemed a little contrived. When push came to shove, she just wanted to hear Sawyer's voice.
It must have been her lucky day, because her wish was granted shortly after lunch when Sawyer stopped in at her office. Wearing a charcoal-gray suit with fine pinstripes running through it, he looked very professional and devastatingly handsome.
The first thing he did was close the door to her office. The second was to come around the desk and give her a kiss that shot professionalism to bits. The third was to drop into a chair and say, "Bruce Lein- decker doesn't want the divorce at all. He says he loves his wife, and he says it on no uncertain terms."
Faith was a minute coming down from his kiss and another one focusing in on what he'd said.
"He loves his wife."
"That's what he says," Sawyer declared in a satisfied way.
"Interesting," she mused. Her mouth still tingled. She was feeling pleasantly warm inside and decidedly close to Sawyer, which was probably one of the reasons why she tipped her hand. "Laura is still hurt and angry. But I think she loves him, too."
"Has she said that?"
"Lord, no. She says the divorce will teach him a lesson."
"She's being vindictive."
It sounded worse coming from Sawyer. "Not vindictive. She's just venting her anger."
"Maybe she's being too emotional."