"Okay," he said in a lower voice, "think of me." With the creak of aged vinyl, he shifted on the seat to face her.
"Think of how much I want you, not only today and tomorrow but for all the tomorrows after that. Think of how much I want to work with you and travel with you and finish the place at the Cape with you and have kids with you" -When she looked stricken by the last, he hurried on. "Not right away. I'm glad you're not pregnant. I want you to myself for a while.
Besides, if you were pregnant, you'd think that was why I wanted to get married, when it's not. "
"I haven't agreed to any" -The rest of her protest was lost in the kiss Sawyer gave her. It was a sweet kiss, powerful in that sweetness. It said he loved her, loved her even when she was being difficult. That was very much what he was thinking, and when--after trying the kiss from several different angles simply because her lips were so pliant--he finally lifted his mouth from hers, he felt the theme worth discussion.
"You can't disappoint me. Faith," he said. His face was inches from hers. Almost reverently he held her chin in the notch of his hand.
"You can't possibly disappoint me. You're one of the best lawyers around. Whether you win or lose a case, you give it your all, which is more than most do and as much as any client can ask. As a wife, you'll be smashing, and I don't give a damn whether you're a lousy cook" "I'm lousy at it because I hate doing it," she blurted out. She was having trouble thinking with the taste of him lingering on her lips and his face so close and his voice so gentle, but she had to speak up. She feared it might be her last chance. He was so near and dear.
Her resolve was slipping.
"What kind of wife hates to cook?"
"The kind who has a full-time job outside the home and doesn't have the time or energy to spend working over a stove. And there's nothing wrong with that. I don't expect you to be super woman If we need a cook, we'll hire one. Same thing for when babies come. I may be traditional about some things, but I'll never ask you to stop working unless that's what you want. Besides, you said it yourself--babies and careers are mixing better and better these days."
"I don't know anything about mothering."
"Neither do I. So we'll learn. There are books all over the place, and classes." He brushed the tip of his finger by the corner of her eye as he visually devoured her features, then went on in a voice that was even lower and slightly rough, "And as a lover, you're more than any man could imagine. No woman has ever turned me on like you do. No woman has ever done to me what you do." He took in a short, sharp breath.
"The other night... what you did... where your mouth was and your hands..."
He didn't have to finish. Faith remembered the moment well. She'd shocked herself, not only with what she'd done but with the pleasure she'd taken in the doing. A soft, sexy smile stole over her lips.
"Liked that, did ya?"
"Yeah," he whispered.
"I liked it."
"I've never tried it before. So, it worked?"
"Oh, yeah." Even in memory it was working, but the jolting of the cab through the traffic was a reminder of where he was.
"You're dynamite, Faith."
She liked the sound of that.
"But what happens when I get older? Will I still be dynamite when my hair is gray and my breasts sag and I have cellulite on my thighs?"
"By that time, I'll be bald and paunchy and my eyesight may be so lousy that I won't be able to see the cellulite on your thighs."
"You'll never be bald and paunchy." "How about my eyesight? Will you love me even if I can't see straight?"
"Of course I will. What kind of dumb question is that?"
"The same kind you're asking," he said and gave her a minute to realize it before saying, "There are two points here, m'dear. The first is that you're dynamite to me because of who you are, not what you look like. The second," and he sobered, "is that none of us knows what the future holds. We have to look at what we have now and decide whether we think it's strong enough and positive enough to make us happy today and optimistic about tomorrow." He lowered his voice again, this time in urgent coaxing.
"Come on, babe. You know we can make it. Stop fighting. Give it a chance."
But before she could respond one way or the other, the cab pulled up at the Marriott Hotel. Without so much as a look at the meter. Sawyer stuffed a ten- dollar bill into the cabbie's outstretched hand, opened the door and pulled Faith out. Keeping her close by his side, he entered the hotel at a broad stride. "What are we doing here. Sawyer?"
"You'll see."
They were passing through the lobby, and for a minute Faith thought he was going to take a room on the forty-fifth floor and make wild, passionate love to her overlooking Boston. It was a romantic idea, and it wasn't beyond him at all, she knew. When they passed the registration desk without stopping, she wondered if he'd taken a room in advance. "That was a presumptuous thing to do," she murmured, half flattered half-annoyed.
"What was?"
"Booking a room without even knowing whether I'd come. You assumed I'd cave in, didn't you? Beth Leindecker said her mother always did that.
Bruce snapped his fingers, and she came running. "
"I should only be so lucky," Sawyer said under his breath, then added, bemused, "I didn't book a room." Sure enough, they passed the bank of elevators and headed toward the escalator that led to the mall level.
"Oh." She frowned.
"Then what are we doing here?"
"Going shopping. Watch your step. Hold on. That's it."
"Sawyer, I've been on an escalator before. But why are we going shopping? And why here? Prices are exorbitant here. I have to warn you, I'm almost as lousy a shopper as I am a cook."
"I don't believe that. You always look spectacular."
"Sure, because I'm drawn to the most expensive item on the rack. It happens every time, like there's some kind of radar flowing between the price tag and my head without my seeing a thing."
"That's fine. Price is no object. I want the best." Fingers laced through hers, he drew her off the escalator, toward the first store on the left.
"The best what?"
"Diamond ring."
Her eyes widened as they passed through Tiffany's vaulted portals. She tugged back on her hand and whispered loudly, "What are we doing here, Sawyer?"
Her tug didn't faze him. He strode right along.
"Buying you an engagement ring. I want all the bozos in Boston to know that you're taken."
"But we're not engaged."
"We certainly are." He produced a dashing smile for the woman behind the counter.
"We'd like to look at engagement rings--something substantial, maybe with a few little stones on the side--sapphires, rubies, whatever goes with diamonds--you know what I'm talking about," The saleswoman certainly did. She had carefully removed several spectacular possibilities from the showcase and placed them on a bed of navy velvet before Faith could find her tongue.
"Sawyer," she murmured out of the side of her mouth, unable to take her eyes from the rings, "uh, Sawyer, I think we should talk."
Leaning close, he said in the same side-mouth murmur, "Definitely.
What do you think? I think the blue stones look a little cold next to the diamond. I like the green, the emeralds. They go with your eyes. "
"My eyes are hazel."
He looked into them.
"They look green to me. Maybe it's what you're wearing." He dropped a quick glance at the long pleated skirt, sweater and blazer she wore, a blend of solids and plaids in plum and moss.
"Super outfit," he mouthed. His eyes glowed in appreciation.
Cheeks growing pink, Faith tore her gaze from his and forced it back to the rings.
"I can't accept one of these."
"Why not?" He put his mouth by her ear and whispered, "I love you.
I'll always love you. I'll love you until the sun sets in the east, until the rivers run dry, until Santa gets stuck in a chimney in Winnemucca, Nevada"-- " They're too elaborate. " She looked beseechingly at the saleswoman.
"Haven't you got something a little simpler?"
Sawyer started to argue, but before he could do much more than tell her she deserved the best, the saleswoman produced two rings that stilled his tongue. Both held single stones, one round, one pear shaped
"Ahhh," Faith breathed in awe. Smiling, she carefully lifted the pear-shaped ring from the velvet.
"This is more like it."
"Don't you want something a little more showy?"
"You're the one who wants something showy. It's the old macho pride."
She continued to hold the ring, spellbound by its sparkle. This is special. Simple but exquisite. "
He had to agree that it was, still he'd envisioned something different.
"Maybe we should look at something with more than one diamond." He turned to the saleswoman.
"How about it? Something with one big stone and two little ones on the sides? Maybe with diamonds all the way around?"
Faith was still admiring the pear-shaped diamond when the saleswoman added two other rings to those already out. Faith didn't like either as much as the one she still held in her hand.
"They're too busy. If a stone is beautiful, it should stand on its own." She took a soft breath.
"I like the solitaire."
"You're worried that the others are too expensive, but I'm telling you, Faith, money isn't an object here. If I can't splurge on the woman I love, who can I splurge on?"
"Sir?" the saleswoman spoke up a bit nervously.
"About the ring your fiancee is holding--it's the finest quality diamond we carry." She cleared her throat.
"Given that and its shape and size, I'm afraid it's the most expensive one I've shown you."
Quickly but carefully, Faith set the ring down.
"I should have known," she muttered.
"I do it every time."
But Sawyer was lifting it, taking her left hand, slipping the ring on her third finger. It fit perfectly.
"Simple and exquisite." He grinned.
"We'll take it."
"We can't take it," Faith whispered, but the sharpness she'd wanted to put into the whisper fell prey to the beauty of the ring on her finger--that, and the contrast of Sawyer's long, lean hand holding hers.
"We ... II ... can't."
"You can," he said softly, and something in his tone brought her eyes to his. They were dark and intent, filled with love and a kind of bare-hearted expectancy that made Faith tremble.
"You can," he whispered.
"You can do it, Faith. You have the power to reach out and try, and that's all I'll ever ask of you. Reach out and try. Give it your best shot.
Nothing's a given in life, but there's so much hope in this. I want it. You want it. Together we'll make it work. " Her eyes went wider, as though he'd said a magic word, but her lips remained pressed close together.
"What do you say? Wanna give it a try?"
She wanted that more than anything, and in that moment she realized the extraordinary power she did have. She had the power to bring Sawyer happiness-and the power to find it herself. Yes, there was a risk. The stakes were frightfully high. But the alternative? Standing there, looking up into Sawyer's face as she could quite contentedly do for years and years, she knew that the alternative was no alternative at all.
Words eluded her, but words weren't needed. Her answer came in a short nod, a soft smile, the tears that filled her eyes and the arms that went around his neck. When he slid his own arms around her and crushed her to him, she felt a joy she'd never known. She also felt a confidence she'd never expected.
He was right. Together they'd make it work.