She’d naively assumed he’d put up barriers
after
Michelle died and that time and her love would break those barriers down. She’d naively assumed he’d married her because deep down he wanted to recover the kind of intimacy he’d known with Michelle. It was a few years before it dawned on her that she had no idea how much Dwight loved Michelle.
She did know that he’d married again because he’d wanted a wife and a mother for his sons, because that was what a man ought to have.
Stephanie soaped her stomach and wondered if this baby was another son whose head Dwight would mess with. Or would it be a girl, who would be hurt when her daddy didn’t treat her like his little princess?
I’m being unfair.
Dwight had said he wanted to change.
But that was last week. He hadn’t spoken to her since, and he’d stopped following her.
Stephanie squeezed shampoo into her palm and began lathering her hair.
She missed knowing he was near. Maybe it was her turn to make the next move.
* * *
S
TEPHANIE
TOOK
A
CAB
to the headquarters of the United States Mission to the United Nations, across the street from the United Nations itself, overlooking the East River. She’d only been here once before—another impromptu visit. On that occasion, Dwight had sent word that he was in a meeting and couldn’t come out.
The security was even tighter than last time—her purse was searched while she stepped through a metal detector. They ran a wand over her, too, in case the baby bulge was really a bomb, she supposed.
At last she was cleared and could approach the reception desk.
“I’m here to see Admiral Dwight Calder,” she told the receptionist. “I’m his wife.”
A flicker of surprise crossed the young man’s face as he registered her age and size. “Certainly, ma’am.” He pressed a button she couldn’t see, and a moment later was talking through his headset to Dwight’s assistant.
This was a dumb idea. Why had she thought he would see her? He was probably far too—
“Twenty-first floor, ma’am.” The receptionist handed her a visitor card. “Admiral Calder will meet you there.”
“Oh.” She clipped the card to her purse strap. “Thank you.”
When the elevator opened at twenty-one, Dwight was already waiting.
“Stephanie, are you all right?” He grabbed her hands as she stepped out.
Was that why he’d agreed to see her, because he was worried about a medical complication? And yet, he was holding her hands, squeezing them, with something more than anxiety. Something that made her stomach flutter.
“I’m fine,” she said. “I just wanted to talk—” She broke off, registering a bustle of activity that seemed frenetic behind him. “You’re busy. I’ll come back later.”
He shook his head. “I have a meeting at two that I can’t push back by much. But if you’re happy to do it in my office, I’d. Like to talk.”
In her most wildly optimistic moment, she’d imagined them going for lunch. Now she was just relieved he hadn’t sent her away.
Outside his office, she smiled at Barbara, his secretary, whom she’d met over the years at staff functions.
“Barbara, hold my two o’clock to quarter past, would you?” Dwight said.
Barbara pursed her lips. “But, Admiral—”
“Quarter past,” Dwight said in that voice that didn’t allow contradiction.
Barbara nodded. Stephanie felt marginally better, since it was out of character for him to reschedule a meeting by so much as a minute. A whole fifteen minutes was a major sacrifice.
He closed the door behind them. Unlike Garrett’s ad agency, Dwight’s office didn’t have glass walls. Too much top secret stuff going on, she supposed.
“Can I get you something?” Dwight asked. “Tea?”
She settled into the visitor chair he indicated. “Just some answers.”
He looked wary, but said, “Fire away.”
“Why did you marry me?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
S
TEPHANIE
HADN
’
T
MEANT
to start with that question, but it burst out, fueled by resentment and fear.
Dwight got a hunted look in his eyes. But to his credit, he nodded, indicating he wasn’t about to dismiss it as nonsense. He perched on the edge of his desk, in much the same way Garrett leaned on his kitchen counter. The two men were so similar, though they’d both hate to be told it.
“I married you because I loved you,” he said evenly. “I still do.”
“But you weren’t swept off your feet,” she said. “You wanted a mother for the boys. A wife.”
“I did want those things,” he agreed, and a knife twisted under her ribs. “But I didn’t have to choose you.”
“You chose me because I was young and malleable,” she said. “Because I was besotted with you and would do whatever it took to make our marriage work. Because I didn’t have family who would demand a share of my attention.”
“That’s a bitter way of looking at it,” he said, shocked.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
“On one level, perhaps,” he said.
She closed her eyes.
“Dammit, Stephanie, marrying you wasn’t the easy way out you seem to think,” he snapped.
Her eyes opened. “What do you mean?”
“Do you think I didn’t know you were too young for me? That I wasn’t worried you would wake up one day and realize you were trapped with an old man and a couple of kids who weren’t yours, and decide you want out?”
As you’ve done now,
his tone implied.
“That’s not why I left, and you know it.”
“I wanted
you,
” he said. “You were so beautiful and calm, but with a passion beneath the surface that I could see in your eyes. Not taking you to bed before we married was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I was desperate for you.”
Stephanie gaped. “I wish you’d said that.”
He made a dismissive motion with his hand. He would never show such weakness.
“Okay, so you wanted me,” she said. Their sex life had always been excellent. “But…Dwight, the fact is, I love you more than you love me.”
“You’re wrong,” he said calmly.
“Real love is about priorities, about sacrifice,” she said. All Dwight’s sacrifice had been for the navy, for his country. “I’ve always put you first. I gave up work because it was best for your children—and don’t get me wrong, I wanted to do it for the boys. Then I stayed out of work because your schedule was so busy it was the only way to make sure we had time together and your life ran smoothly.”
“I’ve appreciated that,” he said. “And I’ve told you so.”
“But what have you ever done for me, beyond keep me safe?” she demanded. “You’ve never supported anything that doesn’t fit with your idea of what I should be doing, or what serves the family’s needs. You’ve never supported anything that might inconvenience you.”
“Give me one example,” he demanded.
“You talked me out of taking accounting classes.” She’d thought it might help her return to the workforce when the time was right.
“You hate that kind of thing,” he said. “I didn’t want you to be bored.”
“When I wanted to move into Manhattan.” An apartment on the Upper East Side was her ultimate dream.
“Our friends are all in New London.”
“And you refused to teach me to play chess—you thought I was too stupid.”
“When?” he demanded.
She told him of that early conversation, how he’d said teaching her would take too much time and effort, and could see he was baffled.
“I don’t remember that at all,” he said. “But I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re stupid. On the contrary, I’ve always admired your intelligence.”
“I—well, you never said,” she said, somewhat lamely. “Dwight, the fact is, until recently I was content to do things your way because I wanted you to be happy. But I’ve realized
I’m
not happy. And of course, neither is Garrett.”
“Lucas—”
“Lucas is happy because what he wants happens to coincide with what you want,” Stephanie said. “If he told you he was quitting the navy tomorrow to write poetry—”
Dwight’s recoil made her point for her.
“I want you to love me no matter what,” she said. “To put me first. Not all the time, but sometimes. And to love your children—all three of them—regardless of the choices they make.”
“You
are
first for me, Stephanie,” he said. “I’m starting to realize how important you are.”
She caught her breath. She hadn’t expected such an unguarded admission. “Is that,” she said slowly, “why you’ve been following me?”
He turned brick red. “I—what do you mean?”
He was a terrible liar, she thought fondly. “I’ve seen you—in the park, on 4th Avenue.”
“I—I—”
It was a heady sensation, discovering she could fluster him like this—it reminded her of that giddy power she’d had to tempt him, back when they first married. “I hope our country doesn’t recall you to intelligence work,” she said, struggling to keep the laughter from her voice. “It could mean the end of our national security.”
“How many times did you see me?” he demanded.
“Three, plus at the toy store.”
“I
let
you see me at the store,” he reminded her. “And I’ll have you know I’ve followed you at least eight times in the past two weeks, so I’m not as rusty as you think, Mrs. Calder.”
“Oh.” Now her smile broke out. “When I didn’t see you, I thought maybe…you’d lost interest.”
“Never,” he vowed.
The light in his eyes was one she’d hadn’t seen before. Tentatively, she reached out, cupped his cheek in her hand.
He turned and pressed a desperate kiss to her palm. “Have dinner with me,” he said. “Please, Stephanie, I’d like to take you out.”
Dinner. A date. “We could do that,” she said.
“Tomorrow,” he said. Then, “Tomorrow?”
His impatience thrilled her. But she said calmly, “That would be lovely.” She glanced at her watch. “My time’s up, I’d better go.”
On her way out, she said goodbye to Barbara, the secretary.
“Oh, good, you’re done.” Barbara picked up her phone, with a frankly curious glance at Stephanie. Stephanie wondered if Dwight had told her about the separation. “I’ll have reception tell the Veep’s security detail that the Admiral’s on his way.”
The words took several long seconds to make sense in Stephanie’s head. “The Veep? You mean, the Vice President?”
Engaged in her phone conversation, Barbara nodded.
“The Vice President
of the United States?
” Stephanie asked.
Barbara gave her a frown of confusion as she nodded again. “He’ll be right along,” she said into the phone.
Stephanie walked slowly to the elevator. Dwight had made the Vice President of the United States wait fifteen minutes so he could talk with her?
Maybe, just maybe, her husband was changing.
* * *
G
ARRETT
FOLLOWED
ONE
of Rachel’s neighbors into her building. He’d cadged the address from the KBC Social Club directory, a volume he’d never opened before now. Tailgating the neighbor meant he didn’t have to wait for her to buzz him up. He wasn’t sure she would want to see him tonight…but he had to say this before tomorrow.
He hoped he hadn’t left it too late. Acid burned in his stomach—Stephanie had gone out to dinner with his dad tonight, so she hadn’t cooked. Garrett hadn’t realized how soft he’d become, until he stood spooning heartburn-inducing chili into his mouth straight from the can because no one had cooked for him.
On the second floor, he knocked on Rachel’s door. Footsteps, then she opened it. She wore pajamas, though it was only eight-thirty—orange-and-white-check cotton pants and a white camisole that emphasized the curve of each breast.
“No way,” she said. She combed her fingers through her mussed hair.
“For a woman who’s famous for never letting go, you sure are unwelcoming,” Garrett said. Her feet were bare, toenails unpainted. He wondered if she liked foot massages…and realized he’d never done such a thing before.
“I’m pitching against you tomorrow,” she said. “How can it be in my interest to welcome you tonight?”
“Because I’m willing to do this on your terms,” he said.
“Do what?”
“A relationship,” he said. “Official, no preplanned end in sight.”
He’d shocked her enough that she stepped back to let him in. The apartment was smaller than his, but with large windows and decent ceilings. The color scheme—reds, golds, blues—was predictably cozy, but he liked it nonetheless.
The living area was dominated by a huge, squashy sofa.
“What have you been feeding this thing?” Garrett asked.
Still apparently dumbstruck, she plopped down on one end, which he took as an invitation to join her.
“I know the timing’s bad, but I need to ask you before tomorrow,” he said. “I don’t want whatever happens at the pitch to derail us.”
He planted a quick kiss on her lips. Which turned into a longer kiss. “You taste good,” he murmured.
“That’ll be the champagne and oysters.” She’d found her voice at last. It didn’t sound as happy as he’d hoped.
Champagne and oysters?
“You didn’t get back with that loser boyfriend, did you?” he demanded. A sudden bleakness—a sense of
too late
—paralyzed his thoughts, his limbs.
“The team wanted to celebrate the hard work they’ve put in on the Brightwater pitch,” she explained, and sensation returned, leaving him giddy. “We hit Crush at four o’clock and didn’t leave until six.”
“So there’s a good chance your judgment is impaired by alcohol,” he said hopefully.
“I’ll admit to a slim chance,” she said. “That’s my best offer.”
“Deal.” He pulled her into his lap and began a thorough exploration of her mouth. His hands did some exploring, too. At long last he had those gorgeous legs right where he wanted them.
At some stage, they ended up lying down on that behemoth of a sofa. Sinking right in.
“If you ever don’t show up for work, I’ll send a search party to dig into this couch,” Garrett murmured against Rachel’s earlobe. “It’s lethal.”
Her hum of pleasure vibrated against his cheek.
“I chose it specifically for its ability to swallow me up.” She arched into the work his hands were doing on her curves. “When you live alone, you take your nurturing where you can find it.”
He had the urge to utter a crazy promise to nurture her himself, but stopped just in time. Instead, he slipped his hands into the waistband of her pj pants.
“I hope you’re not about to do something unprofessional with a colleague,” she said sternly.
“I guarantee it won’t be amateur,” Garrett said.
Rachel believed him. He’d shown phenomenal ability to turn her every nerve ending into a Garrett-seeking missile.
“This is insane,” she murmured against his mouth. “Tell me what I’m signing up for again?”
“You and me, making it work for as long as we can,” he said. “Both of us being our difficult selves. Maybe someone will compromise on something…maybe they won’t.”
“There will be sex,” she said.
“Very soon,” he promised.
“Not tonight,” she said. “Not when I have to pitch against you in the morning.”
“Not tonight,” he agreed.
“There’ll be obstacles, too,” she said. “Including at least one of us losing our job, my parents having another financial disaster, you getting a new sibling, your dad and Stephanie possibly divorcing…”
Garrett clamped a hand over her mouth. “Enough with the litany of doom.”
“Just thought I should warn you,” she said against his fingers. “Since your preference is to run at the first obstacle.”
“I consider myself warned.” He removed his hand.
“What about love?” she said.
He tensed. “I guess…it could happen.”
She laughed softly, against his neck.
“What’s so funny?” he asked.
“I have a lot more faith in you than you do,” she said.
“You’re scaring me,” he said. She could tell he was only half joking.
Somewhere beneath them, her cell phone rang.
“I’d better get this. It could be about the pitch.”
But when she dug into the sofa cushions for her phone, she didn’t recognize the number.
“Rachel,” a male voice said when she answered. “This is Hardy Campese. You don’t know me—”
“I know who you are,” she interrupted. CEO of JWT, one of the world’s top ad agencies. She pushed herself off the couch.
“Well, that’s mutual, I’m pleased to say. I’ve heard good things about you,” Hardy said. “Sorry to interrupt your evening, but it’s always easier to do this after hours. We’re looking for a new creative director. You interested in jumping ship?”