Erica Spindler - Cause for Alarm

"No, Richard." She sucked in a shaky breath. "We can't. You have a wife. A child."

Richard struggled to get ahold of himself. Struggled for the equilibrium that until tonight had rarely escaped him.

"I'd give anything to be with you," she said softly, "but not like this. You'd hate yourself later. And I couldn't bear that."

"Julianna-"

"No." She placed a finger against his lips. "Don't say anything. Just go home, Richard. To Kate. To your baby daughter."

She was right, he knew. His responsibilities lay elsewhere. But still, he was torn. There was such a sweetness about her. Such vulnerability.

It called to him. She called to him.

He opened his mouth, though he hadn't a clue to say what. Nothing seemed adequate, everything meant nothing. Would change nothing.

He was a married man.

With one last look at her, he walked away.

For a long time after Richard left, Julianna sat alone in the dark, reliving Richard's visit, their kiss. She brought a hand to her mouth, still feeling the imprint of his lips against hers. Hot. Searching. Desperate.

Julianna shuddered at the memory. She had wanted him just as desperately. Pushing him away had been one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. She had only found the strength of will to do it by reminding herself of the things her mother had told her over the years about winning a man. To reel him in slowly. To never give in to sex too quickly. That nothing would send a man scurrying back to his wife faster than guilt. That a man had to feel his behavior justified, even when he was cheating. He had to feel righteous for having held out as long as humanly possible.

Julianna smiled. Richard had tumbled once, he would again, falling deeper under her spell. How could he not? Now that he'd had a taste of what he could have with her, Kate's distracted kisses and hurried lovemaking would be less satisfying than before. More frustrating.

Besides, she simply couldn't lose. She had destiny on her side.

Richard didn't know it yet, but he was already hers.

The next morning, Richard was contrite. Distraught. He begged Kate's forgiveness and cuddled Emma to him, saying how much he loved her. He blamed his behavior on stress and booze; he must have been out of his mind, he said and promised it would never happen again. During the day he sent Kate a huge bouquet of flowers; that evening he came home from work with a stuffed bear for Emma.

Kate agreed to forgive him. How could she not? He was her husband; she had made him a promise of for better or for worse, had made it in front of their family, friends and God.

And this was definitely one of those times in the "worse" category, she thought later that night as she stood on the upper gallery, gazing out at the dark lake. She lifted her face to the starless sky. She had said she would forgive him and she would. Forgetting would be the problem. For as hard as she had tried, she'd been unable to put out of her mind the way he had forced himself on her, the things he had said. Especially the ones about Emma.

And she couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone terribly awry in their marriage, that they were being manipulated by forces outside themselves.

She had felt that way for weeks.

Kate frowned, thinking back. Since the day of Luke's book signing, she realized. The day the photo of Richard and Emma had disappeared, the day Old Joe had told her about the girl on the swing.

The girl on the swing.

Julianna. Emma.

Kate rubbed her arms, chilled despite the warm night, her head whirling with thoughts of Emma falling into their lives so suddenly. Of Richard's new assistant and of the surprising and intense dislike she had taken to her. Of Richard's behavior and the missing photograph. Of her own feelings of helplessness.

One had nothing to do with the other. Nothing except swirling together to create an unsettling brew, one that had knocked both her and Richard completely off balance.

"Kate?"

She turned. Richard stood in the doorway, his expression boyish and guilty. She couldn't control the anger that speared through her, though she tried.

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked.

"Yes."

He crossed to her, but didn't touch her. She glanced at him, then back out at the lake. Had things gotten so bad between them that he was afraid to touch her? And that she didn't care if he did?

"I'm sorry," he said. He turned to her. "I really am, Kate."

She had heard those words from him, said in exactly that way so many years ago. She sighed. "I know."

"Will you ever forgive me?"

"I'm trying." But it wasn't as easy as it had once been. And that frightened her to her core.

He caught her hands. "Come to bed. Let me make love to you. Let me prove how much I love you." When she hesitated, he brought her hands to his mouth. "Everything's going to be okay with us, Kate. The way it's always been. Trust me."

She acquiesced and he led her to their bedroom, to their bed. They made love and she clung to the familiar, to the Richard she had known and loved for so long. The Richard she had been happy with.

But even as she did, she feared that nothing would ever be the same between them again.

Richard lay on his side and watched Kate as she slept. Two weeks had passed since the night he and Kate had fought. Two weeks since he had run to Julianna and held her in his arms. Two weeks of hell.

He moved his gaze over his wife's face, knowing each curve and hollow, each line and shadow by heart. They had been together long enough to know each other inside and out. He loved and admired her. He wished he had her goodness, her strength. He couldn't imagine his life without her.

Yet even as he lay beside her on their bed, he felt himself slipping away from her and toward Julianna. It was wrong. He knew that. Each day he headed to work armed by a night with Kate, by a night spent reminding himself of his responsibilities, his moral obligations, that a man was only as good as his word.

The minute he saw Julianna, reason, reminders and moral responsibilities flew out the window. She made him feel young again. Sexually potent. She awakened in him feelings, urges, he hadn't had in years.

He had become obsessed with the other woman. With thoughts of sex with her-how she would taste, how it would feel to be inside her, the sounds she would make when she climaxed.

It had been two weeks of hell, of being torn between two different women, between right and wrong, love and lust.

Richard rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling and the gently whirling fan. Only an hour ago he and Kate had made love. When he'd climaxed he'd thought of Julianna. He had pictured her writhing under him, bucking against him with her own release, crying out his name.

But it had been his wife crying out his name, and his guilt had been a bitter, sobering brew.

He threw his arm across his eyes, disgusted with himself. What was wrong with him? He loved Kate. He loved their life together.

But he wanted Julianna. So much, he sometimes thought he would go mad if he didn't have her.

Julianna hadn't encouraged him. Quite the opposite, she had held him at arm's length, seemingly more conscious of his responsibilities and moral obligations than he.

They'd talked about their kiss, agreed it had been a mistake and that it would never happen again.

Easier said than done, he thought, stifling a groan. The air between them was electric; it all but crackled with awareness and unrelieved arousal. During the middle of a meeting he would find himself staring at her mouth, remembering and becoming aroused. While working, their hands or shoulders would brush; they would both look up at the same time and their gazes would lock.