Linda Howard - Sarah's Child

“I’m reassured,” Rome said sardonically.

Max smiled at him wryly. “Don’t be.”

The cocktail party to welcome Max to the Dallas headquarters was overflowing with people anxious to be seen by and talk with the upper echelon of Spencer-Nyle. Rome, Mr. Edwards, and Max were the center of attention, as they were the triumvirate that controlled billions of dollars and thousands of jobs. Mr. Edwards, a lean, quiet man whose shrewdness and corporate savvy had kept him at the top for fifteen years, had hand-chosen his lieutenants and been well-rewarded for his trust in them. Rome was being groomed for the chairmanship, which he would certainly attain when Mr. Edwards retired. Watching the ambitious young executives swarm around him, Sarah realized that it was common knowledge, up and down the ranks, that Rome was Mr. Edwards’s chosen successor. Max, on the other hand, was an unknown, but already there was an ease between him and his superiors that told everyone he was on the inside.

Tired of being pumped for information about Max, Sarah developed the strategy of staying on the move. It took a well-planned schedule to move in, take up a handful of peanuts or dip a stalk of celery into the cheese dip, then waltz on without pausing long enough to give anyone an opening. She clutched her single drink of the evening in her hand, taking tiny sips and trying to eat enough to absorb the alcohol before it could go to her head. Earlier, a quick foray into the tiny kitchen, where the caterers were frantically trying to keep pace with the appetites of the guests, had produced a small glass of milk, which she had slugged back with all the delicacy of a stevedore downing his first frosty beer after working all day in hundred-degree heat.

“You’re gobbling peanuts like you’ve been on a starvation diet,” Rome said in her ear, startling her. He took the cocktail from her hand and replaced it with a tall glass filled with a pale amber liquid and ice cubes. “There. Drink this instead. Ginger ale.” He winked at her, and finished the cocktail for her.

“I’ve already raided the refrigerator for milk,” she laughed, her eyes twinkling up at him. “Did you think I was in danger of falling on my face before the party was over?”

He regarded her somberly, noting that there was no hint of the usual sadness in her eyes that night. Whether it was the small amount of alcohol she’d drunk that made her laugh so gaily, or whether something had happened to make her happy, he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Since it was as much a business occasion as a social one, he hadn’t brought her to the party, but he fully intended to visit her when it was over. From the way she was looking at him now, she might be relaxing those invisible restraints that had kept her from responding to him more fully.

“No, you’d never do anything as disgraceful as getting drunk,” he finally said in answer to her question. “You’re too much the perfect secretary. You already have Max eating out of your hand.”

“Max is a dear,” Sarah responded warmly, looking around for his tall, graceful figure and missing the way Rome’s eyes darkened to a stormy black. “I was fond of Mr. Graham, but I’ll admit that I enjoy working with Max more. Max keeps things hopping.”

Introducing Max into the conversation had been a mistake. Rome moved instinctively, placing himself between Sarah and the rest of the room, blocking her view of Max.

“Do you mind if I come over tonight?” he asked, but there was a harsh note in his voice that commanded rather than asked, and Sarah eyed him warily.

“If you like. I wasn’t going to stay much longer anyway. Have you had dinner, or is this all you’ve had too?” With a wave of her hand, she indicated the colorful but unfulfilling array of dips, snacks, and fresh vegetables that she’d been raiding all evening.

Rome had a healthy appetite. “I’m starving,” he admitted. “Do you want to go out for a late dinner?”

“No, I think I’d rather stay home,” she said, after considering the invitation for a moment. “I have some chicken left over from yesterday; how do you feel about chicken sandwiches?”

“I’d trade all that rabbit food for just one chicken sandwich.” His mood lightening, he grinned at her, and Sarah smiled in return. He was more relaxed with her now than he’d ever been before, and she was blooming under his attention. Perhaps he was beginning to think of her as something other than a friend; the hope of it made her radiant, and the glow of her face beckoned more than one glance from the other men in the room.

Suddenly Max was at Rome’s elbow, his smile tender as he looked at Sarah.

“You really should be by my side,” he said lightly, noting how well the apricot color of her dress suited her creamy complexion. “After all, I’m still totally lost without you. Without you to point me in the right direction these last few days, I’d have made a perfect idiot of myself.”

He’d already stretched his hand out for Sarah when Rome forestalled him by extending his own arm, blocking the gesture. Something hard and frightening was in his dark face as he looked at Max. “I’ve already warned you once,” he said with soft, purring menace. “Sarah is off-limits to you.”

“Rome!” Shocked, taken completely off guard, Sarah gasped his name, dismay filling her. How could he behave like this at a business function?

“She isn’t wearing your ring,” Max pointed out calmly, not turning a hair. “You’ll have to take your chances.”

White with distress at the way a casual, lighthearted conversation had turned so abruptly into barely restrained male aggression, Sarah stepped back from both of them. “Stop it!” she ordered, her voice shaking so much that it was barely above a whisper. “Don’t either of you dare say another word!”

Rome’s nostrils flared and he moved swiftly, his hard arm passing around Sarah’s slender waist. “I’m taking Sarah home,” he said deliberately, his hard fingers biting into her soft flesh. His words were loud enough to be heard, and several people turned to look at them. “She doesn’t feel well. Make our excuses, Max; see you in the office.”

Sarah knew that she was pale enough to give credence to his lie, and he hustled her out of the suite before anyone could approach. The arm around her waist had lifted her almost off her feet; he was effectively carrying her. “Rome, stop it,” she protested, trying to wriggle away from him and walk under her own power.

He swore softly under his breath and adjusted his grip on her, leaning down to slide his other arm under her knees and lift her completely into his arms. Sarah caught her breath as the swift motion made her head whirl dizzily, and she clutched at his shoulders. The elevators were down a long corridor, and they passed a man in a white dinner jacket who stared after them with great interest.

“You’re making a scene,” she whispered. “What’s wrong with you?” She was too startled to even be angry, but she felt as if she were groping her way through a fog, because she failed completely to understand his motives.

He jabbed the down button with his elbow, then bent his head and kissed her with such deliberate intimacy that she curled in his arms, her mouth opening for his tongue. He could have been standing in the middle of the street for all she thought about their location. When he kissed her like that, every thought left her head, leaving her preoccupied only with the slow burning pleasure he gave her with just a kiss.

An electric ding signaled the arrival of the elevator. Still carrying her, Rome stepped into it; they were the only occupants, and she stared at him in bewilderment. His expression was clearly revealed under the bright artificial lights, but she was still unable to decipher it.