“I adore him, Freda.” Lorna’s tone was grave as she changed the subject and abruptly put an end to Freda’s affectionate teasing.
They talked about clothes, bills, jobs and cats. They were still talking as they drove home, stopping to pick up the boys from a playmate’s house along the way. The roads were a potpourri of slush and traffic; Freda kept chattering, and the boys in the back were bickering at high speed.
Lorna had her hands on the steering wheel at ten and four, a position where the ring could continually wink brilliantly at her. Like a silent beacon, the diamond on her left hand gave her messages only she could hear. Matthew loved her.
Pausing at a red light, Lorna touched the marquise diamond, well aware that in fact there had been no proposal; the candlelight seduction Freda had assumed had never happened. He had simply left the ring on the appropriate finger for her to find, and he had left her in silence to think on it, because Matthew was unforgivably, cruelly, disgustingly fair.
The light turned green, and she put her foot on the accelerator. He had hedged his bet, more than a little, by arousing her until the only thing on her mind when she went to sleep was her greedy, aching soul, avid for the kind of fulfilment only he could give her.
He was very good at setting up all the stakes on his side, she thought ruefully, a small, dreamy smile playing on her mouth. He hadn’t just promised her trust; he’d given it, freely, in teasing her about Stan, in believing in her when she’d needed to be believed. He’d respected her feelings for her son; he had put her feelings ahead of those of his father; Lorna knew well he had told Mr. Whitaker straight-out that she came first in Matthew’s life. He was a man she could trust, a man of compassion and strength and sensitivity. A man of the sort she’d never believed had existed. And when he touched her…
Such love… All that morning she’d been exhilarated, restless, giddy, laughing at nothing, not able to think a single coherent thought. She adored him; she needed him; she wanted him…
So why, she thought idly, did she feel so scared?
The ring winked at her again as she made a left turn. She knew why he’d given it to her exactly the way he had. No soft lights and intoxicating seduction. He’d wanted a commitment from the soul, a clear-cut, honest decision that came from love. We’ve tackled Johnny and my father and your feelings about the past, Misha. You were wary when we first met. I don’t want the shadows. I want it to be you and me alone, and I want you to be damned sure.
It was amazing, what an inanimate ring could say.
“Mom,” Johnny said patiently, “how many times are you going to keep circling the block?”
She glanced at her son in the rearview mirror. “One more time. Anything wrong with that?” She couldn’t afford to believe there was a jinx on a second time around.
Chapter 13
“Flight three-oh-three to Toronto and Montreal now boarding at gate three-oh-seven. All passengers…”
“Misha?”
Lorna’s head jerked up as Matthew touched her arm, her hand nearly knocking over the coffee cup as she hurriedly stood up. Her nervous clumsiness embarrassed her; she flushed as she said brightly, “Finally! I was beginning to think they were going to ground the plane because of snow.”
“They wouldn’t dare.”
Lorna raised teasing eyebrows as she snatched up her purse. “You mean you wouldn’t let them. I know exactly what’s on your mind, Mr. Whitaker.”
“So do I.” He linked a protective arm through hers after dropping a bill on the table, and they worked their way through the crowded airport. “And I would like to tell you in exact detail what else I have on my mind when I have you completely alone.” The low, husky drawl was whispered in her ear, just as if there weren’t a thousand people all around them.
Lorna shivered, a response she could no more have controlled than she could control her breathing. They had waited more than an hour for their flight to Quebec. Metropolitan International Airport was filled with people who had waited hours for flights delayed because of the blizzard outside.
The walk to their boarding gate would have been lengthy on roller skates. As it was, no one seemed inclined to move willingly to get out of their way. Fractious children with hot red faces were tired of wearing heavy coats and holding their belongings and sitting still. Their mothers, once dressed and coiffed and made up for travel, had wilted. Businessmen swung briefcases like lethal weapons, and the confusion of noise was incredible. The airport loudspeaker was paging particular individuals to remove themselves from the list of lost persons, to pick up their tickets, to answer a summons to speak to someone. Trolleys were clattering through the terminal, laden with luggage; adults were chattering at fevered pitches and babies were crying.
Lorna felt like a pincushion with too many pins piercing her all at once, which was undoubtedly why her pulse kept beating in this strange, fluttery rhythm. Her hands were atypically clammy. For a short time, in the quiet of the small coffee shop, she even wondered if she was coming down with a fever. Her stomach was churning; her legs felt shaky…
She knew none of it showed. Matthew’s eyes would have picked it up if she hadn’t looked well, and when she’d looked in the mirror at home before leaving for the airport, it had told her that for some strange reason, she almost looked beautiful. Bone-colored pumps complemented good-looking legs. Her traveling suit was burnt orange, a favorite color, the wool skirt clinging very nicely to her slim hips; she’d eaten cottage-cheese lunches for a week so that she could afford to buy the cream-colored silk blouse that was so flattering. Her chestnut hair had a gloss like sun glow; her eyes had been subtly, alluringly made up… A healthy, lovely woman had stared at her from the mirror that morning. A woman who loved, a woman who looked loved.
Don’t hurt him, Mr. Whitaker had warned her.
“Misha-” Matthew clutched her shoulder, weaving her out of the way of a man in an airport uniform racing down the corridor. She hadn’t even seen him.
There was something wrong with her. Adrenaline was speeding through her veins; her stomach was cramping; she felt the strangest feeling of dread hammering in her temples. She was reminded of her college days, waiting for the test to be passed out in Chemistry 101; it was like the day she had taken Johnny to the emergency room with a bump on his head and they had insisted she stay out in the waiting room. She didn’t even notice the man in the red sports coat eye her up and down suggestively, nor did she see Matthew icily outstare him until the stranger flushed and turned away. A child raced past her; she barely felt the jolt.
Finally, they reached the last turn of the long corridor. A few hundred feet ahead was the small cubbyhole where a stewardess was checking tickets. After this automatic procedure, they would be in Quebec in a few hours, just the two of them at the Château Frontenac. Fourteen days of sheer luxury vacation. A honeymoon ahead of time? she had joked to Matthew. He informed her that they needed at least that much time anyway. One week in a cold climate, one week in a hot. To see which they liked best. And if they needed to test out any other temperatures that suited her fancy…
“Wait here, Misha. You don’t have to join that madhouse yet…”
She watched the man she loved more than life detach himself from her and join the rest of the throng of humanity trying to bully the stewardess into letting them go first. Matthew was different. She wasn’t in the least biased. He was simply without question the most handsome man there, but it wasn’t just that. It was that shock of dark hair on his forehead, and those grave dark eyes. His quietness, a total control and assurance that set him apart. The character lines around his eyes, the way his shoulders fit a suit.