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His throat tightened.
And how he wished he could share it with Ted. His brother had always believed in him. He'd been the one positive force in his life. They'd loved each other, relied on each other ... until first Cole, then Ted, had fallen under the spell of a witch.
Cole put the empty bottle on a small table, then curled his hands tightly around the wrought-iron balcony railing. Faith might as well have been a witch, the way she made a man blind to the truth, but she didn't need black magic. All she needed was that beautiful face and lush body. That sweet, hot mixture of innocence and sensuality. She'd always been able to turn him on.
She still could. One look, and he'd wanted her. He'd taken her in his arms, kissed that silken mouth until it heated under his, until she'd made that soft sigh that used to drive him out of his head with longing.
Cole stood straight. She was good at what she did. Well, so was he. Her specialty was men. His was risk, not so much of assets but of situations, and the course he was about to take proved it. He'd be part of Peter's life-he loved the boy already. He'd give him what he needed, the love and direction a good father should provide. Faith would be a good mother. He had to admit, she obviously loved the kid. With a man to keep her in line and pay the bills, she'd bring Peter up right.
He went back into the sitting room and took a document from the coffee table. He'd phoned his attorney late last night and explained what he wanted, a prenuptial agreement but with certain specific provisions. Ray Foss had tried to disguise his surprise but it had crept into his voice.
"You're sure?" he'd said.
Cole had assured him that he was, although he couldn't fault the man's reaction. The request for a prenup on such short notice had been unexpected enough but the provisions he'd insisted on were, he knew, harsh. The prenup spelled out the generous benefits Faith would reap from being a faithful, dutiful wife but it also made it clear that she'd lose everything, including whatever money or possessions she might have gained through the marriage, if she didn't live up to the letter and spirit of the agreement.
"No settlement sum?" the lawyer had asked. "None," Cole had replied.
"I don't think you can really do that, Cole. No court in the country would-
"I can do whatever I choose," Cole had said crisply.
"Whether or not a court would uphold my right to do it is a different story. Draw up the document and get it to me by tomorrow morning."
The people who worked for him all knew better than to ask for explanations but Ray had been with him for a long time. He'd persisted, suggesting Cole might want to pull back a little, take a day or two to think things over. He hadn't said it like that, of course; instead, he'd talked about the importance of meeting to discuss Cole's plans, the future, what he'd called the overall intent of the prenup.
"The overall intent," Cole had replied bluntly, "is to make sure my blushing bride understands that the gravy train stops if she ever decides to walk out of this marriage. I'll expect her to be like Caesar's wife, entirely above any kind of suspicion, as long as she belongs to me."
"Belongs to you?" his attorney had repeated with caution.
Cole had silently cursed himself for the slip. He hadn't meant it. He certainly didn't want Faith to `belong' to him ... although she would, whenever they were alone in the bedroom...
"A poor choice of words," he'd said briskly. "I meant that I want to ensure her compliance. Do you understand, Ray? Can you draw up such a prenup and do it fast?"
Ray could. He did. The document, delivered by messenger this morning, a seemingly endless list of Draconian whereases and wherefores, had put a grim smile on Cole's lips.
He was sure Faith would turn pale at the sight of it.
"Sign this," he'd say, and she would because she had to, but she'd know she was turning her life over to him...
And that they would set the night on fire each time he took her in his arms.
Cole felt his body stir. He took a breath, expelled it, and waited for the moment of truth to arrive.
The clerk at the reception desk was leafing through some papers and barely looked up when Faith approached him.
"Yes?"
"Cole Cameron's room, please."
"Mr. Cameron has the Lakefront Suite. Who shall I say is...?" The man looked up, eyes widening. "Oh. Mrs. Cameron. How nice to see you."
"Thank you." She'd never seen him before, not that she could recall. "What floor did you say the suite is on?"
"The fourth. Mr. Cameron is expecting you. Let me ring for a boy to show you-"
"No," she said quickly. "That's all right." "It will only take a minute."
"Thank you, but it's not necessary."
