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"That's because you were so busy trying not to jump up and down at the prospect of me being out of your life that you didn't listen." His hands tightened and he lifted her to her toes. "I'm going to New York. And you're going with me."
"Me? Going...? No! Our agreement never said-
"You're my wife. You go where I go. I have a commitment in New York Friday night. Besides, it's time you got a look at your new home."
"My-my new home?" She knew she was parroting his words but she couldn't help it. What was he talking about?
"That's right, Faith. My home's in New York. That means our home will be there, too."
"No," she said again, her voice trembling. "That's impossible."
"The hell it is." His mouth turned down. "I know you worship this-this pile of brick, but say goodbye to it, baby, because I'm selling it for the first offer I get."
She could tell that he meant every word. Panic turned her blood to ice. She didn't want to go to New York. She was safe here, in the town she knew. In unknown territory, the rules would change.
"I'm not going. I'm not really your wife, no matter what you-, "You're right. You aren't." He slid his hands up her throat and cupped her face. "But you will be, once we get to New York and I show you how worthless that damned prenup you're so proud of really is."
"Don't," she said, but his mouth covered hers. He kissed her hard, his hands holding her captive, his mouth plundering hers until she began to tremble. "Don't," she said again, but it was a moan, a plea, and she lay her hands against his chest, caught his shirt in her fingers, lifted herself to him.
Cole groaned with pent-up desire. He swept his hands under her cotton T-shirt, cupped her breasts, felt the swift, tight beading of her nipples beneath the soft lace of her bra. The front closure tore apart in his hands and he spread his fingers over her naked flesh. Faith sobbed his name against his lips, dug her hands into his hair, dragged his face down to hers.
He could take her now. Put an end to all the sleepless nights. He could strip off her clothes, kiss every inch of her sweet body and make her his, forever, not because he'd forced her to sign an agreement but because she'd want to be his.
The enormity of the thought stunned him. He let go of her and she swayed unsteadily. Her face was pale but her cheeks were hot with color and when she opened her eyes and looked at him, it was through pupils so huge that all he could see of her irises was a thin rim of blue.
"Faith," he said "Faith-"
He saw her hand lift and he knew what was coming but he did nothing to stop it. She slapped him, hard enough to make his head snap back.
"You son of a bitch," she whispered. "I hate you!"
She turned and raced up the stairs. He watched her go. Who gave a damn if she hated him? He'd never meant more to her than a ticket out of a trailer park. And all she'd been to him was a hot, easy lay.
"Goddammit," he whispered.
Her heard her bedroom door slam. Slowly, he walked to the library. In the dark, he went to the cabinet where his old man had kept the booze. He wasn't much for hard liquor but he wanted something that would take the taste of ashes from his mouth.
A light came on inside the cabinet as he opened it. There were bottles lined up on the shelf. He reached for one marked Bourbon, not caring how long it might have stood there, poured an inch into a shot glass and downed the whiskey in one quick, searing gulp.
Faith hated him. So what? He really didn't give a damn.
And maybe, just maybe, if he told himself that often enough, he might even start to believe it.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THEY flew to New York Friday afternoon, sitting in stiff silence side by side in the first class section of TransContinental Flight 937.
Faith wanted to be anywhere but on that plane. Still, at least they were alone. They could stop pretending everything was fine. They hadn't exchanged more than a handful of words in two days, except when Peter was around, and he was so excited about going to camp that it hadn't taken much effort to fool him.
The fiction ended when they boarded the plane. Faith accepted a magazine from the flight attendant without bothering to look at the cover. Cole opened a briefcase that he'd filled with documents from Ted's desk.
"I'm going to go through my brother's personal papers," he'd said last night. "Any objections?"
Why would she object? She and Ted had shared a house for nine years but they hadn't shared a life. In all the ways that mattered, they'd remained strangers. Still, as she watched Cole reach into the briefcase, she wondered if she should have gone through the papers first. Could there be anything in them that would give away Ted's secret, or hers? No, of course not. Ted had been cautious to the point of paranoia about what he'd called his other life, and she had Peter's birth certificate safely locked away.
