Another Man's Child

“I GOT ALL THE FIGURES you needed, Mr. Cartwright. A couple of the properties look promising for Cartwright warehouses. The rest I’d leave alone.”

Marcus glanced up from the report he’d been studying to find his long-haired executive assistant at the door to his office. “Thanks, Ron. Leave them there on the table, will you please?” He returned his attention to his report.

“Yes, sir.” Ron Campbell did as he asked and then hesitated by the door.

Marcus looked up again. “Was there something else?”

“Not really, sir. It’s just that, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but you and Mrs. Cartwright aren’t planning on moving, are you, sir? That property you had me check in Chicago is residential.”

Marcus swore silently, tired to the bone. He should have done that investigating himself. He knew how thorough Ron was, too thorough to simply call for terms as Marcus had asked him to. Which was the reason Ron had reached such an elevated position within Cartwright Enterprises at the tender age of twenty-five, in

spite of his ponytail.

“We’re doing a lot more business in the Midwest. I thought it might be beneficial to have a home there,” he said. “Even the nicest hotels get old after a while.”

Ron nodded and left, not looking completely satisfied, and Marcus couldn’t really blame him. He traveled to Chicago once, maybe twice, a year. Certainly not enough to warrant a home as nice as the one he’d had Ron check on. But Ron didn’t need to know that Marcus wanted the house so that he’d have a place to go when he gave Lisa her freedom. A man of action, he wasn’t sure he was going to be able to exist in their current stalemate much longer. More importantly, he didn’t think Lisa could, either.

LISA COULDN’T SLEEP. She’d been restless ever since she’d stopped by Beth’s office earlier that day, but the restlessness solidified into guilt as soon as she climbed into bed and turned out the light. Rolling over to Marcus’s empty side of the bed, she flipped on his bedside lamp and flopped back down to hug his pillow to her breasts. She kept thinking about page forty-nine, and every time she caught her mind dwelling on that anonymous specimen, she felt as if she was being unfaithful to her husband.

Where was Marcus, anyway? It was almost one o’clock in the morning. She needed his arms around her to chase away the uneasiness of the day, to surround her with his love and convince her they weren’t falling apart.

Beth and John had overcome childlessness quite successfully, happily, even. Surely the love she and Marcus shared was every bit as strong. Still clutching Marcus’s pillow, she rolled over and looked around their room. Elegant to the core, it could have been showcased in House & Garden magazine, and probably had been when Marcus’s parents were still alive.

But her gaze didn’t fall on the matching Queen Anne furnishings or the professionally decorated walls and floor. She glanced, instead, at the little gold jewelry box Marcus had bought for her at an antique fair on their honeymoon, at the Norman Rockwell original she’d surprised him with for his thirtieth birthday, at the numerous photos on her dresser and his. At the his and hers rocking chairs they’d laughingly picked out together when they’d gotten engaged. They’d planned to rock their babies in those chairs—and grow old in them together.

But there weren’t any babies to rock. And Lisa wasn’t putting much stock in their growing old together, either. Not lately.

The light was still on and Lisa was lying awake in their bed when Marcus finally came in, pulling off his tie, almost an hour later.

“Hard night?” she asked softly.

“This dragging George Blake into the nineties—I don’t know who it’s hurting more, him or me,” Marcus said with a self-derisive chuckle, sitting down to untie his shoes.

“He’s still fighting you on things?” Marcus looked like he’d aged ten years in the past twelve months. There were new lines on his forehead and around his eyes.

“Sometimes. But it’s even worse when he doesn’t. Today he was as docile as a lamb, and I hated to see it. The man built an empire from a single five-anddime store. He didn’t do that by sitting back and taking whatever comes. And every time I have to tell him that his way won’t work anymore, every time he nods and gives up without a fight, I feel like I’m killing part of a legend.”

Lisa watched him unbutton his shirt. She loved Marcus for caring about an old man’s feelings, but she hated seeing him beat himself up over it. “He didn’t work his entire life to have the Blake’s department stores go bankrupt.”

“You’re right, of course.” Marcus stepped out of his slacks and tossed them on the valet. “It’s just been a long day.”

Padding naked to the bed, he clicked off the light and slid in beside her.

“Thanks, Lis. I was beginning to feel like the big bad wolf.”

“You’re a good man, you know that, Mr. Cartwright?” Lisa asked, taking him in her arms automatically, before she remembered that they weren’t doing that anymore. She tensed, afraid he would push her away.

“I bet you say that to all the guys, don’t you?” he teased, reminiscent of the old days when he’d been completely confident in his ability to give her whatever she wanted. But tonight, as he leaned over to kiss her, there was no sign of the arrogance that usually accompanied the remark.

It had been so long since Marcus had touched her that Lisa’s entire body responded to that first stroke of his lips. The blood surged in her veins. Her nerves sang in anticipation—and relief. She’d obviously misread the last month of abstinence. Marcus still wanted her, he’d just needed her to come to him. Another first. But one she could live with. Pushing the thoughts of the day from her mind, she gave herself up to the magic that only Marcus could bring her.

This was all she needed. All either of them needed. They could make it through anything else when they shared a love this passionate.

It took her a moment to realize that Marcus wasn’t sharing her passion. His body was ready, she could feel his rigid penis against her thigh, but he’d stopped kissing her and was pulling her gown down where it had ridden up over her hips.

“What…” Her voice trailed off as he pulled away from her and lay back, his shoulders propped against the headboard.

“I’m sorry,” he said.