Cole Cameron's Revenge

His frown deepened. He paced across the floor again.

Things had changed. He wasn't an embittered kid. She wasn't an innocent girl-if that was a word that had ever applied to Faith. They were adults and she had belonged to another man. To his brother. And it was time to put all that behind them. For Peter's sake, not for any other reason. For the boy

"Cole?"

He turned around. His wife stood in the center of the room. Her hair was drawn back from her face, falling in a tumble of golden waves over her shoulders. Her eyes were the color of the Georgia sky on a midsummer morning and by some minor miracle, she was wearing the only gown he'd actually selected from a stack of faxes the personal shopper had sent him because it was so perfect for her, because he'd been able to shut his eyes and see Faith, his Faith, wearing that sweep of red silk.

He went to her. She watched him approach, her expression solemn.

"Faith," he said softly, and gathered her into his arms. He waited for her to object. Instead, she looked at him as if she'd never seen him before. He held his breath, waiting, and then she whispered his name and he kissed her, and she kissed him back with such tenderness that he could feel his heart fill.

In that moment, Cole knew the truth. The past didn't matter. Her motives didn't matter.

He had never stopped loving her.

Something had changed.

Faith stared the length of the table at the man who was her husband. The man to her right was telling her something about the new van Gogh exhibit at the Met and she wanted to pay attention because she'd seen pictures of some of van Gogh's paintings and they'd always moved her, really, they had.

But nothing moved her like the sight of her husband. And how could that be? She hated Cole... didn't she?

Maybe it was the way he looked that made for the change. It was hard to hate a man who was so handsome. Gorgeous; really, especially in his tux. She liked the way his hair fell over his forehead, the way he kept pushing it back with his hand. He'd done that years ago, the exact same way. His hair had been a little longer then, maybe a little lighter...

What a beautiful man he was.

She wished she could tell him that but it wasn't a thing you could say to a man. Hi, and oh, by the way, did you know you're beautiful? She could just imagine his reaction. He'd look at her as if she were crazy, or he'd laugh and tell her a guy couldn't be beautiful... Except, he was. Beautiful. And he was hers. He was her husband.

Faith picked up her wineglass and took a sip. The Chardonnay was cool on her tongue, which was good. She'd felt warm all evening. Nobody else seemed to be. Some of the women, in fact, had joked about feeling chilly but she was warm. Sometimes, she even felt hot. Like now, when Cole when her husband-turned away from the woman seated to his left and looked the length of the table at her.

She could read the message in his eyes. Faith. You're my wife. And I want you.

The glass trembled in her hand as she sipped the wine again. Yes, something had changed. One minute, she'd been burning with anger. The next-the next, she'd looked at the man she'd once loved and she'd known-she'd known

The glass slipped from her suddenly nerveless fingers and splintered on the table. Conversation ceased as pale gold liquid spread across the white damask. Mortified, she dabbed at the puddle with her napkin.

"I'm sorry," she said, and found every eye on her. "I'm terribly sorry."

"That's quite all right," their hostess said graciously, as a maid hurried toward Faith. "My husband always said these glasses aren't properly balanced. I just hope you didn't spoil that lovely gown."

"No," Faith said, her voice shaking, "I didn't. But I've broken the glass-"

"Faith." She looked up. Cole was standing beside her. "Baby," he said, so gently that she felt tears prick her eyes. He pulled back her chair and drew her up beside him, his arm curving protectively around her waist. He smiled at her, then at their hostess. "It's been a wonderful evening," he said, "but my wife is exhausted."

My wife, Faith thought, my wife.

"It's been a long day for her. For the both of us. We should have stayed home this evening, but-"

"But I wanted to meet you," Faith said softly. "I wanted to meet all my husband's friends."

She looked up at Cole and let him see the truth glowing in her eyes, and to delighted murmurs and a smattering of applause, he swept her into his arms and carried her from the room.

"But what will they think?" Faith whispered, as John drove them home.

"They'll think I'm the luckiest man in the world," Cole said gruffly. She was still in his arms-he'd refused to put her down. The privacy panel was up, the windows were opaque.

No one could see them or hear them but he hadn't touched her. Not yet. Nothing but the lightest of kisses, the softest brush of his hand against her cheek. Wait, he told himself, wait until we're alone, until I can do this right.