Made For Each Other Read online

  “I thought he looked familiar.” Then: “What does he mean to you?”

  She hesitated, then decided the truth was the best course with Nick. Besides, she knew that he, with his connections, could have the answer at his fingertips within minutes. “I work for him. We are only—we had only dated once.”

  Nick’s thumb and forefinger imprisoned her chin. “But you’ve never made love with him?”

  “I—I’ve never felt that way about anyone.”

  “Not even me?” Nick whispered hoarsely. His mouth lowered to capture hers. She squirmed, not wanting to surrender to the kiss that consumed her as a flame the candle.

  But resistance was impossible. Her arms crept up to encircle his neck and waist. Nick’s hand tangled in her hair, holding fast her head so that she could not have escaped had she wanted.

  At last his mouth released her lips, leaving them intoxicated with passion. The moment had been coming since the night they met. And each time the two of them had come together only to part, it had heightened their emotions and their awareness of each other. Sexually aroused, they had warily circled each other in a primitive mating dance.

  Nick looked into her eyes, his gaze drain-ing her now of all volition. “This is your one chance,” he rasped, “Say the safe word now, because I’ll not wait much longer.”

  But he did not even give her a chance to answer as his lips plundered the melon-ripe breasts and his hands ravaged the hollows of her neck, her waist, and finally followed the intimate contours of her thighs. An earthquake trembled inside her as his knowing fingers found her.

  She knew she would never know whether she would have used the safe word, but now it no longer mattered. She gave herself over to his ardent seduction of her body.

  Whatever pain she had expected never came . . . except the exquisite pain of waiting and wanting until at last their love was consummated and her small, perfectly sculptured body lay on the rumpled sheets glowing with the expertise of Nick’s lovemaking.

  Nick’s hand smoothed back the damp tendrils of hair from her temple. “Julie, of all the women I’ve had, there’s never—”

  She rolled away from his touch. Of all the women—and now she was just one more to be added to his list of conquests!

  Enervated as she was from the quenching of her desire, she managed to lift her head proudly. Her eyes were frosty green slits. “You’ve broken your promise, Nick,” she said quietly. “Don’t expect me to keep mine.”

  She swung her feet over the edge of the bed, but Nick’s hand was at her wrist. “Just what does that mean?” he demanded. “Your promise not to destroy my career—or your promise of fidelity when we married?”

  He jerked her back down on the mattress so that she was supported on one elbow. Her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulder like spilt sherry. “Were you thinking of Jim Miller even as I made love to you?” he gritted with suppressed violence. “If so, perhaps I should make love to you again—and this time I promise you I shall drive his name from your mind so that there shall be only my name whispered on your lips.”

  His hand released her wrist to cup one breast, and she hated herself at the sudden passion that burned through her loins at his touch. “Let me go, Nick,” she whispered fervently. “You have had what you wanted.”

  Still his hand caressed her, lazily circling one turgid nipple with his index finger. “And not what you wanted, also?” he asked softly. “Will you not listen to me? Won’t you give me a—”

  “No! You forget, I know too well how eloquent the senator is with words. But I won’t be swayed like your other sheep. One day, Nicholas Raffer, I’ll prove my own eloquence with the written word!”

  She fled from him then, the moisture of their union trickling down her thighs. She sought the asylum of the couch. She half expected him to chase her down, as the lion does the gazelle, and reclaim her. But he did not, and at last, dry-eyed, she fell into a deep sleep of exhaustion.

  When she awakened, it was nearly eleven. Nick was gone. She remembered him men-tioning the day before having a client to see. No doubt the client was Sheila, Julie thought grimly.

  But that supposition was proven wrong an hour later as she folded and put away the blankets, glad that it was Mrs. Martinez’s day off. The doorbell rang, and she, wearing jeans and a gray sweatshirt, answered it, to find Sheila standing there, elegantly wrapped in a red fox fur. The woman’s finely waxed brows arched in amusement as her critical gaze swept over Julie’s bare feet and disheveled hair tied, as usual, in pigtails.

  “I was hoping I’d catch you two at home,” Sheila said. She turned her head to let her. glance sweep the terrain behind her, adding, “But I don’t see Nick’s car.”

  “He’s with a client,” she said, still holding the doorknob. The last person she wanted to see that day was Sheila Morrison.

  “Well, in that case”—Sheila held out a silver-and-white-wrapped box—“I wanted to give you two a wedding gift.”

  “Oh,” she said. She felt extremely ill mannered before Sheila’s gracious gesture. And though there was something about the woman she did not like (admit it, she scolded herself—you’re jealous that of all the women Nick’s had, only Sheila Morrison has been able to hold his interest), she felt compelled to invite the woman inside in view of her generosity and thoughtfulness.

  Sheila dropped her fur negligently across the couch in a careless gesture of one who is accustomed to expensive items. “Could I get you a cup of coffee?” she offered, hoping the woman would not stay long.

  “That’s all right,” Sheila said sweetly. “I can help myself. I know where everything is. Besides, you must be tired.” She looked at her now with a knowing smile playing about her lips, reminding her of the Cheshire cat. “I know how that is, too. Nick can certainly drain your energies after a night of love, can’t he?”

  Julie bristled. “Is that what you call it? I think Nick called the affairs before our marriage ‘sleeping around.’” With a saccharine smile that more resembled a grin of triumph she laid the gift on the coffee table. What she wanted to do was toss it in the fireplace.

  Sheila picked up her fur coat. “I can see that this is not going to be one of those pleasant conversations you have over a cup of coffee.”

  “On that we agree.”

  Sheila paused at the door, her manicured hand resting on the knob. “I ought to warn you that if you really love Nick, Mrs. Raffer, you won’t stand in his way. He quite possibly could be the next governor of New Mexico. Oh, the critics and his opponents claim he’s too young, with only one term in the senate. But with my influence, and my father’s backing, Nick has a very good chance of winning the governor’s race.”

  “And you’re implying that with me as his wife—”

  “You’d only hamper him—an unsophisticated little working girl. It’s been obvious to everyone for months that Nick and I were made for each other. If you love him, Mrs. Raffer, you’ll let him go.”

  She stood there long after Sheila had closed the door. She wanted to scream after her, “But I don’t love him!” But pride held her tongue.

  The ring of the telephone broke her trance. “Oh, Pam,” she cried, “it’s so good to hear your voice!” In the midst of Nick’s whirlwind courtship and marriage she had forgotten how much she enjoyed Pam’s easygoing banter. “I promise I’ll tell you everything this time,” she hedged. “Yes, lunch will be fine. Give me forty-five minutes.”

  Within twenty minutes she had changed into a kelly green wool circular skirt and matching sweater with brown leather boots. She brushed out her hair until it fell over her shoulders in feathery wisps and added some mascara and frosted apricot lipstick. A searching glance in the mirror told her that she would never be as sleekly sophisticated as Sheila Morrison,.

  She peered closer at her reflection, wondering if one could tell by the shadowy eyes or the passion-swollen lips that she was any different that morning than the day before. Was there a mark somewhere on her for everyone to see, like Cai
n’s, that Nick had made her his?

  Exactly forty-five minutes later she arrived in the parking lot of The Bull Ring, a Mexican restaurant within walking distance of the state’s circular capitol.

  Inside, the restaurant was crowded, mostly with politicians. Loud shouts of greeting were traded back and forth when recognized lobbyists and legislators came in, accompanied by handshaking and backslapping. It was a lively place, especially during the noon hour.

  Julie recognized Pam at a corner table, but it was not until she had made her way there that she realized someone was with Pam.

  “Hi, Julie!” Pam called. “My boss has offered to buy my lunch,” she said, indicating Jim sitting across from her, “and I couldn’t pass it up.”

  Julie took a seat between Jim and her friend. “Hello, Jim,” she said lightly. “Are you out gathering secret political info for a big scoop?”

  “This would be the place to get the latest news,” he said with a genuine smile, “but Pam conned me into buying the lunches.” He winked at Julie and added, “She claims it’s National Secretary Week.”

  Pam grimaced at her boss, but before she could make a retort, a waiter came to take their order. For once, Julie, shaken by the events of the night before and then Sheila’s visit that morning, ordered a drink, a margar ita, along with Pam and Jim.

  For a while the three made only small talk about the office gossip, the new ski facilities at Angel Fire, the discovery of helium on one of the nearby Indian reservations.

  “So how’s marriage going?” Pam asked as they finished the last of the nachos and another round of margaritas.

  She bit into the crunchy tortilla topped with melted cheese and chopped jalapenos. Her eyes watered, but not from the spicy-hot chili pepper. Why not tell them? she asked herself. These two were her friends. “I’m afraid it’s over before it’s begun,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat. If she stayed with Rafe, she knew she would only be a liability in his senate race.

  Pam’s hazel eyes widened, making her usually bright freckles pale in comparison. “Oh, Julie, everyone has those little lovers’ tiffs,” she said, trying to console her friend.

  Julie closed her eyes against the room that had started to shift. She really should not have drunk a second margarita. When she opened them, Jim was looking at her with concern. He laid his hand over hers. “Is there anything I can do, Julie?”

  She looked up at his kind face, but her gaze went past him to see the tall, dark man standing in the arched doorway. Nick’s harsh gaze raked over Julie and Jim with contempt before he turned on his heel and left.

  She wanted to jump up and run after him.

  For in that split second she knew she was in love with Nicholas Raffer. She did not know when she had first begun to be or how or why. She just knew that her heart belonged irrevo¬cably to Nick.

  And now she could only guess what he must think of her, sitting at the table with Jim holding her hand. Even if he had noticed Pam with them, the least his nimble brain could conclude was that she was preparing to write the scathing articles about him that she had threatened to do.

  “Julie, is there anything I can do?” Jim repeated now, with serious worry at the tortured expression she wore.

  She shook her head as though trying to shake Nick from her mind . . . and knew that was something she would never really be able to do. He had left the imprint of his personality and his possession of her on her mind as surely as if he had burned his name into her heart with a branding iron.

  “No, Jim, I appreciate your offer, but there’s nothing you can do. I’m sure—” She took a deep breath to hold back the tears that were welling inside. “I’m sure that everything will work out for the best.”

  “How about coming by after lunch and seeing the rest of the gang at the office?” Pam suggested with a lightness in her voice that none of the three really felt.

  “No—I guess I better get on back home,” she temporized. “There’s a lot I have to catch up on.”

  But she did not drive straight home. She drove aimlessly out along the winding Cerro Gordo road. Before she realized it, she found she was on the narrow Highway 64 that was jammed with other cars bound for the Pueblo Indian reservations that rimmed Santa Fe, for at that time of year many families spent their winter vacations in Santa Fe, skiing and sightseeing.

  She pulled over into the paved area designated for parking, but she remained sitting in her car, watching the tourists as they flocked to photograph the Tesuque kiva, the round ceremonial structure of sandstone that was partly underground, or purchase pottery and paintings displayed on colorful blankets about the plaza. Not too far away a father posed his wife and three children with an old Indian woman dressed in the native costume of velveteen blouse over a calico skirt while he snapped pictures, and she felt the deep yearning gnawing in her to be part of a family like that—to have a husband to laugh with and children to love.

  Was there any chance for her and Nick to have such a family?

  She sat behind the wheel, trying to think clearly, logically. The war that raged between her heart and her brain did not make it easy for her. Her brain reminded her that Nick would never love any woman. Had he not told her as much . . . that the dissolution of his parents’ marriage had hardened him against marriage? Her heart whispered that with time she might be able to make him love her.

  She did know that if she were to ask her parents what to do, they would tell her to listen to her heart. They would counsel her that a loving wife would never be a liability to any man. And with that last thought, she switched on the car’s engine and headed back to Santa Fe and Nick.

  As long as there was hope, she would wait for his love.

  Chapter Nine

  Over the following days Julie often wondered if her hope that Nick might someday come to love her was nothing but a fool’s dream. They slept together in Nick’s king-size bed, but never did they touch. She would have been more miserable than she was, but she kept busy, either working on her column or shopping and wrapping Christmas gifts to mail to her friends and family back home. She agonized over what to get Nick and finally settled on a little-known brand of fishing reel that her father swore by.

  While Nick had not exploded at her in anger the afternoon she returned from the luncheon with Pam and Jim, neither did he exhibit the warm, affectionate manner he had occasionally displayed in Cozumel.

  Only once was the subject of Jim Miller even touched on. It occurred one morning two days before Christmas when her “Speculator” column appeared in the Sun for the first time since her marriage. Anxiously she wai¬ed as Nick scanned the column. Would he forbid her, in that cool, autocratic way he had, to write any more articles, or would he go further and openly accuse her of having an affair with her editor? She almost wished he would show some sign of jealousy. Any emotion was better than his indifference.

  He did neither. When he finished the column, he took a drink of coffee. His eyes studied her over the rim of his cup, and under his close scrutiny she could only toy with the scrambled eggs she had prepared in the Mex¬can style of huevos rancheros.

  “It’s good,” Nick said finally. “Your column. I’ve been against Senator Follet’s strip- mining bill from the start, but I could never have worded my protest as succinctly as you did in your column.”

  Her eyes widened at Nick’s words of praise. When she had written the column, she had had no idea how Nick stood on the bill. If anything, she would have supposed he was for it. But, regardless, she had written how she honestly felt about the bill. “Then you have no objection if I continue with my column?”

  “Not in the least. I’m pleased to see you don’t plan to let your clever mind atrophy simply because you have married.”

  He laid aside the newspaper and said, “Julie, several of the legislators have approached me about throwing my hat in the ring for the governor’s race next year. How do you feel about it?”

  She looked at Nick in surprise that he would consult he
r about his plans for the future. Was she to figure in his future, or was it merely wishful thinking on her part? She swallowed a gulp of orange juice before answering. “If that’s what you want, then I think you should go ahead and announce your candidacy.”

  “Sheila felt the same way,” Nick said, still watching Julie closely. “She’s volunteered her services for my campaign committee if I decide to run.”

  She looked away, unable to meet Nick’s observant gaze. “That’s nice,” she said dryly. “You two obviously work well together.” She laid her napkin beside her plate and rose. “Excuse me. I—I have to get back to work on my next column.”

  Nick stood up also. “I’ll be home early this afternoon. I thought we’d run up to San Ramon for the weekend and celebrate Christmas Eve with my grandmother. I’d like you to meet her. I think you two would like each other.”

  The fact that Nick wanted her to spend Christmas with him in a familylike setting offered her some hope, though it did not lessen the hurt of hearing Sheila’s name on his lips that morning. Her mother had telephoned, asking her to bring Nick to visit for Christmas, but she couldn’t do that to her parents – bring home a man who didn’t intend to stay married to her – and had postponed the visit indefinitely.

  Nevertheless, she was not going to give up hope, and after she had prepared the first draft of the following week’s column, she spent the rest of the afternoon getting ready for the weekend trip to his grandmother’s house. She wanted to look especially nice, and she chose a soft pink woolen sweater with matching slacks to wear on the trip up to the San Ramon ranch. Apparently she succeeded in her effort, for not too long after they left Santa Fe behind them and began the climb up through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains toward Taos Nick said, “You look lovely, Julie. Not only will my grandmother approve of you, but she’ll want to know why I didn’t marry you before I did.”

  “I wouldn’t think two days is too long a courtship,” she said wryly.