not going to be able to shake me loose.”
“You’re used to getting what you want,” she murmured. “I wonder if I am. It doesn’t feel as if that’s true.”
“That’s something you can change.”
He was right. That was a matter of patience, perseverance, control. And perhaps wanting the right things. She wanted him, wanted to think that one day she could stand here, listening to the wood thrush sing of summer while Cade drowsed in the hammock. It could be their house instead of his. Their life. Their family.
If it was the right thing, and she could persevere.
“I’m going to make you a promise.” She followed the impulse and turned, letting her heart be reckless. He was so much what she needed, sitting there with his jeans torn at the knee, his hair too long, his feet bare. “If, when this is over, when all the steps have been taken, all the pieces are in place to make the whole…if I can and you still want me, I’ll marry you.”
His heart stuttered in his chest. Emotion rose up to fill his throat. Very carefully, he set the bottle aside, rose. “Tell me you love me.”
It was there, in her heart, begging to be said. But she shook her head. “When it’s all over, and you know everything. If you still want me.”
“That’s not the kind of promise that suits me. No qualifications, Bailey. No whens, no ifs. Just you.” “It’s all I can give you. It’s all I have.”
“We can go into Maryland on Tuesday, get a license. Be married in a matter of days.”
He could see it. The two of them, giddy in love, rousing some sleepy-eyed country J.P. out of bed in the middle of the night. Holding hands in the living room while an old yellow dog slept on a braid rug, the J.P.’s wife played the piano and he and the woman he loved exchanged vows.
And sliding the ring onto her finger, feeling her slide one on his, was the link that would bind them.
“There are no blood tests in Maryland,” he continued. “Just a couple of forms, and there you are.”
He meant it. It staggered her to see in those deep green eyes that he meant nothing less than he said. He would take her exactly as she was. He would love her just as she stood.
How could she let him?
“And what name would I put on the form?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’ll have mine.” He gripped her arms, drew her against him. In all his life, there had been no one he needed as much. “Take mine.”
Just take, she thought when his lips covered hers. Take what was offered—the love, the safety, the promise. Let the past come as it would, let the future drift, and seize the moment.
“You know it wouldn’t be right.” She pressed her cheek to his. “You need to know as much as I do.”
Maybe he did. However much the fantasy of a reckless elopement appealed, creating a fake identity for Bailey, it wasn’t the answer either one of them needed. “Could be fun.” He struggled to lighten the mood. “Like practice for the real thing.” He pulled her back to arm’s length, studied her face. Delicate, troubled. Lovely. “You want orange blossoms, Bailey? A white dress and organ music?”
Because her heart sighed at the image, she managed to smile. “I think I might. I seem to be a traditional soul.”
“Then I should buy you a traditional diamond.”
“Cade—”
“Just speculating,” he murmured, and lifted her left hand. “No, however traditional your soul, your taste in jewelry is unique. We’ll find something that suits. But I should probably take you to meet the family.” His eyes lifted to hers, and he laughed. “God help you.”
Just a game, she thought, just pretend. She smiled back at him. “I’d love to meet your family. See Camilla do pirouettes in her tutu.”
“If you can get through that and still want to marry me, I’ll know you’re hopelessly in love with me. They’ll put you through the gauntlet, sweetheart. A very sophisticated, silk-edged gauntlet. Where did you go to school, what does your father do, does your mother play bridge or tennis? And by the way, what clubs do you belong to, and did I run into you on the slopes last season at St. Moritz?”
Instead of making her unhappy, it made her laugh. “Then I’d better find out the answers.”
“I like making them up. I took a cop to Muffy’s tenth-anniversary bash. Couldn’t get out of it. We told everyone she was the niece of the Italian prime minister, educated in a Swiss boarding school and interested in acquiring a pied-à-terre in D.C.”
Her brows drew together. “Oh, really?”
“They all but drooled on her. Not nearly the reaction we’d have gotten with the truth.”
“Which was?”
“She was a uniformed cop who grew up in New York’s Little Italy and transferred to Washington after her divorce from a guy who ran a pasta place off Broadway.”
“Was she pretty?”
“Sure.” His grin flashed. “Gorgeous. Then there was the lounge singer in Chevy Chase who—”
“I don’t think I want to know.” She turned away, picked up her empty glass and made a business out of rinsing it out. “You’ve dated a lot of women, I suppose.”
“That depends on your definition of ‘a lot.’ I could probably run a list of names, ages, physical descriptions and last known addresses. Want to type it up for me?”
“No.”
Delighted, he nuzzled the back of her neck. “I’ve only asked one woman to marry me.”
“Two,” she corrected, and set the now sparkling glass on the counter with a snap.
“One. I didn’t ask Carla. That just sort of evolved. And now she’s happily married—as far as I can tell—to a corporate lawyer and the proud mama of a bouncing baby girl named Eugenia. So it hardly counts, anyway.”
She bit her lip. “You didn’t want children?”
“Yes, I did. I do.” He turned her around, kissed her gently. “But we’re not naming any kid of ours Eugenia. Now what do you say we think about going out for dinner, someplace quiet, where we can neck at the table? Then we can watch the fireworks.”
“It’s too early for dinner.”
“That’s why I said we should think about it.” He scooped her up. “First we have to go upstairs and make love again.”
Her pulse gave a pleasant little jump as she curled her arms around his neck. “We have to?”
“It’ll pass the time. Unless you’d rather play gin rummy?”
Chuckling, she traced a line of kisses up his neck. “Well, if those are my only choices…”
