The Stars Of Mithra. Nora Roberts

      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…”

      “Tell you what, we can play strip gin rummy. We can both cheat and that way— Hell.” He was halfway up the stairs with her, and nicely aroused, when the doorbell sounded. “Hold that thought, okay?” He set her down, and went to answer.

      One peek through the side panel of wavy glass framing the door had him groaning. “Perfect timing, as always.” With a hand on the knob, he turned, looked at Bailey. “Sweetheart, the woman on the other side of this door is my mother. I realize you expressed a mild interest in meeting my family, but I’m giving you this chance, because I love you. I really do. So I’m advising you to run, hide, and don’t look back.”

      Nerves fluttered, but she straightened her shoulders. “Stop being silly and open the door.”

      “Okay, but I warned you.” Bracing himself, he pulled the door open and fixed a bright, welcoming smile on his face. “Mother.” As was expected, he kissed her smooth, polished cheek. “What a nice surprise.”

      “I wouldn’t have to surprise you if you’d ever return my calls.” Leona Parris stepped into the foyer.

      She was, Bailey realized with a stunned first glance, a striking woman. Surely, with three grown children and several grandchildren, she had to be at least fifty. She could have passed for a sleek thirty-five.

      Her hair was a lush sable brown with hints of golden highlights and fashioned in a perfect and elegant French twist that complemented a face of ivory and cream, with cool green eyes, straight nose and sulky mouth. She wore an elegant tailored bronze-toned suit that nipped at her narrow waist.

      The topaz stones at her ears were square-cut and big as a woman’s thumb and earned Bailey’s instant admiration.

      “I’ve been busy,” Cade began. “A couple of cases, and some personal business.”

      “I certainly don’t want to hear about your cases, as you call them.” Leona set her leather bag on the foyer table. “And whatever your personal business is, it’s no excuse for neglecting your family duties. You put me in a very awkward position with Pamela. I had to make your pathetic excuses.”

      “You wouldn’t have had to make excuses if you hadn’t set it up in the first place.” He could feel the old arguments bubbling inside him, and he struggled not to fall into the familiar, too-predictable traps. “I’m sorry it put you in an awkward position. Do you want some coffee?”

      “What I want, Cade, is an explanation. At Muffy’s garden party yesterday—which you also failed to attend—Ronald told me some wild tale about you being engaged to some woman I’ve never heard of with a connection to the Princess of Wales.”

      “Bailey.” Because he’d all but forgotten her, Cade turned,