Having Faith by Barbara Delinsky Page A

decided. Her waist was slim, her hips flaring just enough to brand her a woman in ways that boyishly slim models couldn't be branded. And inside-inside she was hot and moist, welcoming, generous and demanding.
    He wanted her, and he wanted her badly. One night--half-zonked, but obviously not zonked enough--and he was in physical pain. Hadn't he ever seen it coming? Over and over he asked himself that question, but he wasn't able to come up with an answer. He'd known Faith for over ten years, yet things that seemed so clear to him now--such as her sex appeal and his response to it--simply hadn't occurred to him before.
    He'd viewed her as a friend, seeing only what was appropriate for a friend to see, overlooking the rest.
    He couldn't see her that way anymore. That point of view had been lost beneath two bodies writhing on Faith's carpet Friday night. No longer could he view her only as a friend. After tonight, he wondered if she'd let him see her even as that. She was angry because she thought he was worried she'd hook him into marriage. Well, he was angry because she thought that! But she hadn't let him say a word, and that was the most infuriating part of it, as far as he was concerned. He didn't like being cut off. He didn't like being silenced when he had something to say. And he particularly didn't like being silenced by a woman.
    That was why, shortly before ten the next morning, he barreled through the door of Faith's suite, tipped a finger from his forehead to Loni as he swept past,
    went into Faith's office and swung the door shut behind him.
    She was on the phone, but the stormy look on his face wasn't to be ignored. Nor was the way he planted his hands apart on the outside edge of her desk and, leaning forward, waited. Speedily and with as much finesse as she could manage, she got off the phone. The instant the instrument was out of her hand, he opened fire.
    "Don't ever do that to me again. Faith. I'm not a stupid man, and I don't say stupid things. If you have an accusation to make, make it and let me rebut it. That's the way things are done in this world.
    Nothing gets accomplished when a person makes an accusation and then turns and runs away. "
    "I didn't run away." "Figuratively you did. You thought you knew what I was thinking and you didn't like it, so you flipped out, then you hung up on me--four times--without letting me explain myself. That was rude. Faith. Rude.
    What's the matter? Were you afraid to hear what I had to say? "
    "Of course not."
    "I think you were. I think you knew that I'd come out smelling like a rose, because I wasn't thinking about marriage or being trapped. I wasn't thinking about myself when I talked about the chance of a baby, only you. You're the one whose body would be affected, and you can argue until you're blue in the face, but that's a fact. Faith. As far as conception goes, my body does its thing in seconds, then it's done, while yours is just beginning, so you're the one who'll bear the brunt of a pregnancy."
    "I know the facts of life."
    "I'm glad to hear that, because you obviously don't know the facts of friendship. A friend doesn't desert a friend when she's in trouble.
    Even if there wasn't the slightest chance that I was the one who got you into trouble, I'd still be concerned. Okay, so we share the blame for what happened. I'll buy that. But I still feel guilty. I still feel I should have been more responsible. " He rushed on when she opened her mouth.
    "And it doesn't have a god damned thing to do with selfishness. I was thinking of you. I still am. I'm concerned for you as a friend. And lover."
    "Sawyer" -- "I'm concerned, Faith. But you don't want to think that. You want to be angry with me."
    "Why would I want that?"
    "So that you don't have to think of being attracted to me. You want to think of last Friday night as a mistake, because maybe you've thought about it a lot, and you're feeling things you don't want to."
    "Like attraction?" She tried to make light of