Maggy's Child by Karen Robards Page A

would have been outraged at the lack of respect for the expensive vintage—and then downed the contents of the second glass too. With a jerk of his head he caught the attention of a passing waiter and set the glasses down on the tray he bore, not caring that it held only newly poured drinks. Wooden faced, the waiter disappeared.
    “Run out on your birthday party? Not on your life.”
    “Please, Nick.”
    “Afraid my presence will upset old Lyle?” His eyes narrowed on her face. “You’re right: it might. But what do you care?”
    “I care.” Never had she ever spoken a truer statement, Maggy thought with a bubbling up of what was almost hysteria. Of course, Nick didn’t understand. No one did.
    “Why? You don’t love him. Do you?”
    “No.” She couldn’t lie anymore. Not to Nick. Not when she was almost sick with fear—and light-headed with the sudden need to walk into Nick’s arms and have them close around her as they used to do. He had alwaysprotected her. Always. But however much every instinct she possessed urged her to, she couldn’t turn to him now. She was on her own. With her own actions she had put herself forever beyond his reach. “Now would you please go away? You’re making my life difficult.”
    “If you don’t love him, why don’t you leave him? It can’t be the money keeping you. After twelve years, you’d get a fat settlement. Or did he talk you into signing a prenuptial agreement?” The satirical edge to his voice as he said this last stung.
    “There’s David.” Her response was cool.
    “So? Plenty of kids’ parents get divorced. He’d adjust.”
    “This really isn’t the time or place for this discussion, is it? Anyway, why I choose to stay married to my husband is no concern of yours.”
    “Isn’t it, Magdalena?” Nick’s voice was very soft. She glanced up, met his eyes. They were disturbingly intent, and his mouth quirked in the faintest suggestion of a wry smile.
    Ah, Nick. How often had she seen that expression on his face before? It was so familiar, so beloved and dear, that her heart gave a sharp, painful throb.
    “Go away,” she said between stiff lips and turned her shoulder to him, meaning to walk away.
    “Not without you. Not this time.” He caught her arm just above the elbow. His palm was warm and large, his fingers long, his skin faintly callused. His hand was big enough to easily encircle her upper arm with room to spare. She glanced down, absorbing the swarthiness of his skin, which seemed even darker compared with the lilywhiteness of hers, the size and power of the hand that held her, the faint scattering of silky black hairs across its back, the gold of his expensive watch just peeking from beneath the gleaming white cuff of his shirt.
    His hand, bold and possessive, curled around her arm as though it had every right to do so. She wished, oh, how she wished, it did.
    “Please let me go.” She did not try to pull away, afraid that they would attract undue attention if he refused to release her. Instead, she turned toward him to lessen the appearance that he was detaining her, and even managed a brittle smile.
    “I don’t think I can.” He smiled at her, and the wryness she had noticed moments earlier was there in force. “I don’t think you want me to. Tell the truth for once, Magdalena. Do you really want me to go away?” His grip loosened, became almost a caress as his fingers moved against the soft skin of her arm. She steeled herself against him, and pulled her arm free.
    “Yes, I do,” she said with cold, clear decision for all she spoke in an undertone. “You’re a complication my life doesn’t need.”
    He laughed suddenly, surprising her.
    “You don’t exactly simplify my life either, you know.”
    “So do us both a favor and leave me alone.”
    Despite the curt dismissal of her words, he reached out and caught her hand. Twining his fingers in hers, he pulled her toward the dance floor, pausing only to tap the pianist on