They were eating breakfast, danish and coffee to go, on a bench on the east side of Central Park. Cutter set his coffee on a worn wood plank. "It's enough that I know for now. There's satisfaction in that. Don't worry. People talk. He'll find out. Maybe he'll choke on his caviar in the middle of some important party."

"Shhhh."

Cutter gave her a dry look. "He'd wish the same on me."

Hillary didn't argue. "What about Pam? I talk to her every few weeks. I see her when I'm in Boston."

He already knew that. Like a starving man begging for crumbs, he grilled Hillary on every detail of those visits.

"She asks, Cutter. She asks if I've heard anything about you. I feel lousy not telling, and it's not even so much because we're friends. She thinks about you a lot. She worries. It's only a matter of time before she sees those pictures. She'll be hurt."

"She won't recognize me. I look completely different."

"It would take a lot more than shorter hair and fancy clothes to disguise you from Pam. She'll know it's you the instant she sees one of those ads. Let me tell her. Prepare her. Better still, you tell her. Give her a call."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"John forbid me to do it."

"Screw John."

"That's your job."

"Oh, Cutter."

"I can't call her, Hillary. Not yet. There are too many people John can hurt if he wants to get back at me, and I'd be helpless to stop it."

"Don't you miss her?"

"I miss her so much I hurt, and it's not for s.e.x."

"So see her."

"I will."

"When?"

"Soon."

And soon it was. Barely a week later, when he had a rare free day and was feeling rash, he flew to Boston and staked out the path in the Fens between the museum and Pam's apartment. Late in the afternoon, she walked by with a friend. Cutter's chest tightened. He was leaning against a tree, separated from her by shrubs, people, and several hundred feet, but he took in every detail of her appearance.

She looked beautiful. Young, but grown-up. Artsy. She was wearing loose pants, a voluminous blouse, and a long vest, and she carried a canvas satchel over her shoulder. Her hair was in a thick braid that fell from the nape of her neck to the middle of her back, secured so that the breeze couldn't ruffle it, as it did her bangs. Large gold hoops swung from her ears.

Once she looked up and around. His heart started to hammer-he was sure she sensed his presence. Then she looked back at her friend and laughed at something the other had said. A minute later, the two went into their apartment building.

If she'd been alone, Cutter might have followed. But seeing her with someone, seeing her smile, seeing how comfortable she looked in her new life, he couldn't do it. He couldn't take the chance. They had no future yet. One day, dammit. One day. . . .

So he returned to New York. Fall became winter, and by the time spring arrived, Cutter had seen more of the country than he'd ever thought to see. He was photographed wearing Girard Jondier suits in San Francisco, sweaters and slacks in Aspen, cruise wear in Key West. If the fall line was well received, the spring line was even more so. Girard Jondier was pleased with Cutter. In turn, Cutter was pleased with his new contract.

There were still times when he wondered if he was crazy to be doing this. Real men didn't model. But he wanted to be rich enough to ruin John, and given that he wasn't trained for much, modeling seemed the fastest way to wealth. He abided the graceful male hands that smoothed suit jackets across his shoulders, the hovering of makeup artists and hair stylists, the glare of lights. He even abided the innuendos about his s.e.xuality. All that was less humiliating than what he'd suffered at John's hands, and this time around he was being handsomely compensated for the indignity.

His private life was quiet, modest, and brief. Big bucks brought big demands, he learned. There were different clothes to model each season, different ads to shoot, then reshoot if the prints weren't just right, different stores to visit as Jondier's representative. At times he felt he'd made a bargain with the devil. But the devil wasn't Jondier, it was John, and regardless of how tired Cutter was at times, he was determined to triumph.

His face became known in high-fashion circles, more so with each season. He was invited to parties, where he became known-but only to a small extent. He remained a private person, carefully picking his points of exposure. He didn't make friends idly and had no use for large groups or shallow ones. He chose friends for their intelligence, their success, and their sense of discretion. They were, by and large, businesspeople. They became his teachers.

Through them, he connected with a financial adviser, a stockbroker, and an investment banker. By the time he'd been in New York for four years, the portfolio of which he was most proud wasn't the one filled with glossies that his agent kept on hand. It was the one that listed his financial a.s.sets.

Throughout those four years he ached for Pam. He had seen her many times-glimpses similar to the one on the Fens that day, only at places like Symphony Hall or Locke-Ober's or even, when he had been daring enough to hang out on Newbury Street, around Facets. There was a Facets New York now, too, opened two years before, and she had come down for the festivities. He had seen her. He had seen John. Neither of them had seen him, and as far as he could tell, neither had been interested in seeing the other. Hillary confirmed that they barely talked. Cutter wanted to know more.

Mostly, though, he wanted to hold Pam. The need was so great that there were times in the night when he was bent up in pain. He found satisfaction in other women, but it was brief, strictly physical, and offset by the agony of opening his eyes and seeing a face that wasn't Pam's.

That was why, shortly before she graduated and left her apartment on the Fens, he drove up to Boston and, cloaked by the night, broke into her room.

Chapter 20.

PAM HADN'T SLEPT HEAVILY IN YEARS. Her mind was too active to be turned off for more than three or four hours at a stretch. It woke her at least once each night with thoughts of a lecture she'd heard or a paper she was writing or a piece of jewelry she was making. Once in a while it woke her with thoughts of John or Patricia. Regularly it woke her with thoughts of Cutter.

It did so this night, and, as always, she imagined he was with her. She turned over, curled into a ball, and gave the kind of sigh that was part pleasure, part pain. Then she heard a soft sound on the far side of the room, and the peace of her half-dream state vanished. Completely awake, she jolted to a sitting position and was about to cry out when a figure emerged from the darkness and clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Shhhh. It's me."

The room was dim and his voice a whisper, but something about the scent of his skin and the feel of his lips against her forehead painted a picture in Pam's mind. When his hand left her mouth, she whispered, "Cutter?"

"Yes."

She was sure she was dreaming. She hadn't seen him in four and a half years. But her hands were touching solid arms, a strong jaw, a warm neck. And there was the scent. And his lips. "Cutter?"

He looked down at her and whispered, "I couldn't stay away any longer. I had to see you."

Her pulse raced. "Oh, my G.o.d." She wrapped her arms around his neck. "I don't believe it." The words were no sooner out than she held him back. She touched his face with a trembling hand, each feature in turn. "What-oh, my-how did you-what time-"

"Shhh." He kissed her cheek, the bridge of her nose, her other cheek. "I climbed the fire escape."

"How did you know where I live?"

"The same way you know where I live."

Hillary. "But you've never come before."

"Not inside."

"You've been outside?"

"Um-hmm."

She made a small sound. "How did you know which room was mine?"

"I waited till it got dark, then watched."

"You didn't."

"I did."

"Oh, Cutter!" She hugged him again, and this time when she held him back, her mouth found his. If she'd had any lingering doubts, they vanished. No one kissed like Cutter did. No one devoured and adored at the same time. No one else could arouse her with a breath. She gave herself up to it, floated, rose, until sheer excitement had her gasping for air. "Oh, Cutter," she whispered, "I can't believe you're here."

"I am."

"After all this time."

"Four years."

"More."

"Four and a half."

"An eternity. I've missed you so." She went into his arms again, and this time warm tears flowed against his neck.

He hugged her tightly. "Ahhhh, babe."

She was in heaven. "For the longest time I didn't know where you were, and when Hillary told me, I was angry that you hadn't written or called."

"I couldn't."

"She said you were afraid."

"I still am."

"But you have a name now." She caught her breath at the reminder and, incredibly, felt a twinge of shyness when she drew back and looked up. "You've done so much. I see those magazine ads and pinch myself. I show them to my friends and tell them that I knew you before you were famous. You travel all the time. You meet lots of people. It must be an exciting life."

"It's a means to an end."

"But it's so glamorous." She tried to make out more of him in the dark, without success. She would have turned on a light, but she feared she might find him a stranger. So she left the light off and ran her fingers through his hair. It was as thick and vibrant as ever and had the feel of casual disarray. The disarray was far more sculpted, though, than it had been in Timiny Cove. "You've changed," she whispered timidly.

"No."

"You must have. You've come so far."

"I'm still me."

"Do you love me?"

"I'll love you till the day I die."

"Oh, Cutter."

He kissed her once, then again, longer. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, wound his hand around her braid, and held her close. Catching her lips a third time, he bore her back on the bed. "Love you till the day I die," he said hoa.r.s.ely, "and want you till I can't get it up. I need you, babe."

She needed him, too, needed his hands on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and her belly, and he gave her that. He touched her, stroked her, and when she began to burn, he took off her nightshirt and stroked her even higher. She was nearly in flames when he finally undressed, and there, with nothing between them but air, and then not even that, they were as they'd always been, so in love with each other that the rest of the world fell away.

She wasn't sure she wanted to return. Long after the quivering stopped and her heartbeat leveled, she clung to Cutter, and he held her tenderly. After a time he stretched out beside her, propped himself on an elbow, and ran the backs of his fingers over the moist skin from her throat to her navel.

"You're more beautiful than ever," he whispered. "More mature."

"I'm the same."

"Ready to graduate."

"Still the same." She touched his jaw. "I've missed you so much. I dreamed of seeing you. There were times when I thought I had, when I'd be in a crowd somewhere and think you were there, but I could never find you. After Hillary told me where you lived, I dreamed of parking on your doorstep. I dreamed of picking up the phone and calling. I almost did, lots of times. But I was so scared. There was John. And you."

"Me?"

Her throat tightened. "I wasn't sure you still loved me."

He cupped her face with a firm hand. "I told you I'd love you forever. I always said that, and it's true."

"But you didn't call. You didn't come. I didn't hear from you after that night . . .?after . . .?that night."

He stroked her hair and held her closer.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. If she'd been stronger, if she'd paid more attention, if she'd expected the worst of John instead of deluding herself that he cared, the baby would be alive. "I'm so sorry."

He raised her face with his hands. "Not your fault. John's fault."

Her heart skipped a beat. "You knew?" When she had finally spilled it to Hillary, she had sworn her to secrecy. She blamed herself for the abortion. She didn't think she could bear it if Cutter blamed her, too.

But Cutter had mistaken her apology. "You told me about his threats. You were terrified that last time, and you had a right to be. He's a vicious man. But he'll get his, Pam."

Relieved, she felt a burst of strength. "I showed him your ads. It was worth going near him to see the astonishment on his face."

"Astonishment?"

"Then anger. He got quiet and tight, and for a minute I thought maybe he'd take it out on me. But I didn't care. I was so proud of those ads. I'm so proud of you. You've done so much."

"I've been lucky."

"You've been smart. You saw an opportunity and took advantage of it." Her hands made an admiring circle of his chest before meeting near his navel. "What's it like being a model?"

"Tedious. What's it like being an artist?"

"I don't know. I'm not a real one yet."