This Love Will Go On by Shirley Larson Page B

beautiful woman sitting knee to knee with the enthralled boy-child.
    “Jade?”  It was Sandy in her frothy swirl of white silk. “We’re going to cut the cake. Will you propose the toast?”
    He knew damn well he was the last person in the world to give a sloppy sentimental toast, but he nodded, and when the ceremonial moment came, he said simply, “To Sandy and Marc. Long life and happiness,” and lifted his glass.
    At the moment he put it to his lips, his eyes met Raine's. Even though she was several tables away, he felt the pull of those silver eyes again, and the deep-felt emotion in them. She raised her glass, and the lovely curves of her slender body strained against the blue silk.  His body responded, desire stirring deep within him.  He tipped his glass, blocking her out of his sight, draining the alcohol into a throat that had gone dry.
    It was abstinence that was making him feel this way.  He hadn't had a woman in his arms for a long time, not since the last time he held Raine.
    He wanted to hold her again. Not stopping to think, driven by a need he didn't want to analyze, he put his glass on the table and began to thread through the crowd toward her.
    “Jade?”  A hand plucked at his sleeve.  “Hello. I've been waiting for a chance to tell you how devastating you look.”
    The petite, red-haired woman smiled up into his face.  She wore a low-cut dress and she had positioned herself close enough to give him an unhindered view.
    “Hello, Natalie. How have you been?”
    “Missing you,” she said in a soft voice.  “Why haven't you come in to see me?”
    “I've been busy,” he said and knew the excuse was the stupidest thing he had said that day. And the day wasn't over yet.  He went on talking to Natalie, talking complete nonsense and in the end offering to refill her wine glass. The moment he left her, John Forsythe, her recently divorced husband, stalked over to her and began talking, his face a bright red.  Jade glanced at them and decided Natalie could wait for her wine.
    Raine was sitting alone, holding a sleepy Tate on her lap, swaying back and forth with him to the music.  “Where's Martin?”   Jade slid into the chair next to her.
    “He had to leave.”
    “Here, let me have him.  He's too heavy for you.”  Raine's arms tightened around Tate.  “He's fine.”
    His son was half-turned in her arms, leaning between her breasts, his head curled into her shoulder.  He lay against her, snuggled into her soft curves like a tired puppy.  He wasn't asleep, but his eyelids drooped.  Something harsh and alien squeezed Jade's throat.  “He'll wrinkle your dress.”
    She looked at him over the top of Tate's blond head, that silver fire flashing in her eyes. “I don't care if he does.”
    His voice low and lethal, he ordered “Give him to me.”
    Her arms tightened around him protectively. “I never dreamed you could be this vindictive.”
    “Vindictive?'”
    “You can't stand seeing him in my arms, can you?” 
    In a blinding flash of clarity, he saw the truth. He was jealous, yes, but not of her. He was jealous of his own small son, lying so peacefully and comfortably in the place where he ached to be.
    A heat raced upward, beat against his nerves, tore at his insides.  “Hold him all you like,” he told her. Catching a glimpse of the surprise on her face, he rose from the chair and muttered, “I've got to get some fresh air.”
    He shrugged into his coat and let himself out the door. His warm breath generated puffs of fog ahead of him as he bounded down the steps of the hall and strode past the grocery store, the feed store, and the park. Barren trees sighed, their branches scraping together in the winter breeze.
    Suddenly he was out in the country. The pale sun was just setting, casting long blue shadows on the snowy landscape that swept ahead of him like a silvery ocean. Flat and level, covered with two feet of snow, his grazing land started here, just beyond that