Silent Desires
Page 18
“I—” Bryce pressed his mouth closed, afraid that anything he said would set the guy off. He shifted slightly, his eyes going automatically to the window. The interior of the apartment was reflected back, but he thought he saw a movement. A cop? Donovan?
“You’re scum, you know that? Scum. And so’s your little bitch whore.”
Bryce’s eyes met Joan’s, saw her fear, but also determination. And then he glanced toward the window. Her brow furrowed, and then she too looked toward the window. Her eyes widened just slightly, and Bryce knew she’d seen what he saw.
The only question was, what good would it do? The cops wouldn’t rush the place, not if it would endanger Joan. And as long as the gun was trained on Joan, she was in danger.
Except the gun wasn’t pressed to her skin anymore. If she dove to the floor the cops would have a split second to nail the son of a bitch.
Bryce silently cursed himself. Not only would it be impossible to tell Joan to dive, but it would be impossible to tell the cops to fire when she did.
He took a step forward, his attention caught by the glass paperweight on the coffee table. If only…
The man was still talking about Emily, his ramblings incoherent. All Bryce could discern was that the woman had died. And, he knew, so would he and Joan if Bryce didn’t act fast. The man was disintegrating. Bryce didn’t know why, but he could guess that he was the reason. The gunman had some fixation on him, and now that they were face to face—now that the guy had finally reached the moment he’d been waiting for—he was snapping.
But there was one thing—one tiny thing—that worked in their favor. As he disintegrated, he was keeping less and less of an eye on Joan.
Bryce swallowed, hating to take the risk, but knowing it was the only choice.
He counted to three, gathering his courage, and then turned to the window, yelling, “Police!”
As he’d hoped, the gunman turned in the same direction, his gun pointed at the window.
In the same instant, Bryce yelled, hollering for Joan to get down as he grabbed the paperweight.
Almost immediately, the gunman turned back, the gun arcing toward Bryce. But by then Bryce had thrown the heavy glass ball, his aim dead-on. He hit the guy in the wrist and the gun went flying. The gunman collapsed to the ground.
At the same moment, the glass window shattered, and Donovan leaped through. “Joan, Bryce! Damn, but that was stupid, you lucky bastard.” Then he laughed and added, “Good shot.”
Bryce barely heard him. He was too busy crawling to Joan. She was doing the same, and when she reached him, she threw her arms around him. He clutched her close, breathing in her scent, happier than he could ever remember being simply because they were alive.
“Joan. Joan, oh, baby.”
Behind them, the gunman groaned. Out of the corner of his eye, Bryce saw him sit up, a hand to his head as Donovan bent to bind him with handcuffs. He jerked his arm away, reaching in his waistband and pulling out another gun.
Joan screamed and Bryce threw himself on her, knocking her onto the floor and shielding her with his body. It didn’t matter. It was all over. The gunman never got off a shot. But Donovan did. And as the report still echoed in the room, Bryce lifted his head just enough to see the gunman’s body sprawled on the hardwood floors.
“Oh, God, Bryce.” Joan clung to him, tears racking her body. He held her close, saying soothing things, saying anything to make her feel better.
When the tears subsided, he shifted her in front of him, holding her shoulders as he looked deep in her eyes. “I love you, Joan. I love you, and I want you with me. Now and forever.”
A weak grin touched her lips and she started crying all over again. But somehow, between the tears, she managed one simple word. “Yes.”
Behind them, Donovan withdrew the gunman’s wallet. “Clive Masterson,” he said, then nodded. “I recognize that name. His wife died after he got laid off. Cancer. Couldn’t get insurance.”
Bryce ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t empathize with a madman who killed or took hostages out of some perverse desire for revenge, but he did understand the overpowering love that had driven him.
A deep sadness washed over him, and he took one last look at the body before turning away and pulling Joan close. “Forever,” he said simply, the word both a prediction and a promise.
Joan hugged him tight, pressing her cheek to his chest as she murmured her response. “Forever.” She pushed back, looking him in the eye. “Forever, and a day.”
Epilogue
THE MORNING SUNLIGHT STREAMED in through the window, filling the bedroom with ribbons of light. In bed, Joan stretched and glanced at the clock, her eyes going wide when she saw the time. Already after nine! How on earth had she slept so late?
She threw the covers aside and started scrambling out of bed, silently cursing Bryce for not waking her up before he left for the airport. He knew she had to open the store this morning, and after three months of marriage, he should also know that she could sleep through the blare of alarm clocks with ease.
Okay, okay. She’d make it. Sure. No problem. She’d just throw on a skirt, splurge on a taxi, and still get to the store by ten.
With a little smile, she headed for the bathroom, remembering that the taxi wasn’t a splurge anymore. Bryce kept telling her that someday she’d get used to the size of their bank account, but so far she didn’t believe him. Heck, they’d been living in the Fifth Avenue apartment for almost four months now, and she still wasn’t used to anything about it. Not the size, not the doorman, and certainly not the Central Park view.
She took a quick shower, tossed on a robe and headed back into the bedroom to change. What she saw there made her stop in her tracks—Bryce, on the bed, with a jar of olives.
“A picnic,” he said.
She laughed. “What are you doing here? I thought you had to go to Atlanta today.”
“Nope,” he said, looking rather smug. “I told a little fib.”
She lifted an eyebrow as she crawled onto the bed. “Oh, really?”
“Do you know what today is?” Bryce asked, looking more than a little pleased with himself.
She shook her head.
“Our anniversary.”
“No, it’s not. We’ve only been married—”
“It’s been six months since the day I walked into the bookstore. Which, if you’ll recall, was the first day you saw me naked.”
“Ah yes,” she said. “How could I forget?”
He held up the olives. “I thought a commemorative session was in order.”
She licked her lips. “I’m supposed to open the store.”
“You’re the co-owner,” he countered. “You can do whatever you want.”
Laughing, she put her hands on her hips. “That’s hardly a good business practice, professor. Blowing off a business obligation to have sex.”
“Maybe not,” he agreed, slipping a hand inside her robe and easing it off one shoulder. “But it’s awfully appealing.”
She shivered. She couldn’t argue with that.
“Besides, I called Ronnie. She’s all set to cover you.”
At that, Joan’s smiled broadened. “Well, in that case…” She untied the sash on her robe and let it fall off her shoulders, pooling around her hips on the mattress. “Is this what you meant by naked?” she asked, plucking a single olive from the jar and sliding it between her lips.
“Something like that,” he said. He reached back, then slid a slim package out from under his pillow. “A little present,” he said passing it to her.
She took it, then leaned over to press a kiss to his lips. “I love you, Mr. Worthington.”
He stroked her hair, then returned the kiss—soft and sweet with the promise of so much more to come. “I love you, too, Mrs. Worthington.” He nodded toward the gift. “See what you think.”
She peeled the wrapping off, smiling when she saw the present—a single copy of The Pleasures of a Young Woman. S
he opened the book to a page in the middle, her eyes skimming the text. “Sweetheart,” she said, meeting Bryce’s eyes, “I know just what to do with this.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-7787-2
SILENT DESIRES
Copyright © 2003 by Julia Beck Kenner.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Visit us at www.eHarlequin.com