“You want to have kids, don’t you?” she said. “You can’t seriously intend to raise them in a war zone.”
“I want you,” he corrected. “You have made it clear that you do not wish to produce young persons. Therefore bombs and bazookas become irrelevant.”
Only to a crazy person, she thought. Or a reporter. Or Hal “the Iceman” Smothers in love.
Melanie had never met anyone so special, or so insane. He was like the breath of fresh air she had always dreamed would blow the dust off her shabby childhood shack.
Even the image of home was changing in her mind, getting spruced up, becoming idealized. With Hal in the picture, she could almost see herself raising a family in a cozy cottage with lace curtains and a rose garden.
She would prefer that those curtains not cover grenadeshattered windows and that her roses not be periodically blasted to smithereens. Also, there were a few other matters to clear up.
“Please don’t be offended,” she said, “but I have the impression, judging from your track record, that marriage to you is a disaster zone all by itself.”
A startled expression crossed Hal’s sculpted face, and he stood abruptly. Melanie wondered if she had angered him, but when he sat beside her on the couch, he looked thoughtful rather than irate.
“You raise a legitimate point,” he said. “The odds would not seem to favor success, but then, I have never been in love before.”
“Why did you marry women you didn’t love?” she asked.
“I believed that it was sufficient to be in love with the idea of love.” Lightly, he smoothed back her tousled hair. “I approached the situation as I would a business problem. I clarified my goals and listed the desired parameters.”
“And sought a woman to suit?”
He gave her a rueful grin. “Now I have found a woman who does not suit anything but my heart, and I realize that love is the only thing that matters.” Uncertainty glistened in his eyes. “Melanie Mulcahy, will you marry me?”
The way he spoke the words, they sounded almost like a song. A song that, she noted with a start, could be sung to the tune of “Row Row Row Your Boat.”
There was only one man she wanted to row her boat, and that was Hal Smothers. If only he had not abruptly added, “Of course I will make a generous financial settlement.”
“Do you have to drag money into this?” asked Melanie.
“You do not wish me to?” He looked puzzled.
“I don’t care about your money!” she said.
Sadness muted his warmth. “You are rejecting my offer?”
“No, just your money,” she said. “Keep it. I’m marrying you for love.”
Her words hung in the air for an electric moment while Hal’s face registered surprise and disbelief. “You are saying yes?”
“Yes!” she agreed.
“Of course, you can have stock options, if you wish.”
“The only option I want is on your future,” she said.
Joy beamed from his face. For a moment, he couldn’t speak. Then he pointed to one of the maps. “Central Africa looks good,” he said.
“For what?”
“Our wedding.”
Melanie laughed. “I don’t need danger, either. At least, not all the time.”
“You have changed your fundamental worldview?” he asked. “That is unusual.”
“I still want to see interesting places and meet interesting people,” she admitted. “But I think I can live without flying bullets.” Not to mention muddy swamps full of unshaven rebels for whom deodorant was a distant dream, she added silently.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” he said, “exactly what was it about peril that meant so much to you?”
It was a fair question, one that she’d only begun to ask herself. “It made me feel alive,” she said. “When I grew up, I felt numb a lot”
“Love can also make you feel alive.” Hal’s smile made it clear he spoke from personal experience.
Melanie curled against him, relishing his strength and her sense of security. “The strong men I knew always tried to run my life for me. It wasn’t until I met you that I discovered what real strength meant. You don’t feel a need to dominate me.”
“I cannot imagine dominating you,” he said earnestly. “You are not a dominate-able sort of person.”
“I don’t mind leaving a few things up to you,” she noted. “Such as where we get married. Just as long as no one’s shooting at us.”
His arms encircled her. “Does that include the ballroom of my hotel? I can personally vouch for the excellence of the catering.”
“That would be fine.” Melanie thought of something else, something more important than she had ever dreamed it would be. “I want my father there to give me away.”
“You have a father?” said Hal.
“Also a sister and two brothers,” she said. “Plus nieces and nephews. A whole wedding party.”
“That will be wonderful.” Hal’s cheek grazed her temple. “I only regret that I have no family of my own to introduce to you.”
“That could change, one of these years,” she said.
“I beg your pardon?”
She remembered what Rita had said about the perils and pains of childbirth. The prospect no longer intrigued Melanie, now that she didn’t crave danger.
But she wanted children anyway. Little people to cuddle, and watch over, and give the kind of childhood that she had wished for herself. Children who would grow up with the best father in the world.
“I want kids,” she admitted.
“Yes?” He looked as if he might leap up and fly around the room, but all he did was draw her closer. “Yes, truly?”
“Truly,” Melanie said. “As long as I can have them with you.”
“What about your career?” Hal asked. “Of course, a woman can do both these days, but you would be away a great deal, would you not?”
“Occasionally,” she said. “But you know, it used to seem so urgent to become famous, as if otherwise I didn’t matter. Now, well, what’s important is being happy, and I don’t have to be famous for that. I do love interviewing people and writing articles, but I can do those things closer to home.”
“I will buy you your own newspaper,” vowed Hal.
Melanie shook her head. “Whatever success I achieve, I want to be my own.”
“You are serious about not taking my money.” Ap preciation shone in his eyes. “But marriage is a partnership. If you need it, everything I have is there for you.”
She smiled. “The money you can keep. But I’ll take everything else you’ve got, Hal Smothers. You’d better believe it.”
Then she threw her arms around him and kissed him, just to prove it
HAL COULD scarcely believe his good fortune. Melanie Mulcahy had said yes.
He wanted to write poetry about the gold of her hair, except that her hair was brown. And the sea-deep azure of her eyes, except that they were the color of green olives without pimientos, and he could not think of anything to rhyme with pimiento except, if you stretched the point, Sacramento.
It seemed to Hal that gangsters in love were prone to become saccharine and to drop large amounts in jewelry stores, but he did not mind. He thought he might start with a diamond ring and a pair of earrings to match, and perhaps a delicate ruby necklace, and for special occasions a tasteful tiara of rubies, diamonds and emeralds. Or would she prefer opals?
He decided not to ask. When Melanie was surprised, her eyes got wide and the tip of her tongue flicked over her lips. It was an expression he hoped to see often.
The sun came out by the time they arrived in Vegas. Hal had been so absorbed in watching Melanie sleep and making a few important phone calls that he’d forgotten to order a limo, but there was a cab waiting at the truck storage yard just the same.
He preferred to leave the private rig here rather than have it stop outside the Ice Palace. It was too large to fit in the hotel’s courtyard, and Hal had no desire to attract th
e attention of the tourists who wandered the Strip in an unending stream.
“Yo, Mr. Smothers!” The cabbie hurried over and looked around for bags. This was Monty Montrose, formerly Josh “Ace” Sloggins. “How ya doin’, my man?”
“I am fine.” They exchanged high-fives. “You have been waiting for me?”
“I picked up your message on my machine and figured I’d come thank you in person.” Seeing no luggage, the cabbie hurried to hold open his car door. “Wanted to let you know I did like you said and got my high-school diploma. Also put my savings in that mutual fund you recommended. I got enough now to quit driving and go to college full-time.”
“I am pleased to hear it.” Hal waited for Melanie to precede him, then followed her into the air-conditioned cab.
“Man, it’s a relief not to have to hide out no more.” As he got in the front seat, the driver removed his heavy, curly wig and pulled off a fake mustache. “I mean, anymore.”
Melanie gave Hal a startled smile. “One of your former hits?”
“One of my most successful,” said Hal.
Several years previously, Monty had worked as bodyguard to a cocky young gangster who made the mistake of trying to muscle into Grampa’s business. When the gangster underwent a sudden religious conversion and retired to a monastery, Monty had been left to take the flak.
Now that his disappearance from the world was over, he could turn back into Ace again. But Hal had a feeling the young man was happier being the person he had become.
Halfway home, they were sitting at a red light when one of Vegas’s finest pulled alongside in his cruisemobile. “Roll down your window, Smothers!” called the copper.
Although the desert heat was, as usual, ever ready to toast the unwary, Hal complied. Along with a faceful of hot air, he received a big grin from Officer Dale Winkins, formerly Mick “Punchy” Ruckowitz.
Once heavily bearded and tattooed, the red-haired man was scarcely recognizable in his clean-shaven state. The tattoos had been expertly lasered off at considerable cost, as Hal knew because he had paid for it.
“Thanks for the message!” called the flatfoot. “But you know what? I just got a promotion, and my wife’s due any day now. So…”
“Congratulations!” called Hal.
“You ever get a ticket, come see me!” said Dale, and pulled away as the light turned green.
Melanie grinned. “It’s amazing. How many people did you contact, anyway?”
“Oh, half a dozen,” Hal said.
“You think most of them are happier with their new lives?”
“I do not see how they could fail to be,” he admitted, “seeing as their old lives were of the sort that caused others to wish them dead. However, I am sure they will be glad to visit their friends and relatives again.”
“It’s like one of those fairy tales,” Melanie said, “where the hero conquers the bad witch, and all her victims turn back into the people they used to be.”
“Except,” said the cabbie, “that thanks to Mr. Smothers, we don’t want to be who we used to be.”
Melanie’s face squinched as if in deep contemplation. She didn’t say anything else until they reached the Ice Palace Resort.
With typical Las Vegas lack of understatement, the vast curving facade had been designed to resemble a natural growth of stalactites and stalagmites reflected in meandering pools of water. At night, the pools turned into colored fountains, while gargantuan white and blue neon letters flashed the hotel’s name overhead.
They pulled up to the portico, where a doorman raced to escort them from the cab. Ace/Monty shook Hal’s hand and drove away, whistling.
They were in the private elevator going up to the penthouse, when Melanie spoke again. “You know, this would make a great article. Do you suppose I could interview those people? The ones you were supposed to kill but rescued instead?”
“I thought you did not wish to involve me in your journalism career,” Hal said.
“Oh. That’s true.” In the mirrored walls of the elevator, three Melanies smoothed their striped sweaters, which were now right side out. “Besides, nobody would believe it anyway.”
“On the other hand,” he said, “I would not object if it keeps you close to home.”
“Oh, I’m sticking around. I’ve got plenty of writing to do about Rita,” she was saying as the elevator doors opened.
Her mouth worked, but no sounds came out as she regarded the penthouse hallway. Hal hoped she liked it. He had asked the designer to re-create an ancient-Egyptian temple, with a double row of chiseled pillars and, set into wall niches, oversize classic sculptures.
The floor and walls were faced with marble, the ceiling painted in a stylized panorama of the pyramids at Giza. The only thing missing was the Sphinx, which was located around a corner out of sight.
“You live here?” she asked at last.
“My office is at the end of the hall,” Hal said. “The private quarters are to our right. To the left are the other administrative offices.”
“I see.” She swallowed a couple of times.
“I thought you might like a chance to rest.” He hoped he had not made a misjudgment. “If you would prefer to return to your own apartment, however…”
“Not at all,” said Melanie. “I love museums.”
To their right, a door opened, and the housekeeper appeared. She was a motherly woman with the good sense not to make undue inquiries, and, after ascertaining that they would like to rest before dinner, she departed.
Inside his quarters, Hal showed Melanie the sprawling living room, the game room, the gym, the home theater, the formal dining room, the breakfast room, the kitchen—although most of his meals were prepared downstairs and sent up in the dumbwaiter—plus the five bedrooms and the four bathrooms.
He hoped she did not mind the airy modern style. The original living room had continued the theme of the entryway, until one night when, sleepily heading for the kitchen to fix a snack, Hal was startled by a light through a window moving on the face of a goddess and shot her three times before coming fully awake. He had decided to have the whole place redone in blond Danish woods with brass accepts.
“Do you think you could feel comfortable here?” he said.
“I already do.” She gazed around with interest.
“Naturally, we will clear space for your possessions,” he said.
“A laptop and two changes of clothing?” she said. “That shouldn’t be hard.”
They arrived at the master suite. Silently, Melanie took in the dressing room and entertainment alcove, the bank of mirrors and the oak furniture. Her gaze came to rest on the emperor-size water bed.
“That is where I sleep.” As soon as the words were out, Hal felt foolish.
“I see.”
“Where we sleep.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But of course, you already knew that.” He had never felt so awkward bringing any of his brides home before. But then, it had never felt like home before. “And this is where, I hope, someday our children will get their start in life.”
“I’m not ready for that,” said Melanie.
“Take all the time you need,” said Hal. “Months. Years.”
“Not too many years,” she said.
He stopped speaking because he had nothing more to say and because he loved the way the recessed lighting burnished her skin. Also the way she smelled of energy and sunshine. Mainly, the fact that she was here and that she belonged to him.
She gave him a slow, teasing smile. “Well?” she said.
“Well, what?”
“Well, what are you waiting for, Mr. Iceman?” She held up her arms. “They say practice makes perfect.”
Time stood still as they flew to the bed, because they were traveling at the speed of light. There, Hal quickly discovered, there was only one thing wrong with what Melanie had said.
Their lovemaking was already perfect. But he decided to keep practicing, anyway.
&nbs
p; I Got You, Babe
Bonnie Tucker
Dear Reader,
My Hebrew name, Berakhah, means blessing, and that’s how I feel, as if I’ve been blessed. Okay, so I’m going to get all sentimental and gushy—I can’t help it. When my editor told me that my third book, I GOT YOU, BABE, would be one of the launch books for the new Harlequin Duets line, I got that kind of knotted feeling in my stomach that we get when something special is going to happen, something you never anticipated. And then suddenly, there it is, this special something falling right in your lap. I am truly blessed.
Children, too, are a blessing. I knew my third, Jessica, would be my last, and that made her and everything she did seem all the more special. I carried her everywhere, I recorded the things she said and did because I never wanted to forget the day-to-day life I had with my last baby. Little did I know I’d get the chance to remember and recreate several of those moments—some wonderful and some not so wonderful—while writing I Got You, Babe.
I’d love to hear from you. Please write me at P.O. Box 16281, Sugar Land, TX 77496-6281.
Books by Bonnie Tucker
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From the moment of conception until delivery, this
book belongs to my editor, Brenda Chin.
Thank you, Brenda, for giving me the opportunity
to have another baby, without the weight gain.
Prologue
DIANA SMITH HAD lots of time to think on the airplane taking her from Connecticut to Texas. Three and a half long hours with nothing but time. But that was a good thing, since time was what she thought about most.
Kidnapped / I Got You Babe Page 16
