Hostage Heart

by Renee Roszel

  “Here.” He placed the bundle in her hand. His eyes sought hers. But she couldn’t bring herself to look directly at him, moving her gaze to her lap.

  “I’m so sorry, Drew.” He offered quietly.

  She put the cold cloth to her burning face. “It wasn’t your fault.”

  He was quiet for a moment before she felt his hand on her chin, turning her head so that she had to meet his gaze.

  “I’m talking about having to leave you so suddenly in Oberammergau. We never had that talk.”

  Eyes the color of brown velvet touched her softly wherever they rested.

  “And I’m also sorry I didn’t get in to help sooner. I’m afraid I had to break the door to get in.”

  She swung her eyes back to the door, and for the first time she saw the splintered wood that used to secure the bolt. The mental image of Rolf crashing into the room loomed before her, and she gasped, “I—I didn’t hear anything.”

  His face took on a brooding scowl. “I came through just in time to see you fall.” His jaw worked angrily, and his nostrils flared at the memory of his entrance. His voice was strained. “I’ll never forgive myself for that.”

  She touched the tensed fist resting on his thigh, shaking her head in disbelief. “That was a wonderful, crazy thing to do, Rolf. I’ll always be grateful.” She felt his hand begin to relax beneath her own. “Jim was my problem long before I met you. Please, try to forget it.”

  Chewing on the inside of her lip, she ventured hopefully, “How—how did you happen to come here?”

  He moved his broad shoulders easily, and she saw his dark features begin to soften.

  “This is where John Standish’s men brought me. They assumed I’d want to come home to my wife.”

  “Oh. . . I see.”

  She pressed her lips together, wishing he had come back to her because he had wanted to.

  “You are still my wife, aren’t you?”

  She shifted uncomfortably, not prepared to answer the why’s or admit yes to that question. Why, oh, why had she waited to file the papers! Why couldn’t she say “No, Rolf, I’m not your wife,” and be able to walk proudly away from him now?

  Unable to bear his watchful nearness another moment, she pushed up from the couch, the ice-packed towel spilling to the floor.

  Gritting her teeth in agitation, she walked quickly to the curved railing of the staircase, leaning on it for support.

  “How much did you hear?” It was a breathless question.

  “Enough.” His voice was close. She had forgotten his ability to move without making a sound.

  Gently, he pulled her against his chest, his hands resting warmly on her hips.

  “I know that you love me.”

  Racked with torment, she denied, “No! No, I don’t. I—I lied to—to get Jim to leave me alone!”

  Slowly he moved to face her, his eyes branding her with his ownership as he lowered his face to hers.

  Feather-light kisses traced the reddened skin along her injured cheek.

  Her balled fists began to open against his chest. Her fingers spread over the hard expanse as she sobbed out a weak denial, her body wanting him, her brain attempting to remain rational.

  With his lips now close to hers, he murmured, “Tell me you are lying now.”

  “Please!” she cried, pushing hard at his chest.

  “Jim was right! You just used me! You’ve been using me all along—getting everything, leaving me with nothing. And now you want me to give up my pride, too!”

  Pushing with all her flagging strength, she begged, “Please, leave me alone. Just go!”

  Slowly, reluctantly he released her, stepping away.

  Taking advantage of her freedom, she moved out of his reach. Breasts heaving with emotion, she whirled away, presenting her stiffened back to him.

  His voice was soft and contrite. “I’ll go, Drew, but not before I give you something that I’ve carried around with me for the last two weeks.”

  Silence followed his words. There was no sound, no explanation.

  She had played this waiting game with him before, and she knew that he was better at it than she.

  Lifting her chin with resolve, she turned back to face him.

  “Well?” Her voice sounded strangely calm in her ears.

  Thoughtful and dark, his eyes never left hers as he reached inside his coat and drew out a small black box.

  Holding it in the palm of his hand, he offered it to her.

  “This is the reason I left you that last morning in Oberammergau. You might as well have it, no one else ever will.”

  She lost her determined calm. Staring at the small box, her heart began to thud wildly in her chest and throat.

  She couldn’t speak, or even lift her hand to take it from him.

  He opened it for her, moving to stand beside her as he did.

  She felt dizzy at what she saw and found herself leaning against him to keep from collapsing.

  “A—a ring?”

  It was a wide gold band, and glittering from it was a trail of twelve perfect, multifaceted diamonds, mounted in the shape of an “eight” resting on its side—the same symbol of infinity that still dangled from a chain about her neck.

  His voice was a ragged whisper near her ear. “I had it commissioned in Oberammergau. It wasn’t completed until the day the conference ended.”

  Lifting the ring from its box, he turned her to face him, sliding his arm possessively about her waist.

  His lips moved against her hair. “I ask again, Drew, are you still my wife?”

  “I—I plan to file the papers tomorrow—” she stammered out the prepared speech as a small shuddery feeling tingled through her at his intimate touch, making her extremely light-headed.

  “Don’t,” he whispered, taking her trembling hand and slipping the ring on her finger.

  “Drew”—his voice held a steady, truthful ring—“to have my freedom without you would be to attempt to live without my heart.”

  He touched a finger to her chin, lifting her gaze from the sparkling symbol of married love to his eyes, now filled with honest passion.

  “I love you—I think I always have,” he said huskily. “And I know I always will.”

  Lifting her fingers to his mouth, he breathed one word, “Infinitely.”

  Strong male lips moved against her fingers as he added in equally hushed tones, “I was sure that morning on the train.”

  She breathed in awe, “But why didn’t you—”

  “Tell you?” He paused, brown eyes glistening. “Would you have believed me?”

  She watched his handsome, somber face for a moment, thinking. Then she shook her head.

  “I—I suppose not. I would have thought it was a cheap line.”

  Rolf’s smile was understanding. “I knew I had a lot of bridges to mend before you would trust or believe in me.

  Lowering his head, he brushed his lips across her temple. “Do you believe me now?”

  Drained of every emotion but the wonder of being a woman—Rolf’s woman—Drew slid her arms about his neck.

  “Yes, my love, I do.”

  The taste of his lips filled her with a hungry need, and she clung desperately lo him.

  His lips moved lovingly against hers as his teasing, tormenting tongue sent a wave of delightful longing through every fiber of her being.

  Scorching kisses left a trail of flame from her throbbing lips to the rise of her aching breasts.

  Shuddering, he groaned against the rounded softness above the confining gown.

  She sighed, pulling him closer. “Darling, you make me so happy.”

  That last word triggered another thought, and her mind veered wildly away. She laughed gaily, in love with the world.

  “I’m so glad we don’t have to disappoint Reverend Peabody by divorcing. He’s such a sweet man—a true romantic.”

  Straightening, he shook his head in bemusement, sweeping her into his arms. “At a time like this you th
ink of Reverend Peabody?”

  She mirrored the wide grin he gave her, “Oh, yes. And the girls at the office are terrible romantics, too. They’d love to know you like my gown. It was a wedding gift.”

  She peered up at him, an impish gleam in her eyes.

  “You do like it, don’t you? You haven’t said.”

  He cocked his head, giving what appeared to be serious and extensive thought to the subject. His eyes moved lazily over her slender form, not very cleverly disguised beneath the green mist of fabric.

  Brown eyes sparkled with devilry as he offered his evaluation.

  “Well, since you’re such a dyed-in-the-wool cynic, yourself, I’ll give it to you straight.”

  His lips twitched with humor, though he was trying to appear stern. “To you it was a gift. To me, it’s just the wrapping.”

  She pursed her lips in mock contemplation. “I think that’s the way they planned it.”

  Their laughter combined in a tinkling harmony of highs and lows as he lifted her into his arms.

  He inclined his head toward the stairs.

  “What’s up there?”

  She smiled innocently, snuggling close to his wide chest.

  “My bedroom.”

  “Any other bedrooms?”

  She shook her head, a playful pout on her lips. “Sorry, no. . . and there’s only one bed, too.”

  The grin disappeared, and his face took on the intense, sensuous look of a man in love, and ready to show it.

  “Only one bed?” he whispered, his voice slightly hoarse. “What a shame.”

  Lifting her head, she stole a kiss from his jaw as he started up the steps.

  Epilogue

  “Hi-ho!” Beverly Atkins breezed into Drew’s office, blue smock billowing, a large portfolio under one arm. She took the hefty artist’s folder into both hands and rested it lightly on the edge of Drew’s desk. “Two things.” She smiled, big round eyes sparkling with enthusiasm.

  Drew turned toward her friend, shutting off the electric buzzing of her typewriter. “Hi, Bev. I see you’ve finished the drawings. What’s number two?”

  Beverly’s smile turned into a playful smirk as she laid the folder down, nearly covering Drew’s desk top. “There’s where you’re wrong. That’s number two.” She cocked her short curls to indicate the folder. “Number one is the real biggie!”

  She assumed her usual single-hipped perch on one exposed corner of Drew’s desk.

  Sitting back, Drew folded her arms across the teal plaid bodice of her wool dress. She lifted a quizzical brow. “I’m all ears.”

  “Well,” Bev exhaled breathlessly, “I wanted you to be the first to see my engagement ring!”

  Drew started. “Oh, Bev,” she breathed, her eyes dropping immediately to her friend’s left hand. There was no ring.

  Confused, she looked back up into Beverly’s face, but did not speak.

  Beverly giggled, “Well, actually it’s merely symbolically there, now.” She held out her hand, palm down and fingers spread as though she were actually showing a ring off. “Tom did ask the big question. But I’m having a ring custom-made in Albuquerque.”

  Drew nodded agreeably, “How nice.”

  “Yes, it is.” Beverly was nodding, too. “Actually it will be twenty or so diamonds in the shape of a number ten. I figure it’ll total about three carats, all told.”

  Drew’s lips parted in a silent “Oh.” She could never tell if Beverly was serious or not with some of her stories.

  Bev lifted her chin challengingly, sitting back and leaning on one hand. “You get the significance of a ten, don’t you? Perfection!” she beamed.

  Drew shook her head, pursing her lips. “Yes, Bev, I get it. But I’m not swallowing it.”

  Beverly stood up and began rummaging in one of the large pockets of her smock. Her high-pitched laughter filled the room. “Okay, okay. You’re too smart for me.” She pulled out a narrow gold band with a modest solitaire sparkling from it. “I just thought I’d give you a real scare. After all, your ring has become pretty famous around here—and it’s only an eight!”

  Drew’s light laugh bubbled from her throat as she pushed herself up from her chair. “Bev, you’re incorrigible.” She took the ring, admiring it. “I’m so happy for you. It’s lovely.”

  “It’s tiny!” Bev corrected with a derisive laugh. “Bui it has sentimental value. Tom says it originally belonged to his favorite grandmother.” She narrowed her eyes cynically observing it. “Obviously she couldn’t have been the Duchess of Windsor.”

  Taking the ring from Drew, she slipped it on her left hand where it belonged. “But once I get Tom good and married, we’ll take Granny’s baby sparkler in and trade it for something really huge and tasteless!”

  She held her hand under Drew’s desk lamp. “Poor baby. I give you a week after the honeymoon’s over before some jeweler gets to put you into a high-school promise ring. Then I’ll get my gaudy rock.”

  Drew walked to her coat rack and took a white sweater from it, remarking casually, “Beverly, you know you don’t mean a word of that. You can’t fool me. I’ll bet you that nobody could pry that sweet ring off of your finger with a crowbar—if only because Tom gave it to you.”

  Slipping on the sweater, Drew turned back toward her friend, who was now looking down at the ring on her hand, her face suddenly serious. Large dark eyes flickered up to look into Drew’s. They seemed a bit luminous now—as though swimming in liquid. Beverly spoke softly, “Okay, Drew, maybe we’ll give the little darling thing six months, a year even.” She sniffed a small self-conscious laugh. “Say, don’t give me away as the sentimental slob I am.”

  Drew smiled kindly. “Okay. I know it doesn’t fit with your sophisticated image.”

  They both smiled at each other as close friends do. There was total quiet for a long moment before Beverly walked to Drew, taking her hands. “It’ll be a small ceremony in Tom’s house a week from Saturday. You’ll be my attendant, won’t you?”

  Drew grazed her friend’s flushed cheek with a sisterly kiss. “You bet,” she whispered, her voice slightly unsteady. “Now, I’ve got to go rescue Rolf from Dad or they’ll stay at it all night.”

  Beverly chuckled, back to her old exuberant self. “Say, how’s it working out for Rolf—this Fellow thing?” She reached for the door knob.

  As they left the office, Drew said, “Wonderfully. As a Fellow, Rolf is free to do pure research, his real love.” Beverly shrugged her shoulders. “Oh yeah? Well, I haven’t seen any gorgeous rings on that hulking Tokamak. I’d say Rolf holds some tattered remnants of fondness for you—hag that you are.”

  They walked down a flight of steps to the main office level and Drew buttoned her sweater against the September evening chill agreeing with a laugh, “Well, he does seem to prefer going home with me to working through the night!”

  Beverly nodded emphatically. “I should hope so. A man with a build like Rolf should never have been burdened with a brain—a waste, I say, a terrible waste! Why he should be at home where you can keep him barefoot and pregnant.” Her pause was no less full-blossomed than her barely veiled suggestion that Drew should be well on the way to motherhood by now. She tried to broach the subject. “Say, speaking of that—”

  Drew took her friend’s elbow securely, propelling her away toward her own office. “If you’re talking about Rolf’s bare feet, they’re just as marvelous as the rest of him.” Ending the conversation briskly, Drew added dryly, “If you’re not, then I’ll see you tomorrow when you’ve thought of something else to talk about—like, say, the weather. That’s always popular.”

  “Chicken!” she heard her friend call as the glass door swung shut at her back and she headed toward the tech area and Rolf.

  The lights blazed high above in the huge Tokamak lab. Drew blinked in the brightness, finally focusing on Hank, an unobtrusive member of the tech area security force. She answered his recognizing wave and walked toward her husband’s office. But voices on
the far side of the Tokamak prototype halted her.

  She moved toward the familiar sound, recognizing her father’s voice, “In addition, Rolf, we’re dealing with the problem of injecting cold hydrogen.”

  She could see them now. Her father, though tall, looked almost frail next to his massive son-in-law. Dr. McKenna was dressed in familiar tweed trousers and a long-sleeved button-front sweater. Rolf wore snug-fitting jeans and a rich maroon plaid flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up to just below the elbows. Fine-tooled cowboy boots were the only addition to the work costume that he had worn even behind the Berlin Wall. Yet the boots were American, as Rolf was now American. And she knew that he wore those boots with a special pride. He was nodding at her father, his deep voice echoing through the vast openness, “Hydrogen ice pellets accelerated in hypersonic gas jets would be my suggestion.”

  Dr. McKenna scratched his head, “Maybe. . .it certainly deserves a trial—”

  Drew’s approach, though quiet, could finally not be kept a secret as her heels on the tile announced her coming. The two men looked up from their huddled conversation.

  Rolf’s smile was quick and devastating. “Kindchen.”

  “Hi, sweetheart.” She returned his smile, noting her father’s squinty frown as he pushed his glasses up to his head. “Oh, hello, dear.”

  “Hello, Daddy.” She moved between the men, taking Rolf’s hand, “It’s six o’clock. Time for the little boys to leave the playground.”

  Dr. McKenna shook his head. “But we are—”

  “Hungry,” Rolf interrupted. “Come on, Madder. Have dinner with us.”

  Dr. McKenna’s mouth worked. “But don’t you think—”

  Rolf laughed. “I promise, Madder, if you have dinner with us, I’ll explain my theory to your satisfaction. Agreed?”

  “Bribery is a crime, you know.” Dr. McKenna appeared irritated. But Drew recognized the small light of good humor in his eyes.

  She laughed. “It may be. But allowing a parent to starve is not considered particularly saintly in most circles. I’m afraid we are going to have to insist.” She put an arm around her father’s thin waist. “You’ll love what we’re serving tonight—Rolf taught me to make it.”