“As bribes go,” Peter conceded thoughtfully, “it was a damn good one.” He was going to have to face the fact his mouse had permanently turned into a lion. However . . .
“That camper was a rental, Mandy.” For the first time Peter sounded stern.
“I’ll be buying it this afternoon. Don’t worry, I can afford it.”
“Do you have any idea what those things cost?”
“It was used,” Mandy pointed out with maddening reasonableness, “but . . . if you were planning on living off my savings, there may be some difficulty,” she admitted.
“Living off . . .” Peter spluttered to a halt. His little lion was teasing him, and he’d fallen for it. He was torn between a desire to take her in his arms and an urge to spank her. Not that he ever would, but . . . there she was, Miss Boston Prim and Proper, sitting there in her beige silk slacks and some kind of designer-looking sweater, perfectly displayed against the French blue leather, looking as if she were ready to take tea in her Grandmother Kingsley’s drawing room. When, in truth, she’d just bribed an employee of the Russian mafia with the gift of an RV and aided and abetted the disappearance of a star FBI witness. A star witness who should have been more interested in slitting Shirazi’s throat than running away with him.
Peter steadied himself with a deep breath. “So what the hell did those two have in common anyway?” No Russian woman is going to go along with being Muslim. They’re too damn independent.”
“The way my Russian teacher described it,” Mandy said, “women in Russia have equality when it comes to a job. They can work at anything they want as long as they come home and do all the cooking and cleaning as well.”
Peter opened his mouth, closed it . . . thought it through. “Okay, I’ll buy that—we men are arrogant bastards and all that—but I still can’t see Karim and Nadya together. I mean, he hardly looked at her during the fire.”
“You mean the way you didn’t look at me?”
“Sometimes, Mouse . . .,” Peter threatened, once again forgetting he was talking to a lion. “That was different. I knew . . .”
“No, it wasn’t. But you did the right thing. You had to help those who needed it more. And so did Karim.”
“But he left her. Walked out. Vanished.”
Mandy gave him a very long look. “Yes, he did, didn’t he?” Her eyes were bright, willing him to make the connection.
He did.
“For her own good,” Peter mused. “For safety. Or because he thought she would be better off?”
“Sound familiar?”
Peter nodded, eyes fixed an the rug. He was afraid to utter a word. One wrong move and he was finished.
“Sometimes love really does conquer all,” Mandy commented softly.
“You’re sure?”
“Oh, yes,” Mandy breathed. “Karim was already at the RV when we got there. I wish you could have seen their faces when they saw each other.” Mandy wiped away a tear. “It was beautiful. Whatever that RV costs,” she asserted, “it was worth it.”
Peter lifted his head. “I guess there’s something I’d like to know. Tell me, Mrs. Pennington, would you have raced into the fire for me the way Nadya did for Karim?” Jesus! She wasn’t saying anything. She was actually thinking about it.
“You have to remember,” Mandy replied with careful precision, “that Nadya has a passionate Russian soul. Mine, I’m afraid, is all New England. We’re known as God’s frozen people, you know. I like to think I would have known you wouldn’t be stupid enough to run back toward the fire, that you would have sneaked off in the opposite direction, so I never would have panicked and run the wrong way.”
“For God’s sake, woman, are you going to analyze this thing to death?”
“But if I’d seen you run into the fire,” Mandy continued doggedly, “I’d have done what you did for me. Chased you down, saved your life. Or tried to,” she added judiciously. “I’m afraid I might have had trouble dragging you out.”
Peter groaned. “Does all that possibly mean you love me? In spite of my obvious failings?” he prodded.
“You know I love you, you big lunk,” Mandy snapped. “And when I say I love you, it happens to be true.” She looked as if she was about to grab up one of the couch cushions and fling it at him.
“You think I was lying?” Peter bounded out of the chair, flung himself down onto the sofa next to Mandy, at the last moment pulling back from touching her. If he did, this conversation would go up in smoke and perhaps the rest of their lives as well. There was only one way touching could end, and sex was not among their problems.
Time to settle what was between them, once and for all. Peter leaned back into the corner of the couch, a frown rippling his forehead as he searched for a way to end their misery once and for all.
“Do you remember that last day we went fishing?” Peter asked. “You were fifteen, a skinny kid with a ponytail. You’d just caught a mother sunfish and then you looked down and saw a whole pile of baby sunfish swimming around looking for mommy. I helped you take the hook out and put her back, and they all swam away into happily ever after. You never fished again, did you, Mouse?”
Slowly, ruefully, Mandy shook her head.
“Until then,” he added gently, “you were just a kid I was babysitting while I waited for her to grow up. But that day I fell in love. A little ahead of schedule maybe but, believe me, it was love. I loved your kind heart and your brilliant mind. And I love the woman you’ve become, the one who stands up for herself and won’t let me boss her around. In fact . . .” Peter paused for breath, a rueful smile lighting the angles of his face. “I hate to admit it, but Karim was right. You’re a good woman, Amanda Armitage. And I’d consider myself damn lucky if you agree to stick around here and share my life.”
She wasn’t looking at him, Peter noted. The carpet seemed to have developed some inexplicable fascination. Oh, hell, he hadn’t said it right. Hadn’t done enough! What more could she want? Or was she just making him suffer?
“Look, Mou—Mandy,” Peter ground out, “there’s nothing—not counting people—I love more than this house. I’ve put my heart and soul into it. But if you want me to go back to AKA . . .”
Mandy’s head jerked up, startled eyes met his. “Never!” she exclaimed. “I was . . . I was just trying very hard not to cry,” she added, wiping at her cheeks. “If I continue with AKA, it can be done long distance. That’s what modems are for, right?”
“So I’m forgiven?” Peter breathed, eyes alight with hope.
“What about me?” Mandy countered. “Forgiveness goes both ways.”
Peter held out his arms.
For a long time nothing more than muffled loving fragments filled the air. They were lying tangled in the black satin sheets of Peter’s bed, wonderfully, languorously replete, the last nagging doubts fallen away before they managed any coherent conversation. “Do you think we should renew our vows?” Mandy asked, snuggling closer to Peter’s body, which was sheened with sweat. “Claire says there’s a lovely chapel near here where she and Brad were married.”
“Sounds good.” At that point Peter would have agreed to having little green men from Mars stage a dance on the deck for the senior citizens of Calusa Campground.
“We’d invite Claire and Brad . . . and Phil and Garrett—”
“Garrett Whitlaw?” Peter questioned, beginning to pay more attention. “Since when do you know the king of Calusa County?”
“Never met him,” Mandy admitted blandly, “but I know his wife.” I’m practically a godmother, she added smugly. “And we’d have to invite Glenda and Ed. And of course there’s Claire’s son Jamie. And Bubba.”
Peter decided it was time to get into the spirit of things. “I imagine the grandmothers might be offended if they weren’t invited,” he suggested mildly.
“The grandmothers?” Mandy echoed, “but that would mean . . .”
“Jeff and Eleanor. Don’t panic,” Peter added quickly. “Try to picture Elean
or as a grandmother. Boggles the mind, doesn’t it?”
“Better yet,” Mandy chortled, “can’t you just picture it? Eleanor Armitage with a grandson called Bubba?”
Laughter shook the black satin sheets, echoing out into the rooms that would eventually be filled with the sounds of childish giggles, shouts, and tears. A house of love.
“You know . . .,” Peter said, rolling over until he was supported on his elbows directly above his smiling wife. “To hell with the last five years. It’s the next seventy that count.”
~The End~
About the Author: Although Blair Bancroft is best known for her Regency romances, she loves to venture into new genres and has written romantic suspense, mystery, medieval romance, and futuristic, and is about to tackle her first steampunk. Please look for Shadowed Paradise, the first of the Paradise books, which tells Brad’s and Claire’s story.
In addition to making her backlist available online, Blair plans to upload some new works in the not-too-distant future. For a list of books currently available, please see below. Blair’s websites are www.blairbancroft.com and www.darynparke.com. Blair also invites you to visit her blog at http://mosaicmoments.blogspot.com/
Blair’s books currently online:
Paradise Burning
Shadowed Paradise
The Captive Heiress
The Courtesan’s Letters
The Temporary Earl
The Harem Bride
A Season for Love
A Gamble on Love
Lady Silence
Steeplechase
Tarleton’s Wife
Paradise Burning Page 31
