"Soppy." She didn't look at him. "They'd be nuts to believe us."
"You were very credible."
Credible. She almost laughed hysterically. She had felt stripped, naked. "You should have told me you were going to lay everything out on the table."
"I wanted to go public with the whole package. If we're perfectly open at the outset, there won't be any scandal stories dribbling in over the next few weeks to undermine us." He added, "Besides, you were nervous enough as it was. Now it's over."
"It's just begun. Now there's no place to hide."
"You won't need a place to hide."
"And you shouldn't have told them you wouldn't go home without me. You're going to look like an ass when you have to do it."
"I decided to up the ante. If they want to get the captive home, they have to take you too."
"Look, even if Immigration goes along with us, it will take a long time."
"Then we'll wait."
Commitment. She should have known he would go all the way once he had decided to help her. She walked faster. "And what's this about the marriage ceremony?"
"Strike while the iron is hot. Today they write about a heroine who fulfills their imaginations."
"Who is incidentally a criminal," she added grimly.
He ignored the qualification. "And tomorrow we give them pictures of the bride to stir their hearts." Gabe stopped before the door of her suite. "You'll need a wedding gown. What size? Eight?"
"Six. Where are you going to get a wedding gown?"
"Dan will find something appropriate. It may not be haute couture, but no one will expect that on such short notice."
It was going too fast for her. Wedding gowns and revelations she had kept secret all her life. "Axe you sure you want to do this?"
"I'm sure." He stopped before her door. "I've never been more sure of anything. It's going to be fine, Ronnie."
She was not nearly as confident. She had thought she was going to be the only one to pay if this gamble didn't succeed, but Gabe was making vows, involving himself too deeply. "You could back out now. It would be okay with me."
He brushed a kiss on the tip of her nose. "It wouldn't be okay with me. I'll join you in your suite for dinner at seven if that's all right."
"Sounds fine."
She watched him as he turned and walked away from her. It was the first time he had kissed her, and it was a caress he could have given to a sister or a maiden aunt... or Orphan Annie.
He looked over his shoulder and saw her still standing there. "Okay?"
She smiled with effort. "Sure."
She quickly entered the room and shut the door.
It wasn't okay. Until that moment when she had been forced to answer Jim's question, she had deliberately blocked the truth from her mind.
Now she knew. And Lord help her, she did love Gabe Falkner.
Dan arrived at her suite later that afternoon carrying a large glossy-white cardboard box and several smaller ones of various sizes piled on top of it.
"Good heavens, you look like the delivery boy for one of those 1930s movies," Ronnie said as she stepped aside to let him inside.
"You mean the ones where Ginger Rogers goes shopping while Fred Astaire is busy dancing on the ceiling?" He grinned. "I would have had them delivered, but I wanted to make sure you got them. Gabe wouldn't be pleased if anything went wrong."
"Gabe said he'd buy a dress, not an entire wardrobe."
"I admit I got a little carried away." Dan dumped the boxes on the bed. "But the woman at the department store said you'll need all of it." He waved a hand. "You know, stockings and garters and slips and shoes ..." He frowned.
"I wasn't sure about the shoes. I had to guess. Seven?"
"Pretty good. Six and a half, but I can stuff the toes with cotton."
He gave a huge sigh of relief. "Then I won't have to go back. I felt like a bull in a china shop surrounded by all those veils and gowns and whatnots."
"Gabe shouldn't have imposed on you. I could have taken care of it myself. I've been going crazy with nothing to do."
"Gabe was afraid you'd be followed by reporters. He thought you'd had enough of being the center of attention for a time."
"For all time," she said fervently. "Do you often do these little odd jobs for Gabe?"
"Everything from making appointments with the president to arranging an intimate weekend with Mora Renord. I do it all." He immediately looked a little uneasy. "I guess I shouldn't have mentioned Mora."
She tried to hide the sharp twinge she had received at the thought of Gabe's former mistress. "Why not? You must know why Gabe is marrying me. It's all a farce."
"Is it?" His gaze searched her face. "Gabe's behaving very strangely about all this."
She looked down at the boxes on the bed. "I wouldn't know. I haven't known him long enough to judge."
"Well, I have and it's not like Gabe to ..." He shrugged. "But it's not my business. He wouldn't thank me for analyzing his moves."
She lifted her chin. "I suppose you don't approve of Gabe marrying me."
"I didn't say that," he said. "Look, it was my job to set up the exchange of Gabe for those two journalists. How do you think I felt all these months when I could have heard any day that Gabe had been executed? You got him out. You deserve any payback we can give you. Heck, if marriage will help you get what you want, I'll marry you myself."
His earnestness caught her off guard. "Good grief, the suitors are standing in line," she said awkwardly, then hurriedly changed the subject. "How long have you known Gabe?"
"Over ten years. We were reporters together in Beirut, and when Gabe went on to greater things, I went with him. I couldn't have found better coattails to ride on."
"I don't think you like free rides. Gabe said you were a good man to have around in tight corners."
"We've been in a few." He smiled. "And so have you. That mess in Said Ababa must have been a little dicey."
"You could say that." She asked with a pretense of casualness, "If you've been together that long, then you must know his family."
"His parents are dead. He has only one sister, Carrie, and her daughter, Daisy."
"What is she like?"
"Like Gabe. Brilliant, absolutely self-sufficient. She married an oilman from Houston and promptly took over the company. She's vice-president and practically runs both the firm and the social scene in Houston."
"Are she and Gabe close?"
"Fairly. But they don't see much of each other."
"Because she's too busy running Houston and he's too busy running the rest of the world," Ronnie guessed.
"Probably. Gabe's a born leader. He gets a kick out of holding the reins."
"And leaders who do their job right have no time to devote to a family." He was only confirming what she had surmised about Gabe.
Dan frowned. "It's not as if he isn't always there when he's needed."
"I'm sure he is." She had known that about him too. She knew many things about Gabe, and yet there were gaps she had never been able to fill in over the years.
Dan turned and moved toward the door. "I'd better hustle. I've got to fly the helicopter over to the airport and pick up John Grant and bring him to the palace."
"You're flying yourself? I thought David Carroll was the pilot."
"Dave does most of the general business flying, but I usually pilot Gabe. I only brought Dave when we did the pickup in Said Ababa in case there was trouble. I wasn't sure what we'd find when we got there." He smiled. "But you had the situation well in hand."
"And got a knockout punch as a reward."
He looked pained. "Let's drop the subject. I don't think Gabe would appreciate me keeping the topic fresh in your mind." He opened the door. "If there's any problem with those wedding duds, let me know."
"Wait," she said impulsively, starting after him. "Could I go with you?"
He hesitated. "Gabe doesn't want you to be wandering around in public."
"I
won't be wandering around. I'll even stay in the helicopter, if you like. I'll go crazy cooped up in here for the rest of the afternoon."
He shrugged. "You're welcome to come, if you're sure you want to go. It will be a pretty boring trip."
She had a hunger to learn about all the details and people that made up Gape's world. Going along would give her an opportunity to get to know these two men who were Gabe's good friends and to listen to them talk about Gabe. She could even ask casual questions that would reveal layers and depths she had not yet been able to probe. "I won't be bored."
When Gabe arrived at the suite that night, he was wearing jeans and a navy shirt that made his eyes appear bluer than usual. Somehow she had expected him to seem different now that she knew she loved him, but he was the same— tough, mature, completely male.
He raised his brows. "May I come in?"
"Oh, sure." She backed away from the door. "The servant already brought dinner." She gestured to the roll-away table across the room. "Sit down."
"For a minute I wasn't certain if you were going to throw me out or not." He seated himself opposite her and shook out his napkin. "You looked at me as if you weren't sure if I'd had my rabies shots."
"That's for dogs." She picked up her fork and attacked her salad.
"There is a correlation. When I left you this afternoon, I wasn't sure if I was in the doghouse or not. There was a possibility the shock about the news conference had worn off and you were mad as hell."
"You'd know if I was mad. I'm pretty transparent." Not too transparent, she hoped. She was scared even to look at him. "I'm not sure you should have mentioned Evan in that dossier. He should be safe, but you focused a lot of attention on him this afternoon."
His expression hardened. "Stop worrying about him. He didn't worry about you." He changed the subject. "Dan told me he brought you the wedding gown this afternoon."
She nodded. "Do you want to see it?"
"Not before tomorrow. It's bad luck." He took a roll from the covered basket on the table. "Or don't you believe in traditions?"
She watched in fascination as he broke the roll in two. His hands were strong and broad and capable. Even in that blackness at Mekhit she had sensed their strength.
Light in the darkness.
"Ronnie?"
She looked away from his hands. "Oh, I never thought much about them. Do you?"
He nodded. "I think they hold us together and give us stability. We all move too fast these days. We'd spin away into the stratosphere without something to hold on to."
She would hold on forever.
"I guess you're right." She smiled at him. "Eat your steak. Protein."
"Yes, ma'am."
Lord, she loved his smile, that dry intonation in his voice, the way he lifted his brows. Love was brimming, overflowing, and she quickly lowered her gaze to her own plate and began to eat.
"I hear you went to the airport with Dan to fetch John."
She nodded. "He's a nice guy."
"He likes you too. Dan said he's never heard John talk so much all the time he's known him."
She had used all her journalistic skills to make sure John Grant talked extensively and exclusively on one subject: Gabe. "He's very interesting."
She tried to keep up her end of the conversation during the meal, but it was difficult when she only wanted to look at him, savor the characteristics that made him Gabe Falkner. Because she was staring at him so hungrily, she noticed something that made her frown.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" Gabe asked. "Do I have a smudge on my face?"
"Two. Right beneath your eyes. You didn't sleep again," Ronnie said. "This can't go on. Why don't you go to the doctor and get some pills?"
"Because I don't want to." He reached for the carafe. "More coffee?"
"No, and you don't either. You don't need anything else to keep you awake," she said. "It's my fault, isn't it?"
"I told you, it's aftershock. You have nothing to do with it."
"It is my fault. You've done nothing but plan and telephone and set up press conferences since the moment we arrived here. You should have gone away to rest."
"I will later. There's plenty of time after we get you settled properly."
She had doubts if she would ever be settled to her satisfaction, but there was no use arguing with him on that subject. "It's not going to happen overnight and you'll be a wreck if this keeps on."
"Ronnie, it's not your fault I can't sleep."
"But maybe I can help." She stood up and strode toward the gauze-draped bed across the room. "Come on. I used to do this with Jed to help him relax." She glanced over her shoulder and saw him still sitting where she had left him. "Well, come on."
"I won't accept sex as physical therapy, no matter what Jed Corbin did," he said grimly.
"Oh, for goodness sake, Jed was my friend. He would have laughed at the idea of jumping me." She stood by the bed. "I learned massage from a woman in a bath house in Istanbul and I'm pretty good at it. I used to massage his shoulders to take out the kinks. Take off your shirt."
He stood looking at her a moment and then stood up and began to unbutton his shirt. "Poor Corbin."
"Because he was my friend?"
He stripped off his shirt and threw it on the chair. "Because I'd bet he wouldn't have laughed at the idea of jumping you." He came toward her. "He probably went through the tortures of the damned when you put your hands all over him."
He stopped before her. His massive shoulders gleamed in the lamplight, and she realized she wanted to reach out and touch the springy dark hair on his chest, to step closer and rub against him. The air was suddenly charged and hard to breathe.
"Not all over him," she whispered. "Just his back and shoulders."
"That can be enough. Muscles and nerves are all connected," he said thickly. "And want to be connected even more ... intimately."
She was starting to tremble. "Don't you want me to help you?"
"I want you to touch me." He tore his gaze away from her and lay down on the bed and rolled over on his stomach. "Do it."
She took a deep breath and sat down beside him. She hesitated a moment and then gently put her hands on his back. She could feel the muscles tense as if a whip had touched them. She knew how he felt. A sensual shock ran through her that was as hot as it was electrifying. "Relax." The words were for herself as much as for him. She began rubbing, her thumbs digging, trying to loosen the tautness. His skin felt smooth and warm, his muscles sinewy and sleek. She tried to think of something to say that would lessen the tension pervading the room. "And you're wrong, it was never like that with Jed."
"Then he was a fool." The words were muffled by the pillow.
Her hands worked upward to his shoulders. "Not everyone has the good taste to appreciate my type. He's mad about his wife, Ysabel." Cripes, her palms were beginning to tingle with every movement, the heat shooting up her wrists. "They live on an island off the Pacific coast. I was there once." She tried to keep her voice steady. "It's lovely."
"Is it?"
"Yes. Where do you live now?" Her fingers kneaded the nape of his neck and she felt the brush of thick short hairs against the top of her hands. Her breasts were swelling, acutely sensitive as they pushed against the cloth of her bra.
"Dallas, principally. I have a home in Aspen too."
"Aspen, that's very posh."
"Not my place. The cabin is pretty basic. I only go up there in the winter when it snows. I like the cold after the hot summers in Texas."
Cold. The concept of anything but heat was completely alien to her at this moment.
"Someday I'd like to live in Iowa," she said. "I remember reading about the county fairs and the fields of corn and wheat."
"The all-American girl."
"Did you see that BBC broadcast tonight? They're calling me the Star-Spangled Bride. It's enough to make you vomit."
"It's a good sound bite."
"Corny."
"As
Iowa and county fairs." A long shudder racked his body. "You'd better stop this."
She didn't want to stop. She wanted to keep on touching him. She wanted him to touch her. "Why?"
"It's not relaxing me. It's making me worse."
She looked at the muscles of his back, now more contracted than ever. She had done this to him with her touch. The realization caused the muscles of her stomach to clench. "You do seem . . . harder."
"Much harder." He sat up and swung his feet to the floor. He didn't look at her as he got jerkily to his feet. "The Red December has nothing on you as far as torture goes."
She could feel the heat in her cheeks. Her breasts were lifting and falling with every rapid breath. "Then why didn't you stop me?"
He moved toward the door, snatching his shirt from the chair as he passed. "It seemed worth it at the time. I believe I've turned into a masochist."
"Gabe."
He turned and looked at her, and when he saw her expression, he shook his head. "When we make love, it won't be because you want to heal me. I want a hell of a lot more than that."
Frustration and guilt surged through her as she watched the door close behind him. It may have started because she wanted to help him, but she had continued because she had not been able to resist the temptation of touching him, making him feel the whirlpool of emotion that was pulling her toward him. She had wanted sex, but she had wanted something else, something more. She had wanted to belong to him. She needed to belong to him.
It could still happen. It was clear he did want her and they were being married tomorrow. Heck, she had a chance to clear up the misunderstandings and win the grand prize. She might not be able to keep it for long but...
She quickly shied away from that train of thought. She wouldn't think beyond the wedding tomorrow.
Wedding gowns, flowers, guests, and a holy man saying words over them. The concept was as foreign to her as she could ever have imagined. It was the kind of thing that happened to those nice, wholesome women who lived in Iowa and put up preserves for county fairs, not to her.
Yet it was happening and she could feel the excitement beginning to build at the thought of tomorrow.
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