by Anne Stuart
She opened the bedroom door just a crack, listening. She could hear a voice, low-pitched, familiar, and relief swamped her. It was John. But who the hell could he be talking to? Had he brought someone back here?
She pushed open the bedroom door, ready to kill him if there was a woman in the living room. His back was toward the hallway, and she realized he was alone. Talking on the cell phone he'd acquired when she moved in.
She didn't move, just watched him as calm well-being flooded her body. She wasn't right without him. It didn't make sense, it was weak and ridiculous, but it was fact. She needed him to feel whole.
"I need to send a cable. It's for Dr. Elizabeth Holden, Drake Hotel, Chicago, Illinois. Yes, I'll hold." He ran a restless hand through his hair. It was tangled, his beard had started growing again, and he looked exhausted. "Yes, I'm ready. The text should read 'Come back to me.' "
"I never left," she said.
He spun around, staring at her as if he'd seen a ghost. And then he dropped the phone, crossed the room and picked her up in his arms. His grip was so strong it almost hurt, and he was trembling. "Don't," he whispered in her hair. "Don't leave me."
"Never," she said, holding him. "I love you."
The sun was coming up, blazing into the front windows of the small house, filling it with light and warmth. And there was nothing more to be said.
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