As the landing time grew closer, a sense of anticipation filled the arrival area. Ignoring Peter Kirkland’s presence and the press contingent he courted, Patrick stood at a far side of the room, alternately watching the lighted runway and the information monitor suspended from the ceiling. The minutes seemed endless. Somehow fatigue was forgotten, as was the anguish that had dominated the past two days. In their place was an excitement just waiting to bubble and overflow.
When the airline official announced that the plane had touched down and would be approaching the terminal momentarily, a collective sigh of relief seemed to waft into the air, accompanied by random cheers and an exultant shout. The crowd inched forward, restrained in its joy only by airline personnel who struggled to leave an open path for the passengers.
Patrick remained at the side. Given his superior height, he could easily see the door through which the passengers would pass. Likewise, he knew Jordanna would easily see him.
Heart thudding, he caught sight of the aircraft’s lights as it pulled up to the terminal. His throat felt suddenly tight; he tried to swallow the lump there but couldn’t. All he could do was to imagine the airplane’s door being opened and its passengers, who’d traveled such a long way, streaming out, up the corridor, onto home soil at last.
It seemed an eternity before the first of the bedraggled travelers emerged to be crushed into familiar, welcoming arms. Patrick’s eyes filled with tears; he brushed them with his sleeve and focused again, waiting, watching, his life suspended until she came into view.
Inside the aircraft, Jordanna waited for those before her to begin to move. She wondered how something so simple could take so long, particularly after all they’d been through, then realized that, exhausted as she was, her patience was next to nil. Those around her were as quiet as she; it was as though every bit of the energy they possessed was focused on terra firma and home. She shifted from her left foot to her right, then hoisted the strap of her shoulder bag more comfortably when, at last, the line started forward.
She needed to see Patrick, needed to hold him. Had it not been for thought of him, she might have gone mad during the harrowing hours of flight, the more harrowing hours of silent detainment on Libyan soil. If she’d needed something to help her sort things out regarding her life, this ordeal had been it. Forty-eight hours of enforced inactivity, of near constant fear, could do that to a person. Oh, yes, she knew what she wanted. It was simply a matter of physically getting there.
She thought she’d scream when the line slowed down again, but it moved on again quickly and, heart pounding, she kept up. Weary as she was, both mentally and physically, she suddenly had all the energy in the world. It was as though her life passed through a funnel, narrowing in on the one element that held meaning. Patrick.
The corridor leading from the plane into the terminal seemed endless. The clamor of joyous reunions reached her moments before she stepped into the light. Blood thundering through her veins, she searched the throng of faces. Tears blurred her vision. Walking ever forward, she blinked.
“Jordanna! Over here!” She turned her head to see a large man approaching. But it wasn’t Patrick. It was… Peter. The nightmare continued!
Before she could move much farther, she was enveloped in a hug expansive enough to be captured by the cameras that rolled. “How are you, babe? I was so worried!”
Frantic now, she continued to search the crowd. Peter kissed her soundly on her cheek, but she didn’t notice. Could it be that Patrick hadn’t come? Could it be that her ordeal had been for nothing? Tears streaming down her cheeks, she struggled to focus.
Then she saw him, as different from Peter as night from day. Where Peter looked fresh and well rested, Patrick was the one who had obviously lived through the ordeal with her. Where Peter was surrounded by the press, Patrick stood alone, waiting in anguish.
“I’ve got to go,” she heard herself murmur, and pushed against Peter’s arms. “Excuse me… I’ve got to… .” Then she was free, dodging her way through the crowds, until at last Patrick was holding her and she knew she was home.
Heavy sobs came from deep within then, expressing both the heartache she’d endured and the joy of reunion. Her arms circled his neck, clinging with desperation and need and love. She couldn’t talk through her tears, could only hold him tighter, and tighter. He was as silent, and as firm. His strong arms surrounded her. His own tears fell freely.
How long they stood like that, they neither knew nor cared. The only thing that mattered was that they were together again. Gathering his composure mere moments ahead of her, Patrick moved his lips by her ear. His voice was hoarse, but she heard every word. “There’s a diamond ring in my pocket. Want it?”
Face buried still against his neck, right arm remaining coiled in tight possession, she lowered her left hand to his pocket. The small box was easily opened, her finger quickly slid through the ring. Then, without so much as a look at the exquisite gem, she resumed her hold of him.
“I love you, Pat. I love you so much!”
“Mrs. Kirkland. A moment, please?” The interruption came from one of the several press people who’d gathered around. Jordanna pressed her head more tightly to Patrick’s neck. “How was it?” came the intrusive voice. “Did the passengers ever panic?”
“Did the Libyans board the plane?” demanded a second.
“Did you talk with the hijacker at all?” shot a third.
Very slowly and with deliberation, Patrick eased Jordanna to his side. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, he broke out into a broad smile. “I love you,” he mouthed, rewarded by her own smile. Then he turned to the microphones that seemed to have gathered in a swarm. “I believe that Mrs. Kirkland is well, but tired. She’s been through an ordeal. We’ve all been through an ordeal.”
“She saw her husband–” a reporter began, only to be soundly interrupted by Patrick, whose gaze had returned to Jordanna’s and was not to be dislodged.
“Her ex-husband. She’s engaged to me now.”
“Engaged?” A second reporter frowned down at his notebook as though in search of information he’d somehow missed.
“That’s right,” Patrick said with a grin.
Sniffing a new story in the works, an astute television correspondent waved his microphone closer. “So the rivalry goes on?”
Patrick’s grin didn’t fade, nor did he shift his eyes from Jordanna’s. “No. The rivalry’s over. Now, if you’ll excuse us.…” Turning, he began to lead Jordanna from the crowd.
A final question followed them. “When’s the wedding?”
“Within the month,” Patrick stated, his arm wrapped firmly about Jordanna’s shoulders as he quickened his pace. “Is that all right?” he murmured softly, when at last the reporters had given up.
“Oh, yes,” she breathed, her bright eyes beaming. “Oh… yes.”
“HI, SLEEPYHEAD,” Patrick whispered, smiling broadly. “How do you feel?”
Opening her other eye, Jordanna stretched, then reached forward and took his hands. “Better. I was exhausted.”
“Good reason for that.” His eyes lowered briefly before returning to her face. “Maybe you should cut back your hours.”
She smiled at his concern. “I already have. And I’m okay. Really. A nap before dinner always does the trick. Have you been sitting here long?”
“Long enough. I like watching you. My beautiful wife.” Leaning forward, he caught her lips in an exquisitely gentle kiss.
“Mmm,” Jordanna breathed. “I like that.” In the eighteen months they’d been married, it had only gotten better and better.
“Angel?”
She opened her eyes to find him looking at her in concern.
“Are you sure this is what you want?”
Laughing, she pressed his hand to her swelling stomach. “It’s a little late to worry about that, isn’t it?” She was six months pregnant and growing by the day.
“But I do worry. I know how much the business means�
�”
Leaving his hand on their child, she put her fingers to his lips. “Shh. I thought I’d made that clear. The business is… the business. You’re my life. And now we’ll have a child to love.” She paused. “You’re not sorry, are you?” She recalled her first marriage and the reluctance Peter had had to share any part of her. In her heart she knew Patrick was different. Still, from time to time, she needed to hear the words. As had always been the case in the past, she wasn’t disappointed now.
“God, no! I’ve dreamed about having this baby. You know that.” Raising the edge of her loose blouse, he leaned low to kiss her rounded belly. “I love you so much I think I’ll burst at times. It’ll be a relief to have someone to absorb the overflow.”
For Jordanna, it was the same. Threading her fingers into his hair, she held his head as he brushed his lips back and forth over her flesh. When he gently gripped the elastic band of her pants and eased it down, she closed her eyes against the heady pleasure.
“Oh, Pat, I love you,” she whispered, then caught her breath when his lips moved lower. And lower. Suddenly her pulse was racing at the excitement of his touch. “Pat, let’s–”
“Shh. Let me.”
And he did. Using his lips and tongue and those phenomenally agile fingers of his, he brought her to the furthest reaches of desire and back, before at last sliding up her trembling body.
“You’re wonderful,” he murmured, careful not to hurt her as he moved his large body over hers.
It took her a moment to catch her breath. But it was hard, given the sensual rock of his body. “Patrick,” she chided, “you’re fully dressed.”
“Not for long.” Grinning, he reached for the buckle of his belt. “Not for long.”
When he took her then, it was with precious care and tenderness. She enveloped him, gave him every bit as much of herself back, and then some. He was first in her life. It had been that way since the moment they’d set eyes on each other in the woods of New Hampshire. If it was reassurance he sought, Jordanna intended to spend a lifetime and beyond giving him precisely that. For in the giving she received. It was what their love was all about.
Forever Instinct, The Page 20