Which meant he wanted to go to sleep. But even after his breathing evened out, she didn’t sleep for a long time.
“You’re not supposed to be in here!”
The sharp female voice jolted Adrian awake. He looked over his shoulder to the doorway of the hospital room, where an indignant blonde in scrubs strode through the door, a chart tucked in the crook of her arm. She looked as out of place here as new hospital equipment would.
Adrian reached across the bed to Mallory, only to find the sheets cool. His heart lurched. “Where is she?”
“Sir, I think she—” She moved into the room and set her chart on the table at the end of the bed.
He rolled to his feet in one movement, jolting at the sensation of the needle in his vein and automatically reaching to pull it free. The nurse hurried forward and covered his hand with hers to stop him.
“Sir. Just—you need to calm down, sir.” She pressed her other hand against his chest in an attempt to push him back on the bed and glared when he wouldn’t budge.
He raised an eyebrow at her, daring her to stand in his way. How long had he been asleep? He shook his head. “God, I screwed up. I took her for granted instead of knowing how goddamned lucky I was to have a woman like her love an idiot like me.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “If she’ll have me, I’ll never be that idiot again. Are you going to take this out, or not?” He jerked his arm toward the nurse, pointing to the IV.
She’d probably gone home to Austin now. How long had he been asleep? Adrian calculated the length of the flight as the nurse unhooked him and pressed a ball of cotton to his arm. He’d have to find her once he got there.
Well, his job was finding things.
Movement near the door caught his eye.
Mallory stood there, in her hospital gown, leaning on her IV pole, her hair a tumbled mess, her eyes watery as she stared.
Relief whipped through him, as mind-lightening as narcosis. He crossed the room and caught her against his chest, bent his head to her throat as he wrapped his arms around her, catching his fingers briefly in her IV tube.
“Jesus, I thought you’d gone,” he murmured, breathing in the scent of her, the underlying smell of the ocean in her hair, on her skin.
“I’ve grown up.” She tried to ease away, but he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. “I don’t run from trouble anymore.”
He pulled back to grin at her. God she was so pretty, her hair all wild, her face wet with tears, her eyes shining. “Are you calling me trouble?”
She cupped her hand over his cheek. “More than you know. Especially if you’re going to freak out every time I go to the bathroom.”
“Dr. Reeves?”
Both of them turned toward the door, and the young man standing there with tousled hair and rumpled clothes, a digital tape recorder in his hand. “Yes?” they asked in unison, and Adrian squeezed her waist in amusement.
“I’m Jordan Gilbert from Archaeology Today,” he said. “I heard you have a hell of a story to tell.”
Two days later, Adrian stood on the deck of his recovered boat in the sun, running his hand over the smooth wooden rail, acting like a man who’d come home. Jacob and Toney were in Belize keeping watch over the caskets until they could be inspected by the Belizean Department of Archaeology and then shipped to the States, where Adrian and Mallory would study them and Adrian would write his book. Mallory was fairly certain she’d have to play wife and prod him on that one. But now, she’d enjoy his company, their freedom, their newfound appreciation for each other.
“So where are we heading?” She stepped up to the rail beside him, her bare arm brushing his. “Back to the site? Dive one more time?”
“I’m going to sell her.”
She snapped her head up. “You are? Why? She’s beautiful. We’ve never had anything like her.”
He turned, lifting his hand from the rail to stroke her hair back from her cheek. His smile was tender, tinged with a touch of sadness. “But think of what a beautiful house we could afford.”
Shock weakened her knees and she sat on the padded bench, hard. He’d been saying goodbye to the boat. “What?”
Lines of anxiety etched his face as he crouched before her. “Marry me again, Mallory. I promise you I will give you what you need this time.”
Marry him again. Her heart gave a kick of longing as she looked into his eyes. Marry him, work with him. She would raise her children as she was raised, and they might grow up longing for the same things she had.
But Adrian loved her. She had no doubt of that, not after what he’d done to keep her safe. And she loved him. She’d never stopped. This past month only proved how much she missed him. Wherever he was would be her home.
A frown creased the skin between his eyes as he waited. “If you say the word, Mal, I’ll walk away from this,” he said softly.
If she loved him, she could never ask that. She wouldn’t want it.
“I don’t want you to walk away.”
But she hadn’t accepted his proposal. She saw him closing in on himself, preparing for the pain of her refusal.
“I’m not walking away, either,” she said, just as softly as he’d offered. “You don’t have to sell the boat. You don’t have to tie yourself to a house. Maybe someday that’s something we’ll both want, but now I don’t want anything but for you to love me, Adrian. That’s all I ever wanted.”
“I can do that.” He stood, reached down to her with his good arm, pulled her close. “I can do that.”
“And we don’t have to get married again,” she murmured, nestling her head under his jaw. “I never filed the divorce papers.”
Epilogue
Adrian closed his hand into a fist on his lap as the cab pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Museum in New York City. He’d been here every day for a week setting up the exhibit to showcase the four Byzantine caskets, but this time he was being strangled by a monkey suit. The people streaming up the wide stairs into the museum were dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns, and he felt like a fraud.
He resisted tugging at his tie, since Mallory had already chided him for it. But damn, he was ready to get out of this city, get back on a site. He needed to get his hands dirty.
He flexed his hand. Mallory slid her palm along his thigh to link her fingers through his. He turned to his gorgeous wife. If living in civilization meant she’d wear things like this, the deep blue dress showing off the glow of her skin, falling softly over her beautiful breasts, looping around her neck and baring the smooth skin of her back, he might give city living a shot.
Okay, maybe not. But he might lure Mallory into the coatroom to get his hands under that dress.
She leaned against his arm. “This is what you worked for, remember. This is what you wanted.”
He lifted her hand to his lips, holding her gaze. “A man shouldn’t have everything he wants. Seems unfair.”
“There’s a price to pay tonight.” She bumped his shoulder gently with hers. “Get out of the car, Adrian.”
He opened the door, slid out, then reached for her. He smiled at the manicure she’d gotten for the party launching their book two nights ago. They’d ended up coauthoring it, and if that didn’t prove their marriage was meant to last, nothing did. Neither of them had a small ego and finding a balance had been tough, but they’d weathered that as well as the creative process. He flicked one of her fingernails now, teasing her. She laughed before she leaned into the cab to say something to the driver, the dress draping over her world-class ass. Adrian fidgeted, eager now to get this evening over with and head back to the hotel with his wife.
The trunk popped open. Mallory straightened with a toss of her hair and slipped past him to open the trunk, where she pulled out…his duffel.
She held it by her thigh, the ratty canvas incongruous with her pretty dress.
“What the hell?” He looked from the duffel to Mallory’s smile.
“The funding came through for the Etruscan site today. Toney and Jacob ar
e already on-site. So all you have to do is get through this and we can leave right after.” She dangled the duffel in front of him.
Excitement surged. Freedom beckoned. He could damn near taste the ocean air. “I don’t need to get funding?”
“No.”
“So why do we have to go here?” He motioned to the building behind him.
She leaned close, chin tilted up, eyes glittering, lips shining with a layer of gloss he was determined to kiss off. “Your moment of glory, Adrian. Just a few hours, soak it in, and we’ll be on our way.”
He slipped his hand around her bare back. Her eyes darkened, her breathing deepened. He didn’t deserve her, this woman who knew him so well, who loved him so much. He’d do everything in his power to make sure he was worthy.
“We can go back to the hotel after this, for a few minutes?”
She looked up at him through her lashes, chiding, but her mouth curved. “We have a plane to catch. A man shouldn’t have everything he wants, isn’t that what you said?”
But as he followed her up the steps, he knew he already had it.
About the Author
MJ Fredrick knows about chasing dreams. Twelve years after she completed her first novel, she signed her first writing contract. Now she divides her days between teaching 4th grade students how to write and diving into her own writing, traveling everywhere in her mind, from Belize to Honduras to Africa to the past.
To learn more about MJ Fredrick, please visit www.mjfredrick.com. Send an email to MJ at [email protected] join her Yahoo! group to join in the fun with other readers as well as MJ http://groups.yahoo.com/group/mjfredrick.
Look for these titles by MJ Fredrick
Now Available:
Hot Shot
Beneath the Surface
There are worse things than facing your greatest fear.
Facing It
© 2009 Linda Winfree
A Hearts of the South Story.
Mired in a brutal marriage for far too long, Ruthie Chason takes her courage and her children in hand to flee the trap that has become her life. Yet she's no fool. She knows he'll come after her once he discovers she possesses criminal evidence that will put him away for good—and seal her deadly fate if he ever catches up with her.
Sheriff's Deputy Chris Parker offers emotional refuge, a safe place to begin to reclaim her life…if she can let herself trust the strong, quiet cop that far.
Chris surprises himself when he agrees to act as guardian for Ruthie and her children. He does it as a favor, then finds something about her calm strength soothes his battered soul. Now if only he can silence the demons from his past that make him cautious of falling too fast for any woman.
Their need explodes into a heart-stopping night of passion that exposes their deepest vulnerabilities. But just as they begin to explore how healing love can be, violence tracks them down. And backs them into a desperate corner…
Warning: Contains a to-die-for deputy with secrets in his past, a woman ripe for the love of a good man, and a controlling husband bent on revenge. Deep emotion, passionate lovemaking and violent mayhem to ensue.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Facing It:
“You said we needed to talk. Of course, I also promised to kiss you senseless once I had you completely alone, and this is the first chance I’ve had to do that. So what comes first?” She set the plates she carried on the counter and turned to take the glass casserole from him. He stared at her, his eyes blazing with a sudden fire. Her stomach lifted and turned over, a deep fluttering kicking off lower with a series of tiny, stinging aches.
His Adam’s apple bobbed with a swallow. “Having you kiss me senseless sounds pretty damn good right now.”
The serving dish hit the countertop with a dull thud. She reached for him first. Arms around his neck, she leaned up and kissed him. With a smothered groan, he wrapped her close and plundered her mouth. She met the ferocity of his possession with an intensity of her own, holding his face and sucking his tongue between her lips.
“God, Ruthie.” He backed her into the counter, fumbling at the tiny buttons on her blouse. She went for the hem of his cotton polo and tugged it free of his jeans before rubbing her hands up the sleek warmth of his waist and rib cage. He growled in pleasure and kissed her again, giving up on her buttons and shoving the fabric out of his way instead.
Lost in the heated wonder of his mouth, she arched into him, bare midriff brushing against his stomach. The contact sent sharp desire piercing through her, weakening her legs and filling her with fierce triumph. Stephen had not stolen the ability to need and desire from her. She wanted this, wanted Chris.
He stroked his thumbs across the lower edge of her sternum and sensation danced out from the caress. She loved the hot, rough touch of his skin on hers. Nipping lightly at his bottom lip, she scraped her nails along his waistband, just below the small of his back. His knees dipped, his pelvis bumping hers, almost as though his legs had buckled.
“Jiminy Cricket.” The rumble of his choked laughter shivered against her mouth. He brushed his palms back and forth over her waist.
She trailed her fingertips across the light stubble on his jaw. “Take me to bed.”
“Hell.” His breath rushed out on a shocked exhale and his lashes fell. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” She ran her thumb across his lower lip. Leaning closer, she tilted into him and let her tongue take the same path her thumb had. The pale blue of his eyes darkened, grew hot and stormy. “I want you, Chris.”
“I don’t want to rush this, don’t want to mess us up. This isn’t why I invited you here—”
She stopped the words with a fingertip atop his lips. “Nothing you could do would mess us up. Do you not get how important you’re becoming to me?”
“Ruthie.” The warmth of his mouth moved against her skin. “There’s—”
“Time for that later.” She dropped her hand and leaned in to feather her lips over his. “I need you.”
For a long moment, he stared at her before he stepped back, took her hand and led her down the hall. In the dimness of his bedroom, she stood before him, her desire for him making her bold. Holding his gaze, she lifted her hands to unbutton her blouse. Finally, she shrugged free of the thin garment and he wrapped a warm palm around her nape, pulling her in for another of those passion-drugging kisses.
She fisted the hem of his shirt and dragged it upward, over his head. Deeply golden filtered sunlight fell on his torso, highlighting his tightly muscled chest and abdomen. Her mouth dry, she let her hands drift over his shoulders, across firm pectorals, down his arms, to his hands. A long, thin line of puckered flesh ran from shoulder to elbow. He flinched when she brushed it, and she moved her hand quickly to his chest. With scrupulous care, she avoided the scar there, a pale, flat mark at his ribs.
A shaky laugh erupted from his mouth and he buried his face against her hair. His hold at her hips tightened, his fingers seeming to tremble. “Shit, this is a bad idea. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, don’t know how to—”
“Chris, stop. It’s all right.” She whispered the words near his ear. She folded her arms about him and held him closer. With her palms flat on his back, she discovered yet another mark on his shoulder blade, a jagged twin to the one on his arm. She rubbed her cheek against his neck. “Just hold me a moment.”
He embraced her, too tightly but somehow just right at the same time. The thin lace of her bra did little to deflect the heat of his skin on her own. She curled into him and scattered tiny kisses along his throat, over his shoulder, all the while playing her hands over his back. Desire with all the burn of fine, smooth whiskey poured through her.
He exhaled hard, stirring her hair. “She ruined me.”
Hatred for the unknown woman blazed to life, strong and virulent. Ruthie tamped it away and leaned back to meet his troubled eyes, brimming with mingled despair and desire. “I don’t believe that.”
“I don’t want to b
e this way with you, awkward and damn near afraid.”
“Stop thinking so much. Just…touch me.” Taking his wrists, she lifted his hands to her body, molding his palms around the curves of her breasts. Still holding his forearms in a light grasp, she trailed her fingers over the backs of his hands as he shaped and caressed her. Her head fell back and her hair tumbled free from her already messy knot. “Oh yes, like that.”
The pads of his thumbs flicked over the lace covering her hardening nipples. Bending his head, he took one into his mouth, teeth grating and tugging through the thin fabric. Need arrowed from the point of intense contact to the throbbing between her thighs.
“I want to go slow, make this so good for you,” he murmured. “But it’s been a long time, sweetheart, and I don’t know if I can.”
“Maybe I don’t want slow. Maybe I just want you—”
The words died under his mouth and he lifted her against him, before spinning to lay her across the bed and follow her down, his hips between her thighs. “My God, Ruthie, you make me crazy.”
“Good.” She wiggled against him, her skirt riding high. Denim scratched the tender inside of her thighs. She ran teasing hands down his spine, dipping beneath his jeans to cup his buttocks and pull him into her. Lord, when was the last time she’d felt like this, free and confident, secure in the knowledge a man wanted her? “What are you going to do about it?”
A sound that was half-chuckle, half-growl escaped him and he lowered his head to her breasts once more. “Is that a challenge?”
She slid her hands around to his fly, making short work of the button and zipper. He hissed a curse when she encircled him, stroking and teasing. “It could be.”
He makes the rules. She breaks them. This battle of wills just crossed the line…to deadly.
I’d Rather Be in Paris
© 2009 Misty Evans
Super Agent Series, Book 2
Beneath the Surface Page 25