by Kay Hooper
Mitch had totally forgotten that the initial point of this had been to remove the taint of West’s voyeuristic observance of their earlier lovemaking. As always, his desire for her had swamped every rational thought, carrying him along on a tide so devastating he half expected it to kill him. Her body clasped his with soft heat and slick tightness in a caress he would have happily died for, and she was moving with him, taking him so completely that they seemed a single being, striving together in a blinding white silence until the light splintered and the silence was filled with raw sounds of stark ecstasy.
—
His first coherent thought was that the damned chaise was so narrow he couldn’t lie beside her and he didn’t think he could bear to leave her completely. Forcing his drained muscles to support him, he eased himself up on his elbows and looked down at her. Her lovely face was rosy, and a sleepy half smile was on her lips. He kissed her tenderly, and soft purple eyes opened to gaze seriously into his.
“I’ve wanted to say it for days now, but I couldn’t—until it was finished with him. That chapter did have to be ended. I had to stop running.” Her voice was grave.
“I know.”
Her smile changed, became so tender it almost stopped his heart. “I didn’t think I’d ever be whole again. Then I opened the door and saw you there…and I began to realize that something inside me had waited for you. I love you, Mitch. I think I’ve loved you all my life.”
He felt his throat close up even as some deeper part of him went suddenly still. So long…He’d waited so long to hear the words. And it was like being freed from a prison, watching the gate open and seeing before him a wonderful freedom. For the first time, he truly understood what love meant.
Holding a hand, not chaining a soul.
“I love you too, baby. God, I love you so much.”
“Forever?” she whispered.
Whatever fate had in store for them, he knew nothing would alter that. “Forever.”
—
She insisted that he soak in a hot bath that night, pointing out that his day had been more than usually active, then displayed an unexpected talent by giving him a massage that left him in a condition best described as boneless. He found the strength to hold her when she climbed into bed beside him.
And for the first time in more than a year, he slept through the night without stirring.
Chapter 9
“Mitch?” Kelly returned to the den after answering the front-door bell, a slight frown between her brows. She was carrying a large manila envelope from which she’d extracted a sheaf of papers, and a smaller, legal-sized envelope.
“What’s up?” He rose from rebuilding the fire and joined her as she sat down on the couch.
Nearly a week had passed since the shooting, and they’d made several trips into Portland for explanations and depositions and the like. The newspapers had finally relegated to back pages their follow-ups to the story. The police and district attorney had closed the case. This was the first peaceful day Kelly and Mitch had had together since then, and their morning had been interrupted by a Federal Express delivery.
“It’s from my attorney in Baltimore,” she murmured, still frowning as she read the cover letter. “He sent all the realtor’s paperwork on the house. He isn’t happy that he had to find out I was living here in the house from the realtor.”
“Why should that worry him?” Mitch asked curiously.
“That’s what I’m trying to— Oh. Oh, I see. He’s been holding a letter that he was supposed to send to me as soon as I was in residence here. It was given to him the same time as—” Her eyes widened as she finished reading her lawyer’s letter. Setting that and the other papers aside, she looked at the sealed legal-sized envelope that had been sent along, then lifted her gaze to Mitch.
“It’s from your father.”
“What?”
Kelly shrugged. “Maybe now we’ll find out why he left me the house.”
“I am curious about that,” Mitch admitted, watching as she pried open the flap of the envelope. He saw her pull a slightly smaller envelope out, but didn’t notice anything odd about it until she held it up for him to see.
On the front, written in a bold, rather heavy hand, were the names Kelly Russell and John Mitchell.
“Maybe you should open it,” she murmured, handing him the envelope.
Mitch nodded and did so, more than a little puzzled. He recognized his father’s handwriting, and automatically noted the date at the top of the first page of the letter; this had been written a month before Hugh Mitchell’s death.
“ ‘Dear Kelly and John—’ ” Mitch broke off abruptly, adding almost to himself, “He’s the only one who called me John.”
Kelly half turned to watch his face, hoping with everything inside her that this letter wouldn’t be something that would hurt Mitch. “If you want to read it to yourself,” she began, but he shook his head with a quick smile.
“It’s addressed to both of us.”
She nodded and waited silently.
Mitch cleared his throat and continued reading aloud. “ ‘I don’t ask your forgiveness; I’m told some things are meant to be, and that if my actions had been different, the end would still be the same. Perhaps I need to believe that, whether or not it’s true. But I do want to tell you both I’m sorry my attitude made it harder for you.
“ ‘By now, John, I’m sure you’ve come to understand what a complex emotion love is. I wish I had understood sooner. I hope you learned something from my mistakes, and choose not to repeat them. Saying that you love is easy, but living up to those simple words is the most difficult thing you’ll ever do. And the finest. I failed in that, but I believe you won’t. Just remember that to love and be loved is the most important thing in life.’ ”
Mitch drew a deep breath. “ ‘Kelly, I’m sorry we never met. Whatever you may believe, I never hated you. I was afraid of losing John as I lost his mother, never realizing until too late that I had driven them both away with my possessiveness. I hope you can understand, and believe there was no malice in my objection to your marriage.
“ ‘As I write this letter, you, John, are still in a coma, and Kelly is struggling to go on with her life. The doctors tell me there’s no hope my son will ever recover, and my attorneys are aghast at the instructions I have demanded they follow. I wonder myself if I have allowed false hope to ease the guilt and despair I’ve felt for so long. But I’m a hard-headed businessman, John, you know that, and hardly prone to believe in fantasies.
“ ‘Is this a fantasy, that you’re reading my words? No. You are reading them. You and Kelly, together, in the house where you spent so many happy summers. It isn’t summer there now, is it? Late winter, perhaps, or early spring. And the two of you have found each other again, despite fate.
“ ‘Or…because of fate. Some things are planned, I’m told, and I believe that. Some people are meant to be together, and I believe that as well. Perhaps I need faith of some kind at this very late stage of my life, but I think it is rather that I at last understand the power of love.
“ ‘Be kind to each other.’ ”
Mitch refolded the letter carefully, then looked at Kelly. “I—don’t quite know what to make of that.”
“Neither do I.” She felt shaken on her own account, and was conscious of a deep compassion for Hugh Mitchell. “Did you notice that twice he used the phrase ‘I’m told’ as if…”
“As if someone were standing there explaining to him how you and I would be together,” Mitch agreed slowly. “Maybe that’s why he left you this house, so that I could find you.”
“But how could he be so certain you’d come out of the coma? The doctors weren’t giving him any hope—he said that. But he knew. He knew you’d be all right, that we’d be here. He arranged to have this sent as soon as I was living here, and I’ve been in the house only a couple of weeks; how did he know I wouldn’t live here years ago, long before you came? And it is late w
inter, and we read his letter…”
Mitch slipped an arm around her and held her close. “I don’t know, sweetheart. But, as he said, he wasn’t a man to believe in fantasy, I do know that; he wasn’t an irrational or sentimental man. He would have believed the doctors—unless someone else convinced him they were wrong. Apparently, someone did.”
“Who? A priest? What he said about some things being meant to be—”
“No, he wasn’t religious. At least not that I remember. I don’t know, Kelly. I just don’t know.”
She didn’t know either. But she felt better now about Mitch’s father, and she was glad he’d written the letter—whatever his beliefs had been. Mitch had been robbed of the chance to say good-bye to his father, to put things right between them, and the letter had helped ease that pain.
—
After all her protests that what they’d had together was in the past, and Mitch’s insistence that the future was theirs, it was perhaps ironic that he now seemed content with the present. He told her often that he loved her, and she certainly had no doubts that he desired her physically; she felt so loved, in fact, that it occurred to her only gradually that Mitch was avoiding any mention of their future.
After thinking it over carefully, Kelly thought she understood the reason for his silence. And rather than let the situation go on, she chose to confront it obliquely.
“I’m not pregnant, you know.”
It was late morning, and they’d gone out into the garden for a walk after breakfast. At her abrupt but conversational statement, Mitch stopped and stared at her. She wasn’t at all surprised to see a flash of disappointment that was quickly veiled by lowered lashes.
“You aren’t?” he said.
“No. I found out this morning. That was why I was already fixing breakfast when you woke up. Cramps woke me, and since I had to get up anyway, I just stayed up. So, since we’ve been lucky this far, we’d better do something about birth control.”
Mitch cleared his throat. “Do you want to take care of it, or should I?”
“I think I’d better. I have a feeling you’d forget.” She stared up at him solemnly.
“Well, you do drive rational thoughts out of my head,” he admitted.
“The first couple of days, maybe.” Her tone was very gentle. “But after that, you were trying to get your own way.”
“Kelly—”
“Of course, I should have realized sooner. And I should have brought up the subject before now.”
“Why didn’t you?” he asked, suddenly curious.
“Because I wanted a baby,” she said baldly, and then, before he could say a word, added, “But I realized that I certainly didn’t want to trap a man into marrying me, even if that was what he had in mind.”
Mitch had the grace to look sheepish, but said, “I was trying not to push, dammit.”
“And had your fingers crossed that I’d get pregnant?”
“Well…” He stared down at her with restless eyes.
She smiled suddenly. “Mitch, I do want a baby. But I think we deserve a little time alone together first, don’t you?”
He sighed. “Yes.”
“And,” she said thoughtfully, “we should probably get married before we start a family.”
Mitch went very still. Finally his voice emerged, but it was flat with restraint. “I suppose I could move control of the company to the West Coast. Executive control, anyway. Leave the nuts and bolts back in Baltimore, at least for the time being.”
She nodded. “That sounds feasible. And since I can work practically anywhere, I think here’s a good place.”
He cleared his throat, but his voice showed signs of strain when he said, “You haven’t been wearing that ring, even on a chain. I was beginning to get worried.”
Kelly slid her arms around his lean waist and gazed up at him seriously. “The man who gave me that ring never really asked me to wear it. That didn’t matter then, but I think it does now. I think that now he wants a partner. Not a possession.”
“A partner,” Mitch agreed huskily as his arms lifted to encircle her. “And so much more. A lover. A friend. The little girl I read stories to and taught to hit a curve ball. The teenager who wobbled in high heels and put too much spray in her beautiful hair. The woman who’s taught me so much about love, and about myself.” He drew a deep breath. “I love you, Kelly. I love you so much. Will you marry me?”
“Yes.” She lifted her face for his kiss, her violet eyes glowing with happiness. “I love you, Mitch. And I’ve been waiting all my life to marry you.”
Epilogue
The old man with wise dark eyes in his benign face chuckled softly as he closed the file and laid it aside on his big desk. His elegant hands drew forward another unmarked folder, and he began studying the contents.
In the yellow glow of the lamp his white-bearded face was serious, but lurking in the depths of his discerning eyes was a gleam of undiminished delight.
“You’re plotting,” she said in the tone of one who knew him well.
“Naturally, my love.” His voice was deep and rich, the glance he sent toward her chair a playful one.
“Should I pack?”
He studied the file a moment longer. “Yes. Yes, I believe you should.”
BY KAY HOOPER
The Bishop Trilogies
Stealing Shadows
Hiding in the Shadows
Out of the Shadows
Touching Evil
Whisper of Evil
Sense of Evil
Hunting Fear
Chill of Fear
Sleeping with Fear
Blood Dreams
Blood Sins
Blood Ties
The Quinn Novels
Once a Thief
Always a Thief
Romantic Suspense
The Haunting of Josie
Amanda
After Caroline
Finding Laura
Haunting Rachel
Classic Fantasy and Romance
On Wings of Magic
C.J.’s Fate
Something Different
Pepper’s Way
If There Be Dragons
Illegal Possession
Rebel Waltz
Larger than Life
Time after Time
In Serena’s Web
Raven on the Wing
Rafferty’s Wife
Zach’s Law
The Fall of Lucas Kendrick
Unmasking Kelsey
Outlaw Derek
Shades of Gray
Captain’s Paradise
It Takes a Thief
Aces High
Golden Threads
The Glass Shoe
What Dreams May Come
The Wizard of Seattle
The Delaney Christmas Carol
PHOTO: © SIGRID ESTRADA
KAY HOOPER is the award-winning author of Sleeping with Fear, Hunting Fear, Chill of Fear, Touching Evil, Whisper of Evil, Sense of Evil, Once a Thief, Always a Thief, the Shadows trilogy, and other novels. She lives in North Carolina, where she is at work on her next book.
Kayhooper.com
Facebook.com/BishopPage
Read on for an excerpt from
Through the Looking Glass
by Kay Hooper
Available from Loveswept
Prologue
“Am I disturbing you, child?” The lovely feminine voice that issued from the telephone receiver held an abstracted tone, but it couldn’t obscure the more resonant notes of a strong and forceful personality. Her voice had a mysterious quality that Maggie had never been able to put her finger on.
“No, Aunt Julia. I’m alone.” Aunt Julia never wanted to intrude on Maggie’s personal life and never asked probing questions, but seemed to take it for granted that her infrequent calls probably interrupted athletic bouts of youthful sex. Especially since she tended to call very late at night.
Maggie pushed herself up on an elbow
and rubbed her eyes blearily before peering at her bedside clock. Par for the course: It was two A.M.
“Alone? At your age? Really, Maggie, you—well, never mind. It’s your own business, certainly, and with all the risks you young people have to contend with these days, I suppose you’re wise to be selective.”
Politely, Maggie said, “That is true. I just wish you’d get it through your head that I don’t have a line of hopeful lovers waiting outside my door. I told you when I was ten that I was going to wait for Mr. Right, and I haven’t changed my mind. Silly of me to be an idealist, I realize, but there it is.”
“You haven’t found him yet, I take it?”
“Hardly. There are a number of misters running around out there, but not one of them has been right for me. Did you call to check on the progress of my love life?”
“You know better. I’d never intrude.”
Maggie laughed softly. “Sure. You also never mind the time zones. It’s two A.M. here, Aunt Julia.”
“I’m sorry, child. But I’m afraid I have bad news.”
Sitting up in bed, Maggie said, “Not Uncle Cyrus?”
“Oh, no. It’s your cousin Merlin.”
Maggie remembered this particular cousin, though it had been years since she’d seen him. That was generally the case with her relatives. A large family and long-lived, they were spread out over the globe and rarely got together for clan gatherings. Which was, Maggie had privately decided, all to the good. To say that most of her relatives were peculiar was to understate the matter. They ranged from mildly eccentric to certifiably mad—though none was, to her knowledge, dangerous.