Think About Love (32 page)

"Ah, Sam—" He lowered her to the bed. "I'd better confess."

"What?"

"Paris is a setup."

"What do you mean?"

He sat beside her and took her hand with his. She pulled it to her breast.

"The job in Paris is a friend of mine. I thought if I could get you to Paris, if you walked in and it was me, not some stranger who'd sent for a miracle worker—I gave you two months, Sam. I told myself I'd wait three, but it was too damned long."

"I should have known." She placed his hand where he could feel her heart beating. "I've watched you for a year and a half. When you want something, you don't give up. I'm going to have my hands full with you, aren't I?"

"Probably." He slid his hand under the edge of her camisole; brushed her breast with a touch so light she couldn't stop herself arching to him for more. "But you know how to handle me."

"Yes, I do," she agreed, "but I want more than the eighteen years we signed for. I want our children and I want—"

"Everything," he promised. "We'll tear up that contract, get married again in a church, the way it should have been, until death do us part. We'll have children together, and Kippy, if Dorothy needs us."

"Yes." She held him tight and stopped trying to hold the tears back. "Yes, please."

"Darling, do you have any idea how glad I am that you came tonight? Have I told you how much I love you?"

"Oh, Cal, I love you so. It fills me, and I—please, darling, stop talking and start loving me. I've ached for you inside me."

"You'll have me," he promised. "Forever."

Then he covered her lips with his, and together they loved.

The End

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from Vanessa Grant's

If You Loved Me

Excerpt from

If You Loved Me

by

Vanessa Grant

Dedication

Thanks to Ann, Lynn, and Dr. Bill

for answering all those medical questions

Prologue

He left her alone in the car, ten miles outside town with darkness all around. She was seventeen years old and it was the first time in her life she'd ever been alone, no walls around her and not a building in sight.

"There's a light up there," he said. "A house. I'll phone for help."

After he'd gone, Emma sat in the car and shivered. She wished she had insisted on going with him, but he'd been so impatient.

"You think your dad will kill you for being late?" he'd asked. "Mine's going to flip when he learns I've blown up the damned car."

After he left, she realized how lonely it was out here. She fought off fantasies of all the things that could happen to a girl alone in a car.

She wished she could turn on the lights, but Paul had warned her not to, muttering that he didn't need a dead battery on top of everything else. So she sat in the dark, feeling the way she had when she'd been lying alone in a hospital bed the night before surgery. When she heard a sound from outside, she rummaged in her purse for her glasses, and then put them on so she could see the shadows better.

She was reciting a long soliloquy from Shakespeare when she saw car lights up ahead—maybe someone going to the dance she and Paul had left half an hour ago. Or maybe Paul, returning with help. Or—

The headlights swung away into the trees as the car crossed to her side of the road, spreading a halo of light. Wheels crunched on the gravel road, then the driver's door opened.

A man got out. A big man.
 

Someone else got out the passenger side of the car and Emma rolled down the window a couple of inches.

"Paul? Is that you?"

"Stay in the car, Emma."

It
was
Paul. She let out a sigh of relief.

"In the trunk," said the stranger, his voice was deep and gravelly. "I'll get them."

Emma pushed open the door and stumbled out onto the gravel shoulder. She couldn't see the man with Paul, just his shape standing in front of the headlights, all glare and shadows and broad shoulders.

"Why don't you get into my car and stay warm?" the stranger said. "My heater's on."

"I have to get home." She hugged herself as a breeze penetrated her thin dress. "I'm already late."

"For Pete's sake, Emma!" Paul's long shadow swam out of the darkness. "What the hell do you expect me to do? The car's trashed. You'll get home when you get there."

"I'll get tools," the stranger said.
 

She followed his shadow with her eyes until it disappeared behind the other car. A trunk opened, then closed. Shadows shifted around the two cars. Emma hugged herself tighter and wondered why she hadn't had the sense to bring a jacket.

The stranger lifted Paul's hood. From their conversation, she decided he knew about engines.

"So that's that," Paul said in a truculent voice.

She cleared her throat. "If I'm late, my dad's likely to call the police."

"Emma, give it a rest!"

"I could give you a ride," said the stranger.

As she pushed her long hair behind one ear, the light from his headlights in her eyes.

The stranger said, "I'll leave the tools and the work light with you, Paul, then drop your girlfriend off and come back. I'll pick up some oil while I'm gone."

Emma was swallowed by sensation, as if she were already alone in a car with the stranger. Being alone with Paul had never felt intimate. Exciting, yes, because it was new having a boyfriend when she was seventeen and had only recently been permitted to date. But this, the thought of a car surrounding two people and shutting out the world, looking across the length of the front seat and finding him staring back at her...

She didn't even know what he looked like, only his shape with the light behind, and his deep, take-charge voice.

"Let's go," he said. "I'm taking you home."

"Who are you?"

Paul made an impatient sound. "For God's sake, Emma! You wanted to go!"

"I'm Gray MacKenzie."

So this was Paul's best friend, the one who had spent the summer prospecting up north in Canada. She pushed her glasses up on her nose.
 

"I'm Emma Jennings."

"I know."

* * *

It was quiet inside his Chevy. She studied Gray's broad jaw, frowning mouth, and wavy brushed-back hair that looked as dark as the forest outside. As he drove, his heavy brows cast shadows where his eyes should be. He didn't speak until they arrived at the junction with the highway.

"Where do you live?"

"Oak Street." She twisted strands of her hair around one uneasy finger. "Across from Connaught School. I—thanks for driving me home."

He turned and looked at her. She stared back. From Paul, she knew Graham MacKenzie was in his second year at the community college, taking science courses for transfer to the University of Washington next year. She also knew he shared an apartment with a father who spent most of his time prospecting for gold up north.

You had to be determined to do what Graham MacKenzie had done. He'd won scholarships to pay his way through two years at the local college, was heading for university next year with nothing behind him but brains and determination—because according to Paul, Graham MacKenzie's father was perpetually broke.

When he broke their locked gazes and pulled his car out on the highway, she felt the shock of withdrawal.

"You're not what I expected," she announced in a husky voice.

"Has Paul been giving me bad press?"

"No."

When he laughed, she stole another look. Gray's shoulders made her feel crowded even though they weren't touching. She had only a hazy idea what prospecting might be like. Paul had talked as if it were a game, but hard muscles flexed in Gray's forearms as he turned the wheel to take a sharp corner.

"Paul's jealous of you."

He laughed as if he didn't believe her. "What time were you expected home?"

"Ten o'clock."

"Will you be in trouble?"

When she grimaced, it turned into a laugh that he shared. He threw her another one of those quick glances, assessing her in fast snapshots. When he looked away, she realized her heart was pounding uncomfortably.

"My dad's pretty strict. He worries."

"Dr. Jennings?"

"You know Dad?"

"I went to him for a broken leg last year."

He kept glancing at her and she wanted to take her glasses off, but was afraid he'd realize she wanted him to think she looked pretty.

"We had a difference of opinion," said Gray.

"Over your leg?"

"Yeah."

"How did you break it? Is it okay now?"

"Just fine. Why does your father worry about you?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "I'm trying for scholarships this year. He's strict about my getting home early."

"What are you planning to study?"

"Medicine. I'm going to be a doctor." She pushed her hair back again and shoved her glasses up. She felt fiercely self-conscious. "I don't usually tell people."

If he stopped now they would be in the middle of nowhere. If he turned to her and pulled her close and pressed his mouth to hers, would his lips be cool the way they looked, or hot like the flush she felt on her cheeks?

She pressed her palm against the side of her face and bit her lip hard. Thank heaven he couldn't know her thoughts. There was no way he could know she felt naked in the silence between them. She could feel the purr of his car engine in her veins. She stared at the trees whipping past outside, then closed her eyes and saw the breadth of his shoulders, felt the way his size made her feel restless and uncomfortable. She thought of the heated lovemaking in the pages of the romance novel beside her bed at home and her body flushed.

Of course he wouldn't touch her. Why was she even thinking it?

"Why don't you tell people you want to be a doctor?"

"My father says I'm too weak."

"Are you?"

"No!"

"I believe you."
 

The unexpected gentleness of his voice startled her.

"I was sick when I was younger." She didn't want him to think of her as sick, but couldn't seem to stop herself telling him. "I had this thing—my leg. I was on crutches for a long time. Then I had operations."

"Does this thing have a name?"
 

She smiled shyly toward him. "Legg-Calve-Perthes disease. I'm fine now."

She'd been in and out of hospitals; twice to Seattle for surgery. All that was in the past. The only thing left was the slight limp if she let herself get tired, but her father watched her like a hawk.

"I want to help children who can't walk properly." She clenched her hands together in her lap. "I'll take a science degree at the University of Washington. Then, if my dad won't help me go on to the University's School of Medicine, I'll find a way on my own."

"If you want something enough, there's always a way."

"I hope you're right."