How To Pleasure A Playboy(34)

"Hey, Myrtle," he said to the turtle in the fish tank under the window.  "You want some lettuce?" He got her a piece from the fridge and watched  her nibble on it. When the turtle had finally emerged from her winter  hibernation, crawling out from the shallow mud at the bottom of her tank  like a zombie digging itself out of a grave, he'd got the surprise of  his life. Lacey had blinked at him, her forehead creased in a puzzled  frown.

"You seriously thought she was invisible?" Lacey had asked. He hadn't been able to stop laughing for long enough to answer.

"Okay, I'm ready." Her voice came from the bedroom door.

Bronson turned and smiled. Her blue dress complimented her figure  perfectly, and she'd pinned up her hair so its curls hung artfully  around her face. "Stunning," he said.

She blushed. "You don't look so bad yourself, Bobby Dazzler."

They drove to the site where the Baxter used to be and got out in front  of the new building. Bronson had spent so much time here as his crew  finished the construction, it felt like a second home. But as it took  shape, he'd asked Lacey to stay away. Now all the finishing touches had  been done. The floor was polished, the windows cleaned, and the shelves  filled. As casual as he was pretending to about showing it to her, he  watched her face carefully as they went in.

She drew in her breath, her expression lighting up. "Oh, Bronson. It's  stunning." She walked forward, into the large entrance well, three  floors high. The windows soared overhead, filling the entire building  with light.

He smiled at the wonder in her eyes. Exactly the reaction he'd been  hoping for. "Come on." He took her hand and led her up the big central  staircase. "There's something I want to show you."

"Wait. I want to see everything."

"Come and look at this first." He felt like a boy showing off his  favorite toy, but he couldn't wait to show her the surprise he'd  planned. His brother had designed the building, but Bronson had  specified everything with Lacey in mind. He'd asked himself what she  would like, and hoped he'd nailed it. The cute little dent in her cheek  would be his reward. If it appeared, he'd know he'd got it right.

"Where are you taking me?" She tugged at his hand, trying to get him to slow down.

"The political section."

"Oh." Her eyes widened. "Okay. Where is it?"

"Here." He led her through Computer Science, History, and Travel. They  stopped at the far wall of the building, where an enormous bookcase took  pride of place, filled with the same political books they had in their  own living room in the apartment in Darling Street.

She stopped, staring up at it. "It's the same," she said, reaching out  to touch one of the shelves. "Exactly the same. Isn't it?"

"A replica of the one your father made," he agreed. "Filled with the  same books. I managed to find copies of them all." He slipped his arm  around her waist. "Your dad wanted everyone to have the same advantages,  and he thought possessions should be shared. Now anyone can come in  here to read your dad's favorite books. He'd like that, don't you  think?"

"Oh, Bronson." She leaned against him. "I can't believe you thought of  doing this." Her voice cracked a little and she brought one hand to her  eyes.

"Don't cry." He kissed her forehead.

"Sorry. I can't help it." She took her glasses off to dab at her  glistening eyes in that careful way women had when they were being  careful not to mess their make up. "I think he would have loved it.  Thank you." She lifted her face to him, a wide smile breaking through  the tears. There it was, the dent in her cheek that he loved so much.  The sight felt like a long cold drink on a baking hot afternoon. When he  kissed her, he tasted salt on her lips, but she was laughing too.         

     



 

"We've got about half an hour before the official opening," he said. "I  want to show you the rest of the place while it's still just us, before  it's open to the crowds."

"I want to see everything."

Hand in hand, they made their way through the building, and by the time  they were done, the crowd was assembling outside. It was mostly  dignitaries and media, but Lacey's friends, Ally and Geena, were there,  along with Crystal and some of the other tenants from the Baxter. The  Mayor made a speech thanking Bronson, then handed him a pair of scissors  to cut the ornamental ribbon that ran across the front of the building.

Bronson took them and stepped up to the microphone. He made the speech  he'd prepared, about the importance of having public places available  where people could read, and study, and learn. He paid tribute to his  brother and his team of builders for the excellent job they'd done. Then  he took a breath. "Without Lacey, this building would never have been  built," he said. "It's dedicated to her late father, and was inspired by  the love of books he instilled in her. This is her day as much as mine,  so I'm handing the microphone over to her." He nodded to Lacey, who  stepped up, smiling. He knew she'd prepared a speech as well, but  instead of pulling her notes out of her purse, she spoke from the heart.

"I wish my father could have come to the opening of the Gary Gibson  Memorial Library. But knowing this library was being built made him very  happy in his final days." She glanced at Bronson, her eyes shining. "In  the last weeks before he died, my father finally found peace. His anger  disappeared, and he even gave Bronson and I his blessing. Anyone who  knew him would know how remarkable that was."

In the audience, he saw Crystal nodding, her new boyfriend by her side.  Bronson grinned. Lacey's father had made a point of warning him about  what would happen if Bronson failed to make Lacey happy. A warning that  had involved plenty of curse words and graphic descriptions of how  pieces of Bronson's anatomy would be dismembered, presumably by the old  man's ghost.

But those last few, lucid weeks had been a blessing. Lacey's father had  seemed a different man entirely. He and Lacey had gotten the chance to  heal old wounds, say all the things that were most important, and share  precious memories. Lacey had grieved when he'd finally slipped away, but  she'd been grateful to have had the father she'd remembered from her  childhood back, even for just a while.

And Bronson had been able to let the old man know that making his  daughter happy was something he intended to work at every day for the  rest of his life.

Lacey finished her speech, her eyes shining. She smiled at him with such  love his own heart was filled to the brim. He smiled back. Then he put  the scissors in her hands and folded his own hands over them so they  could cut the ribbon together.