I trail off into silence, suddenly miserable with the strain of this moment, with everything so raw and aching between us, with so much left to be said.
“Well,” he murmurs after a moment. “the FBI thinks you’re dead, too. I mean, the Dragonfly. Case closed. You’re free now. You can go anywhere, do anything you want.”
He swallows hard, so clearly struggling. I’m forced to bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood so I don’t run to him and fling my arms around his shoulders.
With his heart in his eyes and a rasp of hope in his voice, Ryan asks very softly, “What do you want?”
I break then. All my careful control, all my pretense of calm, it all falls away with a shudder. “The same thing I’ve wanted since I saw the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen dazzling the crowd at a pool in St. Croix. You, cowboy. I want you.”
We move at the same moment, arms reaching out for each other, and meet in the center of the room in a hard, breathless embrace. His arms tighten around me, and he’s shaking just as hard as I am. My name on his lips is a prayer, his voice ardent and sweet and so full of love, it splits me wide open. I kiss him, and it feels like homecoming, his unshaven jaw rough in my hands, a thrum of pleasure and happiness like wildfire burning through me.
“Why did you wait so long?” he says hoarsely. “Angel, why did you wait so long to let me know you were alive?”
When I look up at him, his cheeks are wet.
I kiss his face, his soft lips, his closed eyelids. “You needed time to miss me. Did you?”
As I hoped he would, he laughs, a sound that makes my heart leap with joy. He hugs me so tight, I think my ribs might be crushed, but I don’t care.
“I’m not capable of witty repartee right now, so I’ll just say yes.”
I wrap my arms around his waist and nuzzle my face into his neck, breathing him in, feeling like I’ve been living under a thundercloud for a thousand years and the sky has just opened up and bathed me in rays of golden sunlight. “That isn’t the real reason,” I whisper.
He’s serious again in a heartbeat, his smile gone and his brows drawn together.
“I…I did go a little crazy, after I found out about Reynard,” I say haltingly. “I didn’t believe in anything for a while, not hope or trust or love. I didn’t even recognize my own face in the mirror. I thought I might be ruined, or that maybe I was cursed because of the diamond, but then…”
Ryan takes my face in his hands, searching my eyes. “But then what?”
“But then I got proof that I wasn’t.”
He slowly shakes his head. “I don’t understand.”
I draw away from him and go to the bathroom. I return holding a little white stick that shakes in my outstretched hand.
Ryan takes it, looks at it, at the little window on the front, and sinks to his knees on the floor. I crouch down beside him, wind my arms around his shoulders, and close my eyes.
Against my neck, he whispers, “There’s a blue line on this pregnancy test.”
“Yes,” I say, my eyes filling with water. “There’s a very blue line.”
Blue as a dragonfly’s wings, that line.
Blue as my lover’s eyes.
Epilogue
“We’re going to be late,” Mariana says, sifting her fingers through my hair.
“So we’ll be late. I’m busy, woman. And be quiet! With all your yammerin’, I can’t hear the bean.”
Her laugh makes my head bounce. We’re in bed, naked, and I’ve got my ear pressed against the gentle swell of her belly. It’s my new favorite activity, second only to having my lips pressed here. I do a lot of talking to this growing belly, and singing at it, too, so much so that I think Mariana is more tired of having a grown man clinging twenty-four seven to her stomach than of the nausea she’s dealing with about as much of the time.
“Maybe the bean is sleeping. Did you ever think of that? Maybe you’re giving the poor child insomnia with your constant harassment.”
I lift my head and look at my woman, sleepy-eyed against the pillow, her hair mussed and her skin glowing, and try to send her an appropriately outraged glare. I end up smiling instead. My pretend outrage is no match for her beauty.
“Harassment? No. This is called communication.”
“It’s a little one-sided to be accurately described as communication, honey. It’s more like an extended monologue. Very extended.”
The wry twist to her lips makes me chuckle. “Okay,” I say, moving up the bed. “I’ll give the bean a break. For now.”
I kiss Mariana softly, prop my head on one hand, and flatten the other over her bump. It’s not too big yet—she’s only four months along—but it’s irresistible to me. Along with all the other parts of her gorgeous body.
I had no idea pregnant women could be so damn sexy. I never looked at them that way before. It’s probably the fact that she’s pregnant with my child that’s bringing out the beast in me, but I swear my knocked-up woman is the most erotic thing I’ve seen in my life. If it were up to me and my perma boner, we’d spend every minute of the day naked in bed.
Unfortunately, it’s not up to me, which Mariana proves by pronouncing, “Go start the shower. We need to get ready!” and giving me a little shove in the chest.
“Bossy,” I grumble.
She smiles sweetly at me, batting her lashes like a debutante. “Which you love, so stop your fake complaining.”
I nuzzle her neck, running my palm up her rib cage until I find the soft fullness of a breast. “I do love it,” I murmur, swiping my thumb over her nipple. “I love it all.”
“Stop trying to distract me. It’s not going to work.”
“It’s already working,” I say, chuckling darkly as she shivers and arches into my hand. I lower my head and suck her hard nipple into my mouth.
“Dinner,” she reminds me, but her voice is breathy and she’s twining her legs between mine. I use a hint of teeth on her nipple, chuckling again when her fingernails dig into my chest.
“We’re already late.” I lift my head and capture her mouth in a long, sweet kiss.
Mariana breaks away reluctantly. “Kai’s making his special schnitzel! He’s so excited about it, I don’t want to be rude!”
“Schnitzel for Thanksgiving dinner.” I shake my head. “It’s un-American.”
Mariana rolls her eyes. “There’s going to be turkey, too. And apple pie, because I told him you’d throw yourself on the floor and have a tantrum if you didn’t have a ‘proper’ Thanksgiving meal.”
“Really?” I brighten at this news, but then grow suspicious. “What about stuffing? Cranberry sauce? Green-bean casserole? Those poufy white dinner rolls? I bet he doesn’t do the rolls. He seems like one of those weird, multigrain, no-yeast, gluten-free, non-GMO bread stick kind of guys.”
Closing her eyes, Mariana sighs. “And I’m having a child with this man,” she mutters.
“Yes, you are, you lucky girl!” I say, grinning like mad. Then I kiss her all over her face until she’s helplessly laughing.
She pushes me away, still laughing, and rises from the bed. She shakes her hair out, tossing it over her shoulders so it cascades in a dark wave down her back. I look on, feeling like I might burst with the happiness pounding inside me.
“I know you’re staring at my ass, cowboy,” she says as she walks, hips swaying, into the bathroom. “I can feel it tingling.”
“Oh, I’ll give you a tingle.” I throw off the covers and leap out of bed, running after her.
* * *
By the time Darcy opens her front door, we’re an hour late to Thanksgiving dinner, but I’m feeling so self-satisfied with how loudly I made my woman scream in the shower, not even an asteroid plummeting toward earth could put a dent in my cheer.
“We thought you mighta got lost!” Darcy says crossly, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. When she glimpses my shit-eating grin, however, she starts to smile.
“Oh. I see how it is.” She shakes her head, pulling Mariana into a hug, and gives her a motherly pat her on the back. “It’s a wonder you can still walk at all, girlfriend.”
The color is high in Mariana’s cheeks when they break apart. She sends me a sour glance, but I can tell she’s trying not to smile. “When I can’t, he carries me.”
“Lawd,” Darcy says, fanning herself. She eyes my crotch, and I have to laugh.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Darcy.” I give her a hug, then hold out the bottle of wine I picked out for the occasion. “I hope this goes okay with schnitzel. And may I say, you look especially beautiful today.”
She’s in a flowing gown with a zigzag pattern of yellow, red, and hot-pink stripes that I’m certain will give me a seizure if I stare at it too long. So I look at her turban, instead, a white pouf of silk wrapped around her head featuring a big, glittering fake ruby pinned into the center of a spray of peacock feathers.
“Aw, that’s so sweet! C’mon in, everybody’s waiting on you.”
She waves us inside and closes the door behind us. It’s the first time we’ve been to Darcy and Kai’s place, a bright, airy loft in a funky neighborhood in SoHo, and their taste is reflected in every eclectic, colorful piece of furniture and artwork. I admire an interesting bronze sculpture on a pedestal in the entryway, which Darcy informs me was crafted by Kai himself.