I only look at him, wanting to believe.
“And has it really been that fast, Jamie?”
“We haven’t even dated,” I protest.
“I’m not the least bit interested in dating you. Dating suggests an exploration. A process of discovery. But I already know you, Jamie. I know you, and I want you. And I love you.”
He takes my hand, and for a moment all is right with the world. But then I glance across the bar, across the lobby. I see Bryan Raine arguing with a bellman, and my stomach twists as I am reminded what a mess I am.
Raine is the epitome of what I am running from—bad decisions.
But how the hell do I know if Ryan Hunter is a good decision or a bad one?
“I’m sorry,” I say as I tug my hand free. I want to say he is everything I have ever hoped for. I want to say that I love him.
Instead, I say, “I have to think. I’m sorry, Ryan. I have to go.”
Chapter Twelve
The highway stretches out in front of me, and I keep driving, thinking that if I can just get a little farther, maybe to that next mile marker, I will figure it out. But the highway always stays ahead of me, and there is always another mile marker, and I fear that I am thinking too hard.
What am I doing?
I know the answer, of course. I’m running.
What I can’t figure out is why.
I tell myself that I am right to leave him. Maybe not forever, but for a while. While I get my head together. While I stick with The Plan.
Because isn’t the point of The Plan to keep me from doing exactly what has happened with Ryan—to keep me from getting twisted up with a guy?
That’s true—except it’s not.
Because Ryan hasn’t twisted me up. If anything, he’s untangled me.
I reach into my pocket and close my hand around the lock as tears sting my eyes. What am I doing? Who in their right mind runs from love?
Because I do love him. More important, I know that he truly loves me.
I lift my foot off the accelerator, cringing a bit when I realize that I’ve pushed the Ferrari past one hundred. But she really is a sweet ride.
I slow, planning to turn the car around and head back, but something isn’t right.
Once again, the car is making an odd noise, although this time when I listen more closely, I realize that the thwump-thwump isn’t coming from the Ferrari, but from somewhere outside the car.
Frowning, I glance at the land off the shoulder. It is mostly dirt, but that dirt is billowing now, blowing and blustering, forming small dirt devils that spin and spin.
A shadow passes over. And I slam on the brakes as a sleek black helicopter with Stark International emblazoned on the side lands on the shoulder ahead of me.
I kill the engine and race out of the car. I don’t see him, not yet, but I don’t slow. I know he is there. I know he came for me.
And then there he is, jumping from the helicopter to the asphalt below. He ducks to avoid the wind that the still-spinning blades are kicking up, and when he is clear, he makes a twirling motion and the helicopter ascends once again.
I throw myself in his arms. “You came for me,” I say, my voice soft with wonder.
“I will always come for you.” He kisses me. A hard, deep kiss that claims me as his own, and that I feel profoundly all the way down to my toes.
Even after we break the kiss, I cling to him, wanting to reassure myself that he is real. “I was about to turn around and come back.” I tilt my head up at him. “I needed to get to you. To tell you. I love you, too, Ryan Hunter.”
His smile lights his eyes. “I know.”
“And I found the answer,” I add.
“Who is Jamie?”
I nod. “She’s yours,” I say, and though I expect his answering smile, his words come as a surprise.
“No,” he says. “She is her own. But I am the man who loves her.”
His words move me, and I pull him close and kiss him again.
“Do you still want me to take you to Texas?” he asks when we reach the car.
I shake my head. “I’m going to call Georgia. I’m not going to take the job.”
He has opened the passenger door for me, but now he pauses and takes my chin in his hand. “You’re sure?”
“It’s a great opportunity,” I say. “But only if I want to be in Texas. But I don’t want to be there. I want to be in Los Angeles. I want to be with you.”
I meet his eyes as I say it, and he looks back at me with so much love and tenderness I think my heart will burst.
“Ever since she made the offer,” I continue, “I’ve been looking at it as a way to get back into the LA market. Looking past the job itself and to the future. But you’re my future, Ryan. You’re what I want. And so long as I’m with you, I can wait for the right job to come along. I can—”
“Shhh,” he says, and then crushes his mouth to mine once again.
“Mmm,” I say. “I can get used to that.”
“Then we’ll have to be sure to mix things up, won’t we? Wouldn’t want life to become predictable.”
“No, we wouldn’t. You know,” I add, still thinking about the job. “Maybe I’ll suggest that I be their LA correspondent. I’m pretty kick ass, you know. They’d be lucky to have me.”
“They would,” he says. “I know I am.”
Across the highway there is a billboard advertising a Vegas wedding chapel. Ryan nods toward it, then gazes down at me. “I’m going to marry you someday,” he says softly. The words and his voice send shivers of anticipation through me. And not even the slightest bit of fear.
“Yes,” I say, “you are.” And despite the fact that ours has been such a whirlwind romance it makes my head spin, I know that it is true. “But not like that,” I say, nodding to the sign.
“No,” he agrees. “Our wedding will be an event. A party.”
“A celebration,” I say, and then kiss him again simply because I have to. “I hope Damien pays you well,” I add with a laugh. “Because I just spent the last few weeks doing all sorts of wedding planning with Nikki, and that means I have lots of ideas.”
His mouth quirks into a smile. “Whatever you want, Ms. Archer.”
“All I want is you.”
“That works out well, then, because you have me. For now, for always.”
I sigh and slide into his arms, feeling loved and safe and centered.
Behind us, the highway stretches on, but I don’t need it. I know exactly where I’m going.
“I’m going to make you very happy,” I say.
“Kitten,” he says. “You already do.”
“And has it really been that fast, Jamie?”
“We haven’t even dated,” I protest.
“I’m not the least bit interested in dating you. Dating suggests an exploration. A process of discovery. But I already know you, Jamie. I know you, and I want you. And I love you.”
He takes my hand, and for a moment all is right with the world. But then I glance across the bar, across the lobby. I see Bryan Raine arguing with a bellman, and my stomach twists as I am reminded what a mess I am.
Raine is the epitome of what I am running from—bad decisions.
But how the hell do I know if Ryan Hunter is a good decision or a bad one?
“I’m sorry,” I say as I tug my hand free. I want to say he is everything I have ever hoped for. I want to say that I love him.
Instead, I say, “I have to think. I’m sorry, Ryan. I have to go.”
Chapter Twelve
The highway stretches out in front of me, and I keep driving, thinking that if I can just get a little farther, maybe to that next mile marker, I will figure it out. But the highway always stays ahead of me, and there is always another mile marker, and I fear that I am thinking too hard.
What am I doing?
I know the answer, of course. I’m running.
What I can’t figure out is why.
I tell myself that I am right to leave him. Maybe not forever, but for a while. While I get my head together. While I stick with The Plan.
Because isn’t the point of The Plan to keep me from doing exactly what has happened with Ryan—to keep me from getting twisted up with a guy?
That’s true—except it’s not.
Because Ryan hasn’t twisted me up. If anything, he’s untangled me.
I reach into my pocket and close my hand around the lock as tears sting my eyes. What am I doing? Who in their right mind runs from love?
Because I do love him. More important, I know that he truly loves me.
I lift my foot off the accelerator, cringing a bit when I realize that I’ve pushed the Ferrari past one hundred. But she really is a sweet ride.
I slow, planning to turn the car around and head back, but something isn’t right.
Once again, the car is making an odd noise, although this time when I listen more closely, I realize that the thwump-thwump isn’t coming from the Ferrari, but from somewhere outside the car.
Frowning, I glance at the land off the shoulder. It is mostly dirt, but that dirt is billowing now, blowing and blustering, forming small dirt devils that spin and spin.
A shadow passes over. And I slam on the brakes as a sleek black helicopter with Stark International emblazoned on the side lands on the shoulder ahead of me.
I kill the engine and race out of the car. I don’t see him, not yet, but I don’t slow. I know he is there. I know he came for me.
And then there he is, jumping from the helicopter to the asphalt below. He ducks to avoid the wind that the still-spinning blades are kicking up, and when he is clear, he makes a twirling motion and the helicopter ascends once again.
I throw myself in his arms. “You came for me,” I say, my voice soft with wonder.
“I will always come for you.” He kisses me. A hard, deep kiss that claims me as his own, and that I feel profoundly all the way down to my toes.
Even after we break the kiss, I cling to him, wanting to reassure myself that he is real. “I was about to turn around and come back.” I tilt my head up at him. “I needed to get to you. To tell you. I love you, too, Ryan Hunter.”
His smile lights his eyes. “I know.”
“And I found the answer,” I add.
“Who is Jamie?”
I nod. “She’s yours,” I say, and though I expect his answering smile, his words come as a surprise.
“No,” he says. “She is her own. But I am the man who loves her.”
His words move me, and I pull him close and kiss him again.
“Do you still want me to take you to Texas?” he asks when we reach the car.
I shake my head. “I’m going to call Georgia. I’m not going to take the job.”
He has opened the passenger door for me, but now he pauses and takes my chin in his hand. “You’re sure?”
“It’s a great opportunity,” I say. “But only if I want to be in Texas. But I don’t want to be there. I want to be in Los Angeles. I want to be with you.”
I meet his eyes as I say it, and he looks back at me with so much love and tenderness I think my heart will burst.
“Ever since she made the offer,” I continue, “I’ve been looking at it as a way to get back into the LA market. Looking past the job itself and to the future. But you’re my future, Ryan. You’re what I want. And so long as I’m with you, I can wait for the right job to come along. I can—”
“Shhh,” he says, and then crushes his mouth to mine once again.
“Mmm,” I say. “I can get used to that.”
“Then we’ll have to be sure to mix things up, won’t we? Wouldn’t want life to become predictable.”
“No, we wouldn’t. You know,” I add, still thinking about the job. “Maybe I’ll suggest that I be their LA correspondent. I’m pretty kick ass, you know. They’d be lucky to have me.”
“They would,” he says. “I know I am.”
Across the highway there is a billboard advertising a Vegas wedding chapel. Ryan nods toward it, then gazes down at me. “I’m going to marry you someday,” he says softly. The words and his voice send shivers of anticipation through me. And not even the slightest bit of fear.
“Yes,” I say, “you are.” And despite the fact that ours has been such a whirlwind romance it makes my head spin, I know that it is true. “But not like that,” I say, nodding to the sign.
“No,” he agrees. “Our wedding will be an event. A party.”
“A celebration,” I say, and then kiss him again simply because I have to. “I hope Damien pays you well,” I add with a laugh. “Because I just spent the last few weeks doing all sorts of wedding planning with Nikki, and that means I have lots of ideas.”
His mouth quirks into a smile. “Whatever you want, Ms. Archer.”
“All I want is you.”
“That works out well, then, because you have me. For now, for always.”
I sigh and slide into his arms, feeling loved and safe and centered.
Behind us, the highway stretches on, but I don’t need it. I know exactly where I’m going.
“I’m going to make you very happy,” I say.
“Kitten,” he says. “You already do.”
