Page 190 of Her Reluctant Hero
Mallory stood there, in her hospital gown, leaning on her IV pole, her hair a tumbled mess, her eyes watery as she stared.
Relief whipped through him, as mind-lightening as narcosis. He crossed the room and caught her against his chest, bent his head to her throat as he wrapped his arms around her, catching his fingers briefly in her IV tube.
“Jesus, I thought you’d gone,” he murmured, breathing in the scent of her, the underlying smell of the ocean in her hair, on her skin.
“I’ve grown up.” She tried to ease away, but he wasn’t ready to let her go yet. “I don’t run from trouble anymore.”
He pulled back to grin at her. God she was so pretty, her hair all wild, her face wet with tears, her eyes shining. “Are you calling me trouble?”
She cupped her hand over his cheek. “More than you know. Especially if you’re going to freak out every time I go to the bathroom.”
“Dr. Reeves?”
Both of them turned toward the door, and the young man standing there with tousled hair and rumpled clothes, a digital tape recorder in his hand. “Yes?” they asked in unison, and Adrian squeezed her waist in amusement.
“I’m Jordan Gilbert fromArchaeology Today,” he said. “I heard you have a hell of a story to tell.”
Two days later, Adrian stood on the deck of his recovered boat in the sun, running his hand over the smooth wooden rail, acting like a man who’d come home. Jacob and Toney were in Belize keeping watch over the caskets until they could be inspected by the Belizean Department of Archaeology and then shipped to the States, where Adrian and Mallory would study them and Adrian would write his book. Mallory was fairly certain she’d have to play wife and prod him on that one. But now, she’d enjoy his company, their freedom, their newfound appreciation for each other.
“So where are we heading?” She stepped up to the rail beside him, her bare arm brushing his. “Back to the site? Dive one more time?”
“I’m going to sell her.”
She snapped her head up. “You are? Why? She’s beautiful. We’ve never had anything like her.”
He turned, lifting his hand from the rail to stroke her hair back from her cheek. His smile was tender, tinged with a touch of sadness. “But think of what a beautiful house we could afford.”
Shock weakened her knees and she sat on the padded bench, hard. He’d been saying goodbye to the boat. “What?”
Lines of anxiety etched his face as he crouched before her. “Marry me again, Mallory. I promise you I will give you what you need this time.”
Marry him again. Her heart gave a kick of longing as she looked into his eyes. Marry him, work with him. She would raise her children as she was raised, and they might grow up longing for the same things she had.
But Adrian loved her. She had no doubt of that, not after what he’d done to keep her safe. And she loved him. She’d never stopped. This past month only proved how much she missed him. Wherever he was would be her home.
A frown creased the skin between his eyes as he waited. “If you say the word, Mal, I’ll walk away from this,” he said softly.
If she loved him, she could never ask that. She wouldn’t want it.
“I don’t want you to walk away.”
But she hadn’t accepted his proposal. She saw him closing in on himself, preparing for the pain of her refusal.
“I’m not walking away, either,” she said, just as softly as he’d offered. “You don’t have to sell the boat. You don’t have to tie yourself to a house. Maybe someday that’s something we’ll both want, but now I don’t want anything but for you to love me, Adrian. That’s all I ever wanted.”
“I can do that.” He stood, reached down to her with his good arm, pulled her close. “I can do that.”
“And we don’t have to get married again,” she murmured, nestling her head under his jaw. “I never filed the divorce papers.”
Epilogue
Adrian closed his hand into a fist on his lap as the cab pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Museum in New York City. He’d been here every day for a week setting up the exhibit to showcase the four Byzantine caskets, but this time he was being strangled by a monkey suit. The people streaming up the wide stairs into the museum were dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns, and he felt like a fraud.
He resisted tugging at his tie, since Mallory had already chided him for it. But damn, he was ready to get out of this city, get back on a site. He needed to get his hands dirty.
He flexed his hand. Mallory slid her palm along his thigh to link her fingers through his. He turned to his gorgeous wife. If living in civilization meant she’d wear things like this, the deep blue dress showing off the glow of her skin, falling softly over her beautiful breasts, looping around her neck and baring the smooth skin of her back, he might give city living a shot.
Okay, maybe not. But he might lure Mallory into the coatroom to get his hands under that dress.
