Chains of Ice (39 page)

She laughed. “Yes. I can see all the way back to when the world was young, and all the way forward into the mists.”

John said, “Tell us what you see.”

He watched her wander across the dark bamboo floor, touch the tall cut-glass Tiffany vase full of fresh flowers, trail a finger across the back of the soft brown leather couch, and finally look through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the view of Central Park. “I bought it about five years ago. Before the . . . tragedy in Indonesia.”

“I see.” She sounded dangerously neutral.

“After what you told your father, I hope you don’t mind, but actually, I’m—”

“Rich.”

“Right.”

She discarded her coat onto the arm of his recliner. “I’d like to shower.”

That wasn’t any kind of answer.
But he didn’t care. She had successfully derailed his carefully planned explanation. Because she was going to shower. In his bathroom. In his home.

Naked.

He had had dreams like this, but never had he thought they could come true.

She started toward the open door where his bed was clearly visible.

“Of course.” He hurried and caught up, showed her his bathroom—the maid had been in that day, so thankfully his underwear was in the hamper and not on the floor—then shut the door and left her alone.

And let out a gasp of relief. Okay. Everything was going to be all right. She intended to stay here and he hadn’t even had to grovel.

Yet.

He discarded his trench coat and suit coat. His tie was in a pocket somewhere. His shirt was a bloody mess; he stripped it off, wiped himself off with a damp washcloth . . . and smiled.

The scratches on his shoulder were no longer bleeding, but they were deep and clearly marked. For Genny, he had given up his fear of commitment, and he had earned his mark.

He donned a T-shirt. Put on some jazzy music.

And he paced.

He opened a bottle of chardonnay. Placed it on the breakfast bar. Set out bottles of water. Opened a zinfandel in case she hated chardonnay. Paced some more. Sliced salami and cheese, then a good, grainy whole wheat bread. He was holding the bowl of tapenade when she walked barefoot out of his bedroom wearing one of his white shirts.

She’d rolled up the sleeves, turned up the collar. The hem almost reached her knees in the front and exposed her thighs on the side. She had buttoned all the buttons except for the top two.

She was still damp.

He could see right through the material.

She wore nothing underneath.

His body voted for action first, talk later.

But she was still fussing with the sleeves. “You were going to tell me how you got rich.”

Okay. She wanted to talk. He would explain everything as quickly and efficiently as possible because . . . she was here, she was wearing his shirt, and she was naked underneath. “I was an immigrant with no family. I was used to doing without. I had a knack for investment. Then . . . the tragedy on the volcano. I put all my investments into federal bonds—which was splendid timing: I missed the downturn—and when I came back, I had all that and a little more. So I was able to take the stake I had and with some careful investing . . . I can take care of you in the manner to which you should be able to quickly become accustomed.”

“And in the two and a half years since? You’ve done well?”

“I haven’t been dating or having sex. At all. With anyone.” A fact that had frustrated his friends. “So . . . yes.”

She looked up and observed him. “Me neither. About the dating or sex thing.”

That cheered him immeasurably. “Good. We’ve both been concentrating on our goals. I’ve been leading the Chosen Ones and acquiring wealth.”

“I started my wildlife rescue. And have been learning to depend only on myself.” She glanced at the tapenade he still held, then at the feast behind him.

Hastily he put down the bowl and picked up a bottle. “Wine?”

“Soon. I like this place.” She walked to the window again. “The view is spectacular at night.”

“It’s better in the daytime. The furniture, of course, is minimalist”—he didn’t even know exactly what that meant, but his exasperated decorator had told him it was—“and easily changed, or you could add pieces as you like.”

He quickly added, “I have contacts in the financial world and funding for your wildlife rescue program should be easy to obtain.”

Finally she turned, leaned against the window, hands behind her, and smiled. “Are you
bribing
me to stay with you?”

“Is it working?”

She appeared to give it some thought. “I’m not particularly moved by wealth.”

He was afraid of that.

“My father spent so much time chasing money, believing it would make him happy, and nothing would have done that.”

“Wildlife fund?” he reminded her.

“I have a business degree and my father insisted I take extra courses on influence and negotiations, so I’ve done very well raising money for the fund myself.”

“One of the many things I admire about you is your impeccable good sense.” He prowled toward her as she stood silhouetted against the window. “So what does move you?”

She turned to face the city and spoke to his reflection. “I believe that earlier you said something about begging.”

“For your hand in marriage.” He leaned against her, pressed her against the cool glass. He recognized her scent, knew it like he knew his own. Bending his head, he nuzzled the back of her neck.

She arched her head away to give him access. “I’ve already said we were going to marry. So why would you beg?”

“You deserve a proposal worthy of the woman you are.”

“Of the woman I have become.”

“I liked who you were in Russia. You were a woman who wasn’t afraid to be my friend at a time when everyone else feared me. You loved the lynx, you loved the wilderness, and you loved the freedom. In the ancient, stifling atmosphere of Rasputye, you were a breath of fresh air.” He remembered how she had been, so innocent and alluring. “That’s why I—”

“Reacted strongly to my perceived betrayal?”

“I was an idiot.”

“Why were you an idiot?” She was leading him. She wanted to hear him say it.

“Why would I judge you based on the behavior of my foster mother and my wife? And yet I did.” He slid his arms around her waist, pressed his palms against her belly.

She was so alive, so warm.

“I couldn’t leave my mistrust behind. Keeping it like a shield before me was easier than keeping my faith in you.” He held her, his arms trembling. “Then I came out of the
rasputye
and discovered you had died—”

“I’m feeling fine. I took shelter with the nomads, traveled with them, milked their yaks.” He felt her shake with laughter. “It was exactly the healing time I needed, and a dose of reality, too. I learned about survival in a hostile world, and what’s important when all else is stripped away.”

“That’s funny. That’s exactly what I learned here, when I was alone and without you.”

She twisted around to face him. “That’s why we belong together. We’ve learned the same lessons. We know the same truths. We’re fighting on the same side.” She slipped her hands around his waist. “And—”

“And at the end of the day, I would rather be with you than with any other person on earth.” Dipping his head, he kissed her, and merely the touch of her lips and scent of her breath made him happy. “I love you. Please marry me, Genesis, so I can spend my whole life being your companion.”

She wound her arms around his neck. His shirt rose to precarious heights and somehow, he wasn’t clear how, two more top buttons had come unfastened. “I love you, too, and I would like that—very much.”

He waltzed her away from the window and toward the bedroom. “Tomorrow.”

“What?” She leaned back in his embrace and smiled up at him. “We have to have blood tests and stuff.”

“As soon as possible.” He paused by the doorway and kissed her persuasively.

She kissed him back, taking and giving, and when he let her come up for air, she agreed breathlessly. “All right. As soon as possible. As soon as I can get a dress.”

Grimly, he said, “I’ll go with you to pick it out.”

She grinned. “Why would you do that?”

“Because if I do it, we’ll be done in a few hours. If you go with Charisma, Jacqueline, and Isabelle, it’ll take
weeks
.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.” He slid his hands under the hem of her shirt. Caressed her thighs, lifted her buttocks . . . Oh, God, he was right. She was naked under there.

She pressed herself against his palms. Breathlessly she asked, “Should we have that wine now? To celebrate?”

“Later.” He danced her toward the bed. “Later.”

Later . . . after the love, after the wine, after the food, after more love, they tangled together on the couch, watching the lights play across the city.

“I think we’re in for a tough four and a half years.”

“The gifted are changing.

“Some who are not gifted now will develop gifts.

“The Gypsy Travel Agency is sacrificed to one man’s ambition and his unwillingness to trust in the ultimate triumph of good.

“Now the Chosen Ones pay the price.

“Yet the sacrifice he offers might save them . . .

“In that, the fledgling Chosen can find hope. Before their seven years is over, each of the seven must find a true love. They will know they have succeeded with the blossoming of their badges and their talents.

“And some must find that which is lost forever.

“For rising on the ashes of the Gypsy Travel Agency is a new power in a new building. Unless hope takes wing, this power and this building will grow to reach the stars, and cast its shadow over the whole earth, and evil will rule.”