Wolfe Wanting (11 page)
Recoiling from the assault on her ear drums, she tilted her body to the side, away from him. Then, realizing what she was doing, she shifted the other way, bringing her face so close to his that she could see the fine pores in his skin.
“No, I'm not trying to kill myself!” she shouted back at him. “I was trying to help you!”
There came the loud wail of a police car siren. Royce yelled above it.
“Help me? How? By hurting yourself?”
“I'm not hurt!” she yelled back.
“You gave me your word, Megan.” Harsh accusation accented his raised voice.
“I crossed my fingers.” The excuse sounded lame even to her own ears.
Royce made a disgusted face; it was not pretty. “You crossed your fingers,” he repeated in a mutter. “Lord, I don't believe you.” Shaking his head in despair, he straightened away from the car. “Are you sure you're all right?”
It was only then, as he stood back, that Megan noticed the reactive tremors cascading the length of his body. Feeling small, and not particularly bright, Megan nodded in answer. “What about him?” She turned to look at the man slumped over the wheel of the other car. “Maybe you'd better check on him.”
Royce gave a sharp, backward jerk of his head as the patrolman came to a tire-screeching stop behind him. “Let the local law handle it. I'm off duty.”
The local law officer did handle it, and very well at that. After assuring himself that Megan had not suffered any visible injuries, he proceeded to take charge of the situation.
Approaching the other vehicle apprehensively, Megan made a positive identification of the driver as the same man who had attacked her the previous Friday night.
Through it all, Royce stood by her side, close but withdrawn, asking no questions, offering no comments, making her nervous and fearful with his stoic silence.
The only time he spoke was when the patrolman told Megan she would have to go to the police station to file a criminal-assault complaint against the man.
“I'll drive her in,” he said, immediately turning to walk to his car. “Let's get it over with, Megan.”
There was something ominous, final-sounding, about his voice, his manner, that caused a queasy feeling in Megan's stomach, and a certainty in her mind that what he wanted to get over with involved more than the filing of a complaint.
Thanking the patrolman, Megan trailed after Royce, scared witless that with her rash action she had ruined the tenuous relationship they had begun.
“What about my car?” she asked, settling into the passenger seat beside him.
“The patrolman will have it towed.”
His indifferent tone was less than encouraging. Nevertheless, Megan persevered. “You're really mad at me, aren't you?”
He shot a weary-looking glance at her. “Later, Megan.” His voice was dull, flat with finality. “I don't want to talk about it here, en route to the police station.”
“But...but I did help you catch that man!” Megan cried in her own defense.
“Yeah.”
The disillusionment contained in that one small word effectively silenced her.
The formalities at the police station seemed endless, but finally Megan was told she could leave. Feeling wrung out, listless, and fighting a need to simply sit down and cry, she followed her still-silent escort to his car.
“I'll take you home now.” Cynicism laced his tone. “Then we can talk about it.”
Megan felt the bottom fall out of her tenuous hold on hope; his attitude did not bode well for the hours ahead, or the future, come to think of it.
The sports car was gone by the time they returned to the house, as was the rattler and its driver. Megan sighed as they made the swing into the driveway, the spot where she had run her new car into the junker.
“Your insurance premiums are going to go up like a Fourth of July rocket,” Royce said, hearing her sigh.
“I know.” Megan smothered another sigh. “But it was worth it to apprehend that terrible monster.”
“Was it?” he demanded, bringing the car to a stop directly in front of the house.
“Yes, of course,” she insisted, scrambling after him when he got out without a backward glance at her. “Royce, you must agree that it was worth it.”
“Must I?” He turned from the door, which he had unlocked with her key, to give her a cool look. “Why must I?” He pushed the door open, stood aside, and motioned her to precede him.
Impatience and anxiety driving her, Megan hurried inside, then spun to face him as he followed and shut the door.
“Royce, please be reasonable about this,” she said, prepared to plead with him if necessary. “I only wanted to help.”
“You lied to me, Megan.”
“But...” she began.
“Do all women lie to get their way?”
His voice held such anguish, it cut through her like a knife. Megan stared at him, and suddenly knew that he had been hurt, deeply hurt, by another woman who had lied to him.
“Royce, I...” she began again, but once more his voice sliced through hers.
“Dammit, Megan, I trusted you, believed in you.” Striding to her, he grasped her by the shoulders. “You gave me your word, and then broke it the minute my back was turned.”
“She hurt you very badly, didn't she?” Megan murmured, raising her hand to stroke his quivering face.
“Yes,” he said bluntly. “But it was a shot to my ego and pride, not an emotionally lethal blow.” His voice went low, soft and tender. “But it was nothing in comparison to the agony and trauma you've endured.”
It was the opening she needed, and she grabbed for it. “But that's just it, Royce. It was because of the uncertainty and fear that I broke my word to you.”
He frowned.
Megan rushed on. “After the way I fell apart last night, when that man called, I felt I had to do something to normalize my life, reclaim my sense of self. I just couldn't go on, being afraid of shadows, hiding behind you.” She drew in a ragged breath. “Please, try to understand.”
Royce's frown gave way to a rueful expression. “I do, now. And I'm sorry I yelled at you.”
“I'm sorry, too.” Megan hesitated, then asked the question she had to have answered. “Are you still missing her?”
“She doesn't matter anymore.” His response came with satisfying swiftness. “She hasn't mattered for a long time. But you did.”
Megan felt a searing twist of pain at his use of the past tense. Had her rash action destroyed her attraction for him? A rush of tears stung her eyes. “Did I?”
“Didn't last night prove that to you?”
“I thought,” she said in a tear-choked whisper. “I hoped.”
“I hoped, too.” His fingers flexed, sinking sensuously into her soft flesh. “It's been nearly a year since I've been intimate with a woman.” A wry smile slanted his lips. “Her defection left me feeling empty, sexually disinterested.” His smile gentled. “Then I met you, and from that morning I came to interview you in the hospital, you filled me, brought back the wanting.”
“Oh, Royce...”
“I know I have no right to dump my feelings on you, after what you've been through, but—” He drew a quick breath, then blurted out, “I'm afraid I'm falling in love with you, Megan.” He gave a sharp shake of his head. “No, I know I'm in love with you.”
The sensations that exploded inside Megan at his declaration were too glorious to be described. So she didn't even try. Instead, responding to them, she threw her arms around his neck and laughed in sheer joy and relief.
Royce reacted to the sound of her jubilation by releasing his hold on her arms to draw her close to him, very close. “Does this mean you don't mind?”
“Mind?” Megan's laughter peeled out again. “Oh, Sergeant, you big, beautiful man,” she sang out when her laughter had subsided. “I'm very much afraid I'm in love with you, too. And the only thing I'd mind was if you didn't...”
His mouth claimed hers, drowning her voice, stirring her senses, sealing her fate. When, satisfying moments later, he raised his head, her eyes were shining with love for him as she finished what she'd begun to say.
“Want me, Wolfe.”
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ISBN: 978-1-4592-8648-1
Wolfe Wanting
Copyright © 1994 by Joan Hohl
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