A Bridge to Dreams (4 page)

“No way,” Karyn said adamantly. Six startled faces stared at her, stunned by her sharp tone. She backed off at once. She did not want to arouse their suspicions. “I mean, I can paint this place myself. Besides, I do not intend to
spend my vacation working around the apartment. That's not a vacation—that's drudgery.” At that moment, an untimely recollection of Cinderella flitted through Karyn's head, along with an even clearer image of the prince. He looked so much like Brad, she almost smiled.

“Then what are you going to do?” Frank said, clearly bewildered. His last vacation had been spent taking apart their mother's shuddering, fifteen-year-old washing machine and putting it back together. He'd actually enjoyed it. Their mother had been thrilled. The incident had convinced Karyn it was past time for Frank and his girlfriend of five years to get married. Now was not the time, though, to plague him about it.

“I don't know. Maybe sleep in a little.” She came dangerously close to blushing at that one. She raced on, “Go to a couple of museums. I'll just play it by ear. That's what a vacation is all about.”

She hoped she sounded noble, self-sacrificing and just sufficiently contented that they'd leave her alone for the next week instead of setting out to keep her company. It would not be the first time that they'd considered it their duty to protect her from boredom.

“I'm off Tuesday,” Peter began.

“No, really,” Karyn said, patting his knee and trying not to show her alarm. “You should be spending your day off on your own social life, not worrying about mine. Besides, I already have plans for Tuesday.” She hadn't talked to Brad since the previous Friday, but she knew in her heart that he would show up on Monday.

“What plans?” asked Frank, his gaze narrowing.

“With a friend.”

“What friend?” he persisted.

“Frank, she obviously doesn't want to tell us any more about it,” Timothy said.

“Well, I don't care what she wants,” her eldest brother blustered with something akin to parental indignation. “If she can't introduce us to her friends, then I have to wonder why not. What's wrong with them?”

“Nothing is wrong with any of my friends,” Karyn said, thoroughly exasperated. She was worn-out from the whole exchange. Although she had been prepared for her brothers' objections, the prospect of using dynamite to break them of their habit became more and more appealing. “Will you all please go away. I want to get some sleep.”

“It's only eight o'clock,” Jared pointed out.

“I think that just means she's tired of arguing with us,” Timothy said. “Come on, guys. Let's go and leave her in peace.”

She looked over at him gratefully. “Thanks, Timmy.”

He winked. He was the youngest of the brothers and had had more than his share of protective custody, as well. He'd been so grateful to have her come along when he was six that he'd come to her rescue more than once through the years.

Still grumbling, the pack finally vacated the premises.

“If you change your mind about the painting,” Frank said at the door.

“I won't change my mind.”

“But you might. By Wednesday you could be bored to tears.”

Another image of Brad popped provocatively to mind. She would not be bored by Wednesday. In fact,
if she had her way, by Wednesday her life would be just beginning to reach fairy-tale status.

* * *

When the pounding on the door began, Karyn moaned and pulled a pillow over her head. It did not shut out the sound. She lifted the pillow and peeked at the clock. It was exactly five minutes before six.

In the morning.

On the first day of her vacation.

She was going to kill whomever was on the far side of that door, assuming that it wasn't someone who planned to kill her first. Killers, she reassured herself as she dragged on her bedraggled terry-cloth robe, probably did not knock. Her brothers, to her everlasting regret, all had their own keys.

As she stumbled the few feet from the sofa bed to the door, she called out, “Who's there?”

“It's Brad.”

The announcement sent her adrenaline surging faster than three cups of straight caffeine. She'd counted on him showing up sometime today, but not before she'd even taken a shower.

“Brad? What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night.”

“Wrong attitude. It's the first day of your vacation. You don't want to waste a minute of it.”

She sagged against the door. Had it been only ten days ago that she'd actually admired his energy? Why hadn't she suspected that it was not nearly as attractive at 6:00 a.m. as it was twelve hours later in the day? Maybe because she'd never before had a man outside her door at 6:00 a.m.

“Are you going to let me in?”

She glanced down at her faded, baggy T-shirt, her shapeless, beltless robe, her unshaven legs and the chipped polish on her toenails. “Not on your life. Come back in an hour.”

“In an hour the sun will be up.”

“That's the general idea.”

“If the sun's up, it'll ruin my plan.”

“We don't know each other well enough for any plan that requires the dark,” she said, sliding to the floor in embarrassment as the implication sank into her muddled brain. She drew her knees to her chest and tugged the shapeless shirt over them. Thank heavens the man couldn't see her. What had gotten into her? Sweet, innocent Karyn Chambers did not say daring, dangerous things like that. Brad's low, silky laughter, however, confirmed that she apparently did and that he was enjoying the banter. No wonder her brothers worried about her. At heart, she was obviously capable of becoming a brazen flirt. The idea made her smile.

“I'll be ready in ten minutes,” she compromised finally. “Wait for me.”

“Out here?”

“Out there.”

“I suppose it's what I deserve for not calling ahead.”

“Exactly.”

“Is this indicative of your overall attitude toward surprises?”

“Pretty much. I haven't had a lot of experience with them.”

“We'll have to work on that. Hurry up, now, or your coffee will get cold.”

“You have coffee out there?”

“Of course.”

Karyn opened the door as far as the chain would allow and poked her hand out. “Please.”

“I've always loved women who beg.” The bold taunt sent a shiver down her spine.

“In your dreams,” she retorted, pleased that her voice didn't waver. She wondered if it was possible to develop a jaunty, sophisticated attitude in a week simply by praying for it.

“Now hand over the coffee,” she added forcefully.

He put the take-out cup in her hand. “Want the croissants that go with it?”

She was tempted, but the prospect of eating her breakfast alone on one side of the door while Brad remained locked in the hallway did not appeal to her any more than the idea of letting him see her before she'd pulled herself together. “Hold the croissants. I'll be ready in five minutes.”

It actually took her closer to fifteen. She refused to skip shaving her legs. As it was she had four nicks on one knee and a gash on the opposite ankle from hurrying. When she finally opened the door, she almost swooned. It could have been from the loss of blood, but more likely it had to do with the dark-haired rogue who was sitting placidly on the steps waiting for her. In a business suit, he'd been gorgeous. In jeans and a navy blue and lime-green rugby shirt, he was devastatingly sexy.

To his credit, he didn't say a thing about the fact that she was most likely standing there with her mouth hanging open. He merely stood, popped a piece of buttery croissant into her mouth, then brushed a friendly
kiss across her cheek. The croissant was melt-on-your-tongue good. The kiss, innocent as it was, was delicious.

“Where are we going?” she asked, when she could finally collect a sufficient vocabulary to form a coherent sentence.

“For a walk.”

A walk?
“You woke me out of a sound sleep at six o'clock in the morning to go for a walk?”

“A very special walk,” he confirmed, steering her unresisting form down the steps and through the door before she could rally a strenuous objection.

Karyn stopped dead still in the middle of the sidewalk. She looked up into emerald eyes in search of the remembered warmth, the remembered promise of romance. There was a spark of something in the returning gaze, a responding flutter of awareness in the pit of her stomach.

She nodded in satisfaction, linked her arm through his and muttered in her sweetest tone, “It better be one hell of a walk.”

T
he walk was spectacular! Awesome!

It was the drive that almost killed her.

Brad Willis roared through the predawn streets of San Francisco as if he had a particularly challenging Grand Prix course spread out in front of him. Her VW's aged engine had never permitted speeds this fast, even had Karyn been tempted to try attaining them. Karyn clutched at the edge of the seat with fingers that were rigid with fear. The wind whipped through her short black hair and lashed color into her pale cheeks. Her heart beat wildly. She'd hoped for a few thrills, not this death-defying race around impossible curves.

She wasn't certain of the precise moment when exhilaration replaced panic. Perhaps it was when Brad clasped her hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Perhaps it was the instant when she caught the glimmer of excitement in his eyes, heard the low rumble of his laughter as they crested an incredibly steep hill.

Most likely, though, the evolution took place when
she learned to trust, when she realized that he knew exactly what he was doing and precisely how far he could push the car. By the time they reached the waterfront, her eyes were sparkling with delight and her pulse raced with the wind. Never had she witnessed such an incredible blending of man and machine. Her car had become an extension of Brad, subject to his whims, mastered by his skill and daring.

“You've just tripled the difficulty of impressing me with this walk,” she warned as they got out of the car. Her pulse was finally settling into a more comfortable, sedate rhythm.

Brad smiled with serene confidence as he led her along the street. When she realized where they were headed, she regarded him in amazement.

“The Golden Gate?”

“Can you think of a more appropriate place to begin a San Francisco vacation?”

“Most people simply drive across it or look at it from one of those little tour boats in the Bay.”

“You and I are not most people. We are adventurers,” he reminded her.

“Right,” she said. There was more hope than conviction in her voice as she studied the magnificent span that linked San Francisco and Marin County.

“Did you know that on the day this bridge opened in 1937, two hundred thousand people walked across it and that they paid a nickel for the privilege?”

“It must have been crowded,” she observed as she stared up at the art deco towers disappearing into the fog. The steep cliffs of Sausalito weren't yet visible in the dawning daylight.

Brad ignored her unimaginative observation. He took her hand and tugged her along. He rattled off a steady stream of historical tidbits about the bridge. Her favorite was about the Englishman who'd proclaimed himself monarch during the Gold Rush era and declared that such a bridge should be built.

“I thought you were down in L.A. cleaning off your desk. Obviously you spent the past week studying some encyclopedia,” she said.

“Travel brochures and guide books,” he corrected. “You keep forgetting we're on vacation. Lesson one—a vacation is always enhanced if you do your homework.”

“I'll try to remember that,” she said solemnly.

“It'll come with practice.”

Karyn wondered if she'd ever have enough travel experience to make any trip and its planning seem routine.

As if he'd sensed her discouragement, Brad said, “You'll see. I promise. Now, let's hurry. We don't want to miss this.”

As they reached the middle of the bridge, he drew her close to his side and gestured around them. Karyn was so absorbed by the newness of having Brad's arm around her waist, she was hardly aware of their surroundings. As his hand settled lightly on her hip, she found she was holding her breath as her body accustomed itself to the excitement of his touch. Not one of those rare dates she'd permitted herself during the demanding schedules she'd had in high school and college had prepared her for the sensual possibilities of the right man's touch.

“Now wasn't this worth getting up for?” he prodded.

She had to force herself to focus her attention on
something other than the man beside her. Because he expected it, she glanced dutifully around.

Fire-engine-red cables rose thousands of feet above them, splashed like colorful ribbons across the thick, impenetrable layers of fog. Karyn could hear the pounding of the surf below, but she couldn't see it. Even though she could feel the throb of rush-hour traffic just beginning, it didn't dispel the notion that they were isolated in a world of shadows and imagination. The early-morning air made her shiver, which was apparently incentive enough for Brad to wrap his arms around her. An unexpected burst of fire deep inside warmed her. A feeling of contentment that was at odds with the wild, howling wind and bone-chilling dampness stole through her. It was definitely awesome.

“What do you think?” he murmured against her hair.

Her senses sang with exhilaration. “I think I've died and gone to heaven.”

“It is a little like being above the clouds, isn't it? Is it any wonder people have left their hearts here?”

“You realize, of course, that I will probably be late for work every day for the rest of my life,” she said, relaxing in the warmth of his embrace.

“Why's that?”