Passion and Scandal (22 page)

They stood like that for a few long moments, just holding each other, glad to be alive. And whole. And together.

She lifted her head then, and smiled up into his face. "I love you," she said softly. "I just thought you should know."

He shook his head. "Not yet," he said. "Wait until you've had time to come down from this."

She narrowed her eyes indignantly. "Are you suggesting that I don't know what I'm saying? That this is some sort of adrenaline-induced emotion?"

"Something like that," Steve said, amused by her vehemence.

"Well, of all the arrogant... If you weren't already bruised, I swear, Steve Hart, I'd punch you so hard you'd feel it into next week." She shook her head as if she couldn't believe what he'd said. "It's only because you've been wounded that I'm cutting you some slack this time. I won't be so lenient again." She slid her arms up around his neck. "I love you, Steve Hart," she said, staring up into his eyes as she repeated the words. "And I will always love you, you overgrown Boy Scout, so get used to it."

"Willow, I..."

She smiled, pleased, for once, to have rendered him speechless. "Just shut up and kiss me," she ordered and pulled his head down to hers.

* * *

"Ahem!" said a voice from behind them. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Yes," Steve said, and placed one last lingering kiss on Willow's lips before turning his head to see who it was. Jack Shannon stood in the hallway leading to the front door of apartment 1-G with a cardboard box in his arms.

"I thought you might want to look at this right away," he said, coming into the room with it. "There's a lot of interesting stuff in here." He bent over, putting it down on the floor, and then straightened and held his hand out to Steve. "I can't thank you enough," he said. "Finding out that Eric didn't commit suicide is like having a weight lifted off my chest that I didn't even know was there."

"Thank Willow," Steve said as he shook the other man's hand. "She's the one who insisted she had to know what happened."

"I'd like to kiss her instead, if I may," he said, suiting his actions to his words. "Welcome to the family, Willow," he said as he pressed his lips against her cheek.

Willow threw her arms around him and held tight for a long moment. "Thank you." She pulled back and smiled a little, teasingly, through her happy tears. "Uncle Jack," she said.

Jack groaned. "That sounds just a bit weird coming from a woman who's the same age as my wife," he said, and then smiled. "But I guess I could get used to it."

"You'd better," Steve said, "because she'll use it every chance she gets. The woman has a smart mouth on her."

Jack and Willow exchanged another quick hug. "We'll expect you both for dinner next Wednesday," he said, and left them alone with the box and the mirror.

They knelt down on the floor, the cardboard box between them.

"I'm shaking," Willow admitted. "You do it."

Steve reached into the box and pulled out the treasures that had been hidden for twenty-five years. There were more pictures. And cards from Donna to Eric. And a journal.

Donna told me today that she's going to have my baby,
Eric had written.
It makes everything so perfect.

* * *

And there it was, the dream Willow thought she had lost. The father who had loved her mother and was separated from her and their unborn baby through no fault of his own.

"Oh, Steve," she said, tears in her eyes and in her voice. "Steve, I—" She stopped suddenly, mesmerized by what she saw in the mirror behind him.

Seeing the look on her face, he turned toward the mirror, too.

"Do you see her?" she whispered.

Steve blinked, trying to clear his vision. "I... my God, yes," he admitted. "I see her."

They sat there for a moment, on their knees with the box between them, watching the lady in the long pale dress. She looked at them consideringly for a moment, and then she nodded and smiled gently, and disappeared.

Willow and Steve turned to look at each other, both of them a little awed by the magic of what had just happened.

"I guess that means your greatest dream has come true," Steve said, touching the box that sat on the floor between them.

"Yes, it has." Willow reached out and covered his hand with hers. "But it's more than just what's in this box."

"It is?"

"You know it is." Willow pushed the box out of the way and moved across the small space that separated them. "You saw her, too."

"Yeah, well..." He shrugged.

"Don't you dare try to back out of it now, tough guy," she warned, reaching up to put her hands on either side of his face so he couldn't look away. "You already admitted it."

He put his hands on her waist and looked down at her. "How 'bout if I just plead the Fifth?"

"Too late. We both saw her.
Together."

"Meaning?" he teased, knowing full well what she was getting at.

"Meaning we're about to attain
our
greatest dream." She tilted her head, looking up at him from under her lashes, her lips a teasing, tempting millimeter away from his as she asked the question. "Aren't we?"

"You better believe it, sweetheart," he said, and bent his head to kiss her.

Epilogue

The whispers of scandal were first heard on a local afternoon newscast the day Ethan Roberts was arrested. By that evening, the Los Angeles press had printed several versions of the story, among them a front page article in the
L.A.
Times
under Jack Shannon's by line which detailed the nefarious career of Ethan Roberts. By the next morning the tale of the murderous Senate hopeful was in every newspaper and every tabloid; it was being discussed on every talk show on television; and hotly debated in car pools and around office water coolers everywhere.

An army of reporters and TV camera crews rushed to camp outside the gate of the Roberts' Pacific Palisades estate and 'Hard Copy' had sent a reporter to Steve's Laurel Canyon home in an effort to track down the detective who had broken the story.

But Willow and Steve had disappeared.

* * *

"I guess his greatest nightmare really has come true," Willow said as CNN Headline News finished a segment on Ethan Roberts' arraignment for murder at the Los Angeles County courthouse.

"Yeah." Steve's voice was rich with satisfaction. "Everybody in the world knows what a no-good, murdering sleaze he is."

"Still..." Willow sat down on the edge of the huge round hotel bed. "I can't help but feel sorry for his family. That sweet little girl of his has got to be hurting and confused right now."

"That sweet little girl will be a lot better off in the long run without Ethan Roberts in her life," Steve said, reaching over to take the remote control out of Willow's hand.

"Hey," she objected as the television screen went black. "The stock market report is next."

"Wall Street will still be there tomorrow," he said, setting the remote out of her reach on the dresser.

She gave him a narrowed look. "I want to watch it now," she insisted, just to see what he would say.

"And I want to make love to my wife. Now."

Willow nearly melted as heat sizzled through her.
Wife.
It was such a lovely word. A sexy word. A powerful word. She'd been hearing it for two full days, ever since the quickie ceremony in the Las Vegas wedding chapel; she should be used to it by now. But every time he said it, in that low, suggestive, possessive tone of voice, her insides turned into molten lava and her brains turned to mush. She was beginning to suspect it would always be that way.

"No objections?" Steve asked, giving her a slow, knowing grin as he reached up to loosen his tie.

Willow rallied to the challenge implicit in his eyes. "No," she said, her hand going to the top button on her fitted black evening jacket. "No objections." She lowered her head, giving him a provocative look from under her lashes. "It'll be on again in half an hour."

His grin widened appreciatively. "Is that a dare, Mrs. Hart?"

Willow unfastened the last button of her jacket. "What do you think, Mr. Hart?" she purred and squeezed her forearms together slightly, so that her breasts mounded above the square-cut décolletage of her dress.

It was Steve's turn to melt a little. "I think it's going to take a lot longer than half an hour," he growled, and dropped his tie to the floor.

They began a slow, teasing striptease for each other.

He peeled off his shirt, slowly, like a Chippendale dancer.

She removed her jacket, slowly, rolling her shoulders like a Las Vegas show girl.

He unbuckled his belt and released the top button on his slacks, letting them sag open over his flat, washboard abdomen.

She unzipped her dress, leaning forward so that the bodice dropped to her waist and pooled in her lap.

He sat down on the tacky zebra-striped chair behind him and yanked off his shoes and socks.

She leaned over and reached for the black satin ankle strap of her high-heeled shoe.

"Leave them on," he growled, low.

Willow looked up, her body still bent, her hair swinging down over her cheek. "My shoes?" she asked, just to be sure.

"I've had this persistent fantasy about you and those shoes." He stood, barefoot, and yanked the zipper of his slacks the rest of the way down. "About making love to you while you were wearing them." He let the slacks drop to the floor and calmly, slowly and very purposefully shed his briefs. "And nothing else."

Willow licked her lips in excitement and anticipation, her eyes widening as he crossed the room toward her, gloriously naked and magnificently aroused.

He put his hands on her shoulders, pushing her flat against the quilted red satin bedspread, then curled his hands into the stretchy fabric of the dress bunched around her waist. In one quick move, he pulled it down over her hips and legs, and tossed it on the floor. She lay there, staring up at him, breathless with desire, wearing only black satin panties, seamed thigh-high stockings and her high-heeled shoes.

It was Steve's turn to lick his lips. "This is better than the fantasy," he murmured, reaching out to peel the panties off. "Much better."

They stared at each other for a long breathless second: Willow lying on her back on the bed, provocative, alluring, and female, powerful in willing surrender; Steve looming over her, all raw male passion and masculine aggression, gentle in mastery. They were hot-eyed and wanting, both of them trembling with desire and anticipation, hearts pounding, pulses racing, aching with love.

The playfulness faded from their eyes as they stared at each other. The teasing game was over as quickly as it had begun.

Steve lowered himself on top of her, gently, his chest to her breasts, his hips between her thighs, holding himself up on his elbows as he cupped her face in his hands.

"I love you," he murmured, looking deeply into her eyes as he said it.

Willow wrapped herself around him. "I love you, too, tough guy."

The End

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ONE NIGHT WITH YOU

The Heart of the City Series

Book One