“Yes, you can. Do it for me.”
He remained frozen for endless moments. Then he stepped back and lowered the gun. His bodyguards rushed forward and secured Mwana.
The police arrived minutes later, closely followed by the paramedics. Mwana was taken away. Nick gave a brief statement while the medical technicians examined and treated the small knife wound on Belle’s neck.
Through it all, she was only aware of Nick, a strong and powerful presence beside her, a look in his eyes that made her heart stall, then soar with hope, fluttering around inside her chest like a wild bird seeking freedom.
Could it be that Nick loved her, after all? As if in answer, the hand that held hers tightened.
Finally, they were alone. A mildly concussed Bertrand had been taken to hospital for observation, and the bodyguards were once again stationed outside the door.
She looked around and shuddered. “I can’t stay here.”
Nick’s hand caressed her cheek. “I know, agapi mou. Neither can I. We’ll check into a hotel for tonight. Come.”
In their bedroom, Nick helped remove her ruined dress, and she replaced it with a pair of jeans and a sweater.
He held her close in the car as they sped away from the apartment. In their suite at the hotel on a quiet street in Mayfair, she took off her clothes and showered. Dressed in a bathrobe, she returned to the bedroom to find Nick hanging up the phone.
He looked at her, and her heart resumed its pounding.
“Come and sit down, Tinkerbelle. There’s something I need to tell you.”
The hammering increased to a thunderous crescendo. Barely able to speak, she sat on the bed and picked up her hairbrush, needing something to do with her hands as she watched him pace.
He stopped in front of her, took a ragged breath and released it in a harsh exhale. “Back in the kitchen, you said you loved me.”
She blinked, then she murmured, “Yes, I love you.”
“How do you know?” He looked genuinely puzzled.
Her heart thundered. “I just do.”
Rising, he shoved a hand through his hair and paced. “But…you can’t just know. Surely there are signs? Indications?”
She put the brush down. “I guess.”
“Tell me what they are,” he said in a rush.
She licked her lips. “Well, when I feel sad and I think of you, I feel better. When I wake up in the morning, I listen for you, and when you walk into the room, my chest wells up, and I’m glad you’re there. The thought of you being hurt in any way makes my heart ache. When I think of growing old with anyone, yours is the face I see. And when we make love, I feel as if heaven itself is smiling down at me, filling me with bliss. When I imagine doing all of that with anyone else, I…well, I can’t. Nick!” She screeched when he lurched toward her and fell on his knees in front of her. When he dropped his head into her lap, she sank her hands into his hair. “Darling, what is it?”
He mumbled into her lap.
“What did you say?”
Slowly he raised his head. “So if I feel all those things you just described, and then seeing you in that bastard’s arms made me feel as if I was dying, what does that mean?”
Her poor heart sprouted wings again, but hesitated, wary of the hope that urged it to fly. “I don’t know, Nick. Try saying what you feel.”
His hands circled her waist, gripped tight as if seeking an anchor.
“I…I love you.” His eyes widened, and his nostrils flared. “I love you. Thee mou, I love you.”
The sob burst from her heart before she could stop it. “Oh, Nick. Oh, my darling, darling Nick.”
He took her in his arms and pulled them both to their feet. “I love you, but I never want to experience again what I did tonight. I don’t think I’d survive it.”
“Me, neither,” she whispered, holding him tight. Her heart soared; tears threatened to blind her. “Oh, Nick. When did this happen? When did you start feeling like this?” she asked, eager to know.