"What do you mean?" Hope asked a tad
nervously as she studied the floaty, silk-chiffon dress.
"I mean that I might have designed this dress specifically for your figure and coloring it's so perfect. And no bra or corset is going to ruin that perfection."
Ryan turned and headed for the front door, chuckling to himself at Hope's panicked expression at the thought of going into public with her beautiful breasts unbound.
TWENTY-FOUR
Ryan dug his fingers into the collar of his white dress shirt, attempting to loosen it just a tad. He tied his bow tie and glanced at
his face briefly in the gilded mirror, scowling when he noticed the cut on his brow that hadn't yet fully healed. His jacket hung on a raii of the brass bed so his holster and gun were in full view. He looked exactly like what he was—a cop dressed up in a monkey suit.
He grabbed his jacket, shrugging into it as he walked down the hallway. Hope'd been locked up in the bathroom for well over an hour now and he was starting to wonder what the hell she was doing in there. They still had to pick up Ramiro and Gail and he wanted to leave early so he could take a different route to the Field Museum than the one he'd driven this afternoon driving to his mother's. It had been a strangely gratifying experience to show Hope the city and see her wide-eyed expressions of wonder as she exclaimed over the towering high-rises, the speed at which cars flew down Lake Shore Drive and the scandalous fact that women showed their legs in public.
He'd also had his smugness punctured a few times in regard to the modern advancements of his world in comparison to hers. As they'd pass Navy Pier on Lake Shore Drive he'd pointed at the Ferris wheel.
"That's a copy of Ferris's original wheel from the Chicago World's Fair in 1893." He noticed that Hope'd looked at the wheel and glanced over to him as though she wanted to say something but was too polite to do so.
"What?" he asked.
"That's not a replica of Mr. George Ferris's wheel, Ryan."
"Are you sure? I could have sworn I read it was."
"Of course I'm sure. That," said Hope as she pointed at the wheel, "is nothing compared to Mr. Ferris's wheel. The original Ferris wheel was as tall as many of these high-rises, as you call them. There were thirty-six cars and each of them held sixty people. It was an engineering wonder. He built it to rival France's engineering feat for their World's Fair, the Eiffel Tower, you know. He surpassed it as far as I'm concerned."
No, he hadn't known. "Over two thousand people could ride it at once?"
Hope had nodded as she gawked at the thick orchard of towering buildings to the left of her. "My mother and father were intimate friends with Mr. and Mrs. Ferris. I rode the wheel on several occasions. Once while my mother and I were on the Ferris wheel a man had a terrible attack of nerves because of the great height. He began shouting and racing about the car, knocking people over. He was inconsolable and of course there was nowhere for him to go. It was quite frightening, as you can imagine, especially for us children to be locked in that small space with a madman. But my mother just matter-of-factly removed her skirt and threw it over the poor man's head. She began to soothe him with her voice and he went quite still under her skirt until we made a full turn of the wheel."
"She took off her skirt?" Ryan had asked incredulously, especially now that he'd learned firsthand about a woman from Hope's time period's modesty in regard to matters of dress.
Hope had chuckled when she saw his expression and nodded. "Yes. Not only was the panicking man shocked into silence. Everyone was speechless, but the men on board were flabbergasted at the sight of my mother in her petticoat. I wish you could have known her. She was a very beautiful woman in addition to being quite unique."
"I guess it's clear where you got it from," Ryan had said under his breath.
Later he'd taken her to .the top of the Sears Tower so that she could see a panoramic view of the city. He'd been a little unsure about taking her up to the 110th floor, and initially the paleness of her face as she slowly approached one of the windows on the skydeck hardly reassured him. His mother had provided her with a skirt, boots and a sweater to wear. Was he going to have to remove the skirt and fling it over her head to stop her from panicking?
His partially amused, partially concerned thoughts ceased when Hope had turned around and he saw her exultant expression.
After that he'd had trouble keeping up with her as she rushed around from one side of the skydeck to another, identifying known landmarks and exclaiming over the massive growth of the city.
"He lives on our block, you know," Hope had murmured happily as they descended. The elevator was crowded with tourists and Hope was sandwiched between the corner and Ryan's body.
"Who?" he asked, only mildly interested. He pressed his body closer to her and dropped a kiss on top of her head. Her scent filled his nose. She felt so small against him, so soft...
very, very nice. She tilted her head back and regarded him with eyes that never ceased to capture him completely in their velvety soft snare.
Nice place to be trapped. He found himself wondering idly if there was enough time to take her back to Prairie Avenue, strip her bare and bury his nose in every inch of her smooth, fragrant skin. Maybe if he broke a few land speed records on the way home and wrangled a promise out of Hope that she'd get ready for the gala in twenty minutes flat he'd have time to—
"Mr. Joseph Sears. He lives just two houses down from us. I look forward to telling him of his family's towering contribution to the city someday."
His eyebrows had gone up at her casual melding of their time periods. She'd noticed his amusement and smiled.
"I thought you said I should try and think of my father as still being alive—accessible to me. If it were true of him, wouldn't it be true for everyone?"
Ryan had shrugged. "You love your father, Hope. You can picture him with the clarity that only intense emotion can bring. I'm assuming you don't feel the same way about Joseph Sears, but I may be wrong."