“Will you stop talking about it!” The tears were running down her cheeks again. “I never wanted that. There’s only one thing I ever wanted from you.”
He went still. “And what’s that, Zilah?”
“Never mind.” She tried to shrug his hands from her shoulders. “I don’t want to talk anymore. Please, let me go, Daniel.”
His grip tightened, quelling her resistance. “What did you want from me, Zilah?”
“I wanted you to love me,” she burst out. “Wasn’t that stupid? I wanted your love, not your damn pity.”
His expression was stunned. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course I love you. What do you think all this means?”
“I know you care about me as a friend,” she said huskily. “I want more. I tried to be satisfied with the other, but it’s not enough.”
“Lord, you’re muddle-headed.” His hands left her shoulders and moved up to frame her face. His exasperation was suddenly gone and his expression held such exquisite tenderness that it caused her heart to flutter. “Listen carefully. I will love you as a friend, as a mistress, and as the mother of my future children. I will love you through rain and storm and sunshine. I will love you through peace and war and everything in between. I’ve loved you for so long that it seems forever, and I will love you beyond forever.” He smiled gently. “Is that clear, love?”
Her eyes were misty and uncertain. “Truly?”
“Truly.” He shook his head ruefully. “How could I help but love you? You’re everything any man could want. Why the hell do you persist in doubting it? You’re quite a woman, Zilah Dabala.”
Joy was beginning to spread tentative golden tendrils through her. Daniel loved her. It was too wonderful to believe. Yet how could she help believing when he was looking at her like that? “I know I am.” She smiled shakily. “Only, sometimes, I forget.”
“Why do you forget?” Daniel asked, his expression grave and intent. “Why, Zilah?”
She bit her lip. “It’s part of what happened to me I guess.” She shrugged. “In spite of all the psychiatrist’s soothing words, there are times when I still feel the dirtiness.” She paused. “And the guilt.”
“Guilt?” he asked, astonished. “For God’s sake, you were a victim. An innocent victim of an atrocious crime. Would you feel guilt if you had been shot or stabbed?”
She smiled a little sadly. “But you see, it’s the very nature of the crime that instills the guilt. I know it’s unreasonable. I don’t know whether it’s a reflection of society’s attitude or some holdover from a time when women preferred ‘death before dishonor.’” She looked up at him soberly. “You say you love me, but can you honestly say that you wouldn’t rather I had been wounded by a bullet than forced to spend six months at the House of the Yellow Door?”
“You’re damn right I can.” He was silent a moment as if searching for words. “No, that’s not true.” She inhaled sharply as if he’d struck her. “Dammit, don’t look like that. I didn’t mean that I looked on your experience as any personal affront to me. I only meant that a bullet wouldn’t have left an open festering wound as this has done. That it might have been easier for
“But then, you’re an extraordinary man, Daniel.” She shook her head. “I’ve had to accept the fact that a good many people don’t feel the way you do.”
“Then they’re fools,” Daniel said harshly. “And so are you if you pay any attention to them.” He kissed her with a gentleness that was as beautiful as his words were rough. Joy again, blossoming, growing. She could almost accept it. He lifted his head, and when he spoke his voice was no longer harsh. It was deep and uneven and it rang with absolute truth. “Why should I find anything repulsive in what happened to you other than the pain itself? That experience is part of what made you what you are today. Do you know something? There’s no question that I would have loved the girl you might have been without that experience. But, somehow, I’m not sure I would have loved her as much. You’re stronger, deeper, wiser for what happened to you. It may have hurt you, but it also made you more gentle and sensitive to other people’s pain.” He had to stop for a moment before he could go on. “Do you remember what you told me about the poppy and how you had learned to accept the knowledge that it could also bring darkness and pain?”
She nodded slowly.
“You’re like that poppy, Zilah. The stream of darkness only served to make you more hardy to endure the buffeting of the winds. It only made your blossoms brighter and more beautiful.”
Her heart was so full that for a time she couldn’t speak. He had said that he wasn’t like David Bradford, but in that moment it was as if David were speaking. How lucky she was to have two such men in her life. “You do love me.” There was a touch of wonder in her voice. Then as he frowned she held up her hand and grinned. “Sorry. You’re right. I’m positively wonderful. I deserve to have everyone in the whole cockeyed world love me.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But oh, I’m so glad that
“As long as you accompany it with a little declaration of your own,” he said gruffly. “I have a few insecurities myself.”
Her expression was stricken. “Oh, Lord, I didn’t say it, did I? But you had to know. I practically threw myself at you last night.”
“Women, on occasion, have been known to crave my irresistible physique without being in love with me.” His dark blue eyes were twinkling. “Not many, you understand. I can count them on one-”
He broke off as she flew into his arms. “I love you.” Her arms were hugging him with a force that took his breath. “I love you so much. I never thought I could love anyone the way I do you, Daniel. I’ve loved you ever since you tore off that silly false ear on the plane and threw it at Hassan.” Her lips were brushing swift, frantic kisses over his throat, his bearded cheeks, his ears. “Sometimes I thought I couldn’t stand it when you were being so platonic. Not that it wasn’t beautiful too, but…”
“Okay. Okay.” He was chuckling, but as he pushed her away she could see that his eyes were suspiciously bright. “When you make a declaration, you don’t spare the horses.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And I thought I did the platonic bit very well, considering I was going through the fires of hell trying to keep you on a pedestal and out of my bed.”
“Pedestal.” Her smile faded slightly. “I have an idea we’ve been having a massive communication breakdown.” Her face was suddenly thoughtful. “I have no use for that glass case you wanted to put me in, Daniel. I don’t melt in the rain and I don’t break with a little rough handling. In spite of all your fine words about how strong I am, I don’t think you really understand that. I’ve had years of being looked after as though I were so fragile that a breath would blow me away. It was all done for the best of reasons and perhaps I needed it at first.” She shook her head. “But not now. You’ve been whipping yourself because you thought you were so rough and selfish with me that night in the cave.” She touched his lips with a trembling finger. “Don’t you realize how I treasured that night? You were everything that was strong and true, and yet you needed me. You didn’t take anything from me that night. I gave and it was wonderful. I want to keep on giving.” Her words were just above a whisper. “Don’t shut me away in your dream world of sunshine and flowers. I want to live in the real world. Because that’s where you live, Daniel. And I couldn’t live in a world without you, no matter how beautiful it was.”
“The real world,” he agreed huskily. “For the rest of our lives. But don’t be too generous with your giving, love. I may take too much. I’ve never needed anyone this much before. I’m not sure I know how to handle it.”
She pulled his head down to kiss him with loving tenderness. “I’ll handle-” She broke off and slowly shook her head. “No,
A gust of wind stirred. It touched their cheeks with fresh coolness and brought with it the intoxicating scent of poppies and wild grass…and a sunrise world newly reborn from the darkness.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
IRIS JOHANSEN, who has more than twenty-seven million copies of her books in print, has won many awards for her achievements in writing. The bestselling author of
