The news jolted him. He wanted her tucked safely away in her grandmother's house. Waiting for him.
The pink seam of Portia's lips tightened below her damp blue cheeks. "Listen to me, Heath. As soon as you find her, call me. Don't try to handle this yourself. You need help. Do you understand me? This is my introduction."
Right now, the only thing he understood was the depth of his own foolishness. He loved Annabelle. Of course he loved her. This explained all these feelings he'd been too frightened to label.
He needed to be alone to think this through. Portia seemed to understand, because she tugged her trench coat closed and left the room. He felt like he'd been hit in the head with a fly ball. He sagged down in the chair and buried his head in his hands.
Portia's heels clicked on the marble floor in the foyer. He heard her open the front door, and then, unexpectedly, Bodie's voice.
"Fuck!"
Chapter Twenty-Three
Portia fell into Bodie's arms. Just fell. He wasn't expecting it, and he stumbled backward. She went with him, wrapped her arms around him, and wouldn't let him go. Not ever again. This man was solid as a rock.
"Portia?" He gripped her shoulders and pushed her a few inches away so he could study her face.
She gazed up into his horrified eyes. "Everything you said about me was right."
"I know that, but…" He ran his thumb over her papery blue cheek. "Did you lose a bet or something?"
She rested her head against his chest. "It's been a really bad couple of months. Could you just hold me?"
"I could do that." He pulled her close, and they stood like that for a while, surrounded by a pool of light from the copper porch fixtures. "A paintball game gone bad?" he finally asked.
She gripped him tighter. "An acid treatment. It burned so bad. I thought maybe I could… peel away the old me."
He rubbed the back of her neck. "Let's sit over there so you can tell me all about it."
She snuggled closer. "Okay. But don't let me go."
"I won't." True to his word, he kept his arm around her as he drew her across the street to the tiny neighborhood park with its single green iron bench. Even before they reached it, she began to talk, and as the dry leaves blew over their shoes, she told him everything: about the marshmallow chicks, about her acid peel, about Heath and Annabelle. She told him about getting fired as a mentor and about her fear.
"I'm scared all the time, Bodie. All the time."
He stroked her matted hair. "I know, babe. I know."
"I love you. Do you know that, too?"
"That I didn't know." He kissed the top of her head. "But I'm glad to hear it."
The tail of her scarf blew across her cheek. "Do you love me?"
"I'm afraid so."
She smiled. "Will you marry me?"
"Let me see if I can make it through the next few months without killing you first."
"Okay." She cuddled closer. "You might have noticed I'm not the most nurturing person."
"In your own odd way, you are." He pushed her scarf aside. "I still can't believe you had the guts to come out looking like this."
"I had ajob to do."
"I love a woman who's willing to take one for the team."
She heard only awe in his voice, and it made her love him even more. "I have to make this match, Bodie."
"Haven't you learned enough yet about the perils of ruthless ambition?"
"It's not exactly what you're thinking. The best part of me wants to do this for Heath. But I want to go out on a high note, too. One last match-this match-and then I'm selling my business."
"Really?"
"I need a new challenge."
"Lord, help us."
"I mean it, Bodie. I want to run free. Be wild. I want to go where my passion leads me. I want to work hard at something that only the strongest woman in the world can do."
"Okay, now I'm scared."
"I want to eat. Really eat. And to be kinder and more generous. Real generosity, without expecting anything in return. I want to have great skin when I'm eighty. And I don't ever again want to care what anybody thinks. Except you."
"Oh, God, I'm so turned on right now I'm going to explode." Abruptly, he pulled her from the bench. "Let's go back to my place. Now."
"Only if you promise not to tell me any of those bag-over-the-head sex jokes."
"I'll cut an airhole in it."
She smiled. "You know I have no sense of humor."
"We'll work on it." And then he kissed her, blue lips and all.
Even before he hit the shower on Monday morning, Heath started working the phones. He was hung over, nauseated, scared, and exuberant. Portia's shock therapy had made him face what his subconscious had known for a long time but his fear had kept him from acknowledging, that he loved Annabelle with all his heart. Everything Portia said had struck home. Fear had been his enemy, not love. If he hadn't been so busy measuring his character with a crooked ruler, he might have understood what was missing from inside him. He'd taken pride in his work ethic and his intellectual dexterity, in his incisiveness and his high tolerance for risk, but he'd failed to acknowledge that his crapped-up childhood had left him an emotional coward. As a result, he'd been living half a life. Maybe having Annabelle at his side would finally let him relax into becoming the man he'd never quite had the courage to be. But before that could happen, he had to find her.
She wasn't answering either her home phone or her cell, and he soon discovered her friends wouldn't talk to him either. After a quick shower, he got hold of Kate. First she reamed his ass, then she acknowledged that Annabelle had called on Sunday morning to say she was okay, but she hadn't been willing to tell her mother where she was.
"I'm personally blaming you for this," Kate said. "Annabelle is extremely sensitive. You should have realized that."
"Yes, ma'am. And as soon as I find her, I promise I'll set this right."
That softened her up enough to divulge that the Granger brothers were gunning for him, so he'd better watch himself. He loved those guys.
He set off for Wicker Park. Messages were coming in fast and furiously from his office, but he ignored them. For the first time in his career, he hadn't contacted a single client to talk about yesterday's game. He didn't intend to either, not until he'd found Annabelle.
Wind whistled off the lake, and the cloudy October morning held a chill. He pulled into the alley behind Annabelle's house and found the sporty new silver Audi TT Roadster he'd ordered for her birthday, but not her Crown Vic. Mr. Bronicki spotted him right away and came over to see what Heath was up to, but other than passing on the information that Annabelle had driven off like a crazy person Saturday night, he had nothing more to add. He did, however, want to know about the Audi, and when he learned it was a birthday gift, he told Heath he'd better not be expecting any "relations" with her in exchange for the fancy wheels.
"Just because her grammie's not around don't mean people aren't 'watching out for her."
"Tell me about it," Heath muttered.
"What's that you say?"
"I said, I'm in love with her." He liked the way the words sounded, and he said them again. "I love Annabelle, and I plan to marry her." If he could find her. And if she'd still have him.
Mr. Bronicki scowled. "Just make sure she don't raise her rates. A lot of people are on a fixed income, you know."
"I'll do my best."
After Mr. Bronicki had parked the Audi in his garage for safekeeping, Heath circled the house and pounded on the front door, but it was closed up tighter than a drum. He pulled out his phone and decided to try Gwen again, but got her husband instead. "No, Annabelle didn't spend the night here," Ian said. "Dude, you'd better watch your back. She talked to somebody in the book club yesterday, and the women are pissed. Here's a word of advice, chump. Most women aren't too anxious to marry a guy who's not in love with them, no matter how much hair he's got."