heart thumped slow and hard as it lay heavy in her chest. In the two weeks she’d been gone, she’d come to some important realizations. The first, of course, had been that she couldn’t run from who she was anymore. The second had been that she needed David in her life. She couldn’t say that without him it wouldn’t be worth living; she’d never had any problem going on alone.
But she didn’t want to anymore. She wanted David at her side and she wanted to be at his…if she were ever allowed to see him. Her palm itched, tempting her to slam it against the marble counter over which the guard loomed. But then the man jerked his chin toward the private elevator. His voice gruff, he conceded, “You can go up now.”
She followed the Oriental runner to the elevator, stepping inside the small car of mirror and brass. Before she could press any buttons, the doors swished closed and the car jerked, beginning its ascent. She stared at the image reflected at her. Red hair, long and tangled, falling around a face devoid of makeup. A loose-knit brown sweater hung on her, like the long denim skirt, the tattered hem dangling threads against her brown leather boots.
No wonder the guard had questioned her admittance to the penthouse. She undoubtedly didn’t appear suitable for a man of David’s wealth and power. But David never cared how she dressed; he always called her beautiful. The guard probably watched her from cameras hidden somewhere inside the elevator. She considered sticking out her tongue but resisted the urge. Obviously she’d been spending too much time around second graders. Or she once had. After she settled things with David, she’d see about getting her job back or getting another. She missed teaching almost as much as she’d missed him.
The car shuddered to a halt, and her stomach lifted, not from the height but with nerves. Would he forgive her running away? She hadn’t even taken her cell phone when she’d left, so he’d had no way to contact her.
The doors slid open to the two-story foyer of the penthouse. A wide mahogany staircase wound up one corner of it while plaster columns separated the sitting area from the hall leading to the rest of the apartment.
“David?” she called out as she stepped out of the elevator. “David?”
Her heels clinked against the marble floor like wineglasses in a toast as she walked across the foyer. Light glowed from the living room, so she followed it through the rows of plaster columns, down a couple marble steps until she neared what David called the conversation pit, where black leather couches angled around an octagonal table in front of a massive marble fireplace. Despite the warmth of the spring day, a fire burned in the hearth, mirroring the flames of the profusion of candles arranged on the glass-top table.
“David?” she said as she neared the couches. Along with the candles, a bouquet of red roses adorned the table, the flames reflecting in its crystal vase making it look as if the stems were on fire.
“You’re here,” he said as he joined her in the living room. He carried a silver tray laden with flutes of sparkling champagne and plates of canapés.
“As if you didn’t know,” she said. “I couldn’t get past the lobby until you authorized it. Did you take me off the list?”
“List?” His mouth kicked into a secretive grin. “You think I have a list.”
She nodded, refusing to be distracted by his handsome face. She loved that wicked grin, loved the creases it left in his cheeks, the way it warmed his dark eyes. “And I’m not on it anymore.”
He gestured at the table, the candles, then the fire burning in the hearth. “I might have asked the guard to stall you.”
“So you could set this scene?”
For what? Seduction? It never took him much for that. Just that grin. The touch of his hand. The brush of his lips. Her stomach quivered as heat spread throughout her body. Since she stood before the hearth, she would blame the warmth of the fire, but she knew better. David got her hot. Her body craved his almost to the point of obsession.
“Is it working?” he asked her as he set the tray on the table next to the candles. Then he pushed aside her hair to brush his lips against the nape of her neck. Her pulse quickened. He didn’t miss her reaction, as he chuckled and asked, “Should I stoke the fire?”
With another kiss, another touch?
“You must be cold,” he said.
She had been cold and alone, even with Haylee’s sweetness haunting her. “I missed you,” she admitted.
“Good,” he said, his voice hard.
She glanced up in surprise at his harsh tone and turned toward him. “David?”
“I was going out of my mind worrying about you, wondering where you were—” his hands settled onto her shoulders, tangling in her hair “—wanting you at my side.”
Instead of feeling guilt, satisfaction lifted her spirits. He cared as much as she did. She smiled. “So I heard.”
“From Ty?” His brown eyes darkened with emotion. Bitterness or resentment? Or something else?
“Is it a problem that I stopped there first?” She probably wouldn’t have if she hadn’t been stalling on carrying out the decision she’d made to tell David everything.
He shook his head, tousling his golden hair. “Not at all. I’m worried about Ty, too.”
“Why?” she asked. “The suspension?”
David sighed. “It’s more than that.”
“He’s healing all right?”
“Physically, yes,” he replied. “I’ve checked with his doctors.” To whom patient-doctor confidentiality obviously meant nothing. But when David Koster asked a question, people answered him. Except her. She’d done a good job avoiding telling him anything about her past. She hadn’t realized he’d done the same to her.
“So what are you worried about?” she asked. “His emotional well-being?”
“All Ty has to do for reinstatement is talk to a psychiatrist. Then he’d be cleared to return to duty.”
“But he won’t do it.” She couldn’t blame him. After she’d been taken away from her mother, she’d been forced to talk to a barrage of psychologists. The minute any foster family had learned about her ability, she’d been sent to one. A couple of times she’d even been locked away in a psychiatric ward, with other kids screaming and yelling or laughing maniacally.
David’s hands slid from her shoulders, and he walked a few paces away. “No, he won’t.”
“Maybe he’s not ready to talk about that day.” Sometimes it was better if a person didn’t share everything. Maybe she shouldn’t tell David. Just talking about psychologists reminded her how anyone who’d learned the truth had looked at her as if she were crazy.
“It’s not just that day he’s avoided talking about,” David remarked with another ragged sigh as he stared moodily into the fire.
“History,” she said, admitting to the knowledge of their bond.
He turned to her and blinked as if clearing something from his mind. “What?”
“History,”
