He stroked her hair. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“But it is. Sometimes I wish I could turn the clock back to when I was seventeen and stop it there. Ethan would be alive, and you and I would be carrying on without a care in the world.”
“We had cares. There was the problem of where to go so that we could be alone to love each other. And there was the problem of your parents, and what would happen if they found out about us.”
Marni’s arms tightened around him, and she rubbed her cheek against his jaw, welcoming the faint roughness that branded him man and so very different from her. She loved the smell of him, the feel of him. If only she could blot out the rest of the world …
“It’s still a problem, isn’t it, Marni?” She went very still, so he continued in the same gentle tone. “I’m no psychologist, but I’ve spent a lot of time thinking the past week, especially the past few days, about us and the future. Your parents despised me for what I was, and wasn’t, and for what I’d done. They’d be a definite roadblock for us, wouldn’t they?”
Just then a knock sounded at the door. Web twisted around and snapped, “Yes?”
The door opened, and a slightly timid Anne peered in. Uncomfortably, she looked from Web to Marni. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just wanted to know if there was anything I could do to help.”
“No. Not just now,” Marni said. “You can go back to the office. I’ll be along later.”
“I’ll take a look at the contact sheets as soon as possible and let you know what I think,” Web added quietly.
Anne nodded, then shut the door, at which point Web turned back to Marni.
She was gnawing on her lower lip. “Did you know that there was an article in the newspaper about the incident last Friday night?” she asked.
His jaw hardened. “Oh, yes. I got several calls from friends congratulating me on my heroism. Of all the things I’d like to be congratulated on, that isn’t one. I could kick myself for not instructing the cops to leave our names off any report they might hand to the press. Neither of us needs that kind of publicity.” He frowned. “You didn’t mention the article when I spoke with you last night.”
“I didn’t know about it.”
“Then…?”
“My mother called right after you did.”
He blinked slowly, lifted his chin, then lowered it. He might have been saying, “Ahhhhhh, that explains it.”
“If you can believe it, my sister Tanya brought it to her attention.” Marni’s voice took on a mildly hysterical note. “Neither of them made the connection, Web. Neither one of them associated Brian Webster, the photographer, with you.”
“But you thought at first they might have,” he surmised gently, “and it scared the living daylights out of you.”
Apologetically Marni nodded, then slid forward in the chair and buried her face against his throat. Her thighs braced his waist, but there was nothing remotely sexual about the pose. “Hold me, Web. Just hold me … please?”
She sighed when he folded his arms around her, knowing in that instant that this would be all she needed in life if only the rest of humanity could fade away.
“Do you love me, Marni?” he asked hoarsely.
“I think I do,” she whispered in dismay.
“And I love you. Don’t you think that’s a start?”
She raised her head. “You love me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“When did you … You didn’t before …”
He knew she was referring to that summer in Maine. “No, I didn’t before. I was too young. You were too young. I didn’t know where I was going, and the concept of love was beyond me.”
“But when…?”
“Last weekend. After you left me, I realized that I didn’t want anyone but you pushing aspirin down my throat.”
She pinched his ribs, but she wasn’t smiling. “Don’t tease me.”
