Draden didn’t like the change in her voice. “What happened?”
“They made a lot of fun of us and tore up the catalogue a page at a time. Zara was beaten and taken to the isolation cell. Whitney hated her so much. She was gentle and kind. She didn’t like hurting others. She really couldn’t take pain, and that made Whitney think she was weak. He inflicted pain on her as often as possible saying it would build up her tolerance, but of course it didn’t.”
“What it did was make her strong,” Draden said. “She was in China. Some of our team went in to rescue her. She’d been horribly tortured, but she didn’t break. Whitney was ridiculous to look down on that woman.”
Shylah looked at him, clearly horrified. “Horribly tortured? What does that mean?”
“I shouldn’t have used that word. She’s all right now, sweetheart. You saw her. Doesn’t she look happy and healthy? Believe me, Nonny fusses over her. She will you too when she meets you.” He said it without thinking because he wanted Nonny to get to know Shylah.
“I wish I could meet your Nonny. She sounds extraordinary.”
“She is. Wyatt is a lucky man having her. But we got off subject. We were talking about wedding gowns. Did you have a particular favorite before Whitney broke up the party?”
“I didn’t have a chance to look closely. I wanted something elegant but with color to it. Bellisia had assured me that there were some dresses that weren’t perfectly white.”
“Why didn’t you like white?”
She shrugged, and clearly sought to try to find the right words to tell him. “I loved the lace and buttons. The beautiful beads. Even the cut of the gowns. But I wanted something that said who I am, and I’ve got way too much blood on my hands to ever wear white.”
There it was, the real reason. He looked at her statement from all angles before responding. Denying it wasn’t even close to the truth, wouldn’t work. She wouldn’t believe him. She had killed, just as he had, in the service of their country, but her feelings were legitimate and he couldn’t ignore them.
“What color did you want to wear?”
She traced little patterns on his chest, driving his body crazy. He caught her hand and brought it to his mouth, nibbling on her fingertips while he waited for her answer.
“Something elegant. On my wedding day I would like to look elegant. I’m tall enough to pull it off and I’ve got a good figure, so with the right dress, I could do it. I don’t know about walking in heels, I always thought if I had to wear a long dress, I’d go barefoot rather than fall on my face wearing heels.”
“What color?” he persisted.
“Probably champagne. Or gold. Wouldn’t that be pretty in a gown? A champagne or gold gown with lace. French lace maybe. Have you ever seen French lace?”
“I was a model, sweetheart. Fabrics and lace were a must to know.” He said it in the voice of one of the most famous designers, snippy, sarcastic and arrogant.
She laughed, just like he knew she would. “Well, that’s what I always envisioned.”
“It sounds beautiful.”
“What about you? Did you ever think about getting married and what you would like?”
“Briefly. I never thought I’d meet a woman I could love or who would ever love me enough to want to marry me and spend the rest of her life with me. I had no idea I’d find you and you’d give me such a compliment as to say yes.”
Her soft laughter turned to a giggle. “The rest of my life isn’t that long, so I don’t know how big a compliment it is. One day? Two?” She rubbed her chin along his chest. “Stay humble, my man.”
“With you I have no choice.”
“Wedding ceremony.”
“Flowers. Especially peonies. I pictured them everywhere.”
“You did not. You’re making that up.”
“I’m not, Shylah. They were my comfort flower. My mother always wore a scent that was the real deal and smelled like peonies. I tried to find it one time, but most of the perfumes that say peony don’t smell like them at all. That’s probably why, when I worked at the nursery, I gravitated toward that section of the greenhouse. Sometimes I slept there.” He made the confession in a low voice.
Her arms slid around him, and she kissed a line of flaming little darts all the way down his chest and back up, leaving behind a trail of fire.
God, he loved her. It was that simple and that profound. He looked up at the ceiling, his woman snuggled over him, and knew, if he had to die at least he’d had her for a time. At least he knew she existed and that she was his partner in every way. She was the one for him. He wasn’t alone and never would be as long as she was alive. He didn’t kiss her because that would lead to
other things and there was still a very small chance that her body could fight this thing off. He knew he was infected and didn’t want to risk increasing her exposure. A part of him knew he was kidding himself, but he had to believe she would survive and get better, even if he didn’t.
“I guess you can call me Peony,” she whispered. “If it comforts you.”
“My peony,” he emphasized. “And it’s only for us, no one else.” He liked the intimacy of having a special name for her no one else knew but the two of them. He also liked that she got the significance of the flower to him.
“I love that, Draden. You turned that horrible name to something beautiful. I like that it’s just ours.”
“I do as well.”
“So, lots of flowers. What else?”
Her voice held a drowsy note that trailed over his body like the touch of her fingers. He threaded her hair through his fist and then moved down to her nape where he began another slow massage. He knew she was tired and he wanted her to go to sleep.
“I want to watch you coming toward me. Walking up a path scattered with petals. I want to see your face when you come to me. That’s important.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.” She yawned. “I’m really sleepy, Draden.”
“Then stop talking, woman, and go to sleep.”
“I love talking to you, but I’m so tired.”
He remained silent, willing her to go to sleep. He had a lot of work to get done and not very much time to do it. It didn’t take long before she was out. He waited an extra twenty minutes and then carefully slid her off of him. She woke with a sleepy protest, but he soothed her back to sleep, promising to be right back.
Draden dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, keeping his gaze on his woman. She had been unexpected. Exhilarating. She made him feel alive just when he should have been at the lowest point in his life.
She must have felt his stare because her head moved slightly, and she lifted those long lashes of hers and blinked at him several times sleepily. “You need me to get up? I can go with you. Are we on alert?”