Brave Hearts by Carolyn Hart Page A

you.”
    Peggy looked down at the suitcase and once again pushed hard on the lid. This time it snapped shut.
    â€œHe’s really nice,” Ann continued. “Why don’t you give him a chance?”
    Slowly, Peggy stood. Her round, cheerful face was serious and determined. “I’m going with Spencer, Ann. You see, I love him.”

    Jack’s fingers jabbed at the typewriter keys. He used two fingers on each hand, and they attacked the machine in short, erratic bursts as he punched out the stories from his five-day tour of coastal defenses.
    â€œEngland’s coastal defenses are all in place, barbed wire, dynamite, mines, but the best guess now is they won’t be necessary because of the German push to the East.”

    Jack paused, took a deep drag on his cigarette, then continued; but in the back of his mind, behind the words so carefully arranged in the story, a refrain sang; I’ll see Catharine in only a little while, I’ll see Catharine in only a little while . . .
    Finally, he ripped the last sheet from his typewriter and took the pile of copy to the bureau chief. “There you go, Sam. Everything you ever wanted to know about coastal defenses and more.”
    Sam took the copy, then looked up at Jack. “Getting bored? Not hot enough for you here?”
    Jack shook his head quickly. “No complaints, Sam.”
    â€œIs this the Jack Maguire I know? I thought you’d be pressing me to be on the next boat to Africa. You getting old?”
    Jack understood Sam’s surprise. There was a day, not so long ago, when he would have pushed to be in the thick of the action. Part of him still wanted to be in the Western Desert right now.
    But Catharine was in London.
    â€œThere are plenty of stories in London, Sam.”
    â€œSure.” There was still surprise in Sam’s voice. “How about a drink, Jack?”
    â€œRain check, Sam. Got a date.”
    He knew Sam looked after him with sudden interest, but he didn’t care. Catharine would be at the apartment—surely she would. She knew he was returning today.
    He took a cab and all the way to Greenwood Courts he thought of her and what they would do and say. He felt a mixture of tenderness and passion. There had been many women through the years, but there had never been anyone in his life like Catharine. Her cool, distant beauty masked a passion equal to his own.
    That first time he’d seen her, he’d wondered about the dark and beautiful woman he’d glimpsed in the shiny surface of the pillar. Now, he knew. He knew her long, soft black hair could fall forward, its silky strands brushing against his skin, framing their faces as their lips touched, screening out the world. He’d wondered how she would love. Now, he knew, but he knew more than their love; he knew that each time they came together it was a unique union of passion and delight. He knew her love, and yet he knew that never, not if they loved a thousand years, would he be able to define the depth and range of her love.
    Was it this complexity that fascinated him, that made their encounters so magical and distinct? He smiled and wondered how she would love him today. Gently, with the faraway look of a wood nymph? Passionately, with a bawdy light in her eyes? Slowly? Or quickly, desperately, hungrily?
    When the cab nipped into the curb, he handed over his bill, then pushed out, impatient now. He didn’t wait for the slow, creaking elevator. He’d had only three hours’ sleep the night before, ridden a jolting troop carrier back to London, and hunched over his typewriter for five hours, but he ran lightly up the steps, two at a time, his heart pounding with anticipation.
    He was hungry to touch her hair, to frame her face with his hands. He wanted to make her a part of him, hold her so closely and tightly that they breathed together and he would feel the thudding of her heart against his chest. He jammed his key