Last Bridge Home by Iris Johansen Page A

feet. “I’ll go see what’s keeping Gunner.”
    “I’m glad something kept him,” Elizabeth said dreamily. “Or I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to realize how—” She stopped, her eyes widening with distress. Jon’s face was taut, the skin pulled tight over his cheekbones. Lines of pain were visible on each side of his mouth. “Oh, Jon, I’m sorry. What a selfish bitch you must think me.” How cruel she had been. She had known Jon wanted her and yet she had taken his tenderness and comfort, never considering the price it had cost him.
    He shook his head. “No, this was your time. I wanted it that way.” He grimaced. “But fortunately, since you’ll be here at the lodge for a while longer, I’ll be able to convince you there’s no turning back for us now.”
    Jon’s hands clenched at his sides. He was silent for a moment, struggling for control.“There will be another time. I can wait.” He turned and walked toward the door.
    “Jon.”
    He paused with his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”
    “There
will
be another time. I promise you.” She smiled at him with a loving joyous-ness that made his heart give a little jerk. “And I think Andrew likes you. You notice he didn’t protest at all when you touched me so ten derly.”
    For a moment a flicker of a smile lighted the tenseness of his expression. “I know he likes me. Why not? He’s obviously a boy of impeccable taste.”
    The door closed softly behind him.
    Elizabeth stared at the door, the smile lingering contentedly on her lips. The room was suddenly very lonely without Jon’s vital presence. There were so many aspects to his complex personality. Gentleness, intelligence, passion, possessiveness. Every passing day un covered another intricate layer. As soon as she began to fathom one facet, it would change and be transformed into something else. He was a man who couldn’t bear to stand still. He had told her that himself. And he would certainly never be easy to understand.
    Andrew stirred beneath her heart, and she laughed softly. “Hello. You’ve been very lazytoday.” She lay there, wrapped in warmth and another feeling. A feeling she didn’t wish to label. “He says you like him,” she whispered. “I hope that’s true, because I’m afraid your mother is …” She didn’t finish the sentence, even in her own mind. To complete it would mean a commitment, and there was no hurry. She would let herself be carried along on a sweet silver stream of emotion. Jon would let nothing hurt her. Not even himself.
    Jon leaned back against the door, as aching need racked his body. Perspiration beaded his forehead as he concentrated all his energy on subduing the hunger tearing at him like a ravenous animal. Close. It had been so close. He could still taste her on his tongue. He could still see her lying on the yellow satin. He could smell her perfume. He smothered a groan.
    “Jon?”
    Gunner stood at the head of the stairs, a covered rattan tray in his hands. His dark blue eyes were troubled.
    Jon straightened. “I was just coming down to see what was keeping you.”
    Gunner strolled toward him. “I dallied a bit. I had a feeling I’d be interrupting something.” He smiled gently. “And I never ignore my instincts. They’ve saved my neck too often.”
    Gunner’s instincts had saved Jon’s neck a time or two as well. “I’m going for a walk. See that Elizabeth has a good lunch and takes a nap.” He moved jerkily down the hall. His muscles felt as if they were encased by barbed wire. “Did you radio Barnett this morning?”
    Gunner nodded. “No sign of Bardot in the area. We still have him running around in cir cles.”
    “Good.” Jon edged past Gunner and started down the stairs. “I want to talk to Barnett when I get back. It’s time we set up the refuge. I have to discuss a meeting with Alex Ben Ras-chid.”
    “I’ll tell him to stand by for your call. When will you be back?”
    Hours. Days. How long would it take to un