Best Of Nora Roberts Books 1-6. Nora Roberts
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stunned by his words—a woman like her, Adam thought. Beautiful, sensuous, strong. How was it a woman like Kirby would be surprised to be wanted? Perhaps he’d moved too quickly, and too clumsily. “Any way you choose, Kirby. Maybe I should’ve chosen a better time, a better place, to ask rather than assume.”
“It’s not that.” Shaky, she lifted a hand to his face. It was so solid, so strong. “I don’t need that.” His face blurred a moment, and, shaking her head, she moved away again until she stood where she’d been posing. “I’ve had marriage proposals before—and a good many less binding requests.” She managed a smile. He wanted her, not just for today, but for the tomorrows, as well. He wanted her just as she was. She felt the tears well up, of love, of gratitude, but blinked them back. When wishes came true it was no time for tears. “This is the one I’ve been waiting for all of my life, I just didn’t expect to be so flustered.”
Relieved, he started to cross to her. “I’ll take that as a good sign. Still, I wouldn’t mind a simple yes.”
“I hate to do anything simple.”
She felt the room lurch and fade, then his hands on her shoulders.
“Kirby— Good God, there’s gas leaking!” As he stood holding her up, the strong, sweet odor rushed over him. “Get out! Get some air! It must be the heater.” Giving her a shove toward the door, he bent over the antiquated unit.
She stumbled across the room. The door seemed miles away, so that when she finally reached it she had only the strength to lean against the heavy wood and catch her breath. The air was cleaner there. Gulping it in, Kirby willed herself to reach for the knob. She tugged, but it held firm.
“Damn it, I told you to get out!” He was already choking on the fumes when he reached her. “The gas is pouring out of that thing!”
“I can’t open the door!” Furious with herself, Kirby pulled again. Adam pushed her hands away and yanked himself. “Is it jammed?” she murmured, leaning against him. “Cards will see to it.”
Locked, he realized. From the outside. “Stay here.” After propping her against the door, Adam picked up a chair and smashed it against the window. The glass cracked, but held. Again, he rammed the chair, and again, until with a final heave, the glass shattered. Moving quickly, he went back for Kirby and held her head near the jagged opening.
“Breathe,” he ordered.
For the moment she could do nothing else but gulp fresh air into her lungs and cough it out again. “Someone’s locked us in, haven’t they?”
He’d known it wouldn’t take her long once her head had cleared. Just as he knew better than to try to evade. “Yes.”
“We could shout for hours.” She closed her eyes and concentrated. “No one would hear us, we’re too isolated up here.” With her legs unsteady, she leaned against the wall. “We’ll have to wait until someone comes to look for us.”
“Where’s the main valve for that heater?”
“Main valve?” She pressed her fingers to her eyes and forced herself to think. “I just turn the thing on when it’s cold up here…. Wait. Tanks—there are tanks out in back of the kitchen.” She turned back to the broken window again, telling herself she couldn’t be sick. “One for each tower and for each floor.”
Adam glanced at the small, old-fashioned heater again. It wouldn’t take much longer, even with the broken window. “We’re getting out of here.”
“How?” If she could just lie down—just for a minute… “The door’s locked. I don’t think we’d survive a jump into Jamie’s zinnias,” she added, looking down to where the chair had landed. But he wasn’t listening to her. When Kirby turned, she saw Adam running his hand over the ornate trim. The panel yawned open. “How’d you find that one?”
He grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her forward. “Let’s go.”
“I can’t.” With the last of her strength, Kirby braced her hands against the wall. Fear and nausea doubled at the thought of going into the dark, dank hole in the wall. “I can’t go in there.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
When he would’ve pulled her through, Kirby jerked away and backed up. “No, you go. I’ll wait for you to come around and open the door.”
“Listen to me.” Fighting the fumes, he grabbed her shoulders. “I don’t know how long it’d take me to find my way through that maze in the dark.”
“I’ll be patient.”
“You could be dead,” he countered between his teeth. “That heater’s unstable—if there’s a short this whole room would go up! You’ve already taken in too much of the gas.”
“I won’t go in!” Hysteria bubbled, and she didn’t have the strength or the wit to combat it. Her voice rose as she stumbled back from him. “I can’t go in, don’t you understand?”
“I hope you understand this,” he muttered, and clipped her cleanly on the jaw. Without a sound, she collapsed into his arms. Adam didn’t hesitate. He tossed her unceremoniously over his shoulder and plunged into the passageway.
With the panel closed to cut off the flow of gas, the passage was in total darkness. With one arm holding Kirby in place, Adam inched along the wall. He had to reach the stairs, and the first mechanism. Groping, testing each step, he hugged the wall, knowing what would happen to both of them if he rushed and plunged them headlong down the steep stone stairway.
He heard the skitter of rodents and brushed spider-webs out of his face. Perhaps it was best that Kirby was unconscious, he decided. He’d get her through a lot easier carrying her than he would dragging her.
Five minutes, then ten, then at last his foot met empty space.
Cautiously, he shifted Kirby on his shoulder, pressed the other to the wall, and started down. The steps were stone, and treacherous enough with a light. In the dark, with no rail for balance, they were deadly. Fighting the need to rush, Adam checked himself on each step before going on to the next. When he reached the bottom, he went no faster, but began to trace his hand along the wall, feeling for a switch.
The first one stuck. He had to concentrate just to breathe. Kirby swayed on his shoulder as he maneuvered the sharp turn in the passage. Swearing, Adam moved forward blindly until his fingers brushed over a second lever. The panel groaned open just enough for him to squeeze himself and his burden through. Blinking at the sunlight, he dashed around dust-covered furniture and out into the hall.
When he reached the second floor and passed Cards, he didn’t break stride. “Turn off the gas to Kirby’s studio from the main valve,” he ordered, coughing as he moved by. “And keep everyone away from there.”
“Yes, Mr. Haines.” Cards continued to walk toward the main stairway, carrying his pile of fresh linens.
When Adam reached her room, he laid Kirby on the bed, then opened the windows. He stood there a moment, just breathing, letting the air rush over his face and soothe his eyes. His stomach heaved. Forcing himself to take slow, measured breaths, he leaned out. When the nausea passed, he went back to her.
The high color had faded. Now she was as pale as the quilt. She didn’t move. Hadn’t moved, he remembered, since he’d hit her. With a tremor, he pressed his fingers to her throat and felt a slow, steady pulse. Quickly he went into the bathroom and soaked a cloth with cold water. As he ran it over her face, he said her name.
She coughed first, violently. Nothing could’ve relieved him more. When her eyes opened, she stared at him dully.
“You’re in your room,” he told her. “You’re all right now.”
“You hit me.”
He grinned because there was indignation in her voice. “I thought you’d take a punch better with a chin like that. I barely tapped