Tall, Dark And Irresistible. Joan Elliott Pickart
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Ryan said, awe ringing in his voice. “Absolutely incredible. I…I don’t know what to say, Grandpa.”
“Then just listen to me please, Ryan,” Robert said quietly, as he leaned forward. “You’re holding the world in your hands at this very moment. Don’t you see that you are so much bigger than it is, than the prejudices that world might have?
“The whole world is yours. Oh, my dear boy, don’t be so driven to find your place in it, to feel that you must choose between your two unique cultures. Embrace them both, realize how blessed you are to have them. Each gives you rare and wonderful gifts. Accept who you are and be at peace.
“I hope that whenever you look at the globe, you’ll remember what I’ve said tonight. I pray that it will ease your pain and make your path easier in the future. I love you, Ryan.”
“I love…” Ryan said, then tears filled his eyes. “I love you, too, Grandpa. I’ll treasure this gift for the rest of my life, and I swear to you that I’ll try even harder to find that inner peace. I’ll look at this globe every day and hear your words and…thank you.”
Ryan swallowed heavily. “But thank you isn’t big enough to express how I feel. You put so much thought and love into choosing this globe for me and…” Emotions closed his throat and he shook his head.
“Your thank-you will do just fine,” Robert said, smiling. “Now, go home, Ryan. Take your globe…your world…with you, along with a firm resolve to become a man at peace with who and what he is. God bless you, my beloved grandson. Good night.”
Ryan nodded, replaced the globe carefully in the box, covered it and got to his feet. Unable to speak past the lump in his throat he gazed at his grandfather and saw tears matching his own shimmering in the older man’s eyes.
After a long moment, Ryan turned and walked from the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click.
Chapter One
One Year Later
Hands across the Sea International Adoptions was located on the fourth floor of an office building in Ventura, but was bursting at the seams and needed more office space. A new spacious structure was going to be on a piece of land donated by a grateful couple who were overjoyed with their newly adopted daughter. Ryan had agreed to present the plans for another architect at the firm who was still on vacation.
He entered the office and glanced around, deciding immediately that he liked the classy but welcoming reception area that had been decorated in colors of country blue and raspberry. Numerous plants gave it a homey touch, and a play area in a corner was equipped with toys, a small table and chairs. He approached the smiling receptionist and gave her his name and the purpose of his visit.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Sharpe,” the young woman said, “they’re expecting you, but we’re running a little late this morning. If you don’t mind waiting in Ms. St. John’s office, she’ll be with you in just a few minutes. Carolyn St. John is our assistant director, and is in charge of Asian adoptions. The head of the agency is tied up in an overseas conference call.”
“No problem,” Ryan said. “Just point me in the right direction.”
The receptionist got to her feet. “I’ll show you the way. Would you care for a cup of coffee or tea?”
Ryan declined the offer and was deposited in a large office decorated in the same colors as the front area. A stack of files was on top of a desk, filing cabinets lined one wall and two chairs were placed in front of the desk. He leaned the cardboard tube against one of the chairs, then his glance fell on the wall behind the desk.
There were more than two dozen framed photographs of Asian children ranging in age from, Ryan guessed, maybe two or three months up to eight or nine years displayed on the wall. He frowned as he slowly studied each photograph, his gaze lingering on the pictures of the older children.
Memories from years ago hammered against his mind, causing him to feel a chill.
He was seven or eight years old and seated in a restaurant booth with his adoptive parents and older sister, Patty, who was a carbon copy of their mother.
He saw the speculative looks from the other diners as they scrutinized the Sharpes, then whispered among themselves. He was sure they were saying that, for some unknown reason, his parents had decided to complete their family by adding a foreign child, who stuck out like a sore thumb.
He recalled an open-house night in elementary school during which his teacher commented that she hadn’t realized Ryan was a foster child, then apologized quickly when Ted informed her that Ryan was their son.
He remembered the day that Patty had come home from school in tears, saying some of the older kids had taunted her, saying her mother must have been getting it on with the gardener or the grocery man. They couldn’t imagine why Patty would have such a weird-looking younger brother who obviously wasn’t really a Sharpe.
Then later in high school… No, enough of this. Enough.
Ryan shook his head to fling into oblivion the disturbing images of days long past, drew a deep, steadying breath, then stared at the photographs again.
Carolyn St. John rushed to the open doorway of her office, prepared to apologize to Mr. Sharpe for keeping him waiting. She stopped so abruptly she teetered slightly and completely forgot what she was going to say.
My goodness, she thought, as she swept her gaze over the man standing in front of her desk. Mr. Ryan Sharpe was, without a doubt, one of the most handsome, well-built men she had ever seen.
He was, she guessed, about six feet tall, had dark brown, wavy hair, tawny skin, and drop-dead gorgeous, extremely dark, almond-shaped eyes. His suit was obviously custom-tailored and accentuated his broad shoulders and long, muscular legs.
There was an—oh, what should she call it—a blatant masculinity emanating from Ryan Sharpe, a sensual male something that was causing her heart to do a funny little flutter and a flush of heat to stain her cheeks.
Well, this was ridiculous, to say the least, Carolyn thought, drawing a much-needed breath. She was reacting to Mr. Sharpe like an adolescent girl who found herself in a dither because she was in close proximity to the popular football quarterback in high school. Enough of this nonsense.
“I’m sorry to have—” Carolyn started, as she walked forward. She stopped speaking as she heard the breathy quality of her voice, cleared her throat and tried again. “—kept you waiting, Mr. Sharpe.
“I’m Carolyn St. John. The others are waiting for us in the conference room to review the plans you’re presenting for the new building. Our director, Elizabeth Kane, will join us as soon as she finishes with an overseas telephone call. Were you offered something to drink?”
Ryan pulled his gaze from the photographs and turned to look at Carolyn St. John.
Pretty woman, he thought immediately. Really lovely. Carolyn St. John was about five foot six, slender, had curly dark hair that sort of fluffed around her face and fell to just below her ears and the bluest eyes he had ever seen. Nice. Very, very nice.
She was wearing a long-sleeved blue dress that matched her eyes with a swirly-looking skirt that came to just below her knees and revealed shapely calves and ankles. Her only jewelry was a gold locket on a delicate chain.
But he’d been so engrossed in looking at the pictures on the wall that he hadn’t heard one word she had said beyond asking if he’d been offered refreshments.
“Yes, thank you, but I don’t care for anything to drink,” he said, smiling slightly. He switched his gaze back to the wall of pictures. “I assume these are children from overseas that have been adopted by their new American parents.”
“Yes, they are,” Carolyn said, closing the distance between them.
Oh, Ryan Sharpe smelled good, too, she thought rather giddily. He was wearing a woodsy-scented aftershave that suited him perfectly.