Fatal Exposure - By Gail Barrett Page 0,89
I’ll ask you again, someplace better. With flowers, champagne, whatever you want. But I have to know... Will you marry me?”
Her lush mouth trembled, her eyes shining with tears. “I don’t want champagne. I just want you.”
His heart went berserk. “Is that a yes?”
“Parker...” Tears brimmed in her eyes. “You gave me hope. You taught me to dream again. Do you have any idea how precious that is? Of course I’ll marry you.”
He surged to his feet. Hardly able to contain himself, he perched on the edge of her bed, careful not to tangle her cords. Then he cradled her jaw and stared into her gorgeous eyes. “I’ll keep you safe. I promise, Brynn. No one will hurt you again. If you won’t go into protective custody, then you can stay with me.”
“Forever?”
“I promise.”
She lifted her hand to his face. He slanted his mouth over hers, ignoring the bandages and bruises and pains. Focusing on her taste, her incredible feel, the miracle of the woman he would love for all time. The woman his brother had brought to him. The woman who’d healed his heart.
And knew he was exactly where he wanted to stay.
* * * * *
Don’t miss Haley’s story, A KISS TO DIE FOR,
the next thrilling chapter of BURIED SECRETS,
Gail Barrett’s exciting new miniseries for
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Chapter 1
Grayson Pierce looked at his watch impatiently. The plane was late. Either that or his Rolex had suddenly lost its orderly Swiss mind. How he was supposed to help with this very, very off-book investigation, he had no idea. But his old fraternity brother from Stanford, Jeff Winston, had asked for help, and that was enough for him.
The way he heard it, Jeff had been doing the U.S. government massive favors left, right and center, and Uncle Sam owed Jeff one back. Gray frowned. What kind of debt merited pulling a senior field agent like him out of deep cover on no notice and sending him to West Virginia, of all places? What crisis of national security significance could be afoot in this bucolic setting?
Finally. The whine of a jet became audible in the distance. Gray picked out the white speck, which rapidly grew larger, descending on final approach into the Elkins-Randolph County Regional Airport. Jeff was sending some guy named Sam Jessup here to help with whatever was brewing around a local cult leader named Proctor.
The thrust reversers of a sleek Learjet bearing the Winston Enterprises logo screamed as the plane came to a stop at the far end of the runway, did a one-eighty, and taxied toward him. He was parked in a vintage 1972 Ford Bronco outside the gold, two-story box of a terminal, such as it was. Chicago O’Hare, this airport was not. He pulled up beside the low jet and hopped out as the hatch popped open. A pilot wearing a crisp uniform trotted down the steps.
A pair of high-heeled, black leather boots with chrome ankle chains and stiletto heels that looked like lethal weapons appeared on the top steps. Slim calves came into view. The shapely legs turned out to be a mile long and sheathed in leather that looked painted on. A black leather jacket with slashes of red leather under the arms emerged from the shadows. Good Lord, the jacket was unzipped down to...well, that was an impressive flash of cleavage. What did the woman have on under the jacket to cause that gravity-defying display? An urge to tug the zipper down and find out made his fingers itch.
A swirl of flaming red hair swished over her shoulder. It was the color of strawberries and oranges if they got together and made a baby. A slender, porcelain-pale neck came into view, and then lush lips painted the most improbable shade of scarlet he’d seen in a long time.
The asymmetric triangles of her black sunglasses wrapped around her head like something