Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,45

given him and barely brushed his mother with a gritty kiss. To the happy strains of laughter and a shower of rice, Wes led his new bride to the car.

Sloan’s nervousness increased as Wesley silently drove. Unaccountably, she was becoming terribly uneasy in his company. Remembering her sister’s words, she tried to settle comfortably into her seat. Wes was a terrific man, always calm and understanding. And he would be, she was sure as a thrill of heat raced through her at the thought, a superb lover. If “previews” meant anything...Yet even as she deliciously contemplated the night, a vision of the icy hardness of his eyes as he stared at her after the ceremony rose unbidden to her mind. Stop! she warned herself. She could relax now, feel young.

Sitting up abruptly, she shook her head as if to clear it and turned to her new husband with a smile. Her wanderings were absurd and ridiculous! She knew Wes, she loved and understood him completely. He was the nicest, most wonderful man in the world, and any suspicions to the contrary were pure imagination on her part! They loved one another, and love was comfortable, secure...fun! She had invented his look of this morning in her mind; it had been a trick of light.

Resting her hand lightly on his thigh, she said, “Thanks for handling Laura so well. She was breaking my heart.”

Wes shrugged, his eyes planted squarely on the road. “I’m crazy about the kids, you know that. And they’re not your children anymore; they’re ours.”

“I love you,” Sloan said softly.

“Do you?”

Whatever reply Sloan had been expecting, that wasn’t it. She studied him, puzzled. “You know I love you,” she said, hurt. “Why else...”

Wesley’s arm came around her neck, and he ruffled the hair at its nape. “We all like assurance,” he said, and he glanced at her quickly. His eyes were full of their sea-jade warmth, and Sloan relaxed. Everything was all right.

“Why don’t you settle down for a bit of a nap,” Wes suggested, idly stroking her hair. “We’ve still got quite a drive to the airport, then a long flight, and it will be morning all over again when we land. Might be some time before we get to bed, and then—” He juggled his eyebrows insinuatively, and Sloan blushed like a girl and chuckled.

“Well, hell!” he grumbled with a wink. “One of us is going to need a lot of energy!”

“Okay, okay,” Sloan retorted, stretching across the car and resting her head in his lap. “I’m napping!”

After the excitement of boarding the plane and moving out over the Atlantic had also diminished, Sloan again cuddled into her reclining chair, her hand resting possessively in Wesley’s, and slipped into another catnap. It was easy to sleep with the clouds out her window and the faint hum of the engines lulling in her ears. So easy, in fact, that Wesley was shaking her awake before she could believe the long flight had passed.

An hour later they were standing in the middle of Brussels’ magnificent Grand Place while her citizens busily scurried about. Sloan stared in awe at the breathtaking visage of the city center. The buildings, though grayed and sooted with age, were spectacular. In the brilliance of the summer sun, they shone like a fairy tale, all white and glittering gold and carved with exquisite artistry.

“We’ll just walk around a little and get the feel of the city,” Wes said, taking her arm, “Feast on a delectable meal of French cuisine and head out for the hotel. Tomorrow we can start sightseeing.”

“Tomorrow,” Sloan laughed. “It is tomorrow.”

“Not here.” Wes grinned.

Wes pointed out certain of the gold-gilded buildings as they walked, reading from a tourist manual. The city was founded in the 500s, and many of the structures still standing dated back to the 1200s. They viewed with wonder and excitement the old Hotel de Ville, the Church of Saint Gudule, and the more modern Palace of Justice.

“I know it’s here somewhere!” Wesley suddenly muttered, his eyes roaming studiously around the market square. “Off the Grand Place...”

“What?” Sloan asked curiously, following his line of vision. All she could see was the beautiful square, the bustling people, and a sky full of careless gray pigeons.

“The Kissing Fountain.”

“The what?”

Wesley smiled roguishly and set his arm around her waist. “I swear to you, it’s one of the ‘must sees’ in Brussels. Well, it’s semifamous. Among honeymooners, anyway.”

Sloan raised a brow. “Because the fountain kisses?”

“That’s right.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, it’s true,”