Back on Blossom Street (Blossom Street #4)(103)

“Tell me the rest later,” Colette said. “The only thing that matters right now is that you’re here.”

They arrived at the house and Christian let them inside. Closing the door, he gathered her in his arms and kissed her until she thought she’d faint with longing and need.

Christian rested his chin on the top of her head. “I’m exhausted. I feel like I could sleep for a month.”

“I know.” Colette nodded. “Go to bed now.”

Christian leaned back, looking directly into her eyes. “Come with me.”

The temptation was as strong as a riptide. But she shook her head, slowly, regretfully. “We have to talk first.”

His disappointment was obvious.

“Sleep,” she suggested, “and when you wake, I’ll be here.”

He seemed about to argue with her. Instead, he murmured “Good night,” and disappeared into a room at the end of the hallway. She checked on him an hour later and discovered he was dead to the world. He lay stretched out on the covers, still wearing his clothes.

Colette opened windows to let in the mild June air and disperse the stuffiness of a house that had been shut up for more than three weeks. She found a can of soup in the kitchen, heated that for dinner and phoned Elizabeth to assure the old woman that her morals were safe.

“You tell him he has to marry you,” Elizabeth insisted.

Colette planned to do no such thing.

She slept in a spare room and woke at about seven the next morning, when she heard Christian rummaging in the kitchen. After dressing, she joined him. “Good morning,” she said cheerfully.

She was glad to see that he looked rested. His hair was damp, he’d shaved and wore black slacks and a teal sweater, which highlighted his blue eyes.

“You must be starved,” she said.

“I am,” he agreed, “but before I do anything—other than have a coffee—I want us to talk.”

Colette hadn’t expected it to happen this soon and she wasn’t ready for it. “Let’s sit down,” she said. He’d made a pot of coffee and carried his mug over to the table. She located tea bags and heated water in his microwave.

“I love you, Colette,” he said, just as she took the chair opposite his.

Her lips trembled as she savored his words. “I love you, too.”

“A lot of things happened before I left for China,” he said. He took her hand in his.

“Who were those men that night?”

She didn’t need to clarify her question. “The evening before I flew into China,” he said, “I met with a group of government agents.”

“Those men were with the government?” Colette remembered the two Asian men and had assumed they were involved with the smuggling. Instead they worked for the Immigration and Naturalization Service.

“Just before Christmas, I was approached by some of my contacts—here and in China—about being part of their smuggling operation. They had a system all worked out and wanted to include me. They thought I could manage to get them some sort of cover through my importing business. I went to the INS, who asked me to follow through. Or pretend to, at any rate.”

Colette tightened her fingers around his. “You took a very big risk,” she said in a tearful voice.

He grimaced. “I knew people were being exploited. I didn’t feel I had much choice. However, I couldn’t tell anyone—like you. For everyone’s protection, this had to be completely covert.”

“How did you finally get out? Did you escape?”

“I couldn’t—they watched me day and night. I was in some kind of makeshift prison for two weeks. What a hellhole! I could even hear my guards arguing about the best way to kill me.”

Colette was horrified at the thought. He would never have been seen or heard of again; she would never have known what had happened to him.

“I think the reason they didn’t murder me right away,” he went on, “is that I’m a fairly well-known businessman, and there might be repercussions if I simply disappeared. Still…I knew I probably wouldn’t see you again. I expected to die, and just when I’d given up all hope, I was rescued by a coalition of American military and Chinese police.”

Colette gave him a puzzled glance. She’d combed the newspapers for any information to do with China and hadn’t seen a single mention of the undercover operation. “There was nothing about it in the papers.”

“There won’t be. The government wants to keep it quiet.”

“For obvious reasons,” she murmured.

Christian nodded.

“What about the anonymous letter I wrote?”

“I will say that letter stirred up a bit of interest,” Christian said with a grin. “If anything, though, it worked to my advantage. It deflected any suspicion the smugglers might have had—at least the ones in North America.” He gave her a solemn look, all traces of his smile gone. “I hated deceiving you, Colette, but I didn’t have a choice.”

She’d hated deceiving him just as much; like Christian, she didn’t feel there was any option. She’d had to keep the baby a secret from him.

They moved into the living room; when he chose the sofa, clearly expecting her to sit there, too, she sat in a spindly antique chair across from him.