Anna

 

When Samson leaves and the door is bolted, I sit on the couch in my pajamas and think about the future. For the longest time, my future was honed down to one thing: my veterinary work. And while that is still an aspect of my life, a huge aspect that will never be pushed aside, I find that other things are filtering into my mind. I see myself with Samson, not young like we are now, but old, impossibly old (I’m sure nobody ever thinks they’ll grow that old), sitting on a park bench with his hand on my knee. The image changes between the appearance of a smiling dog and a smiling child, our child or grandchild, until it settles on the child leading the dog right up to us with an equally goofy grin on her face. My breath gets quicker as these images cycle through my mind. I wonder if it’s possible to fall in love, truly and deeply in love, over such a short period of time. But I don’t have to wonder for long, Samson and I are evidence of this.

 

I go to my bag in the bedroom and take out the dress and the jewelry he bought me. Holding the dress up, I admire it. His money no longer seems as important as it did only a few days ago. After some thought, I discover the reason. It’s the arena, everything that happened in there, and the gunshot especially. I still have the ringing in my ears from the shot and I know it will be there for days. When that shot went off, I wasn’t thinking about Samson’s money, his impressive mounds of wealth. No, I was thinking about the dogs and Samson, just Samson. I know now that even if he was poor, we would find a way to make it work. If that’s not true love, true dedication, what is? But that doesn’t mean I don’t love the dress. I strip naked and pull it on, savoring the feel of the fabric against my skin. It’s easily the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever worn.

 

I dance through the apartment in the dress, spinning around so the hem spins around my thighs, and then I start giggling to myself. God, have I gone mad? I wonder. But that doesn’t seem to matter when you’re in the throes of love. Love has gripped me, lifted me up, and now I’m soaring and nothing else matters. Love blots out everything else, love is everything else.

 

I think of the night I found Eric stuffed in my car, the confused medley of fear and relief, and then the appearance of this strange man at my front door. He seemed cold, almost jerk-like, and yet I gave myself to him, didn’t I? He was too sexy. That was my reasoning at the time. But now I wonder if I didn’t see something behind his eyes, some potential for what we could become.

 

“Having fun?”

 

I stop spinning at his voice, my gaze resting on him. My head waves from side to side and the spinning has caused the ringing in my ear to get worse, but I don’t care. I’m just glad to see him. He stands there in a suit jacket and trousers, shoes, shirt tucked in and highlighting his muscular form. It’s like the first time I spotted him at the NBA game, a rich onlooker, a stylish stranger a woman like me would never meet.

 

“I guess you could say that.” I smile.

 

He walks into the apartment holding three briefcases, drops them on the couch, and then comes to me. He reaches his hands out and takes mine, looking into my eyes with his bright sky-blues. He massages his thumb over the back of my hand, rubbing it softly, and slowly a smile spreads across his face. It’s the smile of a mischievous little boy, the smile of a boy who’s been holding something secret and is now bursting with the desire to set the secret free. I feel free and happier than I can ever remember feeling at any other point in my life. When I’m with Samson, it’s like Mom didn’t die, Dad didn’t turn mean and cold, like everything bad that’s ever happened to me is swatted aside in favor of his warmth, his smiling face.

 

“What is it?” I ask.

 

He bites his lip and uncertainty comes into his eyes, a flicker of it. “I . . .” He lets go of one of my hands and touches his jacket pocket. “I have something I want to say to you before I . . . Can I just say it?”

 

“Of course.” I reach up and touch his chin, his day’s growth tickling my hand. “Of course you can, you silly man.”

 

He takes a deep breath, and then launches into a speech. “For the longest time, Anna, I’ve been focused on finding my center. My killer’s center, I call it. It’s my calm place, my place where I can think clearly and do my job efficiently. It’s a cold place, devoid of any emotion, the sort of place a man goes when he wants to kill heartache and distraction, the sort of place a man holds close to him when all he wants is to turn into a well-functioning machine. But now, I find that my killer’s center isn’t enough. I don’t want coldness. I don’t want to just be a machine. I want something more. And you’ve given me that, Anna. You’ve given me that and so much more. How can I be cold around you? How can I feel nothing around you? You’re amazing, the best woman I’ve ever met or will meet. You’re my woman and I want to . . .” He stops, swallows.

 

I stroke his face. “Go on,” I urge, realizing that there are tears in my eyes, sliding warmly down my cheeks. “Go on, Samson.”

 

He sinks to his knees, reaches into his pocket, and takes out a ring box.

 

My hands come to my mouth, a gasp escaping my lips. He tilts his head sideways at me, and it’s hard to tell if his stark azure eyes are glistening with tears or just glistening with life. “Anna Hill, will you marry me?”

 

With a trembling hand, I reach down and take the ring. The diamond is huge and complex. I look at it for a long time, so long that when I look back down at Samson I can see that he is starting to get nervous, maybe thinking that I’m going to say no.

 

“Of course I’ll marry you!” I squeal.

 

I hand him the ring and hold my left hand. He slides it on. It fits snugly on my finger, the metal cool against my skin. And then he leaps to his feet and wraps his arms around me, burying his face in my neck.

 

“But you know we have to leave New York, don’t you?” he says after a moment.

 

“I guessed that,” I admit. “So I’ll marry you, Samson Black, but I have on condition. You have to use some of that money of yours to help me finish my studies and build me an animal sanctuary wherever we end up. I don’t care where we are, if I can follow my dreams, if I can be with you.”

 

“Done,” he says, without having to give it any thought. “Done and done and done.”

 

I let out another squeal, and then he kisses my neck and his hands roam down my body, to my ass and to my pussy and soon I am lost in the heat of the moment, my fiancé groaning and me moaning, crying out with our passion.