Silken Sands by Delinsky Barbara

Author:Delinsky, Barbara [Delinsky, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2012-08-28T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

Cynthia had agreed to meet Jonathan on the pier at seven. But, having run into an accident that tied up traffic for a good fifteen minutes, it was a little later when she pulled in to the Baileys’ driveway and parked her car. Hurriedly, motivated on the one hand by eagerness to see Jonathan and on the other by fear of his wrath at her tardiness, she ran down the side street, proceeding as quickly as she could with her notebook and papers in one arm and her overnight case and pocketbook slung over the other shoulder and banging bulkily at her hip with each step.

Breathlessly, she rounded the last corner onto the main street and it was only when she bounded off the curb in a beeline to the pier that she heard the gunning of an engine. For an instant she was frozen, mesmerized by a sense of déjà vu, of having experienced this same trauma once before; it was a subconscious feeling of panic, all too familiar.

A sharp pain in her elbow brought her back to reality, a sense of being thrown, then a broader pain in her side, as the breath was knocked out of her. When she finally regained it and her bearings, she was resting against the side of the building with which she had collided, driven there by the impact of the vehicle’s sideswiping of her. She was aware of people pushing to her aid, of her papers and bags scattered nearby, and then of the group being eased aside by an ashen-faced Jonathan Roaman.

He knelt down beside her, his back to the crowd, his face infinitely close to hers. “My God, are you hurt?” he asked, an anxiety in his voice that Cynthia had never heard before. Dazed, she looked up at him, his sandy hair windblown, his chest rising and falling with the uneven beat of alarm. Oh, God, she thought, she loved him so; she could overcome any hurt if only he could love her in return. He took her shoulders very gently, repeating, “Cynthia, are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “No … no. I think I’m all right.” She had intended her voice to be forceful, yet it came out sounding strangely weak and not at all like her own. She made a move to stand up, but his hands became firm and held her down.

“Don’t move yet. Do you feel any pain?” he demanded, the anxiety having been replaced by the firm commanding which she more easily recognized.

Cynthia concentrated on her body. “My elbow—it hurts badly, but that’s all.” She seemed to be having trouble focusing on just what had happened. Suddenly she looked up at him. “My papers. Where are they?” She began to look frantically around her until Jonathan’s low growl stopped her.

“How can you be so concerned about those damned papers at a time like this? They’re right over there,” he added, pointing to where several of the villagers were gathering her things together. “Your papers will survive.

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