The Bridge by Karen Kingsbury Page A

class.”
    “It doesn’t matter.” She didn’t laugh. “He’ll have me surrounded by experts. He wants our family to maintain control.” She took a slow breath. “He says I’ll learn on the job.”
    “You’re only twenty.” Ryan couldn’t believe the man was serious. “He wouldn’t put you in that position now.”
    “No.” She managed a light bit of laughter at the idea. “He wants to groom me, have me finish classes closer to his headquarters, take me to the meetings, and get me familiar with operations. Grooming is like, I don’t know, a ten-year process.”
    It felt like a prison sentence, but Ryan didn’t say so. He slid back to his spot beside her and set the glider in motion.
    “You think I’m giving up.” She sounded hurt, and this time she shifted so she could see him. “That’s why you’re not saying anything?”
    He stopped the glider and met her eyes. “You’re the one with a dream, right? Playing in the philharmonic?”
    “What can I do about it?” Her tone flashed a rare anger. “My whole life has led to this. I’ve known what I was supposed to do, where I was supposed to live, since . . . since the first grade.”
    “He can’t make you.” Ryan stood and walked to the edge of the patio. For a long time he stayed there, staring into the forest, trying to see clear of the heartache ahead if she left. Suddenly, the reasons seemed clear and he spun around, his own voice louder than before. “It’s safe. That’s what this is about. You could tell him no, Molly.” He was breathing hard, his emotions getting ahead of him. “But going home and doing what he says is safer.”
    For a few seconds, it looked like she might refute him. Instead, moving slowly, she came to him, and the anger between them kindled a passion they had denied from the beginning. She stood inches from him, her body trembling, and when she spoke, her voice was a whisper. “I hate safe.” She came closer still, and tears filled her eyes. “I want to be like Jane Eyre.” She sniffed, her voice breaking. “‘I am no bird; and nonet ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.’” She let her forehead fall against his chest. “Help me, Ryan. Please. Help me be free.”
    He felt his head spinning, his heart pounding. He took a half step back so he could think clearly, her quote from Jane Eyre still playing in his mind. No matter how he fought for control, his voice betrayed the depth of his feelings for her. “How, Molly? How can I help?”
    She didn’t hesitate and suddenly he could see her again, feel her breath against his skin that summer night. She closed the distance between them once more, and with a determination and anguish that made her breathtakingly beautiful, she took his face in her hands. “Kiss me. Give me a reason to stay.”
    Here was the moment he had hoped for and dreamed of and wondered about. Though everything about it was wrong, Ryan couldn’t stop himself. He caught the back of her head in his hands and slowly, in a losing battle of restraint, he drew her to him and touched his lips to hers. The kiss was more magical than anything in a book. And for the next minute he was convinced for the first time that he wasn’t the only one who’d been fighting the attraction. Their kissgrew and built until they were breathless, and then, as if she remembered all the reasons they shouldn’t be together, she put her hands on his shoulders and drew back from him. “Ryan . . . we can’t.”
    “Hey . . .” He tried to see into her eyes, but she was staring at the ground, shame covering her face. “Don’t be afraid. You said you hate safe, remember?”
    “No.” When she looked up, the questions in her heart seemed to scream for answers. “You have Kristen. This is . . . it’s wrong.”
    He wanted to remind her that the idea of kissing had been hers, but he was dizzy from the feel of her in his arms, from her lips against his. “I’m sorry.” It was the