How Long is Forever

Epilogue

Perry sat in the shade of the beach umbrella, watching as Della swam in the gentle waves. She cut a handsome figure as she glided parallel to the shoreline. With the sun almost at a tolerable angle, the water shimmered, giving her an unearthly appearance. He drew in his breath, held it for nearly a minute, then slowly exhaled.

It had taken a month of pleading, promises and more breath-holding while he waited for her to decide to come back to him. Della had assured him right away she didn't want him to go—not far, not while she was recovering—but she also needed him at arm's length. The togetherness he craved, the nearness of her to him, the camaraderie they shared as they worked, dined and spent quality time in each other's presence, all had to be gradually earned back.

Now they were finally together again. Well, at least they were closer, and in the same place. He had called in a favor from an actor friend and taken Della, Paul and Aunt Mae to a private island in Fiji. The island paradise wasn't deserted, but it was secluded. With a fully stocked kitchen and a gorgeous living area and bedroom quarters, the big compound on the island was perfect for the reconnection the four of them so desperately needed.

In the four weeks since Mae had made it her personal mission to put the weight back on Paul (prison had made him much too thin, according to her), he had started laughing again, and above all else, smiling. He was also showing signs that he needed to cut back on second portions. He had teased Mae, saying she had put so much weight on him, he wouldn't be able to fit in his suits, let alone run down all the suspects Perry would have him chasing. But Perry noted with satisfaction that Paul always cleaned his plate, and always gave Mae a big hug, causing the older lady to blush furiously.

Della, on the other hand, was quite another matter. Yes, she was back with him, but she was much too quiet, lost in her own mental cobwebs. She allowed him to hold her, steal a few gentle kisses even, but her passion seemed to have waned in their months apart.

Whenever Perry got too close, she would not only physically but emotionally back away. She always told him how much she loved him, but she still begged for time. And he would smile and assure her he loved her too, that he would give her all the time she needed.

Now as he watched her emerging from the blue water, he felt his heart constrict. The struggle to control his own passion was getting harder by the hour. He loved her so much, had been worried so long . . . And yet, if time was what she needed to return to him not only in body, but in soul, he would just have to stamp out his passion yet again.

Easier said than done, he thought morosely. She looks like the goddess Aphrodite rising from the sea! But no goddess could ever be as beautiful as my girl. My girl. She's more than that. She's my whole life, she's…

He had been so wrapped up in his thoughts that when Della shook her bathing cap, showering him with cold water, he actually yelped.

"Della!"

Her laugh was sheer music. "Well, you looked entirely too comfortable . . . and dry."

He reached up to take her hand, gently pulling her down to the blanket. "I'll help dry you off," he said casually as he took her towel and slowly began to dry her back. "For the record, Ms. Street, I was minding my own business, enjoying the view."

She cut her eyes to his face. "Uh-huh. And which view is that, Counselor?"

Perry lowered the towel. "The ocean, of course."

Della turned to him, placing her hand on his cheek. "Chief, you know better than to lie to me."

"Well," he started, turning his head to place a kiss on her palm, "there was this mermaid, you see . . ."

Della laughed, removing her hand, and stretched out on the blanket, pulling her sunglasses over her eyes. Perry sighed and resumed staring out at the ocean.

Talk to me, his mind begged her, just talk to me. About anything. About everything! Just . . . don't spoil the moment, Mason! Don't force her.

He sighed again. She looked at him quickly, chewing momentarily on her lower lip. She could see the tension in his shoulders and back, the way his muscles were too rigid, as though he were straining with every ounce of his strength to stay aloof. She knew they needed to talk but she didn't know how to begin. It was time, and she knew it, but—

There is so much to discuss, so much to get through. I love this man with my entire being. He is my whole life. I can't imagine anyone else in my life. But what if I do this wrong? What if I say something and he gives up on me . . .

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Paul sat on the veranda of the house, looking toward the beach to where the two people who were dearest to him sat. He understood they had both been through so much. He wanted so badly to help them, especially since he was part of the problem.

When Perry had found out about Michael's beating of Della and her subsequent call to him, his friend had lost it. He had said he would never forgive Paul for not telling him so he could handle things, that the thing he couldn't get past wasn't the fact Della had called Paul over him, but that Paul hadn't trusted him at all. Subsequently, trying to get Paul acquitted of murder and failing had almost severed their friendship.

My fault, Paul told himself again and again. I tied his hands; I made the situation with Della untenable. Now he sat watching, knowing he couldn't repair the damage he had caused.

"You have to let them be, Paul." Beside him, the warm, weathered voice broke into his troubled thoughts.

He patted the weathered hand on his shoulder. "I know, Mae, I know. But it's eating me up inside." He glanced at her and offered a half-smile.

Mae took a seat next to him. Pouring them both a glass of jasmine tea, she passed him one before she observed, "Paul, those are two of the most stubborn people I know. Della has always been headstrong when it comes to her private life. And Perry? Just as bad in his own way. So until one of them gives in, you and I just have to sit back and wait."

"I don't like it," Paul grunted. He slipped the tea, still looking out at the beach. "How much damned time does she need? Why is she torturing herself?"

Mae smiled grimly. "You're right about her torturing herself. But she's got to reach her own decisions, in her own time, Paul. That was the point of the retreat from him in the first place. She needs to know if she still fits."

"Still fits," he repeated, lost in thought. After a few minutes the light returned to his eyes and he remarked, "Mae, you are as wise as you are beautiful."

Mae slapped his arm playfully and laughed. "Flattery! You'll turn an old woman's head, you handsome devil, you!"

Paul smiled and leaned over to place a kiss on her cheek. "I keep trying Mae. After all, you're the only woman who hasn't fallen head over heels for me."

They both chuckled, then fell quiet again. Their thoughts, running on parallel tracks, were once again destined for the pair on the beach, each one hoping things would somehow work out.

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Time. He hated the word. The barrier it presented between them. He was as patient as Job, but he was only human. And the silence! The silences between them had always been of the best quality, and never of the distant kind. They were together alright—he was on his side of the canyon, and she on hers. But the space between them seemed unbridgeable unless she . . .

Cut it out, Mason. You agreed to her terms. She had asked for more time. Time to heal, time to forget, to forgive. But how much time will she need, how long before she comes back to my arms?

All of these thoughts flowed through Perry's mind like the waves kissing the shore. Her scent was all around him; her warmth radiating toward him, a thousand times hotter than the sun. He wanted to crush her lips under his, to bury himself deep down in her soul until she cried out how much she had missed him—had missed them. Feeling his emotions coming to a head and unwilling to unleash them before she was ready, he stood suddenly and ran towards the ocean. In a graceful arc, he dove into the blue water, his powerful strokes taking him further from land, further from her.

Maybe if I swim far enough, hard enough, I'll get control of this. I'll . . . I'll forget.

Della sat up straight, her heart in her throat. He's going out past the breakers! He's too far from shore! What is he doing! She scrambled to her feet, even as she watched him dive under the water and then resurface, further and further away from her.

"PERRY!"

The sheer terror in her voice stopped him. Slowly he swam back, watching as she paced back and forth on the sand. When he was able to touch his feet down, he waded out of the water. To his profound surprise, Della ran into his arms with such force they both fell back into the surf.

She began kissing him, his eyes, his lips, and her tears mingling with the seawater. She paid no heed to the waves washing over them. Perry wrapped his arms around her and rolled to the side.

"Easy, baby. You don't want to drown us." He reached up to wipe away the mist from her eyes.

"Oh, Perry. I thought that's what you were going to do."

"You thought I was going to deliberately drown myself? Della—"

She shook her head. "Please, please I need to talk, to . . ."

Perry laughed, placing a gentle kiss on her salty lips. "Okay, Miss Street. But can we do this on dry land? I'm getting sand in places I shouldn't."

She gave him one more searing kiss before agreeing, "Yes, Mr. Mason, that would be fine."

Together they walked back to the blanket, Perry wrapping Della in a towel before sitting down and holding her against his side. "Now, what do you need to tell me?"

At the feeling of being in his arms, hearing his gentle voice, Della felt everything she had held in for so long come rushing to the surface. She checked a sob, then started talking, careful to keep her eyes on the sand.

"The night Michael came to my apartment I was so terrified! I thought, after all the time away from him, after the divorce and coming to California, and building the kind of life I wanted, I could be like you—I could handle anything an adversary had to say or do. But I was wrong. The fear, the loathing, took over. And then he hurt me. Badly. And despite only wanting you, I was afraid to call you! I was afraid of what you would do, of what Michael might do to you. And I knew I couldn't call you. So I called the only other person I could trust—Paul. He's my big brother, my protector, my—our—friend."

"Darling, Paul and I sorted this all out some time ago," he said gently, "But thank you for telling me."

She shook her head, then went on, "You don't understand, Perry. I felt guilty, so incredibly guilty, for his arrest. Because Paul refused to tell you the truth about why he went to the club. He refused to tell you anything about what happened with Michael. And it hindered the case. I wanted you to let someone else handle it. I begged!"

"I remember," he said evenly.

She swatted at a tear. "You still don't understand. I thought, if someone else were to defend Paul, it wouldn't matter if he told them the truth. He could tell anyone other than you. And it would have aided his defense. Because he only promised to keep it from you."

He looked at her steadily. "I know, Della. It's okay. Paul and I made peace. Really."

"Well, when I pleaded with you to let someone else handle his case and you were so stubborn, you made me feel . . . useless. And then he was convicted, you seemed to draw further away from me. I never blamed you for that. I knew, you see, that I had put the distance there in the first place. I didn't trust you with Michael, and I made you believe I didn't trust you to handle Paul's defense. I had to leave. Don't you see, you were lost and you needed to get yourself back."

"But I became even more lost without you. I never…"

Della placed a finger to his lips.

"Let me finish, please." Perry kissed her finger and nodded. She looked deeply into his eyes, then confessed, "I was lost, too. I not only lost who I was, I also lost my best friend. I lost the man I love."

"You never lost me, Della." His voice, so soft and roughened with emotion, stirred her. "You never will."

She smiled up at him, then drew in a shaky breath. His eyes were so full of love and understanding, it scared her. Those eyes masked his soul with a thousand guises, and sometimes opened, at rare moments, and allowed her inside of his very being. His blue eyes could brood with the hopeless, somberness of leaden skies, or snap and crackle points of fire like those which sparkle from a sharpened sword against flint. Other times they could grow chilled as an arctic landscape, like when he zeroed in on a witness on the stand, or conversely, warm and soften and be all-a-dance with love-lights when he held her close in an intimate dance. They were intense and masculine, luring and compelling, and they fascinated her in a real and visceral way, dominating her until she wanted to surrender in relief and rest.

She breathed out again, looking back out to sea. The hardest part was still coming, and she couldn't afford to be sucked into his look. When her voice was under control, she continued.

"Anyway, I was doing better in the cabin. I was really getting ready to come back to you, Perry. You see, I realized—but that can wait. Then came the distraction."

"Novak."

Della turned back to face him, to caress his strong jaw, touching her fingers to his lips. "Don't jump to that conclusion, darling. He was a nice man. You and I both owe him my life."

Perry bit back his growl. This wasn't about his opinion; it was about Della's emotions. And he wanted—no, needed—to hear her tell him the man meant nothing more than a stranger.

"You've stopped listening," she scolded, "Pay attention. As much as he wanted to be part of my life, he never, ever could be. There's only one man who has my love and my heart." She kissed him possessively. "It was never a question, Perry. Never. I've been foolish, perhaps even selfish, but I have never been fickle."

Perry looked at her, the only woman had ever—would ever—love. "I believe you. If I'm honest, I've berated myself for hurting you, for pushing you away, for squandering the only thing that has ever mattered to me. But I never doubted that you loved me. I just thought—I wasn't enough."

The tears flooded her eyes again. "I accept the apology. Do you forgive me?"

He gave her a sweet smile. "Is that the end of the story?"

"That depends on you."

Perry's answer was to lay her back on the blanket and begin a thorough explanation of just how much he loved her.

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Back in Los Angeles, things seemed to have picked up as if they had never been gone. Gertie had bounced up and down at their return, saying a vacation was nice (which Perry had made sure was paid for) but she was so thankful to be back to work.

Burger and Tragg had also expressed their delight, although in a different manner. Hamilton told them Gina and Rocco would spend the rest of their natural lives behind bars. Tragg said that he was worried that with Perry back, dead bodies would start popping up again. Della had laughed and, much to Perry's chagrin, given both men a chaste kiss on the cheek.

Paul, looking more than fit, had introduced his new operative…Violet Adams. Without the heavy makeup and club clothes, she was finding her footing in undercover operations. Her body was still healing, but the same sharp brain she had always had was already working overtime.

And then, it was just the two of them. Della stood on the balcony, watching the sun turn the sky into a rainbow of oranges and purples. She felt his eyes on her, even though he hadn't come out to join her yet. When he finally stepped up behind her, sliding his arms around her waist, she leaned back into his chest, laying her head against his shoulder.

"You alright?"

"Mmmmm…now I am."

Perry nuzzled her hair, then found the spot just behind her ear that sent shivers of delight down her spine.

"Perrrry!"

"Yes?" he asked innocently.

"What are you doing?"

"Just exploring familiar territory. Making sure you know how much I love you."

Della turned in his arms, pulling his head down to claim his lips, then smiling up into his indigo blue eyes.

"Forever?"

"No, darling…for eternity."