by Lisa Jackson
Kaylie, feeling restless, paced in her room. From her window, she spied the storm clouds gathering to the west, reflecting her own mood as they shifted in dark patterns on the water. She opened the window, feeling a stiff breeze, smelling the heavy scent of rain. There was electricity in the air, currents as charged as her emotions, and she couldn’t think of anything but Zane and what it would be like to kiss him.
She told herself she was crazy, that her mother would tell her she was in the throes of puppy love, that her feelings for Zane were nothing more than a schoolgirl crush.
Nonetheless, she was wild for him.
For the first time in her life she had sexual fantasies, and they always involved Zane. Sometimes she blushed just looking at him.
After filming, she and Zane decided to walk back to the hotel. The wind picked up and the clouds overhead opened. Huge raindrops peppered the ground, forming puddles. “Come on,” Zane said, turning up his collar and grabbing her hand as he dashed across a street. “We’ll catch a cab.”
Laughing, she followed, raindrops catching in her hair and running down her cheeks. They hurried past other pedestrians fumbling with umbrellas, carriages pulled by huge horses and double-decker buses rumbling through the slick streets. But each cab that passed was full.
As a final cab roared past, Zane muttered an oath. Then, tugging at her hand, he said, “I think this is a shortcut.” He pulled her through a park. They ran down gravel paths, their shoes crunching, their breath fogging in the air.
Kaylie’s legs began to ache. “Hey, slow down,” she said, gasping from his quick pace.
He slid her a disbelieving glance. “Out of shape?” he mocked, but tugged on her arm and pulled her beneath the leafy cover of a willow tree. The smell of damp earth and ferns filled the air. Magenta azaleas and pale lavender rhododendrons splashed color through the mist that seemed to rise from the loamy soil.
Zane threw his arm across her shoulders and wiped a drop from the tip of her nose. “I guess even I can’t protect you from Mother Nature,” he said with a crooked grin. His dark hair fell across his eyes, and raindrops glistened, jewel-like, in the blackened strands.
His gaze touched hers, and in one breathless instant Kaylie knew he was going to kiss her. The arm around her shoulders tightened, his fingers wound in her hair, and, as she tilted her head back, his lips found hers in a kiss that was gentle and fierce.
She responded, opening her mouth to the tender insistence of his tongue. He moved closer to her, his suede jacket smelling of leather and rain, his aftershave tingling her nostrils.
She moaned his name and strained against him—intimately.
Zane stiffened as if he’d been hit by an electric current. Quickly he stepped backward until the heel of his boot scraped against the scarred trunk of the willow. “Damn.” Running a shaking hand over his wet forehead, he stared past her, over her shoulder, to a point in the distance. “I can’t let this… This just can’t happen,” he said raggedly, passion in his eyes as he attempted to fixate on anything but her.
“But—” She took a step closer.
“No!” Holding up his palm, he shook his head. “My job is to protect you, not seduce you.” His gaze found hers. “Your parents—”
“Are in L.A.,” she blurted out.
“—trust me.”
He was right, of course, but she was too young and stubborn to admit it.
“Come on, let’s get out of this downpour….”
Throwing caution to the wind, she flung her arms around his neck and pressed her anxious lips to his. She felt him shudder. From his shoulders to his knees a shiver of desire possessed him.
“No, we can’t…. Oh, God.” And with that desperate prayer, he kissed her, long and hard, his arms surrounding her, his mouth exploring. Turning quickly, he pinned her against the rough bole of the tree, but she barely noticed as she kissed him with all the wild abandonment she’d dreamed of.
His hands moved upward until the weight of her breast filled his palm. His hips shoved tight against her, and she felt the rock-hard force of his desire creating an answering awakening in her. Warm and moist, like the spring shower, she experienced a want that was dark and dusky and so demanding she ached for him, wanting him as she had no other.
He kissed her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her throat, his tongue licking away the raindrops as his hands found the zipper of her jacket. The bleached denim opened, and he lifted her blouse until his damp fingertip plundered beneath her bra, touching and delving, causing her nipples to crest into small, hard buds.
Desire crept up her spine, spilled into her blood, causing her to moan and kiss him feverishly.
Beneath the drooping branches of the willow tree, with the wind sighing and the rain creating a moist curtain, Kaylie wanted to be loved.
“Oh, I should be hanged for this.”
“Don’t stop—” she cried, feeling him pull away.
“You’re barely eighteen,” he whispered, once again moving away from her.
“But I love you.”
The words seemed to sting. He stepped backward and sucked in a long, slow breath while Kaylie, her breasts still aching, her jacket draped off one shoulder, felt suddenly bereft and empty. Didn’t he want her? She had only to look at him to know.
“Those are strong words,” he said, his voice so low and rough she barely recognized it.
“But—”
“Shh!” Stepping forward, he placed a finger to her lips, and she kissed his knuckle, touching it with her tongue. He grabbed her roughly. “Stop it, damn you!” he growled. “Don’t you know you’re playing with fire?”
“I’m—”
“You’re eighteen. Eighteen! And I’m being paid to keep you safe!” In frustration, he straightened her jacket. “Let’s get out of here before we do something we’ll both regret.”
“This is what I want,” she pleaded, as his fingers clamped around her wrist and he yanked her toward the path again.
“You’re too young to know what you want.”
“I’m not—”
“And you’re too used to getting anything you desire. On a whim,” he said with more than a trace of remorse. “I’m not a rich man, Kaylie. And I’m not going to blow this job by getting involved with you.” Casting her a dark look over his shoulder he added, “And I’m not some toy that you’ll experiment with, lose interest in, then discard when you’re bored.”
“What?” she cried, planting her feet and trying to pull free of his grasp.
He stopped and then, as if he were searching for a way to throw away her feelings, he said, “Grow up.”
She slapped him. With all the force of offended youth, she hauled back and smacked him across his wet cheek.
“You spoiled brat,” he muttered, and she couldn’t tell if he were angry or relieved. Maybe he’d baited her on purpose. But this time, when he took hold of her wrist, his grip was punishing, almost brutal as he half dragged her through the park, mindless of the muddy puddles that splashed her boots. The path cut through a rose garden and a thicket of oaks before spilling onto the sidewalk that flanked the hotel. “Thank God.”
Furious, she couldn’t resist taunting him. “So what’re you going to do with me, Zane?” she baited, still reeling from his assessment of her as a “brat.” “Turn me over your knee and spank me?”
He stopped dead in his tracks. His face went stark white. His fingers slackened, and he squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, as if in so doing he could call up his fleeing patience. “No, Kaylie,” he said, slowly opening eyes as hard as glass. “As soon as you’re safely back at the hotel, I’m getting the hell out of here.”
“Meaning?”
“That you’ll just have to find yourself another bodyguard.”
No! Desperation tore at her. “But I don’t want anyone else.” She coiled her fingers around the lapels of his jacket and held on tightly, as if afraid he might run. “Don’t you understand,
Zane. I want you. You.”
Staring down at her upturned face, he let out a groan and dragged her closer still, kissing her over and over again. She felt him shudder against her, as if he were trying and failing to rein in impossible emotions.
Oblivious to the pedestrians hurrying, head and umbrellas tucked against the wind and rain, they held each other, she clinging to him as if to life itself, he embracing her as if she were a rare and fragile creature he was afraid to release for fear of never seeing again.
The wind and rain blew past, but they didn’t care.
Finally he stepped away, his expression tortured and grim. He took both her chilled, wet hands in his. “This can’t happen, you know.”
“It already has.”
He shook his head, though his eyes betrayed him. “Then it has to stop.”
“No!” She knew what she wanted. Zane, Zane, Zane!
“Come on. You’re getting drenched,” he muttered, twining his fingers through hers as he pulled her up the steps to the glorious old hotel. Built to resemble an English castle, the hotel stretched a full city block. Gold brick, leaded glass and tall, narrow windows created seven stories. Lush gardens and brick courtyards surrounded the sprawling building.
Zane, propelling Kaylie by her elbow, hastened her through the lobby and into an elevator. Once on the seventh floor, he unlocked the door to her room and made a sweeping search of the suite.
“Take a hot shower and I’ll meet you downstairs for dinner.”
She wouldn’t let him go. “Stay with me.”
“Kaylie—”
“Please!”
He groaned and pulled his hand from hers. “I can’t. You can’t. We can’t!”
“But—”
“Don’t you know this is killing me?” he finally admitted, as she reached for him again, trying to kiss him, feeling tears fill her eyes.
“I love—”
“Oh, God, Kaylie, don’t!” he whispered, his voice raw as he left her and closed the connecting door between their rooms.
Later, at dinner, he refused to talk about their relationship. Instead, he was all business, sitting stiffly across from her, his gaze moving restlessly over the other guests, looking, searching for danger that didn’t exist.
The meal, in Kaylie’s opinion, was a disaster, and upstairs in their suite again, things didn’t improve. He closed the door between them and refused to kiss her.
“I don’t understand,” she cried against the door panels, slamming her fist against the wall in frustration, but she received no answer.
The next few days were torture. Zane acted like a complete stranger. He was distant and proper to the point that she thought she might scream. She tried to draw him into conversation, but his replies were quick monosyllabic answers. No more laughing. No more jokes. No more ad-libbing to her lines. Stiff and businesslike, he became the antithesis of the man with whom she’d fallen in love.
On the set three days later, she cracked. She blew her lines for the third time when the director waved everyone off the set and called for an hour break.
Kaylie, cheeks burning, walked straight to the docks. Zane was near her side, though, of course, he didn’t say a word. Not one solitary word.
She clamped her hands over the rail and, without looking in his direction, shouted, “What’s wrong with you?”
Zane leaned against the fender of a car as she pressed her nails into the painted railing and stared at the rippling blue waters reflecting against a clear, cerulean sky.
Gulls floated on the air currents near the docks, while sailboats and fishing trawlers skimmed across the horizon. Kaylie barely noticed, her concentration centered solely on Zane.
“Well?” she demanded, wanting to shake him.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Like hell! You’ve changed, Zane!”
“I’m just here to do a job.”
“You care about me!”
“You’re my client. My responsibility.”
She flew at him. Emotionally strung out, she raised her fists as if to pummel his chest, but he captured her wrists and pinned them together over her head before she had a chance to strike. So close she could see her own reflection in his sunglasses, she felt helpless and tired. Tears welled in her eyes and she crumpled against him. “There’s more—we both know it. Tell me there’s more,” she pleaded, her throat closing against the pain of his rejection.
“There can’t be.” But the corners of his lips turned down, and she knew he was fighting his own ragged emotions.
“I love you.”
“Kaylie, no!” But his face was pained, and he sighed loudly…sadly. “God, help us,” he whispered, releasing her and shoving one hand through his wind-ruffled hair. Looking toward the heavens, he swore. Was he angry? At her? Or himself?
“I do love you, damn it, and I always will.” Sobs choked her. “I love you, Zane. Please, just love me back.”
“It won’t work.”
“We’ll make it work!” she cried, reaching up and lifting his sunglasses to see the agony in his eyes.
With a moan, he wrapped his arms around her and dropped his mouth on hers in a kiss that nearly strangled her with promised passion.
She closed her eyes to the storm of desire overtaking her. He did care! He did!
When he raised his head, she saw the torment on his face. “This can’t happen. We can’t let it.”
But she kissed him again and again. Only when she knew the director would send someone looking for her did she pull back.
That night she expected Zane to come to her. She lay on her bed, wearing a soft pink nightgown, trembling at the thought of what she intended.
She watched the clock as the hours passed. Ten. Eleven. Midnight. Still the light beneath his door shone. At twelve-thirty, she could wait no longer and knocked softly. “Zane?”
The door opened. He stuck his head into her room. “What?”
She swallowed hard. Though she’d played the role before, she’d never seduced a man, never been in bed with a man. “I—I uh, thought, you might like to come in….” Oh, Lord, why did her voice sound so high-pitched and trembling—like a child’s?
“Are you all right?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then let’s just leave it, Kaylie,” he said, his voice as rough as sandpaper.
“I can’t.”
“Go to sleep.” He shut the door firmly, and she wanted to die of embarrassment.
She couldn’t sleep that night, nor the next. She was a failure at rehearsals, and the director, running behind schedule, was in a foul mood.
Zane was adamant. Cool and distant again. And no amount of anger or pleading would change his mind.
Until the phone call.
It came through at eleven o’clock on a rainy Monday night. Kaylie, restless anyway, picked up the receiver only to hear Margot’s frail voice on the other end. “Kaylie?” Margot cried, her voice breaking. “Oh, Kaylie…”
“What?” Kaylie’s heart leaped to her throat. Fear engulfed her.
“Oh, God, Kaylie. It’s Mom and Dad….” Margot wailed. Nearly incoherent and sobbing uncontrollably, Margot cried on and on. Kaylie’s insides turned to ice as she understood part of what Margot was saying—something about an accident and Mom and Dad and another car.
Trevor, Margot’s boyfriend, took control, and his voice was firm as he explained about the accident. As he spoke, Kaylie understood. The room went out of focus. The floor tilted. Blackness surrounded her as she realized both her parents were dead, killed in a hideous accident on a winding mountain road in northern California.
She wasn’t aware that she’d screamed, didn’t realize that she’d sunk to the floor, couldn’t feel the tears drizzling down her face, but all at once Zane was there, holding her, cuddling her, calming her as he spoke to Trevor.
He hung up and tried to get her to talk, to drink some water, to do anything, but her grief eclipsed all else.
“Shh, baby, shh,” h
e said rocking her, but she was inconsolable.
He must have called the producer, who sent over a doctor, because she was given something to help her sleep. Even in her drugged state, images of her mother and father and a fiery automobile fused in her mind.
When she finally roused twelve hours later, Zane was there, his flinty eyes regarding her carefully, his jaw unshaven, his clothes wrinkled from sitting in the chair near her bed.
“I—I can’t believe it,” she said. Her head thundered, and her eyes burned with new tears. Her throat was hot and swollen and she felt as if she’d aged twenty years.
He came to her then. Took her into his arms and stretched out on the rumpled bed with her. “Oh, Kaylie, I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “But I’ll take care of you,” he vowed, kissing her crown. “I promise.”
And he had. From that moment on, he’d never left her side. Through the funeral and resulting media circus, Zane was there, protecting her, sheltering her, being her rock in her storm-tossed sea of grief.
When the pain had finally lessened and she was able to put her life back together, Zane had come to her bed as a lover, not a protector. He held her and made love to her and became her reason for living. His caresses were divine, his lovemaking glorious, and she was certain she was in love.
They married in June, and for months Kaylie was in heaven. Living with and loving Zane was perfect. Their happiness knew no bounds, and though Zane sometimes seemed a little more concerned about her welfare than she thought was necessary, she loved him with all her heart.
Then the letters started arriving. Letters about love and lust and weird rituals. An anonymous person wrote her every day, pledging his love, promising that he would “perform an act of supreme sacrifice” for her. These letters were much more frightening than any others she’d received and the fact that the terrifying missives arrived daily put Zane on edge.
Kaylie wasn’t concerned, and even thought Zane was overreacting. And he started calling her day and night when he wasn’t with her, asking about her friends, checking into their backgrounds.