by Lisa Jackson
“Where’re we going?” she asked, shading her eyes and wishing she had thought to bring along a pair of sunglasses.
“To the ridge.”
“Why?”
He glanced over his shoulder, and his gray gaze touched hers. “For the view.”
Zane was riding a horse up to a ridge in the mountains in order to show her a view? If anyone had told her two days ago this would be happening, she would have laughed in his face. And yet she found Zane’s newfound laid-back, get-away-from-the-rat-race attitude appealing.
The ride took nearly two hours as the horses picked their way up an overgrown trail. Kaylie’s legs began to ache, and her eyes burned from squinting against the sun. She took off her jacket and tied the sleeves around her waist as Dallas plodded after His Majesty.
As she swayed in the saddle, Kaylie tried to find interest in the wildflowers sprinkled among the trees, or in the flight of a hawk circling high overhead, but her gaze, as if controlled by an unnamed force, continually wandered back to Zane. His dark hair shimmered in the sunlight and curled seductively over his collar. His shoulders stretched wide, pulling at the seams of his shirt. His sleeves were pushed over his forearms, exposing tanned skin, a simple watchband and a dusting of dark hair.
There was something earthy and masculine that surrounded him, an aura she found captivating. She noticed how his shirt bunched over the waistband of his jeans, the way his belt dipped in back as he rode.
Right now all she could think about was one man—the one man who had once been her husband, the man who had loved her so thoroughly she’d been sure no other could take his place.
Maybe no one could.
That thought caused her to draw back on the reins. Dallas sidestepped, snorting and prancing, his ears flicking as Kaylie eased up on the bit. How easy it would be to fall in love with Zane again. If you’re not in love with him already. “No!” she cried, and Dallas reared.
Zane yanked his horse around. His face was grim. “What?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly, feeling her cheeks flame as she settled her horse. “I—I just lost control for a minute.” She couldn’t fall in love with him again! Wouldn’t allow herself the painful luxury!
“You’re okay?” He didn’t seem convinced, and the concern in his eyes touched a forbidden part of her soul.
“Just fine,” she answered with only a trace of sarcasm.
One side of his mouth lifted. “Good. We’re almost there.”
The path curved sharply north, and the tall pines gave way to a rolling meadow of dry grass. A creek cut into the dry earth as it raced downhill to pool in a lake that reflected the blue of the mountain sky.
Kaylie, as she slid from the saddle, couldn’t help but be enchanted. “It’s gorgeous,” she murmured, looking past this little alpine valley and over the ridge, where mountains steepled and gray-green forests covered the lower slopes. Zane tethered the horses, and the two dusty beasts sipped from the stream.
“That’s the house,” he said, standing behind her and pointing over her shoulder. His sleeve barely touched hers, and yet she was all too aware of him, his earthy scent, the warmth of his skin, the clean, sharp angle of his jaw. He extended one long finger, and Kaylie was mesmerized by the tanned length of arm and hand stretched in front of her.
She followed his gaze and saw, far below, nearly obliterated by fir trees, the roof of the old log cabin.
“You know,” she said, “I never saw you as someone who would retreat up here.”
He glanced down at her, and his lips pressed tightly together. “I learned a few years ago that some things are more important than business.”
Her heart nearly stopped beating. “Did you?”
“You taught me that lesson, Kaylie.” The look in his eyes grew distant and guarded. Tension controlled his rugged features. “Seeing you with Johnston on the night of the premiere brought everything into sharp focus. Nothing mattered but your safety. But, of course, it was too late.” She watched as his naked pain dissolved to a cynical expression. He swept his hair back with the flat of his hand. “But you’ve never understood that I only protected you because I loved you and I was afraid of losing you. And I drove you away—did the one thing I was afraid someone else would do.”
The air between them hung heavy with silence. Only the lapping of the water, the twitter of birds in the surrounding pines and the painful cadence of her own heartbeat broke the stillness. Kaylie knew the devastating grief of losing people she loved. Hadn’t she lost her parents when she was young? And Zane had been there to pick up the pieces.
He leaned closer, so close that she saw flecks of blue in his gray eyes. “Losing you was the hardest thing I’ve ever experienced.”
Kaylie’s eyes burned. When Zane’s hand slid upward and strong fingers wrapped around the back of her neck, she didn’t resist, but tilted her face upward.
His lips brushed intimately over hers, and she parted her mouth expectantly.
The wind swept through the trees, soughing through the scented pine boughs. Shadows shifted in the sunlight as Zane’s arms wrapped tightly around her.
Kaylie closed her eyes and tried to think of all the reasons she should push him away. But the pressure of his mouth on hers, the intimate caress of his tongue, the feel of strong fingers splayed possessively along her back were too seductive to ignore. With the sun warm against her back, she succumbed, winding her arms around his neck.
Desire surged through her, and she moved closer to him, felt his anxious thighs against hers. The sweet pressure of his arms wrapped around her and held her so close that her breasts were crushed and she could barely breathe.
Her feet left the ground. He carried her to a thicket of pines and laid her on a bed of needles near the water. Then he stretched out beside her and his lips found hers in a kiss that was hot and wild and filled with emotion.
His hands moved downward, sculpting each of her ribs, his thumbs brushing the swell of her breasts.
Kaylie moaned softly as her nipples hardened and a moist heat in the depths of her womanhood swirled. Lost in battling emotions, she clung to him, laid her head back and felt the warm moist trail of his tongue as he kissed her throat and tugged on her shirt, exposing more of her skin. Her breasts ached for his touch, her body quivered in a need that was overpowering.
He rolled atop her, and the weight of his body was welcome, the feel of his skin against hers divine.
She ignored all the voices in her head that still whispered she was making an irrevocable mistake, and she wound her hands in his hair, then let her fingers trail down the strident muscles of his back and shoulders.
“Make love to me, Kaylie,” he whispered against her ear, and she could barely think. Blood was pounding at her temples, desire creating an ache so intense, she only wanted release.
He stroked the front of her T-shirt, resting the flat of his hand over her pounding heart.
“You want me.”
She stared up at him. His handsome face was strained, perspiration dotted his brow. Above him, branches shifted against the blue, blue sky.
“You want me,” he said again.
“Y-yes.” She couldn’t deny what was so patently obvious. She ached for him, yearned for him, burned deep inside with a longing so intense, she could think of nothing but the feel of his sweat-soaked body claiming hers in lovemaking as savage as it was sweet.
“And I want you,” he whispered hoarsely.
He wasn’t lying. She could feel his hardness through his jeans, rubbing against her hips, causing a friction that seared to her very core. She moved with him and sighed when he pulled her T-shirt from the waistband of her jeans and reached upward, the tips of his fingers grazing her lace-encased nipples.
“Oh, Zane,” she whispered, her mouth finding his as she arched closer, wanting more.
He kissed her again, then his tongue slid down the milk-white skin of her throat, past her breasts, to the sensitive flesh of her abdomen.
; “Zane,” she whispered, and he buried his face in her.
A strangled sound escaped his lips, his breath fanned against her skin, and when he dragged his head upward and met her gaze, his eyes were glazed and stormy, as if he were fighting an inner battle that tore at his soul.
She reached upward to clasp her arms around his neck and drag his lips to hers, but he grabbed her hands. “Don’t,” he said, clenching his eyes shut and sucking in a swift breath.
“Zane?”
“Just don’t!” The skin across his cheeks was stretched taut, and he dropped her hands, pushing himself upright. He swore violently.
“Is something wrong?” she asked as he rolled away, sitting with his back to her as he drew in long, steadying breaths.
“Everything.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you?” He twisted around, facing her again. “I intended to seduce you, Kaylie. I’ve planned it ever since I knew we’d be together again.”
She could barely keep her eyes raised to his.
“But it’s not enough.”
“What—?”
“Physical lust isn’t enough,” he explained, the brackets near the corners of his mouth showing white. “It has to be more!” His fist pounded the dusty ground and he swore at himself between clenched teeth.
“But—I mean, I thought—”
“I know what you thought. And you were right. I planned to have you—right here and now. But I need more than a quick, hot session in the forest, Kaylie!”
She gasped and blushed to the roots of her hair. “I don’t understand—”
“Sure you do. I want it all.” He pulled her close to him, roughly jerking her against the rock-hard wall of his chest. His face was warm and close, his breath scented with coffee. “Let’s go—”
“But—”
He whistled for the dog and climbed onto his mount. Kaylie straightened her clothes, confused and bereft and feeling like a complete fool. Good Lord, she’d nearly made love to him and he’d rejected her!
She gathered up Dallas’s reins, and slapping the leather against the gelding’s withers, she wondered how she was ever going to survive the next few days being trapped up here alone with Zane.
Chapter Seven
“It’s just not like Kaylie to leave us in the lurch like this,” Jim Crowley, producer of West Coast Morning, grumbled. He stepped over the thick camera cables as he made his way off the cozy set, which was designed to look like the living room in one of San Francisco’s charming row houses.
He headed down a short hall to his office, with his assistant, Tracy Montclair, following one step behind.
“Even Kaylie Melville has a personal life, you know,” she pointed out.
“All of a sudden? In the past six and a half years, Kaylie hasn’t missed one show. Not one. This just isn’t like her.” He shoved open the glass door to his office and stalked to the desk.
The ashtray was overflowing, and he dumped the contents into a wastebasket, then settled into his creaky leather chair.
“Call that sister of hers—Marge, isn’t it?”
“Margot.”
“Whatever.” Jim winced as a nerve in his lower back twinged, the aftermath from a game of racquetball. “Phone Margot and see if there’s a number where we can reach Kaylie.”
“Oh, come on, Jim. You’re not serious, are you? She’s with her aunt in a hospital somewhere, for God’s sake!”
“Well, even hospitals have phone numbers.” Jim tried to ignore his craving for a cigarette and unwrapped a stick of gum. “I need to talk to her. We’ve got a helluva schedule next week and I don’t think Alan can handle it alone.”
“She may be back by then.”
“Well, let’s not leave it to chance, okay?” He wadded the gum into a small clump and tossed it into his mouth just as there was a quick rap on the door. Through the glass he spied Alan Bently.
“I swear that guy’s got radar,” Jim muttered under his breath. Alan had the annoying habit of showing up every time his name was mentioned. “What’s up?” he asked, as Alan slid into the chair next to Tracy’s.
Alan flashed his thousand-watt smile. Though no longer a leading man, he still had an on-camera charisma that attracted the female viewers. “I just thought we’d better discuss the next couple of shows. Unless Kaylie gets back soon, we’ve got to rethink the format. Starting with Monday.”
Jim scowled. “Reformat? How?”
“Well, I assume I’ll have to do all the interviews as well as the news.” Alan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, looking earnest as he proceeded to explain to Jim that he could host the hour format of West Coast Morning all by himself.
* * *
For Kaylie, the next few days were torture. Torn between her life in San Francisco and the excitement of this adventure with Zane, she alternately formed plans of escape and talked herself out of them.
She felt as if she were on an emotional battlefield. One minute they were at each other’s throats, the next, waving the white flag.
Zane’s office hadn’t come up with any new information on Lee Johnston. “Ted” hadn’t called again. Dr. Henshaw was still out of town, though Brad Hastings promised to visit him at Whispering Hills the minute he returned. He also had an appointment scheduled with the administrator of the hospital.
Zane’s nerves were strung tight. He admitted that he felt useless up here, that he should be in San Francisco checking things out for himself, but at the mention of returning to civilization, he blew up. Kaylie was safe here—at least temporarily.
It almost seemed as if they were married again, except of course, they didn’t go to bed together. And, as in their marriage, Zane was dominating the relationship.
Half the time Kaylie was furious with him, and yet she could feel her emotions swaying and she was softening bit by bit. Often in the past seventy-two hours she’d caught him watching her when he’d thought she wasn’t looking, and she had noticed how he’d avoided even the briefest physical contact. That was the hard part—being so close to him and yet not touching.
During the days, they took horseback rides, mended the fence, worked on the house, took care of the stock, and Kaylie found herself fantasizing about Zane—remembering the good part of their marriage, the love that had been so special. In the evenings they talked, watched television, played cribbage or petted the dog. Franklin still wasn’t crazy about her, but he accepted her and even thumped his tail on the floor when she walked into a room. And that was progress.
To her surprise, she discovered Zane had changed, just as he’d said he had—he’d mellowed with the past seven years, and she couldn’t help wondering what life would be like now, were she married to him.
But that was an entirely irrational thought.
Now, as he knelt at the fireplace and laid firewood in the grate, she watched the pull of his jeans at his hips, the slice of skin that was exposed as his sweater inched upward. He glanced over his shoulder and motioned to the empty wood basket. “You could help, you know.”
“Could I?” She laughed. Seated on the couch and swirling a glass of wine, she added, “And here I thought you were going to treat me to a life of leisure—you know, pamper me to death.”
“No way.” He dusted his hands. “I thought you were a fiercely independent woman who wouldn’t let any man treat you as less than an equal.”
“Well, I am, but—”
“Then get some wood,” he suggested, nudging the empty basket toward her with the toe of his boot.
“Slave driver,” she whispered, taking a last swallow of wine. “You’ll pay for this, Flannery.” Smiling good-naturedly, she grabbed the basket and marched out the front door.
“I don’t doubt it,” he called after her.
Outside, a cool breeze swept over the mountainside and a thin stream of moonlight guided her. A few stars winked jewel-like in the black sky and an owl hooted from a nearby stand of pine. The wind picked up, and the air was heav
y with the promise of rain.
Kaylie walked past the Jeep and noticed that the interior light was on.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She reached for the door, and it opened.
She hesitated for a second. This was her chance, but did she really want to leave? She chewed on the inside of her lip and glanced at the house. Of course she had to leave—she had no choice! As long as Zane tried to control her, she had no will of her own. And she was falling for him again. That was dangerous.
Swallowing hard, she dropped the basket and slid into the interior, realizing that she didn’t have his keys. Crossing her fingers, she silently prayed that he’d left the keys in the ignition. No such luck. Even though Zane had made several trips carrying grain from the storage shed to the barn in the Jeep, he hadn’t forgotten his keys. Nor the phone. It, too, was missing.
“Damn!” she muttered, sneaking a glance at the house. Light spilled from the windows but she couldn’t see Zane. It didn’t matter. He was busy with the fire. He wouldn’t miss her for a good five minutes. But how in the world did one go about hot-wiring a car?
“Think, Kaylie,” she said, deciding that she had to look behind the ignition and try to find two wires that when touched, would create an electrical charge. Or at least that’s what she guessed. It seemed logical. And she didn’t have time for any other speculation. It was now or never. Do or die.
She lay on the driver’s seat, her head under the dash, eyeing the wires that ran every which way. Biting her lip, she tugged gently on a tangled group that seemed to feed into the ignition switch. There was a red wire and a black one—if she pulled them out of the dash, unwrapped the plastic coating, then touched the wires…?
Hopefully she wouldn’t detonate the engine or shoot herself into orbit, she thought ruefully.
She pulled on one of the black wires.
A low growl erupted from the woods.
Kaylie’s heart leaped to her throat.