by Lisa Jackson
But before she could say anything, he moved over her, his perfect, sleek body poised above her, his knees parting her legs. “I can’t help myself,” he cried as he entered her and she arched upward to meet him.
Her fingers clung to the hard, strident muscles of his back as he moved, thrusting inside her with a passion so fierce she could barely breathe.
She met each of his impassioned lunges with her own. Time and space ceased to exist, and her mind spun out of control. The sound of the sea receded, and all she could hear was her own throbbing heartbeat and Zane’s ragged breathing.
Staring up at him, watching the play of emotions across his strong features, she let her body control her until there was nothing in the universe save Zane and her. Hot and wild, she felt him stiffen, and a wondrous release caused her to cry out. “Zane—Oh, Zane!” Her world tilted out of control as spasm after glorious spasm enveloped her.
“I’m here, love,” he answered, before falling in exhaustion into her waiting arms.
Chapter Eleven
She let him stay. Telling herself she was every kind of fool, Kaylie let Zane spend the night. She was allowing herself one more night of pleasure without thinking of the consequences, and they spent the early hours of the morning making love.
At five, she reluctantly rolled out of bed. Zane turned over and groaned but didn’t wake up. She showered quickly. As she dressed, she glanced at him still sprawled across her peach-colored quilt and blankets.
Her stomach twisted painfully when she thought that this might be the last time they would ever be together. She couldn’t afford to become emotionally tangled up with him again, but a part of her longed for the marriage they had once shared, the happiness they’d held for so brief a moment.
She loved him still. As much, if not more, than on the day they married. Now, as she gazed at his sleeping form, all tangled in her sheets, she felt a rush of hot tears in her throat. If only things had worked out differently….
“Stop it,” she muttered, clasping a gold necklace around her neck and swiping at her eyes. She wouldn’t cry now. Nostalgia would serve no purpose.
“What?” Zane growled, opening a sleepy eye. “Stop what?” His jaw darkened with the stubble of a beard, his eyelids drooping seductively, his bare muscles moving fluidly as he adjusted the covers. He looked so virile and male, she had to glance back to her reflection before she did or said anything stupid. “Were you talking to me?” he asked with a yawn.
She brushed her hair until it crackled. “No, I was talking to myself, but since you’re awake, remember to lock the door when you leave.” She adjusted her turquoise-colored skirt and slid her arms through a matching jacket. “And leave the extra set of keys on the table.”
“You’re throwing me out?” he asked, disbelieving. He stretched lazily, his skin dark against the sheets. His sable-brown hair fell rakishly over his eyes, and his lips twisted into a thin, sensual smile.
“I think it would be safer that way.”
“For whom?”
“You,” she quipped, seeing her eyes twinkle in the reflection as she added earrings and a dab of perfume. “You just never know when I might decide to have my way with you.”
“So have it!” He tossed back the covers to display all too vividly his well-muscled body, his mat of dark curling chest hair, his firm legs and much, much more.
Kaylie’s breath caught in her throat, and she had to swallow in order to speak. “It’s, uh, tempting—very tempting, but really, I’ve got to go—”
“Call in sick,” he suggested.
“Not on your life!” She slipped into bone-colored heels. “After already being gone while ‘Aunt Brenda’ was taken so ill, I don’t think calling in sick would go over so well.”
Zane grinned devilishly. “I could arrange it so that your aunt had a relapse.”
“You’re impossible!” Kaylie threw her brush at him, then strutted down the hall.
Zane scrambled off the bed, the glint in his eye unmistakable. Kaylie giggled as she half ran to the kitchen. Stark naked, he tore after her through the house and caught up with her at the back door.
“Zane, don’t,” she protested, fighting more laughter as his arms surrounded her and he kissed her passionately, holding her hostage against the back door. She squirmed and wriggled, but his kiss was warm and wet and reminded her of the way he’d felt the night before.
“Don’t what?” he whispered, his tongue flicking sensually between her teeth.
She couldn’t speak until he lifted his head.
“Don’t muss my hair or clothes or…” The words faded away as he kissed her again, his tongue darting between her teeth, claiming her mouth, his hands moving downward to cup her buttocks and bring her hips hard against his.
“Or what?” he prodded, not abandoning his assault on her senses.
Kaylie’s knees turned to jelly, and though she knew she should shove him away, she couldn’t find the strength. “Or I might just—”
“Have your way with me?” he mocked, his eyes dancing with gray light as he lifted his head and stared at her.
“Or worse!” she tossed back.
“Worse?” A wicked grin slashed across his jaw. “Believe me, I’m ready.”
“I can tell,” she teased. Glancing over his shoulder, she noticed the time on the wall clock and groaned. She was already late! “You wouldn’t want me to lose my job, would you?”
He growled and kissed her again. “Yeah, that would be a real pity!”
“I’d never forgive you!”
“No?” He lifted a disbelieving brow, and his eyes were alight with challenge.
“I mean it!” She reached behind him until she found the door knob, then sidestepped him and hurried onto the covered porch leading to the parking lot. “I don’t expect you to be here when I get home.”
“Not even if I make your favorite dinner?” he asked in a high, falsetto voice.
“Oh, you’re impossible!”
She climbed into the Mustang. But as she adjusted her side-view mirror, she caught a glimpse of Zane, naked as the day he was born, standing in the open doorway, arms crossed over his chest, one shoulder propped against the frame, not in the least concerned that the neighbors might see him.
“It would serve you right if you get arrested!” she yelled through the window, missing his response as she slammed the car into Reverse.
Zane laughed, and the rich sound lingered in her thoughts as she drove toward the heart of the city.
* * *
“Lee?” Dr. Henshaw took a seat in the chair next to his patient. But Johnston didn’t look up. As if he were rooted to the cushions of the old couch facing the television in the recreation room, Lee Johnston sat, waiting, the blank screen reflected in his icy eyes.
“Lee, can you hear me?”
Johnston scratched at a scab on the back of his right hand. But still he stared at the TV.
“No use trying to talk to him,” Rick said, walking in and switching on the set. Music blared. Rick adjusted the volume with the remote control. A children’s cartoon show was in progress. Johnston didn’t move. “Until West Coast Morning comes on, he won’t say a word.”
Henshaw exchanged glances with the orderly, and he thought about the messages he’d received and had to return. Flannery had called again, as had Kaylie Melville herself. He’d have to talk to them both, which didn’t present any particular problems.
It was the other call that bothered him, a call he didn’t want to return. But, of course, he had no choice.
Rick, still cleaning off a table in the corner that had recently been used for arts and crafts, shook his head at the doctor. “Let’s just hope you-know-who is on the show today,” he said, placing the palates, brushes, paints and other tools onto a cart. He wheeled the cart next to Lee’s chair just as a heavyset orderly named Pam rushed into the room. “Dr. Henshaw? There’s a problem in 301,” she said breathlessly, her pudgy face red. “Norman is upset—I mean really upset
. He threw his breakfast all over the room and… and…” Seeing Lee for the first time, she gained control of herself. “Maybe you’d better come, too,” she said to Rick.
Rick mumbled something inaudible under his breath, but gave the cart a shove. The corner caught on the edge of the couch, and several paint mixing tools and palates clattered to the floor.
“Son of a—” Rick caught himself and reached down, grabbing the paint-spattered knives and brushes. The floor was smudged with yellow ocher, Christmas green and scarlet. “Great—just great!”
Henshaw was already following Pam out of the room. Rick, in a foul mood, snarled at Lee, “Maybe you’d just better go back to your room until I clean this up. I don’t want you messin’ this up any more than it already is! Come on, get going! You’ll be back for your stupid program!”
Rick prodded Lee on the shoulder. Johnston jerked away, his nostrils flared slightly. He didn’t like to be touched. Not by Dr. Henshaw and especially not by Rick, the know-it-all with the smug smirk. Rick really thought he was crazy and he looked down on Lee, but Lee intended to show Rick and Henshaw and all the others just what he was made of. Reluctantly, he got to his feet.
“Hurry up, I don’t got all day,” Rick growled, looking around for a towel or mop.
Lee, spying a knife that had slid just under the couch, hazarded a sly look at Rick, whose back was turned as he unlocked a closet. Quick as a cat, Lee grabbed the dull knife, stuck it into the side of his shoe and pretended to be tying his laces.
“You still here?” Rick asked, facing him again. “Well, come on, come on.” He touched Lee again, and Lee recoiled, his stomach turning over.
Only one person had the right to touch his body. And that person was Kaylie…sweet, sweet Kaylie. He licked his lips and scratched absently at the itch on his hand as he stepped into the hallway. He’d missed Kaylie the last few days, but her absence from the program had brought one thing into perfect focus. He had to see her again, touch her, smell her, taste her. Soon.
His bloodless lips curved into the faintest of smiles as he felt the knife, wedged tightly between sock and leather, rubbing against the side of his foot.
* * *
Kaylie’s first full day back at work started the minute she shoved open the glass doors of the building. She waved to the receptionist and made her way through the series of hallways toward her office. On the way, Tracy flagged her down with a sheaf of papers.
“Today’s guests?” Kaylie asked.
Tracy nodded and slapped the papers into Kaylie’s outstretched hand. “Yep. Just a little more information that came in late. Isn’t that always the way?” She lifted her slim shoulders and turned her palms toward the ceiling.
“Always.” Kaylie laughed, glad to be back in her normal routine. She didn’t even think about Zane standing naked in her driveway—well, she didn’t dwell on the vivid image she’d seen in her side-view mirror.
She stopped by the tiny cafeteria and saw a couple of technicians and cameramen.
“Great to have you back, Kay,” Hal said as he grabbed a doughnut from the box of pastries lying open on the glossy Formica table. Hal, thin and balding, was in charge of the sound booth.
“We missed you around here,” his partner, Marvin, agreed.
“It didn’t look like it,” Kaylie replied, picking up a cinnamon twist and a napkin. “I saw the program.”
Hal snorted. “Old Alan was in his element, no doubt about it. He was snapping orders around here like he owned the place.”
Marvin, his slight paunch jiggling, chuckled. “The funny part was, no one paid him much mind.”
“I bet that went over like the proverbial lead balloon.”
“More like a lead zeppelin,” Marvin said. “Hey, how’s that aunt of yours anyway? What was wrong with her? Heart problems?” He dusted the sugar from his fingers.
Hal, wiping the last crumb of a jelly doughnut from his mouth, said, “I heard she was in an accident of some sort—ended up in a coma.”
“She’s fine. Her heart did act up after the accident, and she was in and out of consciousness, but she’s fine now, out of ICU,” Kaylie replied, improvising, mentally cursing Zane for his lies. She breezed out of the cafeteria, balancing a coffee cup, her pastry and napkin in one hand, her briefcase swinging from the other and the notes Tracy had handed her tucked under her arm.
“Welcome back to the rat race,” she told herself as she dropped into the chair behind her desk. Sipping her coffee, she retrieved her notes from her briefcase. As she added in the information Tracy had handed her, she jotted down a few new questions and underlined background information she considered important.
She finished with the notes and her pastry just as the door of her office flew open and Audra, the hairdresser and makeup artist, scurried breathlessly inside. “Lord, what a day! Sorry I’m late. Alan’s toupee, you know. He’s never satisfied with that damned rug, and there’s only so much I can do with it. If he hates it so much he should break down and buy a new one. Or go without. Hell, I think a man is much sexier in nothing than something, and that goes for hairpieces as well as clothes.” She laughed at her own joke and unzipped her oversize makeup bag. “Well, anyway, I didn’t mean to rush you.”
“No problem,” Kaylie said around a smile. Audra, with her fast tongue, stiletto heels and bloodred lipstick, was always a breath of fresh air in this conservative old building.
Audra eyed her critically. “Nope. You look none the worse for wear,” she agreed, rifling in her bag with her red-tipped nails. “In fact you look pretty damned good for hanging around a hospital for four or five days.” She frowned thoughtfully as she pulled out a comb and swirled it in some cleanser. “How’s that aunt of yours? Heard she had a gallstone operation.”
“Uh, it was her heart—no operation,” Kaylie replied. Thanks a lot, Zane, she thought as Audra smoothed a few errant strands of her hair into place.
“Well, at least you got away for a few days,” Audra said, pointing an aerosol can in her direction and spraying a cloud of mist over her locks. “And don’t be worrying about this—ozone friendly. See, right here on the can.” She pointed to a symbol Kaylie couldn’t read through the mist. “I’m an environmentalist now.”
“Good,” Kaylie said, coughing as she reached for her coffee.
Audra snatched the cup away, sloshing a few drops of brown liquid onto Kaylie’s notes. “Oh, no, you don’t. No, sirree! Your lipstick’s perfect. Let’s not be messing it up by leaving it on this here cup.”
“Aye-aye, Captain,” Kaylie teased, saluting Audra as the makeup artist picked up her gear, zipped her case closed and exited.
There was a rap on her door and the familiar sound of Tracy’s voice. “Ten minutes, Kaylie!”
She scanned her notes one last time, then dashed to the set. Alan was already waiting. As Kaylie’s microphone was pinned onto her jacket, she caught his glance and smile. He seemed genuinely glad to see her.
“Don’t worry about a thing,” he said, as she settled into her chair. He patted her hand affectionately. “I’ve got everything covered today. All you have to do is sit there and smile and be your gorgeous self.”
“You’re kidding,” she replied. “Besides, I’m all set.”
On the floor in front of camera three, Tracy was motioning for all quiet on the set.
At a silent signal to the sound box, the lead-in music filled the small auditorium. Kaylie took a deep breath, smiled and wondered if Zane was watching. Giving herself a mental slap, she forced thoughts of him aside.
The show went well. She interviewed a rock star named Death, a woman who grew an entirely organic garden, as well as the snake handler from the zoo, along with his favorite python and boa constrictor. She held the snakes and let them crawl across her shoulders as she spoke to their handler.
Alan handled the national news and talked with Hugh Grimwold, a pitcher for one of the bay area teams.
After the local news, and another sports update, bo
th Alan and Kaylie spoke with two high school seniors who had started their own recycling business.
In the final segment, Alan announced the guests for the next show and reminded the viewers that on Friday, Chef Glenn was going to create his famous Cajun breakfast. The credits began to roll as music once again drifted from the speakers positioned around the set.
“Good job, Kaylie,” Jim said, clapping her on the back and smiling broadly. “You know, the show just didn’t feel right without you.” He waved and sauntered toward the reception area while Kaylie headed toward her office.
From the corner of her eye she noticed the dark look that Alan passed her way, but she ignored Alan’s foul mood and bathed in Jim’s compliments. Jim Crowley didn’t hand out praise often.
At her desk, she pulled the cap off her underlining pen with her teeth and started reading the bio information on the guests for the next day.
The door to her office opened and slammed against the wall.
Alan, face scarlet, eyes blazing, stormed into the room. “You don’t even have an Aunt Brenda!” he charged, crossing his arms indignantly over his chest.
“What?” she asked, nearly dropping her pen.
“Don’t lie to me, Kaylie. I checked.”
“You did what?”
“I called around, checked with some of your friends. Eventually I even talked to Margot. She told me the truth. She didn’t want to—at least not at first—but she came clean. Jeez, Kaylie, I think she gained some perverse pleasure in telling me that you’d lied.” His red face turned almost purple.
“Oh.”
“‘Oh’ is right! You let me and everyone else here think you were on some mission of mercy when all the time you were shacking up with Flannery!”
“Now, wait a minute—” Kaylie’s voice rose indignantly. Slowly getting to her feet, she wished she could throttle her meddling sister as well as Alan.
Alan made an impatient motion with one hand. “Oh, Margot didn’t exactly fill me in, but she made enough broad hints that I figured it out. You were with Flannery last week, weren’t you?”