by Tracy Sumner
His pupils expanded at her words; his eyelids slid low to hide it. His fingers traced her lower lip, her jaw, the rim of her ear.
"What are you doing?" she murmured on a soft sigh.
"I'm beginning the negotiation process."
She closed her eyes and helpless, slid into his touch. "This is negotiating?"
"No," he said, a hot rush of air sweeping her lips. "This is."
The kiss wasn't slow this time. Or lackadaisical.
Or hers to control.
After debating with the man all morning, she understood his motives. He'd set out to prove a point. His mouth shifted, settled... persuaded. With regard to what, she didn't hope to comprehend.
She simply let the blossoming fever spread.
He had her.
Though it wasn't fair the tactics he used, he recognized this. Nor was it fair that he counted the seconds. But, damn, was it fair that Savannah Connor presented every temptation known to man, and a couple of new ones besides? Unholy, that's how wonderful she tasted. Warm and welcoming. Lush. One part saint and two parts sinner.
Zach breathed her in, her scent potent enough to scatter thought and purpose.
Forty-five. Forty-five seconds more.
Cupping her cheek, he deepened the kiss, drawing her tongue into play, teaching her what he liked and trying, from the way she moaned, to record what she did. If this went on longer than a minute—and, oh, he wanted it to go on longer than a minute—he would lose his advantage.
Forty-five was the most he could promise and hope to come up for air with any sanity left.
Savannah sighed into his mouth and jerked at her arms, seeking to bring them closer. Or escape. He held tight, careful not to hurt her. He couldn't allow her to press herself to him as they had for long moments the previous evening. And he sure as heck wasn't letting her go. Not yet, anyway. Already the soft heat of her threatened to make him forget whatever the hell it was he'd been about in the first place.
In spite of his efforts, he lost count, delaying for a final suckle to her lower lip and a lingering series of kisses to the nape of her neck.
He was shaken when he released her, though he hid it well. Holding her at arm's length, he found her glittering green eyes with his, the naked hunger he prayed to God his own concealed spilling forth from hers. He turned away from that searching gaze, knowing that in a minute or two, his voice would return to normal and her fury would lock firmly in place.
It didn't take even that long.
"Damn you, Zachariah Garrett," she seethed, striding around him and placing herself in his path. "You can't kiss me every time you want to make a point. That isn't what I meant by negotiating."
Skirting her, he dropped into his chair, indicated the one on the other side of the desk with a nod. "Last night, I asked if you knew what you were about. You have no idea. Hell, I'm not sure I do, either."
"You have a better idea than you let on," she muttered and reached for her parasol. He'd been hoping she would leave that on the floor. Glancing back at him, Savannah tapped her weapon against her thigh. "You won't play me for a fool like you do everyone else."
"What's the harm?"
"The harm is that every person I've stumbled upon in this pitiful excuse for a town thinks you're second in line to inherit God's kingdom. It's 'Zach this' and 'Constable that'," she mimicked in a sing-song voice, waving the parasol around like a wand.
"Call Zach if you can't find a room, Miss Connor. Stop by the Constable's office if you need help ordering books for the school, dear. Zachariah is better at telling you what a nasty rash is than any doctor." Releasing an unladylike snort, she flounced into the chair. "Did you happen to let them in on the fact that you're a ruthless mediator, skilled enough for any court I've ever been in, and a flesh-and-blood man to boot?" She tapped his desk with her weapon, three hard whacks. "I emphasis the word flesh."
Snatching the parasol from her hands, he leaned across the desk and drew a leisurely circle on her knee with the tip. "Look at you sitting there, practically spilling out of that chair. You're not a lady underneath all that bluster, are you, Irish?"
She batted the parasol away. "You're not an adorable angel underneath that wholesome-father facade, are you, Constable?"
He held the smoldering look until his lips began to tingle, until his body stirred inside the crotch of his trousers. Savannah's chest rose and fell in an escalating rhythm, telling him she was as affected as he. His arm quivered with the compulsion to touch, with her damned umbrella, the puckered nipple he could see faintly jutting through her crisp white shirtwaist.
If the office door had been locked, he was frightened by what he might do.
Had he ever admitted his true, somewhat tarnished nature? Could he really be honest with someone? With that someone being a woman?
"I won't marry you even if we get caught buck naked in the middle of one of your blessed rallies," he said, figuring that was as good a place as any to start. He would not stoop to tricking Savannah into whatever it was they were starting. The lady had to be willing. "It's nothing personal. I just won't. Leave it at that."
She released a little shiver and scooted forward in her chair. "Naked? Will we be naked?"
"I don't rightly know, Miss Connor. The way things are progressing, it's certainly a possibility."
"Hmmm...." Stapling her hands behind her head, she arched her back, drawing his eye and a tortured sigh he couldn't contain. Her brow puckered, then smoothed as she gained a bit more perspective into the weak nature of men. "Stipulation accepted."
"Don't think about telling Ellie, either."
She slapped her hands on her knees, almost coming up out of the chair. "I would so love to enlighten the world—that being Pilot Isle to you—about what a lascivious, shrewd bastard you really are. But I won't. Because of Rory, I would never."
Zach threw back his head and laughed until his eyes teared. "Lascivious, shrewd bastard? Some time, Irish, you gotta tell me where you learned some of this very unladylike language. I hate to mention this, but any scandal would do you more harm than it would me."
Sighing, she plopped her bottom back in the chair. "No talk of the past. Or the future. That's my stipulation. Don't ask me questions, and I won't ask you any. Be whoever you want to be when we're together. Call yourself Jack, for all I care. Then we'll disappear into the sunset, each in our own direction."
What if I'm excited about being Zach Garrett for the first time in a long time?, he wanted to ask, but that was more than he could reveal to a woman he didn't quite trust not to shoot him with his own bullets. "Accepted," he said instead.
"And stop calling me Irish. Make that another stipulation."
Wiping his eyes with his shirt cuff, he halted her with a raised brow. "Whoa, hold on, there. I thought these things went point for point. Sorta' like tennis, isn't it?"
"Well, yes, certainly. An unusual analogy, although acceptable. You know that quite well, from reading numerous legal texts, if my guess is correct." She flicked her fingers regally. "Fine then, don't you have another stipulation tucked away in that dusty jar atop your neck? I'm not too fond of your charming nickname for me, that's all."
"Am I to seduce you while calling you Miss Connor, then?"
Her eyes blazed, pupils expanding. "Savannah will do," she said, moistening her lips with her tongue.
He came around the desk in a fury, grasped her by the arms, and jerked her from the chair. "I've more experience playing this game than anyone thinks, true, but not so much that I can promise to control what I'm feeling for you." He brought her up against his body, allowing her to feel his aroused state for the first time. "It's been years since I've kissed a woman's breast, sucked her nipple into my mouth and tasted heaven. I want that with you. Hell, I want you, maybe more than I've ever wanted anyone, even Hannah, bless her soul."
She blinked, clearly dazed by his admission.
"Am I wrong in thinking you feel the same?"
"Would I have to feel
the same?" she asked, glancing at the hands wrapped tight around her.
Or would you force me? Her unspoken question.
He hauled her a step closer. "You would have to feel the same."
In response, she smiled, beautifully, sweetly.
He almost wanted to believe there was an affable woman hiding inside this temperamental one.
Almost.
There's one way to start finding out, he thought, and lowered his head.
The doorknob jiggled, and Zach released Savannah so abruptly that they both stumbled before gaining purchase. A warning look was all he had time to issue before the door opened and his brother Caleb walked in.
"Zach, that damn door handle is about to fall—" Caleb's eyes widened at the sight of Savannah, standing in a puddle of liquid sunshine, looking fresh and untouched in her pink skirt and stripped shirtwaist.
She looked as pretty as a picture, Zach begrudgingly admitted. A lioness with her claws sheathed.
Caleb bobbed his head in apology and ripped his hat from his head, his hair flying into disarray. "Beg pardon, ma'am. I didn't know a lady was present."
Behind Caleb's back, Zach's brow rose.
Savannah sniffed. "It's quite understandable," she said and walked forward, her hand out. "I'm Savannah Connor, a friend of Elle's from New York."
Caleb glanced at Zach, shifting from one foot to the other. He had obviously heard plenty about the volatile Miss Connor from every man in town already. Finally, with a teasing smile, Caleb grasped Savannah's hand, brought it to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "Never accept a handshake when you can get a kiss, Savannah Connor."
A slower-forming grin than Zach's, lips not quite as perfect, teeth not quite as straight. But he was handsome. And big. Solid. He looked pleasant, like a lovable grizzly bear. She frowned at Zach over his brother's shoulder. Caleb was definitely the most charming Garrett of the bunch.
Caleb gave her hand back with a flourish, laughing as he turned to Zach, who rested against the jail cell, thumbs hooked in his pockets, his boot resting on the metal bars behind him. A deliberately casual pose when she could see energy flowing just beneath the surface.
"You haven't forgotten about the picnic tomorrow, have you, Constance? On Devil Island?"
Zach tore his gaze from Savannah. "I haven't forgotten that blasted picnic. I'm bringing the coleslaw and the beans. The tent and, oh, I'll remember the rest later. I have a list somewhere. Rory and I'll sail over around noon or so. And don't forget your hat. Remember that awful sunburn you got last time?"
"Holy Mother Mary, Papa, I won't forget my blessed hat." He slapped his knee. "What am I thinking? Why don't you put Miss Connor in that skiff and sail her over, too?" Caleb glanced over his shoulder, his expression eager, boyish to the extreme.
How dissimilar he and Zach are, she thought.
Zach shoved off the bars, swiping his index finger across his neck in a cutting motion and frantically shaking his head.
Savannah smiled, holding Zach's gaze. "I would love to go, Mr. Garrett."
"Oh, don't hold to the niceties." He waved his meaty fist at her. "Call me Caleb."
"Then you must call me Savannah."
"Pleased to."
Zach threw himself into the chair behind his desk and dug the cargo book out with a clatter. "For God's sake, Cale, save some of that sugar for your coffee in the morning, why don't you."
Savannah and Caleb turned in unison, looked at each other, and laughed. "What's gotten into you, Constance? How uncharitable you're being toward a visitor to our lovely town. Isn't being a one-man welcome committee part of your job?"
Zach lifted his head, his eyes narrowing. "Miss Connor." Irish was on the tip of his tongue. She just knew it. "Of course I'd be delighted to haul you out to Devil Island for the picnic."
Caleb slipped his arm through hers and tugged her toward the door. "If you want to have any fun tomorrow, darling, avoid Old Starchy, that'd be my advice. Now come on, you're late meeting your gaggle over at Christabel's restaurant."
Glancing into Caleb's amused gaze, she noted that he indeed shared the Garrett grays. "How do you know?"
"Ah, heck, in this town everyone knows everything."
She looked over her shoulder as Caleb ushered her through the doorway. Zach sat still as a stone, watching her with a cool expression.
Careful, the look said.
If she had an ounce of common sense, she would heed the warning instead of leaving his office wondering when she'd get to kiss him again.
"I'm going to decline Caleb's offer."
Elle glanced up from her books, a pencil clamped between her teeth. "Wgy." She snatched the pencil out. "What?"
"The picnic."
"Oh. I'll lend you a bathing costume. And I'm bringing enough food for an army. Noah and I are returning to South Carolina the day after to prepare for the fall semester, and I feel like you and I haven't spent any time together. Suffering cats, only time talking about this worthless school."
Savannah made a notation beside a student's name and struck through another whose husband had forced her to withdraw from classes. She planned to pay him a visit at his place of employment next week. "You love it. Don't try to fool me. Besides, I'm thrilled to have the opportunity; I'm hoping the school will revive my enthusiasm for the cause."
"Vannie, I can't tell you how grateful I am that you came down here to manage and teach until I finish my degree in the spring."
Reviewing the small list of students, Savannah sighed. "Just don't expect me to make even an infinitesimal profit." She frowned, noting that some had paid for classes with an exchange of services. A seamstress and a piano teacher. "After books and materials, make that any profit."
Elle propped her chin on her palm. "You have access to the account. Use it."
"When did money cease to be an issue?"
Elle giggled, a sound Savannah had only heard her friend make after marrying. If giggling was a requirement of being in love, she would chose not, thank you very much. "My darling husband supports my efforts to enrich the lives of the women in this town, Vannie. Of course, he called it a loan. I expect I won't have to pay him back."
"Hmmm. I imagine not."
"Savannah, dear? Have you—have you thought any more about our conversation?"
Savannah calculated a row of numbers and noted the total. "Pitiful excuse for a profit last month, Ellie. A dollar and ten cents. No, make that"—she recalculated—"ten cents."
"I don't care about profits." She tapped her pencil on the coffee table. "Vannie, did you hear what I asked you?"
"A profit would allow you to put money back into the school. Buy better materials; hire another teacher. I don't mean profit to stuff beneath your mattress."
"Savannah." Elle slammed the ledger shut, kicking a puff of dust into her friend's face. "We may not have time to talk in private at the picnic."
"I haven't thought about it." She reopened the ledger. "So there."
"Why not?"
"Constable Garrett's too"—she waved her hand in an absent circle—"controlling for my taste."
"Controlling?"
"Arrogant, too."
"Arrogant?"
Savannah sighed, realizing she wouldn't get any work done until they discussed this. Elle, bless her benevolent heart, wanted to wrap everything up in a pretty package before she left town. "Nice idea in theory. Reality? We'd kill each other." That well may find its way to being true.
"I don't understand where you've gotten this impression of him from. Zach's not controlling or arrogant. He's wonderful. The kindest man, next to my darling Noah, that I've ever known."
Standing, Savannah kneaded her aching lower back. "Don't act the affronted sister. I've seen a side of him you haven't. Trust me."
"Because you're quarrelling about the oyster factory and, and...."
"The oyster factory is only the beginning. When I secure that summit, I'll start climbing another. I have quickly fashioned a list of
ones that need climbing in this town." A grin slipped into place as she imagined the verbal battles she and Zachariah Garrett were going to engage in throughout the foreseeable future. "I'm going to make his life hell."
Elle flopped back on the worn love seat, releasing an exasperated groan. Savannah glanced around the room to avoid her friend's inquisitive gaze, noting that every stick of furniture in Vinecia Broom's parlor had seen better days twenty years before. Due to the drove of fisherman flooding into town for the summer, Miss Vin's Boarding House had the only vacant room in town.
"I admire your tireless dedication, Vannie, but when are you going to start living for yourself?"
I started last evening, she was tempted to say. But, telling Elle that Zach had kissed her and that they were considering whatever it was they were considering was like telling his sister how he looked naked. Or his mother.
Not an appealing thought.
Elle fiddled with the ragged tassel of a pillow, humming beneath her breath.
Savannah brushed her feet aside, perching on the edge of the love seat. "Spill it. You only hum when you're trying to devise a way to present your case. Remember when we got thrown in jail after the march down Fifth Avenue? You hummed the entire time you waited in line to speak to the judge. The other ladies thought you were close to having apoplexy."
Throwing the pillow at her, Elle lifted herself up onto her elbow. "You're right. I'm sitting here wondering how to bring up a hush-hush subject when I've never worried about discussing anything with you before. But sex"—Elle's cheeks flushed—"isn't something women go around discussing like the weather."
Savannah laughed. She couldn't help it. "Okay, okay, I'm listening. Please get this out of your system so we can have a pleasant day tomorrow." Settling in, she drew her legs to her chest and wrapped her arms around her knees. "A vulgar position for a vulgar discussion." She smiled. "Do you want to tell me how it's done? I know it's unseemly, but I confess to reading a naughty novel or two in my day. I understand the mechanics. The man puts his mem—"
Elle reared, plastering her hand over Savannah's mouth. "Vannie!"