by Valery Parv
"I'll be sure and send some. Thank you again." The man touched her arm and Zeke tensed, surprised by the force of his instinctive reaction. The man was married with a kid, for pity's sake. On the other hand, maybe he needed reminding of the fact. If he wasn't getting enough attention at home, he could mistake Tara's professional concern for something more.
Before he had completed the thought, Zeke was at the front of the room, coming between them physically. He was a big man and while he didn't deliberately use his size to his own advantage, he didn't mind if it occasionally had that effect. His actions annoyed Tara, he realized when he saw her take a step back. From him? He didn't like that, one bit.
"I have to go now," she said to the young man, and Zeke swore he heard a tremor in her voice.
The young man looked from her to Zeke and swallowed, getting the message at last. "Okay, I'll be in touch."
She raked Zeke with a look "Do you enjoy intimidating people?"
"It never worked with you."
"Perhaps you should keep it in mind." She began to gather up her things. "You didn't say much to the magazine people."
So she had noticed. Good. "I told them this was your show and they would have to get their quotes from you. What did you expect? A hatchet job?"
She tried to keep the pain out of her eyes and suspected she failed. "Isn't it what you came to do?" He couldn't deny it, she saw as his expression fleetingly revealed the truth. She pushed files into her briefcase. "I have to go."
"You promised we would talk."
It was out before she could stop it. "Why am I the only one who has to keep promises?"
He took a deep breath. "I never made you any promises I didn't keep, Tara."
It was true, he hadn't. He had promised she would be the only woman in his life and she had been, while they were together. He had promised her the sun, the moon and the stars and she had found them all in his arms. But he had never promised her forever because he didn't believe in it.
She understood that his upbringing argued against it, creating a barrier around his heart that he allowed no woman to penetrate, least of all her, but it didn't lessen the hurt. Had Lucy managed to break down the barrier? Tara doubted it.
She had always suspected that if Zeke let her into that secret place deep inside him that he guarded so fiercely, he would be a lover without equal. He very nearly was already. But his reserve remained as a silent warning to come close but no closer.
"Why did you come back to Australia?" she asked, hearing herself sound hollow with the strain of the evening.
"You sound regretful."
Probably because she was. "We hardly parted on good terms."
"Your terms," he said with sudden coldness. He looked around the empty room and beyond it to the corridor where a janitor was turning off lights. "You're right, we do need to talk, but not here. I could use some coffee."
"And I could use some sleep," she shot in quickly before he could suggest going to a café. "We can talk on the way to my car, then I have to go."
"Kind of you to offer me a lift," he said, although they both knew she hadn't. "I sold my car when I left the country and haven't replaced it yet. I live at Neutral Bay so it's on your way if you still live in the same place."
How had she ended up driving him home? she wondered as he shadowed her to the lift and down to the basement car park. Her compact car looked lonely in the cavernous space and she was unreasonably glad Zeke was with her, although she refused to recognize any reason other than security. "I hate these places at night," she admitted, not sure why.
"When I'm not around, you should have a security guard escort you in future," he instructed.
It was good advice, but she had trouble thinking past the first part of his statement. "What do you mean, when you're not around? You haven't been around for a year and a half and I've coped perfectly well. Isn't it a bit late to tell me what I should and shouldn't do?"
"I never could tell you what to do," he said as he folded himself into the passenger seat. Normally she loved her car with its reminders of a similar model she had purchased in her late teens. Now she wished for something more spacious to put greater distance between herself and the man beside her.
When she reached for the hand brake, she couldn't help brushing against him and a riot of sensual thoughts raced through her head, none of them the least bit welcome. Or so she told herself. Convincing the parts of her that suddenly ached for his intimate touch was another matter.
"It didn't stop you trying," she snapped, throwing the car into gear with less care than usual and steering on autopilot.
"I never stop trying," he said so softly that she wondered if she had heard correctly.
Concentrating on easing out into the traffic, she kept her startled glance to herself. "Two confessions in one night? Working in America can't have changed you that much?"
"I've had a lot of time to think about what's important in my life. I want us to try again, Tara."
It was just as well she had both hands on the wheel, giving her something to hold on to, she thought. The traffic streaming along Military Road made it impossible to do what she really wanted, and that was to pull over and demand what in blazes he thought he was doing. She couldn't simply pick up where they left off.
He sensed her resistance. "Leaving was a mistake. When you said you couldn't go with me, I should have turned the offer down and stayed in Australia." As soon as the words were out, he knew they were the reason he was here. The real reason.
Her heart ached. Nineteen months ago, hearing him say that would have made all the difference in the world. It wouldn't have saved their baby. Nothing could have done that. But it would have meant everything to have his support through the nightmare of losing their child and facing life afterward. At the same time, she had recoiled from using her pregnancy to blackmail him into staying when he hadn't wanted to for her sake alone.
Pain fueled her anger. "So you made a unilateral decision to return and claim what's rightfully yours. Did it occur to you that I might not want to be claimed?"
He chuckled ruefully. "I've never been stopped by a challenge before."
"I'm not a challenge, Zeke. I'm part of your past, as I'm sure you told the magazine reporter."
"I didn't tell them anything except that it was your show and I was there to observe."
She glanced away from the traffic long enough for him to register her surprise. "And are you?"
"I'm not the enemy, Tara. You may think I am because of my exposé on charities that help themselves more than other people, but so far your foundation doesn't seem to be one of them."
It was more than she had expected from him and she felt heat blaze a trail through her. "Thank you."
In fairness he had to say, "Don't thank me yet." He paused, then added, "Save it until I have enough material to write the column."
She felt her pulse jump. The thought of him investigating her was almost more than she could handle, but she refused to let him see it. "Then you'd better get yourself a car," she said through gritted teeth. "I don't make a habit of driving audience members home." Especially not this one.
"Turn left here. You can pull into the driveway at the end of the road," he said.
She did so, not sure whether she was glad or sorry that they had arrived at his apartment building. The street was a steep one, leading down to the harbor foreshore, with the city ferry terminal only a short stroll away. In front of them was a swathe of parkland, then the water sparkling like black velvet strewn with diamonds. Zeke explained that his apartment occupied the entire ground floor of the old Federation terrace house that had been converted into a duplex. The view must be sensational, she thought.
"Nice place," she commented tensely.
"It came with my new job," he said. "Would you like to take a look at the view?"
"I can see it perfectly well from here."
"Scared, Tara?"
His softly voiced challenge was all it took. She wasn't
scared of him, nor of her ability to deal with the situation. In comparison with what she'd been through since he'd left, Zeke Blaxland was a piece of cake. "Very well, but I won't stay long. I'm starting on a book, and the only time I get to work on it is early in the morning."
"About the foundation?" he guessed. She nodded. "You always said you wanted to write, but I thought it was going to be a torrid romance."
She was painfully aware that the vision had been fueled by their affair. This time she would have to look somewhere else for inspiration. "I changed my mind," she said flatly.
"Pity. But I'm glad you're following your dream."
She could say the same for him. According to the same media grapevine from which she had learned about his marriage, Zeke's column was now published in a dozen countries in several languages. He also did an op-ed piece on a national morning television show. She had first seen it in hospital after the baby was born and it had almost been her undoing. But after a year or more of being confronted with his image everywhere she turned, she was immune to the effect, or so she tried to assure herself.
Liar, she taunted herself silently. She would never be immune to the sight of Zeke on television or anywhere else. She had only to glance sideways to remind herself of how vulnerable she still was to his brand of charm. Charisma was an overused word, but he had it in spades.
Even when she looked resolutely away, his presence radiated toward her like a beacon. You're a moth to his flame, she told herself scathingly, forcing herself to remember what happened to moths when they flew too close to the light. It didn't stop her from getting out of the car, locking it and following him inside.
She might have known his apartment would be spectacular. He never did anything by halves. From a plant-filled atrium, he led her into a vast living area furnished with Corbusier chairs and sofa separated by a mirrored coffee table. Her high heels clicked against the white Italian tiles covering the floors.
Beyond the living room, a dining area contained a fruit-wood table surrounded by a dozen rope-seated chairs. A handcrafted boat sat atop a trestle side table, and above it a brass mirror was angled to reflect the view. Kelim rugs and softer natural elements, terracotta pots and baskets of plants, relieved the coolness of the tiled floors.
"It's lovely," she admitted, impressed in spite of herself. Home-making hadn't been among Zeke's inclinations when they were together. His previous apartment had been beautifully but impersonally furnished by the simple means of buying several room lots complete with accessories from a fashionable furnishing store. This apartment was another matter. It exuded a feeling of home that she wasn't accustomed to associating with Zeke. "Did you hire someone, or is this your own work?"
"A bit of both," he conceded. "I had good advice, but I knew what I wanted."
He usually did. She accepted the glass of sparkling spring water he offered her, foolishly pleased that he had remembered she never drank when she was driving. It bothered her to think she might be what he wanted, because she already knew how hard it would be to refuse him. She wasn't sure she wanted to, only that she had to. Having ridden the emotional roller coaster with him once before, she'd be crazy to climb aboard it again.
She tensed as he moved up behind her, but it was only to steer her closer to the spectacular view. His hands on her shoulders felt warm, strong. A molten sensation flowed along the length of her spine and pooled beneath the curve of her stomach.
"You wouldn't believe how much I missed this."
She found her voice with an effort. "The harbor view?"
He turned her again until he was looking directly into her eyes. "This view."
The raw emotion in his gaze made it clear the harbor wasn't in the race. She had half expected it, she told herself, forcing herself not to move. It was the test she had set herself by agreeing to come with him.
When she said nothing, he began to massage her shoulders with gentle but persuasive movements until she wanted to melt. "No comment, Tara?"
She shook her head. "It is the approved journalistic phrase."
He frowned. "In my experience it's used by people who have something to hide."
She jerked away from his hands as if stung. He couldn't know her secret, but conscience made her react. Or else it was the unnerving effect of his nearness. Both, she suspected. She was mad to put herself through this. As a test of her indifference to him, it was already a failure.
He studied her intently. "What is it, Tara? Did I say something?"
She fought the urge to wrap her arms protectively around herself, and walked to the wall of windows looking onto a vast terrace. The view might as well have been painted on for all the impact it had on her. She was far more aware of the man behind her. "This wasn't a good idea."
"On the contrary. It's the only good idea I've had in a long time."
Turn and face him now, or you never will, she commanded herself, but found it almost impossible to do. Almost as hard to say lightly, "Am I hearing things? Zeke Blaxland is a positive fountain of good ideas."
"You know I was speaking personally."
As much to remind herself as him, she said, "Not an area I have a right to go into."
His gaze hardened. "Because you don't feel anything for me anymore, or because you do?"
How did one answer the unanswerable? She picked up her bag and started for the door, but he was there before her. "You can't leave yet. I asked you a question."
"I can leave anytime I please," she said, not at all sure that it was true.
He saw it, too, she noted, and pressed home his advantage. "Tell me to go to hell right now, and I'll know I'm wasting my time. I won't bother you again, ever."
"You'll stop investigating the foundation?"
He shook his head. "Not until I get what I came for, but I guarantee I'll be a model observer. You won't even know I'm around."
And the sun didn't have to rise in the morning. As long as Zeke walked the earth she would be aware of him. In the same room, she could no more ignore him than she could fly. "It won't work," she denied, her hair haloing around her head as she shook it. "You'd find some way to make your presence felt."
"You make me sound like a glory-hunter," he said, sounding wounded. "But you're probably right, it is a big ask. However, there's another solution."
"What is it?"
"We make love here and now, and get it out of our system."
His so-called solution was so typically Zeke that she almost choked. "What makes you think that will solve anything?"
His smile was infuriatingly cocky. "Maybe it won't, but it's a lot more fun than standing at the door, arguing all night."
Too late, she remembered that Zeke thought falling into bed could solve any argument. Unfortunately, he had been right more often than she cared to remember. But not anymore. "Sorry, Zeke, I'm otherwise committed."
His eyes narrowed. "Committed as in another man? The same man who kept you from coming to America with me?"
"There was no one else then and there isn't now," she said tiredly. "Given the complications that go with being in love, I've decided I'm better off celibate."
She saw no point in letting him know she had been since he'd left. Pregnancy had imposed its own limitations, but in truth no other man had interested her since Zeke. Whatever his failings, he was a tough act to follow.
Evidently you weren't, she told herself. He hadn't waited long before rushing into another relationship. Pain blistered through her. Jealousy. Anger. Other emotions she refused to identify. All of it on a level only Zeke aroused in her. Still did, she recognized in panic. She had to get out of here.
He read the urge to flee in her startled movements. "What's so all-fired important you have to rush home to it?"
"My life."
"Your writing and your precious foundation?"
When she nodded dumbly, he looked skeptical. "Can they keep you warm at night, Tara? Can they enfold you in love and comfort the way my arms can? Like this?"
Be
fore she had time to martial her defenses, he took her in his arms. She tried to stiffen but it was useless. He knew exactly how to hold her to turn her to putty in his embrace. Almost of their own accord her arms went around him. As soon as her fingers traced the muscular contours of his back she knew she was lost. For eighteen months she had dreamed of being right here, resting her head against the hollow of his shoulder and feeling the steady drumming of his heart reverberating through her.
Except that it wasn't steady at all. It beat as rapid a tattoo as hers did, as his lips traced a pattern along her hairline then descended with lightning swiftness to claim her mouth. "Now tell me again how you prefer celibacy," he insisted.
The moan she heard escape from her throat was part passion and part despair. Why did he have to come back just when she was getting her life back on track? She didn't blame him for the baby. The doctor said her contraception had failed during a bout of flu, so it was nobody's fault. But she did blame Zeke for rushing off to the States without a backward glance after she refused to go with him. She hadn't been ready to tell him about the baby then, but she would have, given a little more time. Instead, he had slammed the door shut on further communication.
She had wanted to break the news in a way that made it clear he didn't owe her anything. Knowing how he resisted family ties because of his own chaotic childhood, she wouldn't have imposed them on him. Barely recovered from the flu, she hadn't bargained on feeling so wretchedly ill in the first weeks of pregnancy, unable to deal with her own emotions, far less Zeke's.
By the time she was ready, he had gone without leaving a forwarding address. She could have contacted him through the newspaper but it wasn't a message she had wanted to risk falling into the wrong hands, so she had decided against it. Thinking she would never see Zeke again, it didn't seem to matter. Now she wasn't so sure.
The thought didn't stop her body from responding of its own accord. After so long, his touch shocked her system into overdrive. Every inch of exposed skin felt alive in a way that terrified her. He was right, celibacy had nothing to compare with the way he made her feel.