A Daring Vow (Vows)

by Sherryl Woods

  “Taylor, are you here already?” She poked her head into his office, obviously startled to find him behind his desk rather than at Sarah Lynn’s where he could usually be found until eight-thirty, sometimes nine.

  “Thought I’d get an early start today,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you’d be in.”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?” she inquired.

  “The month is up,” he reminded her, “and we didn’t discuss how you felt about staying on.”

  She grinned in a way that made his blood pump harder. It was a smug, savvy look that told him she knew things that he didn’t, like maybe the feelings he hadn’t wanted to admit to. She’d had that same look on her face the night they’d made love for the first time, within minutes of his firm vow that he would not, under any circumstances, touch her. She had a way of testing a man’s resolve.

  “Taylor, you’re not shy about expressing your likes and dislikes,” she said. “I figured if you weren’t satisfied with my work, you’d have fired me before now, deal or no deal. As for me, if I’d intended to quit, I’d have told you.”

  “So you’re staying on?” he said, trying not to sound too concerned about the answer.

  “Looks that way,” she said cheerfully. “Any problem with that?”

  There was a daring glint in her eyes that worried him, but he wasn’t about to question her motives. She was staying and, for the moment, God help him, that was enough.

  “There is one thing I ought to warn you about, though,” he said. “My father’s coming by this morning. He insisted on meeting here, rather than out at the house.”

  He considered suggesting she might want to take the morning to go over to Caitlin’s school, maybe take his daughter on that shopping spree, but something in her instantly forbidding expression told him he ought to keep that idea to himself.

  “Should I send him straight in when he arrives?” she inquired in a crisp, all-business tone she’d probably acquired working for that fancy divorce lawyer in L.A.

  Since she obviously considered herself equal to the task of sending his father anywhere, Taylor decided not to question how she intended to pull that off. “That would be fine.”

  “Will you need me to take notes?”

  Taylor almost grinned at the thought of his father’s reaction to having Zelda sit in on their private discussion. He decided not to press his luck. “I think I can handle it.”

  “You’re the boss.”

  She said it so agreeably, Taylor couldn’t quite figure out why he thought the tables in the office had been deftly turned and that Zelda Lane was definitely the one in charge.

  The same thought struck him again later—along with astonishment and admiration—as he heard her cheerfully greet his father as if he were any other client dropping by for an appointment.

  “Taylor’s waiting for you,” she said. “Go right on in and I’ll bring along a cup of coffee. How would you like it? Black? Cream and sugar?”

  Taylor’s anxiety rose when he couldn’t hear his father’s reply. Had he had a heart attack at discovering that Zelda was working for his son? Surely he’d heard about that, though Taylor had skirted any mention of it himself. Perhaps he was busy strangling her, Taylor thought, and strode across his office, prepared to intercede.

  He discovered his father staring at Zelda with open-mouthed astonishment. He couldn’t really blame him. She did look like a different woman in that trim, navy blue power suit with its expensive gold trim. She’d even taken time in the past half hour to twist her auburn hair into some sort of severe style he’d never seen her wear before.

  Taylor took an immediate dislike to the prim style. He had an almost irresistible urge to yank out every one of the pins holding it until it tumbled free again into the sexy style he preferred. As for the suits, he was getting sick of those, as well. He liked her better in bright colors and slinky fabrics, material that clung and molded and tempted.

  Still, he couldn’t help admiring her for trying to create a professional image that even her most judgmental critic couldn’t quarrel with. Unfortunately, Beau didn’t seem too receptive to the changes.

  “Dad?” Taylor said softly.

  His father pivoted slowly in his direction. “Have you gone and lost your mind, son?” He didn’t bother to lower his voice when he said it.

  Taylor saw Zelda’s hands clench, even though her expression remained unwaveringly calm. Anger and resentment cut into him at his father’s deliberate rudeness.

  “Why is this woman here?” his father demanded.

  “She works for me, and I’m damned lucky to have her,” Taylor said coldly, moving a protective step closer to the woman in question. “Now, did you want to discuss some business with me, or did you drop in to try and tell me how to run my office? If so, you can leave now.”

  Apparently his father heard the finality in his tone, because his shoulders sagged in defeat. “I’ll never understand you, boy,” he said wearily. “You’d think you’d have learned something after that lunatic wife of yours all but ruined you and your chances at being elected anything but dogcatcher in this state.”

  At the harsh mention of Maribeth, a cold fury washed through Taylor. “Dad, that’s enough! I think maybe we’d better get together some other time. Better yet, maybe you ought to take your legal affairs over to a lawyer in Charleston. I’m sure you can find one there who’d meet your high moral standards. I’m sick to death of trying.”

  With the bitter words still hanging heavily in the air, Taylor whirled and went back into his office, slamming the door behind him. A moment later the outer door slammed shut, practically shaking the whole structure. Then, as he’d expected, Zelda was in the doorway.

  “What was that all about?” she asked quietly.

  “That was something that’s been building up for a lifetime. I’m sorry you had to witness it.”

  “You hurt him, you know.”

  He regarded her wryly. “That’s a twist, you feeling sorry for my father.”

  She shrugged. “Surprised the hell out of me, too. But the look in his eyes… Taylor, whatever he’s done, it’s only because he wanted what was best for you.”

  “You know how that road to hell got paved.”

  “With good intentions. Look, I’ve always been an easy target for Beau’s frustration and, believe me, I haven’t liked it, but I never doubted his love for you. Some people just don’t recognize that sometimes loving means letting go, letting a person make his own mistakes.”

  Taylor shook his head impatiently. “Zelda, you’re only the tip of the iceberg. My father’s always wanted to control my life. He handpicked Maribeth for me. Now he blames me because the marriage didn’t turn out the way he wanted it to. It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t his fault. Hell, it probably wasn’t even Maribeth’s fault.”

  “What happened?”

  “She died. I told you that.”

  “Taylor, I can see that there’s more to it than that. Your father said the marriage ruined you and your chances at public office. Whatever happened, it’s eating away at you.”

  “I don’t see any point in talking about it,” he insisted stubbornly. “It won’t change anything.”

  Zelda stepped closer and propped herself on the edge of his desk so that their knees were touching. “Taylor.”

  She said it with such quiet insistence that he was forced to meet her gaze or admit that he was a coward. He refused to do that. He looked into those clear turquoise eyes of hers and saw the need to understand, the compassion that was available just for the asking.

  “What happened?” she prodded.

  The question hovered in the air, daring him to respond. Drawn by a force he couldn’t ignore, Taylor slowly stood and reached for her. It was an instinctive, needy action, and he suspected he was going to be furious with himself a few minutes from now. He told himself he didn’t need the compassion or the understanding, but he wouldn’t deny the need for Zelda. It had always been a part of him, like the unruly curl of
his hair or the beating of his heart.

  As he pulled her into the circle of his embrace, one hand moved instinctively to her hair, seeking the pins and withdrawing them one by one. As they dropped to the floor, curls tumbled loose to skim her shoulders and flow like silk over his fingers. Some mysterious, seductive scent was released, as well, surrounding them.

  “Your hair’s so soft,” he told her, his voice a husky whisper. “Don’t ever pin it up like that again.”

  “I wanted to look professional for your father.”

  “Not necessary.” He heard the catch in her breath as he skimmed her cheek with his fingers, reveled in the quick little flutter of her pulse. “You could ditch the prim little suits, too.”

  A flash of mischief sparked in her eyes. “Now?” she said, reaching immediately for the top button of her jacket.

  A groan sprang loose from deep inside him. He’d forgotten just how quick she was to respond to any sort of dare. Or maybe he hadn’t.

  “Dear heaven, no,” he protested a little too vehemently, though a part of him prayed she wouldn’t listen. She had always been able to tempt him beyond reason, to make his breath lodge in his throat and his pulse race even as he tried his very best to cling to sanity. She was doing it again.

  “Just one button,” she taunted, sliding one gold circle through its confining hole. The sedate fabric separated an indiscreet inch, just enough to tantalize, just enough to make his heart hammer with anticipation.

  “Zelda.” It was an undeniable moan, not the sort of warning anyone would have taken seriously, least of all a woman like Zelda.

  Instead of reaching for another of her own buttons, though, she began to dabble with his. Eyes sparkling with devilment stayed locked with his. She slipped her fingers inside his shirt, her nails skimming his chest in a gesture he could see was meant to be deliberately provocative. His whole body ached with the effort of trying to hide his response. Some things, however, couldn’t be hidden and Zelda knew, she knew, that it wouldn’t take much and he would be lost. They’d be making love on top of his desk, on the floor of his office, maybe both, before they were done. He wondered a little breathlessly if she’d dare, if he had the will left to stop her.

  “Zelda, anyone could walk in at any second,” he protested.

  She grinned unrepentantly. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

  As a matter of fact, it was, but he could see that admitting to that would not slow things down. The woman was a danger junkie. She was already fiddling with his belt buckle, an action that made his blood pump harder and faster than a new strike in a Texas oil field.

  Finally, reluctantly, with one ragged, indrawn breath, he reclaimed sanity the way an honorable, upright pillar of the community was supposed to. This wasn’t the time or the place. Nor was his hurting and their desire any reason to break a long-standing vow to keep his life on a steady, uneventful course. He’d had all the passion, all the unexpectedness, he could stand for one lifetime. Zelda promised more of both.

  “I—I have a meeting,” he said, struggling with the lie.

  “Where?” she inquired with blatant disbelief. She kept his calendar up to the minute with his appointments and he never, ever, slipped one in without telling her about it. It was an ingrained, orderly habit, and he knew she knew it.

  “Somewhere, anywhere,” he muttered anyway, disengaging himself from the embrace and grabbing his jacket.

  He practically bolted for the door, not daring to look back. Someday he’d have to explain, but not now. Now, if he stayed, explanations would be the last thing on his mind. In fact, he doubted if either of them would be doing any thinking at all. What they were feeling could keep them occupied—pleasantly, dangerously occupied—for days.

  And it would be more wrong now than it had ever been.

  Chapter Ten

  Well, that was certainly fascinating, Zelda thought as she absentmindedly rebuttoned her jacket and straightened her skirt. For Taylor to lose control in the office, his feelings had to run a lot deeper than he was willing to admit. If it had been nothing more than lust, he probably would have fired her on the spot just to avoid further temptation.

  The fact that he didn’t return to the office for the rest of the day didn’t particularly surprise her. He always had been one for sorting things out in private. If he considered succumbing to his emotions a weakness, then he’d go to any extreme to avoid having her witness another lapse. Witness? No. Instigate was more like it. She wondered how long he’d manage to stay away and bet herself it would be hours, rather than days.

  The challenge of seeing to it that he lapsed quite a bit made her smile. In fact, it cheered her up so much that she bought another can of raspberry paint for the living room walls that she’d stripped of that dreary cabbage rose wallpaper over the weekend.

  She had the stereo on full blast and was paint spattered from head to toe, when she sensed that she was no longer alone. In Los Angeles that awareness would have had her tumbling from atop the ladder in a panic. Now she merely glanced over her shoulder and grinned at her expected visitor.

  “Hi, Taylor.”

  Mouth gaping, he was staring not at her, but the walls. “What the hell kind of color is this?”

  “Raspberry. Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “That’s not the word I would have chosen.”

  “Let me guess. Bright? Flamboyant?”

  “How about blinding?”

  “Wait until I get the new curtains up and re-cover the sofa. With a little white woodwork, it’ll be warm and cozy.”

  “Warm and cozy?” he echoed skeptically. “Couldn’t you have picked some subtle, muted shade that’s a little easier on the eyes?”

  “White, I suppose?”

  “White, cream, gray.”

  She grinned at him. “Boring. By the way, I don’t suppose you happened to notice that the outside is the same color.”

  “No kidding!”

  “Nope. Sarah Lynn’s reaction was a lot like yours. If this keeps up, I wouldn’t be surprised to have the mayor institute a new ordinance restricting the exterior paint on all houses to white after this.”

  “Not altogether a bad idea,” Taylor said with feeling. “Look, have you had dinner? I was thinking maybe we ought to sit down and discuss what happened at work today.”

  “You mean your father’s visit?” she said, being deliberately obtuse.

  He scowled at her. “No. I think that pretty well spoke for itself. I meant what happened after that.”

  “When I tried to seduce you?”

  For an instant Taylor looked unnerved, then he laughed. “Ah, Zelda, you never did bother pulling punches, did you?”

  She shrugged from her perch on the ladder. It gave her a sense of security sitting above him. Maybe she should insist on holding all conversations with her at this vantage point. “Never saw much point to hedging, especially not with you. You could always read my mind, anyway.”

  “Maybe then. Not now.”

  She gave him a slow, lingering perusal, head to toe and back again. “Oh, really?”

  He gave a rueful, tolerant shake of his head. “Okay, I know what you’re thinking when you do that, but I don’t know why.”

  She didn’t take his bewilderment seriously. He knew. He just didn’t want to admit it. “The usual reasons, I suppose,” she said evasively.

  “Which are?”

  “Okay, let me spell it out for you. You’re sexy. I want your body,” she retorted lightly. Then, because he once again looked so thoroughly disconcerted by her directness, her expression sobered. “Some things never change, Taylor.” She regarded him evenly. “Do they?”

  His gaze locked with hers. For an instant the question appeared to have left him tongue-tied.

  “No,” he admitted finally and with great reluctance. “I guess they never do.”

  The admission hovered between them. Awareness hummed through the air. It took every last ounce of willpower Zelda possessed not to launch herself into his ar
ms. But she was wise enough for once to see that Taylor was still struggling with some inner turmoil. She had to give him time to wrestle with it on his own.

  At least through dinner.

  “You still interested in dinner?” she said eventually. “I fixed some beef stew earlier. I’ll share, if you’ll help me paint.”

  “I’m wearing a suit,” he said, as if that wasn’t already obvious.

  The gray pinstripes were quietly tasteful and becoming. That didn’t stop her from wanting to strip him down to basics.

  “You don’t have to be,” she taunted for the second time that day.

  Taylor shook his head. “You never give up, do you?”

  She nodded in agreement. “Not while there’s breath in my body.”

  To her astonishment, Taylor shucked his jacket and shirt, an act that lacked the finesse of a Vegas stripper, but practically had her panting for more. Unfortunately, though, he stopped there.

  “You’ll ruin those pants,” she warned, an undeniably hopeful note in her voice.

  “It’s an old suit,” he retorted, shooting her a knowing look that made her blood heat. “Now give me a brush and let’s get this finished. I’m starved.”

  Zelda was hungry, too, but beef stew was the last thing that appealed to her appetite. Why did it have to be this complex man with a will of iron who tantalized her? she wondered in dismay. There were successful, handsome, intelligent men in Los Angeles. Her boss’s new stepfather, who adored meddling, was more than willing to play matchmaker. But no, she had to come back to a town she hated and a man she had every reason to despise to rediscover this jittery, head-over-heels feeling again. Sometimes fate was a damned nuisance.

  “Do you think we could turn the stereo down a little?” Taylor asked eventually. “They can probably hear it in the next county.”

  She regarded him with a defiant tilt to her chin. “So what?”

  Taylor opened his mouth, then clamped it shut again, apparently recognizing a challenge no matter how it was phrased. Whatever argument had been on the tip of his tongue, he kept to himself. Zelda winked at him. “That’s more like it,” she told him approvingly.