by Mary Brady
“Most lore is based on fact. So, okay. I’ll buy that.” She tugged up the pants and tightened the rope at her waist. “Should we go rescue Ma Kimball’s handiwork?”
Since the tree had already done the structural damage, other than the weight of the beam, there would be no danger from moving it.
“I’ll lift. You get the rug,” she said looking earnestly in Zach’s direction.
He studied the size of the beam and the size of her and laughed. “In this case, I’m going to judge you by your size and get the beam.”
When he moved it up and over, she tugged the rug free.
“Heavier than it looks when it’s full of water,” she said as she rolled it up like a jelly roll. “Should we carry it downstairs?”
“We’ve used all the extra tarps.” He picked it up and hoisted it over his shoulder. “I’ve got it. No point in both of us getting wet.”
He exited with the rug and she went over to investigate the damage the beam had caused to the floor. It didn’t seem too bad. Two of the floorboards had been caved in and all the ends turned up far enough to make the nails pull free.
Early in her career when reporting didn’t make her any money she had worked at a small manufacturing plant that had been a converted shoe factory. The vacuum was always clattering with heel tacks that were wedged between the boards a hundred years before when people earned their living putting shoes together.
What accumulated under a two-hundred-year-old floor...? She lifted one of the boards.
When she shined the beam of her flashlight into the hole, there was—drumroll, please—dust and a paper clip. The paper clip didn’t even look very old.
Oh, well, she thought. What had she expected? Pirate’s treasure?
After a few hours, the four-poster’s ex-bedroom had been cleared. All the rooms facing windward had cleared, and everything that needed to be dried had been wiped down or hung up.
The storm continued as though it was never going to stop, as if it had stalled over Sea Crest Hill. As if she and Zachary Hale would be trapped forever.
She had only confusion as a reaction to that.
An hour later, she showered in an area so confined, her elbows and knees thumped against the sidewalls, and so cold she remembered bathing in mountain streams that were warmer. When she felt thoroughly clean, she put on a fluffy robe Zach had given her and hung her clothes in the breezeway to dry.
Zach had disappeared somewhere and it was just as well. It hadn’t helped that he was polite and diligent when moving the family antiques. It hadn’t helped that he had listened attentively to her suggestions and used the ones that would work. Wesley always seemed to be distracted, to never listen carefully to anything she had to say, nor she him as a matter of course.
While they were working, and try as she might to stop herself, she kept finding reasons to touch Zach, a hand on his arm, one on his shoulder. Once she stopped herself from rearranging the hair that lopped down on his forehead.
Each time he looked at her, paused to smile at her, she could barely keep the urgent beating of her heart in control. By the time they were finished, her whole body seemed sensitized to his presence.
Well, it was a fun ride. She discovered along time ago she enjoyed the sexual attraction. Sometimes those things could be acted upon and other times they were just passing fantasies to be enjoyed at a distance and then dismissed.
She snuggled into the robe. Zachary Hale needed to be the latter, to be kept at a distance.
She plunked herself in the stuffed chair near the fire and stretched her feet out onto the puffy ottoman. Her laptop sat on the end table beside her but she didn’t reach for it.
What was she supposed to say? What could she report? Reporter Wants Swindler? It seemed wrong to even think of him like that now. But until...
The door to the loft opened and Zach strode in. There must be a shower someplace else, as he wore clean jeans and shirt. His sandy blond hair was tussled and pushed back, which made him seem more movie star than lumberjack.
* * *
ZACH HUFFED THE air out of his lungs.
Addy sat in the chair by the fire wearing only the robe he had given her. Her mass of blond hair looked damp, finger-combed and sexy as hell as it curled around her face.
Instead of leaving, he listened to a more base need, his growling stomach. If he fed that need, maybe he could cool the other. He didn’t believe it for a moment, but he pulled a cheese plate, a veggie plate and two bottles of juice from the refrigerator.
He’d spent the last hour trying to talk himself out of wanting the one person in the world with whom he should have no intimate contact. She was a reporter, an investigative journalist who had come to Bailey’s Cove with the sole intent of convicting him in the court of public opinion.
It didn’t matter that she had shown a side of herself he was certain she never meant to show, that she had put her heart into rescuing his family’s treasures.
When the wind had launched her out into the darkness he had come to his senses and realized the things could be replaced. The person could not.
He had wanted to stop, but she was the one who would not leave the antiques to the raging storm. From that moment he had known there was more substance to this woman, whom his attorney had said be very wary of because she had a past she needed to make up for.
His brain kept ticking off the warnings—she could be doing all this for the story, she could be working him, she could have a heart as dark as a moonless Maine night.
But he had seen her in action, seen that she was not handing him a line and expecting him to believe her.
No matter.
He still should not want her. He shouldn’t care that the swell of her breast filled the opening of the robe. That by the expression on her face she was not thinking about writing a news story. That her beautiful blue eyes never left his face as he approached.
He put the food on the coffee table and instead of picking her up in his arms and carrying her to his bed, he poked the fire and put on several more logs. When he was finished he turned and she was still watching him.
She could flee if she wanted to because he was sure his intent was written on his face, his body language.
She could stuff her mouth with vegetables to make her intent clear.
She neither fled nor picked up a piece of broccoli. She sat back in the puffy chair, feet on the ottoman. The robe formed a V at the neck and between her legs. Each one inviting. She shifted slightly and one side of the robe fell away from her knees.
He didn’t trust himself to say anything coherent. There had been no women in his past who had stirred him so deeply and so quickly. He wanted her.
If she wanted him as much...
He closed the distance between them with two deliberate steps. Then he lifted his foot and straddled her knees, a leg on either side, standing over her. She looked at him and unless he was imagining it, one corner of her mouth slipped up in anticipation. He reached down, grasped the front of her robe and brought her to her feet. When she leaned into him, her breasts pressed against him and fire burned in her eyes.
CHAPTER SEVEN
ADDY STOOD, WEDGED between the chair and the ottoman. There was no space between them, her lower belly against what he was offering to her.
Zach released the front of her robe and let his hands drop to his sides. He didn’t hold her. He didn’t demand anything of her except perhaps an answer.
She stared into his eyes, a deep caramel brown in the shadowy light. Flecks of amber streaked the irises and thick dark blond lashes luxuriously framed them.
When he touched the mark on her cheek, she let her hands slowly snake up his chest and over his shoulders until they were locked behind his head.
Slowly, inhaling his scent, a thrill racing through
her at the intimate touch of their bodies, she brought his mouth down to hers.
His arms reached around her back and pressed her body more closely to his, escalating the thrill, making her heart beat wildly. His mouth devoured hers as his lips stoked her desire. The fire roared and so did she. All she wanted in the world right now was Zachary Hale, to explore with him, to find out where they could travel together.
When his hand reached inside her robe and caressed her breast her feelings exploded.
“Nothing has ever felt as good as this,” she murmured against his mouth, surprised that she could feel so much, so deeply, so fast.
With one sweet move, he settled the top of her robe off her shoulders, so it dropped down her back, held in place by the belt. Naked from the waist up she saw herself as he must. Lit by the fire and full of passion.
He must have liked what the fire showed him as he tossed his shirt on the floor and drew her to him, pressing the nakedness of their bodies close. She suddenly understood hedonism. She shouldn’t be feeling such pleasure in the arms of this man, especially after having known him up close and personal for such a short period of time.
All she wanted to think of right now though was the deep and thorough pleasure of his touch.
He undid the knot at the waist of her robe and let it fall behind her into the chair.
She held on to his solid shoulders.
He bent down and took her nipple between his lips and as he sucked and nipped, her knees buckled with pure desire. He caught her and lowered her into the chair.
“Put your feet on the ottoman.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
He leaned in toward her and kissed her neck, suckled her earlobe gently and reached with one arm down beside her. Suddenly the back of the chair dropped until she was almost flat.
She smiled and pulled him down on top of her. “Ahhhh.”
He trailed kisses down to her breast and drew her nipple into his mouth again. Lifting her chest into him she begged for more, and he responded by taking her in deeper and smoothing one hand down her ribs to her hip. Then he slid his fingers to the inside of her thigh, pressing with his palm.
Her brain and her body had never felt like this. No man, no occasion of joy had touched her soul the way he touched her with his gentleness.
They were two alpha primates and this could be a test of wills, but his ego so easily shared power. She could eat him up just for that.
When he made a treacherously glorious trail of kisses down her belly toward where the core of her fire burned, she panted in anticipation.
Then when she thought she would melt with the sheer pleasure of his touch, he stopped and looked up at her as if waiting for her to protest. All she could muster was a smile and a jut of her chin toward the zipper of his jeans.
A moment later, he was stripped and standing before her with the firelight bathing his skin, making the curls on his chest almost sparkle, dancing in the sun-blond tips of his hair. The flickering light made the planes of his muscles stand out and lit up his need for her.
And she was gratified to see how much he needed her.
With him standing, she felt like the conquered and he the conqueror, but she knew differently. If he felt as she did, all she would have to do was crook her finger and he’d switch positions with her.
And so she did.
When he was under her with a condom in his hand, he looked up, his lips in the twist of a “come on” smile. She nodded her approval.
Then with the touch of his hands and his mouth, he crowded her senses, made it so she could not think. In fact, she didn’t want to think about anything but having him, kissing him, feeling him inside her.
She had no idea what her heart was feeling, but she rode with her soul until she found true joy with a man for the first time.
When his world shook beneath her, she knew Zachary Hale felt as she did because no matter what the movies said, faking it didn’t look like this.
He pulled her down on top of him, and stretching out her legs behind her, she rested the tops of her feet on the soft ottoman and her cheek on his chest.
The storm roared outside and at first their breathing seemed to match its pace. After a long while when the heat of passion cooled, he pulled the quilt on top of them and she fell asleep.
* * *
ZACH LISTENED TO the sound of Addy’s soft breathing.
Their union had been glorious. Neither one of them seemed to be able to avoid it, but he knew it changed nothing on the outside world, didn’t change her rabid need for a story. Didn’t change what Hale and Blankenstock appeared to the world to have done. It only changed the tiny, time-limited world of a woman and a man trapped in a loft.
There was something about Adriana Bonacorda, something strong and honest. She seemed driven to get to the truth. When he had kissed her the first time, it had been because she showed this vulnerable, true side of herself. Few people in orbit around him ever showed that side of themselves.
He almost always had to leave the rarified sphere of his moneyed world to find those who called him friend and meant it. Finding those people was difficult, except in Bailey’s Cove.
Addy was one of those people. She might want something from him he wasn’t likely to give, but with her there was no subterfuge.
He put his arms gently around her, smoothed her hair back from her face. He was certain his attorney wouldn’t think much of his having sex with a journalist, but that was the outside world.
She looked up at him, her adorable, beautiful face full of sleep and amusement. “Is it a truce when you make love with an olive branch in your hair?”
He gently ran his fingers over her gloriously frizzy golden hair. “You don’t have an olive branch in your hair.”
“I don’t have any branches in my hair, but you do.”
He reached up and brought what he found down so they could see it. “Not an olive branch.”
“Okay, so it’s a pine twig.” She nuzzled into his neck and left kisses.
“I think a pine twig is a good stand-in.” He kissed her ready lips and felt his need arise quickly.
She grinned and the corners of her mouth made her cheeks crinkle. “Then I assert that having sex with a pine twig in one’s hair is a declaration of truce until such time as the trucees—”
“Hey, is trucees a word?”
“When pine twigs in one’s hair are involved, trucee will suffice as a word.”
He hugged her closer.
“—until such time as the trucees decide to dissolve such truce.”
Addy put her hand on his chest, smoothing the curling dark blond hair as she ventured toward his ridged stomach. “Are we alone up here on this mountain?”
“You must be a flatlander if you call this a mountain.”
“On this hill?”
“Medium-to small-size hill.”
“It seemed like a big one, as in Olympus-size, when I was chasing you up here.” She pressed the tip of her index finger to the middle of his chest. “Are we?”
“If I said yes, would you be afraid?”
“Should I be?”
“I think you should.” At least for her job.
“Because we’re in bed now, but we thought we were enemies. And that makes one or both of us insane?”
“One or both of us. There is a neighbor about a half mile farther up the road if you think you need help.”
“Is he as scary as you?” She pressed a palm down his cheek.
“He’s not scary at all. Forgetful and a bit on the negligent side, but a friendly sort of guy.”
“Tell me.”
He covered her hand with his. “We’re going to run out of power before this storm lets up, even if we conserve.”
&nb
sp; “He’s usually responsible, always making sure there’s enough fuel to last what—several days?”
“He mows the grass, plows the snow and fuels his and my equipment with my stock to keep the gasoline rotated.”
“But other than being a negligent gas-can filler he’s harmless?”
“Harmless as a lamb. Now about my being scary.”
“Billionaire. Philanthropist. Business mogul. New England’s most eligible bachelor.”
“Is that what they’re saying?”
“Doesn’t sound too scary, but are you a scary man?”
“I don’t want to be. Never meant to be.”
Neither of those options was a definite no. She wanted so badly for him to say no. To tell her he didn’t do any of the things he was accused of, that he was innocent.
He didn’t. He wasn’t guilty. He couldn’t have lied to and cheated those people or she would not be lying naked on top of him at this moment, would not have kissed him, made love with him.
She had to believe he was innocent.
And she did, in her heart.
* * *
“TRUCEE, WOULD YOU like to take a shower?”
Zach took handfuls of her hair and drew it away from her face and brought her lips to his for a long kiss before he let her answer.
“If that’s an offer for more sex, yes, even if it means going in that tiny stall with the cold water again.”
He chuckled. He could get used to that, had almost forgotten what it was like to laugh with someone when the motivation was personal and not political or mere professional courtesy.
“I can do better than that. Much better. It won’t be glamorous, but I can guarantee hot.”
* * *
“WHAT IS THIS PLACE?” she asked a few minutes later as he led her across the rear of the garage past the old car that had been one of the first off an assembly line and the antique buggy that had served the family before the invention of the auto.
Dressed in the matching robes Cammy had insisted he needed in his closet, he pointed toward a door in the far wall. Then he followed her. Cinched at the waist, the robe swayed with the gentle rocking of her hips. He wondered if she even knew she did it, let alone how sexy it was.