Oh yeah, he wanted to take the hat off.
In his fantasy, it would land on top of a pair of jeans and a white cotton shirt already tossed on the bedroom floor.
“What did you say?” she asked.
He snapped back to reality, wiping his hand over his mouth, sure he’d been drooling. This was not the time to stray into dangerous testosterone territory.
“Nothing, make yourself at home.”
She didn’t move a muscle. “Have you lived here long?”
“Do you mean in this apartment or Ft. Lauderdale?” he asked while walking into the kitchen. “How about something to drink?”
“Water, please,” she called out. “How long have you lived in Ft. Lauderdale?”
He handed her a chilled bottle of water on his way to open the glass doors to the patio.
“Three years.” Heat blanketed him as he stepped onto the teal and cream ceramic tile. With the crook of his finger, Zane motioned Angel to follow then pulled out a black wrought-iron chair with a burgundy-cushioned seat.
“Have a seat.”
Just as Angel set her water on the mosaic table surface, the doorbell chimed.
“Sit tight. I’ll be right back,” Zane said, strolling away.
Angel popped up, ready to leave if she recognized his guest. She had a clear view of Zane, but not the other person.
He opened the door and stepped back. A tall young woman entered. Thick black curls covered the girl’s head like a soft furry cap. On anyone else but the dark-haired beauty, the hairstyle would have come off as goofy. But on her, the dark silky hair and creamy complexion was a striking combination.
She wrapped two delicate arms around Zane’s neck and planted a kiss on his cheek.
Why that bothered Angel, she had no idea. Maybe because she’d never been considered delicate. Zane’s visitor might match her in height, but that graceful curvaceous body had probably never spent forty-eight hours living through a torturous survival weekend or running a marathon.
Instead of gloating over her accomplishments in the woods and on a track, standing near a perfect specimen of femininity left Angel feeling severely inadequate.
Zane’s smile flattened out into a straight-line frown and Angel’s mood improved.
Okay, so that might be a bit uncharitable on her part. She could live with the guilt.
Angel moved a step closer to catch what was going on.
The twenty-something woman prancing around Zane in an ankle-length bright peach dress and straw sandals laced up her calf could be a cover model.
Angel inched close enough to hear the woman say, “Sugar, I’m fine, really. You missed me, didn’t you?”
“I always miss you,” he answered with a half smile.
Beginning to seriously dislike the beautiful visitor for no apparent reason, Angel stepped all the way around the table. The young woman wrapped an arm around Zane’s waist, hugging herself to him.
“I came by three times this week looking for you,” the dark-eyed female said. “You’re harder to catch than a shadow. Thanks for my surprise. I found the birdhouses when I came in this morning.” Her sultry voice carried just enough sincerity to validate Angel’s suspicions. The woman was more to Zane than just a friend.
He gathered the beauty close in an affectionate embrace.
Angel imagined those strong arms wrapped around her body.
She frowned. What was wrong with her? This guy has a life and at least one girlfriend. It shouldn’t matter to her what he did. Besides, she’d be long gone once the coins surfaced.
Then why did seeing the two of them together grate on her nerves?
“Who’s that?”
Angel snapped to attention at the girl’s question.
Zane swung around with an armful of female and strolled back to the patio. “Trish, meet Angel, a friend of mine. Angel, this is my sister, Trish.”
His sister? Ohhh. “Nice to meet you.” Angel stuck her hand out.
Trish gave her an up-and-down once-over then leaned forward a little unsteadily to take her hand. “Angel, huh? Interesting name. Nice to meet you, too.”
Trish turned to Zane. “Didn’t realize you had company, but I’m glad you’ve given up celibacy. At least that rules out your being a priest.” She chuckled at some personal joke.
“Trish.” His single word sounded full of warning. Something else shrouded his gaze…disappointment? Guilt?
“Okay, okay. No games today.” She turned back to Angel, “Be nice to him. He’s all I’ve got.” Trish pecked her brother’s cheek. “Gotta go. Heidi’s waiting. See you later, sugar.” With that she pranced out the door, reminiscent of a child on her way to play.
Angel started to call her back to correct Trish’s misconception of the situation, but the familiar smell of alcohol coming from the woman had hijacked her thoughts. It was cocktail hour for some people.
Propped against the railing, she studied Zane as he returned after seeing his sister out. Shoulders drooping, he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. Why? Zane obviously cared about his sister.
Angel shook off the desire to help. An afternoon wind fanned nearby palm trees, rattling the stiff-leaved branches. Zane leaned against the outer wall a few feet away in a relaxed pose, hands shoved into the front pockets of his jeans.
“Sorry. I wasn’t expecting her,” he said.
“I enjoyed meeting her. She looks like you around the eyes and mouth. How close are you in age?”
“Trish is twenty-three. I’m thirteen years older.”
“Why the big gap?” she inquired.
“She was a mistake.”
Angel took immediate offense at what she considered a cruel description.
“That’s mean.”
“Whoa.” Zane threw a hand up as a stop sign. “I love my baby sister like my next breath. I don’t think she’s a mistake. I meant she was an oops, unplanned.”
“Oh. Where does she work?”
“Trish has a small gift shop near Las Olas Boulevard, an older area of Ft. Lauderdale that’s been revitalized,” he said.
“How long has she had the shop?”
“About three months. She needed to get out from under stressful jobs. Trish is a social butterfly. Loves visiting.”
“What type of jobs did she have before?”
He paused then answered a little defensively, “She’s worked in several fields. Not everyone finds their calling right off the bat.”
Where was that coming from?
“Trish is excited about her shop,” he continued. “I try to bring home unusual items for her when I travel.”
“Nice to have a business where she can come and go whenever she wants.” Angel smiled, hoping to cure whatever sore spot she’d rubbed unintentionally.
A longer pause, then Zane said, “You ask a lot of questions about someone you just met.”
Well, that was stupid. Now she’d ticked him off. How had they gotten off on Trish and so badly? “I’m sorry. I was just curious about her. She seems very sweet.”
Zane’s anger flared and dissipated with the same speed. “No, I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m a little sensitive when it comes to Trish. Her life hasn’t been easy.” He stared off into the distance. “My parents gave me every opportunity, but by the time Trish accidentally came along, they were tired of child rearing—what little they’d been interested in to begin with. I took off and she got the leftovers.”
“Hard knocks in life make you a stronger person. From the sound of it, your sister is probably pretty tough. What do you mean by leftovers?” Seeing a family side of Zane piqued Angel’s interest to know more about the man who’d opened his home to her, a stranger. “You said you took off. Where’d you go?”
Even as Zane sheathed his face in a calm expression, pain filled his eyes. “I went into the navy when she turned eight. My father was a partner in an oil refinery. Sold his part around forty-five, retired a very wealthy man and a happy one, until
Trish showed up, unexpected. My parents pawned her off on friends and relatives so they could ‘enjoy their life.’ Like they knew they’d die in a car crash before reaching fifty.”
“Zane, I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks, but I’m more sorry for Trish.”
“She took it hard? Does she—”
“Enough about Trish.” He cut her off and moved forward in the same breath. “Now that we’ve cleared up her history, what’s yours?”
Zane consumed her personal space. Anyone else would have backed away in fear. Why she didn’t was pause to wonder, but she wasn’t afraid of him.
Angel lived her life in tiny moments and didn’t want this one to end.
Mere inches separated his face from hers.
The air sucked from the room, her lungs, with him so close. A tornado churned behind the brown eyes drilling a hole into her soul. Balmy ocean air ruffled the leaves of nearby hydrangea bushes and clouds diffused the late-afternoon sun.
His aftershave swirled around her, blending with the salt air to draw her closer. She wanted to erase the stern line of his wonderful mouth. She was close enough to…what?
Angel threw a hand up between them to push herself back.
He moved forward, cutting off any escape.
“Talk to me, Angel. You said I couldn’t help. What can someone else do that I can’t?” His deep voice hypnotized her.
“Nothing,” she whispered. Fatigue allowed her hormones to answer. She couldn’t think clearly. His large warm hands stroked slowly up her arms. He leaned forward an inch, their faces only a whisper apart.
She softened her lips in anticipation.
“The truth, Angel, just tell me the truth so I can help you. What kind of trouble are you in?”
That broke the spell.
She jerked out of his grasp, barely reining in her temper. Tell him the truth? Why? He’d already pegged her as a criminal.
“The truth is I hope a shower comes with this apartment, because I’d love one right now.”
He shifted his jaw. Firm lips compressed into a disgruntled line.
Too bad if he’s exasperated. She needed some space, both from him and from life right now.
“You still have the yellow shorts and T-shirt?” Zane asked, resignation in his voice.
“Yes…but I need to wash them.”
“Tell you what.” He backed up a step, drew a deep breath and continued on the exhale, his words measured and patient. “Give me those, take off what you have on now and drop them outside of the bathroom over there.” He pointed down the hall. “Take your time. Soak in the whirlpool if you want while I toss everything in the washer. There’s a dispenser with soap and shampoo. Linens are in the tall cabinet. The bottom drawer of the middle cabinet has new toothbrushes, disposable things and assorted female necessities you’re welcome to use.”
Another woman’s things? Was he nuts? What if his girlfriend just showed up during the night?
“I don’t know about using someone else’s—”
“My sister put that drawer together for when she spends the night here. There’s a hair dryer, and whatever, in there. She hates to be alone and, as you witnessed, she shows up whenever.”
Sister. Okay. Why did she feel so relieved? Because her stupid hormones were kicking in again.
Digging out her clothes from the linen bag, Angel felt a little strange about handing the bundle to him. When was the last time anyone had washed her clothes? She’d done the laundry for herself and her parents at home from the time she was ten years old.
Regardless, she slipped inside the bathroom, peeled off her garments and deposited them outside the door. Every conceivable luxury installed in the luscious bath was decorated in black marble with copper flecks and adorned with copper hardware.
Zane definitely enjoyed the spoils of being a private pilot. His company must do well in spite of poor business sense.
She ran the whirlpool full of scorching water and squirted some bath foam she found in Trish’s stash. After sinking tentatively into the hot water, she soaked to the point of wrinkling. No reason to rush if he was washing her clothes, since that would take an hour. The heat permeated deep into her sore body, banishing any thought of hurrying. Nothing matched a hot bath. She leaned back, closed her eyes.
Angel jerked upright, surprised she’d dozed off. She stepped out of the deep tub, over to the beveled-glass shower, washed her hair and rinsed off the suds.
At the wall-to-wall mirror above the vanity, Angel took stock of her unclothed appearance.
Dark half moons hung under her amber eyes. Her body had thinned some from lack of eating and sleeping over the past week. A few yellowish fist-size bruises speckled her back, but an especially ugly one marred her side near where several cuts were starting to heal.
The single redeeming factor was that the battle scars still belonged to a living body.
She brushed the tangles from her hair, disgruntled as the parts that had dried began to curl halfheartedly. She couldn’t have curly or straight hair. No, hers was just limp. She’d love to cut it if for no other reason than how cute Trish had looked in short hair, but changed her mind.
Cut it now and she’d have few options if it became necessary to change her appearance again. For the time being she’d stuff her hair under her hat.
No disguise would keep Mason at bay for long. Every hour that went by decreased her chances of remaining free. Locating the coins didn’t solve her problems. She had to find a safe place to stay to give her time to track down a respected person who would go to bat for her. Someone had to have seen her running trails the day the coins were stolen. If it came down to just her word, Mason would go free and she’d go to prison.
But the first order of business was to get her hands on the priceless coins again.
The rare Saint Gauden’s Double Eagle gold coins had been stolen from the Bolen Gallery in Boston a few weeks ago. Everyone knew that. The news stations still carried sound bites on the theft. She needed the exact time the coins were taken. Armed with that specific information, she’d find someone who remembered a lone female runner on the trails—a person above reproach who would swear under oath that Angel had an ironclad alibi. But how? Run an ad for witnesses?
Deal with one problem at a time.
Find the coins first, verify the alibi next, then cut a deal with the FBI. Until the first two happened, any contact with the law would ensure her a prison sentence. And, if she pulled it off, she’d have Mason’s arrogance to thank. Confident no one could get in or out of his armed compound, he never locked a door. He’d displayed the priceless coins along with other stolen art in his office next to the bedroom where she’d been held.
The coins served her well in two ways. They were a recently documented theft with Mason’s fingerprints—she’d seen him handle the packages—and nothing else had been as portable.
After wiping down everything she’d touched in Zane’s bathroom, Angel stuck her head out the door. “I’m done. Are my clothes dry?”
Silence.
“Hel-loooo. I’m through showering.”
Still no answer.
She wrapped a thick towel around her, but it only reached midthigh and barely covered her breasts. Holding the front of the towel with both hands, she tiptoed out to search for the laundry room, which she eventually found next to the kitchen.
Her clean clothes sat folded on top of the dryer.
Zane heard Angel call out as he finished talking to Ben. Nothing definitive on the High Vision shipment yet. By the time he hung up and checked on Angel, the bathroom was vacant.
He rushed through the kitchen on his way to the laundry room, halting at the knee-to-shoulder café doors separating the rooms.
The body of last night’s dreams, barely covered with a towel, came into view.
Good thing the swinging doors separated them or she’d have seen just how much he appreciated what the terry cloth didn’t cover.
Angel turned around, wide-
eyed, like an animal crossing the highway, frozen by approaching headlights. He should have been merciful enough to return to his bedroom, but the jolt of finding the bathroom empty hadn’t passed. He’d been sure she’d grabbed her clothes and left.
“Find everything okay?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
Damp strands of auburn hair licked her shoulders. One wisp clung to her cheek. Drops of water trickled down her slender neck to the slight crevice created by two soft mounds of ivory breast.
Man oh man, following that trickle with his tongue would be heaven.
“I have to get dressed.” She held the wad of clothes close to her chest.
The desperation in her voice got through to him. She didn’t need some guy leering at her after all she’d been through. And he didn’t even know everything she’d been through.
“Sorry, I heard you call, but I was on the phone. I’ll wait in the front room,” Zane offered and backed out while the sound of her scampering from the kitchen to the bathroom swooshed behind him. By the time the door closed, his response to her half-clothed body was at rock-hard attention. If she dressed slowly enough, he’d be at ease by the time she got back.
Where had his renowned control gone? He’d never been so…so…turned on, dammit. This was ridiculous. He’d had his fair share of knockout women. Angel wasn’t even a knockout, he argued to himself. To begin with, she was too thin.
Okay, she was actually trim and well toned. But her eyes were too big for her face. Big, round, soft eyes like a doe flushed in the woods, and then her lashes would lower to half-mast when her guard was down or she smiled.
Oh man, she had a heart-stopping smile and legs…good Lord, what a set.
Zane groaned. He started to get hard again and she wasn’t even in the room.
He had the discipline of a goat.
Shaking his head, he wandered into the kitchen. Maybe another bottle of cold water would help—poured over him.
If that didn’t do the trick, then remembering that he hadn’t ruled out the possibility she was a criminal should douse any flames of desire.
By the time Angel returned, he’d cloaked his emotions under a veil of polite indifference.
She eyed him warily when she stepped into the room.
Worth Every Risk Page 6