by Janet Dailey
"Oh?" The taunting inflection of the one word doubted him.
"I was thinking of the heavy traffic."
"I'm a competent driver," Deborah insisted. His gaze slid to the small, red scar on her left arm. "That accident was not my fault!" she flared.
"Accidents rarely are the victim's fault, but they get hurt just the same," Zane countered in a stiffly controlled voice.
"I'm willing to take the risk."
There was an impatient thinning of his mouth. "You always are. I don't think you ever listen to anyone."
"I don't know about that," Deborah retaliated. "You told me to stay away from you and I have been." She saw the fiery blue glitter of his gaze arc from her to remind her they weren't alone in the room. Her temper wouldn't be silenced by their quiet, onlooking faces. "I'm not saying anything they haven't guessed. They've warned me about you, too."
Her bold anger had goaded Zane beyond endurance. Striking with the swiftness of a jungle animal his fingers curled painfully into the soft flesh of her arm, and half-pulled Deborah out of her sitting position.
"I'd like to shake some sense into your head," he threatened in a savage underbreath.
"Why don't you?" she challenged, her throat dry and aching. I could definitely use some."
Her arm was released and in one fluid motion, Zane rose from the chair and took three strides to the table where he set his cocoa mug on the tray. Deborah stared at the broad set of his shoulders. His back was facing her, shutting her out again and denying the unspoken feelings that existed between them.
Madelaine was saying something, but Deborah couldn't hear the words above the deafening roar of her heartbeat. On the record player, a new selection began playing. Zane turned his head to look at her. Something in the haunted shadows of his blue eyes made her listen to the words.
I'll have a blue Christmas without you.
I'll be so blue thinking about you.
Decorations of red on a green Christmas tree
Won't mean a thing if you aren't here with me.
The sharp breath she took went no farther than the lump in her throat. As if he regretted letting her have that little glimpse, the shutters came down to block out his thoughts. Zane abruptly turned aside.
"I have some work to finish up," he announced to signal his departure. Pausing, he sliced a look to Tom. "Where is that computer analysis of the year-end report for the Gillingham Company?"
"It's—never mind. I'll get it for you," Tom moved away from the fireplace to follow Zane out of the room.
The heat from the crackling fire warmed her back, but still Deborah shivered. Her gray eyes darted an uneasy look at the couple seated on the sofa. She uncrossed her feet to stand, staring down at the mug her nervous fingers clutched.
"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you," Deborah apologized. "I know I shouldn't have made such a scene, but—" What was her excuse? The turmoil of churning emotions made her restless and on edge.
"You don't have to apologize," Frank offered.
"I think you did the right thing," Madelaine added and ignored the shushing look her husband gave her. "No, I mean it. You were right to force it out in the open, Deborah. It's time Zane stopped hiding it."
"Thanks for trying to make me feel better." Deborah appreciated their efforts, but there was only one person who could ease her torment and he had walked out of the room. She moved to the window by the Christmas tree where a heavy swirl of snowflakes whipped at the glass panes.
"Well? Zane may work all night if he wants," Frank declared, slapping his wife's knee as he pushed himself upright from the sofa. "But I'm going to get some sleep."
"It's been a long day for me, too," Madelaine agreed, rising to join him. "I'll check on Sylvia first, though."
Neither sleep nor the emptiness of her bedroom sounded inviting to Deborah. She was much too agitated and tense. She had an excess of energy that needed to be burned off, not bottled up by inactivity.
"Good night, Deborah," Madelaine said, and Frank echoed her words.
Snow, activity, and Frank sparked an idea. Deborah pivoted from the window. "Frank, do you remember what you said about swimming when there was snow on the ground? Would it be all right if I used the pool tonight?"
He stopped short, staring at her as if she'd lost her mind. "Alone? I don't think that would be wise. The snow will be here tomorrow."
But Zane will have me slaving away at the desk tomorrow, Deborah thought, but she didn't argue against his advice. "I suppose you are right," she sighed in regret. "Good night." She walked over to pick up the tray of empty hot-chocolate mugs. "I'll take these to the kitchen and save Jessie a trip."
"Are you going to your room?" Frank asked.
"Yes." It didn't make any difference which empty room she prowled. She'd pace the floor in either so she might as well confine her restlessness to her own bedroom.
"We'd better unplug the tree lights then." He walked back to do it while Madelaine waited for him. Deborah left the room before they did.
No one was in the kitchen so Deborah washed up the cups rather than leave them for Jessie to do in the morning. Finally, she had no more reason to postpone going to her room.
The blankness of the television screen greeted her when she entered. It offered a spectator form of entertainment to while away the time, but it wasn't what she wanted. The small desk reminded Deborah that she owed her sister a letter, but she'd been sitting at a desk all day. The marble tub in the bathroom offered to relax her. Deborah turned away from its invitation with a sigh of dissatisfaction. The wide expanse of the double bed yawned at her. The last thing she wanted to do was lie down.
A sharp knock at the door spun her around, catapulting her heart into her throat at the unexpected noise. Deborah swallowed it down and crossed the room to answer the summons. Zane stood in the hallway when she opened the door. Quicksilver tongues of fire raced through her veins.
"Frank mentioned you wanted to go swimming." Wasting no time on preliminary greetings, Zane went straight to the point with a curt explanation of why he was there. "I wasn't sure you would take his advice about not swimming alone."
"So you had to come and check," she issued tightly, a thin thread of sarcasm lacing her words. "As you can see, I'm here. Satisfied?"
"Yes," he snapped. "It's better than wondering if you've cracked your head and are floating face down in the pool."
"Such concern for my welfare," Deborah mocked him. "How touching."
Anger blazed in his eyes, but his clenched jaw kept it back. "You have fifteen minutes to change into your swimming suit and meet me at the rear entrance." Zane had barely issued the order before he walked away, leaving Deborah to gape after him.
When she recovered from her astonishment at his invitation, one minute had already gone by. She raced to change her clothes and make up for the lost time. Her culotte robe of French-blue knit offered a perfect covering for her swimsuit and protected her from the elements, as well. Deborah slipped her feet into a pair of flat shoes and hurried down the hallway to the rear entrance. Zane was already standing there, waiting for her.
"I'm ready," she said in a voice that was slightly breathless from her haste.
There wasn't a response as Zane turned the knob of the door that opened onto the courtyard. He switched on the flashlight he was carrying and a beam of light picked out the snow-covered path through the courtyard.
It was still and quiet outside, the falling snow making no sound as it coated the ground white. Since Zane had the flashlight he led the way and Deborah followed. It was pitch-black except for the light cast from the house windows.
"The pool was never intended to be used at night so there aren't any lights," Zane stated to explain the blackness ahead of them, except for the gauze curtain of white flakes. "There should be enough light reflected from the house to enable us to see."
It was a matter-of-fact statement. There was nothing in his tone or attitude that invited discussion. Deborah wasn't certain whether
it was the coldness of the air penetrating her robe or his icy attitude that made her shiver. She noticed the sprinkling of snowflakes melting to crystal drops on his jet black hair. A cynical thought crossed her mind—that it was amazing the snow melted on a man made of ice.
The flashlight beam shone on a strip of concrete devoid of any snow cover, although it glistened wetly. Beyond it, a vaporous mist hovered on the surface of the pool, the heated water creating steam.
"Watch your step," Zane instructed. "The concrete deck around the pool is heated to keep ice from forming, but it will be slippery from the melted snow."
His words of caution were indifferent and he didn't offer her the steadying support of his hand. Walking carefully, Deborah followed him onto the wet cement deck. He stopped in front of a small shed that housed the pool's filtering system.
"We can leave our clothes in here so they'll stay dry." He opened the door and propped the flashlight against the side of the building, its beam dimly illuminating the pool area.
Snowflakes flitted around him as Zane stripped off his sweater. The cold had begun to numb her fingers so that they fumbled stiffly with the zipper of her culotte robe. At least, Deborah blamed it on the cold rather than on the disturbing sight of the rippling muscles of his shoulders and back. Without ceremony, Zane stepped out of the trousers that covered his black swim trunks. Bundling his clothes and shoes together, he set them inside the small shed.
His sideways glance barely touched her before he took a step toward the pool and knifed soundlessly into the water. The concrete was warm beneath her bare feet, but Deborah felt the nipping chill on her exposed flesh. Shivers danced over her skin as she hurriedly folded her robe around her shoes and set them in the shed beside his clothes.
She walked to the pool's edge and hesitated. She didn't want to dive into the water until she knew where Zane was. He surfaced in the middle of the pool, his wet hair gleaming like black satin in the swirling white vapor. Facing her, he treaded water. Under his hooded regard, Deborah became conscious of the brevity of her two-piece flowered suit.
"Quit posing before you freeze to death." His taunting voice prodded her.
"I wasn't posing," she denied. "I didn't know where you were and I didn't want to jump in on top of you."
"You know where I am now."
Her teeth had begun to chatter from the cold; otherwise Deborah would have made a suitably cutting retort, instead, she fluidly dived off the side, making a graceful entrance into the water, even if it lacked his finesse. The heated water was a delicious shock to her chilled skin. Deborah surfaced not far from Zane, flinging her hair out of her face with a toss of her head and smoothing it backward with her hands.
"This is marvelous," she declared in amazed delight. "It's almost as warm as bathwater."
"You like it, do you?" A smile almost let itself be seen as his look became gentle.
Her full appreciation of the experience was just beginning. She turned in the water, looking around her. While she was enveloped in warmth, everything outside the pool was wearing winter's white coat. The foglike mist floating above the surface of the water added to the magical wonder, creating a dreamlike quality to make the moment unique unto itself. Deborah turned her face to the black sky to let the snowflakes drop wetly on her lashes, nose and mouth.
"It is fantastic!" She was repeating herself, but it didn't seem to matter. "No wonder you didn't bother to enclose the pool. This is sensational!"
The flashlight propped upward at the pool side gave just enough light so that Deborah could see the snow frosting the bare branches of the shrubs and trees. Everything was being transformed to white with winter's breath while she was swimming in water as warm as summer.
"A lot of ski resorts have heated pools or hot springs for their guests." Zane denied that his was unique.
"Yes, but they are for tourists and they would be crowded with people. This is private—with only the snow and the sky and the mist." Deborah spoke softly, as if talking about intimate companions.
Zane abruptly changed the subject. "Do you want to make a few laps of the pool?"
Part of her wanted to tread water and marvel at the scene, but the energy within her demanded to be released. "All right."
She struck out for the far end of the pool with a strong but leisurely crawl. Zane kept pace beside her, shortening his stroke that could have easily outraced her. They covered the length of the pool four times before Deborah clung to the side in exhaustion. Zane was two lengths into the fifth lap before he realized she had stopped.
"You aren't quitting already, are you? We've just started." The glint in his eyes mocked her.
She had deliberately stopped at the shallow end where her feet could touch the bottom, but her fingers curled into the cement lip of the pool to keep her balance. She was winded from the four previous laps and wasn't about to try a fifth.
"You may have just begun, but I'm finished," Deborah countered in a voice breathless from her exertion.
A low chuckle came from his throat, but he didn't say any more. For a brief second, he straightened in the water, giving Deborah a glimpse of his powerful, trim-lined physique—the broad shoulders and narrow hips of a swimmer. Then he pushed forward for the opposite end of the pool. He disappeared into the mist, but she could hear his strokes cleaving the water.
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Chapter Ten
UNTIL HER BREATH RETURNED, Deborah drifted along the edge of the pool Zane continued his laps across the pool's length while she was content to enjoy her surroundings. Flat flakes continued to rain from the darkened sky and mix with the white steam rising from the heated water.
Staying close to the side of the pool, she began a slow backstroke. She was careful to avoid the center area where Zane was, not wishing to interfere with his swimming. The novelty of floating in warm water while all around her it snowed, had not worn off. An enchanted spell had been cast, it seemed.
"Keep your fingers together and make a cup of your hand. You'll have a stronger stroke."
Zane's voice came out of the mist, startling her. Deborah stopped swimming and tried to come upright, not realizing she had left the shallow end and ventured into deep water. As her legs stretched for the bottom, she went under with a sputter of surprise. Immediately, she kicked for the surface and came up coughing. An arm went around her and Deborah clutched at the water-slick flesh of a muscled shoulder. With a powerful kick, Zane propelled her toward the pool side while she wiped her face and coughed out the water she had swallowed.
"Are you all right?" His arm remained curved around her middle.
"Yes," she nodded quickly and gulped in air.
The smoothness of the concrete side was against her shoulder, but Deborah didn't remove the hand that circled his neck. Pushing the wet strands of copper hair out of her eyes, she flashed him a smile of chagrin.
"I didn't realize the water was over my head there," she admitted.
"Obviously," Zane murmured dryly.
While his arm continued to support her, his other hand gripped the edge of the pool to keep them at the side. Recovered from her accidental dunking, Deborah felt the first glimmer of silken awareness. Long, muscled thighs were floating against hers, masculine and firm in their contact. Her hip was drifting inside the cradle of his. The thin, wet material of her swimsuit top didn't lessen the sensation of her breast rubbing against the hairy manliness of his chest.
Her eyes sought his face, sensual tension tightening her stomach. The brilliant blue of his gaze was watching the rapid pulse beating at the base of her throat. Slowly his eyes lifted to look into hers. They mirrored all the turbulent emotions that were quivering through Deborah.
The hand on her back tightened and it was all the invitation she needed to glide toward the strong, male outline of his mouth. When it parted to consume her lips whole, heat scorched through her limbs, making a mockery of the temperature of the water they floated in.
While her left hand co
ntinued its possessive encirclement of his neck, her right curled its fingers into the wet, silken texture of his black hair. Compulsively Deborah shaped her body to his hard torso. The contact seared her with a longing for fulfillment that couldn't be denied. She ached to be a part of him with a fire so intense it was out of control.
"We're in water over our heads." His mouth moved against her lips to speak the words, his voice husky and rasping, betraying his aroused state.
"I don't care if I drown." If this was what it was like, it would be sheer heaven, swamped by desire and awash with a bottomless love. A muscled leg sliced its way between hers to brace itself against the concrete side of the pool below the water. A violent tremor quaked through her body. Deborah felt the muscles in his shoulders ripple in a constricting movement. His mouth hardened on hers in a mute promise to return before it pulled away.
"Hang on," he ordered and used the leverage of his arm and leg to push away from the pool side.
Automatically, Deborah linked her fingers together behind his neck. The steel grip of his hand on her waist kept her almost on top of him as he pulled her along with him. The powerful stroke of one arm combined with the kick of his legs to carry both of them toward the shallow end of the pool. Their eyes were locked together.
Deborah knew she would trust herself in the stormiest seas with this man. In his arms, she could ride out the roughest gale. There was nothing so insurmountable that they could not face and conquer together. He was not some god who would offer her paradise. He was made of sinew and bone. Loving him would be alternately heaven and hell, but Deborah wanted a life sentence.
When Zane stopped in shallower water, it lapped at his shoulders, but her toes were barely able to scrape the bottom. Not that it mattered. Deborah preferred to hang onto him and have the strength of his body support her. It was impossible to get too close. Now both of his hands were free, no longer hampered by the necessity to keep them afloat. They pulled her buoyant weight firmly inside the circle of his arms and pressed her curves to his unyielding flesh.