by Janet Dailey
His mouth was driving in its possession of her lips, parting them to let the sensual probe of his tongue fire her senses with its demanding claim. It raged through her with primitive force, sending quivers of joy deep into her soul. But Zane wasn't satisfied just to stake his ownership of her mouth. He began branding her face and throat with kisses. Deborah returned them with equal fervor, pressing her lips against his vital skin and tasting the chlorine-tainted flavor of him.
Behind her neck, she felt his fingers tug at the knot of her halter strap and untie the wet bow. His hands trailed halfway down the sensitive skin over her spine to unhook her top and free her breasts from their confinement. Deborah didn't even notice the top half of her swimsuit floating aimlessly away from them. Her senses were aflame with the sensation of the naked globes of her breasts crushed to his bare, muscled chest.
Then his hands were gripping her waist and lifting her weightless body partly out of the water, while his mouth made an initial foray down the damp valley between her breasts. Her fingers curled into the bulging muscles of his shoulders to steady herself, her nails digging into his flesh at the tantalizing ascent of his lips to a rosy peak. Crystalline flakes of snow melted on her enraptured face, bestowing her with nature's sweet kisses.
The steel bands of his arms slid around her, one circling her waist and the other curving under her bottom to mold the lower half of her body to the muscled tautness of his stomach. His licking tongue ignited a liquid fire that spread quickly through her veins, consuming her with a molten heat that melted her bones. Deborah shuddered with a wild need.
His hold loosened, letting her slide down to his level. The disturbed blue of his gaze scanned the love-drunk look in her gray eyes. Her lips trembled for his kiss, but Zane denied her its satisfaction to rest his forehead against hers, closing his eyes. Her consolation was the caressing warmth of his heavy breath against her skin.
She savored the moment, letting her hands glide over the powerful muscles of his shoulders, and wander down to let her fingers curl into his springy chest hairs. Zane had claimed his ownership of her body. Now Deborah was claiming her right to his. Her touch produced a shudder that quivered through him. The circle of his arms grew smaller as he molded her more tightly against him and pressed his mouth to her cheekbone.
"Do you know what you are doing to me?" Zane breathed the tortured question into her ear.
"I … hope the same thing you are doing to me" Her whispered answer was equally revealing.
What little breath she had was taken from her as the hand at the small of her back slid under the elastic band of her swimsuit, pushing it down. The wet material clung stubbornly to her skin, requiring the assistance of a second hand. Deborah floated free of his arms as the last barrier was banished to the pool. She trod water several feet from where Zane stood. The darkness and the water hid her body from his eyes. Deborah felt a shameless twinge of regret. A wanton part of her wanted to look on her and be pleased by her womanhood. They drifted closer, lessening the distance that separated them without eliminating it.
It was not an attempt to prolong the agony of wanting each other. Rather, it was a savoring of all that had led up to the moment to come when intimate discoveries would be made. There was no need to rush. The anticipation was sweet and heady, an aphrodisiac to the senses.
"I've wanted you for a long time, Deborah." He moved closer, the strong, male lines of his face clearly visible in the dim light. Vital and compelling, his sun-bronzed features sent her heart racing. "Not just because you are a beautiful, exciting woman, although you are that." His voice was a husky caress as warm as the water that sensually engulfed her naked form. "I've been tempted to make love to a lot of women out of sheer sexual necessity. I craved the satisfaction their bodies permitted, but not them. I thought it would always be that way."
"Isn't it?" She wasn't trying to be provocative; her voice was as huskily disturbed as his.
"You know it isn't," Zane insisted in a mocking growl. "You got under my skin. You with your rusty brown hair—" his hand came out of the water to tug a long, wet strand "—and your eloquently expressive gray eyes that so often burned me with their silver flames. When you first came to work for me, I tried to freeze out your anger, but you continually riled me with your sharp tongue and censuring looks. I tried, but I couldn't be indifferent to you. I should have realized it was a warning."
"I didn't recognize the danger signals either." Her finger traced the crevice in his cheek near the corner of his mouth. "Considering the way the sparks flew when you rubbed me the wrong way, I should have known what would happen when you rubbed me the right way."
His hand slid to clasp her forearm. He kissed the inside of her elbow, then the small scar. "It wasn't until your accident that I fully realized what you had come to mean to me. The hospital said you weren't badly hurt, but I had to see for myself. When I walked into that emergency room and you called me by my name, if the doctor hadn't been there I would have made love to you on the spot."
"I called you Zane?" she said in surprise. "I don't remember that. Is that why you finally called me Deborah?"
"I'd been thinking of you as Deborah for weeks before that." His hand glided up her arm to caress her neck and the hollow of her throat.
"All I remember is how cruelly you pointed out that my services were not indispensable," Deborah murmured, her breath catching as a finger teased the sensitive area near her ear.
"Your services were not indispensable, but you were. It shook the heel out of me to admit that. I had to send Tom over to see if you were okay that night because I didn't trust myself alone with you." Zane's mouth seemed to grow jealous of the privileges his hands were enjoying and moved to take its place to continue the stimulating exploration of her neck and earlobe. Their bodies drifted against each other in the water. "The night you taunted me for not responding to Sylvia's needs provoked me into showing how much I needed you. I came very close to insisting that you provide ray satisfaction as part of your job—anything to have you."
"I didn't want you to stop that night," Deborah admitted, closing her eyes as his warm lips moved over her lashes. "The only reason I said that was because I was afraid of being the other woman in your life."
"The other woman." There was amusement in the breath he exhaled. "You are the only real woman in my life. The only one." Zane briefly teased her lips, his white teeth tugging at the lower one for an instant. "When you and Tom were doing that ridiculous dance in the suite, I was overwhelmed with jealousy. The idea that you and he might be having an affair nearly drove me out of my mind. Just to see you laughing with him—"
She heard the taut pain in his voice and quickly stopped him. "Tom is a great guy—wonderful and kind and gentle. But I was never attracted to him. Next to you, he … " Deborah laughed softly. "I'm not saying any more or I'll add to your conceit."
"My conceit!" He bruised her lips with a punishing kiss that soon hardened with passion.
With a faint moan, she wrapped her arms around him, wanting to become absorbed by his vital, male body. She gloried in the strength that pulsated through his rock-firm flesh and the hair that was rough against her breasts. She was excited by the taste of his tongue, the feel of his hard muscle, and the smell of his virile scent. It quivered through her every fiber with endless longing.
Steam swirled around them, generated from the combination of their body heat and the warm water of the pool. Snow melted into crystal droplets on their skin and hair, but they were too engrossed in each other to notice the tiny snow beads. Lips were busy kissing, teasing, and demanding while hands caressed, explored and aroused willing flesh. Love was a hot flame that burned them together.
"Zane," Deborah whispered his name, loving him so intensely it was a pleasurable ache. Tears of boundless happiness were on her cheeks mingling with the snow drops. "Why did you bother to tell me to stay away from you? Didn't you realize that it was already too late? Why did you put us through all this frustration; waste a
ll this time?"
"I'm married." He dragged out the words as if they were torture. There was a fierceness in the way his hands cupped her face as if he were afraid of losing her.
"Tell me something I don't know," she smiled because it didn't make any difference. It seemed more of a sacrilege to pretend that it did.
"You don't understand," Zane insisted in a heavy sigh. "There are so many things I can't give you."
"I only want you. I'll be satisfied with that." Her voice trembled with strong undercurrents of emotion.
"Will you? I don't know that I'll be satisfied." His searching gaze probed deeply into her eyes. "I know there will come a time when I'll want to see our child at your breast." He lifted her to bend his head and kiss the swelling curve of her breast, cupping the underside with one hand. Deborah quivered as he straightened. "Would you want to have my child?"
"No." She swallowed the happy lump in her throat. "But I'd love to have your children." She lightly stressed the change to the plural form.
She heard his sharp intake of breath before she was crushed hard inside his arms in an embrace that was brutal joy and aching regret. Deep shudders wracked his shoulders and Deborah tried to absorb his inner pain.
"Yes, I would undoubtedly want children," Zane admitted in a quivering breath. "But I couldn't give them my name."
"You could give them your love. You would be their natural father. You could even legally adopt them," Deborah argued gently. "Don't put obstacles in our path to keep us apart. I'll just knock them down."
"I couldn't stand it if people looked down on you, Deborah," he muttered thickly.
"I couldn't stand it if you walked away from me—not after this. There has to be a way for us to be together." There was a desperate catch in her voice, a tiny thread of alarm.
"We'll find one … because I can't let you go."
"You couldn't if you tried, because I wouldn't let you."
His mouth twisted wryly as he lifted his head. "I can't think straight when you are in my arms." He loosened his hold, but Deborah resisted.
"Don't think," she protested.
"No. I need to think this out." His hard jaw was set in a determined line.
"But—"
"Zane!" Tom's shout intruded on the moment. "There is a long-distance phone call for you from California. It's important."
Together they turned in the direction of his voice. A flashlight beam zigzagged across the pool's surface until it found them. Deborah blinked and turned sharply away from the harsh glare, lifting a hand to shield out the spot of light.
"I suggest you point that light in another direction, Tom," Zane warned. "This bold woman with me might not be embarrassed but I'll be jealous as hell of what you might see."
"Zane!" Deborah hissed.
At the twin flags of pink on her cheeks, Zane laughed softly, "You shameless woman, you do have some sense of modesty." His teasing murmur carried no farther than her hearing.
"Sorry," Tom apologized after averting the flashlight. "Do you want to return the call a little later?"
"No. I'll take it." Turning again to Deborah, he ordered quietly, "You wait here a minute."
With effortless strokes, he swam to the edge of the pool. Shaking the hair out of his face, he levered himself out of the water onto the cement deck. His clean, male lines sent Deborah's heart thudding against her ribs as he walked to the shed where they had left their clothes. From inside, he pulled out long beach towel and began wiping himself dry.
"You'd better go tell them I'll be there in a minute, Tom," he instructed, stepping into his trousers.
"Right away." The flashlight was turned toward the house, its light outlining Tom's silhouette as he started across the courtyard. His footsteps made no sound in the snow, but the light kept getting smaller until it disappeared in the thickening snowfall. By the time the sound of a door closing echoed into the night, Zane had pulled his sweater on and was walking to the side of the pool, carrying the large beach towel.
"You can come out now." He waited at the ladder and Deborah swam to it.
Her toe touched the bottom rung when she remembered. "What about my bathing suit?"
There was a wicked glint in his blue eyes as he slanted her a smile. "It's too dark to find it now. We'll just have to wait until morning." He shook out the towel. "Come on. It's getting cold out here."
Grabbing hold of the ladder rail, Deborah climbed out of the pool. Immediately, the chill of the air's low temperature shivered over her bare flesh, the evaporating pool water cooling her skin even more. Before she could reach for the towel, Zane was swinging it behind her and wrapping it around her shoulders. When he started to overlap the towel in front, his hands paused in their task. His gaze roamed up her leggy length to linger on the rise and fall of her breasts, firm and creamy smooth. Deborah trembled as much from the desire in his look as from the cold. At last his gaze trailed the last distance to her warm gray eyes.
"God, you're beautiful, Deborah," Zane declared with a strangled groan and tightly overlapped the beach towel to enclose her in a cocoon.
She gave a little cry of surprise as he unexpectedly picked her up and carried her to the shed. Without putting her down, he somehow managed to reach inside and retrieve her shoes and robe, adding them to his burden. Then he started for the house.
"What are you doing?" Deborah protested.
"I don't have the control to stand by and watch you dress. And I'm not leaving you out here so you can fall and crack your head," he told her flatly. His mocking blue eyes challenged her to argue with him. He wouldn't listen to words and the towel was virtually a straight jacket. Also, they were already halfway across the courtyard. "Besides you are cold." Zane voiced the last factor that had kept her silent. "There isn't any point wasting time getting dressed when I can have you inside where it's warm."
"You've thought of everything," she said, trying to keep her teeth from clattering together.
He suddenly looked away, his expression turning grim. "Not everything." Deborah knew without asking that he was talking about their future and its uncertain course.
Entering the house through the rear door, Zane carried her all the way into her bedroom before setting her down. His hands gripped the sides of her arms, not allowing the towel to loosen. The brevity of his kiss was hard with regret.
"Go take a hot shower and get to bed," he told her and started to leave.
"Zane." Deborah abandoned her pride to ask, "Are you coming back?"
"No." He looked at her, noting the towel that had slipped off one shivering shoulder. "Not tonight. And not because it isn't what I'd like to do." He bent and kissed her ivory shoulder before covering it with the towel.
"Then why?" She tried to sound casually interested and not as lonely as she felt.
"Maybe it's too late, but I have to consider the consequences of our actions—for your sake as well as my own." His hand stroked her cheek in a farewell caress as Deborah accepted his answer with a stoic calm.
Then he was striding out of her room. Deborah refused to accept the possibility that she might lose him, that she might have enjoyed a brief glimpse of happiness. After showering and slipping into her nightclothes, she went to bed and dreamed about Zane and falling snow.
THE NEXT MORNING, Deborah had dressed and was about to leave her bedroom for the breakfast table when there was a knock at her door. Her heart gave a leap of excitement at the thought that it might be Zane and she rushed the last few steps to the door. Madelaine was in the hallway. There was a bright twinkle in her brown eyes.
"I think this is yours," She handed Deborah a wet bundle.
A scarlet heat warmed her face as she recognized her swimsuit. "Yes, it is," she admitted with a self-conscious laugh.
"Obviously Zane took you swimming last night." Then Madelaine could contain herself no longer and gave Deborah a quick smile. "Don't look so embarrassed. I'm a nurse, remember. Besides, I know you are going to make Zane very happy."
"If he'll let me," Deborah murmured and walked to the bathroom to hang the wet suit over the tub.
"He should have his head examined if he doesn't," the brunette retorted.
"Is breakfast ready yet?" Deborah changed the subject.
"Jessie was just setting the table. Sylvia's tray is ready so I'm going to take it up to her room before the food gets cold. I'll see you at the table," Madelaine waved as she walked out. "And keep your chin up. Zane knows a good thing when he sees it."
Deborah smiled faintly and dried her hands on a towel before leaving the bedroom for the sun-brightened morning room where the breakfast was served. Zane was standing at a window when she entered the room. Deborah paused, feeling her pulse accelerate at the sight of his leanly muscled figure. If that mask of his shut her out again, she knew she would scream.
"Good morning." Her greeting was a deliberate attempt to draw his gaze.
He half turned to look at her. "Good morning." And there was no mask to conceal the warm light in his eyes. "I was just looking at the snow."
The world was white outside the window, but it wasn't the morning that Deborah was thinking about. It was last night. The same memory was reflected in his glittering look.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said.
Zane crossed the room to stand in front of her. His hand shaped itself to the side of her neck while his thumb drew lazy circles under her chin. It was a seductive caress to which she was all too susceptible.
"Breakfast is ready. And we have a lot of work to do today, Miss Holland." The glinting light in his eyes mocked his own formality. Then his mouth was moving over her lips with a sweet, drugging force that ended just as Deborah was becoming hopelessly addicted to its influence. He took her hand and led her to the table, seating her in a chair next to his.
Work was exactly what he had in mind, but it was conducted with a difference. Zane kept finding excuses to touch her—a hand caressing her shoulder or resting on the back of her waist while he studied the notes she was making. He smiled a lot, almost every time he looked at her. The obvious change in his behavior was noted by Tom.