At first she thought she might have struck her head on the banister and was imagining it. Intent on focusing on the pain their collision must have caused, she was about to insist he let her up. Then she felt the unmistakable, physical stirring against her hip.
Neither of them moved. Trapped and vulnerable, she could only wait, and watch the wide, well-formed mouth so frighteningly close. Wait and wonder. Would his kiss be hard and rough, or slow and hungry? How far did he intend to go? Would she survive it?
“My God, you’re lovely.”
His gaze shifted to her lips. Her mouth went dry as he slid a hand up her back, beneath the fall of her hair. Strong fingers molded themselves around her nape…and slowly, slowly he drew her toward him.
You’re going to let this happen?
“Zach? Yo, man!”
Willa started at the sound of the unexpected, but strangely familiar voice rising from below. Someone was at the front door! She began to glance around, but Zachary Denton tightened his grip, keeping her still. As he moved his hand from her nape to her throat, those emotions that had almost seduced her receded, and back came the secretive shadows and the glint of violence.
She swallowed, but afraid to make a mistake, waited for him to make his decision.
“Hey, you all right? I’m coming in, okay?” the visitor shouted upon hearing no response.
Before the screen door opened, Zachary Denton lifted her back onto her feet. Surprised, Willa steadied herself by holding onto his forearms. They were hot steel against her fingers.
“Go. Say nothing to him.”
Although he spoke calmly, he looked paler than ever. Drained. But eager to put some distance between them, Willa didn’t dwell on that; instead, she hurried down the stairs. She didn’t remember the note until she approached the bottom, and spun around in time to see him tucking it into his T-shirt’s single pocket.
“Whoa! Sorry, man. Did I mess up on the time or something?”
Ignoring the man who’d just noticed her, Willa hesitated. Did she make a scene and demand her property back or leave as he’d said? Blast him for being so enigmatic.
Leave!
Zachary Denton’s intense look projected as strong a message as any verbal command. “I was just going,” she said to the newcomer as she hurried down the rest of the stairs. But disgusted with herself for losing the note and more, Willa could only nod toward the blond giant who appeared as embarrassed as he did curious.
Like Zachary Denton, the newcomer was a well-toned product that bespoke hours of extensive and disciplined weight training; and if she hadn’t recognized him, the Vilary Vantage Health Club and Spa logo on his T-shirt would have identified him. He was one of the trainers. The one with the neon smile and a cavalier’s manners, she recalled, remembering how he often ran to open the doors for the health club’s female clientele. Even her oldest saleswoman, sensible Sophia, grew all breathless and giddy when he strolled by Whimsy.
“I know you.”
So much for thinking she could escape without small talk. Willa nodded politely. “Hi.” She knew she owed this man with the model-perfect tan a debt a gratitude, but with Zachary Denton’s warning echoing in her mind, she wanted desperately to get out of there. “I’m the new neighbor,” she offered reluctantly, hooking her thumb in the direction of her house. “Willa Whitney. I came over to introduce myself.”
Youthful features puckered into a slight frown, making him look no more than a year or two her senior.
“Couldn’t help but wonder seeing as the door’s rarely open. He doesn’t like visitors.”
The conspiratorial whisper came as the custom-made elevator cranked into operation, and Willa stiffened. “He’s made that abundantly clear.”
“Don’t take it personally. He’s had a rough time of it.” Glancing across the foyer as the elevator settled on the ground floor, his gaze grew troubled, almost sad. “You should’ve seen him before I started working with him.”
“You’ve done wonders with keeping him in shape.” Too bad you can’t do something with what’s going on beneath that wild mane of hair. “It’s…Greg, right?” she added, trying to recall what the girls at the store had called him.
“Ger. Ger Sacks. Sounds less nerdy than Gerald.” He grinned and shrugged. “I like your store. Crazy stuff you peddle.”
So much for hoping he’d confused her with someone else. She didn’t know if she liked the idea of her merchandise being described as “crazy,” but Willa murmured her thanks, adding, “Well, after you prime the bodies, they want some nice things to show off the results.” Her gaze drifted beyond him as Zachary Denton wheeled out of the metal cage and rolled himself toward them. Feeling his eyes like two drills boring into her, she began backing away. “Um…I really have to run. Nice to finally meet you, Ger.”
“Ditto. Come see me some time. Not that you need it,” he added with a brief, sweeping glance, “but everyone could use a little cardiovascular workout once in a while.”
“True, but I get that by doing all of my own housework.”
She did run then, all the way back home, not stopping until she had her front door locked and bolted behind her. Only when she slumped against the sturdy wood did she think about what had happened.
Had the combination of Zachary Denton’s accident and his work driven him to the edge of madness? If so, he’d at least been sane enough to outmaneuver her and get that note. Why did he want it if he hadn’t been the one to put it in her box? And is that why he’d almost kissed her? Oh, God, that was the most incredible of all—she was disappointed it hadn’t happened.
Blue-eyed blondes. Just like her.
My God you’re lovely.
Blondes…blondes…blondes…
Willa covered her face with her hands. Dear Heaven, what had she gotten herself into?
“You’re tight.”
“And I plan to get tighter,” Zach replied, thinking of the stiff drink he would pour himself as soon as he sent his trainer on his way.
Not bothering to open his eyes, he willed the strong, capable hands massaging the knots and kinks out of his back to work their magic—but faster. At least the guy was good. Gerald Sacks wasn’t a fully-trained masseur; however, he was more than adequate, and most important, he saved Zach from having to deal with yet another person intruding on his space and privacy.
“You keep pouring all that booze into yourself and pretty soon you won’t need me anymore, you’ll need a mortician.”
“Anytime you figure you no longer want my money, say the word. Then you won’t have to watch.” Zach had no intention of taking that kind of bull from anyone. Not even Felix who had been his agent since the start—well before his first-class trip through hell—had permission to lecture him.
“Sorry.”
Hearing the mumbled word and sensing the hurt beneath it, Zach realized what a mistake he’d made. A stupid one. He needed to stop remembering the scene of Willa talking to Sacks, not to mention replaying the moment he’d almost learned the taste and feel of her, and keep his mind on the business at hand.
After a grunt and an oath, he added, “Ignore me. Too many hours at the computer lately.” That much was true. His body ached from the ninety-minute workout Ger had put him through.
“I know. Your neck and shoulders are a mess, man.” As if wanting to make his point, he gave a surprisingly painful twist to the muscle he’d been working.
“Son of a…hey!” Zach lifted himself on his elbows and glared at the man who gazed back at him through startled, summer-blue eyes. “It’s the legs that have the nerve damage! What are you trying to do, kill me?”
Ger’s expression turned as studious as when he was teaching a new move. “Killing wouldn’t take that much strength. When I was into martial arts, I learned that much. And I was only trying to make the point that you ignored technique today. Injure yourself, you’ll be hurting more than you. Think about my reputation, man.”
Zach doubted he’d ever heard Ger say anything half as intelligen
t, and the revelation about his past was interesting, as well. Wondering how else he’d underestimated him, he lowered himself back to the towel-covered table. “You studied martial arts?”
“Hell, no. I took a few classes and found out it wasn’t for me.”
“Why not?”
“Just wasn’t. Too much head stuff.” Ger paused to pour more lotion into his palm. “You want more work on your shoulders or do you want me to move on?”
“Finish. I have to get back upstairs.”
In the sixteen months since he’d hired Gerald Sacks to transform the den into a training room and keep his body from atrophying, they’d had their moments of tension and disagreement. The accident had honed Zach’s innate tendencies to be strong-willed and acerbic. What’s more, the soft-spoken, machine-tanned Ger was one of only three people who could gain entrance into the house, and was damned well paid for his time and service. Zach figured that gave him the right not to mince words, and pretend to be something he wasn’t.
“You want to talk?”
Sometimes Zach did tire of his isolation, and the singular cerebral focus of writing; and as with the chess games he looked forward to with Roger Elias, he saw conversation as a discipline requiring skill and strategy. But although Ger was a good source of information for what was going on in town, he wasn’t exactly the most inspiring, let alone challenging, conversationalist. Then again, Zach thought as his thoughts darkened, political or philosophical insight wasn’t what he wanted from his trainer.
“Talk about what?”
“The underwear lady. Her coming over the way she did.”
He grunted. Wouldn’t Willa love hearing herself described that way? “From what I’ve seen in newspaper advertisements, ‘underwear’ doesn’t quite describe what she sells.”
Ger made no response to that, but after several long seconds, he ventured with some caution. “I, uh, thought since she kinda looks like…you know, it might have upset you.”
Renewed tension created the coldest knot yet in Zach’s belly. “Do you think she looks like my ex-wife?” he mumbled into his pillowed towel.
His trainer had been here the last time less-than-beloved Judith had slithered in seeking more money. As usual, the scene had gone from drolly amusing to ugly, thanks to the woman’s vicious mouth. By the time she left, Zach thought her lucky to escape with only a scratch on her chin from the car keys he’d flung back at her.
How he despised the woman. Despise? Hell, he hated her with every ounce of his being. Not because she’d filed an assault case against him after their argument when he’d told her he was filing for a divorce, or for taking so much that wasn’t hers, but for unleashing the demons inside him. The demons that whispered he could commit murder.
“Well, maybe not up close.” Ger sounded sorry to have brought up the subject. Moving down to concentrate on Zach’s legs, he continued, “I mean, I know Ju—uh, Mrs. D. is older. Maybe I thought that because they’re about the same height and build.”
And that was all Willa had in common with his ex-wife, Zach thought. When he’d touched Willa, and looked into her eyes, he’d seen a soul and not a heartless, conniving she-devil.
“Don’t forget the hair,” he drawled, curious to hear what else Ger might say. He already knew, however, that Willa’s glorious coloring didn’t come out of a bottle. “And the blue eyes.”
“Oh. Okay. I hadn’t noticed.”
Disappointed, Zach closed his eyes. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was over.
“Say…” Ger’s laugh sounded almost like a girl’s giggle. “I just had a thought. Wouldn’t it be weird if the stalker got rid of your ex old lady for you?”
Zach opened his eyes and briefly focused on the note sticking out of the T-shirt he’d hung on the doorknob. Then he thought of the several others upstairs in his desk.
“I hope not,” he replied, tempering the savagery stirring inside him. “If anyone’s going to give Judith a tour of hell, it’s going to be me.”
CHAPTER FIVE
On Sunday, Zach was still dropping bombshells…and still groping in the dark.
“Would you mind repeating that?”
He recognized the ominous, chilly tone in Felix Fraser’s voice, but it didn’t keep him from pouring himself another Scotch from the bottle he kept on the corner of his desk. Swirling the melting ices cubes in the amber liquid, Zach took a sip, recalling a time right after the crash when he’d witnessed Felix’s Arctic-Attitude directed at Judith, who’d burst into his hospital room and pretended concern. It was the same frigidity he’d heard countless times since, when his agent negotiated with publishers, movie producers and audio rights reps. But this was the first time Zach had found himself on the receiving end of it.
He found it oddly enjoyable.
“You heard me.” Turning back to the computer screen, he eyed the last page of the chapter he’d finished only minutes ago. Two chapters in two days, not bad. “I’ve put off doing Under the City right now. I want to pursue another idea.”
“But Carstairs is expecting City by Christmas” came the steel-coated-by-velvet reply. “They’ve issued a press release to that effect. Your readers are expecting Under the City.”
“And they’ll get it. But not yet.”
“When then?”
“After Checkmate.”
He could picture Felix, an elegant fifty-seven-year-old, tall, large-boned man, pinching the bridge of his El Greco nose as he fought for control of his temper. It was the curse of Felix’s Spanish, Scottish and Russian genes to be eternally at war with himself. He’d simply inherited too much passion, even for his six-foot-four-inch frame.
“Lord almighty, Zach. Why don’t you simply take a stake and drive it through my chest? Exactly what the—” Pausing just in time to censor a particularly crude expletive because, like an alcoholic, once Felix started swearing it was difficult for him to stop, he drew in a deep breath and started over. “What is Checkmate?”
“Only a fine madness right now.” The liquor was beginning to ease the fatigue, tension and pain in his body, and allowed Zach to indulge in an evil grin. “Primarily because I don’t know how it ends yet.”
“I see. What about the premise? Do you have a clue about that?”
The snideness was vintage Fraser, as well. The Houston literary agent was more than a fascinating, enigmatic study as a businessman; one-on-one he usually exuded a theatrically affected persona. Zach hadn’t been able to resist using him in his work before, but as a composite character. Never the man as a whole. He knew Felix would enjoy being immortalized in print, and wondered how much to hint that it might just happen, and soon.
“A clue…all right. Call it three stories in one. A project like nothing I’ve ever done before.”
“That’s what Under the City is supposed to be, and if you remember correctly, I had to practically prostrate myself before Carstairs to stop his complaining about the young antagonists in the story.”
Zach could think of a few tongue-in-cheek responses to the idea that Felix would prostrate himself to anyone, but decided to leave well enough alone. He hadn’t called his agent to make more trouble for himself than necessary. First and foremost, he was on a fishing expedition.
“Just hear me out,” he replied, attempting to sound believably entreating. “It’s a story, inside a story, inside a story. A play for revenge, and power and the sacrifice of innocence. Only—” he swung his chair around to see if his comely neighbor had finished hanging the blinds in her bedroom “—I’m not sure yet how much the innocent will have to sacrifice.”
Felix’s responding sigh stretched like a full-grown python across the wires. “I don’t need this, Zach. I just saw you Friday night. You said nothing about switching story lines.”
“You didn’t ask. If you’ll recall, you were on your way in from a meeting in Dallas and merely ‘stopping by to check on your favorite client,’ and a bit of my premium whiskey. You were unwinding and in no mood to talk shop
.”
“Well, I am now,” Felix snapped, clearly irritated that he’d missed the opportunity to catch on to this sooner. “And if you had anything close to a conscience, you would have brought up the matter yourself!”
In the pregnant pause that followed, Zach watched Willa frowning over the instructions for the blinds. A part of him would be sorry to see them go up. Another part, less enthusiastic, but rational, knew it was necessary to her survival—and his sanity. What was left of it.
“Zach? Don’t you hang up on me.”
“When have I ever done that, Felix?” he asked mildly, admiring the subtle curves and valleys he’d held against him only hours before.
“That’s true. And I wish you’d be as professional about this commitment. Leave the machinations for your board games with your young chess friend, and write me a nice, scare-the-pants-off-everyone horror story. You know that’s what your readers want from you.”
“They want the next Zachary Denton release…and trust me, it’ll be a page-turner. I’m not even sure I’ll survive it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Zach? Put that damned glass down for a minute and talk to me!”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Felix,” Zach warned, instantly serious. “The moment you hear my voice slur, you can preach and demand all you want, but until then butt out.”
“Bloody hell, Zach. Since the accident it’s been nothing but an uphill battle trying to tiptoe around your black moods and self-destructiveness. You know I’ve sympathized with your tragedy, defended you as your aversion to do publicity intensified. If that was me in that chair, I wouldn’t want to deal with TV cameras and reporters, either. But between your drinking and this neurotic reclusiveness—”
“Be very careful what you say next,” he warned his agent in a near whisper.
“Someone needs to say it, and it’s past time. Sweet heaven, Zach, sometimes I think we’d all be better off if you’d ridden that damn plane straight into the ground. It might have been kinder than having to watch you destroy yourself this way.”
Zach shut his eyes, but there was no stopping the rush of memories Felix’s words triggered…the sickening moment when he’d realized the plane had been sabotaged…the shock and the terror…the vow of revenge and the petrified prayer he’d repeated again and again through clenched teeth as he’d bartered for his soul and fought for his life.
Watching for Willa Page 4