by Jayne Castle
“I’ve told you,” Zac responded flatly, “I don’t know. I’m still trying to think.”
“Well, pardon me for interrupting the natural flow of your brilliance. I think I’ll have the chocolate mousse torte.”
Something clicked briefly. “How much does it cost?” Zac remembered to ask.
“Don’t bother yourself with such piddling details. Go back to being silent and brilliant. This lowly employee will nibble away while sitting humbly at her master’s feet.”
“That’s an interesting image.”
“Shut up and think, Zac.”
Chapter Six
Zac remained immersed in his thoughts through the conclusion of dinner. He surfaced briefly when Guinevere waved the check under his nose, but after paying it with only minimal protest, he lapsed back into an austere silence.
That silence was beginning to bother Guinevere. She had never seen anyone withdraw so intently into his own thoughts except one of the programmers on occasion. Perhaps Zac was running a program in his mind, she decided with fleeting humor as she climbed into the Buick. Whatever he was thinking didn’t seem to affect his driving. He guided the car back toward her apartment with an accuracy that was obviously second nature by now.
She wasn’t certain what he was going to do when he parked the car, but it soon became clear he intended to follow her inside. Without a word he trailed upstairs behind her.
“Zac?” She fumbled with her key.
“Hmm?”
“Did you want a brandy or something?” She glanced at him uncertainly. “It’s getting late. Maybe you should just head on home.” It occurred to her that as many times as he had been to her apartment, she had never seen his. Brief curiosity flared in her for an instant. Someday she would like to see just what kind of lily pad the Frog inhabited.
“That sounds good.” He stalked through the door and went over to the couch.
“What sounds good? The brandy? Going home? Zac, are you with me? Testing: one, two, three.”
He turned his head to look at her as he sprawled back into a corner of the couch. For the first time Guinevere realized that the gray of his eyes reminded her of the color of a ghost. The thought made her strangely uneasy. There was a great deal she did not know about this man. Perhaps too much.
“I just want to think for a while, Gwen. Is that all right?”
“Well, yes, of course, but—”
“I seem to do it better when you’re around than when I’m alone back at the office or my apartment.”
“I had no idea I was such an inspiration.” Guinevere tossed her oversize shoulder bag down on the nearest table and went into the kitchen. The brandy was becoming something of a ritual. She wasn’t sure if that was such a good idea. Tonight she wasn’t sure of a lot of things, including her own ambivalent feelings toward Zachariah Justis.
When she emerged a few moments later with the two brandies, he still hadn’t moved. He had his feet up on the low table in front of the couch, and his eyes were half closed in deep contemplation. She wanted to say something flippant but changed her mind at the last second. Quietly Guinevere set his brandy in front of him, and then she took a chair. After a long pause, in which it became clear that Zac was not going to involve her in his internal dialogue, she picked up a best-seller she had been trying to finish for two weeks.
Time ticked past in the quiet apartment. Guinevere began to realize that the reason she had been unable to finish the best-seller was that it was intrinsically boring. Chances were she would never finish it.
Life in her living room wasn’t particularly stimulating either. She glanced surreptitiously at the clock. Zac had been meditating for nearly an hour and a half. It was almost eleven. She considered setting off a small firecracker under his nose to get his attention so that she could tell him it was time to leave and then decided against it. She’d give him another half hour, and then she’d do something assertive such as kicking him out. Guinevere forced herself to go back to reading the best-seller.
When she glanced up again half an hour later, she saw that Zac’s eyes had closed completely. He’d fallen asleep. Apparently the inspiration of her company had worn thin. His head was tipped back against the black leather of the couch, one large hand flung carelessly across the cushions. He appeared no less austere in sleep than he did when he was awake. His eyelashes were the only soft elements on the harsh landscape of his face. He had discarded the jacket, and the loosened tie at his throat gave him a rakish quality. With a sigh Guinevere put down her book and got to her feet. For a moment she hesitated.
She could shake him awake and stuff him into his car. Or she could get a blanket from the closet and cover him. The first choice was the logical one, the intelligent one. It was the only reasonable thing to do under the circumstances.
He looked exhausted, though, and she found herself reluctant to wake him. Where was the harm in simply letting him spend the night on her sofa? If he awoke before morning, he could see himself out the door.
Instinct told her that going to the closet to fetch the blanket was probably not an act of sound judgment, but Guinevere did it anyway. She tucked the edges of the red blanket around his shoulders. Her fingers brushed against the fabric of his shirt, making her aware of the warmth of his body. He didn’t stir. Whatever he had been chewing on in his mind appeared to have zapped his energy completely. Either that or he had bored himself to sleep sitting here staring at her.
Guinevere stood back to examine her handiwork. Zac’s feet stuck out beneath the blanket, but other than that he was nicely tucked in. She wondered what he would think when he awoke. Softly she moved around the room, turning off lights, and then she trailed down the hall to her bedroom.
It was strange for her to get ready for bed knowing there was a man sleeping in her living room. Guinevere considered just how strange that felt while she put her clothes in the closet and slipped into the comfortable flannel nightgown that hung from the hook just inside the door.
It was a myth that the average, single, professional workingwoman had a scintillating, nonstop social life, an even bigger myth that said females frequently brought men home for the night. No one knew the truth better than the average, single, professional workingwoman, but for some reason the people who invented the myths seldom interviewed the people who lived the reality to check the veracity of the tales. The myths continued and the reality continued and rarely did the twain meet.
Friends and casual acquaintances of both sexes Guinevere had in abundance. But even though she knew that there was a shortage of eligible men and that she probably shouldn’t be too choosy when it came to serious relationships, Guinevere found herself as discriminating in her personal life as she was in her career. There were worse things than spending evenings alone. Besides, Guinevere rather liked her own company.
So she climbed into bed and turned out the light and smiled to herself in the darkness at the thought of having an unreconstructed frog sleeping out in her living room. She went to sleep almost at once.
An unmeasurable length of time later she awoke from cluttered, confusing dreams of computer games and frogs that didn’t turn into princes to find herself vividly aware of a change in the atmosphere. Without opening her eyes she tugged at the gray quilt, attempting to make herself more comfortable.
When that didn’t work, Guinevere lifted her lashes to see the dark outline of a man lounging in her bedroom doorway. She froze. Her breath caught in her throat for the space of a few panicked heartbeats. Her mind seemed to go blank for a crucial instant. She should have bought a gun. Should have slept with it under her pillow.
“I’ve been thinking,” Zac said, not moving in the doorway.
At the sound of his familiar voice memories of the evening fell immediately into place in Guinevere’s head. Her lashes closed in a brief agony of re
lief. “Yes, I know,” she whispered, her words husky with the remnants of her short-lived fear.
“It was your sister, wasn’t it?”
She couldn’t see his face in the shadows. Awkwardly Guinevere struggled to a sitting position against the pillows. “You’ll have to excuse me, Zac. I’m a little slow at this time of the night. I think I’ve missed something in this conversation.”
He shifted slightly in the doorway, straightening. “It was your sister who was involved with Hampton Starr.”
Guinevere considered ignoring the question and then decided she probably wouldn’t be allowed to do so. She pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes. “Is that what you’ve been dwelling on all evening? My sister and Hampton Starr? I thought you were trying to solve the case of StarrTech’s missing shipments!”
“I was. But other things kept cropping up.”
“Zac, none of those other things involves you or the case you’re working on.” She kept her tone resolute and assertive.
“I was worried for a while that it might have been you.”
She wondered irritably if he’d even heard her assertive, resolute statement. “Wondered if I’d been involved with Starr? Not a chance. The man’s a bastard.”
“I knew you had something personal against him. And you risked so much just to siphon off ten thousand from StarrTech. It didn’t make any sense until today.”
“What happened today?” In a small, defensive gesture she drew up her knees and tugged the quilt to her chin. She wished she could see his face in the darkness.
“Starr gave me a lift back to my office and casually said you reminded him of someone. He asked me your name. I told him. Then he told me to be wary of ladies named Jones.”
Guinevere caught her breath. “He knows who I am?”
“No. You just reminded him briefly of someone he used to take to bed. Someone who was also named Jones. Such a common name, Jones. Provides great anonymity, doesn’t it? You didn’t even have to worry about inventing a new name when you took that temporary assignment with his firm a few months ago. A big company like StarrTech always has a few Joneses on the payroll. Besides, whoever pays any attention to temporary clerical help? You remember that job, Guinevere. It was the one during which you sabotaged the benefits plan to the tune of ten thousand plus dollars.”
“If that’s the thorny little problem you’ve been working on all evening, you’ve wasted a great deal of time, Zac.”
“I don’t consider it a waste of time.” He came forward. The dark bulk of his body reminded her of a ghost ship moving through a dark sea as he approached her through the shadows of her room. The fleeting fantasy vanished as he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. The mattress gave beneath his weight. Zac was no ghost. He was very, very real.
“I suppose you’re congratulating yourself on figuring it all out. Too bad there’s no fee to collect for solving this particular mystery. Free Enterprise Security, Incorporated, will go broke if you keep wasting your time on such trivial problems.”
The bitterness in her words kept him silent for a moment. He was watching her intently, able to see her more clearly now that he had moved so close. She could see him more plainly, too, and the gleaming awareness in his gaze made her clutch the quilt tightly between her fingers.
“It was just a bone to chew on,” Zac said. “I wanted to know what the connection between you and Hampton Starr was. Now I know. Your sister got involved with him, and when he lost interest, she was hurt. You took a little revenge on Starr by helping yourself to ten thousand dollars.” He ran his fingers through his hair and yawned. “You must have been really upset by what he did to Carla.”
Guinevere lost her temper and her self-control. “What he did to Carla has cost more than ten thousand dollars in therapy and Valium prescriptions, damn it. He just about devastated her. She was in love with him. For a while she even thought she might be pregnant by him. Thank God that turned out to be a false alarm. He told her he loved her, promised her marriage, led her to think that this time he was committed. Then one day he casually told her it had all been fun but it was over. Oh, and by the way, would she please turn in her resignation? He wanted someone new in his outer office. A change of scene.”
“And you were furious on her behalf. Furious as only an older sister could be.”
She lifted her head defiantly. “I figured the least Hampton Starr could do was pay for the therapy! Not to mention lost wages.”
To her surprise Zac nodded agreeably. “Seems reasonable.”
Having expected a scathing denunciation for her methods of revenge, Guinevere was plunged into a moment of confusion. She recovered quickly, wanting to explain further now that she had started. Or perhaps she just wanted to justify her actions in Zac’s eyes, she realized.
“Does your sister know what you’ve done?” Zac asked.
“No. Dr. Estabrook thought it was best that she learn to stop dwelling on the past as soon as possible.”
“So you took it upon yourself to balance the scales of justice along with your bank account.” Zac seemed oddly amused.
“He had it coming. Hampton Starr uses people, especially women. Carla had worked in his firm for several months when he spotted her and decided she looked like an interesting diversion.” Like almost everyone else in the Jones family, Guinevere had grown up with the idea that Carla was delicate. Carla needed protection. Guinevere had failed to protect her sister from Hampton Starr. So she had done the next best thing. She’d tried to avenge her.
“Starr is into intrigue.” Zac undid the already loosened knot of his tie. Then he leaned down and tugged off his shoes. He yawned again and began unbuttoning his shirt cuffs. “He likes feeling as if he’s manipulating people and events. Women who fall for him are undoubtedly easy prey. He gets off on the cloak-and-dagger bit. Probably missed his calling. Should have gone to work for the CIA.”
“Zac, what are you doing?” She stared at him as he stood up to hang his shirt over the back of a chair. Under the quilt her toes curled as a flare of anticipation went through her body. If she wanted to stop what was happening, she had to act now. But her toes stayed curled, and the excitement in her veins made her feel flushed.
“You know,” he remarked as he unzipped his trousers and stepped out of them, “I think a lot more clearly around you.” The trousers were left folded on the chair. A band of white still cut across the darker shade of his skin. A moment later the Jockey briefs disappeared too. In the dim light the hard planes and angles of his body formed a sleek, utterly masculine shape.
Guinevere looked up at him, her own body taut with the intensity of her awareness. “I’m glad you’re thinking clearly because I’m not sure I am. This is probably not a good idea, Zac.”
“I can’t think of a better one at the moment.” He pulled back the quilt and slipped into bed beside her. “Can you?”
“No.” Her answer was soft with sudden acceptance of her own desire.
“You didn’t really give it a fair shot the other night.” He reached for her, folding her into his arms.
“Give what a fair shot?”
“The effort to turn me into a prince. Maybe it takes more than a kiss.” He put his thigh heavily over her leg, drawing her against his body, and then he covered her mouth with his own.
Guinevere let out the breath she had been holding. The cozy gray quilt created a deep intimacy that surrounded both of them. Within it she felt safe and warm and protected. The rest of the world faded into the distance. Zac’s body was hard and fierce all along the length of hers. She closed her eyes and put her arms around his neck.
“Maybe it does take more than a kiss,” she whispered against his mouth.
With a groan of anticipation and desire Zac pushed her gently onto her back. His shoulders loomed over her, blockin
g out the pale light that had trickled between the miniblinds. His leg got tangled in the soft fabric of her old-fashioned nightgown, his bare foot sliding along her calf. Guinevere felt the strength in Zac and realized she was luxuriating in it.
“God, you feel good.” Zac buried his face in the curve of her throat, nuzzling the sweetness of her scent. His hand moved to the fastening of her flannel nightgown. “So good.”
She felt the gown slipping from her shoulders, his large hands thrusting it out of the way with unexpected gentleness. Guinevere murmured softly, a wordless sound of growing wonder and need. She trembled as sudden shyness gripped her. When Zac pushed the gown down to her waist, she turned her face into his chest.
“Gwen, honey, I’ve been sitting out there thinking about you, wanting you. I’ve wanted to touch you like this for days.” He drew the center of his palm down across one nipple. When the small nub went hard, he took away his hand and bent his head to her breast.
Guinevere shivered again, but this time not with shyness. Her fingers sank deeply into his bare shoulders and then moved upward to clench and unclench in his night-dark hair. The urgency in his body communicated itself to her clearly. She was aware of it on every level, and it fed her own flaring excitement.
“Zac, Zac, please . . .” She wrapped her foot around one of his legs, enjoying the crisp feel of the hair that seemed to be strewn all over him.
Her response to him seemed to delight Zac. She felt the delicate teasing of his teeth on her throat, and then he was taking her mouth once more. She parted her lips for him, and instantly he was inside, seeking to deepen the intimacy of the kiss. Even as he thrust his tongue between her teeth, he was flattening his palm on her stomach, pushing the nightgown down her hips.
“Lift up for me, honey,” he said huskily.
She obeyed, arching her hips so that he could get the nightgown off completely. Zac groaned and slid his thigh between hers. The feel of him pressed so intimately against her aroused Guinevere further. She explored the contours of his back with her hand until she reached the hard planes of his hips. Then she moved her fingers around and down, wanting the feel of him.