Between Darkness and Daylight (18 page)

Closing her eyes, she breathed in Zane’s smell, his scent and essence permeating the room as she relived last night in dreamy Technicolor detail. Short of consummation, she didn’t think she had ever been so satisfied in her life. She had never felt with any other man what she'd felt with Zane last night—not even Matt. She'd never felt as complete and connected to a man buried in her wanting pussy as she had with Zane’s throbbing cock plunged to the hilt in her mouth.

She lay on her back for a long moment, stretching and yawning, luxuriating under the warm velour comforter. She hadn't slept so well in a long time. Whether it was because she was under the same roof as the root cause of her visions or whether she just liked his company, she wasn’t sure, but she felt clear-headed, comfortable and content, more so than closing a big deal had ever made her feel.

She’d had more than her share of professional conquests, but personal triumphs had been few and far between. Matt’s proposal was the last one she could remember, which was way too long ago. A lifetime ago, a lifetime since her accident and the visions.

Well, she couldn't forget her rehabilitation now, could she? That had been a triumph of triumphs. She hadn't thought she'd ever come back from that, ever regain the use of her legs, much less climb another wall. But she had, miraculously. Upon admission to the West Manor Rehab Center in L.A., she'd been totally dependent on the staff for all her activities of daily living, and for someone as active, athletic, and independent as she'd always been, this had been almost a bigger blow than her initial injury.

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They had placed her on physical therapy for approximately six months, and because she reached her maximum rehab potential, they’d then assigned her to nursing rehab for aggressive range-of-motion on all her extremities. As her medical condition improved and her determination, motivation, and willingness to walk grew stronger, she was referred back to physical therapy for extensive training in standing and ambulation. The rehab staff had done a remarkable job, steering her towards release from the rehab center almost a year to the day after her admittance, but in the end, it was Nova and her determination to be the woman she'd been before her accident that made it happen.

She'd almost succeeded. She would never be the woman she'd been—

not since the visions, not since meeting Zane and Ransom. In fact, she was sure she didn't want to be Nova Foxx pre-accident, didn't want to go backwards.

She turned to glance at the bedside clock, enjoying the sumptuous cushion of firm mattress against her backside as she shifted in the bed to get a good look at the digital LCD. Her internal clock was in full effect.

Since it was barely five o'clock, she calculated she had enough time to get up and make some breakfast before the rest of the house stirred and she had to worry about getting ready for work. She was already in the city—

Zane's Village loft was no more than a ten-minute drive to her office, so she could buy an outfit on the way in and still not be too late.

The thought of treating Zane and Ransom to an impromptu home-cooked meal had her smiling as she left the bed and padded to the kitchen.

* * * *

She was putting the finishing touches on her third batch of buttermilk pancakes when Zane staggered into the kitchen from his bedroom, attractively sleep-tousled. That raven hair, although short, going every which way on his head.

He stood on the threshold and, as if reading her mind, raked a hand through the wavy locks non-stop to his nape, peeking at her through slits.

"You're a morning person, I see."

Nova swallowed hard, suddenly feeling guilty for keeping him up so late and taken aback by his state of near-undress She didn't think she had
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seen a firmer and smoother set of pectorals and abs on someone who wasn't a professional athlete or male model. God, she could probably iron a shirt on his abs! "I take it you're not. A morning person, that is."

He cleared his throat. "Evidently not this morning."

The sound of his gravel-edged morning baritone sent shivers going down her spine.

"Guess last night took a lot out of you," she said.

"Out of all of us." He frowned. "But I'm more worried about you."

"Oh, you poor baby, don't. I'll be fine." She padded over to him, holding the frying pan away from their bodies as she leaned in on tiptoes to kiss his nose. "This should help." She slid the three pancakes from the frying pan to the large serving platter in the center of the table.

"It should, right after I shower."

"You can shower later." She hooked a finger in the waistband of his pajama bottoms as he tried to leave. Zane turned to her with a smile to match hers.

"I need to brush my teeth."

"Before you eat?"

"I've got morning breath."

"I don't mind."

"I do." He executed one of her moves to extricate himself from her grip, then slapped her on the bottom for good measure.

Nova yelped and playfully rubbed the spot he'd slapped.

"Shh, you'll wake up, Ransom."

"Perish the thought."

Zane chuckled. "Be right back," he threw over a shoulder as he left.

His departure had little effect on her licentious thoughts, especially when she had such a yummy view as she watched him leave. Damn, he had a nice ass, the tight hard curves visible through the light cotton material of the baggy pajama bottoms. Round and firm and highly grippable. She could almost feel the muscled flesh in her palms again, imagined how he'd feel on top of her, hard and rhythmic, his ardor matching hers as he plunged into her wet depths.

She hoped all her imaginings weren’t in vain. It was totally possible he wasn't having the same carnal fantasies about her as she was having about him. He had practically run out of the kitchen to escape her, after all. Oh, 126

Gracie C. McKeever

he said he needed to perform his ablutions, but Nova had to wonder, uncharacteristically doubtful and self-conscious.

Had she been too easy last night? Did he think she went around seducing every man whose life she’d saved?

Sitting down to the unpleasant thoughts, she took two pancakes from the center stack and placed them on the plate in front of her, pouring syrup over each and taking a bite of one. Not bad, but it would have tasted a lot better if Zane were sharing the table and breakfast with her.

Nova missed him already. She listened to the shower running and envisioned water cascading over his hard body, glistening on his bronze skin, caressing the well-delineated muscles as her fingers ached to, pounding the firm wide breadth of those shoulders she so enjoyed leaning on.

She tried to focus on something else—the taste of her food, the intimacy of the kitchen— anything to get her mind out of the gutter. But it was hard to keep a clean head with such erotic memories marching through her brain. Images of all his parts profiled in bas-relief reminded her how close they’d been last night, as close as they could be without his being inside her. He'd kept her company for a couple of hours after she’d gone down on him. They'd played an ambitious and spirited game of Scrabble, evenly matched until the final tile was filled. She'd barely beaten him before she’d gotten under the covers and turned into his body to fall asleep well after one o’clock.

She didn't think anyone would believe they hadn’t screwed, even in this day and age of safe-sex, and especially considering the chemistry that had been dancing between them since they'd met.

Ransom definitely wouldn't believe it; the kid was too sharp and nosey.

Not to mention a bold little cuss.

Nova wondered when he would come clean about swiping the picture.

Wondered
if
he'd
come clean. Maybe he thought she hadn't noticed the sketch was missing, or if she had, that she'd chalked the missing sketch up to a bad memory, thought she’d misplaced it. After all, she had as much to lose by mentioning it as he did.

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Regardless, she'd have to talk to him about it, preferably sooner than later. And before he had a chance to mention it to Zane without giving her a chance to explain.

Explain? Hmph, that was an interesting concept, one she wasn't sure she was ready for.

Zane popped in from down the hall, hair shiny and damp from his hasty shower, wearing a sky-blue shirt that was still open at the neck but tucked into a pair of navy dress pants. A colorful red-paisley tie was draped around his collar.

Nova thought he looked like a schoolboy ready for assembly day, except she wanted to do some very dirty, un-schoolgirl-like things to him before he left. "How fancy."

"You should talk, Ms. Wall Street."

"Yes, but I dress like that all the time. I'd like nothing better than to dress down."

"I like your snazzy suits." He maneuvered around the table behind her and made a beeline for the counter, searching the top for something. When he flipped up her portfolio and glanced under it, her heart thundered in her chest before she remembered Ransom had relieved her of the sketch.

"Have you seen my…? Never mind. Spotted it." He reached over Nova to pilfer a pancake from the center plate, folding and dipping it into the syrup on Nova's plate. He took a bite as he grabbed his briefcase from the opposite end of the kitchen counter. "Don't change a thing." He kissed her with syrup-sweetened lips and grabbed a freshly poured glass of orange juice from the table.

"Hey!"

"Sorry I can't stay." He took several gulps, finishing the juice before putting the glass back on the table. "Early meetings."

"What about—?"

"Ran'll take care of you." He leaned in to give her a more lingering kiss on the lips as the teen shuffled into the dining room from the hallway, every bit as sleep-tousled as his uncle had been several minutes before and just as handsome—Zane in not-so-miniature.

"But—"

"See ya!"

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And just like that, he was out the door in a cloud of don't-call-me-I'll-call-you-later dust, leaving Nova to face the teenage terror all by her lonesome. He would think she and Zane actually
had
slept together, the way the man had flown out of here.

She hadn't imagined how much at home she and Zane might seem to others until she realized how she'd accepted his kisses as a matter-of-factly as they had been delivered—like a wife bidding her husband farewell before he rushed off to work.

She hadn't imagined it until Ransom sat at the table across from her and scowled.

What must he be thinking of her? That she was some kind of fast-assed trollop who'd finagled her way into his uncle's house, his uncle's life, for Lord only knew what purpose?

I don't want to go home tonight.

She couldn't even remember the frame of mind she'd been in when she said that. Stressed, surely, and probably reckless. Definitely horny. How else could she explain taking advantage of both the man's Christian charity and the situation to stay overnight and molest him?

What, Ransom must be thinking, was her agenda?

"Well, I guess it's just you and me."

"Guess so." Ransom stared at her, smiling after a moment. "Don't feel bad. He usually doesn't eat even that much for breakfast. It's no reflection on your cooking." He leaned forward and inhaled deeply. "Smells great.

You actually can cook. A woman of her word."

"I try to be." Unsure whether to be flattered or insulted, Nova finally settled for the former. She stood and took the platter to the microwave on the counter. "I'll heat these up for you." She turned on the microwave, drumming the counter with her fingers and tapping a bare foot against the immaculate linoleum floor until the timer beeped. Then she carried the platter back to the table under the watchful eye of Zane's thirteen-year-old nephew, feeling more awkward and gawky than the teen sitting at the table.

Ransom silently dug into the pancakes, taking a stack of three onto his plate along with several sausages. "He's got special parent-teacher conferences today."

Nova checked her watch. "This early?" It was barely six.

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"He likes to get in and settle down, be prepared…" He shrugged.

"Besides, he's accommodating some parents who can't make it in the evening. And he'll stay late to catch the ones who can only make it in the evening."

"That's nice of him." She'd been right. He was as much of a workaholic as she was, if not more. "So I guess he won't be home until late?"

"Probably not until nine, maybe later."

She nodded, vaguely wondering if Ransom was divulging so much to keep her mind off his crime or if he had a genuine interest in letting her know what was going on in his uncle's life. She didn't want to think badly of the kid, but there was the issue of her missing sketch still hanging between them.

"Ransom…"

"I know what you're going to say."

"You do?"

He pulled the folded piece of paper from his pajama pocket and handed it over to her.

She silently unfolded it to take a glance, though she already knew every angle and curve as if they belonged to her own face and still remembered how she’d awakened from one of her visions to see what she had drawn. She had never been good at art, and to this day she didn’t know how she had captured Zane’s likeness so accurately.

“I like your work.”

"Thank you."
So we're going to play cat-and-mouse, are we?

"I guess you know you didn't drop it or anything and that I took it?"

She admired his composure and wondered if grief and loss contributed to his detached demeanor, or if it was just a part of his make-up. "I surmised that."

"I won't tell him about the picture if you don't tell him I took it."

"That's a win-win situation, especially for you. I can't tell him about it anyway, without explaining it."

"This is true." Ransom leaned forward in his seat, pinning her with amber eyes as intense and cool as his uncle's. "But you can explain it to me."