Dream Lake (32 page)

“Don’t even think it,” she wheezed, giggling, trying to slide away. “There’s something wrong with you.” But his free hand gripped the front edge of her shorts, anchoring her in place, and he dabbed the chilled white chocolate mixture over the tips of her breasts. She closed her eyes, trembling as he bent to lick and suck the sweetness from her. He stood and kissed her again, his mouth delicious and hungering. His hands were in her shorts, his palms hot against her skin. She couldn’t think, could hardly breathe.
Just let him
, her body urged, the pleasure unfolding in wanton blooms. Let him ease her shorts and panties off, let him kiss the vulnerable curve of her stomach and grip her bottom with his hands. Let him kneel in front of her, his mouth following the taste of her excitement.

Her legs shook, and she leaned back against the cold granite counter for support. Gooseflesh covered her skin everywhere. He reached for the bowl of cream. A dab of cool sweetness between her thighs. He opened her with his mouth, his tongue flickering. Down, across, up, over. The rhythm was persistent, merciless, allowing her no time to think, lavishing her with a feeling so intense that it shortened the spaces between her heartbeats. She heard herself making sounds like a distraught dreamer, her hips moving in tight circles against his mouth. Her flesh swelled, and he licked deeper, rougher, faster, sending her into a commotion. She cried out, their surroundings shimmering in a brilliant blur. He stayed with her, stroking while the release melted through her, until she was moaning and spent.

Rising to his feet, Alex tugged at the zipper of his jeans. His arms went around her, pulling her upward against the stiff shape of his erection. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her head falling to his shoulder. There was no need for condoms, she had started taking the pill. Reaching down, he angled her hips and positioned himself, and she gasped as a heavy upward thrust nearly lifted her toes from the floor. Her body closed around him, working at the hard invasion until he groaned and thrust again. She was weightless, anchored only by the force of him inside her, shudders of pleasure rebounding from her flesh to his and back again. The breath hissed between his teeth as he came in rough pulses, his arms curling tightly around her. They stood locked and shivering, exchanging soft, sated kisses that soon turned greedy … the kind of kisses you shared with someone you might not have for always, but you could have for right now.

They went upstairs to Alex’s bed, with its cool white sheets and the screened windows open to the salty breeze from False Bay. As Alex kissed and caressed her, the September moon shed cold lavender light into the room. She felt the pull of it, the moon tide of emotion and energy rising as Alex made love to her as if he owned her. As if he wanted the feel of him to sink deep in her nerve memory and never be erased.

He was so strong over her, so deliberate, filling her with heavy lunges while the moonlight wrapped around them. His hand went beneath her bottom, lifting her into his movements. The lust gathered to an agonizing pitch, and she groaned the moment before it uncoiled, but he backed off, slowing, not letting her come. He circled his hips, teasing until she writhed. She gasped out a few pleading words, telling him she wanted him, needed him, she would do anything for him. It wasn’t enough. He brought her to the edge and retreated until they were both sweating and shaking with desire, and he breathed her name with each thrust as he drove her at a slow, merciless pace. She felt hot pleasure-tears leak from her eyes, and he kissed them, pressing wordless gasps against her cheek.

And then she understood what Alex wanted, what he was trying to force from her even though he wasn’t aware of it. The moment she gave it to him, she would lose him. But she had known from the beginning that this was where they’d been heading. Withholding the truth wouldn’t change what was real, what was inevitable.

Turning her face, she spoke close to his ear. “I love you.”

She felt the jolt that went through him, as if she’d just hurt him. But he began to thrust harder, losing control. “I love you,” she said again, and he crushed his mouth over hers, his hips pumping roughly. She felt herself splintering, rapture spilling and spreading. Tearing her mouth free, she repeated the words as if they were an incantation, a charm to break a spell, and he buried his face against her neck and found his own shattering release.

Twenty-three

In the morning they treated each other with the forced casualness of two people desperately trying to pretend nothing had changed, when everything had. Zoë found it unbearable, trying to pretend to be light and cheerful when she could see the way Alex was pulling back from her. They talked impersonally while he drove her to the cottage. It was positively gruesome, Zoë thought privately, feeling miserable and defiant. She knew with every fiber of her being that Alex loved her but would never admit it, that he wanted her to love him but would never allow it.

The home-care nurse’s car was in the driveway. Justine had already returned to the inn.

Pausing at the front door, Zoë turned to face Alex. “Last night was fun,” she said brightly. “Thanks.”

He leaned forward and brushed a light, dry kiss against her lips. His gaze didn’t quite meet hers. “It was fun,” he agreed.

“Will I see you later?” Zoë asked. “Maybe tonight?”

Alex shook his head. “I’m going to be busy the next couple of days with this Inari stuff. But I’ll call you.”

“No … don’t,” she heard herself say.

Alex looked at her then, his eyes questioning.

Zoë didn’t want to keep up pretenses. The idea of waiting and wondering while their relationship drained like sand in an hourglass was too depressing. She had to be honest with him. “What I said last night … I’m sorry it freaked you out. But I can’t take it back. And I don’t want to.”

“I don’t—”

“Please let me finish,” she said with a wavering smile. “If this is the point where you feel like breaking it off, that’s okay.” She reached up to touch his taut cheek. “The only thing is … if you want this to go on, we can’t pretend last night didn’t happen. You have to be okay with me loving you … or else we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”

He was silent for a long moment, his face expressionless. “Maybe we should take a break.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her heart plummeting.

It was over. He was right there with her, but the distance between them might as well have been infinity.

“Just for a few days,” he said.

“Absolutely.” She wanted to plead with him. “
Don’t leave me. Let me love you. I need you.
” Somehow she managed to lock the words away before they could escape.

“But if you need anything,” Alex said, “call me.”

Never. She wouldn’t do that to him, or herself.

“Yes.” Zoë turned and fumbled in her bag for her key, and somehow managed to unlock the front door. “Bye,” she said without turning back, her eyes burning. And she went inside and closed the door.

The ghost didn’t say anything until they had returned to Rainshadow Road. Alex felt sick and exhausted. He hadn’t slept all night, he’d just watched Zoë while she had pretended to sleep. He longed to jump into the truck and go back to her, but at the same time he couldn’t handle it if she said those three words again. That had been the deal breaker. He knew he was screwed up—hell, he’d never doubted it—but this wasn’t something he could joke about or sneer at or ignore. This was painful.

He went to the kitchen and saw the place at the counter where Zoë had leaned while he’d undressed her. He remembered the intense pleasure of the previous night, the earth-shattering joy and tenderness of a physical act that could only be described as making love. He’d never known anything like it before … he hoped he never would again.

His gaze touched on a bottle of half-finished wine, a cork wedged in the top. Sam’s wine. Despite the early hour, Alex wanted a drink more than he ever had in his life. Whenever something went wrong, something in his gut clamored for booze. He wondered if that would ever change. Swallowing an excess of saliva, he went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face.

The ghost spoke behind him. “So this is it, I guess.”

“I’m not listening,” Alex said hoarsely, but the ghost was undeterred.

“Zoë committed the unforgivable crime of saying she loves you—for what reasons I can’t begin to imagine—and now you’re bailing on her. You know what’s funny? I heard Darcy tell you dozens of times how much she hated you, and you couldn’t seem to get enough of that. Why is it easier to tolerate a woman who hates you than one who loves you?”

Alex turned, swiping at the excess water on his face, pushing back wet locks of hair. “It won’t last.”

“That’s what I used to think,” the ghost said. At Alex’s stony silence, the ghost looked grim and defeated. “I’ve never understood why I’ve been shackled to you. I probably never will. There’s no point in any of this. I should be with Emma, not you. What’s going to happen to her when she passes on and I’m not there?”

“Nothing will happen. She’s going to die whether you’re there or not. She’ll end up where she’s supposed to be, and you’ll end up where you’re supposed to be, and God willing, I’ll be left alone.”

“You don’t believe in God. You don’t believe in anything. You asked if I could find a way to disappear, and I told you I was afraid that if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to talk to you anymore. Now I don’t care. Might as well be invisible.” He saw Alex’s gaze alighting on the wine bottle once more. His mouth twisted with scorn. “Go ahead and have a drink. What does it matter? I’d pour one for you if I could.”

In the blink of an eye, he was gone.

The kitchen was quiet.

“Tom?” Alex asked, almost stunned by the complete absence of movement or sound.

No reply.

“Good riddance,” Alex said aloud. He went to the wine bottle, his hand closing around it. The weight of the liquid inside, the inky slosh of it against the glass, wrenched him with sudden craving. He pulled the cork from it with his teeth and began to take a swig. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw a shadow slide across the floor.

In an explosive movement, Alex hurled the bottle at the dark shape, and the glass shattered everywhere. Wine hit the cabinet in splatters. The rich smell of cabernet flooded the room. Alex sat and leaned back against a cabinet, gripping his head in his hands, while red liquid pooled on the floor and spread outward.

“What kind of curse?” Justine asked, flipping busily through a tattered old book in the kitchen while Zoë made breakfast. “Let’s see. Impotence? Warts, boils? Digestive upset, halitosis, hair loss … I think we’ll let him keep his sex drive, but we’ll make him so hideous no one will want him.”

Zoë shook her head in bemusement, using an ice cream scoop to fill muffin pans with batter. That morning she had admitted to Justine that she and Alex had broken up a few days earlier, and Justine had practically gone on a rampage. She seemed convinced that she could exact some kind of supernatural revenge on Zoë’s behalf.

“Justine,” she asked mildly, “what are you looking at?”

“A book my mother gave me. Lots of good ideas in here. Hmm, maybe a plague of some kind … frogs or something …”

“Justine,” Zoë said, “I don’t want to curse anyone.”

“Of course you don’t, you’re much too nice. But I don’t have that problem.”

Setting aside the scoop, Zoë went to the table where Justine was sitting. She glanced at the grimy, ancient-looking book, which was filled with bizarre symbols and mildly alarming illustrations. A touch of something weirdly gelatinous dripped down the side. “Good Lord. Justine, make sure to wash your hands after handling that disgusting thing … there’s goo over all the pages.”

“No, not all the pages, it’s just chapter three. It always oozes a little.”

Grimacing, Zoë brought some Windex and paper towels to the table. “Cover it back up,” she commanded, gesturing to the piece of cloth the book had been wrapped in.

“Wait, let me just find a quick little spell—”

“Now,” Zoë said inexorably.

Scowling, Justine wrapped the book in the cloth and held it in her lap, while Zoë cleaned the table.

“I don’t know if you’re being serious or just having fun,” Zoë said, “but there is no need for spells or curses. If a man doesn’t want to be with me, he’s allowed to make that decision.”

“I agree,” Justine said. “He’s allowed to make that decision. And I’m allowed to make him suffer for it.”

“Do not put a spell on Alex. You didn’t put one on Duane, did you?”

“If you ever see him without his sideburns, you’ll know why.”

“Well, I want you to leave Alex alone.”

Justine’s shoulders slumped. “Zoë, you’re the only real family I’ve ever had. My dad’s gone, and my mom is one of those women who should never have had a child. But somehow I got lucky enough to have you in my life. You’re the only really good person I’ve ever known. You know enough about me to hurt me worse than anyone else ever could, but you would never do that. No sister could love you as much as I do.”

“I love you, too,” Zoë said, sitting next to her, smiling through a sheen of tears.

“I wish there were a spell to find a man who would treat you the way you deserve. But spells don’t work that way. I knew right away that Alex was dangerous for you, and the worst thing in the world is to see someone you care about headed toward danger and not be able to stop them. So I don’t think a curse—a small one—is entirely unwarranted.”

Zoë leaned against her, and they sat together silently.

Eventually Zoë said, “Alex is cursed enough, Justine. You couldn’t do anything to him that would be worse than what he’s already been through.” Standing, she went back to the counter to finish filling the muffin pan. “Do you want a plastic bag to keep that revolting book in?”

Justine held the book defensively. “No, it needs to breathe.”

As Zoë put the muffin pan into the oven, her cell phone went off. Her heart skipped a beat, as it had for the past few days every time someone called. She knew it wasn’t Alex, but she couldn’t help wanting it to be him. “Would you get that for me?” she asked. “It’s in my bag on the back of the chair.”