One of These Nights (13 page)

She turned around and stalked out the door without so much as a look at Zoe. Though the conversation behind him never faltered, he could feel the curiosity radiating off of the customers, and it further darkened his mood. He hated making a scene. Dealing with park guests when they got unruly never bothered him this way—that was cleaning up a situation, not causing one. But drawing attention out in public for this kind of thing? No. And of course, the parting shot was classic. He was so tired of the insinuation that his marriage had fallen apart because of his own personality defects.

That was one thing he'd hand to Sara. She hadn't stuck around to trash him. When she'd taken off, people had drawn their own conclusions. Some were funny. A few were sad. Most, surprisingly, were somewhere in the vicinity of correct, not that he'd say so. Sara was as much a local as he was. That so many people had been shocked about their marriage in the first place should have been a warning, he guessed.

And the only time he really thought about it much anymore was when his mother arrived to remind him.

Damn it.

Jason tried to look casual as he headed over to look at Aaron Maclean's newest sculpture. He didn't know what the hell it was, but it was at least interesting. Something to stare at while he waited for Zoe to finish up.

It was hard to concentrate while he was seething, so while his eyes traced the fluid lines of the pale stone figure, his mind wandered. Zoe's rich voice, friendly and warm, was the only soothing thing he found, so he listened to her.

“Sam is actually teaching a class out at Bellamy Farm this October. Just one night. Wine, hors d'oeuvres, and painting. If you're interested, you should come check it out. She's not just a gifted artist, she's a lot of fun, and we've enjoyed putting this together. We'll probably do it more often if it goes well, since I have a few artists here who are interested in rotating on the schedule. And Zack Bellamy—he inherited the farm when his father passed away just recently—is excited about trying some new things apart from the weddings they host. Have you been out there? Absolutely gorgeous.”

There were interested murmurs and questions as Zoe chatted with the couple, and Jason decided she'd probably hooked two more people into this painting-and-drinking class, or whatever it was. He didn't think he'd be signing up for that. His artistic ability was sparse enough when he was sober. Still, her enthusiasm for her new venture was apparent.

Her bootheels clicked against the hardwood as she moved from the desk to the wall where the chosen painting hung, and then back. “I'll just get this wrapped up for you, if you don't mind waiting a minute.” Jason looked up in time to see her head toward the back of the gallery, giving him a meaningful look that clearly demanded he follow. Right now, he couldn't find a good reason not to comply.

Jason headed back into an area of the gallery he hadn't been in before, making his way to a small room that looked to have been added onto the back of the house at some point well after its original construction. The little enclosed porch had been converted into a wrapping and shipping station, with a large table against one wall and a variety of boxes folded flat and stacked on shelves and against the wall. A small space heater was tucked into one corner, currently unplugged, and the windows looked out onto a tiny yard. The floor back here was still scuffed, showing its age, but an oriental rug covered most of it. The air had a chill to it, and Jason was glad he'd worn a jacket. He imagined this room was an oven in summer, an icebox in winter. Fixable, but probably low priority since it wasn't an area anyone but Zoe or her employees would see.

Zoe pulled thick brown paper from a roll beside the table and cut it with an expert swipe as he walked in, then set to work wrapping the painting she'd set on the table.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

She turned her head, just for a moment, to let him see her incredulous expression. “You're asking
me
that? I'm just minding my own business, working, making a sale. I'm fine.”

“So am I.”

“Oh, obviously.” She leveled a hard look at him before folding the paper around one edge of the painting and then securing it with several pieces of tape. “You usually come in here to fight with
me
. I'm a little offended.”

Jason snorted. “Sorry.”

“No, you're not.” She snapped off more tape, leaving it stuck to her thumb while she got to work on the other side of the painting. Jason watched her fingers move deftly over the paper, folding and taping, quickly turning Sam's painting into a well-wrapped brown rectangle. Her hands were small, like the rest of her, but her fingers were long and elegant, moving with grace.

“Do you paint?” he asked suddenly, feeling stupid at once. He was usually better about not blurting out the first thing that popped into his head. Zoe looked at him quizzically.

“A little. Not well. Nothing special, anyway. Why?”

He shrugged. “I don't know. You own a gallery. Just a question.” There was no way in hell he'd tell her he thought her hands were graceful. Who said things like that? Maybe it worked in movies, but he'd only come off as creepy.

Zoe didn't look perturbed. “Oh. Well, loving art isn't necessarily tied to the ability to create it.” She offered him a small half smile. “Just being around it makes me happy. Probably like you and your park.” Her smile turned wry. “Though maybe you just don't do happy.”

“I'm happy sometimes,” he grumbled, and she laughed softly, warm and low in a way that wrapped itself around him.

“Not today you're not.” She regarded him a moment, tilting her head, the gray of her eyes as inscrutable as fog. “Hang on a minute,” she said. “I'll be right back.”

Again he found himself following orders, which wasn't a compulsion he experienced much. It was simple curiosity, he told himself. Zoe being nice to him, not to mention interacting with her without any intent to antagonize, was still new. So he watched her march purposefully out of the room with the painting in her hands, unable to keep from noticing the sway of her hips when she walked. He moved to the windows while he listened to her hand off the painting, looking out on a small yard that had been turned into a garden. It looked like it was still a work in progress. There was an old brick path that bisected the flower beds, some of which looked like bare, recently weeded earth and the rest of which teemed with mums and the remains of late summer flowers. A small wooden bench sat at the end of the path against the iron fence that surrounded the yard. It looked peaceful, if unfinished. The kind of thing it might be fun to get his hands on and dig into in his spare time. Well, his
normal
spare time, when his leg was healed.

And he really was desperate for entertainment if he was considering doing free gardening for Zoe.

The silver bell above the door rang, but Zoe didn't return right away even as silence descended over the gallery. He heard her boots, the sound of water. Then surprisingly, soft humming while she typed, muffled clicks on the keyboard. Jason thought he recognized the tune, though he couldn't quite place it. Broadway show? The idea made him uneasy, provoking a flash of unwanted memory.

“Sara? Babe? You home?” The door had been unlocked, her car was in the driveway, but she didn't answer. The house seemed strangely still, apart from the melancholy song winding through the air. She'd put on
Phantom
, never a good sign. He'd gotten so he could gauge her moods by her musical selections, and the sweet, seductive melancholy of “Music of the Night,” far from meaning she was waiting for him wearing little but a smile, was a warning. She was unhappy. She was always unhappy lately, and hell if he knew what to do about it anymore.

He heard Max whining and scratching at the back door, relegated to the yard while his mistress hid inside. “Sara?” He frowned, beginning to worry. He'd been looking forward to getting home, hoping to surprise her with the trip out of town he'd planned. They'd fly to New York, stay in a nice hotel. He'd chosen a couple of restaurants based on Shane's recommendations, places that required a jacket and tie. And he'd gotten tickets to a show that was supposed to be some big deal right now. It might not be his idea of fun, but he was glad to do it for her. If she loved it, he would, too, simply because it would make her smile. He missed her smile.

Ignoring Max for a moment, he headed upstairs, finally hearing movement, the creak of a bedspring. He rounded the corner, stepped through their doorway, and saw her sitting on the end of their bed, her face in her hands. A suitcase was on the bed, mostly full, the clothes dumped in haphazardly. He frowned. Had someone wrecked the surprise? It was all he could think, all he could imagine. Until she lifted her head to look at him, her blue eyes flooded, tears running down her cheeks.

“What's wrong?” he asked, wanting nothing but to make it better.

“Everything. I can't do this anymore. I want a divorce.”

“Looking at my work in progress? I'm not much of a gardener, but I'm not above bribing people to help me out back there, which is why it's coming along.”

Jason blinked, glad to be pulled into the present instead of wandering back through a bunch of unpleasant memories that didn't matter anymore. He turned his head to see Zoe, as physically unlike Sara as she could be, holding a steaming mug. Something on his face made her frown. He could only imagine.

“You're having a rough day, huh?”

He considered denying it, then decided it was pointless. “Something like that.”

“Well, here,” Zoe said, walking toward him. “It isn't much, but a cup of tea always makes me feel better. It would be better if I were making it at home, but I make do with teabags and a hot-water dispenser in my office.” She stopped only inches from him, and the way she looked up at him was, for the first time he could remember, almost shy. A small, hopeful smile played about her lips. Jason breathed in, scenting the surprisingly comforting aroma of the tea along with the warm, simple vanilla of her perfume.

She was trying to make him feel better. It was a simple thing, and not even the first time she'd done it, if he counted her willingly getting into this mess in the first place . . . but it was incredibly sweet. People didn't surprise him often, but Zoe kept on doing it.

“I wasn't sure how you'd like it, but I noticed you took some sugar in your coffee the other day so I thought you'd want it sweet—”

Yes, I do.
He wasn't smooth, not with the crutches, but he had the element of surprise on his side. Jason balanced himself, let one crutch go, and used his newly free arm to pull Zoe close. She didn't resist, but her gray eyes were wide and her words trailed off to nothing as he lowered his head for a kiss.

T
he man had no business being able to move like this.

It took Zoe precious seconds to register Jason's intentions, and by the time she had, it no longer mattered. One of his big, strong hands pressed into the small of her back, and then his mouth was on hers without even a hint of uncertainty. He seemed to know just what he was doing, which made exactly one of them. The first time, she'd initiated. For an audience.

Today, they were alone, and all she could do was react.

Lord, the man tasted good.

Zoe's hand tightened around the warm mug in her hand, right before she forgot about it entirely. Jason pulled her close, surrounded her, overwhelmed her in a way she'd often imagined but never experienced. She let him pull her in without a thought. Maybe it was because he'd surprised her. Or maybe she'd wanted this too long to bother trying to convince herself she should be resisting. Either way, Zoe slid against him, instinctively rising on her toes to get better access to the lips currently wreaking havoc with her decision-making processes.

His mouth was firm, warm as he teased at her lower lip, tasting it as he had before but far more thoroughly. She opened for him, unable to help the soft sigh that escaped her when he changed the angle of the kiss. She moved with him, meeting the first testing flicker of his tongue with her own and then inviting him deeper. She felt his hand slide all the way around her waist, holding her, though she was far more interested in what his mouth was doing to her. As she'd long suspected, beneath the gruff facade lurked one incredible kisser.

There was a slow-burning intensity to the way he tasted her, a barely restrained hunger that rippled through her body with every long, languid stroke of his tongue. Zoe reached up to slip her fingers into the silken curls at the nape of his neck, tangling them there. She felt his breath hitch as her nails lightly scraped his skin, and the kiss turned harder, deeper, until Zoe was clinging to him so tightly she was quivering. His body against hers was better than she could have imagined. Jason was big, solid, so deliciously real . . . she hadn't realized just how long it had been since she'd given in to pure pleasure until now, when having his body against hers felt like nothing less than heaven itself. His heart was hammering as hard as her own, the beat of it wild against her chest, and each of them was taking air in shallow little sips.

Zoe could hear nothing but the rush of blood in her head, Jason's ragged breathing, and the soft rustle of their clothes as they tried desperately to get closer to each other. There was a clatter and a splash, sounds that barely registered as Zoe slid her other hand up Jason's chest and over his shoulder. Another clatter, the briefest impression of a hand sliding over her hip, and then . . .

Everything began to give way.

Zoe yelped as they toppled over, trying and failing to stay upright as Jason's full weight took her down with him. He landed with a pained grunt, and Zoe came down hard on her hip right beside him into a puddle of warm liquid.

“Ow! What the—”
The tea. You dumped the tea, wild woman.

She was draped halfway over him, and it took some effort to push herself up into a position where she could get a look at the man underneath her. Jason had one arm over his eyes, his expression hidden. She didn't know whether to laugh or crawl away in embarrassment. Pretending this had never happened was pretty much out of the question, and there was a not inconsiderable part of her mind still consumed with coming up with ways to get his clothes off right here and now.

Somehow, she managed words.

“Are you okay? Your leg . . .”

A low rumble vibrated through her, jostling her for a few seconds before she realized that Jason was laughing. Really laughing. He lifted up his elbow, peeked at her with one eye, and then dropped it again in favor of laughing even harder. Zoe grinned, putting aside her embarrassment and allowing the humor of the situation to sink in.

“Smooth,” she said. “New heights of smooth.”

“I forgot about my leg,” Jason told her, moving his arm aside to look at her. His usual dark intensity had lit up with a boyish mischief that stole Zoe's breath all over again. She'd never seen his eyes sparkle quite like that. Of course, she realized, she'd never seen him in a moment of simple happiness. The sight left her with a strange ache deep in her chest, not unpleasant, but certainly not normal. It was just a smile.

A beautiful, honest smile.

“What am I lying in?” he asked her.

“Your tea,” she replied. “You're not the only one who forgot what he was doing.”

His smile stayed, but it softened, and there was something in the way he looked at her that Zoe knew would stay with her for the rest of the day. Something new. The kind of thing that could push a girl into some rash decisions if she wasn't careful.

Except she'd made enough rash decisions where he was concerned already, and right this second, it was awfully hard to worry about consequences.

“Is your leg really okay?” she asked. She couldn't quite bring herself to get up and break the connection, even if the warm tea beneath her wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world as it soaked into her clothes. Jason was reassuringly solid, and she wasn't sure when she'd get him in this sort of position again, if ever. It was . . . nice. Better than nice. Even if it was slightly soggy.

“It's okay,” he said. “I didn't break anything this time. Maybe I'm only in danger when there's a small dog involved.”

“Well, we're clear there.” She looked at him for a long moment, felt her cheeks heating, and dropped her eyes to study his shirt. “Ah, I guess I can help you up.”

“I'll manage. You'll just end up back in the puddle.”

She huffed out a laugh. “I think my leggings and shirt have absorbed most of the puddle.”

“Not true. I feel like I got at least half of it.” He paused, chuckled. “Hey, I think I finally found a downside to wearing sweatpants.”

“Oh, if you're looking for more I'm sure I can help you with a list,” Zoe said. She pushed up onto her knees and winced. Immediately, Jason was sitting up, one big, reassuring hand on her waist.

“Hey. Don't tell me
you
broke something.”

“No, short people are tough. It's just a bruise.” She gave him a wry smile. “You sure it was the storm that made you fall and break your leg?”

“Yes. Probably. Natural grace isn't a job requirement, you know.” His eyebrow quirked just a little. “Ents are kind of clunky, but we're resilient.”

Guess that means he forgives me for Treebeard after all.
Zoe dropped her head and laughed, her voice blending with his. They stayed where they were, her on her knees, him up on one hip, his hand lingering on her waist. Zoe could feel the connection between them, new and humming like a high-voltage wire. She was loath to break it, and he seemed to feel the same. One of them had to, though, unless she wanted to spend the rest of the day hanging out on the packing-room floor instead of working. The idea had merit, but there was the matter of the puddle to deal with.

With a wistful sigh, she got her feet under her and rose. Jason seemed reluctant to let his hand fall away, and when he did, Zoe could still feel her skin tingling where he'd touched her. He stayed on the floor, looking up at her. His gaze was so direct that Zoe felt her embarrassment return, and she reached up to tuck a stray curl behind her ear, suddenly unsure of herself, and of what came next.

She'd thought she understood the rules, but Jason had just changed them.

“You sure you don't need help up?” she asked.

“Do you want to do something?” It was so out of the blue that it took Zoe a moment to figure out what he was asking, and even then, she wasn't positive she had it right. She could think of a number of somethings she wanted to do right now, none of which were a good idea at work.

“Ah,” she said, cringingly inwardly that the best she could manage was a sound. Frustrated that she was so susceptible to Jason's questionable charms and complete lack of coordination, she forced herself to focus. “You're going to have to be a little more specific if you want an honest answer.”

She wasn't sure whether to be glad or mortified when his cheeks reddened.
At least I'm not the only one whose mind goes right in the gutter.

“I don't know. Dinner. A movie.”

Zoe pressed her lips together while she regarded him. “With your mother?”

“Hell no.” Jason looked horrified enough that she knew it was the truth. She laughed, though it sounded nervous to her own ears. It wasn't like she had any reason to be nervous with him, she chided herself. She was used to Jason. And to her fantasies about taking his clothes off. Which had just made a whole lot of progress toward becoming reality.

Zoe swallowed hard and then cleared her throat, trying to get it together. “So, you mean like a date.”

“Yeah. I mean, you know. Yes. Pretty much.”

Her brows arched up. “Pretty much or yes? Which is it?”

The slightly sheepish way he looked up at her, lifting one hand to rub the back of his neck, was unnervingly cute.

This is Treebeard. He's either grumpy or irritating or hot or all three at once. This cute thing is bad news. You're too susceptible to cute.

Lecturing herself did about as much good as it always did, which was exactly none.

“Yes,” he said.

“A real date,” she said, hoping that saying it out loud would help it sink in for her.

“Do you want me to submit a formal request or something? I didn't know this was going to require paperwork.”

“There's an online request form,” Zoe replied. “And then you've got to give me seven to ten business days for processing.”

He exhaled, an almost-laugh, and began to get to his feet. “You're more of a smartass than I thought you were.”

“I have layers. It's all part of my mystique.” She watched him try not to put weight on his broken leg and sighed. “Honestly.” She grabbed his arm and helped him up, throwing her weight back so that he didn't simply topple her over, appealing though the thought was. Jason grunted, but after a brief hesitation he used her to steady himself. She scooped up the one crutch he hadn't been able to manage and handed it to him, and when he took it from her his hand brushed hers, then covered it.

If she'd had any questions about him being serious, they vanished at that simple connection, his touch singing through her like electricity from a live wire.

“Well?” he asked. “What do you think?”

“Okay.” She said it before she meant to say anything, but once it was out there she didn't feel any particular urge to take it back. That was different. Everything was different from what she'd expected. She still didn't think they had a single thing in common. The weird thing was, she was no longer sure that was a problem.

“Good,” he said. The look on his face, one of grim determination, wasn't the most romantic thing she'd ever encountered. Then again, neither was he. She still wanted to climb him like a tree. It was endlessly puzzling, but undeniable.

“When is this real date happening?” she asked. “I like schedules.”

“No kidding,” Jason replied. His voice was gruff, but his touch remained gentle, and Zoe found it hard to keep her mind on his words when she could feel his skin against hers. “What about this Friday?”

“That's doable, since I figured I'd be seeing you anyway. Just not alone.” She frowned. “This is alone, right?”

“Unless she follows us and I don't know about it, yes, that's the idea.” He exhaled loudly. “I'd say let's do something tonight, but that won't fly. She's already pissed off at me.”

“I noticed. What
was
that, exactly?”

“Typical.” He looked, for a brief moment, both younger and wearier than she was used to before pulling his hand away and moving back. He'd barely opened up the space between them, but Zoe felt it like a sudden gulf. She wished she understood the dynamics better, but even if she did, she doubted she could fix it. There was a whole lot of history at work here that she could only guess at. She'd started to try to put the pieces together, and it wasn't a pretty picture.

Zoe found herself scrambling to lighten the mood, preferring him playful. Well, what passed for playful where he was concerned. “So what are you thinking? Fancy dress-up dinner, maybe an art-house film?”

It surprised her when he didn't even crack a smile. There was only that wariness, stronger now. “Uh. Is that what you wanted to do?”

“Jason.”
Zoe shook her head. Was he ever not exasperating? It worried her that she might like it. “You know what? I keep forgetting that even though I'm used to seeing you, we don't really know each other at all.”

His expression cleared a little, and his brown eyes warmed. “You ought to know me. You have that notebook of information going, right? Isn't that thing filled by now?”

“In four days? No. You're not that easy to study, and I'm not psychic.” One hand settled on her hip. “Seriously, though. You think I'm that kind of high maintenance, don't you? And don't lie—I saw the look on your face. You didn't know I was kidding.”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I . . . wasn't sure. I mean, you own an art gallery.”

“Yeah, and?”

His expression began to settle into its usual glower. “And I assume you've got the fancy taste to go with the fancy job. Maybe that's the kind of date you like. How am I supposed to know?”

She had to fight the urge to massage her temples, which were beginning to prickle a warning at her. It had been a weird few days, and often enough the tension that went with that kind of weirdness manifested itself in a nice, blinding migraine. She'd been careful with herself, knowing it wouldn't take much to push her over that edge. Of course it would be Jason who arrived to just pick her up and toss her over.