See How She Dies (24 page)

“You don't know—”

He slammed on the brakes, cut the engine, and grabbed her with both hands. His fingers dug into her shoulders as he gave her a little shake. “She committed suicide, Adria. It was whitewashed in the papers, but Katherine Danvers was a victim of her own fantasies, her own dreams.”

His eyes had narrowed at the memory, his nostrils flared in the close interior of the cab. Raindrops beat against the roof of the car and music, floating out of the door of the inn whenever a customer entered or left, drifted through the closed windows of the Jeep. Adria licked her lips and stared up at him, this man who could be her half-brother.

His breath was warm against her face, his hands strong and forceful, his eyes as dark as the night. Adria's throat caught and she couldn't look away. Spellbound, she held his gaze and knew in an instant that he was going to kiss her. Her heart squeezed. Unwanted desire—wicked and wanton—crept stealthily through her blood.

“Damn you,” he whispered hoarsely, his face so close to hers she could see smoky desire in his eyes. “You look so much like her!”

“Zachary—”

“Go home, Adria,” he said, letting go of her so suddenly she nearly fell against him. His expression turned harsh. “Go home, before you get hurt.”

“Who's going to hurt me?” she demanded, pushing away from him and creating as much distance as possible in the Jeep. Her heart was pounding so loudly she could barely breathe. She'd thought he would kiss her, knew it was on his mind, and he'd run scared. She
couldn't
get involved with him. The windows of the rig had fogged, seeming to cut off the rest of the world, and as she stared at him, she felt as if they were the only two people on earth.

“You're going to hurt yourself.”

“How?”

His eyes glittered in the darkness. “You're playing with fire.”

“And you're talking in circles.”

“Am I?” He reached for her again and this time when he drew her close she could feel the heat of his body, found her own heart beating with desire. His breath was warm and ragged, his eyes defiant. “Why are you doing this?” he asked before he lowered his head and his lips crashed over hers in a kiss that was almost brutal and his fingers wound in the thick strands of her hair. Anger and passion sizzled through her blood. She tried not to respond, to push him away, but her hands were useless against his broad chest and he ground his mouth over hers in a way that was wickedly possessive and seared her to her very soul. His tongue prodded insistently at her teeth, gaining entrance to and plundering the dark recess of her mouth.

A low moan escaped her and she wanted to die from embarrassment, yet she kissed him back. Her pulse throbbed and for the first time in years a hot, yawning desire uncoiled deep within her. She couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't deny. She wound her arms around his neck, feeling him yank her closer, knowing that her breasts, already full, were crushed against his leather jacket.

As suddenly as he'd taken her into his arms, he released her. “Jesus H. Christ,” he swore, breathing hard. Closing his eyes, he let his head drop back against the seat cushions and gritted his teeth, as if suddenly struck by the magnitude of what he'd done. It seemed as if he were mentally willing his desire away. “Damn it, Kat, what is it you want from me?”

“I—I'm not Kat,” she whispered, horrified.

A deep stain crawled up his neck as he realized his mistake. “And you're not London. Look, we can't do this.”

“I don't want to—” The glare he sent her cut her to the bone.

“And don't give me any crap about wanting to be friends. I think I just proved we're way past that.”

She swallowed with difficulty. Desire pulsed through her veins. “Zachary, I can't—this isn't—”

“What isn't?” His eyes flew open and he searched her face as if he intended to kiss her until she finally shut up. For several heartbeats she felt his indecision. “Hell,” he ground out before reaching for her again and roughly folding her into his arms. He kissed her without restraint, his lips anxious and hungry, his body hard and straining against hers as he forced her back against the seat, his weight pinning her. Again, his tongue delved deep and she felt the hardness between his legs. She should stop him, but she couldn't. Delicious little flames of desire lapped at her, caused her lungs to constrict. He kissed her lips, her face, her eyes, his hands restless, but not moving from her back. When he finally lifted his head, he glared down at her and there was hatred in his eyes—intense, self-loathing hatred. “Don't tell me you can't,” he said through clenched teeth. “You can and would. But I won't give you the satisfaction! You're as bad as she was.” He struggled to a sitting position and reached for the door handle.

“As…who?” she asked, but knew that he was talking about Kat.

“She came on to anything in pants.”

“No—”

“You didn't know her.”

“But I didn't mean—”

“Neither did I.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Sorry?” He raked stiff fingers through his hair. “Sorry?” His smile was cold in the darkness. “Don't play the innocent with me, Adria.”

She itched to slap him, to deny what had so obviously been the truth, but curled her hands into tight little fists. “I didn't…” If only she could lie and tell him that she didn't feel any attraction to him, but she held her tongue. Her heart was still racing, her hands shaking.

The look he sent her seared her to the most forbidden recesses of her mind, and she knew then that what they felt for each other—this pure animal lust—was part of her destiny. A horrid attraction that she would have to fight. Her throat went dry and she wanted to deny the desire that pumped through her veins.

“I just wondered how much you were like Kat,” he said, his gaze raking over her uncombed hair, mussed sweater, and swollen lips. “How far you'd go.”

She didn't believe him and her anger sparked. “So you expect me to believe that you kissed me out of curiosity?”

He shrugged. “I don't give a shit what you believe.”

“Don't lie, Zach. I didn't. You kissed me because you wanted to. Hide it any way you like, but you felt what I did.”

“Christ, now you even sound like her!”

A sickening thought rolled through her mind as she pictured Zach, not quite eighteen, and Katherine, her mother, locked in a compromising embrace, bodies shining with sweat and hard with desire. Oh, God. Was it possible? Had they been lovers? “What are you trying to say?” she whispered as the horrid thought congealed in her mind. “That she came on to you—that she was your—”

“She was nothing to me!” He sliced her a glance that cut her to the quick.

“I don't believe—”

“Believe what you want, Adria. As I said before, it's no skin off my nose how you want to delude yourself.” He opened the door of the Jeep and cool air swept inside. She scrambled out and half ran to keep up with his long, furious strides. Rain peppered the ground and washed down her neck but she didn't care.

“Wait—” Her fingers grabbed for the crook of his arm, but he tossed her hand aside and whirled upon her. His face was twisted into a mask of rage and he seemed larger than ever in the darkness. Rain caught in his black hair before trickling down the contours of his face and disappearing beneath his collar.

His lips flattened and the neon lights from the restaurant reflected red and blue in his eyes. “I don't know what you want from me, Adria, but you'd better be careful. You might just get it!”

He turned and walked up two long, low steps to the porch of the log cabin.

Adria had no choice but to follow him. Slowly counting to ten, she followed his path, shouldered open the door, walked through a pine-paneled vestibule, and found him standing at the bar, one boot resting on a tarnished brass rail, his elbows propped on the battle-scarred surface of glossy cherry wood.

“I already ordered for you,” he said as the bartender, a slim woman with kinky blond hair and red lipstick, slid two frosted glasses of beer to him, then deftly snatched up the bills he'd left on the counter. His eyes met Adria's in the mirror over the bar and his gaze had become cloudy again. “Come on. Let's grab a table.” He cocked his head to an empty booth.

Adria tried to put a lid on her simmering temper. Though she was boiling inside, she slid onto the cushions and accepted the beer—his notion of a peace offering.

Zach gulped half his beer in one swallow. “Anything else you'd like to know about the Danvers family?” he asked with a scornful lift of his eyebrow.

“Whatever you want to tell me.”

“That's the problem. I don't want to tell you anything. I think it would be better if you just packed it all in and drove off to Bozeman—”

“Belamy.”

“Whatever.”

“Now you're sounding like the rest of your family.”

“God forbid,” he muttered and drained his glass. He signaled for another drink, which a waitress, a heavier version of the blond bartender, brought over along with menus.

She winked at Zachary as if they were longtime friends, then smiled at Adria. “Refill?”

“Not right now.”

“I'll give you a few minutes to decide.” She moved to a nearby table and Adria kept her voice low.

“You know,” she said, not really believing her own words, “despite what you said earlier, we could be friends if we tried.”

He made a sound of disgust. “Friends.” His lips curved into a smile without any warmth. “Is that how you treat all your ‘friends'?”

“Don't do this—”

“
You
don't do it! We can never,
never
be friends—I thought I already made that clear,” he growled, leaning over the table and grabbing her shoulders.

She threw off his hands and glared furiously at him. “Why are you trying so hard to hate me?”

He hesitated, then sighed and looked away. “Maybe it's just easier that way.” Dropping back onto his bench, he studied the head of his beer and his jaw clenched. “For both of us.”

“You're afraid I might end up with the Danvers fortune,” she said, realizing he was more like his family than he wanted to admit.

He snorted and rolled his glass between his fingers. “I don't care if you end up with the whole damned lot of the inheritance—the logging company, the sawmills, the hotel, the house in Tahoe, even the ranch. If you did, I'd say good riddance. I'm not afraid of you.”

“I don't believe you.”

“Your prerogative,” he said with a shrug.

“You can be a real bastard, Danvers. You know that, don't you?”

One side of his mouth lifted insolently. “I work at it.”

“A true Danvers.”

His smile faded. “Let's order.”

They didn't say another word to each other and Adria watched while the waitress flirted outrageously with Zachary as she spouted off the specials of the day. In the end, they both ordered steak sandwiches.

Some country song about lost love and broken hearts was overshadowed by the clink of glasses, rap of pool balls, and murmur of differing conversations. More tavern than restaurant, the old log cabin seemed home to a dozen or so blue-collar types. Hard hats had been exchanged for baseball caps and cowboy hats, but it seemed as if the men sitting on stools in the bar were at home. It reminded Adria of Belamy.

“Why'd you bring me here?” she asked as the waitress slid their drinks onto the table.

“It was your idea, remember.”

“But out here—in the middle of nowhere?”

“You'd rather go to some restaurant downtown?”

“Not really.” She took a sip from her beer.

“Thought you wanted to know the real me.” His eyes glinted sensually. “Now you do.”

“I don't think so. I think you're hiding something, Zach. Trying to scare me off.” She stared him down. “It won't work.” Leaning back against the tufted plastic upholstery, she said, “You were raised in Portland.”

“I try to forget about that.”

“Why?”

He hesitated and gazed at a point over her shoulder where, she suspected, he saw his own youth. “I was always in trouble. Gave the old man nothing but grief.”

“And you're still cultivating that bad-ass attitude, aren't you?”

He relaxed against the back of the booth and took a long drink from his glass. “Maybe.”

“No maybes about it.”

Lifting a shoulder, he said, “So what've you found out about my illustrious family?”

“Not enough.”

He pinned her with a look and she thought twice about answering. Finally, as the meals were delivered, she said, “Okay. The library was pretty much a bust. Sure, the microfilm from the newspapers had information on the kidnapping and on the family, but there wasn't much…much substance to it all.”

“So you came up empty.”

“Almost. But I'm not done digging.” She started in on her salad and Zach muttered something about mule-headed women under his breath. She let the comment slide.

“Where are you going to look next?”

She smiled and took a sip from her glass, her eyes meeting his over the rim. “Lots of places. I'm going to talk to reporters and the police. Believe me, I've only just begun.”

“You're going to wind up empty-handed.”

“Is that right? Why?”

“You've got one helluva hole in your father's story. It's about as big as all of Montana.”

“I'm all ears,” she invited, anxious to hear what he thought. Somehow it was important, as if his opinion would help.

He picked up half of his sandwich. “If everything you say is true—why did Ginny Slade take London in the first place?”

“Who knows?”

“No one, I guess,” he said thoughtfully. “But it wasn't because she wanted a child or she wouldn't have left you with the Nashes.”

“I know, but—”