Up in Flames (21 page)

“No.” He rubbed his forehead. “I don’t know. Look, Emmett likes to make threats and see if he can scare me, but he’s not a killer.”

It didn’t sound convincing. “As far as you know.”

He winced. “Yes, as far as I know. But whoever came after you, you have to assume it wasn’t random. That means he probably knows where you live and maybe that you work for me. Tomorrow we’ll figure out a place where you’ll be safer.”

His earnest look made her set aside her concerns with Emmett as she tilted her head and studied him. “Okay,” she said. He relaxed visibly, piquing her curiosity even more. For someone who didn’t care about her, he seemed awfully concerned with her safety. She crossed her arms, considering it. His gaze darted down to her chest, then quickly up again and away, and she knew without looking that
MACEY’S MOTOR OIL
was doing nothing to hide the shadow of her nipples under the thin, white shirt.

She raised her eyebrows at the first glimmer of understanding. He was uncomfortable with her here, all right. But not because he couldn’t stand her.

“Thanks for caring enough to help me, Zane.”

“It’s no problem.” He paused, then with an uneasy look he rushed to add, “It’s nothing personal.”

“Uh-huh.”

He frowned. “I’m serious. You don’t work for me anymore, and this isn’t an invitation to have you back in my life.”

“Okay.”

“You can stay here tonight because I’m not going to have your death on my hands, but don’t misunderstand. It doesn’t mean I care about you. Tomorrow you make other arrangements.” He gave her a firm stare, then added, “And if you ever need a ride again, call someone else.”

She should have been cut to the bone by so much rejection. Curled up in a sniveling ball on the floor. She was sure that’s what he wanted. But he’d gone too far. His words were too hurtful, too abusive to be the Zane she knew. And that one fact hit her like a blinding strobe, showing everything in a different light. The dark words and hurtful feelings faded, vanishing like morning mist under a hot sun.

She tipped her head, testing the thought cautiously. Could she be right? Was all the hate and rejection nothing more than a sham? Part of her felt foolish for even considering it, and yet it didn’t feel as strange as believing he’d changed so much that he’d become heartless and uncaring. Maybe he’d been pushing her away precisely because he
did
care, and he wanted to protect her from the harassment that came with taking his side. Or worse, from becoming a target, as she had today. The thought turned everything he’d said this past week on its end.

She stared at him, wide-eyed, as she remembered his exact words, how he’d implanted the idea that he hated her, when he hadn’t said that at all. And all the nasty behavior that didn’t seem like the Zane she’d once known,
wasn’t
him. It was an act.

It all fit. Pieces were starting to fall into place, and the picture they made was entirely different from the one she’d been looking at five minutes ago.

“Sophie? Are you listening to me?”

“Hmm? No, no I’m not.” She stood and stepped closer, oblivious to his scowl. Moving felt like stepping through Jell-O, dense and restrictive, in comparison to the speed at which her thoughts were piling up and rearranging themselves. He didn’t want her around. He wanted her to go home and never come back.

And yet he’d brought her here.

He didn’t want to come charging to her rescue, yet he had, both today and when he wanted to be sure she hadn’t been tailed from the Moosehead.

She’d assumed he hated her, had no respect for her whatsoever, but he’d never said it. He’d just warned her to stay away from him because he wanted to keep her safe.

“Tell me you hate me, Zane.”

“What?” His confused expression was laced with suspicion.

“Say you hate me.”

He scowled. “I hate you.”

She felt a smile threaten, but didn’t want him to think she was laughing at him. She wouldn’t, not about this. “Not very convincing.”

He held his head high, as if trying to put more distance between them without actually backing up. “What are you doing?”

“I’m calling your bluff.” She took another step so that she stood inches away from him, close enough that she had to raise her face to meet his eyes. Fear darted in their depths. She raised a hand automatically, as if to reassure him, but mostly because she had a sudden strong need to touch him. Like lightning, he closed his hand around her wrist, immobilizing it. “Sophie,” he warned, gravel in his voice. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” As if she didn’t know. The tension building between them snapped with electricity. She had the impression that if she gave just a small push, his defenses would crumble and she’d find behind them the caring, sensitive man she’d met when she was seventeen. The image tempted her, and she raised her other hand, laying it on his chest.

He sucked in a breath and grabbed her wrist, holding both of her hands away from his body as if her touch burned his skin. Maybe it did; flames licked inside her, gathering heat. It was a restless fire, one that had smoldered for too long to be contained now.

His nostrils flared like a startled stallion’s, wary and ready to bolt. “Don’t do this, Sophie.” She thought it was as much plea as warning.

It didn’t matter which, she couldn’t have stopped. Leaning forward, she pressed a kiss against his T-shirt and felt his heart leap at the touch. The certainty that she had read him correctly dared her to be bold. Nipping him through the material, she let him feel the scrape of her teeth. Beneath her lips, his heart hammered and raced. She rubbed her cheek against his chest, pressing as close as she could get to the wild desire he held back, thrilled by the evidence he couldn’t hide. He wanted this closeness as much as she did. With a satisfied growl, she bit his T-shirt again and tugged, gripped by a wild desire to pull it off.

“Jesus, Sophie.” He groaned it, desperation breaking the rest into a guttural surrender. Releasing her wrists, he placed a hand on each side of her face, forcing her to let go of his shirt and lift her eyes to his piercing gaze. “Do you know what the hell you’re doing?” he asked, one last desperate attempt to stop her. “There’s no turning back.”

She knew exactly what she was doing, and didn’t want to turn back. What she wanted was in the hot gaze drinking her in, and in the knowing hands that cradled her face. She wanted him, and she told him in the best way she could. Pulling his head down, she kissed him with all the passion she’d been holding on to for ten years, meeting his tongue with her own, memorizing his taste, holding his lower lip between her teeth because kissing him only increased her need, frustrating and satisfying at the same time. She withheld nothing, and made it clear he was not kissing the girl he’d known ten years before. There was nothing naive about the sexual longing she put into every suggestive stroke of her tongue, or in the way she moved her lips over his.

He groaned like a man released from a long bondage, and the vibration of it on her lips touched her nerve endings with fire. He pulled her hips hard against his own as they kissed, then slid his hands beneath her shirt to cup her breasts possessively. She nearly gasped at the sureness with which he claimed her, canceling any lingering doubt. In every way possible, she still belonged to him.

He massaged her breasts in greedy handfuls, pushing them together and rubbing his coarse thumbs over her nipples. She moaned into his mouth, feeling her breasts swell and flush as her nipples hardened into sensitive nubs. The answering tug from her womb nearly collapsed her knees. She wrapped one leg around his for support, holding him close.

He made a guttural sound in response, dropping one hand from her breast and plunging it into the loose waistband of her shorts with no pretense at subtlety or tenderness. It was pure desperation, unleashed. He gripped her bottom and pulled her more tightly against him, pressing her firmly to the hard ridge of his erection. She felt a sudden dampness between her thighs and a desperate need to inch higher, to better position herself to take him inside her. Even through the barrier of their clothes, she felt his heat and the eager throbbing between their bodies.

She whimpered her need just as the hand gripping her butt moved lower and one finger slid between her thighs to touch the slickness. She gasped at the feverish need that shot through her and clung to his shoulders, at the same time raising her knee, allowing him better access. Instead, he pulled his hand out of her shorts and growled two words in her ear. “Bed. Now.”

14

S
he nodded and
turned in his arms, taking a step toward the hallway. Her tired leg muscles trembled and she wobbled, nearly falling. She didn’t get a chance to correct it. Cursing under his breath, he lifted her into his arms, holding her close to his chest as he strode to the bedroom at the end of the hall.

He walked unerringly into the dark room and lowered her gently to her feet beside the bed. She heard a click, then the soft yellow glow of a bedside lamp cast a circle of light around them. She followed his efficient moves as he opened a drawer in the nightstand, laid a condom beside the lamp, then turned to her.

For a moment she was held by the intensity in his dark gaze, tingling at the strange feeling that she knew exactly what he was thinking. That this was familiar for them both, yet totally new. They’d made love before, a sweet exploration of each other that had joined them, body and soul. She knew with every fiber of her being that this would not be like that. This would be a passionate collision of raging desires too long repressed. Desire that sparked inside her like an explosive charge ready to detonate. This was not for tenderly learning each other. It was for indulging the wild abandon of a lust that they’d left unfinished for ten years.

She hadn’t realized he’d grabbed the bottom of her shirt until he pulled it over her head. And looked at her.

Wearing nothing but the sagging runner’s shorts, she felt strangely exposed under his gaze. Strange, because he’d had his hands all over her only a minute before, and he’d seen every inch of her ten years ago. But it was different now. Her breasts were slightly fuller and not as perky as they’d been at seventeen. Her stomach was still flat and her hips slender, but her body was no longer boyishly thin. He’d known the girl, not the woman, and his deep gaze drank her in.

She watched his face, thinking it might be nice if he smiled. If he gave even the tiniest sign of approval. Instead she saw only the tense twitch of a muscle along his jaw and a slight narrowing of his eyes. It should at least make her nervous. So should his sudden stillness and the unreadable burning gaze he focused on her. But she imagined the thoughts behind that gaze, and the burning shot straight down to her center, knowing they were the same as hers. Her breasts tingled until she thought she might beg him to touch her.

She didn’t have to. She sucked in a breath as he curved a palm around each breast, then dipped his head and took her nipple into his mouth. Waves of pleasure flowed through her and she let her head fall back, supported more by the arm he slipped around her than by her own trembling legs.

It felt better than she remembered. She suspected her imagination had embellished a good deal over the years, but she didn’t remember feeling like she was melting from the inside out, like she would go up in flames if he gave one more sharp tug with his mouth. And she hadn’t even begun to satisfy her own curiosity.

Grabbing a handful of his T-shirt, she pulled it out of his waistband and slid her hands up his chest, bunching the shirt up above her hands because she didn’t want to slow down enough to take it off. His chest was broader than she remembered, and the hard muscles even more well defined, no doubt the result of moving heavy loads of stone and trees all summer. It was the body of a man, not a boy barely out of his teens. She smoothed her hands over the hard planes, shoving his shirt higher. When he paused to yank it off, she used the moment to lower her hands to his waist and attack the button on his jeans.

He didn’t wait for her. Brushing her fingers aside, he made quick work of his jeans and jockeys, then, without a pause, he skimmed her shorts down her legs to the floor. With his eyes locked on hers, he flipped back the covers on his bed and urged her backward onto the cool sheets, crawling after her.

He didn’t say a word—that was different, too. Ten years ago he had murmured constant endearments and hushed compliments tinged with awe. Now he only watched her, eyes blazing with desire. It was all she needed.

She looked up at him, half dizzy with the thought that their minds must have joined, that his intent gaze had somehow melded her thoughts with his for her desire to be so clearly reflected on his face. The wild hunger that gripped her felt intimately connected to the voracious gleam in his eyes. It was a ridiculous fantasy, and yet she felt herself falling into his gaze, lost in the illusion that this was more than a physical act, that their thoughts and emotions were as closely melded as their bodies.

It had always been like that with Zane. Ten years ago she’d thought that was how sex must be for everyone, with the emotional connection as real as the physical joining. She’d learned otherwise. No matter how much she liked a man or how much she wanted to be in his bed, their physical intimacy had never included the feeling that they were linked in any other way. They were two separate people with a shared need, who indulged it in the same way. It was nothing like the feeling she’d had with Zane that night on Two Bears Mountain, that he’d dropped his defenses and bared his well-guarded soul to her, the way she’d done with him. That they’d become part of each other. It was the only way she knew how to be with Zane, and it was the way she felt now as he hovered above her, ravishing her mouth while holding his erection temptingly out of reach of her hips, and as he kissed his way down her body, licking into her very center and driving her to insane peaks of pleasure. The connection pulsed between them, a knowledge that he shared every desire, every emotion, and held nothing back. It was exhilarating and powerful, just like the first time.

Nothing else was the same.

This was no slow seduction. He seemed to want her quivering with need, and repeatedly drove her to frenzied peaks without release. She squirmed and moaned her frustration, and silently begged for more. Her only satisfaction was in knowing that every urgent desire burning through her burned in him, too. She felt it in the straining muscles of his back and arms, in the heat radiating from his body, and in the slickness of his skin where it met hers. She felt it most of all in the hard thrust when he finally entered her, rocking the bed against the wall and driving the breath from her lungs. She wanted the force, and strained to meet each pounding thrust eagerly. Wrapping her legs around his thighs, she urged him closer, an impossible feat he seemed intent on achieving. He held her gaze with each deliberate plunge, driving her higher and higher until she finally gasped his name on a burst of blinding pleasure, lying helpless beneath him as waves of ecstasy rolled over her. He plunged into her three more times before powerful spasms gripped him, too, pulling a groan from deep in his chest. He collapsed on top of her, held close inside the cradle of her legs.

He lay there for a long time as their bodies cooled. It gave her fevered mind time to realize that it hadn’t been a fantasy. She really was in Zane’s bed, with him lying naked and spent on top of her. It seemed unreal, something she’d been sure could never happen. She wondered how he felt about it.

The connection she’d felt was gone, dissipating along with their satisfied desire. He rolled off her and lay there staring at the ceiling, breathing hard. She had no idea how he felt, no idea if his thoughts matched hers.

She hated to be the stereotypical female, but asked the dreaded question anyway. “What are you thinking?”

He didn’t laugh at her for asking. Instead, he brought his arm up to his head in a weary gesture, and closed his eyes. “I’m thinking that was probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

The words hit her like a slap, sharp and stinging.

They hadn’t been thinking the same thing at all. But now they were.

Her pride could take only so much. She sat up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, turning her back to Zane. “You’re right, this was a stupid mistake.”

She started to stand, but his hand closed around her arm, yanking her backward. She fell against his chest, and he immediately flipped her onto her back, holding her still, apparently not intimidated by her furious stare.

“I didn’t say I was sorry it happened.” His face was inches away, his eyes dark and intense again, pinning her in place. “I’m not. Neither are you.”

She made a sound of derision. “Presumptuous, aren’t you?”

“No. I know you, Sophie. You were just as caught up in it as I was. And I’m tired of pretending that everything about you doesn’t turn me on. I’ve wanted you in my bed since the moment I saw you at that reception, and you’ve wanted it, too.”

It stunned her, but was hard to deny, especially after hearing how she turned him on. Plus, she’d already provided that embarrassing demonstration in the parking lot. Her fury eased to grudging agreement. “Maybe not from the first moment,” she mumbled.

The corner of his mouth twitched; he knew it was a lie.

She sighed her surrender. If he wasn’t going to pretend, neither was she. “So why was it stupid?”

“Because you were right when you pushed me away ten years ago. We don’t belong together.” Even as he said it, his fingers stroked her hair. “We live in different worlds, Sophie, and mine has become dangerous to you.”

“Then change it. Defend yourself.” Her indignation rose as quickly as her desire had. “Zane, this town is caught up in a rush to justice that could end with you in prison, and you won’t even stand up for yourself. Help the police find other suspects.”

“It’s not that easy, Sophie.”

“Why, because you slept with Rena and you don’t want to admit it?”

A deep flush colored his neck and touched his cheeks. Anger, she guessed, as much as embarrassment. “Damn it, Sophie, don’t bring that up. I don’t want to discuss it. Not with you, and certainly not now.”

“That’s just stupid.” Why couldn’t he understand this? It affected his freedom, his very life. “Knowing Rena was picking up men at the Moosehead could lead the police to other suspects. Maybe to the real murderer.”

“Or it could get me convicted. It might anyway, if they find my DNA on her, but I’d rather risk them not finding out, than to hand them my conviction on a platter.” He scowled. “Now drop it, because I’m not discussing that woman with you.”

She wasn’t thrilled about thinking of his night with Rena, either, but his embarrassment was protecting a murderer while hanging the blame on him. She did her best to keep her voice level and rational, the way she needed him to look at it. “Don’t treat me like a child, Zane. I’m not naive enough to think you haven’t had a sex life during the past ten years.”

“I still don’t want to discuss it with you.”

“Why? Because I might be jealous? I wasn’t here when it happened, and you hadn’t seen me in ten years. I know that night had nothing to do with me.”

He pushed up and turned away, sitting on the bed with his head lowered, fingers clutching at his hair. “Jesus Christ, Sophie! You don’t know what you’re saying. That night had
everything
to do with you!”

She blinked at the fury in his voice, trying to make sense of what he’d said. She couldn’t. “How?” she managed.

Irritation boiled visibly under the surface, straining in his muscles and building as he thought about his answer. Finally, in one fluid motion, he got out of bed and began pacing the carpet. It took two passes beside the bed before he spoke.

“Okay, short and sweet,” he said, the resentment in his voice making it anything but sweet. “I didn’t want to hook up with anyone that night. I went there because I knew no one would know me. I’d just had a promising meeting with Alan Bernstein and I wanted a place where I could celebrate the way my business was about to take off without anyone looking sideways at me, or thinking I had no right to breathe the same air they did.” He fisted his hands at the back of his neck, then jerked them down in frustration. “Damn it, I just wanted to be left alone. But the waitress . . .” He gritted his teeth over whatever offense the waitress had committed. “She must have been bored. She kept hanging around, flirting. She finally made it clear that she was up for a good time if I was interested.”

Sophie frowned. “Rena had a job at the Moosehead?”

“No.” He snapped it, shooting a glare at her. His bad attitude might have annoyed her, but he was standing there in all his naked glory, glowering darkly, a bad angel freshly kicked out of heaven and pissed off at the world. Some seriously defective part of her sat up straight and trembled with anticipation, wishing he’d come back to bed.

“It wasn’t Rena. Not even close. She was small, well built, cute in a sexy way.”

Sophie hated her.

“And she had short blond hair.” That earned her another dark look. “With those sort-of-bangs things, and little pieces that curled out from the side . . .” He made frustrated motions around his head, trying to describe the hairstyle, then gave up in disgust. “It was like your hair used to be.”

Hers? Then she remembered. She’d worn it short all through high school, easier to keep up for a girl who played softball and tennis. And during that teenage phase of experimenting with her image, she’d dyed it blond.

“She reminded me of you,” he muttered.

From his accusing glare, she concluded that was not a good thing. If it was the same blond waitress she’d seen, she wasn’t sure she cared for the comparison, but that probably wasn’t the point.

“I didn’t need that,” he grumbled. “Not some imitation of you touching me, dropping double meanings all over the place, leaning over the table so I’d get a good view of what she had to offer. No man’s immune to that.”

She
really
hated that waitress.

“I got the message, and the way she was brushing against me, it was starting to sound like a good idea.” He narrowed his eyes at her, as if everything that happened was her fault. “But like I said, she reminded me of you.”

It seemed like that should be a good thing. “Is that so bad?”

He threw a disgusted glance at the ceiling, as if asking heaven why she had to be so dense that he needed to explain every little detail. “Yes, Sophie,” he said, patronizing her ignorance. “It was bad. I didn’t want to confuse wanting a woman with wanting you. And yes, damn it, I still wanted you—still
want
you—because I’m obviously a freaking masochistic idiot. But Rena came in, and she was just as interested in forgetting about the world for one night, and she didn’t look
anything
like you. And God help me, after thinking of you for an hour, I was more than ready.” He turned away, pacing as if he were stomping grapes. “End of story.”