He thought of his enemies as ghosts. Ghosts of the past. Of things done, or undone. Souls of the dead who still cried out. Feelings. He was a damn good agent because nothing got to him. Long ago he’d learned to ignore the slightest hint of emotion. He’d blocked it all away, hiding it behind a thick, locked door in his mind. If he occasionally had to stand vigil at night, using all his considerable strength to lean against that door and keep it closed, it was a small price to pay for sanity.
He didn’t really have a choice in the matter. If he let the door open, even just a crack, if he let out one sliver of emotion, everything would burst free, burying him alive. He would never survive.
He’d seen it happen to other agents, good agents. They went along fine, then something got to them. A child’s death, a wife’s betrayal. They got lost in the pain and never found their way out. Some retired to live quiet lives of suffering. Others made stupid mistakes and got killed. Others took the quick way out and killed themselves.
Many rookies had a hard time learning the principle of shutting down emotionally. For Zach, the process had already been second nature. He’d learned it on the streets when he’d been a kid. His time in the juvenile facility had simply reinforced the lesson. Feel nothing. Protect your back. Survive at all costs.
But with Jamie around, he was doing more than surviving. He was living. Every day she forced him to face the world, when all he really wanted to do was hide. She made him stand in the light, damn her. She made him talk—worse, she made him laugh. With her he couldn’t pretend to be half-dead. And most frightening of all, she made him desire her. That desire left him vulnerable.
It wasn’t just the physical ache of wanting a woman. That he could handle. When he was between assignments, he often found someone uncomplicated with whom he could spend some time. As long as the woman provided decent sex and didn’t ask a lot of questions, he was willing to get involved for a week or even a month. Then he returned to his world, and she was forgotten.
He’d never forgotten Jamie. Even after all this time, he recalled being with her. If he were a different kind of man, he might be willing to admit he’d missed her. But he wasn’t…and he hadn’t.
But the desire was unfamiliar. As unfamiliar as her need to find answers to her questions. She wanted a way out. He only wanted to go in deeper. She wanted answers; he didn’t want to hear the questions. He wished her luck on her journey. She was going to need it. No one he’d ever known had found his or her way back. Zach had given up looking a long time ago. Soon she would figure that out and leave him to his shadows.
That realization should have made him feel better. But what if she didn’t go? So far, she showed no signs of moving on. He often thought about that. When the pain of his injuries and lack of sleep brought him to his knees, he wondered why Jamie was here. With him. She couldn’t think that he would be the one—
He shook his head. “Yeah, right,” he muttered as he kicked at the loose earth around the base of a small bush. “As if you’re anyone’s idea of a prize.” She wouldn’t want a life with him. She probably wanted to marry a banker or an accountant.
Somebody normal. Frustration pushed him on. Tall pine trees reached for the sky. He ignored the beauty, the sweet smell of spring, and stared intently at the ground. After nearly an hour of searching, he found it.
The ground looked undisturbed, but there was a small notch in the base of a mid-sized pine tree. He squatted and ran his finger along the length of the notch. It was new. A clean cut, made by a knife.
“Gotcha,” he murmured, and began scraping the leaves to one side.
Five minutes later, he pulled the battery out of the loose earth. She’d wrapped it in a trash bag. “You always did good work, Jamie. I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed.”
He rose to his feet and headed for the Bronco. Halfway there he paused, then slowly came to a stop.
Of course he wanted to leave. What else mattered? Yet even as the thoughts formed, another voice whispered that he really wasn’t ready to go. He should be but he wasn’t. They had unfinished business together. And if he drove away now, he knew he would never see her again. The thought was more than he could stand.
Without wanting to, and all the while calling himself ten different kinds of fool, he headed back into the woods and buried the battery. He didn’t bother concealing the hiding place.
As he stomped on the soft ground, his temper flared. What the hell was he thinking? Why was she tying him up in knots? Why was he letting her?
He stalked to the cabin, then angrily stepped inside.
Jamie’s bedroom door closed as he entered the living room. “You were gone a long time. Are you all right?” she called through the door.
He swore loudly. He was acting like a damn idiot, and it was all her fault. “Leave me alone. I’m fine. I don’t need you baby-sitting me.”
He slammed the front door. The loud crash made him feel both better and childish. All right, so it was wrong to yell at her. But if he started yelling at himself, the white-coat crew would be after him with a net.
He paced the living room, walking the length of the room twice, balled his fists and glared at Jamie’s door. He was ready for a fight. At least arguing with her would burn off some energy. The great thing about Jamie was that she could give back tenfold what she took. He could always count on her to not take any garbage from him.
“What are you doing in there?” he asked abruptly.
Something crashed to the floor, followed by an odd sound.
Had it been any other female but her, he would have thought it was a stifled sob.
“Nothing,” she said quickly, her voice muffled through the door. “I’ll be right out.”
He moved toward her room, temper forgotten. “Jamie, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, I said. Just go make coffee or something. I’m fine.”
An unfamiliar urgency welled up inside of him. “Jamie, what are you doing?”
“Leave me alone.”
Her words were thick with tears. He didn’t have to see her face to know; he could feel it in his gut.
Knowing she was going to have his head for this, he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it quickly. Then he opened the door and stepped into the room.
His practiced gaze took in the closed window, the narrow bed, the shopping bags scattered on the blanket. The thunk he’d heard earlier had probably come from the small cosmetics bottle resting on the carpet by her bare feet. Once he’d cataloged the room and eliminated it as the source of her distress, he turned his attention to her.
She stood in front of the mirror on the wall. Her long hair was loosely pinned on top of her head, as it had been the day he’d accidentally caught her leaving her bath. His fingers itched to pull the pins free and watch the long strands tumble to her waist.
His gaze lowered and he frowned. Instead of a sweatshirt and jeans, she wore a frilly blouse. The pale peach fabric sucked the color from her face, leaving her looking drawn. The oversize, puffy sleeves dwarfed her slender frame. A full skirt hung loosely from her waist to about midcalf. She looked awkward, like a child playing dress-up.
She made a harsh sound in the back of her throat. He looked at her face in the mirror. Makeup stained her cheeks, smearing on her skin like a melting mask. Lipstick darkened her lips until they stood out like bruises against her pale skin.
“Go ahead and laugh,” she said, then turned away from her reflection. “Lord knows, I would if I were you. Pretty pitiful, don’t you think?”
“What are you doing?”
She sniffed. “Isn’t it obvious? Trying to wear makeup. ‘Trying’ being the operative word. Or maybe ‘trying and failing’ would be more descriptive. I look ridiculous.” She picked up a washcloth and brushed it across her mouth. The lipstick stained the white cloth like blood.
She was a sleek cat dressing like a china doll. He was about to tell her when the light from the window illuminated the side of her face and he saw the one th
ing he’d never imagined coming from her. A tear.
His chest tightened, and his heart squeezed painfully. He couldn’t bear to see her suffer. Not this woman. Never Jamie.
She was all things to him. Despite what he’d done to her, despite how he’d treated her, she’d survived. She was fearless and strong. For reasons he could never understand, she’d chosen to save his life. When he would have died, she’d stepped in to save him. She’d been at risk on the assignment, yet she’d come for him. He didn’t know why and he was afraid to ask her reasons. There was a part of him that didn’t want to hear the confession.
What she’d done for him only made watching her pain worse. Not because he owed her, although he’d incurred a debt he could never repay. But because he knew her strength and how deep a wound would run before she would give in to tears.
He took a step toward her. But she either didn’t see his approach or didn’t care. She spun, presenting him with her back, then sank gracefully to the floor.
“It’s all a mistake,” she said, picking up the makeup bottle. “I’m not sure who I was trying to kid. I can’t be like everyone else. I don’t have a clue about how to be a woman. Look at me.” She tugged at the gaping neckline of the blouse. “I can’t even dress myself. I don’t know what to buy.” She tossed the bottle on the bed. “I sure don’t know anything about makeup. I’m missing the female gene or something. Now, if some fashion types needed a sharpshooter—then I’d have it made.”
“Jamie—”
She shook her head. “You can’t teach me this one, Zach. I have to find it inside myself and I don’t know if I can. I’ve read articles about female bonding. Bonding! I don’t know how to bond. I’m not even sure what it is. I don’t have friends I call on the phone. I don’t go to lunch with anyone. I’ve never even dated. I can kill a man with my bare hands, but I don’t know how to buy a skirt and blouse that don’t look stupid on me.” Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I thought I could find the answers. I thought I could retrain myself—like going backward in time. I just didn’t know my clock had stopped. I’ve failed, Zach. For the first time in years, I’ve failed.”
He was at her side in an instant. “You haven’t failed,” he said, crouching down beside her. His hands hovered over her shoulders. He wanted to touch her but didn’t know if he dared. He had no rights here. He’d thrown them away years ago.
“It’s sure not success,” she muttered.
Despite his misgivings, her pain spurred him to action. He couldn’t let her go on suffering like this. “It’s not about clothes,” he said. “It doesn’t matter what you wear, Jamie. You’re still a woman.”
“You’re not exactly the picture of mental health yourself,” she said, then sniffed. “Forgive me if I don’t get all enthused about your opinions on my femininity.”
He grabbed her arm and tugged. As he rose, he pulled her to her feet. “I may not be Joe Normal, but I am a man. There’s not a doubt in my mind that you’re female down to your soul.”
His dark eyes blazed with a light that should have blinded her. Instead, Jamie found herself wanting to move closer and bask in the glow. Worse, she wanted to believe him. When the temptation grew too strong, she forced herself to remember what she’d looked like when she’d glanced in the mirror. The shock had left her breathless.
She hadn’t expected to be instantly beautiful, although that would have been a nice fantasy. But she also hadn’t thought she would look so incredibly stupid. Who would have thought it would be so hard to look like a girl?
“You don’t have to be kind,” she said, and tried to move away.
But he didn’t let her go. He held on to her right arm, just above the wrist. His grip wasn’t enough to bruise, but she knew she wasn’t going to get away until he chose to let her go.
“I’m not being kind. I’m telling the truth. You’re a beautiful woman.”
Humiliation stung in her throat and behind her eyes. She blinked to hold back the tears. “Yeah, right.” She started to twist her arm, not caring if it hurt. She had to get away before she did something stupid, like cry.
“Dammit, Jamie, what can I say to convince you?”
“Nothing.”
“I guess you’re right about that.”
He slipped his hand down until it covered hers, brought her palm to his belly and slid it lower. He moved so quickly, she didn’t have time to figure out what was going on until she felt the soft fabric of his sweatpants and the hard ridge of his maleness underneath. Her breath caught. Slowly she raised her gaze to his.
“That’s right,” he said, his voice a low grumble. “You’re woman enough to turn me on. You’ve always had that power.”
The fire brightened in his eyes. She could feel the heat.
Some of it came from him, but most of it flared to life inside her body. Blood flowed rapidly, causing her breasts to swell and her thighs to ache. She swayed slightly.
She remembered the last time she’d touched him intimately. Seven years ago. He’d broken her heart. If they were intimate again, she wouldn’t get off so lightly. This time she would be destroyed.
“Jamie,” he whispered, and drew his hands up to her shoulders. She placed her fingers on his narrow waist.
The price didn’t matter. She hadn’t been able to resist him then and she still couldn’t resist him. It wasn’t even about the desire she felt boiling inside of her. The need to be with him came from a much more dangerous source.
Love. She loved him. And in loving him, she could deny him nothing. It didn’t matter that this was just temporary, or that it would mean the world to her and little more than relief to him. For this hour, this afternoon, these few days, however long it lasted, she needed to be with him. Really with him.
He lowered his head. The slow, deliberate movement warned her of his intentions. If she’d planned to run, now was the time. But she didn’t. Instead, she lifted her head toward his.
Their mouths touched. She’d relived their kisses a thousand times before. She knew what he would feel like, even after all this time. But he surprised her. Instead of overwhelming her with hard, hot desire, he kissed her gently. His lips barely brushed against hers. A sweet, almost reverent touch. As if they were innocent and this was the first time for both of them. As if the moment were meant to last a lifetime.
Her eyes drifted closed. She didn’t want to see anything; she just wanted to feel. His body was close to hers. They shared heat. Her heart rate increased—or was it his? It didn’t matter. Soon they would be one, with a shared experience to keep them connected always. His mouth clung to hers, lightly, like the brush of a feather. He exhaled her name and cupped her face as if afraid she would move away.
She wanted to tell him she would stay for as long as he wanted her, but she didn’t have the power of speech. All she could do was feel his mouth on hers and know that she’d finally found what she was looking for. All the time she’d spent searching and the answer was right in front of her. Zach was her solution. She should have known.
He didn’t try to deepen the kiss. Instead, he kept brushing back and forth, so soft, so tender. As her body trembled, she clung to him. He was the strong and solid part of her world. The long fingers holding her face slipped against her skin in the lightest caress. As if she were fragile. As if she mattered.
He tilted her head toward him and kissed her forehead, then her nose and her cheeks. He returned his attention to her mouth and stroked his tongue against her bottom lip. Sensation shot through her, like lightning across a summer night sky. It burned through to the bottoms of her feet and the bottom of her heart.
She opened for him. Instead of slipping inside, he nibbled on her lips, teasing her, making her want him more. When she couldn’t stand it another minute, she pushed her tongue forward until she reached his mouth. He parted and she slipped inside.
He tasted of passionate madness, of promise. He tasted as tempting as she remembered. They touched, tip to tip. They circled together.
When she retreated, he followed her.
It was a kiss of reunited lovers. Her body recalled the ecstasy he’d brought her before and began to ache in anticipation. Memories returned, as tangled as the sheets on their bed so many years ago. Past and present merged, making her willing to brave the certain heartache that would follow.
His tongue explored her mouth, discovering points of pleasure. She sighed and returned the heated caresses.
He slipped his hands into her hair and tugged on the pins holding it in place. She felt it tumble over her shoulders. He buried his fingers in the long strands.
“I’m glad you grew your hair,” he whispered against her mouth.
“I thought you’d hate it.”
“Why?”
They were standing pressed against each other. Her breasts flattened against his chest; their thighs brushed. His hands were in her hair; hers clutched at his waist. How could they be this intimate and still have a rational conversation? She was having trouble coming up with complete sentences, although he seemed to be doing fine.
She felt a flush stain her cheeks, but she tried to ignore it. “You’re the one who wanted me to cut it in the first place.”
“For safety reasons,” he said. “You grew it back when you were an experienced agent.”
She risked glancing up at him. A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “As simple as that?” she asked.
“You make things too complicated.”
He bent down and kissed her neck. The moist heat of his mouth made her knees buckle. She clung to him. He moved lower, nibbling at the curve of her shoulders, then lower still, licking a line down to the V of her blouse.
Her breasts swelled in anticipation. She wanted him to touch her there. He seemed content to taste her exposed flesh.
When he returned his attention to her neck, she arched her head back, accepting his homage.
She drew her hands up his chest. His sweatshirt was old and faded. Through it she could feel the contours of his chest. He was thinner than he’d been seven years before, but she could still feel the strength of him, the ripple of his muscles under her touch. She moved slowly, massaging first up, then down, trying to lure him into a sensual trap.
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