by Lisa Jackson
Perusing the paper quickly, she decided Zane wasn’t up to reading all about the “drama in Carmel” and stuffed the paper into the trash on her way back to his room.
The nurse had left. His breakfast, uneaten, had been pushed aside. Zane was propped up in bed, staring at the television, where a newscaster was reporting Johnston’s escape and the attempt on Kaylie’s life.
“Well, your name’s on the tip of everyone’s tongue today,” he drawled.
“So’s yours.”
Zane rolled his eyes. “This is no good,” he said. “The problem with all these reports is that it sensationalizes the crime. Who knows what nut is watching and thinking he’d like to get his name and picture on the television by imitating that maniac?” Scowling darkly, he scratched at the back of his hand. A bandage covered the spot where the IV needle had recently been attached to his skin.
“I think I’m safe,” Kaylie replied. “Johnston’s locked up.”
“But how many more like him are out there?”
“It’s the price of fame,” she said, then nearly bit her tongue. Here it was. The same old argument. And she’d just inadvertently offered him a perfect opportunity to exploit his position. Still frowning, he clicked the remote control, and the lead-in music for West Coast Morning filled the room.
“Let’s see what your guys say about it,” Zane said, and Kaylie held her tongue, not wanting to let him know that Jim had already mentioned an interview to her.
Alan’s face, gravely serious, was centered on the screen. “I’ll be hosting the show alone today,” he told the viewers, “because last night Kaylie Melville was viciously attacked by a knife-wielding assailant. The suspect is in custody, his alleged crime nearly identical to his assault on Kaylie seven years ago.”
To Kaylie’s horror, she watched old footage of the premiere of Obsession. Of course the cameramen had been there for quick peeks of the rich and famous. Those cameramen, who had been interested in showing who was dating whom and what dress Kaylie wore to the first showing, hadn’t expected to capture a madman lunging at her on film. Nor had they intended for the terrifying drama to unfold in front of their lenses. But it had happened, and every heart-numbing second had been captured on film—from Kaylie’s bloodless face, to Zane’s heroic act that saved her life.
“Yes, history repeated itself last night at Kaylie Melville’s beachside home in Carmel. Fortunately, once again her ex-husband, Zane Flannery, was on the scene to save her from a man who has been obsessed with her for years….”
Alan went on and on, recalling the details of last night’s attack as well as bringing up the premier of Obsession again. He even publicly admitted that he and Kaylie were just friends, but very special friends, and he looked earnestly into the camera to wish her well.
“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Zane clicked off the set.
“It’s just his way,” Kaylie said lamely, but she could hardly defend Alan. For, though he appeared concerned for her well-being, the entire segment reeked of publicity-seeking and she couldn’t help but think that all his references to Obsession were to drum up public interest in the old film in the hopes that the viewers and fans, as well as the studio heads, would demand a sequel.
“Well, for all his supposed friendship, he sure doesn’t give a damn about exploiting you.”
She couldn’t argue with him and didn’t. The less she thought about last night’s attack, the better. She and Zane were together. Johnston was locked away. They were safe and in love. Nothing else mattered.
Zane was released just after noon, with strict orders to take care of himself and not strain the wound. “You’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re carrying around fifteen stitches, so don’t do anything foolish,” Dr. Ripley told Zane as he signed the release forms.
To Zane’s ultimate humiliation, Kaylie pushed him out of the hospital in a wheelchair and helped him into the passenger seat of his Jeep. Then she settled behind the steering wheel. The look she cast him should have tipped him off. Her green eyes danced with mischief as she headed east.
“Where’re we going?”
“Can’t you guess?”
He eyed her thoughtfully. “Don’t tell me, you’re kidnapping me to a certain mountain retreat….”
She laughed gaily. “I thought about it, but no, I’ve got something else in mind.”
“What?”
“Lake Tahoe,” she replied with an impish grin. “I know this great little place there. It’s called the ‘Chapel of No Return.’”
“No!”
“Scout’s honor.” She lifted one hand as if to pledge.
“So where’s Franklin?”
“Your neighbor—Mrs. Howatch—called while you were sleeping and offered to watch him for the weekend.” She grinned. “I hope she knows what she’s getting into.”
“Franklin likes her,” Zane replied.
“Oh, it’s just me he has problems with?” she teased.
“He’ll get used to you. I did. Now, lead on, Ms. Melville,” he suggested, settling back in his seat and staring at her as if he thought she might vanish and this entire fantasy give way to cruel reality.
Kaylie beamed. She felt as if she’d finally grown up enough to accept Zane as her husband. Yes, he’d been dominating and overzealous in his protection of her, but now she understood him better. She knew how frightened he must have been for her safety.
The few hours he’d been unconscious had been hell. She finally understood just what losing him would cost her. She didn’t doubt that she loved him, always had loved him and always would. She didn’t see that love as a curse any longer, but as a blessing. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, as his wife, as the mother of his children, as the lifelong partner with whom he would grow old.
And now, at twenty-seven, she felt secure and mature enough to handle him. No more temper tantrums—well, not too many. From here on in, they were partners.
She drove straight to Lakeside Chapel, and when Zane climbed out of the Jeep, stretched and grumbled that he wouldn’t be married in anything less than the “Chapel of No Return,” she offered to take him straight back to the city.
“I guess we’ll just have to forget this whole marriage thing,” she told him blithely.
At that he grabbed her roughly, spun her to him and growled in her ear, “Not on your life. I’ve waited too long for this.”
She lifted her shoulders and rounded her eyes innocently. “Whatever you say, honey.”
For that she was rewarded with a swat on the bottom. “Come on. No reason to keep the minister waiting.”
Within thirty minutes they were married. The ceremony was simple. The preacher was a lively man who was pushing eighty, and his wife, a sparrow of a woman, served as pianist and witness. Another woman, heavyset and beaming, was the second witness, and at the end of the short ceremony, Kaylie and Zane were presented with a marriage certificate, a bouquet of roses, a brochure for Love Nest Cabins and a bottle of champagne.
“Not quite as elaborate as the first ceremony,” Zane drawled, once they were back in the Jeep.
“But more lasting,” Kaylie predicted.
“You think so?” His dark brow cocked insolently, but his gray eyes were flecked with humor.
“I’m sure!”
“So where to now?”
“Well, we could either go gambling…or…”
“Or what?”
“Or I could take you to the hotel and—” she lowered her voice suggestively and touched his thigh “—we could start the honeymoon.”
He placed his warm palm over the top of her hand. “I’m definitely in favor of option two.”
“Me, too.” Her spirits soaring, she wheeled the Jeep into the parking lot of the hotel. Blue-green pines softened the lines of a rambling, three-storied lodge. With peaked dormers poking out of a sharply gabled roof and a covered porch that skirted the main floor, the rambling building rested on the shores of the vibrant blue lake.
“This
is as close to ‘heaven’—isn’t that what you called your place in the mountains?—that I could find.”
“I guess it’ll just have to do,” Zane drawled, as if he gave a damn about the hotel. All he wanted was Kaylie.
It took twenty minutes to register and have their bags carried to their third-floor suite. Impatiently Zane slapped a tip into the bellman’s palm, then, when the young man left, locked the door behind him.
“Now, Mrs. Flannery, what was that you were saying about starting the honeymoon early?”
She laughed, the sound melodious as he wrapped his arms around her and lowered hungry lips to hers. Though his shoulder ached, he ignored the painful throb and got lost in the wonder of his wife.
Kissing her, holding her close, undressing her and feeling her clothes drop from her supple body, Zane felt a desperation that ripped through his soul.
Only hours before her life had been threatened by a knife-wielding madman intent on killing her.
The image was vivid and excruciating. What if he had lost her? What if Johnston’s blade had found its mark? His heart nearly stopped at the thought, and he pulled her roughly against him, intent on washing away the horrid images in the smell and feel of her.
The nightmare was over. They could celebrate their lives and love.
Her body was warm and soft, yielding as he caressed her bare shoulder with the rough pad of his finger. She quivered at his touch, and her mouth opened easily at the gentle prod of his tongue. Her fingers were everywhere, as if she, too, felt the urgency of their union.
Life was so fleeting, so very precious, there was no time to waste. Her fingers pushed his shirt over his shoulders, and he flinched as she tugged on his sleeves and the wound in his upper back stung.
“Love me, Zane,” she whispered, kissing the hairs on his chest, fanning the fire deep in his loins as her tongue touched his skin, rimming his nipples, lapping at his breastbone, tasting of him and causing wave after tormented wave of pure lust to wash through him.
With a groan he shifted his weight, shoving her slowly back against the down coverlet on the bed. He touched the outline of her bra with his fingers and mouth, kissing the soft curves of her breasts, kneading the white mounds until dark, petulant nipples peaked beneath the white lace. He teased those rosy buds with mouth and fingers as Kaylie writhed beneath him, arching anxiously, bucking her hips against his, silently begging for release.
Slow down, a voice in his mind protested. Take your time. But his body, and his desperation to love her, to prove that they had survived the terror of a madman’s knife, wouldn’t listen. His hands moved anxiously over her, tearing off her bra, stripping her of her underwear.
And she was just as desperate. Her hands worked at the waistband of his slacks, sliding them off his legs and kicking them aside as he mounted her.
With the first thrust, pain shot down his arm, ripping through him with a blinding agony that was matched only by the exquisite torture of her body moving in tandem with his. But he couldn’t stop, and soon, as their tempo increased and their sweat-soaked bodies fused, he felt nothing but the sheer ecstasy of her body sliding against his.
“Kaylie, love,” he cried, his voice as raw as a December night. He tried to hold back, resist, but the feel of her fingers digging into the muscles of his good shoulder and the deep-throated sound of her moans of pleasure brought him to quick and immediate release. He plunged into her with a primal cry that echoed through the room, and she shuddered against him, clawing and clinging, her face upturned in rapture, her low moan rippling through her body.
Collapsing against her, he held her tight, afraid that if he let go, he’d lose her. Rationally he knew that she was here, with him, and had pledged her life to him, but for so many years she’d been lost to him so that he clung to her as if to life itself. “I love you,” he murmured into the sweat-darkened strands of her hair.
Propping up on one elbow, she gazed down on him with eyes that shifted from green to blue. “I thought the doctor said to take things easy,” she teased.
“With you, nothing’s easy.”
Tilting her head back, she laughed, and the sound drifted to the rafters, high overhead. “I promise not to try to be impossible.”
He slid her a knowing glance. “Don’t make any rash statements.”
“You’re asking for it, Flannery.”
His eyes sparked. “You bet I am.” And with that, he grabbed her again, ignoring his doctor’s instructions completely.
* * *
On Sunday morning Kaylie dragged herself out of bed, showered and dressed in clean jeans and a rose-colored sweater.
“What’re you doing?” Zane asked, opening one sleepy eye and groaning as he watched her gather her hair into a ponytail and run a tube of lipstick over her lips.
“Duty calls,” she replied, tilting her head to loop a gold earring through her earlobe. “I’m still a working woman, you know. I’ve got a million and one things to do before the show tomorrow.”
He grunted, and Kaylie sensed the first argument of their short marriage. “You can call in and explain to Jim—”
“No.”
“But wouldn’t you love to prolong the honeymoon?”
“Absolutely. But I can’t. I’ve already missed more than my share of work lately.” She caught his reflection in the oval mirror above an antique dresser. Draped across the sheets, wearing only his bandage and a day’s growth of beard, he grinned that sexy grin that caused her heart to trip.
Still, she couldn’t let him push her around and try to dominate her life. They had to start off on the right foot.
“You don’t have to work, you know. I can take care of us.”
“It’s my job, Zane. A job I happen to love. I’m not going to give it up.”
“Not ever?”
Turning, she said, “Ever’s a long time. But certainly not in the foreseeable future.”
“So how long do you plan to be hostess of West Coast Morning?”
“How about for as long as I want to? Or as long as the station wants me? You know, this job won’t be indefinite. Whether the producer admits it or not, there is some age prejudice involved.” She expected him to object, to give her reason upon reason why she shouldn’t continue with her career, but he only lifted a shoulder.
“Whatever you want,” he muttered.
She could have been knocked over with a feather. “Wait a minute,” she said. “Whatever I want?”
“Umm. Long as you take care of yourself.”
“And you trust me?”
“I’m trying,” he said, his smile fading. “It’s not easy.”
Surprised at his turnabout, she snagged a pair of his jeans from the floor of the cabin and tossed them at him. “Come on, get dressed.”
“I could use a little help,” he suggested, one brow lifting craftily.
“Could you?” She couldn’t help but play along with his game.
“Well, I am an invalid.”
She laughed out loud. “That’ll be the day. You didn’t seem like much of an invalid last night!”
To her surprise, he leaped off the bed and, catching her with his good arm, jerked her up against him. His lips came crashing down on hers with a savagery that stole her breath. “I lied about the invalid bit,” he admitted, dragging her back to the bed and burying his face in the lush thickness of her hair.
“I know.”
“I thought maybe I needed an excuse to get you back into bed.”
“Never,” she whispered against his lips. They tumbled onto the rumpled sheets together.
* * *
“You’re married?” Alan’s chin nearly dropped to his knees. “To Flannery?” Disbelief nearly choked him. “But you can’t be…. He—he—”
“He’s my husband,” she replied. Polishing an apple with a paper towel in the station’s cafeteria, she ignored the opened box of pastries and settled for a cup of coffee instead.
Alan tried desperately to recover. “Well, I
read all about Johnston’s escape,” he said, “and I know that you must have been terrified. I mean, talk about nightmare déjà vu! But marriage? My God, Kaylie, what were you thinking?”
“That I loved him,” she said, offering him a bright smile as she poured a thin stream of decaf coffee into her cup.
“You thought that once before.”
“And I was right,” she said, refusing to argue with him. She set the glass carafe onto the warming tray. “We—uh, just took a wrong turn.” She took a sip from her cup and stared at him over the rim. “We won’t make that mistake again.”
Alan looked about to argue further, but snapped his mouth shut instead. Throwing his hands into the air, he shook his head. “Well, I guess there’s nothing left but to congratulate you.” To Kaylie’s amazement, he hugged her. “Good luck, Kaylie. You know I’ve only wanted what was best for you. I hope this time you’re happy.” She almost sloshed coffee all over him.
“I am,” she assured him. “And thanks.”
* * *
Margot was ecstatic. Kaylie and Zane arrived on her doorstep with a bottle of champagne and celebrated. “I’m so happy for you!” she said, tears streaming from her eyes. “I’m just sorry it took that awful Johnston to get you two together.”
“At least that’s behind us now,” Kaylie said. “He won’t be released for years—maybe ever.”
“You hope,” Zane replied, his expression guarded.
Kaylie wanted to ask him more, but Margot changed the subject and she forgot about the maniac for a while. After all, Lee Johnston was out of their lives forever!
* * *
The next two weeks sped past in a blur. Kaylie moved into Zane’s apartment in the evenings after work, and Zane, still recuperating, divided his time between the office and home. They talked, laughed and made plans for the future, and slowly Franklin accepted her. At first the dog lay next to Zane, never leaving his side, but as the days passed and Kaylie became a permanent fixture in the apartment, Franklin relaxed, even following Kaylie after mealtimes.
Occasionally Zane and Kaylie argued, but Kaylie tried to keep her temper in check and Zane did a decent job of letting her maintain a certain level of independence.
