Exhausted, she walked into the tiny bedroom that had become her home for the time being, drawing the shades against the blazing sun. Zoe wouldn’t be happy if she came home right now and found Pasha traipsing around instead of taking her afternoon nap.
But what if Zoe came home and Pasha was gone? Gone, one way or another?
Sliding out of her shoes, she dropped onto the bed, her gnarled fingers playing with a thread of the silky comforter. Did she have it in her? Could she do that? The thought of leaving Zoe was unbearable. But the thought of Zoe not having her chance at true love was unbearable, too.
And there was the most unbearable thought of all, the threat she’d run from all these years.
Her chest throbbed, and not like her heart was dancing with hope or fear. More like something was growing.
Because something was growing—and not only that hated tumor.
Hope was growing, too. Hope that nature would do her job and destroy this body so Zoe could have a proper life and a real home. She wished that there could be another way, less painful to both of them, but this was what the universe dictated.
Or she could run away until she died. Really, that was the only smart thing to do. She just had to figure out the perfect time, and then she could solve all their problems.
Chapter Six
Zoe stayed under water long enough to ice down her burning skin and corral her crazy thoughts and…
Come on, be honest.
Long enough to give Oliver a chance to strip and swim.
For the love of everything that was hot or holy, Zoe was starved for this. Craving more kisses, more touching, more Oliver. She had to have him. Had to.
When her lungs nearly burst, she popped up to see him sitting on the side of the pool, pants rolled to the knee, feet in the water.
She had to laugh at her dumb fantasies and his blasted self-control. “That’s it? That’s as reckless as you get, doc?”
He leaned back on his hands, watching her. “This is what you do.”
Everything, every single thing, about that statement pissed her off, cooling her more than the water. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you do this.” He gestured toward the pool.
“Swim?”
“As soon as things get messy, you do something impetuous and wild. You can’t be trusted.”
Damn him. She dunked herself, coming up to spit water in a perfect arc. “Since when is making out in a doorway messy?”
“Since you realized how much you wanted to make out in that doorway. Why jump in the water? Why not stand still and—”
“I can’t stand still. Don’t try and make me.” She punctuated the admission with another dive, sliding down to touch the bottom. She blew some air and kicked back to the surface.
“Why can’t you stand still, Zoe?”
She shrugged. “You know my history. Constant movement has been ingrained in me.”
“You call it constant movement. I call it trying to catch liquid mercury with your bare hands.”
“You’re not trying to catch anything or you’d be in here.” She slipped under the water, ready to count to thirty before she shot up again.
At fourteen, a splash rocked the whole pool, kicking her heart into high gear. He grabbed her from behind, the power of his arms so shocking that she sucked in water.
Instantly he pulled her up to the surface.
“It took you fourteen seconds to get your pants off,” she sputtered.
“I had to use twelve of them to think about it.”
She blinked water out of her eyes, vaguely aware that he still wore a pair of very wet boxer briefs. She snapped the elastic band. “Just think what you’d have done with two more seconds of thought.”
“You’re wearing something.”
“For the moment. What did you think about for twelve seconds?”
“This.” He pulled her into him and she automatically slid her legs around him while he got his footing in shoulder-deep water. “Oliver Bradbury, man in command of every situation, you got your underwear wet.”
His mouth kicked up in a half smile. “I live here now. I can toss them in the dryer or go commando.”
She took a deep breath, unable to keep from sighing it out as the image of him commando settled on her brain. “Would that be comfortable? You’re a pretty well endowed man, if memory serves me.”
“It serves you.” As if to prove it, he grew a little harder and bigger against her stomach. She couldn’t help it; she pushed against his erection, letting her bikini bottom swipe against its thickness, letting out an unintentional whimper of pleasure.
“You always loved riding me like that,” he said, caressing her bare back, dragging his hand to the rise of her backside, and slipping one finger in the very top of her bikini bottom.
“What’s not to love? It’s sexy as sin.”
He slid her up and down him again. “So are you.”
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back as though she were offering her throat, but the truth was she didn’t want to see the look on his face when she told him what she had to tell him.
He took the invitation and pressed his lips onto her skin, kicking up the pulse right under his mouth.
“I have to tell you something, Oliver.”
He lifted his head. “Let me guess. You can’t swim? That’s a problem because I generally look for that in a nanny.”
“Are we still interviewing?”
Once more, he dragged her up and down the ridge of his hard-on. “You’re hired. Anything else you need to tell me?”
“ I haven’t had sex in four years.” She squeezed her eyes shut so she didn’t have to see the look on his face. After a beat, she peeked through her lashes. No shock, no laughter, just the quirk of an eyebrow.
“That’s a long time.”
“I’m really good friends with my vibrator, though.”
He choked softly. “What a waste.”
“Nah, it’s top of the line and works like a charm.”
He rocked the full length of his erection against her, making her suck in a little breath. “A charm like that?”
“Not quite that charming.” His hair was smooth and slick as she slid her fingers into the locks, holding his head right in front of her so their mouths were as lined up as the rest of them.
He pressed again, their gazes locked. “Anything your vibrator can do, Zoe Tamarin, I can do better.”
“You always were competitive. Top of the class, chief resident and all that.” She rocked against him steadily now, heat searing her whole body. “But, I paid ninety dollars for him.”
“Him?”
“Billy.”
He choked softly. “He has a name?”
“Wild Bill Hickcock.” She grinned. “But he’s not that wild.”
Laughing, he closed in for a kiss, lifting her into him and capturing her next breath in his mouth. Hot and wet and thorough, he kissed like he did everything—perfectly. A perfect annihilation of her lips sweetened by hands that slipped and dipped into private places, and the utter thrill of holding on to his strong, broad shoulders and riding his mighty hard-on.
Of course, she wanted more.
Just remembering the feeling of Oliver entering her made Zoe moan with deep, achy need.
“Better than Bill?” he murmured into the kiss.
“Bill who?”
He worked his hand up to the knot in her halter top. “Can Bill take your top off?”
“Depends on how tight the knot is.”
“Not tight enough.” He slipped the material through the knot and she felt the pressure on her neck disappear.
He peeled down the halter top to reveal her breasts, inching back to admire the view. “Too bad he can’t see this.”
“Too bad,” she agreed, bowing her back enough to offer him access, blood pounding in her head, conveniently drowning out that stupid voice that might be saying things like Stop. Or Run. Or Wow, this probably isn’t comp
letely made of smart.
Right now there was nothing but the sound of their mutually strangled breaths, the splash of water, and the occasional groan of pure pleasure from both of them.
He eased her higher in his arms so he could suck one nipple, at the same time adding pressure between her legs, pounding a steady, maddening beat.
He lifted his head and looked at her, his face wet, his eyes almost black, his jaw clenched as he ground into her again. “Bet your fucking Bill can’t do that.”
“No.” Her throat caught as she fought for the next breath. “He doesn’t have that setting.”
He relaxed into a smile. “Then what the hell can he do?”
“He gets me off.”
He pulled her so close no water could get between them, and pushed his hard-on against her, igniting a fire between her legs.
“Come on, Zoe, get off…right here.” He picked up the speed, never taking his eyes from hers. His gaze held a challenge, the arrogant, arresting look of a man who had power and knew exactly how to use it.
She surrendered to the first twitch that squeezed into a spasm of pleasure, heavenly sensations radiating from her core, up her stomach, down her thighs, then deep, deep inside until she lost all control, and slammed helplessly against him, spiraling into her orgasm with shamefully little effort.
“Holy hell,” she murmured, collapsing against his shoulder, her heart hammering so hard she felt the pulse in her toes.
He kissed her ear. “And no pesky batteries.”
“I can’t believe we just did that.”
Drawing back, he gave her a strange look. “You started it.”
“You finished it.”
He thrust his hard-on against her. “Not yet.”
“I…feel so easy.”
“You haven’t had sex for four years. You’re not easy. You’re…”
She put her hand over his mouth. “Don’t say desperate.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Let’s call it undernourished.”
“I’ve had opportunities.”
He ran his hands over her waist and tucked them under her backside. “I have no doubt. Every man who sees you wants this.”
The words shot a hole in her heart. “Not every man.” She slid underwater and pulled her top back up, hastily tying the straps behind her neck before emerging. “You gave me up.”
“What? Sorry, but you went underwater and came up with changed history, Zoe.”
“You would have,” she insisted. “You’d have done the right thing. You’d have married Adele. And where would that have left me?”
His jaw opened, incredulous. “Wherever the hell you fled to, Zoe. I still don’t know where you went when you vanished into thin air.”
“Very thin,” she said softly. “The Colorado mountains were my solace that year.”
“Your solace?” His voice rose enough to know she’d hit a hot button. “I didn’t have any solace, just empty promises that you’d wait and you’d talk and you’d stay.”
She almost folded in half. “Did you try to find me?”
He let out a dry, wry laugh. “You might say that.”
“What did you do?” And why did it matter so much? She didn’t know, but it mattered. A lot.
He pushed a wet lock of hair off her face, his eyes on the strand, not her. “First? I talked to the landlord, and went to the post office, but your P.O. box had been closed with no forwarding address.”
Of course it was. That was always Pasha’s last errand on the way out of town.
“I left a letter in that box anyway.”
“You did?” A longing so physical it ached like someone was in her gut twisting all of her insides. “You wrote me a letter?”
He shrugged. “I gave the prick fifty bucks, but I saw him toss the letter in the trash when I left. I wanted to tell you…” His voice faded out.
“About the baby on the way?” She waited, seeing the agony in his eyes and hating herself for putting it there. “Is that what was in the letter?”
“What was in the letter is moot now.”
To him, maybe. “What else did you do?”
“Searched every place I knew you liked, every store, every bar, every park, every hot air balloon company in a two-hundred-mile radius.”
Oh. “I’d always wondered. Then I saw that you had married and I assumed you went back to her right away because of…who I am. What I am.”
He took her face in one hand, forcing her to look at him. “What you are is the woman I loved. I fully planned to support Adele and our child, but not marry her. I wanted to marry you.”
“You did?” The bitter taste of regret filled her mouth, forcing a little mew of misery. Why had she gone with Pasha that day? She’d had the chance to stay and start over, without Pasha and with Oliver. Pasha had offered her the choice, but Zoe knew that would be the end of them. She’d never see Pasha again. And the way he’d acted in the balloon, she was so sure she’d lost him and couldn’t imagine life without either of them.
So she did what she’d done most of her life because, deep inside, she didn’t believe in the kind of love Oliver had tempted her with. It was meant for other people, but not for Bridget Lessington.
He stepped back, dropping his hands in the water with a small splash. “I went to your house that night, but you were gone.”
The words hit like arrows to her heart.
Twelve hours. If she’d only stayed in Chicago for twelve more hours.
“Why didn’t you tell me what Adele’s message was?” she asked. Maybe that would have changed her decision…or maybe it would have made her run faster. There really was no way to know now.
“I couldn’t tell you until I talked to Adele,” he said. “I wasn’t even sure she was telling the truth.” He closed his eyes as if just remembering still hurt. “But she was and you were gone and, yes, I married her. And I stayed on a career course that was well guided by her father, and pretended that what you and I had was a crazy, brief fling instead of something real.”
Twelve hours.
“If I had stayed,” Zoe said softly, “how would you have gotten around the problem of my fake identity? Could you have gotten past the fact that I lived ‘on the run’ for all those years and might have to again?”
“I didn’t see it as the problem you did. I absolutely believed we could have negotiated with someone for help and gotten her cleared or pardoned. I still believe that. We could have fixed that.” He lifted a shoulder. “We still can.”
“She won’t even consider it. And now so much time has gone by it seems kind of…I don’t know.” She bounced a little on her toes; the conversation making her jumpy. “She’s too old to face that. By the time we have it sorted out, she could be…” Dead.
“Zoe.” He reached for her shoulders, holding her still. “Why don’t we fix both things at the same time?”
She stared at him. There were so many things to fix: their broken hearts, her dumb mistakes, Pasha’s legal problems, and, the biggest thing of all, cancer. “How?” she asked, overwhelmed by her mental list.
“While I start treatment, you consult a lawyer. Let’s attack the problems simultaneously.” He was never overwhelmed, though. Methodically, he’d power through and repair the hell out of everything.
No matter what the consequences. “She’d feel so betrayed.”
“Betrayed? If she’s healthy and free?” he countered. “Maybe she’d feel relieved.”
No. She’d be furious, hurt, and speechless at Zoe’s treachery. “We have an unspoken pact.”
“Maybe it’s unspoken because it was so wrong.”
“It wasn’t wrong. She helped me, she saved me. And she’s afraid.”
“Of what?”
She let out a dry laugh. “Prison?”
“She’s not going to prison.”
“You don’t know that. And we’ve always had this lifelong agreement.”
He shook his head a little, sliding his hand under her hair to hold h
er head. “Is that the only lifelong agreement you want, Zoe?”
The words stunned her, like shock therapy to her whole body. “What are you saying?”
For a long moment he didn’t answer, just traced her lower lip with his finger, sending white-hot sparks through her. “I’m saying I don’t want to be your replacement vibrator. I want a shot at something real with you, Zoe.”
A wholly different kind of electrical shock sparked in her. “You do?”
He held her gaze. “Don’t you?”
More than anything. But did she want it enough to hurt the one person who had stood by her through everything? The woman who’d saved her life and made sure she was educated and loved her wholly and fully—whether it was right or wrong?
“You’re thinking awfully hard about this” He moved away so suddenly she bobbed in the water. “Forget I asked.”
“As if that would be humanly possible.”
He walked toward the steps, water dripping off his body. The wet boxer briefs clung to his stunning male physique. “You’re asking me to pick you or Pasha.”
As he climbed out, he turned to her. “And you made that choice already, didn’t you?”
Yes, she had. And she hadn’t really been deeply happy since then.
“Get dressed, Zoe. We should get back so I can sign the paperwork and you can tell Evan the good news.”
“About moving in here?”
He picked up his pants from the patio. “About you being his sitter.”
They’d confirmed that? “And will you see Aunt Pasha as a patient?”
“Yes, of course.” He said it as though he’d planned to all along, which kind of pissed her off, but she was smart enough not to say a word. She’d gotten what she wanted.
And an orgasm.
Zoe was relieved to find Pasha asleep when she stopped by the bungalow after saying good-bye to Oliver. She wasn’t quite ready for the inevitable discussion, which, if Pasha wasn’t sick, could—and probably would—easily end with a pack-and-run.
But Pasha was sick, and this time everything was different.
Barefoot in the Sun Page 9
