by Noelle Adams
“Hi,” she said, trying to sound natural and not sure if she succeeded. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
After the first intense once-over, Adam’s expression withdrew. “No. Me either.”
She hadn’t seen that cool look in his eyes since shortly after Josh had died, and it made her as ill as the sight of that brunette’s hands all over him did.
She forced a smile. “Well, the dinner was great. Hope you have a good time. Talk to you later.”
Zoe took Ryan’s arm and steered him toward the door, before he could introduce himself and prolonged the horrible encounter.
* * *
She was shaky and pale when Ryan dropped her back off at home.
She tried to be friendly and polite as she said goodnight, since he had been nothing but nice to her, but there was no way she was going to invite him up.
When she finally made it back into the loft, Zoe closed and locked the door behind her, shaking with a few silent sobs.
She couldn’t get out of her mind the sight of Adam with that other woman.
And, for some reason, it felt like it changed everything.
Instinctively, she ran over to the desk and pulled out Josh’s leather box.
She found her rings and put them on. Then she cradled her left hand with her right one.
She’d never felt like this when Josh was alive—like the world was sliding out of her grip, like she couldn’t possibly hold on, like she was helpless in the wake of it.
She hadn’t fallen apart like this when he was alive.
She just wanted to be safe again, not feel like this again.
After a few minutes, she pulled herself together.
She probably should be more recovered than this by now. She shouldn’t have a break-down at every minor awkward situation.
She shouldn’t have to still wear these rings.
She slid them off and stared at them as they rested on her palm.
It made her feel too sick to put them both away again, but she managed an emotional compromise with herself and placed the engagement ring in the box alone.
The wedding band she slid back on.
She gazed down at her ring, trying to take comfort and security in the memories of her husband.
Failed utterly.
She poured herself a couple of glasses of wine, hoping to relax, and it was after midnight when she finally found the energy to get up to go to bed, feeling fuzzy and aching from fatigue, emotion, and alcohol. She was just putting up her glass when there was a beep on her phone.
She picked it up, wondering who would be texting her at this time of night.
She blinked when she saw it was Adam. Then she read the message.
It wasn’t from Adam.
I’m very sorry to disturb you, but if you aren’t busy and you’re still awake, would it be possible for you to come over to Mr. Peterson’s? Carson.
Something must be wrong.
There was no other explanation for Carson using Adam’s phone to contact her like that.
She didn’t care if Adam dated every gorgeous brunette in the city—as long as he was all right.
She wore soft knit pajama pants and a tank top, but she just pulled a belted sweater over them and put on her shoes. Then she took a cab over to Adam’s building.
She was nervous and bewildered when Carson let her into the apartment.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, her heart pounding. “Is he all right? Is it his back again?”
“Thank you for coming, Mrs. Peterson,” Carson said with discreet civility. “I hope I didn’t pull you away from anything important.”
“No, of course not. What’s going on?”
“I was worried. He will sometimes brood when…certain things bother him, but I’ve never seen him like this before. I hope it was right that I called you. He won’t be happy about it.”
“I won’t tell him why I’m here.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
She followed him through the hall and back to the study, which was the same room Adam had been in when she arrived after his back had gone out.
“He’s not expecting you,” Carson said, before he opened the door. He regarded her with something that almost looked gentle. “Please call me if there’s anything you need.”
She’d had a few clues, so she wasn’t entirely shocked when she entered the study and found Adam in a very atypical condition.
He sat in a leather club chair next to the fireplace, which was lit despite the warm weather. He was pale, even in the orange light of the fire, and his face glistened with perspiration. He wore wrinkled black trousers and a wrinkled black dress shirt, what he’d been wearing earlier without the jacket. And he held a nearly empty glass of Scotch.
It obviously wasn’t his first.
“Adam,” she said, taking several steps into the room. She heard Carson quietly shut the door behind her. “What’s going on?”
Adam gave a visible jerk, and his eyes flew over to where she stood. “What are you doing here?” he demanded, something rough, almost uncontrolled in his voice.
“I was worried.”
He made a sound—almost like a snort, and he swallowed down the last of his drink.
“How much have you drunk?” she asked.
He just gave a clumsy shrug.
“Adam, what’s going on? This isn’t like you.”
“And why,” he began, setting down his glass on a side table and hauling himself to his feet, “would you presume to know what I’m like.” He enunciated each word precisely, but that only emphasized the fact that he wasn’t as articulate as normal. His eyes looked a little glazed.
“I know you, Adam. What prompted this? I was kind of upset about seeing you at the restaurant—it was…it was weird and awkward. But something else must have happened for you to…to…”
“Something else,” he repeated, staring at a spot just past her shoulder like he was trying to concentrate on an important fact that kept eluding him. “Maybe you could call it that.”
“What?” Zoe demanded, moving toward him, her heart racing strangely. He’d been patient with her when she’d had too much to drink—so she wasn’t going to get frustrated with him now. “What do you mean?”
He turned away from her suddenly and walked to the window that looked out onto the cityscape. “Go away, Zoe.”
“I’m not going to go away.” She went over to stand closer to him. Reached out to touch him but then dropped her hand before she did. “Adam, tell me what’s going on.”
He was tense, tightly reined in. Breathing in fast, thick pants. Something seemed to shudder intensely inside him—held back by the weakening force of his will—and she had the inexplicable sensation that if she touched him now he might shatter.
“You’re pushing it, Zoe,” he warned in a hoarse voice, still staring fixedly out the window.
As she scanned his face and posture, she realized he wasn’t just drunk and brooding. He was upset—that much was clear. But he was also angry.
He was angry.
“What’s wrong with you?” This all seemed so out of the blue to her. She was used to seeing Adam as perfectly composed. Holding back anything uncontrolled. Almost mild in his self-possession.
Not like this.
When he didn’t reply, she added, “Are you mad at me?”
He gave a huff of sound—maybe bitter amusement. He turned as if he would say something, but then he jerked away again. Took a few steps away from her.
He was still breathing heavily.
It was way too hot in the room. She couldn’t imagine why he’d built the fire when the weather was still so warm.
Feeling herself start to perspire beneath her clothes, she took a deep breath and tried to figure out the best way to handle this.
She’d been so jealous and hurt earlier—so torn about her memories of Josh—and she’d figured things might be awkward between them afterwards. But she hadn’t imagined things would unravel to
quite this extent.
“Adam?” she asked softly. “Why are you so mad?”
He turned on his heel, something deep and hot blazing in his eyes. He looked like he might explode at any moment, but he looked away before he did.
His fist clenched and unclenched, and he strode over to pour himself another drink. He stared at the glass in his hand for a minute, and she thought briefly he might hurl it across the room.
She was shaking now, terrified, bewildered, and oddly thrilled at the same time.
Instead of throwing the glass, he gulped down its contents.
“Adam, why won’t you talk to me? Drinking isn’t helping.”
“It’s helping a little,” he muttered, putting down the glass again and staring at where he’d placed it on a side table. “And I’ve told you to leave. I won’t be held responsible for what might happen if you don’t.”
“That’s ridiculous. If you have something to say, then say it. If you have something to do, then do it.”
He rubbed his forehead between his fingers and thumb and released a long breath.
Then something changed in his posture, in his eyes.
“How long,” he began slowly, looking up and taking a few steps over until he was standing directly in front of her, “do you think I’m going to keep doing this?”
Her mouth dropped open. “Doing what?”
“I’ve waited and been patient and been understanding. I haven’t demanded anything. I haven’t asked for anything from you. I’ve done everything I can to do the right thing with you. And, after all that, I see you with some other man!”
She knew he was revealing something important in his words, but that significance was drowned in the absolute injustice of what he said.
Her own temper flared up, swallowing everything else. “You’re mad at me for being on a date when you had that…that…woman hanging all over you.”
The righteousness of her words bounced off him. “She meant nothing,” he gritted out, reaching out to grip her upper arms. “I had a business dinner and needed a date. I haven’t been with another woman in…in months. But you…”
“What about me?”
“You’re finally ready to move on, and you decide to move on with him?” His voice was thick and barely controlled.
“I wasn’t moving on with him! It was a blind date. And what exactly do you think I should have been doing all this time, instead of mourning for Josh?”
“Nothing,” he rasped, dropping his hands and turning away again. “I didn’t mean that.” He took a shaky breath. “I grieve for him too. I’ve been trying to…to do right. By both of you. And then tonight…”
He closed his eyes and didn’t complete the thought.
Zoe trembled uncontrollably at where this conversation seemed to be going. She wasn’t going to be a coward and run away from it—from him—but she needed a moment to recover herself. She thought he needed a moment too.
“We can’t have this conversation like this,” she said, her voice wavering a little. “I’m going to ask Carson for some water. Maybe some coffee. I’ll be right back.”
He nodded, his eyes still closed, but relief reflected faintly on his face.
She hurried out of the room and down the hall, not surprised when Carson seemed to materialize out of nowhere. “Is everything all right, ma’am?”
She made an ambiguous gesture, unsure of whether to nod or shake her head. “Can we get some coffee, please? And some water?”
“Of course.”
She followed Carson into the kitchen, inexplicably calmed by his quiet, composed demeanor. In just a minute, he’d supplied her with a cup of coffee freshly brewed by Adam’s high-end machine and two bottles of water.
She felt a little better as she reentered the study. It was quiet and didn’t even feel as hot, since the fire had started to burn down.
Adam was across the room, seated on the leather sofa. His shoulders were slumped, and his head was in his hand.
Zoe’s heart went out to him. Whatever else he was and whatever else he’d said or done just now that might change everything, he was like her family. And he was obviously hurting.
She sat beside him and offered him the cup of coffee and a bottle of water. He took a few gulps of water and then held the coffee in both hands, staring down at the dark liquid. “Thank you,” he muttered, after taking a sip.
“You’re welcome.”
They sat in silence for a really long time. Zoe had no idea what to say, no idea how to make any of this better.
Adam finished his water and half of his coffee.
Until he finally murmured hoarsely, “Do you ever feel like, no matter how hard you try to do what’s right, you end up doing the wrong thing after all?”
“Yeah,” she breathed, reaching over to put a hand on his knee. “I feel like that all the time.” After a moment’s hesitation, she added, “What are you afraid to do wrong?”
“I don’t think it’s wrong. It’s just never the right time.”
“What do you mean?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he stared down at his coffee again. “Do you ever feel like you’re watching life from the sidelines? Watching everyone else have lives that you can never have?”
She knew exactly what he meant. Knew what it was to watch couples, families, go through their days together and feel her own loss so much more. A sob caught in her throat. “Yeah. I do. But you’re not watching life from the sidelines, Adam. You’re just not. You shouldn’t have drunk so much. It blows things out of proportion.”
Desperate to comfort him, desperate to show him how much she cared about him, she leaned farther over so she could kiss him on the cheek. Then she kissed him again.
She heard him suck in a breath, but before she could process the sound fully, he had turned his head in her direction.
So his lips met hers without warning. It was brief, almost tentative. Then he pulled back.
They stared at each other for a stretch of time, his eyes aching and a little fuzzy, hers not far from tears.
Zoe was overwhelmed with emotion, need, confusion, and the smell of Adam and of Scotch. She couldn’t think clearly. She couldn’t decide what was best to do. She couldn’t do anything but stare at him.
Then his handsome, urgent face moved toward hers again, and he claimed her mouth once more. His lips were hungrier this time as they moved against hers, and a wave of pleasure and need rose up inside her without warning.
With a groan deep in his throat, Adam leaned forward, reaching to cup the back of her head with one hand. She clutched at the front of his shirt as he pushed her backward.
She had no idea if this was the right thing to do, but she didn’t want to pull away.
Eleven
It should have been no more than a kiss.
Zoe wasn’t inexperienced and, under normal circumstances, she wasn’t likely to get swept away by just a kiss.
But it had been more than a year since she’d had sex, since she’d experienced any sort of sexual pleasure. And her emotions had been buffeted during this year in more ways than she could possibly process. Plus, just this evening she’d been slammed with worry, anger, terror, bone-deep compassion, and an inexplicable exhilaration.
She simply wasn’t prepared to effectively deal with any further surge of feeling.
Which might be why what should have been a simple kiss turned into something else.
Adam must be an excellent kisser, but she sensed he wasn’t at his most expert at the moment. He’d drunk too much, and he’d been battered by a torrent of emotions of his own. His lips now were hungry, urgent, almost clumsy in their neediness. His hand clutched the back of her head with a hard grip, and his body pushed hers backwards with an uncharacteristic eagerness.
And, for some reason, his obvious desire for her sparked hers far more deeply than any practiced expertise could have.
A swell of pleasure and yearning rose up inside her, causing her to claw at his shoulders and op
en her mouth to the demands of his tongue. She inhaled the smell of Scotch and Adam with every shallow breath, and the heat of his body saturated her own.
She grunted against his mouth when her back hit the soft leather upholstery of the sofa. But instead of gently pushing him away so they both could have enough space to think clearly and make a good decision—which was almost certainly what she should have done—she made room for him between her thighs and arched up against his chest, one of her hands sliding up to caress his thick hair with an entitlement she didn’t understand.
“Zoe,” Adam muttered, his mouth finally breaking away from hers. He stared down at her flushed face with an intensity she’d never before seen in his eyes. “I want you so much.”
The coarse, naked words really shouldn’t have turned her on. But they did. More than any smooth, seductive ploy possibly could have. Zoe gasped as a pressure of arousal tightened between her legs, and she shamelessly raised her hips to rub herself against his groin.
As difficult as it was for her to believe, Adam obviously did want her. She could see it in his eyes, in the undisguised hunger of his expression. She could feel it in the tension—the hardness—of his body.
He closed his eyes and groaned as she rubbed against him. Something about the sound was so uninhibited, so unlike the Adam she’d known, that a sliver of fear cut through the desire.
“Adam?” Zoe asked, scanning his face as closely as she could through her haze of muddled lust. “How do you feel?”
He actually choked on a laugh. “Not that drunk,” he said, lowering his face to hers again.
She believed him. The alcohol had definitely lowered his defenses, but he was still conscious of what he was doing and capable of making a choice. And then she forgot about the question completely as he claimed her mouth in another kiss.
This one was even harder, hungrier, and deeper than before. After a minute, Zoe felt like her head might explode as pleasure and need pulsed through her body. Without realizing she was doing so, she clawed at his shirt, managing to pull his shirttails out of his pants.
Then she was suddenly conscious of his fingers untying the belt to her sweater. Then they were under her tank top.
