ZANE - THE WILD ONE

by Bronwyn Jameson

  When Mitch phoned later that night, it was like some kind of wake-up call. He asked after Mac, and she did what she should have done in the first place.

  "He's fine, but I do have a favor to ask."

  "Hello, my self-sufficient sister needs assistance? I take it there's a blue moon tonight?"

  She pictured the wry twist of her brother's grin and felt her own smile spread from deep inside. Mitch had the gift of making her feel good. "I have a problem with Mac getting out of the yard. I want to build a new fence, but I've tied my savings up in a fixed deposit, so—"

  "How much? Would two cover it?"

  Julia grimaced. "I was hoping for a little more."

  "What are you building, a fence or a prison wall? I'll send three thousand, okay?"

  "Three thousand? Oh, dear Lord. I thought you meant hundred. I'll get a quote. It won't be anything like that much."

  "Just get it built and send me the bill."

  "It's only a loan."

  "Whatever."

  She pictured his dismissive shrug and smiled. "I might just make it a prison wall, seeing as you're so intent on throwing money my way."

  "I'm not throwing cash around. That's Annabel's specialty."

  Had she imagined the sharp edge to his voice? "How is your better half?" she asked carefully.

  "Last time I saw her, she seemed fine. You wanna hear what Joshua did yesterday?"

  Julia lapped up the latest news of her nephew; then the conversation drifted around to their parents' travels, before ending with a lengthy debate on the Crocs' chances for their first NBL pennant. It was only after she'd settled back in bed that she recalled the edge to Mitch's voice when he spoke of Annabel. Were they having marriage troubles? She chided herself for jumping at shadows. Their careers kept them apart for long periods. That was all.

  * * *

  The next day she finished work at two and immediately called at the hardware store next door to Gracey's to pick up brochures on fencing materials. Walking home with the sun warm on her back and an autumn breeze plucking at the loose flare of her skirt, she felt better than she had in a long time. Still tired, but with a heavy-limbed lassitude instead of her usual bone-weary exhaustion.

  She strolled into her yard in that dozy state, but when she rounded the corner of the house and came across Zane, her senses switched to full alert. He was sitting on one of her garden benches, his injured leg propped on the second bench. Head tipped back, eyes closed, he hadn't seen her. A stimulating hum of excitement stirred her blood as she approached with slow, lawn-muted steps.

  For the first time all week, she had license to look her fill.

  He wore a sleeveless T-shirt. Or, more accurately, a T-shirt with the sleeves ripped out. One of his arms hung loosely at his side, his fingertips skimming the top of Mac's head. She hadn't even noticed the dog, asleep at his feet.

  Was it any wonder?

  Her gaze tracked his other arm, lingering on the sun-gilded hair that dusted his sinewy forearm, on the long-fingered hand wrapped around a soft drink can. The can itself rested on his flat belly. She took another three steps closer. Noticed the movement of his thumb, tracing lazy circles in the condensation on the side of the can.

  Oh, Lord.

  The intense flash of heat cleared everything from her brain. Everything except the memory of that thumb tracing a similar pattern on the curve of her sweat-damp breast.

  She pressed a cooling hand to her forehead for a long moment before reality bit.

  That measured movement meant he wasn't asleep.

  Her guilty gaze jumped to his face, to the shadowy hint of silver-gray watching her through slitted lids. Her hand slipped from forehead to nose to cover her mouth. She must have made some sound, because Mac woke with a yip of excitement and launched himself at her.

  Thank you, Mac! The distraction gave her something safe to concentrate on and a chance to gather herself. When the mollified dog dashed off after a low-flying bird, she turned to find Zane sitting upright and removing his leg from the other bench.

  "Leave it there," she said quickly. His smile was slightly guarded, but a smile all the same. The first all week, she decided, feeling irrationally pleased.

  "I was making space for you. If you act nice, maybe sit awhile, it'll reassure your neighbor."

  Julia spun around toward Mrs. H.'s yard, and Zane chuckled.

  "Yeah, that's the one. She's been peering through the undergrowth at me for the last hour."

  Feeling more than a little contrite, Julia sat. She should have told her neighbors about Zane moving in. She'd put it off because … well, because it was easier.

  "How was your day?" he asked, much the same as every other evening this week. Yet today he'd smiled. Today he had invited her to sit, and be was watching her instead of turning away.

  So today she didn't say, "Fine," and leave it there. She talked, inanely, at length, about her shift at the department store customer service desk. "And how about you?" she countered when she'd exhausted her stock of anecdotes.

  "Big day. Saw the physio and took Mac for a walk."

  He stretched his leg out in front, making himself comfortable, and she studied the thigh-to-ankle brace he'd been wearing ever since she picked him up from Gav and Lisa's. "How long do you have to wear that thing?"

  "Another four weeks."

  "Is it for protection? Support?"

  "Mostly protection. It restricts movement, stops me bending the knee too far."

  "Which would be bad?"

  "Precisely."

  Encouraged by his chattiness—heck, he'd said more words in the last minute than in the previous five days—she studied the leg more openly. Gave in to the curiosity she'd previously squelched. "What did they do exactly, when they operated?"

  "Operation stories are dull."

  "Duller than my Gracey's stories?"

  He laughed, and the rich sound spread through her like warmed honey. Perhaps if he laughed more often she would develop some sort of immunity. Or perhaps not. Then he cocked his head to one side and considered her narrowly, and a frisson of alarm whispered around the edges of her mellow mood. He patted the seat beside him. "Come sit over here."

  "Why?"

  "I need an exposed knee for demonstration purposes." He indicated his, one hidden beneath denim, the other under the brace. "Mine aren't."

  Julia hesitated.

  "You want to know how this operation went down or not?"

  With a put-upon sigh, she moved over to the other bench.

  "Knee?"

  She rolled her eyes. But when he reached toward her skirt, she hastily complied, lifting it just enough to uncover one knee.

  "Okay. Here comes the anatomy lesson. I snapped the anterior cruciate ligament, which connects here to here."

  He illustrated by drawing an imaginary line from her shinbone past her knee to the edge of her skirt. It was a chaste demonstration, nothing untoward. Yet Julia felt heat flood her skin, felt a soft yielding in her bones. She shifted uneasily, then covered the action by turning slightly toward him. The side benefit: it removed her from his reach. "How did they fix it?"

  "In simple terms, by drilling a hole in each of those bones and threading a piece of replacement ligament from one to the other, grafting it at each end and sealing the whole thing with screws."

  "Ouch."

  "I didn't feel a thing."

  Julia did. She tucked her feet up under her, hugging them close. "Do you have to wear the brace all the time?"

  "Pretty much."

  "When you sleep?"

  "Yep."

  "What about when you shower?"

  He grinned. "Haven't you been wondering about all the plastic wrap in the garbage?"

  "You wrap it all up? How on earth do you manage that?"

  "With difficulty."

  "You could ask for help."

  Beside her, she felt him still. "You're kidding, right?"

  Was she? The brace covered his whole leg, all the way up to
the roughly hacked-off leg of his jeans. Except in the bathroom there would be no jeans. He would be naked.

  And she was pretty sure her hands wouldn't be steady. Her vision turned a little blurry. She blew out a hot breath and tried to recall the point she'd been trying to make.

  "Maybe the wrapping would be … awkward … but I could help with other things. For example, I could have hemmed your jeans where you cut them off."

  "I like them this way."

  Strike one. "I assume you have exercises. I could help with those."

  "I manage on my own."

  Strike two. "I know you can't drive, so if there's any time you need a lift, just ask."

  "Thanks, but the exercise is good for me."

  Struck out. Julia shook her head with exasperation. "Lisa warned me."

  "You've been talking to Lisa about me?"

  She shifted uneasily under his accusing gaze. "Only the day I picked you up. We talked a bit while we made lunch."

  "What, exactly, did she warn you about?"

  "She said you were too stubborn and independent to accept her help."

  "You don't think she was busy enough without running around after me?"

  "She wanted to help you. She felt guilty about you hurting your leg because of Jay."

  "She felt guilty? Jay wouldn't have been up the damn tree if he hadn't heard me say it was built for climbing."

  "That doesn't make it your fault," she said gently.

  "He was in my care, Julia. I shouldn't have taken my eyes off him. Not for a second."

  Oh, Zane. Everything about his tense posture, his bitter tone, the self-disgust in his eyes, called to her. Irresistibly.

  She reached out, put a hand on his shoulder, and felt him stiffen reflexively.

  "Don't look at me like that. I don't want your pity."

  His voice was as sharp as his quicksilver eyes, and Julia quickly withdrew her hand. "That wasn't my intention."

  "No? Then why did you touch me? Why are you so keen on helping me?"

  "To show I care, that's all."

  "No ulterior motive?"

  Ulterior motive? Julia couldn't stop the guilty flare of color, or the instinctive movement, hand to belly. Could he have guessed? No. She rejected the thought immediately. He hadn't been questioning her reason for coming to collect him, for having him in her home. Only her reason for touching him. "It was meant as comfort. I'm sorry."

  "Hell, Julia, if you want to touch me—anywhere—I'm not about to object. Just don't expect me to be comforted. And don't go apologizing."

  "Do you mean…?"

  "…that I want you to touch me?" His eyes met hers, their message hot and direct. Julia felt her heart begin to pound heavily. "That I lie in bed every night with only a wall separating us, thinking about you touching me?"

  Julia swallowed. Moistened her dry lips. "I didn't know. You haven't let on."

  "You think I should have knocked on the wall?"

  "What about your … injury?"

  "It's my knee that's busted. Everything else is working just fine."

  She resisted the urge to check that out. Barely. But while heat surged through her veins, while her heart screamed, Yes! He still feels it too! her head cautioned her to go slowly. Things could get very complicated in the next few days. "I don't think it would be a good idea."

  "It was never a good idea, Julia. You and me. That didn't stop us the last time."

  "There are other things to consider now. Your knee, the fact we're sharing a house."

  He expelled a short, harsh laugh. "Hey, you can just say you're not interested."

  If only it were that easy. "It's not that. It's just … complicated." She met his unfathomable gaze, begged him to understand. She didn't mean no, full stop. She meant yes, but later. And suddenly it seemed very important that she get from now to later as quickly as possible. She squared her shoulders. "I have to go over to Cliffton before the shops close. How about I bring home some takeaway?"

  He looked right into her eyes for a long second before he seemed to gather himself. "Don't bother with dinner for me. I'll get something downtown."

  "You're going out?"

  "It's time I saw Bill about moving."

  Her heart leap-frogged. "You don't have to do that."

  "Yeah. I do."

  Arguing was pointless—she could tell by his intractable expression. "Okay, but I'd really appreciate it if you held fire for a few days."

  "Why?"

  She crossed her fingers and sucked in a deep breath. "I was relying on your help with this fence. I have all day off tomorrow, and I'd hoped to get a decent start." Then, because his eyes seemed to be narrowing in a suspicious way, she grabbed her discarded bag, found the brochures and set them down between them on the bench. "Perhaps you could have a look at these and tell me what you think."

  "Now?"

  "While I'm over in Cliffton."

  She didn't wait for his answer. She just stood, then walked away. And she silently prayed that he would still be here when she returned.

  * * *

  The day had been going so well. After a week akin to torture, his knee had finally turned the corner. He'd been feeling so pleased with himself that even the neighbor's scrutiny hadn't bothered him. Julia's had. It had bothered his hormones in the most elemental of ways, and he hadn't been able to help himself. He'd asked her to sit. He'd encouraged her to talk. Hell, he'd even thought up a way to touch her without getting himself slapped.

  Then came the shower business. Imagining her kneeling in front of him, slowly wrapping his leg all the way up to his groin, feeling the soft brush of her knuckles…

  In the blink of a dark-lashed, hazel eye, he'd turned steel-hard. Ironic, really, how the talk of winding soft plastic wrap had led to the unraveling of the iron will he'd worked so hard to develop this past week.

  This past eight weeks.

  Still, he might have been able to apply the brakes if she hadn't put her hand on him. If she hadn't sat there looking at him with that hazy indecision clouding her eyes. As if she wanted him but something was holding her back. "Complications," she'd said. Perhaps she was worried over what people such as her neighbor would think. A one-night stand with someone like him was one thing, an ongoing affair another beast altogether.

  He collected his crutches and settled them into his armpits. Plenty's only motel stood on the edge of town, a real haul from Bower Street

  , but that was the direction he pointed himself. Better to be independent than to expect help from either Bill or Julia. Plus, getting himself between the motel and her place over the next couple of days, while he built this fence, might convert about eight weeks' worth of sexual tension into sweat.

  Might stop his self-control slipping its clutch again.

  He picked up another gear, swinging the crutches in a smooth, even rhythm that saw the pavement fly under him in a gray blur of motion. He didn't slacken stride once, and it was only after he'd limped into the coolness of the motel reception area that he realized how hard he'd pushed himself. Sweat ran freely, and he grabbed the bottom edge of his shirt to mop at his face. Swore a blue streak when he put too much weight on his knee.

  Recovered to find he wasn't alone.

  The middle-aged woman behind the desk eyed him with a mixture of distaste and horror, and he knew he'd made a critical error in judgment, coming here dressed like this, looking like this. He simply hadn't been thinking beyond escape.

  "How may I help you?" the woman asked. Zane knew the only place she wanted to help him was out the door.

  "I need a room for at least two weeks, maybe longer."

  "I'm sorry, but we're fully booked."

  "Every room?" He glanced at the registration book still firmly closed beneath her hands. "Shouldn't you check?"

  "I do all the bookings, and I know we don't have a room for you."

  "Look, lady, my money's worth the same as anyone else's." He extracted his wallet from his hip pocket and grabbed a stack of
notes. "I'll pay whatever it takes."

  Her nose twitched with distaste. Or suspicion. "Have you tried the hotel? I believe their rooms are well priced."

  "They're also up about thirty stairs." He lifted one of his crutches to illustrate his point, but she remained visibly unmoved. Although when he leaned closer to pick up a business card, she took a quick step backward. That rubbed the wrong end of his temper. He tapped a finger against the card. "Maybe you should check with the manager—Mr. Grainger, is it?"

  "I'm Mrs. Grainger and I speak for my husband. We can't help you. Is that all?"

  * * *

  "You heard me the first time," Bill drawled. "I can't look after you. You're better off where you are."

  A red haze crossed his vision, and Zane closed his eyes. "I don't expect you to look after me. I'm only asking for a patch of floor to put a mattress."

  Bill snorted. "You'd be a pain in the neck, sitting around here belly-aching about nothing to fill your time."

  Man, he hated having to beg. To plead. "I'm asking a favor here. I'm not comfortable where I am. It's like a doll's house."

  "This is hardly the Hilton."

  "Come on, man, it's driving me crazy living there."

  Bill's wizened face cracked into a sly grin. "Girl's getting to you, isn't she? And you can't do a thing about it."

  He ignored that. "You gonna give me a break?"

  "I'll give you a lift back."

  Zane ground his teeth. "Don't bother. I'm not a total invalid."

  * * *

  Zane didn't think things could get any worse, but that was before he tackled the six blocks to Julia's as if they were an Olympic sprint final. Before he needed to stop and catch his breath ten meters from the finish line. No medal for you, bud, he decided with a twist of dry humor. He propped his tired body against a sturdy fence.

  "What are you doing there?" The stern voice came from the yard behind him. "Shoo, or I'll call the police."

  Zane straightened from his perch. It was the neighbor, the one who'd been watching him earlier, although he wasn't sure she recognized him in the tricky dusk light. Not until he turned. Then she did at least lower the gardening tool she'd been brandishing like a weapon.