by Jayne Castle
“I see.” She felt an immediate surge of sheer undiluted feminine possessiveness. The thought of Zac taking someone else out to dinner and discussing such things as a business image and IRS deductions for small firms was enough to make her stomach tighten, she realized suddenly. Until now she had only considered the situation from her side. She had been wary of what she had thought was his growing demand for exclusivity. Now she was forced to take a hard look at her own feelings for him.
“It’s different with you, Gwen,” he finally said. He sounded very grim about it.
She turned her head. “It is?”
He kept his eyes on the road. “I think so.”
“You only think so?” She felt incipient panic.
He exhaled slowly and said very steadily, “Gwen, it’s hard enough not knowing what you’re doing or who you’re with on the nights when you’re not with me. If I thought you were sleeping with someone else—It would rip me apart.”
She caught her breath at the stark honesty of the statement. “Oh, Zac. I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t know . . .”
He ignored her. “I know you’re used to being free, totally independent. So am I, for that matter. But with me it was kind of a moot point. My social life isn’t exactly hectic.”
“Neither is mine,” she said quietly. He had been honest with her. She decided it was time to take the same step herself. “Zac, I’m not seeing anyone else. I haven’t dated anyone else since I met you.”
He did glance at her then, gray eyes full of urgency. “No one?”
“No one.”
He chewed on that for a moment. “For what it’s worth, neither have I,” he said.
“Zac?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s worth a lot.”
There was a great deal of silence for the remainder of the short drive, but it wasn’t an unpleasant silence. Guinevere was aware of the tentative commitment that had just been made between herself and Zac. It wasn’t exactly a formal declaration of the status of their relationship, she decided, but it was a step in the right direction. It was also a little scary, for reasons she didn’t want to consider.
Vandyke was waiting impatiently for them when they returned. He seemed relieved to see Zac. He also had work for Guinevere. She spent the afternoon typing up some modifications to one of the proposals, which effectively destroyed any possibility of more time with Zac.
By dinner she was resigned to the inevitability of the failure of the weekend from a personal point of view. It was obvious that Zac had reached the same decision and had decided to give the client what he wanted. He kept unobtrusively within sight of Vandyke most of the time and after dinner he followed his client into the lounge. Guinevere accompanied them, but by eleven o’clock she decided there was no point stretching out the evening any longer.
She politely said her good nights, smiling tentatively at Zac. He gave her a long level look and shrugged fatalistically. She knew he was going to stay in his own room that night. What really bothered her was that he didn’t show any signs of inviting her to stay with him. She must have really frozen him out last night with her insistence on a dialogue.
“Think I’ll turn in too,” Vandyke announced, rising with Guinevere. “What about you, Justis?”
“Doesn’t seem to be much in the way of alternatives. One thing about these resorts in the winter—they’re restful.”
Guinevere saw Vandyke’s brief expression of commiseration but the older man made no move to excuse Zac from guard duty. Twenty minutes later Guinevere was alone in her room, wondering where she’d gone wrong when she’d first schemed to drag Zac along on the trip to the San Juans. She sat down on the edge of the bed to take off her pantyhose.
“Ah, well, the best laid plans—oh, damn,” she finished, reacting to the bad snag her fingernails had just made in the upper left leg of the pantyhose. “Zac’s right. Nothing is going properly this weekend.” She marched over to the wastebasket beside the dresser to drop them into it, but reconsidered. The snag was high on the leg. She wouldn’t risk wearing the pantyhose under a skirt but she could get away with wearing them under slacks. Guinevere wadded them up and went to put them in the left-hand side of her suitcase. The good pantyhose were in little bundles on the right-hand side, and she didn’t want to get them mixed up. In the morning she wasn’t always perfectly alert to such details as snags.
That high-level decision made, Guinevere puttered around the room a while longer, changing into her long-sleeved cotton nightgown, brushing her teeth, and generally killing time preparing for bed. Then, very much aware of the empty bed, she picked up a paperback and tried reading for a while. But her thoughts kept straying to the cautious discussion she’d had with Zac in the car. Outside another high wind announced that a new storm was on its way. So much for the brief sunshine the San Juans had enjoyed that morning.
By midnight Guinevere gave up trying to read. She put the book down beside the bed and slid out from under the covers. Switching off the light, she went to the window and opened the drapes to stare out into the darkness of the incoming storm, leaning against the window frame and contemplating the new era of relationships between men and women.
Life was definitely not simpler in the modern age.
Why hadn’t Zac made some attempt to convince her to come to his room tonight, if it was true he felt obliged to stay there because of Vandyke? Perhaps he felt rebuffed after last night. Guinevere winced. She hadn’t handled last night very well. It was understandable if Zac felt she had been holding him at bay—in a sense she had been doing exactly that. And she wasn’t sure she could explain quite why, even to herself.
Restlessly Guinevere moved around the room, picking up objects off the dresser, fiddling with the thermostat, listening to the gathering wind. It was when she found herself trying to reread the same page of the paperback that she finally came to a decision. This was a new era, she lectured herself. Zac hadn’t invited her to his room, but nothing said she couldn’t invite herself.
With a sudden sense of determination she yanked off the nightgown and stepped into her jeans without bothering to put on any underwear. She skipped a bra, too, when she reached for her wide-sleeved, oversize poet’s shirt. She wouldn’t bother with shoes. No one was likely to see her in the hall and even if someone did, the ballet-style slippers she was wearing were fine. Taking a grip on her resolve, Guinevere opened the door to her room, glanced both ways, and started down the empty corridor to Zac’s room.
He was right. It did seem a very long way, especially at this hour of the night. She heard voices in a few of the rooms as she passed the doors, but she saw no one. When she reached Zac’s door she raised her hand to knock. Suddenly she was overcome by a thousand second thoughts.
The door opened before she could commit her knuckles to the knock.
“I thought I heard someone out here,” Zac muttered in a low growl. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He was wearing a pair of slacks and nothing else. Guinevere swallowed a little uncertainly. She looked up at him, appealing for understanding. “I came to say good night. No, that’s not quite right. I came to spend the night.”
He stared down at her. “The hell you did. Guinevere Jones, how can you do this to me? I’m going to spend the rest of the night in agony.”
That shook her. “Agony?” Her eyes widened unhappily.
“Because you can’t stay, you little idiot. I’ve told you, there’s a connecting door between my room and Vandyke’s. It’s nothing more than a thin sheet of plywood, for crying out loud. Now get your sweet tail back down that hall before I lose my perspective on your business image.”
Guinevere touched his bare shoulder with her fingertips. “I’ll be very quiet, Zac. I promise.”
He closed his eyes briefly in despair. When he opened them again there was a new elemen
t swirling in the gray depths. Guinevere knew that element. She’d seen it before. It sent a tremor of excitement through her. It also gave her courage.
“I want to stay, Zac.”
“Honey, I’d give my right arm to have you stay. But for your own sake—”
“I’ll worry about my own image.” She smiled gently and went past him into the room, turning to watch as he slowly closed the door behind her. When he met her eyes she knew he had lost his small inner battle. Without a word he held out his arms, and she went into them just as silently.
“Zac, I’m sorry about last night,” she said after a while.
“Hush, honey. Please hush.” He stroked her head, his body strong and urgent against hers. Then he buried his lips in her loose, slightly tangled brown hair and inhaled deeply. “Christ, I want you. I want you so damn much. . . .”
She clung to him, her fingertips digging into the sleek skin of his broad shoulders as he unfastened her jeans.
“You forgot something,” he murmured, discovering she wasn’t wearing any panties.
“I dressed in a hurry,” she admitted in a tiny whisper.
“I’m glad.”
His palms cupped her full hips as she stepped out of the jeans. Luxuriously he gripped her, lifting her against the warmth of his lower body. His mouth moved urgently on hers and Gwen parted her lips to allow his tongue to enter deep inside. She could feel him hard and aroused against her and it sparked the excitement in her veins. Her arms wound around his neck.
She felt herself lifted off her toes and carried to the turned back bed. Zac settled her in the middle and straightened to unzip his slacks. His eyes never left her as she lay there waiting for him, and when he finally stood naked before her she could already feel the beginnings of the delicious tension he created. He switched off the light and lay down on the bed. She felt his heavy thigh move across her languidly twisting leg, the hairy roughness of it making her moan softly.
“Shush,” he muttered and covered her mouth with his own.
She ignored him, sighing into his mouth. How could she worry about the thinness of a connecting door when her whole body was starting to clamor for the satisfaction it knew it could get only from this one particular man? He drank the small sound she made, his hand stroking down over her breast. She could feel the faint trembling of anticipation in his fingers and gloried in the knowledge that he was barely able to hold himself in check. Being wanted this badly by Zachariah Justis was a powerful aphrodisiac, one she knew she was becoming addicted to. Her body lifted against his probing touch, seeking the vital masculinity of him. He pressed against her hip and she could feel the eagerness in him.
“Ah, Gwen, my sweet, soft Gwen.” The words were as thick and sweet as honey as Zac reluctantly tore his mouth from hers and began to nibble hungrily elsewhere.
She clenched her fingers in his hair as his lips and tongue forged a sizzling path down to the peaks of her breasts, hovering there for a moment until she caught her breath and tried to urge him closer. Then he was moving lower.
His body was an enthralling seductive weight on her own as he sprawled over her. She felt the damp heat of his mouth in the small dip of her stomach, and then he was using his teeth with exciting gentleness on the inside of her thigh. He held her legs apart with his big hands and began a slow tantalizing trail of kisses back up to the part of her that was already damp with desire.
Guinevere moaned, turning her head into the pillow. Her knees flexed upward as the tension within her grew to overpowering proportions.
“Zac . . . Please, Zac. I want you so.”
Slowly he made his way back up the length of her. He was hard and taut with his own need, and in the shadowy light she could see the fierce hunger in his eyes. His face was tight with the force of the urgency driving him. He lowered himself deliberately down onto her, holding her knees in their raised position. He teased her, probing slighty and then withdrawing, until Guinevere thought she would go out of her mind.
“Zac!” Heedless of anything but the need to have him fill her completely, Guinevere clutched at his back. “I can’t wait any longer,” she whispered into his neck.
“Neither can I.” He surged against her, driving deep into her tight silken core.
Guinevere cried out, but he must have been expecting the husky sound because he once more sealed her mouth with his own. The soft feminine sob of excitement was lost in his throat. She could feel the groan of desire that rippled through his chest in response.
Quickly he established the primitive rhythm, drawing her with him down the spiraling trail. She wrapped her legs around him, abandoning herself to the thrilling ride and feeling the tightening of his muscles as he forged toward his own satisfaction. Guinevere was lost in the sensual whirlpool. The universe narrowed until it was filled only with Zac and the night. When the tension within her finally burst free of its bonds she cried out again.
Zac held her shivering body, trying to trap the delightful sounds of her climax even as he gave way to his own. In the end he knew he could not have successfully concealed Guinevere’s presence in his room from the man next door.
The only thing that saved them both was the ringing of Vandyke’s telephone just as Guinevere went over the edge. Zac hoped the noise had masked the final sounds of satisfaction. It was odd, he reflected vaguely as the phone next door was answered. He collapsed in a damp sprawl on Guinevere’s equally damp body. On the one hand he wanted to shout to the world that this woman was his. On the other he felt a fierce desire to protect her. He knew how carefully she maintained her business image. He hadn’t wanted to jeopardize it for her. But there was no way on earth he could have held out against her tonight.
At first Guinevere didn’t know if the phone was ringing on the table next to Zac’s bed or in Vandyke’s room. By the time she surfaced far enough to figure it out, she could hear Vandyke’s soft muffled voice.
“Cathy,” Vandyke muttered.
Guinevere’s eyes opened as she heard the name. “His wife,” she whispered to Zac.
Zac shook himself a little, apparently trying to clear his head. He lifted himself away from Guinevere. “Good. That will keep him occupied. He won’t hear you leaving.”
“But Zac, I don’t want to leave.”
“Move, woman. I should never have let you stay. Get dressed and get out of here.” He gave her a small push and then pulled her back for a quick hard kiss before shoving her to the edge of the bed.
Resentfully, Guinevere did as she was told. A part of her recognized that it would be best if she exited from her own room in the morning. People talked, and while the times had indeed become more liberal, people still loved to talk most about the affairs of others. Small-business persons did not need too much of that kind of gossip.
Fumbling, she got back into her pants and shirt. Zac opened the door for her and she darted a quick glance down the hall. It was empty.
“Go,” he hissed softly, but his eyes were gleaming with remembered passion.
She went, making it back to her own room without incident and falling into bed, convinced she wouldn’t be able to sleep. She slept like a log. It wasn’t until she was putting on her pantyhose the next morning that she realized someone had searched her room while she had been with Zac.
Chapter Five
He didn’t feel like a frog the next morning, Zac reflected in lazy contentment. But then, he never did after a night that included Guinevere Jones in his bed. He yawned hugely, pushing back the blankets, and went into the bathroom. Guinevere had called him a frog the first time they had met. Of course, he reminded himself tolerantly, she’d had reason to view him in a somewhat negative light. He’d been blackmailing her at the time.
Zac leaned into the shower and turned on the water full blast. While he waited for the water to get hot he stretched, aware of the pleasant aftereffects
of Guinevere’s sweet passion. He always felt good the next morning. Strong, healthy, brilliant—and sexy as hell.
She had a way of making him feel this good. Zac didn’t fully understand it and saw absolutely no need to try. It was a fact. A smart man made a grab for the good things in life and didn’t waste time questioning them or tearing them apart to examine them analytically.
Guinevere, on the other hand, seemed to want to talk lately. Zac stepped into the shower, wondering if yesterday’s conversation in the car on the way back from the marina had been sufficient for her. He’d gotten what he needed out of the chat. He grinned a little to himself as he applied soap to his chest. She wasn’t seeing anyone else. She hadn’t seen anyone else since she’d met him. Zac realized his idiotic grin was widening. He shoved his head under the spray.
She was late coming down to breakfast that morning. Zac joined a subdued Vandyke for coffee and a platter of bacon and eggs. Guinevere still hadn’t appeared by the time Washburn took Vandyke and the other two business executives into a conference room for what was to be the last round of presentations. Vandyke hesitated before following the others, glancing worriedly down at Zac, who was still drinking coffee.
“You’re going to stick around in case I, uh, need you later, right, Justis?”
“I’ll be here. Good luck with the presentation.”
Vandyke nodded brusquely and turned to go. Zac watched him leave, feeling helpless to reassure the man. He understood now why Guinevere was worried about her client. Vandyke was a man walking the razor’s edge.
The conference room door closed behind the high-level executives just as Guinevere entered the coffee shop. Zac watched her scan the small crowd, which consisted of Toby Springer and the handful of other people who had accompanied their bosses to the resort. He waited with a sense of pleasant anticipation for the moment she spotted him sitting by the window.
She managed to look both chic and casual against the gloom of another rainy morning. The sweater she was wearing was a rich bronze color trimmed in black, and the pleated black pants had a wide band that emphasized her small waist and the full flare of her hips. Zac remembered the feel of her in the night and exhaled slowly.
