Teeth gritted, Jade didn't even try to answer that one. Dammit, it hadn't been like that, had it? She'd known and dated Fred before Jack, even turned down his proposal once. And in the months after Jack, Fred's kind and unselfish friendship had pulled her through. They had grown closer, but she had thought of him as friend, not lover. It wasn't until this spring, until her lovely, foolish mother had run off to California, that Jade had finally come to her senses.
'Ol' Fred just lucked out, didn't he?' Zan pressed on relentlessly. 'A nice, steady, presentable guy—he must have looked awfully safe after that skunk of an Irishman, didn't he?' He gave her a little shake. 'Hmm?'
'Dammit, Zan, it wasn't like that!' she exploded, writhing inwardly as she twisted in his hold, her hair blowing across her face to half blind her. Her mother had abandoned Jade's kind, loving, unspectacular father for a flashy, shallow, golden boy. And suddenly it had come to her—here she was, doing the same! For three years she had been ignoring a sane and constant love, chasing after flashy fakes like a child chasing rainbows while the real thing was in her grasp already. Some people could be fools for a lifetime, missing love in their search for love. She would not be. Fred and she could make something good together ...
'Must have been mighty soothing to your poor little battered ego,' Zan taunted in her ear, 'to say "yes" to a guy who'd appreciate you—who probably couldn't believe his luck in getting you, who'd worship the ground you walk on? Right? Wasn't that how it was?' His voice was tighter, harsher than she had ever heard it before as he shook her again.
She gave up trying to escape and twisted to face him instead. His arm loosened enough to permit this and she found herself glaring up into icy, blazing eyes.
'No!' she snapped. 'It wasn't like that at all! I just realised I loved him!'
'Love him? You don't know the meaning of the word!' Zan laughed bitterly. 'Love is being happy when he's happy,' he quoted her smarmily. 'What about the other side of love, Jade? The hellish side? What about the green-eyed monster that claws at your guts, when your love smiles for someone else? The feeling when you wake up in a bed too big for one, and she's nowhere in reach? You don't know about that yet, do you, sweetheart? I've been watching you this summer, Jade, and if you're missing your Fred, you're hiding it pretty damn well! I think you're loving with your head, not your heart!'
'Stop it!' she gasped, her green eyes gleaming with tears.
He pressed on remorselessly. 'There have been only a few times this summer that I've wondered, only once, really, that I've seen your look like a woman in love, and that was that night at the restaurant, when you were thinking about your engagement.'
That night at the restaurant . . . when she'd been thinking about Zan, about the kind of lover he'd be . . . Jade shuddered and felt the blood wash through her cheeks like a spring tide as her mind cried out in protest. No! she thought. No, I won't be such a fool! She stared up at him wordlessly.
He studied her mercilessly for an endless minute, his fingers biting into her waist. 'Well, perhaps you have convinced yourself that you're in love, Red,' he murmured thoughtfully at last. 'But I suggest you think again. It doesn't quite ring true, somehow. And you haven't convinced me, yet. . . quite.'
Leaning back against his arm, trapped in his hold and trapped by an emotion that was struggling for recognition, calling for its name, Jade shook back her hair and widened her glittering eyes. 'Then what will it take to convince you?' she snarled. And what would it take to convince herself again? Zan was ruining everything!
But her anger just seemed to amuse him. He wasn't smiling yet, but the lines were crinkling out from the corners of his wide eyes. 'How about a kiss?' he suggested gravely, his eyes dancing. 'If you love Fred that much, a kiss from me should leave you cold. Perhaps that would convince me?'
Her heart turned over at the thought as her eyes flew to the hard lips above her. 'That proves nothing!' she flung out contemptuously, masking her fear with more anger. 'That's just chemistry—sex! Love's another thing.'
The ice-grey eyes above her narrowed. 'And you're so experienced, Red—you think you know the difference?' he taunted, a smile edging into the low voice.
'Better than you do, apparently!' she lashed out, feeling his trap closing, but not sure of its direction yet nor how to dodge it.
'Oh, really?' he purred, as his grin flashed at last. 'Good. Then tell me which this is, Red—love or sex?'
His arm tightened as she leaned away and ducked her head, squinching her eyes like a child waiting for the firecracker to blow, but nothing happened. Jade could feel his breath warm on her jaw, feel the heat of his face leaning above her, but still the kiss didn't fall. She took a shuddering breath, feeling like a fool with her eyes shut. What was he doing, laughing at her? Slowly, cautiously, her eyelashes fluttered open. Still, nothing happened . . . From the corner of her eye, he was a dark mass looming above her. Slowly she turned her head to look up at him, her eyes widening—and his mouth descended. He laughed softly against her lips as his arm slid up to her shoulders and he leaned into her. His mouth moved against hers in a gentle, hypnotic demand that she had no way of denying as her head tilted slowly back under the pressure of his kiss.
Love or sex? he'd asked. As she shuddered and felt her arms sliding up around his neck, Jade knew the answer now. Had known it all along. Love. For her it was love. Her lips parted beneath his, her last defences falling as he took her mouth, tasting it, claiming it, demanding her response, meeting it, then asking for more as he gathered her closer, the cast between them bruising them both.
For her it was love, but what was it for Zan? His breath was rasping her cheeks in a deep and ragged rhythm now and he groaned softly against her face.
What was this kiss for Zan, Zan with a lover in New York and another in Europe, Zan who said it was all right to play around, that she shouldn't be so serious? Her mouth tamed at last, Zan returned to her lips, tracing them in a hot, damp, featherlight caress that turned to pain as he nipped her bottom lip. She moaned in soft protest and he half laughed, half groaned against her cheek, trailed his lips to her jaw and up to her eyebrow.
'Which is it?' he breathed gleefully, his whisper hot and tickling in her ear.
Jade shuddered and threw her head back to stare up at the fog as his lips burned slowly down the length of her throat, shuddered as the foghorn moaned out the answer—'waaant.' For Zan it was want—want and need and sex—joyful, uncomplicated, and as enduring as the summer mist.
'Which is it?' he whispered against the racing pulse at the base of her throat. His hand released her gently, slid around from her shoulders in a slow caress to find her breast as his lips travelled up her throat again. 'Hmm?' he asked. His thumb found her throbbing nipple, traced it in slow, hypnotic circles.
But, gasping for breath, Jade didn't answer. Wonderful as it was, it wasn't love, and it wouldn't last. And where would that leave her, when Zan's needs and wants were satisfied and his book was done? She leaned slowly back from him, trying to remember how her feet and legs worked, as his mouth came back to her lips again. It left her in pieces, that was where it left her. Pieces too tiny, too scattered, for even the most patient of archaeologists to bother with.
Jade pushed down hard, forcing herself up and away from his startled grasp. Staggering backwards, she caught her balance and stared down at him, her body throbbing with its own demands for his touch.
Silently Zan looked up at her, his wide eyes caressing her flushed face and touseled hair with obvious satisfaction. 'Well, Red,' he asked at last, cocking his head slightly, 'which was that, do you think—love or sex?'
It was almost possible to hate him, Jade thought dizzily, for what he was doing to her. She edged one foot backwards. The cockpit was too small for them both. The boat was too small.
Zan stood up smoothly. 'You're not sure yet?' he teased, laughter warm in his low voice as he reached for her. 'Well, let's try the other kiss. Maybe it'll be clearer then.'
His hand slid slo
wly up her bare arm, but she jerked herself free and backed away. 'Zan, don't touch me again!'
His head lifted. 'Why not, sweet?' he demanded, his gold brows bunching with the question.
Because one more kiss would finish her, would rob her of every last bit of sense and resistance she could command. 'Because I love Fred!' she lied desperately, backing away another step.
Zan shook his head. 'Liar. I don't believe you,' he said softly, taking a step forward, his hand outstretched.
Her eyes never leaving him, Jade stepped up on to the seat. The little boat rocked gently. 'Zan, you touch me again, and I'll jump over the side!' she vowed.
His eyes crinkled in amusement. 'I don't believe you,' he repeated tauntingly, his hand stretching out towards her with the slow, hypnotic stealth of a child reaching for a flower-drunk butterfly.
She shot a glance over her shoulder at the water, then turned back again, her eyes flashing. He was closer. 'Zan!'
As her weight shifted, the laughter in his widening eyes flickered and went out. 'Jade!' He snatched at her, his hand just grazing her waist as she twisted away and dived, and wet darkness closed over the daylight.
'Ho!' It has no right to be this cold! Jade thought as she burst to the surface, gasping. She ducked under to throw the hair back from her face and came up again, panting with the cold. 'Oh!'
'Jade! Get over here!' Zan kneeled on the seat, his hand outstretched and his eyes blazing. Seen from the water, he looked enormous.
It was too cold to tread water and argue. And she might as well complete the gesture, now she'd started it. Jade shook her head. 'No, thanks, Zan! I'm swimming ashore.' Turning away from the boat, she struck out, swimming rapidly to fight the chill. It wasn't far.
'Jade! It's further than it looks! Come back here!' He'd never sounded like that before, rage and something else rasping in the harsh command. A shaft of fear shot through her with the cold. She'd pushed him too far this time. She couldn't go back now. And she had to keep moving. Her strokes lengthened.
'Jade!' he yelled once more. The emotion in his voice chilled her more than the salt water slopping over her head as a wave passed. She choked and kicked harder, and began to feel the drag of her light clothing.
Behind her she heard cursing and the light, metallic scrape of the sail clips sliding up the mast as Zan raised the mainsail. He could do it all by himself, the single hand just slowed him down.
Treading water, Jade lifted her head to study the shore. It was getting closer now, but it seemed to slid away to her left. The tide must be ebbing out of the harbour and into the bay, sucking the water out and down to the waiting sea, taking her with it. She started swimming again, harder now, as behind her the jib fluttered up its stay. He'd be under way in another minute, but she was swimming directly into the light breeze. Zan would have to tack twice to catch her.
Her breath was coming harder, and the cold water growing heavier. She could make out individual rocks along the shore now, but to her right she could also see the end of the point, the mouth of the channel, looming up through the fog. The current would run swifter there as it turned the corner. And Zan would kill her if he caught her now. A wave smashed into her face... If she didn't drown first! She forgot about Zan and began to swim for her life.
For an endless, freezing time Jade swam through the dusk with the darker shore hanging beyond like a broken promise and the foghorn at the end of the point sounding closer and closer each time it moaned. Where was Zan? Her feet grazed the bottom and then lost it as the current sucked at her again. She gagged as she inhaled a wave, and the foghorn's cry curved over her. It was now or never. Throwing her arms out before her, she lunged against the tide, kicking frantically. Her foot grazed bottom. She would make it after all!
She staggered ashore at a launching ramp, the concrete cold and slimy beneath her bare feet. Shivering, she turned back to the water. Pale in the gauzy twilight, the little boat reached slowly in from the point, paralleling the shore, a dark figure standing at the helm. Jade felt a sudden rush of warmth as her eyes blurred. So he'd been guarding her all this time: If the current had won, Zan would have been there at the point to meet her.
As the boat neared, their eyes met across fifty feet of water and her warmth faded. Jade shivered again. She could read the rage in the frozen lift of his head, didn't need to see those grey eyes to feel the ice in them. Suddenly she was infinitely grateful that Zan could not reach her, that there was no way to beach the deep-keeled sailboat.
Wordless, they stared at each other as the boat glided past. Zan moved his hand and the sloop turned in a slow graceful gybe and floated away across the cove. For a moment it seemed to hang, a pale moth in the grey air, then it was gone. Jade shivered and started the long walk home.
Her guardian angel was working over time that evening: a patrolling police car picked her up just past the fort and delivered her to her doorstep with a scathing lecture on the follies of swimming alone in the fog; her keys were still in the pocket of her shorts; and Zan was not on her doorstep. Not yet. She staggered in at the back door and into the shower, her mind as numb as her body.
What a fool she'd been! Not just this evening, although that was the stupidest stunt she'd ever pulled, but all summer! She should have taken one look at Zan and run for her life—left him lying in the road if need be. Fool, to think that the only danger Zan represented was financial ruin! She had let him spoil everything. Nothing would ever be the same, after Zan.
The phone rang and Jade scurried across the kitchen, her towel flapping, and scooped the receiver up.
'Red?' Zan's low voice rasped into her ear, and she sank to the mattress, smiling in spite of herself. 'Are you there, you flaming turkey?' he snarled.
'Yes,' she whispered.
'You moron,' he began carefully, taking a deep breath. It was the nicest thing he called her in the next few minutes, as she received the full barrage of a considerable and creative vocabulary. At the very least, it drove out the last of her chill as she huddled on the bed with scorching ears. Finally, Zan ran out of wind, if not out of invention. His breath hissed against her ear. 'You still there?' he asked huskily.
' Yes,' she whispered.
There was a moment of awkward silence.
'You all right?' he asked at last.
'Yes, Zan, I am.' She groped for a matter-of-fact tone and nearly got it right. 'Are you okay? You sound . . . funny.'
He snorted. 'Well, I damn well feel funny! I've had two drinks in the last twenty minutes and my hands still haven't stopped shaking!'
'I'm sorry . . .'
'I should damn well hope you're sorry! There's easier ways to tell a man you don't want his loving than drowning yourself, sweetheart. Try "no, thank you", next time. It's dryer!'
'I'm sorry—I thought I tried that.'
'Did you?' He sighed. 'Guess I missed it in all the excitement, sweet. Try a winch handle, then, next time. But don't go over the side . . .'
'I'm sorry,' she repeated humbly.
'So am I,' Zan growled. 'And I'll be a damn sight sorrier if my hair's gone white. I'm scared to go and look in the mirror!'
Suddenly, the urge to see him was overwhelming. Jade squeezed the receiver until her knuckles cracked. 'You don't. . . want to work any tonight, do you, Zan?' she asked wistfully.
His breath rasped in her ear, and she could imagine his gold head lifting dangerously as the icy eyes narrowed. 'Jade,' he said softly, 'I have never beaten a woman in my life before, and I'd like to keep it that way. I suggest you stay out of my sight until tomorrow. Clear enough?'
'Y-yes,' she whispered.
'Goodnight, then.'
' 'Night, Zan, I'm—' the phone clicked in her ear, and her eyes filled with tears, '—sorry,' she finished.
CHAPTER EIGHT
And Jade was even sorrier in the following days, as Zan paid her back for his scare and his wounded pride. She might as well have been a dictaphone for all the attention he gave her, and the only words pas
sed between them were the dictation of his story. It was more painful than she would have imagined, to be deprived of his teasing, offhand affection, and it was a frightening forecast of how she would feel when Zan was gone at last.
His ill-humour seemed to be affecting his writing as well, for the book was grinding to a halt. It took Jade almost a week to realise this, as Zan rattled out page after page of material. All of it was good, some of the passages even brilliant to her admittedly prejudiced eyes, and none of it fitted together. Like a smashed mirror the pieces gleamed brilliant and razor-sharp, but the story they should have reflected was fractured and lost.
And yet Zan would admit nothing. His tanned face grew harder and blanker day by day, and he drove them both ruthlessly as he searched for a path through the blizzard of words he was producing. That or he sat on the end of the dock for hours, unmoving, unhearing, staring out at the harbour, only to come back to her with more false starts, dead ends, and fragments.
And so how would Zan be this morning? Jade wondered, as she hurried down the hill. Yesterday, she had made the mistake of suggesting he take a break, perhaps catch the train to New York for some well-needed rest and recreation. His reception of that suggestion had been almost savage—it was here that the problem was, and here that he would face it, he had informed her with tight-jawed, brittle control. But by noon, Zan had simply given up the struggle. He had quietly picked up the morning's typing, dropped it in the trash can, and told her to come back the next day. Scooping up a six-pack of beer out of the fridge, he had stalked down the dock to the sailboat, and looking at his face, Jade had not dared ask him to go along.
She glanced at her watch. If Zan was still out of temper, her tardiness certainly wasn't going to help matters. She had awakened to the cry of the foghorn sometime around three last night, had lain for hours listening to the lonely moans across the bay, wondering if Zan could sleep, or if he was as lonely this night as she was. When she woke again, it was late; a grey and fuzzy light shone through the herbs at the window above the sink. She had overslept.
The Darling Jade Page 13
