would ever see those pictures.
They were for her hungry eyes alone.
Once she’d uploaded all the photos to their own album in a private space online, she checked email. It was a good thing she still wasn’t sleepy, because there were hundreds of new messages. She scanned them all quickly, checking for spam to dump first. The sixth-to-last message, sent at six-ten that night, was from Dax.
Thinking about you. Can’t help it. Shoot me.
Her heart suddenly lighter, she typed, fast, Thinking of you, too. Went out to the ranch to see my family. They’re all looking forward to meeting you Sunday.
She hesitated, her fingers poised on the keyboard. And then, before she could write something intimate, before she could step over the line they had drawn so carefully and clearly together, she hit the Send button.
And started again at the top of her inbox, deleting anything that didn’t require a reply.
The little pinging sound happened a moment later: another email from Dax.
Her heart did the happy dance. It warmed her, touched her so deeply, to picture him sitting there at his computer, waiting for a message from her. It was almost as good as having his arms wrapped tight around her.
He’d written, This is going to get better, right? Easier. Say it is, even if you’re lying.
She wrote back, It is. I promise.
His reply pinged back in less than sixty seconds. Liar. Good night.
Good night, Dax. She hit Send, her heart aching.
It took her an hour longer to finish dealing with email. The whole time she sat at the PC, she was waiting, feeling edgy and out of sorts, hoping for another email from him, knowing that to wish for such a thing was totally unacceptable of her.
Over and over she reminded herself that these feelings would pass. She just needed not to give in to them. The task was to get through them, to ride them out.
Two new emails came in during that time. Neither was from him. She applauded his restraint.
She also wanted to beat her head against her keyboard in frustrated longing.
It was after two when she finally turned in. By then, all her laundry was washed and folded, her electronic devices freshly charged, her spam deleted, her inbox tidy, her text and phone messages handled.
Her life was in order. She’d gone down in the jungle and lived to tell about it; she was home and safe. Friday morning, she would return to the job she loved.
Too bad she felt so depressed. Too bad that no matter how many times she told herself she would get over Dax soon, she still had a big, fat hole in her heart, an empty, desolate space that felt as though it might never be filled.
She missed the clearing, missed the river and the waterfall and the shy crocodile. Missed the taste of smoked snake, of all things. Missed the yellow tent.
And more than any one of those things, more than the stunningly precious sum of that life-or-death experience, she missed the man who had shared it all with her.
Lin was sitting on the edge of Zoe’s desk, waiting for her, when Zoe got to the office first thing Friday morning. She held out her arms. “Get over here.”
Zoe set Dax’s coffee down and they shared a quick embrace.
“You lost weight.” Lin stepped back and looked her up and down.
“Freeze-dried soup, bamboo shoots and snake meat. Very slimming.”
“Still, you look pretty damn good, all things considered.” Lin’s sharp eyes spotted Zoe’s ring finger. She grabbed Zoe’s hand. “Omigod. What happened? You and Johnny …?”
“Long story. Lunch?”
“You’re on.”
The rest of the staff was already gathering around to welcome her back. They were quick about it and had left her to power up her computer and start getting her workday under way when the elevator doors slid open and Dax emerged.
Zoe ordered her silly heart to stop bouncing off the walls of her chest and handed him his coffee. “Good morning.”
He leaned his cane against her desk and took off the lid, the way he always did. After sniffing it suspiciously, he condescended to a sip. “Good,” he said.
She had no idea whether he meant the coffee or the morning. She supposed it didn’t matter. He was there, three feet away from her, even if she couldn’t throw her arms around him and take his mouth in an endless kiss.
She asked, “You got my directions to Bravo Ridge?”
He sipped again. “I saw you sent them. But I won’t need them. We’ll go together.”
Joy leaped within her. She wished it would stop.
We’ll go together. Was that wise? Probably not. But it certainly made sense. No need to take two cars, or to make him find the way on his own. Yes, it was dangerous, the two of them in a car, side-by-side, driving to her family ranch, the way any two people on an actual date might do.
But she was his assistant after all. They were going to be together a lot anyway. She needed to start getting used to being around him without being with him.
“I’ll pick you up, then,” she said.
“No, I’ll drive.”
She wanted to argue with him, say that she knew the way and he might as well ride with her. But she would only be picking a silly fight over nothing, seeking conflict with him as an outlet for her frustrated desire. “However you want it.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
“Say, two-fifteen?”
“That’ll work.” He grabbed his cane and disappeared into his office.
Thirty seconds later, he buzzed her. She got up and went in.
He looked up from typing something on his computer and his dark gaze ran over her, head to toe and back up again.
She felt weak in the knees, wet down below. It was absurd and she knew it. She had made her choice and she needed to stop indulging herself, stop wallowing in her own unsatisfied lust.
He said, “I’ll need the pictures you took in the jungle. We’re moving up a contributing editor’s Spotlight to fill the slot for the January issue. I’ve decided to write the story of what happened in Chiapas as a special feature—don’t worry, just the survival story. Not our story.”
She didn’t even try to hide her triumphant smile. “And you’re
