that way.”
“Will do.”
“See you Sunday.”
“‘Bye, then.” She focused on her monitor again, put her hands on the keyboard and started her fingers moving. Still, she heard him walk away from her, was acutely aware of the sound the elevator doors made—sliding open and then shut.
When she knew he was safely gone, she let her flying fingers slow. She forgot all about the letter she was composing. Her gaze wandered forlornly to the shut elevator doors.
Hopelessly in love with him …
The phone on her desk rang. She answered it, took a message, finished the letter she was typing. Proceeded to the next item on her endless to-be-done list.
Hopelessly in love with him.
She wanted to press her hands to her ears, shake her head, close her eyes tight and shout good and loud, over and over, No, no, no, no!
Anything to keep the scary words out.
Not that putting her hands over her ears would have done any good.
After all, the words were already inside her head.
She went out with girlfriends that night to celebrate her safe return. They went to Armadillo Rose, the bar her sister-in-law, Corrine—Matt’s wife, Kira’s mom—owned. The bar had belonged to Corrine’s mother before her.
Matt had met Corrine there, at the Rose, fallen hard at first sight, or so the story went. Matt was a sweetheart. And also extremely pigheaded—a lot like Zoe’s dad and more than one of her other brothers. It had taken him more than a few years to admit he was a goner, that Corrine was the only woman for him.
Weekends, the Rose always had a good band playing. It was a down-home kind of place. The bartenders were all female and easy on the eyes. They were also famous for getting up and dancing on the bar.
Corrine was there. Zoe caught her eye and waved her over. Corrine greeted her and her friends. “It’s so good to have you home. First round’s on the house.”
“How about a pitcher of margaritas?”
“You got it.”
When the pitcher came, Lisa Eppersill, Zoe’s friend since middle school, offered a toast. “Here’s to you, Zoe.
May the road, however twisty, always carry you back home.”
Zoe thought of that last night in the clearing, when Dax broke out the bottle of very old Scotch and they toasted a full week of survival.
So what was he doing tonight, she couldn’t help but wonder?
Slaving away at the feature story maybe?
Or enjoying an intimate evening with any one of a number of beautiful women who traveled in his glittering circle of friends and acquaintances?
It hurt, and bad. Like a knife, twisting hard and deep. To think of him with someone else.
And it didn’t matter how sternly she reminded herself that she had known his reputation with women, had already seen him in action, when she decided to tinker with their strictly professional relationship in the first place. She had set the terms for their time in the clearing when they were lovers and for their return to civilization.
She had zero right to be hurt if he exercised his option as a single guy with no commitments. He was free to do the wild thing with a different gorgeous, sophisticated woman every night.
Even if the thought of his kissing someone else made her sick to her stomach—and furious, too.
“Dance?” A cute cowboy stood by their booth.
Zoe sent him a blinding smile as she realized he was talking to her. “Sure.” She set down her margarita and got up to follow him out onto the floor.
When the dance was over, she rejoined her friends. The cowboy was not only cute but really sweet. It just wouldn’t be right to use him to distract herself from the real issue.
Which was Dax and the growing likelihood that she actually had managed to fall hopelessly in love with him.
She got back to her condo at a little after midnight.
The first thing she did when she walked in the door was to dig around in her bag for her PDA, though she knew she shouldn’t. Any texts or emails could certainly wait until morning. She ought to just leave it alone, refuse to check—as she’d been resolutely doing all evening.
There wouldn’t be any email from Dax and there shouldn’t be. And even if there was, she had no business checking her cell in the middle of the night just to see if there might be. She had to stop torturing herself. She had to let Dax go, move on. Or maybe, more correctly, go back.
To what they had been. Before the clearing.
Why wasn’t that working for her? Why couldn’t she just make an agreement and stick to it, for pity’s sake?
Because you’re hopelessly in love with him, that’s why.
There was an email—two, as a matter of fact.
At 9:06: I was going to pretend I needed to get with you about the feature story. But that would be a lie. I do need to get with you, Zoe. And it’s not about the feature.
And at 10:08: You’re out with some other guy, right? And I’m making a fool of myself. Okay, enough. Please disregard previous email.
She didn’t want to feel overjoyed and triumphant. But she did. On both counts. Her heart was suddenly light as a moonbeam in her chest.
Her thumbs flew over the BlackBerry’s keys. I just got in. I was out with some girlfriends. I don’t want to disregard your email of 9:06. What I want is you, Dax. Here. In my arms.
She hit Send before she could stop herself, before she let herself start remembering all the very valid reasons why she shouldn’t.
Fifty-three seconds later, her cell rang. Now her bright moonbeam of a heart was lodged firmly in her throat.
Her hand shook as she punched the talk button.
Before she could even get out a hello, he asked, “Now?”
She had to cough to make her windpipe open up. “Um. I don’t know if we …”
“Just answer the damn question, Zoe.”
“I …”
“Say it.”
What else was there to do in the end, but follow the dictates of her desire, of her foolish, yearning heart?
“Zoe, you’re driving me crazy here. Just make up your mind.”
“Sorry. Yes, Dax.
