living area furnished with Corbusier chairs and sofa separated by a mirrored coffee table. Her high heels clicked against the white Italian tiles covering the floors.
Beyond the living room, a dining area contained a fruitwood table surrounded by a dozen rope-seated chairs. A handcrafted boat sat atop a trestle side table, and above it a brass mirror was angled to reflect the view. Kelim rugs and softer natural elements, terracotta pots and baskets of plants, relieved the coolness of the tiled floors.
“It’s lovely,” she admitted, impressed in spite of herself. Home-making hadn’t been among Zeke’s inclinations when they were together. His previous apartment had been beautifully but impersonally furnished by the simple means of buying several room lots complete with accessories from a fashionable furnishing store. This apartment was another matter. It exuded a feeling of home that she wasn’t accustomed to associating with Zeke. “Did you hire someone, or is this your own work?”
“A bit of both,” he conceded. “I had good advice, but I knew what I wanted.”
He usually did. She accepted the glass of sparkling spring water he offered her, foolishly pleased that he had remembered she never drank when she was driving. It bothered her to think she might be what he wanted, because she already knew how hard it would be to refuse him. She wasn’t sure she wanted to, only that she had to. Having ridden the emotional roller coaster with him once before, she’d be crazy to climb aboard it again.
She tensed as he moved up behind her, but it was only to steer her closer to the spectacular view. His hands on her shoulders felt warm, strong. A molten sensation flowed along the length of her spine and pooled beneath the curve of her stomach.
“You wouldn’t believe how much I missed this.”
She found her voice with an effort. “The harbor view?”
He turned her again until he was looking directly into her eyes. “This view.”
The raw emotion in his gaze made it clear the harbor wasn’t in the race. She had half expected it, she told herself, forcing herself not to move. It was the test she had set herself by agreeing to come with him.
When she said nothing, he began to massage her shoulders with gentle but persuasive movements until she wanted to melt. “No comment, Tara?”
She shook her head. “It is the approved journalistic phrase.”
He frowned. “In my experience it’s used by people who have something to hide.”
She jerked away from his hands as if stung. He couldn’t know her secret, but conscience made her react. Or else it was the unnerving effect of his nearness. Both, she suspected. She was mad to put herself through this. As a test of her indifference to him, it was already a failure.
He studied her intently. “What is it, Tara? Did I say something?”
She fought the urge to wrap her arms protectively around herself, and walked to the wall of windows looking onto a vast terrace. The view might as well have been painted on for all the impact it had on her. She was far more aware of the man behind her. “This wasn’t a good idea.”
“On the contrary. It’s the only good idea I’ve had in a long time.”
Turn and face him now, or you never will, she commanded herself, but found it almost impossible to do. Almost as hard to say lightly, “Am I hearing things? Zeke Blaxland is a positive fountain of good ideas.”
“You know I was speaking personally.”
As much to remind herself as him, she said, “Not an area I have a right to go into.”
His gaze hardened. “Because you don’t feel anything for me anymore, or because you do?”
How did one answer the unanswerable? She picked up her bag and started for the door, but he was there before her. “You can’t leave yet. I asked you a question.”
“I can leave anytime I please,” she said, not at all sure that it was true.
He saw it, too, she noted, and pressed home his advantage. “Tell me to go to hell right now, and I’ll know I’m wasting my time. I won’t bother you again, ever.”
“You’ll stop investigating the foundation?”
He shook his head. “Not until I get what I came for, but I guarantee I’ll be a model observer. You won’t even know I’m around.”
And the sun didn’t have to rise in the morning. As long as Zeke walked the earth she would be aware of him. In the same room, she could no more ignore him than she could fly. “It won’t work,” she denied, her hair haloing around her head as she shook it. “You’d find some way to make your presence felt.”
“You make me sound like a glory-hunter,” he said, sounding wounded. “But you’re probably right, it is a big ask. However, there’s another solution.”
“What is it?”
“We make love here and now, and get it out of our system.”
His so-called solution was so typically Zeke that she almost choked. “What makes you think that will solve anything?”
His smile was infuriatingly cocky. “Maybe it won’t, but it’s a lot more fun than standing at the door, arguing all night.”
Too late, she remembered that Zeke thought falling into bed could solve any argument. Unfortunately, he had been right more often than she cared to remember. But not anymore. “Sorry, Zeke, I’m otherwise committed.”
His eyes narrowed. “Committed as in another man? The same man who kept you from coming to America with me?”
“There was no one else then and there isn’t now,” she said tiredly. “Given the complications that go with being in love, I’ve decided I’m better off celibate.”
She saw no point in letting him know she had been since he’d left. Pregnancy had imposed its own limitations, but in truth no other man had interested her since Zeke. Whatever his failings, he was a tough act to follow.
Evidently you weren’t, she told herself. He hadn’t waited long before rushing into another relationship. Pain blistered through her. Jealousy. Anger. Other emotions she refused to identify. All of it on a level only Zeke aroused in her. Still did, she recognized in panic. She had to get out of here.
He read the urge to flee in her startled movements. “What’s so all-fired important you have to rush home to it?”
“My life.”
“Your writing and your precious foundation?”
When she nodded dumbly, he looked skeptical. “Can they keep you warm at night, Tara? Can they enfold you in love and comfort the way my arms can? Like this?”
Before she had time to martial her defenses, he took her in his arms. She tried to stiffen but it was useless. He knew exactly how to hold her to turn her to putty in his embrace. Almost of their own accord her arms went around him. As soon as her fingers traced the muscular contours of his back she knew she was lost. For eighteen months she had dreamed of being right here, resting her head against the hollow of his shoulder and
