Damn the man. He’d made sure to thwart her. In the living room, hidden behind panels, she discovered a television, and she worried about her job. What would happen when she didn’t show up tomorrow morning?
She turned on the power to the set but nothing happened. Then she noticed that the connecting cables swung free. Obviously the cable had been switched off.
She tried not to think of her position as cohostess of West Coast Morning. There was time enough to worry later. First she had to find a means of escape. And then, once back in the city, she’d check out Ted’s warning personally, even drive to Whispering Hills to see Dr. Henshaw in person. With renewed purpose, she continued her quick search. In the pantry she found a flashlight and an old army jacket—not the most elegant or comfortable, but something to protect her from the elements, should she have to walk any distance. But taking off in the woods alone at night was too intimidating, even though it would serve Zane right to discover her gone come morning.
Leaving the jacket and flashlight untouched, she padded upstairs and noted that the lamp in Zane’s room was still burning—a sliver of light showed beneath his closed door. She didn’t bother knocking, but twisted the knob and found Zane, wearing only the worn Levi’s, leaning back on the bed, almost as if he were waiting for her.
His head was supported by two pillows, and his eyes were the color of slate. His chest was covered with a mat of dark, swirling hair that covered a tanned skin and a washboard of rigid abdominal muscles before disappearing enticingly beneath his waistband.
The back of Kaylie’s throat went dry. She forced her gaze back to his face. His lazy smile flashed white against a day’s growth of beard.
“Your room’s to the right, remember?” His lips curved speculatively. “Unless of course you want to stay with me.”
The shepherd, lying on the floor near the foot of the bed, lifted his head and cocked it to one side, as if he were sizing up Kaylie.
Kaylie turned her attention back to Zane. “I just want control of my life again.”
Reaching over to the lamp, his shoulder muscles gliding with easy, corded strength, he clicked off the light. “Your choice,” he said in the darkness. “Here—” he thumped on the bed “—or down the hall.”
“I have a job to get to—”
“Forget it.”
“They’ll miss me.”
He chuckled, as if he knew something she didn’t. “Alan will be thrilled to have a chance to show the whole world he doesn’t need you.”
“You’ll regret this, Zane,” she muttered as she fumbled in the dark, then finding the door, walked quickly out of the room, slamming the door behind her.
What had she been thinking of? She’d been out of her mind to walk into his room and see him half-naked on the bed. A warmth in the pit of her stomach curled invitingly, and she remembered how lying next to him had been safe, secure, loving. The scent of his body lingering on the bedsheets, the feel of a strong arm wrapped around her waist.
“Stop it,” she told herself as she marched to the room designated as hers and closed the door behind her. She surveyed her surroundings with a critical eye. The bedside lamps were lit, and golden light glowed warmly against the pine-paneled walls. The hand-stitched quilt on the double bed had been turned down. “How thoughtful,” she grumbled, as if he could hear her as she stared at the plumped pillows. “But you forgot the mints!” She kicked off her sandals and padded barefoot against the smooth floor. The room was inviting, in an elemental sort of way, but she couldn’t forget that she had been shanghaied here against her will, even if, as Zane so emphatically insisted, her life were in danger.
She groaned at the thought of what would happen tomorrow morning when she didn’t arrive on the set of West Coast Morning. There would be chaos; her boss would be furious, and the phones at her apartment in San Francisco as well as at the beach house, would be ringing off the hook. Someone would call her sister, and Margot would worry herself sick.
“Oh, Lord, what a mess!” She grabbed a handful of hair and flung it over her shoulders as she padded to the closet and, out of curiosity, opened the door. An array of clothes—women’s clothes—filled every available space. Skirts, sweaters, jeans and slacks were draped on hangers or folded neatly on the shelves. So she hadn’t been the first, she thought cynically. Disappointment welled up in her, and she slammed the door shut. No time for sentimentality.
So Zane had a woman—or women. So what? She didn’t really believe that he’d lived the life of a monk, did she? It was only surprising that he would expect her to buy that whacked-out story, what with this closet chock-full of women’s things.
Flopping onto the mattress, she tossed one arm over her eyes, trying to relieve the headache that was pounding at her temples. Too much wine, too much fear and way too much Zane Flannery, she thought. But tomorrow she’d find a way to force him to take her back to Carmel or straight to San Francisco, back to her home, her job, her life without him.
She only had to get through one night of sleeping under the same roof with him. One night with him lying, stripped bare to the waist, on a king-size bed only a dozen feet away.
Stop it! she thought, squeezing her eyes shut against the pure, sensual vision of him sprawled lazily across the smooth eiderdown quilt.
She didn’t want him! She didn’t! And yet there was something so provocatively male and charming about him, that she wondered, just for a fleeting moment, what it would be like to love Zane again.
Tossing the quilt over her shoulders, she started counting slowly, hoping that sleep would envelop her and that by morning Zane would come to his senses!
* * *
Zane climbed out of bed and stared out the window. He wondered if he’d made a big mistake. He’d known she’d be angry, of course, even expected her temper to boil. But he hadn’t been prepared for her accusations cutting so close to the bone. Nor had he expected to want her so badly. Already he ached for her, and the thought of a night alone in the bed, with Kaylie only a few steps down the hall, would be torture.
From the foot of the bed, Franklin whined.
“Shh.” Zane patted the big dog’s head, then resumed his stance at the window, his thoughts drawn, as ever, to the only woman he’d ever loved.
She’d changed in the past seven years, he realized, placing one hand high on the window casing and leaning the side of his head against his arm. She’d grown up.
Gone was any trace of the naive young woman he’d married—the teenager who had made a string of semi-successful movies before Obsession.
No, this new woman was strong, forceful and well able to control her own life. He’d have to be on his toes, he thought as he stared moodily into the dense, inky forest, because if he let down his guard for a second, she’d find a way to escape and throw her life in jeopardy. She didn’t really believe that Johnston would be set free soon.
But Zane did.
He knew what it was like to have death take those he loved, and he was bound and determined that this time he’d thwart the grim reaper. Even if he had to keep Kaylie locked away for the next six months!
