Kansas?”
His sensual lips twitched. “Not quite.”
“So let me get this straight. You thought, ‘Gee, Lee Johnston’s about to be released from the hospital—this would be a great time to break into Kaylie’s house and take her to dinner in some restaurant in Timbuktu.’”
He grinned. “You’re astounding, Kaylie. The way you read me like a book,” he said sarcastically. “You know, that’s exactly what I thought!”
She rolled her eyes and held her tongue for the rest of the journey.
Two hours later, Kaylie’s stomach rumbled as she stepped out of his Jeep and eyed the restaurant he’d chosen. She’d expected him to take her to one of their old haunts along the waterfront in Carmel where they could eat seafood and laugh, drink a little wine and remember the good times—the few carefree times they’d shared as man and wife. When he’d mentioned the mountains, her interest had been piqued.
This place, this ivy-covered, two-storied house that looked as if it had been built before the turn of the century, wasn’t like Zane at all. Mystified, she walked up the worn steps to a wide plank porch. A few rockers moved with the wind, and leaves in the surrounding maple and ash trees rustled as they turned with the breeze. Quaint, she thought. And so unlike Zane.
She eyed him from beneath her lashes, but his strong features seemed relaxed, his face handsome and rakish, one thatch of dark hair falling over his eyes. He shoved the wayward lock from his forehead, but it fell back again, making him look less than perfect and all the more wonderful.
Get a grip, she reminded herself as they walked into the old house and Zane tied Franklin to a tree near the entrance.
“You sure he won’t scare the guests?” Kaylie asked.
“This ol’ boy? No way,” Zane said, rubbing the dog behind his ears.
Inside, a mâitre d’ escorted them to a small table in what once had been the parlor.
Zane ordered wine for them both, then after a waiter had poured them each a glass of claret, Zane touched his glass to hers. “To old times,” he said.
“And independence,” she replied.
They dined on fresh oysters, grilled scallops, vegetables and crusty warm bread. Zane’s features seemed sharper in the candlelight, his eyes a warmer shade of gray as he poured the last of the bottle into their glasses, then ordered another.
Conversation was difficult. Kaylie talked of work at the station; Zane listened, never contributing. As if in unspoken agreement, they didn’t discuss Lee Johnston.
“So where’d you get the dog?” she asked as he topped off her glass. She was beginning to relax as the wine seeped into her blood.
“He used to work for the police.”
“What happened—they fire him?”
“He retired.”
Kaylie stifled a yawn and tried not to notice the play of candlelight in his hair. “And you ended up with him.”
Zane shrugged. “We get along.”
“Better than we did?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and sipping from her glass.
“Much.”
“He must do just as you say.”
Zane’s teeth flashed in the soft light. “That’s about the size of it.”
Kaylie was caught up in the romantic mood of the old house with its wainscoted walls and flickering sconces. A fire glowed in the grate and no one else was seated in the small room, though there were four other tables near the windows.
“How’d you arrange this?” she asked, finishing her second—or was it her third?—glass of wine. Pinpoints of light reflected against the crystal.
“Arrange what?”
She motioned to the empty room. “The privacy.”
“Oh, connections,” he said offhandedly, and she was reminded again of how powerful he’d become as his security business had taken off and his clientele had expanded to the rich and famous. He’d opened an office that catered to Beverly Hills, another to Hollywood, as well as San Francisco, Portland, Seattle and on and on. In seven years his business had prospered, as if he’d thrown himself body and soul into the company after their divorce.
He refilled her glass. “I thought we should be alone.” “What? No bodyguards? No private investigators?” she teased, then regretted her sarcasm when his eyes darkened.
“I think we should declare a truce.”
“Is that possible for divorced people?” she asked, and watched as he twisted his wineglass in his fingers.
“Mature divorced people.”
“Oh, well, we’re that, aren’t we? And I guess you’re bodyguard enough, right?” She sipped the wine and felt a languid sleepiness run through her blood. Maybe she should slow down on the claret. It was just that she was so nervous around him. Her muscles relaxed, and she slumped lower in her chair, eyeing him over the rim of her glass. He was so handsome, so erotically male, so…dangerous to be around.
The waiter cleared their plates and brought coffee. He offered dessert, but both Zane and Kaylie declined.
“Well,” she said as Zane reached into his wallet for his credit card, “don’t forget the keys.”
“The what?”
“Your end of the bargain. The keys to my house.”
“Oh, right.” He dropped his credit card on the tray, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a key ring from which he extracted two keys. He slid them across the table. “There you go. Front door and garage.”
She could hardly believe it as she plopped the keys into her wallet. “No strings attached?”
Something flickered in his eyes, but quickly disappeared. “No strings.”
Kaylie felt a twinge of remorse for thinking so little of him. Why couldn’t she open her heart and trust him—just a little? Because she couldn’t trust herself around him, she thought with realistic fatalism.
They walked outside and into a balmy night. The sky had darkened, and jewel-like stars winked high over the mountains. Zane opened the Jeep door for Kaylie, and Franklin hopped onto the passenger seat, growling as Zane ordered him into the back.
“You’re in his space,” Zane explained. The dog jumped nimbly into the back seat, but his dark eyes followed Kaylie’s every move as she climbed inside.
“I don’t know if that’s so safe.”
“He’s fine. He likes you.”
“Oh, right.”
Once back on the road, Zane switched
