A Daring Vow (Vows) (13 page)

“Dear heaven, no,” he protested a little too vehemently, though a part of him prayed she wouldn’t listen. She had always been able to tempt him beyond reason, to make his breath lodge in his throat and his pulse race even as he tried his very best to cling to sanity. She was doing it again.

“Just one button,” she taunted, sliding one gold circle through its confining hole. The sedate fabric separated an indiscreet inch, just enough to tantalize, just enough to make his heart hammer with anticipation.

“Zelda.” It was an undeniable moan, not the sort of warning anyone would have taken seriously, least of all a woman like Zelda.

Instead of reaching for another of her own buttons, though, she began to dabble with his. Eyes sparkling with devilment stayed locked with his. She slipped her fingers inside his shirt, her nails skimming his chest in a gesture he could see was meant to be deliberately provocative. His whole body ached with the effort of trying to hide his response. Some things, however, couldn’t be hidden and Zelda knew, she
knew,
that it wouldn’t take much and he would be lost. They’d be making love on top of his desk, on the floor of his office, maybe both, before they were done. He wondered a little breathlessly if she’d dare, if he had the will left to stop her.

“Zelda, anyone could walk in at any second,” he protested.

She grinned unrepentantly. “Exciting, isn’t it?”

As a matter of fact, it was, but he could see that admitting to that would not slow things down. The woman was a danger junkie. She was already fiddling with his belt buckle, an action that made his blood pump harder and faster than a new strike in a Texas oil field.

Finally, reluctantly, with one ragged, indrawn breath, he reclaimed sanity the way an honorable, upright pillar of the community was supposed to. This wasn’t the time or the place. Nor was his hurting and their desire any reason to break a long-standing vow to keep his life on a steady, uneventful course. He’d had all the passion, all the unexpectedness, he could stand for one lifetime. Zelda promised more of both.

“I—I have a meeting,” he said, struggling with the lie.

“Where?” she inquired with blatant disbelief. She kept his calendar up to the minute with his appointments and he never, ever, slipped one in without telling her about it. It was an ingrained, orderly habit, and he knew she knew it.

“Somewhere, anywhere,” he muttered anyway, disengaging himself from the embrace and grabbing his jacket.

He practically bolted for the door, not daring to look back. Someday he’d have to explain, but not now. Now, if he stayed, explanations would be the last thing on his mind. In fact, he doubted if either of them would be doing any thinking at all. What they were feeling could keep them occupied—pleasantly, dangerously occupied—for days.

And it would be more wrong now than it had ever been.

Chapter Ten

W
ell, that was certainly fascinating, Zelda thought as she absentmindedly rebuttoned her jacket and straightened her skirt. For Taylor to lose control in the office, his feelings had to run a lot deeper than he was willing to admit. If it had been nothing more than lust, he probably would have fired her on the spot just to avoid further temptation.

The fact that he didn’t return to the office for the rest of the day didn’t particularly surprise her. He always had been one for sorting things out in private. If he considered succumbing to his emotions a weakness, then he’d go to any extreme to avoid having her witness another lapse. Witness? No. Instigate was more like it. She wondered how long he’d manage to stay away and bet herself it would be hours, rather than days.

The challenge of seeing to it that he lapsed quite a bit made her smile. In fact, it cheered her up so much that she bought another can of raspberry paint for the living room walls that she’d stripped of that dreary cabbage rose wallpaper over the weekend.

She had the stereo on full blast and was paint spattered from head to toe, when she sensed that she was no longer alone. In Los Angeles that awareness would have had her tumbling from atop the ladder in a panic. Now she merely glanced over her shoulder and grinned at her expected visitor.

“Hi, Taylor.”

Mouth gaping, he was staring not at her, but the walls. “What the hell kind of color is this?”

“Raspberry. Isn’t it wonderful?”

“That’s not the word I would have chosen.”

“Let me guess. Bright? Flamboyant?”

“How about blinding?”

“Wait until I get the new curtains up and re-cover the sofa. With a little white woodwork, it’ll be warm and cozy.”

“Warm and cozy?” he echoed skeptically. “Couldn’t you have picked some subtle, muted shade that’s a little easier on the eyes?”

“White, I suppose?”

“White, cream, gray.”

She grinned at him. “Boring. By the way, I don’t suppose you happened to notice that the outside is the same color.”

“No kidding!”

“Nope. Sarah Lynn’s reaction was a lot like yours. If this keeps up, I wouldn’t be surprised to have the mayor institute a new ordinance restricting the exterior paint on all houses to white after this.”

“Not altogether a bad idea,” Taylor said with feeling. “Look, have you had dinner? I was thinking maybe we ought to sit down and discuss what happened at work today.”

“You mean your father’s visit?” she said, being deliberately obtuse.

He scowled at her. “No. I think that pretty well spoke for itself. I meant what happened after that.”

“When I tried to seduce you?”

For an instant Taylor looked unnerved, then he laughed. “Ah, Zelda, you never did bother pulling punches, did you?”

She shrugged from her perch on the ladder. It gave her a sense of security sitting above him. Maybe she should insist on holding all conversations with her at this vantage point. “Never saw much point to hedging, especially not with you. You could always read my mind, anyway.”

“Maybe then. Not now.”

She gave him a slow, lingering perusal, head to toe and back again. “Oh, really?”

He gave a rueful, tolerant shake of his head. “Okay, I know what you’re thinking when you do that, but I don’t know why.”

She didn’t take his bewilderment seriously. He knew. He just didn’t want to admit it. “The usual reasons, I suppose,” she said evasively.

“Which are?”

“Okay, let me spell it out for you. You’re sexy. I want your body,” she retorted lightly. Then, because he once again looked so thoroughly disconcerted by her directness, her expression sobered. “Some things never change, Taylor.” She regarded him evenly. “Do they?”

His gaze locked with hers. For an instant the question appeared to have left him tongue-tied.

“No,” he admitted finally and with great reluctance. “I guess they never do.”

The admission hovered between them. Awareness hummed through the air. It took every last ounce of willpower Zelda possessed not to launch herself into his arms. But she was wise enough for once to see that Taylor was still struggling with some inner turmoil. She had to give him time to wrestle with it on his own.

At least through dinner.

“You still interested in dinner?” she said eventually. “I fixed some beef stew earlier. I’ll share, if you’ll help me paint.”

“I’m wearing a suit,” he said, as if that wasn’t already obvious.

The gray pinstripes were quietly tasteful and becoming. That didn’t stop her from wanting to strip him down to basics.

“You don’t have to be,” she taunted for the second time that day.

Taylor shook his head. “You never give up, do you?”

She nodded in agreement. “Not while there’s breath in my body.”

To her astonishment, Taylor shucked his jacket and shirt, an act that lacked the finesse of a Vegas stripper, but practically had her panting for more. Unfortunately, though, he stopped there.

“You’ll ruin those pants,” she warned, an undeniably hopeful note in her voice.

“It’s an old suit,” he retorted, shooting her a knowing look that made her blood heat. “Now give me a brush and let’s get this finished. I’m starved.”

Zelda was hungry, too, but beef stew was the last thing that appealed to her appetite. Why did it have to be this complex man with a will of iron who tantalized her? she wondered in dismay. There were successful, handsome, intelligent men in Los Angeles. Her boss’s new stepfather, who adored meddling, was more than willing to play matchmaker. But no, she had to come back to a town she hated and a man she had every reason to despise to rediscover this jittery, head-over-heels feeling again. Sometimes fate was a damned nuisance.

“Do you think we could turn the stereo down a little?” Taylor asked eventually. “They can probably hear it in the next county.”

She regarded him with a defiant tilt to her chin. “So what?”

Taylor opened his mouth, then clamped it shut again, apparently recognizing a challenge no matter how it was phrased. Whatever argument had been on the tip of his tongue, he kept to himself. Zelda winked at him. “That’s more like it,” she told him approvingly.

Taylor’s expression underwent a slow transformation from indignation to something far more dangerous. He gestured to her, a provocative come-hither wave of his fingers. “Come down off that ladder.”

Zelda was no slouch when it came to recognizing a dare, either. She shook her head, just to see how far Taylor was willing to go. “Uh-uh,” she said piously. “I’ve got work to do. So do you.”

“Now who’s being stuffy, Ms. Lane? Remember this song?”

Zelda hadn’t really been paying that much attention to which albums were blaring from the stereo. She just liked all that cheerful noise, that throbbing rhythm. Now she listened more closely and recognized a song that she and Taylor had once claimed as their own. It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t subtle. In fact, the provocative rhythm was as daring as their love had once been.

“Come on, sugar,” he taunted with that lazy drawl that snaked along her spine like pure desire. “Let’s see if you’ve still got those moves.”

A deliberate challenge could only be resisted for so long. With her gaze locked with Taylor’s, Zelda descended from the ladder. He reached for her hand the instant her feet hit the floor and spun her around. His hips swayed seductively. Hers matched the music’s beat. His shoulders counterpointed the rhythm. Relaxing into the music, hers mimicked his. The moves were graceful and as natural as if they’d been practicing them every day of their lives. They circled the room, intent on capturing the music’s boldly provocative essence.

Zelda could feel the rhythm deep inside her, its tug almost sexual, especially with Taylor’s appreciative gaze lingering on the rise and fall of her breasts, the sensual movements of her hips. Without even touching, they turned the dance into something intimate, four minutes of pure heat that teased the senses and invited acts far more exciting.

When the song ended, they faced each other, breathless, exhilarated, and wanting the one thing neither of them dared. Zelda knew that it would take no more than one gesture—a hand extended, a single step—and they would be making love, turning that subtle, smoldering heat into a blazing fire from which there would be no turning back.

“We’re playing with fire,” Taylor said softly, as if he’d read her mind.

“Is there some reason we shouldn’t?” she asked, her own voice husky with unspoken needs.

Taylor sighed. “I can think of dozens.”

“Name one.”

“I have a daughter.”

“Who’s not in this room.”

“I have nothing to offer. I can’t make you pretty promises. It would be just like before. We’d have this
fling,
get our emotions all tangled up, and then I’d end up hurting you.”

“Are you so sure of that?” she said, defeated by his apparent certainty.

Taylor nodded, his eyes bleak. “It’s what I do best,” he said, reaching for his shirt and jacket.

He didn’t stop to pull either of them on, just brushed a kiss across Zelda’s forehead and walked out, leaving her alone again. And filled with yearning.

Not even that bright pink paint was a match for the depression that settled over her.

* * *

“Zelda, it’s Caitlin. Remember?”

Zelda recognized not only the name, but the loneliness and wistful cry for attention in the child’s tone. “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, shifting the phone to her other ear so she could write down a message. “Did you want to talk to your father? He’s out of the office right now.”

“I wanted to talk to you,” Caitlin said. “Did you forget we were going to go shopping?”

Zelda hadn’t forgotten, but she had been putting it off. With everything between her and Taylor growing more awkward day by day thanks to the undeniable and powerful reawakening of their hormones, she hadn’t wanted to complicate things even further by getting too close to his daughter.

“I’ve been so busy the last couple of weeks, I haven’t been able to get a single minute free. I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Caitlin’s voice sank dispiritedly. “I guess if you’re too busy, I could call Grandmother.”

Of all the things Caitlin might have said, she’d managed to pick the one guaranteed to get Zelda’s attention. “No,” she said hurriedly, imagining another one of those proper little outfits. “A promise is a promise. Tomorrow’s Saturday. Would that be a good day?”

“Are you sure there’s still time to make a dress before next weekend? That’s when my party is.”

“That will be plenty of time. I’ll call your headmistress as soon as we hang up and make the arrangements for tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at nine so we’ll have the whole day.”

“You don’t need to call,” Caitlin said. “She’s right here. She let me use her phone.”

Zelda grinned. “Put her on, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”

After the arrangements were finalized and Zelda had hung up, she sat back and mentally congratulated Caitlin. Even at seven, she was a kid who knew exactly what she wanted and how to go about getting it. Maybe there was a lesson or two she could learn from the pint-size strategist.

At eight the next morning she grabbed her keys and headed for the door. Before she could reach it, someone knocked. Force of habit made her peek through the curtains to see who it was. Taylor stood on the porch wearing jeans, a blue oxford-cloth shirt open at the throat, and a khaki jacket. Trying to hide her astonishment, she opened the door.