The Virgin and Zach Coulter (10 page)

“Don't try to change the subject,” he told her. “You let him touch you.”

“What?” She stared at him, startled, before collecting herself. “Of course I let him touch me, we were dancing. It's kind of hard to do that without touching.”

“You know what I mean,” he said with a frown. “He's always touching you, brushing your hair back, resting
a hand at your waist.” He leaned closer, stared directly into her eyes and said with emphasis, “He's marking you, getting you used to him. This is the courtship dance, Cynthia.”

“This isn't courtship,” she denied swiftly. “And what do you mean he's marking me? What am I, a horse he's breaking?”

“Protest all you want, Cynthia, but I'm a guy and I know all the signs. He wants you.”

“What's wrong with that?”

“Not a thing. Zach's one of the best men I know. I'm just not sure he's the one for you. You could get hurt, Cynthia. He'll be leaving once the Lodge is up and running—and I'm afraid he'll break your heart when he goes.”

Grady's blue eyes held a wealth of concern. Cynthia leaned forward and hugged him, pressed an affectionate kiss against his cheek.

“Bless you, Grady. For caring enough to worry about me. I know Zach won't stay in Indian Springs. But he's the first man I've ever felt this way about.” She looked at him, willing him to understand. “I'm tired of always being cautious and safe, Grady, I want to take chances. And I want to take them with Zach.”

Grady stared at her for a long moment, searching her eyes while worry roiled in his. Then he sighed, patted her arm and sighed loudly once more. “All right. I'd say you've earned the right to kick over the traces and go a little wild. And you couldn't do it with anyone I trust more than I do Zach. But don't fall in love with him,” he warned her. “Because if you do and he breaks your heart, I'm gonna have to defend your honor and to
tell you the truth.” He lowered his voice to a dramatic whisper. “I'm not sure I can take him.”

Cynthia laughed, wiped the misty tears from her eyelashes and hugged his shoulders once more.

“Hey, what are you doing with my girl, Grady?”

The two looked up to see Zach nearing the table, several longneck bottles of beer in one hand and a margarita in the other.

Later that night, after several hours of dancing followed by a stop at the restaurant next door with the rest of the group, Zach insisted on following Cynthia home.

She pulled into her driveway and he parked behind her car, walking beside her as they climbed the steps to her porch.

“Why is it so dark out here?” he asked. “Don't you have a porch light?”

“I forgot to turn it on before I left the house tonight,” she told him, slipping the key into the lock and twisting. The door moved smoothly inward without a creak, the interior dark and quiet. “Thanks for following me home, Zach,” she said, turning to look up at him.

“No problem,” he said. The shadows on the porch wrapped them in intimacy. “I'd ask you to invite me in, but I don't think you're ready to say yes.” He settled his hands on either side of her waist and gently tugged until her hips snugged against his, her thighs pressed to the long muscles of his. Her hands lifted to settle on his forearms. “Soon, maybe, but not yet,” he murmured regretfully. “So I'll settle for a good-night kiss.”

He bent his knees, bringing her closer, and covered her mouth with his.

Her fingers tightened on his arms for a moment, but as his lips moved persuasively against hers, she gave in to what they both wanted and slid her arms around his neck, going up on her toes to press her mouth tighter against his.

The fusion of their mouths grew hotter, seconds spinning out. They were both breathless when Zach took his mouth from hers, his hands tightening before he released her. With obvious reluctance, he reached behind her and pushed the door inward.

“I'll see you Monday morning,” he told her, his voice gravelly with arousal. “Wear jeans. We'll go riding again.”

“All right,” she murmured, still dazed from his kiss.

Gently, he moved her across the door sill. He pressed one last swift, hard kiss against her mouth.

“Lock the door,” he told her.

She nodded and when he pulled the door shut, she twisted the dead bolt. It wasn't until the lock clicked closed that she heard his footsteps echoing on the wooden porch boards as he left.

She pulled aside the lace curtain on the long, narrow window next to the door to watch as he climbed into his truck and backed out of her driveway. Seconds later, he drove away, the taillights on the pickup winking red as he turned at the end of her block and disappeared.

She didn't realize she was smiling until she was in her bathroom, stripping off her clothes and donning pajamas, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the vanity.

Her hair was mussed, her eyes glowing and her mouth faintly swollen and bare of lipstick.

Despite her conflicted feelings about Zach and all the reasons she knew she was playing with fire by flirting with him, she couldn't regret anything about the night.

The laughter, fun and excitement of spending the evening with Zach had been exactly what she'd always hoped for when she'd dated other men—and never found.

She'd known he was dangerous the first time she saw him.

She just hadn't realized how much danger he might pose to her own heart.

D
etermined to maintain a professional approach with Zach while at work, Cynthia arrived at the Triple C on Monday to find that the workmen had finished restoring the Lodge office. By 10:00 a.m., all her files and other paraphernalia had been moved out of the dining room at the ranch house and she was settled into her permanent office at the Lodge. Satellite hookups for television and internet had been installed and the kitchen renovation was nearly finished.

With a working bathroom and kitchen, and with the internet connected and functioning, she settled in and was soon immersed in work.

It wasn't until later that afternoon that she realized Zach had moved into the newly completed chef's apartment, located off the back of the kitchen.

“Why are you staying down here instead of up at the house?” she asked as they waited for coffee to
brew, leaning against the counter in the kitchen as they talked.

“One of the electricians drove in early this morning and surprised a couple of coyotes near the building supplies stacked on the porch. They ran off when he drove up but I think it's best if I don't leave the Lodge empty at night.” He waved a hand at the gleaming professional kitchen. “I've got all the comforts of home with the added benefit of zero commute to work.”

“I'm not sure that's such a good thing,” she said drily. “If you actually live on-site, when will you ever stop working?”

“Good point.” He folded his arms across his chest and shook his head ruefully. “I suppose the honest answer is never.”

“Exactly.”

The coffeemaker beeped, signaling the end of the brewing cycle, and they filled coffee mugs and left the kitchen. Just before they parted, he brushed his hand lightly over her shoulder and murmured he would see her later. Cynthia turned right down the hallway to her office, Zach turning left to the lobby and she couldn't help remembering Grady's words.

You let him touch you.

Until Grady pointed it out, Cynthia hadn't noticed how often Zach reached out and touched her hair, brushed his fingertips over her shoulder, or rested a hand on her waist when she walked in front of him. She'd never allowed the intimacy with any other male acquaintance. But now that she had with Zach, she found she looked forward to those careful, gentle touches.

Was she letting him slowly but surely seduce her?

Over the next week, Cynthia discovered that working in the same building with Zach was both wonderful and torturous. The weather turned hot, temperatures climbing, and since the air-conditioning wasn't yet functioning in the Lodge, the workers shed T-shirts.

The first time Cynthia walked out of her office and saw Zach shirtless, clad only in boots, jeans and a tool belt, sweat gleaming on his bare chest and arms, she caught her breath and stopped in her tracks. Fortunately, he wasn't looking at her and by the time he turned around, she'd managed to breathe once more and compose her expression. Still, every time she saw him without his shirt, she had to force herself to remember not to stare.

The Lodge was looking better every day. Each morning when Cynthia walked in, she was struck anew by how truly lovely the old building was. Seeing it regain its grace and grandeur was a joy that made reporting for work each day a pleasure, especially when she knew she'd played a key role.

Determined to finish the last ten items on her to-do list, Friday afternoon found Cynthia still at her desk when the construction crew left at six. Absorbed in her work, she had no concept of time slipping by until a rap sounded on the door.

Startled, Cynthia looked up and saw Zach in the doorway. His black hair gleamed, still damp from his shower, and he was dressed in clean jeans, a black T-shirt and boots.

“Are you almost finished? It's after eight o'clock.”

Cynthia glanced at her watch and realized he was
right. The two hours since she'd last checked her watch had flown by. “I lost track of time.”

“Sign off for the night and come have dinner with me. Mariah dropped off a plate of fried chicken earlier and a bowl of potato salad from the café.”

“Yum.” Cynthia realized she was starving. “Did she bring dessert from the café?” she asked hopefully.

“Chocolate cake,” he said with a grin, “with fudge frosting.”

Cynthia nearly groaned. “I'll be right there. I just have to log off.”

“Hurry up. If you take too long, I'm eating the cake,” he warned.

“No!” she called after him as he disappeared from the doorway. She heard his bootsteps retreating down the hall, followed by muted sounds of activity as cabinets and cupboards opened and closed.

She entered the kitchen several minutes later, after tidying her desk and stopping in the hall bathroom to freshen her lipstick and run a comb through her loose hair.

Silverware and napkins marked place settings at the island and two stemmed glasses sat next to an uncorked bottle of wine. The volume on the radio/CD player installed above a desk tucked into the far corner of the big room was turned down low, and a muted saxophone growled from the local blues station.

Zach turned from the refrigerator just as she walked in. He balanced a foil-covered plate on top of a covered casserole dish in one hand and a large bowl of salad in the opposite palm.

“Let me help you with that.” Cynthia hurried to lift
the plate from atop the dish and set it on the counter. “I'll get plates and salad bowls.”

They sat side by side on stools at the island counter as they ate.

“I really like this dinnerware we chose,” Cynthia commented. “How about you?”

“I like it fine.” His lips quirked in a smile. “But it's a stretch to say ‘we' as if I had anything to do with it.”

“You said you liked this pattern,” she protested.

“I asked you which one you liked best, you told me this one, and I said ‘me, too,'” he corrected. “And I'm not criticizing, I'm eternally grateful that you have good taste, because trust me,” he added earnestly, “I do
not
want to choose china and silverware. Or towels or sheets.”

“What about drapes?” she asked, amused by the grimace that followed her question. “I guess not, huh?”

“Definitely not.” He picked up the bottle and poured the remaining chenin blanc into their glasses. “I'm happy to help pick the wine, if that helps.”

She nodded. “I'll make a note that you've volunteered.” Lifting her glass and sipping, she let her gaze move over the room, noting the details. “The kitchen turned out beautifully. I can hardly believe you finished it so quickly. Do you have a guess as to when the rest of the Lodge will be ready?”

“Two weeks, maybe three.” His gaze followed hers, assessing the space.

“That's sooner than I thought. I'd better move the search for a chef to the top of my list.”

“Do you have any names on the list?” he asked as they finished dinner and dessert.

“A few,” she said. “I've been talking to friends at the other hotels where I've worked, then running background and reference checks on the people they've recommended. Some of them sound interesting, but I haven't set up interviews yet. I also thought it might be good to search in the surrounding counties here in Montana.”

He nodded his approval, his wineglass cradled in one hand. “Sounds good to me. I like employing locals if possible. Have you found any candidates closer to home?”

“The owner of the Indian Springs Café highly recommended a woman named Jane Howard. Evidently she grew up on a ranch in the area, but was gone for several years, then returned and has worked her way up through the ranks to assistant chef at the Black Bear Restaurant in Indian Springs.”

“Why don't we check her out this weekend? I'll pick you up tomorrow at seven and we'll have dinner at the Black Bear, then catch a movie.”

And just that quickly, the easy interchange between them shifted, suddenly charged with sexual tension that thickened the air until Cynthia could barely breathe.

She'd thought about this, about how she would answer if he asked her to go out with him. She reminded herself that a date was just a part of the courtship dance Grady had alluded to—not a promise she would end the evening in bed with him.

“I'd like that,” she murmured, her voice husky.

His eyes flared, widened before they narrowed, the gleam of satisfaction clearly readable along with heat.
“Good.” He leaned forward, brushing a kiss against her mouth. “It'll be fun.”

“Yes,” she told him when his lips left hers. She slid off her stool, gathered up dishes and walked across the black-and-white tile to the sink. “We can check out Jane Howard's cooking at the same time we're checking out the competition in the Black Bear.”

“I was thinking more along the lines of enjoying each other's company,” he drawled, collecting the rest of the dirty china and joining her. He set the plates on the counter next to the sink and slid his arms around her waist, her back against his chest, and bent to press a kiss against the sensitive skin beneath her ear. “Much as I admire your devotion to your job, I'd like to forget it for one night.”

“Do you think we can?” She turned her head to meet his gaze, their faces barely inches apart.

“Yeah,” he said with slow certainty. “I'm sure we can.”

He turned her to face him, one hand tangling in her hair to gently tug her head back, turning her face up to his before he kissed her.

Cynthia wrapped her arms around him and kissed him back, willingly following where he led, totally absorbed and lost in the sheer pleasure of his mouth on hers, his hard body wrapped around hers. He was seducing her every time he kissed her. She knew it. She couldn't bring herself to care.

The phone rang, the sound breaking the taut quiet, then rang again.

Zach lifted his head with a frustrated growl and stretched over the counter to reach the portable phone
he'd set there earlier. He glanced at the caller ID and thumbed the speaker button.

“Hey, Cade, what's up?” Zach nuzzled the tender skin beneath Cynthia's ear. She shivered and tilted her head to the side to allow him better access.

“We've found Brodie.” Cade's deep voice sounded loud in the quiet room.

Zach froze, his lips pressed against the vulnerable curve of Cynthia's soft throat, his arms tightening around her. Then he lifted his head.

“Where?”

“He's in a rehab unit in Ukiah, California. The detective used the information Angela found and visited him there. Whoever checked Brodie in used the wrong name on the hospital records—they have him listed as J. C. Brodie.”

“Is he all right?” Zach's muscles were tight, tensed against hers.

Cynthia held her breath, praying Zach's younger brother wasn't badly hurt.

“The detective says he was thrown by a bull at a rodeo held at a ranch near Ukiah. There was already unhealed damage from a prior injury—I'm guessing from the fall he took in New Mexico earlier. His right leg is in traction.”

“How bad is it?”

“I don't know. The detective asked, but Brodie wouldn't give him any details. He told him to pass the word to us that he's okay, but he'll be laid up for a while and he doesn't know when he'll be able to get back here. The detective said Brodie wanted him to tell us he'll call.”

“Huh.” Zach was silent, tension coming off him in waves.

Cynthia slid her fingers through the thick hair at his nape in an unconscious effort to soothe.

“I don't believe him,” Zach said after a moment. “Something's wrong. My gut's telling me we should get on a plane and fly to California.”

“I thought you'd say that. My gut's telling me the same thing. I'm hanging up and phoning the airline. I'll call you back with the flight times.”

“I'll pack my bag.”

The click as Cade cut the connection was audible over the speaker phone and Zach stretched once more to switch off the receiver.

“You have to go,” Cynthia said softly. She tipped her head back to search his face. To anyone else, she knew his expression might seem smooth and calm, but she'd come to know him over the past few weeks. She clearly read the worry in his darkened green eyes, the small, almost unnoticeable flex of a muscle along his jawline, the faint tightening of the line of his mouth.

“Yeah, I have to go.” He cupped her face in his palm and pulled her closer. From thigh, waist, breast to chest, they were pressed together, the heat pouring off his much bigger body, warming her. He bent to brush kisses over the curve of her cheek, the arch of her cheekbone and brow, the sensitive corner of her mouth. “Remember where we left off,” he said. “When I get back, I want to pick up exactly where we stopped.” And his mouth took hers, the kiss holding frustration beneath a promise of pleasure and seduction.

When at last he lifted his head, they were both
breathing faster and Cynthia echoed his obvious reluctance when he drew her arms from his neck and stepped back.

An hour later, he was gone, heading for the Turner ranch with Cade, where Grady would use his Cessna to fly them to the airport in Billings. From there, they would catch a commercial flight to California.

 

With Zach gone, Cynthia thought the Lodge seemed curiously empty, the energy muted in the big building despite the continued sound of carpenters hammering and delivery trucks coming and going.

On Monday, she drove downtown to run errands before heading to the Triple C for the day. She stopped at the library to collect an armload of cookbooks she wanted to skim before beginning her search for a chef to run the Lodge's kitchen. She had several more stops on her list, each of which took longer than she'd intended. When she glanced at her watch, she realized it was nearly noon and with quick decision, she parked down the block from the Indian Springs Café and stepped onto the sidewalk.