Under Her Spell (15 page)

"What are you planning to do today?" she asked at last, to break the silence.

"Catch up on my reading, I suppose," Zach answered, staring out the kitchen window at the steady, pounding rain and the tree branches swaying wildly in the wind. "I won't go out hiking, that's for sure. I might start work on my column. The deadline's coming up fast."

Bryony didn't need to ask what he would write about. The agreed-upon week and a half wouldn't be up until Sunday night, but it was a forgone conclusion. Her love potion hadn't worked its magic -- on Zach, at least.

After breakfast, Bryony took a long, hot bath and then pulled on slacks and a thick green turtleneck sweater. She plaited her hair into a casual braid and sat down to do the accounting for Heart's Desire.

Bryony was slightly cheered to discover that, as she expected, the shop had turned a tidy profit in the past few months. Most of the mail-order items sold well. She decided
to add to the aromatherapy line and discontinue the jade
buddhas
, which had disappointing sales. After faxing in a few order sheets and tidying up her inventory list, she sighed and pushed herself away from her desk.

All in all, it had proved a productive morning. Still, Zach was a distraction. Even though she couldn't hear him or see him, she could still sense his presence in the house. He was like a tickle in the back of her throat -- barely there, but something she couldn't seem to ignore.

She kept flashing back to the night before, all of the flooding emotion and delicious sensation that had rocked her safe, comfortable world. She had never known any man who affected her the way Zach did. He made her furious, he made her crazy, and he made her want him.

She paced her office, irritable and frustrated. She'd never felt so out of control. Part of her wanted Zach to pack up and get out of her life before he could hurt her any more. The rest wanted him to stay forever, no matter what the terms. She couldn't stop remembering the raw desire in his eyes when he had undressed her in front of the fire, or the clean, masculine lines of his body when he stood naked before her.

Finally, Bryony could bear it no longer. She had to get out of the house. The rain had slacked off a little, though the wind whipping through the treetops was fiercer than ever. She rummaged in her closet until she found a long red raincoat. Shrugging it on, she started down the stairs. A short walk on the beach would make her feel better. At least it would help her work off some of the nervous energy.

Zach sat on the living room couch, his black leather briefcase open beside him and piles of paper stacked on the table. He looked up. "You're not going out?" he asked. "It's pretty nasty out there." Concern shone in his dark eyes.

Bryony pulled her thick red-gold braid out from under the hood and flung it over her shoulder. "I need to get some fresh air," she said. "I hate being cooped up here. Besides,
its
nearly stopped raining."

"But the storm's not over," Zach said. "It could start pouring again any minute."

Bryony frowned. He had no right to tell her what to do. "A little rain won't hurt me," she said. "I'm just going for a quick walk down the beach. I think I can manage."

"Let me go with you," Zach said, standing up.

Bryony groaned to herself. That was the last thing she wanted. The whole point was to get away from Zach for a while, so she could think clearly. "I'd prefer if you didn't," she said, more stiffly than she'd intended.

A slightly hurt look flitted over Zach's handsome face, but he recovered quickly. "Fine. Have a nice walk." He sat down and bent his head over his papers again.

"Goodbye, then," she said.

"What? Oh. Goodbye," Zach answered, barely looking up from the article he was reading.

It was Bryony's turn to feel slighted. She let the front door shut hard behind her. Slamming the door was childish, but there was some satisfaction in allowing the howling, blustering wind to do it for her.

Outside, she breathed in the rain-soaked air as it drove its icy spray against her cheeks. Leaves skittered against her feet. Her shoes were already damp. Bryony pulled the raincoat tight about her body and tied the belt against the cold.

By the time she made it to the deserted beach, she was muddy up to her ankles and cold enough to consider turning back. But she couldn't bear the thought of Zach laughing at her and saying he'd warned her, so she pressed on.

Dark, ominous clouds blocked out the sun. The waves hammering the shore were steel gray and capped with white foam. The sea rushed at her again and again, only to withdraw just before it could sweep her away.

Bryony shoved her hands in the pockets of her coat and walked north toward the promontory jutting out into the ocean. Despite the wind and driving rain, she was glad to be outside. With each step she took, she left Zach further behind. With each step, she was more convinced that she had done the right thing in salvaging her pride. She couldn't stand for Zach to look at her with pity in his eyes.

And yet . . . it hurt, disavowing the most powerful emotion she'd ever experienced. It hurt to deny her love for him. When he left Cypress Point on Sunday, the pain would only grow worse.

Bryony swept back the wet tendrils of hair that had escaped her braid. She wanted to cry, to scream, to throw a vase against the wall. Fortunately, there was no expensive crystal on hand at the moment. She'd have to settle for walking faster and faster until she managed to exhaust herself.

When she looked up again, she was astonished to find that she'd already reached the promontory. It felt like she'd just left the house. She'd been lost in thought, not realizing how much ground she had covered. Now she would have to turn back, whether she was ready or not.

"I won't," she muttered to herself. She still couldn't stand to face Zach. She didn't even want to be in the same house with him. Experimentally, she clambered up one of the smaller rocks at the base of the cliff. The rock was slick with rain, but she managed it. From her perch on top, she could see over the promontory to the tiny, protected beach on the other side.

It was foolish to even think of crossing to the hidden beach. The tide was still low, but it would begin to turn very soon. The rocks were wet and treacherous, the
tidepools
full to overflowing. Bryony knew she should turn back. It was the sensible thing to do.

But she didn't feel sensible today. She felt wild and reckless.

With the rain on her face and the rocks rough under her hands, she pulled herself up the base of the promontory. She'd climbed it a thousand times, with Vivien and alone. There was no real danger, she told herself, as long as she watched the tide. Besides, the view was spectacular. She could see the gunmetal-gray waves pounding against the cliffs to the north. The brooding sky stretched out forever to the horizon. A lone seagull wheeled and cried out far above her.

Bryony picked her way along the rocky path, avoiding the
tidepools
and grabbing hold of the tallest rocks for support. Keeping her balance took her full concentration. It was a relief to think of something other than the terrible mess she'd got herself into with Zach. Once or twice she slipped a little, and almost fell, but each time she was able to right herself again.

When she reached the isolated beach at last, she settled beneath a rocky ledge with her back to the cliff. The wind was less fierce in this protected spot. The ledge sheltered her from most of the rain. It was so quiet here, so peaceful. Bryony relaxed at last, letting the tensions seep from her knotted muscles.

She remembered a family picnic long ago, on a bright sunny spring day. While she and Vivien played at the water's edge, dribbling wet sand from their fists to create fairy-tale castles, their parents lay together on a blanket talking softly. Bryony could almost hear the echoes of her mother's bursts of joyful laughter punctuating the conversation. Every so often her father would lean over and kiss her mother gently on the mouth.

Bryony clenched her fists, tears clouding her eyes. She blinked until the hot tears rolled down her cheeks. She had spent her life afraid that she would never love anyone the way her parents had loved each other. Now there was Zach, and she almost wished she'd never met him. She hadn't known love could be so painful. She pulled her knees against her chest and leaned her forehead against them.

When Bryony looked up again, much later, she realized she must have dozed off. The waves were breaking almost at her feet. The tide was nearly in. Water pooled in the depressions near the rocky base of the promontory, blocking her escape. How long had she sat there on the hidden beach? Panic swelled in her throat. Her heart began to race. She scrambled up, cursing herself for being so stupid, so unforgivably careless.

People got caught by the tide all the time, but they were usually tourists. They didn't know any better. Bryony had grown up in Cypress Point. She'd spend her life on the beach. There was no excuse for her lapse of judgment.

She told herself to stay calm. All she had to do was climb back over the rocks before the sea could cover them. The tide was rising, but the surf wasn't crashing against the cliff just yet. There was still time.

Seawater swirled about her ankles as she waded in. The water was breathtakingly cold. It rose to her knees, and then her thighs. The current tugged at her body. Bryony's heart thudded in her chest. She was a strong swimmer, but the storm had whipped the ocean into
a frenzy
. She reached the rocks and strained to pull herself up. The sea let her go with great reluctance.

Soaked and shivering, she lay still for a moment to catch her breath. Then she rose slowly to her feet. She wasn't home yet.

She worked her way toward safety, watching the advancing tide through the corner of her eye. Within minutes, she would be trapped. Yet she didn't dare move too quickly. If she slipped and fell on the impossibly slick rocks, it might be the last step she ever took.

The strongest waves were reaching her now, sliding beneath her feet and dragging at the hem of her pants. She began to move a little faster, but her progress was agonizingly slow. Now the water covered her shoes and crept higher, toward her knees.

When she was nearly across, she saw with a feeling of despair that a wide expanse of churning water cut her off from the safety of the beach. If she could time it just right, as the waves pulled back, she might get across without having to swim. But if she was too slow, and the sea caught her -- oh, God, she hardly dared think of it.

She saw herself dragged out into the raging silver sea, struggling against the pull of the current. It would dash her against the rocks. She thought of how her parents had died. Would the sea claim her life too? A sob of despair tore at her throat. She didn't want to drown. Her life had barely begun. It couldn't end today, in the storm-tossed waters of the ocean she had always loved.

Bryony pressed her lips together and gathered her courage. She wouldn't give up, not now when it counted. This was no time to think of death. She needed all of her energy to hold onto life.

She took another step, pressing herself against the cliff wall, clutching at a protruding rock.
Its
rough surface scraped the skin from her palm. The rock came loose, and with a cry she felt herself falling. She scrabbled desperately for a hand hold and, just before she lost her balance, gratefully found one. But not before her foot caught in a water-covered crack and she twisted her ankle sharply.  

The pain made her gasp aloud. There was no time to nurse the injury. She tried to lift the twisted ankle and found, to her utter
horror, that
she could not. Her high-top sneaker was wedged firmly into the crack.

With trembling hands, she bent to unlace the shoe and free her foot. Her numb fingers fumbled with the laces and managed to undo them. She tugged at her foot again. Agony flared through her ankle, but she ignored it and yanked again.

It was no use. She couldn't get free. And the tide was rising.

Zach frowned at the pile of papers in front of him on the mahogany table. Bryony still wasn't back. It was raining hard now. The wind roared through the trees near the house. He tried to concentrate on an article about an astrologer who advised presidents and movie stars, but it was no use. Again and again, he found himself listening for the sound of Bryony at the door.

What was it about her? He kept seeing her serenely beautiful face glowing with passion as she lay back against the very couch where he was sitting now. He'd never been with a more sensual, responsive woman. The wonder and tenderness in her eyes had aroused him more than he'd imagined possible.

  Even thinking about the night before made him curse himself. Never in his life had Zachary Callahan refused to make love to a beautiful, willing woman. He'd never imagined such a situation could present itself. All night he had tossed and turned, aching with his need for her.

He'd analyzed the situation so many times his head ached from it. Half a dozen times, he had thought about going up to her room, knocking on the door, and telling her he'd changed his mind. As she'd reminded him, she was an adult capable of making up her own mind. If she'd decided she wanted him, he needn't hold himself back. Then, this
morning, everything was different. Bryony was so cool, so distant. He'd been oddly disappointed to hear that she didn't love him after all.