17
M
andy was reading over her discharge papers when she heard footsteps approaching. Hoping it was Sarah, coming to take her home, she glanced up.
Zane?
Ohmygod, what’s
he
doing here?
His jaw was clenched.
His eyes were dark.
“Hi,” she said, not bothering to hide her surprise.
“Sarah called me.”
“Oh?”
He moved closer, stopping next to her bed. “She asked me to take you home, said she wasn’t able to locate your extra set of keys.”
“She could’ve had her friend Valdez drive her over to the office. She left her car there.”
Zane shrugged. “Maybe she was busy. Maybe they both were.” He leaned in, brushing his mouth over hers. “You’re hurt.”
“I’m okay. Just a little bruised and sore.” Mandy fingered her jaw. “I was punched in the face. By a woman. The doctors think I might have a slight concussion.”
“Hmmm. If that’s the case, you shouldn’t be alone tonight.” His eyes twinkled, the dark shadows fading slightly.
“Are you volunteering to stay with me?”
“I might be.” He glanced around. “Are you finished?”
“I think so. They gave me my discharge instructions.” She waved the papers.
“Good.” He offered her a hand. “Let’s get out of here.”
Cautiously, she slid to her feet. Zane wrapped an arm around her waist, giving her plenty of support as she walked out to the lobby. He left her waiting outside, in a wheelchair, while he dashed out to his parked car. A few minutes later, she was safe and sound in his sleek sports car as it prowled the streets.
At Main Street, Zane made a wrong turn. Had he forgotten where she lived?
“Um, you needed to take a left,” she said.
“I’m not taking you to your house. You’re staying at mine.”
This was one of those moments when she wasn’t so sure she liked that dominant, take-charge air he carried. She was exhausted. She was sore. She felt sick to her stomach. In summary, she had been looking forward to falling into her own bed, wearing her own pajamas ... though she was over-the-moon thrilled to see Zane again. The problem was, she was in no condition to deal with all the emotions his presence stirred up. “I’ll be okay. You can take me home.”
“You’ll stay with me.”
Sarah, why’d you call Zane instead of coming up and getting me yourself?
Feeling conflicted, Mandy crossed her arms over her chest and stared out the window. The landscape changed as the car carried her farther from her home. The retail stores lining both sides of the street grew bigger and bigger, finally disappearing as the landscape turned rural. And when he turned onto the street taking them deeper into his neighborhood, the houses grew larger and larger, the wooded lots getting deeper and deeper until you couldn’t see the houses from the road anymore.
Zane’s car turned onto the long winding drive curving up to his house. He parked directly in front of the door, strode around the vehicle to open her door, and offered a supporting arm as she climbed out.
She’d been here before. But that had been during parties. The house had been packed with other people. Noisy. And full of life and laughter and music. Tonight when they stepped inside, the building was unsettlingly silent and empty and dark.
For the first time, she wondered what it might feel like for Zane to live in such an enormous place by himself. Did the echoing
click, click, click
of his heels on the stone floor make him feel cold and lonely? Did the dark rooms, empty, abandoned, leave him feeling abandoned and empty, too?
He escorted her up the stairs. But to her surprise, he bypassed his bedroom, taking her to the room next to it. Inside, he led her to a large, comfortable-looking bed, piled high with pillows. After she sat, he asked, “What do you normally sleep in?”
“Something comfy—a pair of shorts and a T-shirt.”
“I’ll see what I can find.” He strolled across the room, opening a door positioned on the wall that adjoined his suite. “You have your own private bathroom. I have brand-new toothbrushes, toothpaste, and other personal items in the linen closet. I keep a supply for party guests who wish to stay overnight.”
“Thanks.” Mandy headed toward the bathroom, very aware of how close to Zane she was walking when she neared the door.
He caught her arm as she brushed past him, pulling her into a tight embrace. He cradled her head gently. Silently screaming with glee, she flattened it against his chest and slid her arms around his waist. He was warm and strong, and yet he seemed, for the first time, to be visibly shaken.
Was he upset about her injury? Had he been missing her as much as she’d been missing him? How much did he care for her?
If only he knew how to express himself.
She closed her eyes and relaxed. This felt so good, so right.
He was the one to release her. Stepping backward, into the bathroom, she gazed into his eyes. They were full of dark shadows again, like always.
“I’ll be back.” He strode out of the room.
Very confused now, Mandy watched him leave before going into the bathroom to take care of her bedtime routine.
That was Zane. Broody. Silent. Powerful. Controlling. And yet she’d clearly seen a vulnerability tonight. That little chink in the armor made her want to reach out to him, comfort him. It stirred instincts she didn’t know she had.
Remember, the last time you saw him, he told you he didn’t want to see you anymore. You’ve got to keep things under control.
Easier said than done ...
She turned her mind to her case as she brushed her teeth and washed her face.
Clark had known they would be back. He’d been waiting for them. She’d have to pull back now. Dammit. This had never happened to her before.
She said to her reflection in the mirror, “I’ve failed.”
Zane knocked on the bathroom door.
She pulled it open.
He handed her a piled stack of clothing. “This is the best I could find.”
“I’m sure they’ll be good enough. Thanks. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” Her fingertips brushed against Zane’s as she accepted the clothing from him. A sizzle of erotic heat crackled through her body.
He backed away. “I’ll wait out here. I want to talk to you.”
“Okay.” He wanted to talk to her! She closed the door and set the clothes on the counter. Plain black T-shirt. Size XL Tall. Men’s athletic shorts. Also size XL. Playing at least a dozen possible scenarios through her mind, she removed her clothes, leaving only her panties, and pulled the shirt on. The bottom hem reached the middle of her thighs. It made a perfect nightgown. The shorts, however, didn’t work. She pulled them on. They slid right back off. No biggie. The shirt was plenty long enough.
Not that he hasn’t seen it all before.
Her face flushed. The pink color was flattering, she realized as she did one final check in the mirror. She was ready. To hear whatever he needed to say. Out of the bathroom she went.
He was sitting at the end of the bed, waiting for her.
She sat next to him, leaving a little space between his warm body and hers. She locked her knees together. “What did you want to talk about?”
“I want you to come work for me.”
Damn, that wasn’t what she’d hoped to hear. “We talked about this. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Staring straight ahead, he jammed his fingers through his hair. Clearly, he was not accustomed to having people refuse him. “I’m more than capable of behaving in a professional manner.”
“That’s never been in question. This is more an issue of making a wise choice. Everyone knows you shouldn’t work for friends.”
Or ex-lovers.
“Your job is dangerous.”
“It’s all I have.”
Silence.
“Would you quit if you had another option?” he asked.
She saw where this was headed. Zane was going to ask his friends for job leads. He’d probably find her a position somewhere, doing something boring, safe. But why go to all that trouble for someone he’d fucked a few times? “Possibly. It depends upon that option. How much it paid, what the job was, what the long-range opportunities were. What the environment was like. I haven’t worked for a boss in years. I haven’t punched a clock or had a manager standing over my shoulder, telling me what to do every minute of the day. I can’t work like that.”
“Understood. You need some autonomy.” He flattened his hands on the mattress, curling his fingers over the edge. His elbow brushed against hers. A little flutter flitted in her belly.
“Yes. Autonomy. And challenge. I’ll get bored within hours if I’m hired to file papers or answer phones.”
He nodded.
“I’m—more or less—happy with my current job. Lately, though, things have gone a little crazy with the Clark case. I’ve gotten a little sloppy there. That’s why he caught us. It won’t happen again.”
Zane’s gaze snapped to hers. “No, it
will.
And what happens if you’re shot instead of punched? You can’t tell me for certain you won’t be caught again because you can’t know that.”
Again, she had to wonder why this mattered to him. He’d made it crystal clear he didn’t want to see her. He hadn’t called since their last date. Not once. “True. But I plan on being much more careful in the future. I’ve been playing a little loose and easy because I’d always believed I was tracking cheating husbands who weren’t violent. I didn’t take cases if there was a history of spousal abuse or criminal activity. I minimized the risk.”
“But you didn’t eliminate it.”
“No.”
A tense moment passed.
Zane stood. He stared down at her for a moment, then cupped her cheeks in his hands. He bent to brush his mouth over hers. “Get some sleep.”
“Good night,” she said as he straightened up. She waited until he’d left the room before cutting off the light and settling in.
There was no way in hell she’d sleep tonight.
She woke to the smell of cooking bacon and brewing coffee. Her stomach rumbled as she climbed out of bed. It rumbled a second time as she barefooted it to the bathroom. She took a quick shower, then, smelling like vanilla and cherry blossoms, wrapped herself in one of the gigantic bath sheets she found folded in the cabinet.
Back in the bedroom, she found her clothes—everything but what she’d been wearing while she slept—folded neatly on the chair in the corner. From the smell, she guessed they’d been washed.
Nice. Zane sure knew how to treat a houseguest.
Opting to go commando since her panties were dirty, she put her clothes on and strolled downstairs. She expected she’d be greeted by a broody, intense Zane in the kitchen.
He looked intense all right.
But broody... not quite.
It was the apron. Not even Zane could pull off broody wearing a red apron that said
REAL MEN DON’T USE RECIPES
.
“Good morning,” Mandy said as she shuffled up to the raised breakfast bar. “Smells good.”
Zane gave her a half smile. “Coffee?”
“Thanks.”
He poured her a cup. “Cream? Sugar?”
“Both. Thanks.”
He produced a carton of half-and-half from the refrigerator, then went for the sugar bowl. She thanked him as he set them on the counter, next to her cup.
She poured some cream. “That’s some apron.”
“It was a gift.”
“It’s ... unique. I would never have imagined you wearing something like that.”
He shrugged as he tossed the eggs that were sizzling in a skillet. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
There was a lot she’d like to know about him. But she was afraid to say that. He might shut down again, become the guarded, standoffish man she’d seen all too many times. “I like surprises.”
“Good.” He dumped the eggs onto a plate, added some buttered toast and a few pieces of bacon, and set it in front of her.
“Wow, this is ... very nice.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. It all looks delicious.” She tasted the eggs. Yep,
delicious
was the correct adjective. And
scrumptious
would work, too. She watched Zane clean up as she ate. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I ate earlier.”
She crunched on a piece of perfectly cooked bacon. It had been ages since she’d had bacon. And even longer since she’d had bacon cooked just right—crunchy but not burned. “You’re a great cook.”