Chapter 12
The next morning, Zane awoke early to Aragorn’s hostile green stare drilling into him from the footboard. “How did you get here? Don’t tell me you can materialize at will.”
The cat rumbled out a menacing feline growl.
“Growling at me, your majesty?” Zane flung back the covers and climbed out of bed. “I knew you were demon spawn. Normal animals like me. FYI, Mrs. Minsky who lived next door when I was growing up had a cat named Tootles who idolized the ground I walked on.”
Aragorn’s lips curled and sharp white teeth bared in a venomous hiss.
“Thank you so much, and back atcha.”
Zane edged along the wall and found the bedroom door partway open. Though it was barely past the crack of dawn, Dean obviously had already returned the cat. Not that Zane blamed him. He flung the door wide. “Go find a defenseless mouse to torment.”
The monster smirked at him before haughtily slinking out, plumed tail swishing.
A huge yawn stretched Zane’s jaw as he shut the door. Disturbing emotions had churned too close to the surface all night, and he’d slept in fitful snatches.
He walked into the bathroom to turn on the shower. Hell, his pain didn’t matter. Pain was no stranger, he’d lived with it his entire life. As much as selfish reasons might tempt him otherwise, he was honor bound do what was best for his son.
He showered, shaved, and dressed in a dark blue T-shirt, jeans and sneakers. He’d trashed his suit in Lake Tahoe, and since he’d ended up staying in Cape Hope far longer than expected he’d have to hit a department store for more clothes eventually. He efficiently made the bed, then loped downstairs to the kitchen, where Casey sat at the table eating a bowl of cereal.
Jillian turned from the sink and flashed Zane a smile. “Good morning. Coffee?” Though perfectly respectable, her short pink and turquoise floral print skirt and pink tank top seemed to reveal miles of creamy skin. She’d left her shiny blonde locks loose and tucked a pink rosebud from her garden behind one ear.
Desire punched into him, stole his breath.
“Yoo-hoo.” She fluttered her fingers at him. “Caffeine deprived?”
He shook the buzzing from his head and scrambled for an even tone. “Yeah, I can get it, though, thanks.” Resisting the temptation to tumble her into bed grew harder every second he spent in her company. With a wry twist of his lips, he squelched his libido and poured a mug of steaming coffee. “Have you heard how Loucinda’s doing? Usually day two after an injury hurts worse. I hope she’s not in too much pain.”
“I talked to her on the phone this morning and from the sounds of her, she’s got some good happy pills. Her sister is flying in from Texas today to take care of her, and I have a suspicion Pop will be in pretty much constant attendance during her recovery.”
“All’s well that ends well, then.”
“Yes. And Lynn Reynolds is willing to put in extra volunteer hours at the Center while Loucinda’s out, which is a real blessing. I’ll still be totally swamped, but having her around will help a lot.”
“I’ll fill in wherever I can, too.” Gulping coffee, Zane slid into a chair across the table from Casey.
The little boy paused with his dripping spoon suspended above his half-eaten cereal and gave him a milk-mustached grin. “Hi-ya, Zane.”
“Hi-ya yourself, pal. What’s for breakfast?”
“Oatey-O’s with sliced banana, and toast. Aunt Jelly has to go to school early today ‘cause of the play tonight and doesn’t have time to cook. Ya want some?”
“Sure, why not?”
Jillian handed Zane a bowl, spoon, and butter knife. He dumped in cereal, peeled and sliced a banana. “Aren’t you eating, Jillian?”
“I already did.”
Zane poured milk from the carton on the table into his bowl. “Casey, did you show your aunt our ribbon?”
Last night Casey had zonked out during the short drive to the house. Jillian had pulled into the driveway behind them in Loucinda’s sleek red car, and immediately carried the sleepy little boy to bed.
Zane had grabbed the opportunity to escape to his room and seek out badly needed solitude, where yeah, he’d Googled Reeves and gained a lot of respect for the guy. He’d logged in hours researching Deb’s case until he could finally fall asleep.
“Oooh, not yet. I left it in my pocket.” Casey leapt up, pounded up the stairs. He pounded back down and tore into the kitchen, triumphantly waving the white ribbon. Beaming, he handed it to Jillian. “We didn’t get first, but that’s okay, ‘cause we had fun. And Zane says enjoying life is more important than winning first place.”
She hugged the child. “He’s right. We’ll tack this ribbon to your bulletin board when I finish redoing your room, and every time you see it you can remember the fun you had with Zane.”
“I like that.” Casey plopped into his chair and again attacked his cereal.
Jillian smiled at Zane, her gaze tender. “You taught him something valuable yesterday.”
His gut clenched at the respect on her face, the approval in her voice. He’d been genuinely surprised at how much he’d enjoyed time with Casey and the child’s open acceptance of him.
And the soul-shaking depth of the connection he’d felt in return.
Zane dropped his gaze, concentrating fiercely on his cereal. “He taught me something, too.”
“That happens to me often,” Jillian replied. “Casey is a constant learning experience.”
Desperate to change the subject, Zane said, “I see King Aragorn has deigned to return to the palace.”
“Yes, one of Pop’s other construction sites had an equipment malfunction while he was at the hospital yesterday, so he had to bring Aragorn over and head out ASAP this morning. Construction at the Center is postponed until at least tomorrow.”
Her cell phone started singing “Staying Alive” from inside her skirt pocket and she retrieved it. “Hello. What? ” She inhaled shakily, bit her lip. “Yes, thanks for letting me know.”
Zane was already out of his chair and at her side before she hung up. “What happened?”
Her glance slid to Casey, happily crunching Oatey-O’s, and she inclined her head toward the living room. She didn’t want the child to overhear. Was it about the custody suit?
Shoulders taut, he followed her into the other room.
“That was Officer Ray. Someone painted gang graffiti, obscene pictures and profanities all over the outside of the Center! And the musical is tonight!” Tears dampened her lashes, and his stomach cramped. “The kids and their parents can’t see that. We’ll have to close for today and cancel opening night of the play. After all our hard work …” She gulped down a sob.
Rage roared through his veins. “How much time do we have before the rugrats are supposed to start arriving?”
Wiping her eyes, she glanced at her watch. “Ninety minutes. Which will barely give me enough time to get there, go through the directory and call all the parents and tell them not to bring in their kids today.”
He gave her a hard hug. “Round up Casey and meet me at the car. I’ll be right out.”
He made several phone calls, then jogged outside. Casey chattered all during the drive, but Jillian remained edgy and silent.
A full two blocks from the Center at the end of the street, the garish red and black gang signs and obscenities scrawled on the faded blue building became visible.
Zane frowned. “Red and black. Disciple colors. Same gang as Calvin’s older brother.”
“You checked up on my kids!”
“Only doing my job, sweetheart.”
Jillian’s lips trembled. “Calvin wouldn’t do this!”
“Maybe not, but his brother Jerome might object to you interfering with his family.”
“Well if Jerome thinks he can hassle Calvin when he’s under my protection, he’d better think twice!”
Zane set his jaw. “You’ll stay out of it and let me deal with the bangers.”
“I’ve dealt with them before. Gang members aren’t shy about expressing their objections when anything starts drawing their buddies away.”
“Yeah, but you don’t have to now.”
As they got closer, she glanced worriedly over her shoulder at Casey, belted into his booster seat. “I don’t want him to see.”
“Hey, buddy,” Zane caught Casey’s eye in the rearview mirror. “Want to play a game?”
The little boy grinned at him. “Sure!”
“I bet I’ll win, though.”
“Nuh uh.” Casey shook his head. “I will!”
“You’re on. The game is called ‘guess where you are’ and you have to close your eyes and keep them closed until I say you can open them. I’ll take you someplace and you have to guess where you are. If you even sneak one little peek, you lose.”
“What do I win?”
“A dollar.”
“A whole dollar? Yay!” Casey scrunched his eyelids tightly shut.
Jillian expelled a soft sigh. “Thank you. I’m so upset, I can hardly think.” When they pulled into the parking lot and she saw the full extent of the damage, her face crumpled and she started to shake.
Zane gave her a reassuring smile as he parked. “You can play too,” he murmured, too low for Casey to hear. “If you close your eyes, I’ll be happy to carry you inside.”
Her eyes stayed wide open, but a wobbly grin tipped the corners of her sexy mouth. “I’m afraid I’d want more than a dollar.” Her expression turned mischievous. “How much are you offering?”
He pressed his lips to hers in a light kiss, and couldn’t resist taking a thorough, delicious taste of her. “There you go.”
“Mmm,” she whispered, watching him. “That’s nice. For a down payment.”
Glad he could momentarily ease her distress, Zane exited the car. He opened the back door. “Still got those peepers shut tight, young Skywalker?”
Casey giggled. “Yep.”
“No cheating, now.” He scooped up Casey, waited for Jillian to unlock the school’s door, and hustled him into the main office. “Don’t open ‘em yet.” He set the kid on his feet. “Where are you?”
“Inside the Center, silly,” Casey said. “That was easy peasy!”
“You are good.” Mission accomplished, Zane forked over the promised dollar.
Jillian unlocked her office. “I’d better start calling. If you man the other line, we can notify everyone twice as fast.”
“Hellfire and damnation!” Dean Ramsay’s booming shout echoed down the hallway. “Where is everybody?”
“The office, Pop,” Jillian called out.
Dean stomped inside, eyes blazing, face scarlet while launching a blistering array of inventive anatomical suggestions for the “flaming assholes” who’d dared deface the Center.
Jillian clapped her hands over Casey’s ears, but not before the child’s eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.
“Oh boy !” Casey chirped. “Donnie Ray said that same bad, bad word only once and he got his mouth washed out with soap. Are you gonna wash Poppy’s mouth out with soap, Aunt Jelly? Can I watch?”
Dean stopped mid-tirade. “My apologies. I didn’t even see Casey. I’m just so fu— Ah … furious.”
“What are you doing here?” Jillian asked. “You said you had an emergency to deal with today.”
“Zane called.” Dean jerked his thumb toward the door. “My men are outside, and we brought all the extra paint we had on hand, as requested. It’s green, not blue, but beggars can’t be choosy.”
A glowing Jillian flung her arms around Zane and kissed him full on the mouth. “You phoned Pop and asked for help!”
He shrugged, uncomfortable with the intimacy in front of her father. “Seemed logical. We’re in a time crunch, he has paint and a crew.”
“I’m peeved that you didn’t call yourself, daughter,” Dean said.
“But you had an urgent problem at your other site, and—”
“It can wait a few hours. You know I’m always here for you.”
Jillian stepped away from Zane. “I was so shocked I could barely function. I was just focused on getting to the school as fast as possible and stopping the kids from arriving.”
“Understandable considering the circumstances, and how much you love this place. Your Zane here has a decent head on his shoulders. Boy thinks fast on his feet.” Dean stalked to the door. “If he paints just as fast, we’ll have the front done before any of the kids get here. You can keep them indoors until we finish the sides and back. How about if you rustle us up some coffee? You can’t leave Casey alone in the building, and besides, you don’t want to get paint all over your workday clothes.” He turned, caught Zane’s eye. “We can’t spray it on because one spray-coat won’t be thick enough to cover the black and red. Plus, there’s no time to tape off the doors and windows. We’ll have to roll and brush. C’mon, Wolfe, haul ass.”
Amusement and something warm and welcoming curled through Zane at the camaraderie in Dean’s no-nonsense orders. No wonder Jillian was such a tenacious velvet steamroller. She would have to be. Especially if her brothers resembled their dad. He grinned as he strode to catch up to the big man. “Yes, sir.”
Dean clapped him on the back. “I told you to drop that sir crap.”
Old habits were hard to break. Stoneheart had insisted on being called sir. A stinging crack across the mouth reminded his sons when they forgot. “Yes, s— Okay.”
Zane, Dean, and the crew hauled ass, spreading grass green paint on the front walls faster than Andy Warhol on amphetamines. Farley, Calvin, and a group of the older teens soon showed up and cheerfully pitched in.
By the time the first parent and child arrived, the front of the building was vibrant green and obscenity-free.
Jillian brought out coffee and then left after another delighted kiss for Zane, which both pleased and flustered him.
The group moved to the left side. A welcome breeze floated off the ocean, diluting the oily smell of exterior paint. The Pacific Northwest’s built-in air conditioning kept the August day pleasant and comfortable. Gulls skimmed overhead, squawking loud opinions about all the unusual activity. Dean painted next to Zane in the warm sunshine. As they worked, his gruff voice related rambling, humorous stories about Jillian’s growing-up years.
Zane chuckled over Jillian’s inventive methods of making her brothers toe the line. No wonder she handled Zane with such aplomb.
As the duo left the group behind and painted their way around to the back, Dean glanced over at Zane. “Tell me about your folks, Wolfe.”
Unease slithered through him as Zane offered a non-committal shrug. “Not much to tell. We’re not close. Never have been.”
“Ah.” The big man paused to squeeze Zane’s shoulder. “You take good care of my daughter and grandson, and we’ll be your family.”
Zane choked up, covered it with a cough. Dean’s acceptance meant more than he could express.
Too bad he had to disillusion him.
“Look, s— Mr. Ramsay—”
“Dean.” He went back to painting.
“Okay, Dean. I have to be honest with you.” Warily watching Dean’s craggy profile, Zane bit the bullet and laid out the terms and conditions of their plan for Casey’s future.
Dean listened in impassive silence while he continued to roll green over black, red, and faded blue.
When Zane finished, he braced for the backlash. “So you see how it is.”
Dean stopped painting. The big man turned to study him, those familiar violet-blue eyes far too perceptive for comfort.
Finally, Dean nodded. “I certainly do.” He gestured amiably. “Go get us another can of paint, boy. We’re almost out.”
Zane stumbled around the corner, leaned back against the clapboard building and closed his eyes. Jillian had inherited more than frankness and perseverance from her father.
His breath hitched. But because of what he’d inherited from his father, he had to walk away from her.
He breathed in. Out.
“Some detective you are,” Farley’s scornful voice mocked. “Wet paint, much?”
Zane opened his eyes, straightened his spine. And peeled himself off the gooey wall. “Dammit,” he muttered, craning to look over his shoulder at his shirt.
Farley guffawed from where he stood by the stacked paint cans holding an empty roller pan. “It’s smeared all down your back, and even in your hair. You totally look like Kermit.”
Zane didn’t hang much with kids, but he’d been one, and got the frog reference. “It’s true … it’s not easy being green.” He wiped sticky fingers on his ruined Levi’s and walked over to pick up another can.
As he watched Farley set the roller pan on the ground, his focus bulleted to the teen’s fingernails and the backs of his hands … stained with traces of red and black he hadn’t been able to completely scrub away.
Farley glanced up. His stare snagged on Zane’s. Shot to his own hands.
“Been doing a lot of painting lately?” Zane asked conversationally.
A flush suffused the boy’s face, deepening his scar. “I don’t have to tell you jack-shit.”
“Your choice. But we can have a friendly chat here, or we can go to the downtown Portland FBI office and talk on a more official basis.”
Farley scowled. “I had to touch-up one of the backdrops after rehearsal last night. That’s a fucking crime now?”
“No. But, as I’m sure you’re aware, harassment, vandalism, and stalking are.”
“Harassing and stalking who?”
“You’ve been in Ms. Ramsay’s neighborhood lately. A long way from home to go skateboarding.”
The teen’s flush flared crimson. “You tailing me? What business is it of yours?”
“I’m a better detective than I appear. And Ms. Ramsay’s welfare is very much my business. Anybody messes with her, they’re messing with me.”
“Yeah, Romeo,” Farley snarled. “I saw the way she looked at you when she first brought you around. Saw her plant one on you when she came out with the coffee today.” His glare scalded Zane. “Since she came back from her days off, she’s wearing a wedding band. So are you.”
The kid was definitely observant all right. Zane considered him. “We eloped. That piss you off?”
“I wouldn’t hurt Ms. Ramsay. Not for any reason! I …” He gulped, looked down as he too carefully poured paint into the pan. “I … l-like her.”
The kid seemed sincere, but Zane was reserving judgment. “We’re keeping our marriage on a need-to-know basis for the time being. We’d both appreciate it if we could trust you not to mention it.”
“I told you, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her. So, yeah, whatever.”
“You know anybody who would hurt her, Farley?”
“No. Everybody who hangs around the Center thinks she’s chill.”
“Red and black are Disciple colors. Maybe Jerome isn’t thrilled about Calvin hanging out at the Center instead of with the gang.”
“You wanna know about Calvin’s brother, ask Calvin. I got no use for the Disciples.” Farley’s chin jutted. “I gotta get back to work now. Unless you wanna fuck with my head downtown .”
Zane extracted one of his cards from his wallet inside his jeans pocket, handed it to the kid. “You see or hear anything suspicious, give me a call. Someone’s stalking Jillian.” His resolute gaze bored into Farley’s defiant one. “And no matter who it is, I will stop them.”
* * *
Three-and-a-half hours later, Zane again drove to the Hope Center from Jillian’s house. After they’d finished the paint job and Dean and his crew had departed, Zane had pulled Calvin aside and spoken with him. The boy had appeared troubled by Zane’s questions, and finally reluctantly admitted his brother was definitely capable of harassing Jillian and defacing the center in retaliation for Calvin scorning the gang lifestyle. But Calvin had disavowed any knowledge of Jerome’s activities and claimed he no longer had contact with his brother or the Disciples.
Zane let him go, then called Officer Ray. Apparently Cape Hope didn’t have a dedicated gang task force, but Ray was fully familiar with Jerome and the Disciples and swore to immediately investigate. Zane would make a trip to the local cop shop within the next twenty-four hours to personally follow through.
Zane had returned to Jillian’s house, showered, changed, and tossed his paint-hardened clothes in the trash. Since he’d arrived in Cape Hope, his duds had taken as bad a beating as his libido and peace of mind.
He parked at the Center and strode to the front door. As he reached for the buzzer, Dallas’ hail behind him brought him up short.
He turned to see Mia and Dallas emerging from the white sedan Zane had rented for them after arranging their helo transport from Portland.
Dallas grinned as the couple hurried toward him. “We have to stop meeting like this, Wolfe.”
“Yep,” Mia chimed in. “People will start talking about your bromance.”
Zane smiled at his friends. He’d explained about Loucinda’s accident and the upcoming play in his early morning phone call to Dallas after phoning Dean Ramsay. “Thanks for coming. The Center’s security upgrade just moved to number one priority.”
“Like Dallas told you on the phone,” Mia said, “luckily neither of us have any pressing cases at the moment—except yours. I filed all the paperwork on that yesterday as promised. We’re happy to help.”
“Nasty business.” Dallas studied the building. “You got it cleaned up already, I see. That was fast.”
“Jillian’s dad brought paint and his construction crew, and some of the older kids pitched in.” He quickly briefed them on his theories about Farley and Calvin, and his slow progress with Deb’s files and phone records.
He buzzed for admittance, identified himself to Tala over the intercom, and the door lock clicked open.
A surprised Jillian met them inside the main office with exuberant hugs for all three. She turned to Tala, who was manning the reception counter. “This is Dallas and Mia McQuade. Dallas is a security expert and Mia is our attorney.”
The McQuades greeted Tala, and Mia smiled at the pregnant teen. “Looks like you and I have something in common.”
“Yeah.” Tala pressed her lips together. “You’re a lawyer, huh? How much do you cost?”
“I work on a sliding scale, according to income. For some clients, I don’t charge anything. Do you know someone who needs a lawyer?”
“Maybe. My grandmother has … She said …” Tala glanced cautiously at the assembled group. “Um … but we don’t have any money except her Social Security checks.”
Mia pulled a card from her purse and passed it to the girl. “Have her phone me. Free of charge.”
Jillian touched Mia’s shoulder. “Not that I’m not happy to see you again so soon, but what are you doing here?”
“Zane called Dallas this morning and said you needed the new security system pronto, and that you have a big fundraising event coming up. So I decided to tag along and see if I could help with anything.”
“ Wow. ” Jillian gulped. “You both dropped everything and came on a moment’s notice? I hope we’re not inconveniencing you too much.”
“Not a bit,” Dallas said. “Zane whisked us here in first-class style, and we’ve decided to take a break for a week or two and rent a cottage on the beach. One of the perks of self-employment. We can both do any work that might pop up from here, and we’ll be close by in case you need backup.”
Jillian’s eyes sheened. “That is so sweet, thank you! Zane is blessed to have such wonderful, generous friends.”
“Hey.” Mia embraced Jillian in another hug, her voice suspiciously wobbly. “We’re your friends now, too.”
“Oh, no,” Dallas drawled. “Don’t start the waterworks, ladies.” He rolled his eyes at Zane. “You have no freakin’ idea of the hell-on-earth that is pregnancy hormones.”
“Thank you, Jesus,” Zane replied fervently.
“Man up, cowboy.” Mia poked Dallas in the chest. “If the day ever arrives when you can push something the size of a cantaloupe out of your ass, you’re entitled to all the damned hormonal hell you want.”
The images that conjured up made the blood drain from Zane’s head. “Ouch,” he muttered.
Dallas winced. “Lord have mercy on us all when she goes into labor.”
“Oh!” Mia exclaimed. “ Ohmigod, speaking of pregnancy hormones— We have news to share!” She snatched a black-and-white photo from her purse. “I had an ultrasound yesterday afternoon!”
Zane tilted his head, attempting to decipher the blob. “And …”
“Uncle Zane, meet Lucas Tyler McQuade.”
He stared at the photo, dumbfounded. “It’s a boy.”
Moisture puddled in Mia’s eyes as she squeezed her proud husband’s arm. “And his middle name is for Dallas’ sister, Tyler-Anne, who died when she was a teenager.”
“ Awww, congratulations,” Jillian breathed. “A precious little boy.”
“Yes,” Mia quavered. “We have a perfect, healthy baby boy on the way.”
Then both women burst into tears.
Dallas cleared his throat. “All righty then. The equipment is in the car. Let’s get started.”
The men turned and fled.
* * *
At the musical’s debut that evening, Zane ended up assisting Jillian behind the scenes. He wrangled props, tweaked minor glitches in the lighting and sound systems, and spent a nerve-wracking fifteen minutes convincing Tala she was not going to puke from opening-night jitters.
Dallas and Mia had seats of honor in the front row beside Congressman and Mrs. Reynolds, and Reynolds’ assistant, Carson Wentworth, and all seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves.
Judging by the enthusiastic cheers and applause when the final curtain came down, the play was a rousing success. Pride warmed Zane when the beaming teenage actors lined up onstage for curtain call after curtain call. They’d worked their asses off and done a fantastic job.
He wiped his sweaty brow on his shirt sleeve. He was as beat as if he’d been treading the boards singing and dancing his heart out.
The buzzing audience gathered their belongings and filed from the auditorium and the young actors giddily bounced away.
Mia, Dallas, Lynn and Wade Reynolds, and Wentworth joined Zane and Jillian in the hallway behind the stage. As Jillian made introductions all around, omitting Zane’s profession like he’d asked her to, Zane assessed the Congressman.
Just enough gray sprinkled through his dark, well-cut hair to suggest wise experience. Black suit and white shirt perfectly tailored to a toned, broad-shouldered body and accented by a tasteful red tie. Manicured hands that shook Zane’s and Dallas’ with a confident grip, accompanied by an intellectual brown gaze exuding steady, focused sincerity.
A walking, talking cliché of the typical politician—the entire image meticulously packaged to convey confidence and power, and win your trust.
Zane wasn’t buying any of it.
He turned to shake hands with, and size up, Carson Wentworth. A younger, blond, attempted carbon copy of his boss that inspired nothing but instant animosity. Sharply bladed features, a wiry body vibrating with tension, clammy hands, and narrow blue eyes.
The guy was a ferret.
And the ruthlessness in those sly, glacial eyes warned Zane he’d be extremely dangerous if cornered.
If Reynolds’ affair with Deb had threatened the Congressman’s position of power—and by default, Wentworth’s as well—the ferret would’ve had no compunction about getting rid of her.
Paging Carson Wentworth, go immediately to the top of the suspect list.
The group engaged in perfunctory small talk, ending with the Congressman’s promise to deliver another donation soon, and Lynn and Jillian making arrangements to meet about the impending gala. Jillian still had to shepherd the acting troupe through tomorrow’s matinee and also their evening closing performance before she could fully concentrate on the fundraiser.
The teens’ after-play party would be held tomorrow night at Tala’s house. Jillian had commandeered four other parents and/or guardians to chip in for refreshments and help Tala’s grandma supervise the rambunctious horde, so she and Zane were off the hook for that.
His lady was burning the candle at both ends, and Zane was glad the Center’s classes would be canceled for the next several weeks after the final play performance while the electrical system and plumbing were updated. Which would also give him and Dallas the opportunity to finish integrating the security system.
And do some covert digging into Carson Wentworth’s recent activities.
Dallas suggested a nightcap, and after Jillian called home to check with Danielle and was assured Casey was snuggled in his bed fast asleep, she agreed.
The foursome kicked back in a cozy little seaside pub with aged brick walls on three sides, warm wood beams that glowed in the golden lamplight, and a spectacular view of the moonlit Pacific from their booth by the wide front window.
Quiet music floated in the background as Jillian and Zane relaxed in the booth opposite Mia and Dallas. The men both ordered Jack Daniels, Jillian requested her usual white wine, and Mia opted for pomegranate blueberry limeade.
The conversation was easy, the company enjoyable … and Zane’s every sense was alive with Jillian’s tantalizing presence.
A romantic ballad began to play, and Mia arched a brow at her husband. “In the mood to dance with me?”
Dallas’ answering grin was wicked. “Always, darlin’.”
The couple walked to the small dance floor.
Zane had no intention of following their lead and getting that close to his tempting wife.
Then he made the tactical error of looking over at her. He fell into those gentle violet pools … and every resolution came undone.
He didn’t speak, just offered his hand.
She took it without hesitation.
He led her to the dance floor where they melded into an embrace as fluidly as if they’d been dancing together for years instead of the very first time.
He enfolded one of her small hands in his at his shoulder, slid his other arm around her waist and drew her soft curves against him. As she rested her cheek on his chest, his bones melted.
Their bodies swayed together in a sensual rhythm thrumming with tender heat, and he nuzzled her silky hair, breathed her in. Basked in her achingly generous warmth, his soul as thirsty for her as the parched desert receiving a rare rainfall.
Touching her, holding her was becoming more natural, more necessary with each passing day. If only he could stop time.
Savor every moment.
Because the most difficult thing he’d ever done would be letting go of her.