Книга - Obsession

Obsession
Lisa Jackson


#1 New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson brings you heart-stopping adventure and scintillating romance in this fan-favourite story…Zane Flannery has always been overprotective of his famous ex-wife, Kaylie Melville—he is, after all, her former bodyguard, not to mention her former husband. And when Zane discovers that Lee Johnston, a maniacal stalker who once threatened Kaylie's life, is being released from a nearby psychiatric facility, his protective instincts jump into overdrive. Spiriting Kaylie away to his cabin in the mountains, Zane has nothing but her safety on his mind. But being alone together in a remote mountain hideaway proves irresistible for them both, and the sparks that once flew between them are soon reignited…







#1 New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson brings you heart-stopping adventure and scintillating romance in this fan-favorite story…

Zane Flannery has always been overprotective of his famous ex-wife, Kaylie Melville—he is, after all, her former bodyguard, not to mention her former husband. And when Zane discovers that Lee Johnston, a maniacal stalker who once threatened Kaylie’s life, is being released from a nearby psychiatric facility, his protective instincts jump into overdrive. Spiriting Kaylie away to his cabin in the mountains, Zane has nothing but her safety on his mind. But being alone together in a remote mountain hideaway proves irresistible for them both, and the sparks that once flew between them are soon reignited…


Praise for New York Times bestselling author Lisa Jackson

“Turn on the lights before you turn the first page of this electrifying thriller. Set a bare six months after the shocking events of Hot Blooded, Cold Blooded grabs you by the throat from page one and does not let you off the edge of your seat for a moment after that.”

—Romance at Its Best

“Taking up where…phenomenal Hot Blooded left off, Cold Blooded is a tight, romantic, edge-of-your-seat thriller.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Lisa Jackson pulls out all the stops in this brilliantly conceived, chilling, twisted psychological thriller that contains murder, mental illness, incest, love and hope. The Night Before is a page-turner that will have you racing toward the finish.”

—Reader to Reader

“What a story! This is a perfectly put together, complex story with more than one relationship and mystery going on…a perfect meld of past and present. I loved it!”

—Rendezvous on Whispers

“There are hints of Romeo and Juliet when children from two small-town feuding families fall in love. Characters are fully realized, multi-faceted and dynamic…the plot is full of subtle intrigues, forbidden passions and long-kept secrets that culminate in an explosive climax. Author Lisa Jackson has delivered another must-read romantic suspense novel.”

—Gothic Journal on Whispers


LISA JACKSON is a #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than seventy books including romantic suspense, thrillers and contemporary and historical romances. She is a recipient of the RT Reviewers’ Choice Award and has also been honored with their Career Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense. Born in Oregon, she continues to make her home among family, friends and dogs in the Pacific Northwest. Visit her at www.lisajackson.com. (http://www.lisajackson.com/)


Obsession

Lisa Jackson






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




CONTENTS


Cover (#u80980ddc-cbd4-5982-9205-8a6f7b7e3a96)

Back Cover Text (#uc6d05085-5115-5683-aa27-f0adf8cad31b)

Praise (#u97e0bb43-4d96-5bd9-b81c-a7db71bbb4a7)

About the Author (#u9539a217-9173-50da-a8d5-b58aa866011d)

Title Page (#u908d390f-0277-504b-be18-a1f71539da9f)

Prologue (#ulink_9f909a60-0b47-523f-bb94-f31fd14815ac)

Chapter One (#ulink_3ced14d5-2556-561c-9e7c-386886b28f96)

Chapter Two (#ulink_f6eec4b6-1a38-5fb9-a815-ff7c13ea0046)

Chapter Three (#ulink_abf7dcb3-7732-5d4a-988a-c6b39116a031)

Chapter Four (#ulink_1d0f3d63-f1af-5da1-b71c-2ceec5a2d858)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




Prologue (#ulink_78a06caf-eba3-5e38-a3e5-f3565bfdd5d7)


Whispering Hills Hospital

The patient rocked slowly back and forth in his chair. His eyes, deep-set and pale blue, stared at the television screen, and though he didn’t speak, his lips moved, as if he were trying to say something to the woman on the small color screen, the cohost of West Coast Morning.

Kaylie, her name was. He had a picture of her. The one they hadn’t found. The one the orderlies had overlooked. It was old and faded, the slickness nearly worn off, but every night he stared at that picture and pretended she was there, with him, in his hospital bed.

She was so beautiful. Her long blond hair shimmered in soft curls around her face, and her eyes were green-blue—like the ocean. He’d seen her once, touched her, felt her quiver against him.

He sucked in his breath at the familiar thought. He could almost smell her perfume.

“Hey! Lee, ol’ buddy. How about some sound?” The orderly, the tall lanky one called Rick, walked to the television and fiddled with the controls. The volume roared, and the singsong jingle for cereal blared in a deafening roar to the patient’s ears.

“Noooo!” the patient cried, clapping his hands to the sides of his head, trying to block out the sound. “No, no, no!”

“Okay, okay. Hey, man, don’t get upset.” Rick held his palms outward before quickly turning down the volume. “Hey, Lee, ya gotta learn to chill out a little. Relax.”

“No noise!” the patient said with an effort, and Rick sighed loudly as he stripped the bed of soiled sheets.

“Yeah, I know, no noise. Just like every day at this time. I don’t get it, you know. All day long you’re fine, until the morning shows come on. Maybe you should watch something else—”

But the patient didn’t hear. The program had resumed, and Kaylie—his Kaylie—was staring into the camera again, smiling. For him. He felt suddenly near tears as her green eyes locked with his and her perfect lips moved in silent words of love. It won’t be long, he thought, his own lips twitching. Reaching deep into his pocket, he rubbed the worn picture between his thumb and forefinger.

Just wait for me. I’ll come to you. Soon.




Chapter One (#ulink_76c247c9-e269-5fb1-9efb-88ee01fdd219)


“Who is this?” Zane Flannery demanded, his fingers clutching the phone’s receiver in a death grip.

“Ted.” The voice was barely audible; rough as a shark’s skin. Zane couldn’t identify the caller as a man or woman.

“Okay, Ted. So what is it?” Zane’s mouth had turned to cotton, and the numbing fear that had gripped him ever since “Ted’s” call the day before gnawed at his guts.

“It’s Kaylie. She’s not safe,” the voice grated out.

Kaylie. Oh, God. A knot of painful memories twisted his stomach. “Why not?”

“I told you. Lee Johnston’s about to be released.”

Zane managed to keep his voice steady. “I went to the hospital. No one there is saying anything about letting him out.” In fact, no one had said much of anything. Dr. Anthony Henshaw, Johnston’s doctor, had been particularly tight-lipped about his patient. Phrases like patient confidentiality and maintaining patient equilibrium, had kept spouting from the doctor’s mouth. He’d even had the gall to tell Zane point-blank that Zane wasn’t Kaylie’s husband any longer. That Zane had no right to be involved. Just because Zane was owner of the largest security firm on the West Coast didn’t give him the authority to turn the hospital upside down or “persecute” one of his patients. Zane liked that. “Persecute.” After what Johnston had attempted to do to Kaylie.

The man had nearly killed Kaylie, and now Zane was accused of “persecuting” the maniac. Figures.

In the well-modulated voice of one who weighs everything before he speaks, Henshaw had informed Zane that Johnston was still locked away and that Zane had nothing to worry about. As a patient of Whispering Hills hospital, Johnston was being observed constantly and there was nothing to fear. Though Lee was a model patient, Dr. Henshaw didn’t expect Johnston to be released in the very near future. He assumed Johnston would remain a patient for “the time being.”

Not good enough for Zane. He didn’t work well with words like expect or assume.

Pacing between his desk and window, stretching the phone cord taut, Zane felt as helpless as he had seven years ago when Lee Johnston had nearly taken Kaylie’s life.

“Why should I believe you?” Zane asked the caller, and there was a long silence. Ted was taking his time.

Zane waited him out.

“Because I care,” the raspy voice stated. The phone went dead.

“Son of a bitch!” Zane slammed down the receiver and rewound the tape he’d made of the call.

Startled, the dog lying beneath Zane’s desk barked, baring his teeth, dark eyes blinking open. Hairs bristled on the back of the brindled shepherd’s neck.

“Relax, Franklin,” Zane ordered, though his own skin prickled with dread and cold sweat collected on his forehead, underarms and hands. “Son of a damned—”

The door to his office burst open, and Brad Hastings, his second in command, strode in. A newspaper was tucked under his arm. “I called the police,” he said, obviously aggravated. His dark eyes were barely slits, his nostrils flared. Not more than five-eight, but all muscle, Brad had once been a welterweight boxer and had been with Flannery Security since day one. Hastings was a force to be reckoned with. “There’s nothing new on Johnston. He’s locked up all right, just like Henshaw told you. As for the doctor, he seems to be on the level. He’s been Johnston’s shrink for five years.”

And in those five years, Henshaw hadn’t told Zane anything about his patient. Zane had checked in every six months or so and been told curtly that Mr. Johnston was still a patient and not much more.

When Dr. Loyola had been at Whispering Hills, things had been different. Loyola had been the admitting doctor. He understood the terror his patient inspired and he’d kept Zane informed of Johnston’s progress or lack thereof. But Loyola was long gone, and no one now employed at the hospital considered Johnston a threat.

Except “Ted.” Whoever the hell he was. Zane tried to concentrate. “What about this Ted character?” Zane played back the tape, making a second copy as he did, and as Hastings listened, Zane tried to envision the man who was giving him the warning.

The tape ended. Zane rewound it again and took the copy from the recorder.

Hastings scratched the back of his balding head. “No Ted at Whispering Hills. No Ted listed as a friend or family member of Johnston.”

“You checked all the workers at the hospital? Cafeteria employees, nurses, orderlies, janitors, gardeners?”

“No one with the name Theodore or Ted. The last guy to work there named Ted left two and a half years ago. He lives in Mississippi now, doesn’t know a thing about what’s happening at Whispering Hills these days. I talked to him myself.”

Zane felt helpless, like a man struggling to desperately cling to a rope that was fraying bit by bit.

“What about a woman? Teddie, maybe,” he said thoughtfully, “or Theresa, Thea, something like that?”

“You think that—” Hastings motioned skeptically toward the tape “—is a woman?”

“I couldn’t tell, but I thought whoever called was disguising his or her voice…” He felt another wave of bone-chilling fear. What if the caller were Johnston himself? What if he’d had access to a phone and Bay Area phone book? What if that madman was calling Kaylie at the station?

Zane grabbed the phone again, punched out the number of the television station where she worked and drummed his fingers impatiently as the receptionist answered, then told him that Kaylie had left for the day.

Cursing under his breath, he hung up and dialed her apartment. A recorder answered. He didn’t bother to leave another message, but slammed the receiver down in frustration. Get a grip, Flannery, he ordered himself, but couldn’t quell the fright.

Why hadn’t Kaylie returned his calls? he wondered, panicking. Maybe it was already too late!

“Look, she’s all right,” Hastings said, as if reading his boss’s thoughts. “Otherwise you would’ve heard. Besides, she was on the show this morning, and you know for a fact that Johnston’s still at the hospital.”

“For now.”

Glancing surreptitiously at Zane, Hastings snorted. “I hate to bring up more bad news, but have you seen this?” He slapped the newspaper onto Zane’s desk. The paper opened, and Zane realized that he was staring at page four of The Insider, a tabloid known for its gossip-riddled press. A grainy picture of Kaylie and the cohost of West Coast Morning, Alan Bently, stared up at him. They were seated at a table, laughing and talking, and Alan’s arm was slung over Kaylie’s shoulders. The bold headlines read: Wedding Bells For San Francisco’s Number One Couple? And in smaller type: Is Kaylie Still His Number One OBSESSION?

“How can they print this stuff?” Zane growled, more irritated by the story than he had any right to be. Half of anything The Insider printed was purely sensationalism—nothing more than rumors. Yet Zane was infuriated by the picture of Alan and Kaylie together, and he was sickened at the hint of their marriage. It had to be a rumor just to boost ratings. He was certain Kaylie would never fall for a clown like Bently.

Worst of all was the reference to Kaylie’s last movie, Obsession, a film that was, in Zane’s estimation, the beginning of the end of his short-lived but passionate marriage to Kaylie.

Tossing the paper into the trash, Zane didn’t comment, he just strode across the room and opened his closet door. He yanked his beat-up leather jacket from a hanger, and while shoving the copy of the anonymous caller’s warning into the pocket of his jacket, he pushed aside any lingering jealousy he felt for Alan Bently. Zane didn’t have time for emotion, especially not petty envy. Not until Kaylie was safe. A plan had been forming in his mind ever since the first chilling call from “Ted.” It was time to put it into action.

Kaylie wouldn’t like it. Hell, she’d fight him every step of the way. But that was just too damned bad. This time she was going to do things his way. He explained his plan to Hastings, instructed his right-hand man to take care of business and put Kaylie Melville’s safety at the top of the list. “And give a copy of the tape to the police!”

Satisfied that Hastings could handle the business, he said, “I want every available man on the case. I don’t give a damn about the costs. Just find out who this Ted is and what his connection is to Kaylie. And start tracing calls—calls that come in here, or to her house, or to the station where she works. I want to know where this nut case is!”

“Is that all?” Hastings mocked.

“It’s all that matters,” Zane muttered, shoving his fists into the pockets of his jacket. He whistled to the dog, and the sleek shepherd lifted one ear, then rose and padded after him.

Kaylie would kill him if she realized what he had planned but he didn’t care. He couldn’t. Her life was more important than her damned pride.

Outside, the morning air was warm. Only a few clouds were scattered over the San Francisco sky. Zane unlocked the door of his Jeep, and the dog hopped into the back. He had one more phone call to make, he thought, pulling into the clog of traffic.

He made the call from his cellular phone.

Once his plan was set, he went about finding his headstrong ex-wife.

* * *

Hours later, Zane had tracked her down. She hadn’t been at her apartment, nor had she gone back to the station, so he guessed she’d decided to spend the evening alone, at the house they’d shared in Carmel.

He parked in the familiar driveway and second-guessed himself. His plan was foolproof, but she would be furious. And she might end up hating him for the rest of her life.

But then, she didn’t much like him now. She’d made it all too clear that she didn’t want him in her life when she’d scribbled her signature across the divorce papers seven years before.

So why couldn’t he forget her? Leave her alone? Let her fend for herself as she claimed she wanted to do?

Because she was in his blood. Always had been. Always would be. His personal curse. And he was scared.

He let the dog out of the Jeep, and the shepherd began investigating the small yard, scaring a gray tabby cat and sniffing at the shrubs.

“Stay, Franklin,” Zane commanded when the dog attempted to wander too far.

Pressing on the doorbell, he waited, shifting from one foot to the other. The house was silent. No footsteps padded to the door. Leaning on the bell again, he heard the peal of chimes within. Still no response.

Don’t panic, he told himself, unnerved that he couldn’t find her. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a set of keys he hadn’t used in years and slid a key into the lock.

The lock clicked. The dead bolt slid easily.

So she hadn’t bothered to change the locks. Not smart, Kaylie.

With a grimace, Zane pocketed his key and shoved on the familiar front door. It swung open without the slightest resistance, and he stood staring at the interior of the house that had once been his.

Swearing under his breath, he ignored the haunting memories—memories of Kaylie. Always Kaylie. God, how could one woman be embedded so deeply in a man?

With another reminder to Franklin to stay, he closed the door behind him. Tossing his battle-worn leather jacket over the back of the couch, he surveyed the living room. Nothing much had changed. Except of course that he didn’t live here, and he hadn’t for a long, long time.

The same mauve carpet stretched through the house. The windows were spotless, the view of Carmel Bay as calming as he had always found it. And the furniture hadn’t been moved or added to. Familiar pieces covered in white and gray were grouped around glass-topped tables. Even the artwork, framed watercolors of dolphins, sailing ships and sea gulls, provided the same splashes of blue, magenta and yellow as they had when he and Kaylie had shared this seaside cottage.

But all of the memorabilia from their marriage—the pictures, tokens and mementos of their short life together—were gone. Well, most of them, he thought as he spied a single snapshot still sitting on the mantel.

The picture was of Kaylie and him, arms linked, standing ankle-deep in white, hot sand on their honeymoon in Mazatlán. He picked up the snapshot and scowled at the heady memories of hot sun, cold wine and Kaylie’s supple body yielding to his. The scent of the ocean and perfume mingled with the perfume of tropical flowers and a vision of a vast Mexican sky.

Dropping the photograph as if it suddenly seared his fingers, he snorted in disgust. No time to think about the past. It was over and done. Already, just being near Kaylie was making him crazy. Well, he’d better get used to it.

He crossed the room. Freshly cut flowers scented the air and reminded him of Kaylie. Always Kaylie. Despite the divorce and the past seven painful years alone, he’d never truly forgotten her, never been able to go to bed at night without feeling a hot pang of regret that she wasn’t beside him, that he wasn’t in her life any longer.

Shoving the sleeves of his pullover up his forearms, he walked to the recessed bar near a broad bank of windows. He leaned on one knee, dug through the cabinet and smiled faintly when he found his favorite brand of Scotch, the bottle dusty from neglect, the seal still unbroken. With a flick of his wrist he opened the bottle, just as, by confronting her, he was reopening all the old hurt and pain, the anger and fury, and the passion…. As damning as it was exciting. Closing his eyes, he reined in his runaway emotions—emotions over which he usually had tight control. Except where Kaylie was concerned.

“Fool.” Straightening, he poured himself a stiff shot. “Here’s to old times,” he muttered, then tossed back most of the drink, the warm, aged liquor hitting the back of his throat in a fiery splash.

Home at last, he thought ironically, topping off his glass again as he sauntered to the French doors.

Through the paned glass, he stared down the cliff to the beach below. Relief, in a wave, washed over him. There she was—safe! With no madman stalking her. She walked from the surf, wringing saltwater from her long, sun-streaked hair as if she hadn’t a care in the world. If she only knew.

Wearing only a white one-piece swimming suit that molded to her body, sculpting her breasts and exposing the tanned length of her slim legs, she tossed her thick, curly mane over her shoulders.

His gut tightened as he watched her bend over and scoop up a towel from the white sand. The next couple of weeks were going to be hell.

* * *

Kaylie shook the sand from her towel, then looped the terry cloth around her neck. The last few rays of sun dried the water on her back and warmed her shoulders as she slipped into her thongs and cast one last longing glance at the sea. Sailboats skimmed the horizon, dark silhouettes against a blaze of magenta and gold. Gulls wheeled high overhead, filling the air with their lonely cries.

The beach was nearly deserted as she climbed up the weathered staircase to the house. Leaving her thongs on the deck, she pushed open the back door, then tossed her towel into the hamper in the laundry room. Maybe she’d pour herself a glass of wine. Pulling down the strap of her bathing suit, she headed for the bedroom. First a long, hot shower and then—

“How’re you, Kaylie?” a familiar voice drawled.

Kaylie gasped, stopping dead in her tracks. The hairs on the back of her neck rose, and she spun around quickly, drops from her hair spraying against the wall. Zane? Here? Now? Why?

Draped over the couch, long jean-clad legs stretched out in front of him, he looked as damnably masculine as he ever had. His ankles were crossed, his expression bland, except for the lifting of one dark brow. However, she knew him too well and expected his pose of studied relaxation was all for show.

His steely gray gaze touched hers, and his lips quirked. For a few seconds she remembered how much she had loved him, how much she had wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. With an effort, she closed her mind to such traitorous thoughts. Her throat worked, and slowly she became conscious that one strap of her swimsuit dangled over her forearm, leaving the swell of her breast exposed.

“W-what the devil are you doing here—trying to scare me to death?” she finally sputtered, adjusting the strap back over her shoulder. But before he could respond, she changed her mind and shook her head. She wasn’t up to talking to Zane—not now, probably not ever. “No, wait, don’t answer that, I don’t think I want to know.”

He didn’t budge, damn him, just lounged there, on her couch, drinking her Scotch, stretched out and making himself comfortable. His nerve was unbelievable, and yet there was something about him, something restless and dangerous that still touched a forbidden part of her heart. And she knew he wouldn’t have shown up without a reason.

His scuffed running shoes dropped to the floor. “You didn’t call me back.”

She felt a jab of guilt. She’d gotten his messages, but hadn’t worked up the courage to talk to him. “And that’s why you’re here?”

“I was worried about you.”

“Oh, please, don’t start with this,” she said, reminded of the reasons she’d divorced him, his all-consuming need to protect her. “You don’t have to worry about me or even be concerned that—”

“Lee Johnston’s going to be released.”

The words were like frigid water poured over her, stopping her cold. Zane’s feigned casualness disappeared.

“He’s what?” she whispered. In her mind’s eye, she pictured Lee Johnston, a short, burly man with flaming red hair and lifeless blue eyes. And she remembered the knife—oh, God, the long-bladed knife that he’d pressed to her throat.

“Y-you’re sure about this?” Oh, Lord, how could she keep her voice from quavering? The look on his face convinced her that he believed she was in grave danger, and yet she didn’t want to believe it. Not entirely. There were too many dimensions to Zane to take anything he said at face value. Although she’d never known him to lie.

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully. “Someone called me.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Someone who called himself ‘Ted.’”

“Ted? Ted who?” she asked.

“I wish I knew. I thought maybe you could help me figure it out,” he admitted, launching into his short tale and starting with the first nerve-jangling call from “Ted,” and ending with his gut feeling that Dr. Henshaw was holding out on him. “Do you have a recorder—a tape player?”

She nodded mutely, then retrieved the portable player from her bedroom. Zane picked up his jacket and took out a small tape, which he snapped into the machine. A few seconds later, “Ted’s” warning echoed through the room.

“Oh, my God,” Kaylie whispered, her hand to her mouth. She listened to the tape twice, her insides wrenching as the warning was repeated. Zane, though he attempted to appear calm, was coiled tightly, his features tense, his eyes flicking from her to the corners of the room, as if he half expected someone to jump out and attack her.

Why now? she wondered frantically. Why ever?

She bit her lower lip, then thinking it a sign of weakness, stopped just as the tape clicked off. “Why did this ‘Ted’ guy call you? Why not me?”

“Beats me,” Zane admitted, sipping amber liquor from a short glass, his jaw sliding pensively to the side. “None of this is official. At least not yet.” Zane’s features were hard, and a quiet fury burned in his eyes. “So far we’ve only got this guy’s—whoever he is—word for it. I talked with Johnston’s psychiatrist and I didn’t like what he said.”

“But he didn’t say Johnston would be released.” She turned pleading eyes up at him.

“No, but I’ve got a gut feeling on this one. Henshaw was being too careful. My bet is that the man’s going to walk, Kaylie. Whoever called me had a reason.”

“Oh, God.” Her whole body shook. Stark moments of terror returned—memories of a deranged man who’d sworn he’d kill for her. “They can’t let him go. He’s sick! Beyond sick!”

Zane lifted a shoulder. “He’s been locked up a long time. Model patient. It wouldn’t surprise me if the courts decide he got better.”

Her world spun back to that horrible night when Johnston had threatened her, waved a knife in front of her eyes, his other arm hard against her stomach as he’d dragged her from the theater. He’d sworn then that he would kill for her and he wanted her to witness the sacrifice….

In her mind’s eye, she could still see his crazed smile, feel him tremble excitedly against her, smell the scent of his stale breath.

She sagged against the wall and felt the rough texture of plaster against her bare back. Think, Kaylie, she told herself, refusing to appear weak. Swallowing back her fear, she straightened and squared her shoulders. She couldn’t fall apart—she wouldn’t! Forcing her gaze to Zane’s, she silently prayed she didn’t betray any of the panic surging through her veins. “I think I’d better talk to Henshaw myself.”

“Be my guest.”

On weak legs she walked into the kitchen, looked up the number of the mental hospital, and dialed with shaky fingers. A receptionist answered on the fourth ring. “Whispering Hills.”

“Yes, oh, I’d like to talk to Dr. Henshaw, please. This is Kaylie Melville—I, um, I know one of his patients.”

“Oh, Miss Melville! Of course. I see you on television every morning,” the voice exclaimed excitedly. “But I’m sorry, Dr. Henshaw isn’t in right now.”

“Then maybe I could speak to someone else.” Kaylie tried to explain her predicament, but she couldn’t get past square one with the cheery voice on the other end of the line. No other doctor would talk to her, nor a nurse for that matter. On impulse she asked to talk to Ted and was informed that no one named Ted was employed by the hospital. Before the receptionist could hang up, Kaylie asked, “Please, just tell me, is Mr. Lee Johnston still a patient there?”

“Yes, he is,” she said, whispering a little. “But I really can’t tell you anything else. I’m sorry, but we have rules about discussing patients, you know. If you’ll leave your number, I’ll ask Dr. Henshaw to call you.”

“Thanks,” Kaylie whispered, replacing the receiver. She poured herself a glass of water and tried to quiet the raging fear. Think, Kaylie, think! Don’t fall apart! She drank the water, then made fists of her hands, willing herself to be calm.

When she walked back into the living room, Zane still sat on the couch, his elbows propped on his knees, his silvery eyes dark with concern. A part of her loved him for the fact that he cared, another part despised him for shoving his way back into her life when she’d just about convinced herself that she was over him.

“Well?”

“I didn’t get very far. Henshaw’s out. He’ll call back.”

The furrow in Zane’s brow deepened.

Kaylie, trying to take control of the situation, said, “I’ll—I’ll talk to my lawyer.”

“I already did.”

“You what?” she demanded, surprised that Zane would call her attorney, the very man who had drawn up the papers for their divorce.

“I called Blake. His hands are tied.”

She was already ahead of him. “Then I’ll talk to Detective Montello. He was the arresting officer. Surely he’d…” Her voice faded as she saw him shake his head, his dark hair rubbing across the back of his collar. “Unless you’ve already called him, too.”

“Montello’s not with the force any longer. The guy who took his place says he’ll look into it.”

“But you don’t believe him,” she said, guessing, her heart beginning to pound at the thought of Lee Johnston on the loose. Icy sweat collected between her shoulder blades.

“I just don’t want to take any chances.”

For the first time, she thought about him being in the house—waiting for her when she finished her swim. “Wait a minute, how did you get in here?”

Zane glanced away, avoiding her eyes. “I still have my keys.”

“You what?” she demanded, astounded at his audacity. He hadn’t seemed to age in the past seven years. His hair was still a rich, coffee brown, his features rough hewn and handsome. His eyes, erotic gray, were set deep behind thick black brows and long, spiky lashes. “But you gave them to me,” she said.

He offered her that same, off-center smile she’d found so disconcerting and sexy in the past. “I had an extra set.”

“And you kept them. So that seven years later you could break and enter? Of all the low, despicable… You have no right, no right to barge in here and make yourself at home—”

“I still care about you, Kaylie.”

All further protests died on her lips. Emotions, long buried, enveloped her, blinded her. Love and hate, anger and fear, joy and sorrow all tore at her as she remembered how much he had meant to her. Her breath was suddenly trapped tight in her lungs, and she had to swallow before she could speak. She shook her head. “Don’t, okay? Just… don’t.” She willfully controlled the traitorous part of her that wanted to trust him, to believe him, to love him again. Instead she concentrated on the truth. She couldn’t allow herself to feel anything for him. What they’d shared was long over. And their marriage hadn’t been a partnership. It had been a prison—a beautiful but painful fortress where their fragile love hadn’t had a ghost of a chance.

“Look, Kaylie, I just thought you should know that Johnston’s about to become a free man—”

“Oh, Lord.” Her knees went weak again, and her insides turned cold.

Zane sighed, offering her a tender look that once would have soothed her. But he didn’t cross the room, didn’t hold her as he once would have. Instead he rubbed impatiently at the back of his neck and glanced at a picture on the mantel—the small snapshot of their honeymoon. “Johnston was obsessed with you before, and I doubt that’s changed.”

“I haven’t heard from him in a long while.”

“No letters?”

She shook her head, trying to convince herself that Lee Johnston had forgotten her. After all, it had been years since that terrifying encounter, and the man had been in a mental hospital, receiving treatment. Maybe he’d changed….

“Don’t even think it,” Zane warned, as if reading the expressions on her face. “He’s a maniac. A psycho. He always will be.”

Deep down, Kaylie knew Zane was right. But what could she do? Live her life in terrified paranoia that Lee Johnston might come after her again? No way. She glanced down and noticed that she was wearing only her bathing suit still. “Your information could be wrong,” she said, walking to the laundry room, where she snagged her cover-up off a brass hook near the door. Standing half-naked in front of him only made the situation worse. She struggled into the peach-colored oversized top and pulled her hair through the neck hole only to find that Zane had followed her and was standing in the arch between the kitchen and laundry room, one shoulder propped against the wall. His gaze flicked down her body to her thighs, where the hem of her cover-up brushed against her bare skin.

“And the call?”

“A crank call.”

“You really think so?” he asked.

“I—I don’t know.” Kaylie cleared her throat and tried to concentrate on the conversation. “But I think you overreacted by driving all the way down here—”

“I called, damn it,” he snapped, his patience obviously in shreds as his eyes flashed back to hers. “But you didn’t bother to call me back.”

She felt another guilty pang, but ignored it. She’d considered returning his call and had even reached for the phone once or twice, but each time she’d stopped, unsure that she could deal with him and unwilling to complicate her life again.

“You didn’t say anything about Johnston—”

“Of course not! I didn’t want to freak you out with a message on your recorder.”

“Well, you’re doing a damn good job of it now,” she snapped, her own composure hanging by a thread. Just seeing Zane again sent all her emotions reeling, and now this…this talk about Johnston. It was just too much. Her nerves were stretched to the breaking point.

Zane’s voice was softer. “Look, Kaylie, I think you should take some precautions—go low profile.”

“Low profile?” she repeated, trying to get a grip on herself as she walked past him into the kitchen. She couldn’t let him see her falling apart; she’d fought hard for her independence and she had to prove to him—and to herself—that she was able to take care of herself. She picked up a small pitcher and began watering the small pots of African violets behind her sink. But as she moved the glass pitcher from one small blossom to the next, the stream of water spilled on the blue tiles. She mopped up the mess with a towel and felt Zane’s eyes watching her, taking stock of her nervousness. “And what do you think I should do?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.

His gaze, so rock steady it was maddening, met hers. “First of all, install new locks—a couple of dead bolts and a security system. State-of-the-art equipment.”

“With lasers and sirens and a secret code?” she mocked, trying to break the tension.

“With motion detectors and alarms. But that won’t be enough. If Johnston’s released, you’ll need me, Kaylie. It’s as simple as that.”

Desperate now, she tried to joke. “You? As what? My bodyguard again?” She watched him flinch. “I don’t think so—”

His hand shot out and he caught her wrist, spinning her around. She dropped her dish towel. “I’m serious, Kaylie,” he assured her, his voice low, nearly threatening. “This is nothing to joke about!”

Was he out of his mind? The inside of her wrist felt hot, and she fought the urge to lick her lips.

“And I think it would be best if you took some time off—”

“Now, wait a minute, I can’t leave the station high and dry!”

“Your career just about did you in before,” he reminded her, then glanced down to where his fingers were wrapped around her arm. Slowly he withdrew his hand. “You need a less visible job.” Then, as if realizing his request bordered on the ridiculous, he wiped his palms on his jeans and added, “Why don’t you just ask for a leave of absence until this mess with Johnston is straightened out?”

“No way. I’m not going to live the rest of my life in high anxiety—especially over some stupid call.” Though she was afraid, she couldn’t give in to the fear that had numbed her after Johnston’s last attack. And the man was still locked away.

Tossing her damp curls over her shoulder, she reached down and grabbed the towel from the floor. Her wrist, where Zane had held it so possessively only seconds before, still burned, but she ignored the sensation, refused to rub the sensitive spot where the pads of his fingers had left their impressions.

“Look, Kaylie,” he said, his voice edged with exasperation. “I’m just trying to help you.”

“And I appreciate it,” she replied, though they both knew she was lying, that the question of her independence had been a determining factor in their divorce. “I—I’ll take care of myself, Zane. Thanks for the warning,” she heard herself say, though a part of her screamed that she was crazy to let him go—that she needed him to keep her safe. She extended her hand, palm up. “Now, I think you have something of mine?” When he didn’t move, she prodded him again. “The keys?”

Zane’s eyes darkened to the shade of storm clouds.

Her heart began to pound. He wasn’t giving up. She could see his determination in the set of his jaw.

“How about a deal?” he suggested, not moving.

“Believe me, I’m not in the mood.”

“The keys for a date.”

“For a date? Get real—”

“I am, Kaylie. You go out with me, just for old times’ sake, and I’ll turn the keys over to you.”

“And in the meantime you won’t make an extra set?”

“We’ll go tonight. I won’t have time to do anything so devious.”

Kaylie wasn’t so sure. And she was tempted, far more than she wanted to be. Standing so close to Zane, seeing the shading of his eyes, feeling the raw masculinity that was so uniquely his, she was lured into the prospect of spending some time with him again. There had been a time in her life when he’d been everything. From bodyguard to lover to husband. Her life with him had seemed so natural, so right…until the horrid night when their safe little world was thrown upside down. All because of Lee Johnston.

Kaylie had fallen in love with Zane, trusted him, relied upon him. Now her throat grew dry, and she shook all the happy memories aside. She couldn’t trust herself when she thought of the first magic moments they’d shared—when their love had been new and fresh, before Zane had become so intolerably overprotective and domineering. No. Her dependence on him was long over. Now she was older, and wiser, and on to his tricks. She wouldn’t repeat past mistakes. “I don’t think a date would be such a good idea.”

“Come on, Kaylie, what’ve you got to lose?” he asked, his voice low and disturbingly familiar.

Everything she thought, her palms beginning to sweat.

“You’ve got other plans tonight?” he asked.

“No—”

“No date with Alan?” he mocked, obviously referring to the ridiculous article in The Insider. Her producer had left a copy of the rag on her desk as a joke. She wasn’t engaged to Alan and never would be, but no amount of denial to the press had seemed to change the public’s view that she and Alan, who had once been costars of Obsession and were now cohosts of a popular morning show, were not lovers.

“No date with Alan,” she said dryly.

“Then there’s no reason not to spend a little time with me. Come on,” he insisted, his smile irresistible.

“But—” Why not? It’s just a few hours, a voice inside her head teased. Wouldn’t it be nice to rely on him just a little and find out what he really knows about Lee Johnston? What could it hurt? She looked up at him and swallowed hard. There was a tiny part of her, a feminine part she tried to deny, that loved Zane’s image of power and brooding masculinity, that being around him did make her feel warm inside. But being around Zane was unsafe—her emotions were still much too raw.

“Let’s go. I know a great place in the mountains. You can tell me all about your career as a talk-show hostess and maybe you’ll be able to convince me that you’ll take all the precautions necessary to keep you safe from Johnston.”

“Okay,” she finally agreed, telling herself she wasn’t excited about the prospect of spending time with him. “But I’ll need time to change.”

“I’ll wait,” he said amiably as he walked back to the bar. She watched him pour a drink, as she’d watched him a hundred times before. His shirt was a dark blue. His sleeves were pushed over his forearms to expose dark-skinned muscles that moved fluidly as he handled the bottle and glass. And his hands… She shouldn’t even look at his long, sensual fingers and blunt-cut nails.

She swallowed hard against the memories—erotic memories that she’d hoped she’d forgotten. His gaze found hers in the mirror over the bar, and he smiled a little sexy smile. Her insides quivered.

Turning quickly, before she stared any longer, she headed for the bedroom and told herself that she was a fool, but now that she’d committed herself, somehow she’d get through the evening ahead.




Chapter Two (#ulink_19321233-a6fb-5790-8cec-0d2b9751b833)


Zane tried to ignore the disturbing sensations—sensations that were way out of line. Kaylie was his ex-wife for crying out loud, and here he was, pouring himself another drink, feeling like a teenager in the throes of lust. Returning to this house—this cottage by the sea where he and Kaylie had spent hours making love—had probably been a mistake of colossal proportions, but he’d had no choice. Not if he wanted his plan to work. And he did. More than anything.

After the divorce he’d promised himself he’d give her room to grow. When he’d married her she’d been nineteen, and the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. Blond and tanned, slim and coy. Her laugh had been special, her touch divine.

Though he’d fought his attraction to her, he couldn’t resist the wide innocence in her eyes, the genuine smile that curved her lips, her ingenious wit, though it was often used at his expense. His hands tightened around his glass as he remembered the scent of her perfume, the feel of her skin rubbing against his, the wonder of looking down into her eyes as he’d made love to her. And it had all changed the night a maniac had held a knife to her beautiful throat.

Now Kaylie was beautiful but mature, her humor sharper, her sarcasm biting. Yet he still wanted her—more than a man with any sense should want a woman.

And now her life was threatened.

Paralyzing fear gripped him. Living without her had been hell. He’d just have to convince her that they belonged together. Hearing the bedroom door open, he turned, and his throat went desert dry.

She was dressed in a white off-the-shoulder dress, her blond curls swept away from one side of her face, her eyes glinting with a gloriously seductive green light. “Okay, cowboy, this is your ride. Where’re we going?”

The line was from one of her movies—she’d said it to him as well, late at night, when they had been alone in bed. Had she remembered? Undoubtedly. Zane’s diaphragm pressed hard against his lungs. “It’s a surprise.”

She tilted her head at an angle. “Well, it had better be a short surprise. I have to get up at five tomorrow to tape the show.”

“I’ll have you back by ten,” he lied, pretending ease as he snagged his scuffed jacket off the back of the couch and walked with her to the front door.

He reached for the knob, but she laid a hand across his. “This is all on the up and up, isn’t it? One dinner and then you’ll hand over the keys?”

His gut twisted. “That was the bargain.”

“Then I’ll trust you,” she said, the corners of her beautiful mouth relaxing.

He felt a twinge of guilt at deceiving her, but shrugged it off as he opened the door and she swept outside ahead of him. He’d played by her rules long enough. Now it was time she played by his.

* * *

Kaylie was nervous as a cat when, as they walked outside, she discovered a large brown and black shepherd lying on the porch. “Who are you?”

“Man’s best friend. Right, Franklin?” Zane said, whistling as he opened the back door of the Jeep and the dog leaped inside.

“You bring him on all your dates?” she teased.

He flicked her an interested glance. “My chaperone,” he drawled. “Just to keep you in line.”

“Me?” she replied, but grinned as she slid into the passenger side. Maybe this date wouldn’t turn out to be the disaster she’d predicted.

Casting a glance in his direction as he climbed behind the wheel, she realized that he would never change. He’d always be strong, arrogant, determined, stubborn and self-righteous. But funny, she reminded herself. He had been blessed with a sense of humor.

Still, she was uneasy. She’d seen his mouth turn down when she’d quoted one of his favorite lines from an old movie. She’d done it on purpose, to check his reaction. He’d tried to hide his surprise, but she’d noticed the ghost of change in his eyes.

So why hadn’t she refused to get into the Jeep with him?

Kaylie cast her eyes about, not wanting to confront her actions. A part of her was still intrigued with him. And she’d been lonely in the past seven years. She’d missed him far more than she’d ever admit. Yes, she couldn’t handle the way he’d overreacted and tried to treat her like some fragile possession, but she’d missed his smile. She recalled it now with bittersweet poignancy, how that lazy slash of white would gleam against a darkened jaw as she’d awakened in his arms.

Her heart pounded at the memory, and she silently cursed herself for being a nostalgic idiot. So she missed his sexy looks, his playful grin, his presence in her house.

He headed east, leaving the sun to cast a few dying rays over the darkening waters of the Pacific. The sky had turned a dusky shade of lavender, reflected in the restless sea.

Zane drove without saying much, but she could sense him watching her, smell the clean earthy scent of his aftershave. She’d been crazy to agree to this, she decided. She was much too aware of him.

“Why did we leave the city?” she asked, to break the awkward silence stretching between them.

“Because I discovered a place you’ll like.”

“In Kansas?”

His sensual lips twitched. “Not quite.”

“So let me get this straight. You thought, ‘Gee, Lee Johnston’s about to be released from the hospital—this would be a great time to break into Kaylie’s house and take her to dinner in some restaurant in Timbuktu.’”

He grinned. “You’re astounding, Kaylie. The way you read me like a book,” he said sarcastically. “You know, that’s exactly what I thought!”

She rolled her eyes and held her tongue for the rest of the journey.

Two hours later, Kaylie’s stomach rumbled as she stepped out of his Jeep and eyed the restaurant he’d chosen. She’d expected him to take her to one of their old haunts along the waterfront in Carmel where they could eat seafood and laugh, drink a little wine and remember the good times—the few carefree times they’d shared as man and wife. When he’d mentioned the mountains, her interest had been piqued.

This place, this ivy-covered, two-storied house that looked as if it had been built before the turn of the century, wasn’t like Zane at all. Mystified, she walked up the worn steps to a wide plank porch. A few rockers moved with the wind, and leaves in the surrounding maple and ash trees rustled as they turned with the breeze. Quaint, she thought. And so unlike Zane.

She eyed him from beneath her lashes, but his strong features seemed relaxed, his face handsome and rakish, one thatch of dark hair falling over his eyes. He shoved the wayward lock from his forehead, but it fell back again, making him look less than perfect and all the more wonderful.

Get a grip, she reminded herself as they walked into the old house and Zane tied Franklin to a tree near the entrance.

“You sure he won’t scare the guests?” Kaylie asked.

“This ol’ boy? No way,” Zane said, rubbing the dog behind his ears.

Inside, a mâitre d’ escorted them to a small table in what once had been the parlor.

Zane ordered wine for them both, then after a waiter had poured them each a glass of claret, Zane touched his glass to hers. “To old times,” he said.

“And independence,” she replied.

They dined on fresh oysters, grilled scallops, vegetables and crusty warm bread. Zane’s features seemed sharper in the candlelight, his eyes a warmer shade of gray as he poured the last of the bottle into their glasses, then ordered another.

Conversation was difficult. Kaylie talked of work at the station; Zane listened, never contributing. As if in unspoken agreement, they didn’t discuss Lee Johnston.

“So where’d you get the dog?” she asked as he topped off her glass. She was beginning to relax as the wine seeped into her blood.

“He used to work for the police.”

“What happened—they fire him?”

“He retired.”

Kaylie stifled a yawn and tried not to notice the play of candlelight in his hair. “And you ended up with him.”

Zane shrugged. “We get along.”

“Better than we did?” she asked, leaning back in her chair and sipping from her glass.

“Much.”

“He must do just as you say.”

Zane’s teeth flashed in the soft light. “That’s about the size of it.”

Kaylie was caught up in the romantic mood of the old house with its wainscoted walls and flickering sconces. A fire glowed in the grate and no one else was seated in the small room, though there were four other tables near the windows.

“How’d you arrange this?” she asked, finishing her second—or was it her third?—glass of wine. Pinpoints of light reflected against the crystal.

“Arrange what?”

She motioned to the empty room. “The privacy.”

“Oh, connections,” he said offhandedly, and she was reminded again of how powerful he’d become as his security business had taken off and his clientele had expanded to the rich and famous. He’d opened an office that catered to Beverly Hills, another to Hollywood, as well as San Francisco, Portland, Seattle and on and on. In seven years his business had prospered, as if he’d thrown himself body and soul into the company after their divorce.

He refilled her glass. “I thought we should be alone.” “What? No bodyguards? No private investigators?” she teased, then regretted her sarcasm when his eyes darkened.

“I think we should declare a truce.”

“Is that possible for divorced people?” she asked, and watched as he twisted his wineglass in his fingers.

“Mature divorced people.”

“Oh, well, we’re that, aren’t we? And I guess you’re bodyguard enough, right?” She sipped the wine and felt a languid sleepiness run through her blood. Maybe she should slow down on the claret. It was just that she was so nervous around him. Her muscles relaxed, and she slumped lower in her chair, eyeing him over the rim of her glass. He was so handsome, so erotically male, so…dangerous to be around.

The waiter cleared their plates and brought coffee. He offered dessert, but both Zane and Kaylie declined.

“Well,” she said as Zane reached into his wallet for his credit card, “don’t forget the keys.”

“The what?”

“Your end of the bargain. The keys to my house.”

“Oh, right.” He dropped his credit card on the tray, then reached into his pocket and withdrew a key ring from which he extracted two keys. He slid them across the table. “There you go. Front door and garage.”

She could hardly believe it as she plopped the keys into her wallet. “No strings attached?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but quickly disappeared. “No strings.”

Kaylie felt a twinge of remorse for thinking so little of him. Why couldn’t she open her heart and trust him—just a little? Because she couldn’t trust herself around him, she thought with realistic fatalism.

They walked outside and into a balmy night. The sky had darkened, and jewel-like stars winked high over the mountains. Zane opened the Jeep door for Kaylie, and Franklin hopped onto the passenger seat, growling as Zane ordered him into the back.

“You’re in his space,” Zane explained. The dog jumped nimbly into the back seat, but his dark eyes followed Kaylie’s every move as she climbed inside.

“I don’t know if that’s so safe.”

“He’s fine. He likes you.”

“Oh, right.”

Once back on the road, Zane switched on the radio, and the soft music, coupled with the drone of the engine and the security of being with Zane again made Kaylie feel a contentment she hadn’t experienced in years.

Drowsy from the wine, she leaned her head against the window and glimpsed his profile through the sweep of her curling, dark lashes. His hair brushed his collar, his eyes squinted into the darkness as he drove, staring through the windshield.

The road serpentined through dark forests of pine. Every once in a while the trees receded enough to allow a low-hanging moon to splash a silvery glow over the mountainside.

Kaylie leaned back against the leather seat and closed her eyes. The notes of a familiar song, popular during the short span of their marriage, drifted through the speaker. She punched a button on the radio and classical music filled the interior of the Jeep. That was better. No memories here. She’d just let the music carry her away. Her muscles relaxed, and she sighed heavily, not intending to doze off.

But she did. On a cloud of wine and warmth she drifted out of consciousness.

* * *

Furtively, his palms sweating, Zane watched her from the corner of his eye. He noticed that her jaw and arms slackened and her breasts rose and fell in even, deep breaths.

Ten minutes passed. She didn’t stir. It’s now or never, he thought as he approached the intersection. Turning off the main road and heading into the mountains, he guided the car eastward.

There was a chance she’d end up hating him for his deception and high-handedness, but it was a chance he had to take. He frowned into the darkness, his eyes on the two-lane highway that cut through the dark stands of pine and redwood. Don’t wake up, he thought as the seconds ticked by and the miles passed much too slowly.

It took nearly an hour to reach the old logging road, but he slowed, rounded a sharp corner and shifted down. From here on in, the lane—barely more than two dirt ruts with a spray of gravel—was rough. It angled up the mountain in sharp switchbacks.

He drove slowly, but not slowly enough. Before he’d gone two miles, Kaylie stirred.

The Jeep hit a rock and shimmied and she started. Stretching and swallowing back a yawn, she blinked, her brows knit in concentration. “Where are we?”

“Not in Carmel yet.”

“I guess not,” she said, rotating the crick out of her shoulders and neck as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. “What is this—a park?”

“Nope.”

“Zane?”

He heard her turn toward him. The air was suddenly charged. For a few seconds all he heard was the thrum of the engine and the strains of some familiar concerto on the radio.

Finally she whispered, “We’re not going back to Carmel, are we?”

No reason to lie any longer. “No.”

“No?”

When he didn’t answer, pure anger sparkled in her eyes. “I knew it! I knew it!” she shouted. “I should have never trusted you!” She flopped back in the seat. “Kaylie, you idiot!” she ranted, outraged. “After all he’s done to you, you trust him!”

Zane’s heart twisted.

She skewered him with a furious glare. “Okay, Zane, just where are you taking me?”

“To my weekend place.”

“In the boonies?”

“Right.” He nodded crisply.

“But you don’t have—”

“You don’t know what I have now, do you?” he threw back at her. “In the past seven years I’ve acquired a few new things.”

“A mountain cabin? It’s hardly your style.”

“Maybe you don’t know what my style is anymore.”

“Then I guess I’ll find out, won’t I? I can hardly wait,” she muttered, her eyes thinning in fury. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and waited, then quietly, her voice trembling with rage, she asked, “Why?”

“Because you won’t listen to reason.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’re talking about your life, damn it. And you were going to go on as if nothing had happened, as if this—” he reached into his pocket and extracted the tape “—doesn’t exist! Well, it does, damn it, and until I find out if there’s any reason to believe ‘Ted,’ I’m going to make sure you’re safe.”

“You’re what? How?” she asked, though she was beginning to understand. “I think you’d better stop this rig and turn it around, right now,” she ground out.

“No way.”

“I’m warning you, if you don’t take me home, I’ll file charges against you for kidnapping!”

“Go right ahead,” he said with maddening calm. He cranked on the wheel to round another corner.

“You can’t do this!” she cried. What was he thinking?

“I’m doing it, aren’t I?”

“I mean it, Zane,” she said, her voice low and threatening. “Take me back to Carmel right now, or I’ll make your life miserable!”

“You already have,” he said through tightly clenched teeth. “The day you walked out on me.”

“I didn’t—”

“Like hell!” he roared, and from the back seat Franklin growled. Zane flicked her a menacing glance. “You didn’t give me—us—a chance.”

“We were married a year!” Even to her own ears, it sounded as brief as it had been.

“Not long enough!”

“This is madness!”

“Probably,” he responded with deceptive calm, wheeling around a final corner. The Jeep lurched to a stop in the middle of a clearing. “But, damn it, this time I’m not taking any chances with your life!”

Kaylie stared out the window at the massive log cabin. Even in the darkness, she could see that the house was huge, with a sloping roof, dormers and large windows reflecting the twin beams of the headlights. “Where are we?” she demanded.

“Heaven,” he replied.

She didn’t believe him. Her heart squeezed at the thought of being alone with him. How would she ever control the emotions that tore through her soul?

Oh, no, Kaylie thought, this giant log house wasn’t heaven. To her, it looked like pure hell!




Chapter Three (#ulink_d28ac865-5856-5232-93d3-a52f1b0df17c)


“This will never work,” Kaylie predicted as Zane cut the engine.

“It already has.” He walked out to the back of the vehicle, opened the hatchback, unrolled a trap and yanked out two suitcases. Franklin scrambled over the back seat and bounded onto the gravel road.

Thunderstruck, Kaylie didn’t move. His suitcases, for crying out loud! Her heart dropped to her knees. Zane had planned this kidnapping before they left Carmel. And she’d been played for a fool!

“Let’s go inside,” he said.

“You’re not serious. This is a colossal joke, right?” But she knew from the rigid thrust of his chin that he wasn’t joking.

To his credit, he did seem concerned. The lines around the edges of his mouth were harsh, and he actually looked disconcerted by her outrage. “Look,” he finally said, glaring down at her. “Are you planning to stay out here and freeze?”

“No, I’m going to wait for common sense to strike you so that you’ll drive me back home!”

“It’s gonna be a long wait.”

That did it. She hopped out of the Jeep. Her sandaled feet crunched in gravel as she marched up to him. “This is crazy, Zane, just plain crazy.”

“Maybe.” He strode up the plank steps, fumbled with a key in the dark and shoved hard on a heavy oak door.

“If you think I’m going in there with you, you’ve got another think coming!”

He ignored her outburst. A few seconds later, the house lights blazed cozily from paned windows. “Come on, Kaylie,” he called from deep in the interior. “You’re here now. You may as well make the best of it.”

But she wasn’t done fighting yet. Crossing her arms over her chest, she waited. She’d be damned if she’d walk into this…this prison for God’s sake! She had no intention—

He clicked on the porch lights and stood on the threshold of the log house. Kaylie didn’t budge. As if rooted to the gravel drive, she tried to ignore the fact that he nearly filled the doorway, his shoulders almost touching each side of the doorjamb. And she refused to be swayed by the handsome sight of his long, lean frame, thrown in relief by the interior light behind him. She was just too damned mad.

“It’s gonna get cold out here.”

“I’m not going inside.”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

“No way, Flannery,” she argued, her head pounding from too much wine, her pride deflated. “What’s going to happen is that you’re going back into the house for your keys, then you’re going to climb back into this damned Jeep and take me home. Maybe I’ll forget about pressing charges for breaking and entering and kidnapping and you’ll be a free man!”

He shook his head and rolled his eyes to the night-darkened heavens. “Don’t you know you can’t bully me, Kaylie?”

“And here I thought you were the one doing the bullying!” she snapped back. It didn’t matter what his reasons for bringing her here were. Whether Lee Johnston was in the hospital or on the loose, Zane had no right, no right, to force his will on her. The fact that he’d purposely planned to shanghai her was more than she could take.

Slowly, his face knotted in frustration, he started back down the steps. His eyes were trained on her face. “Come on, Kaylie.”

“Out of the question.”

“Look, you’re getting into that house if I have to carry you in there myself!”

“No way.” Her throat went dry as he advanced on her. She had the urge to run as fast as her legs would carry her, but she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing her flee. No, by God, she’d stand up to him. And hold her ground she did, not moving an inch when he strode up so close that his shoes nudged the toes of her sandals.

“We can do this the hard way, or you can make it easy.”

“Take me home, Zane,” she said more softly. In the shadows she thought she saw him hesitate, and that flicker of doubt gave her hope. Maybe he’d change his mind. She touched his arm and watched his jaw clench. “This is insane. We both know it. Johnston’s still under lock and key and I’ve got to get back. Come on, Zane, this…this…stunt of yours is just no good and I’m—I’m not moving until you assure me we’re going back to Carmel!”

“Have it your way,” he said softly. His hands circled her waist. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“No, Zane, don’t—” she cried, mortified, as he lifted her easily and her feet left the ground.

“I didn’t bring you up here so that you could kill yourself by catching pneumonia.” He swung her over his shoulder and hauled her, as a fireman would, toward the house. Her hair fell over her face. All the blood rushed to her pounding head.

“Zane, this is ridiculous!” she cried, clinging to his sweater, feeling his muscles ripple beneath the knit. “Let me down, damn you. Stop! Zane, please!”

Up the porch stairs and into the house. He kicked the door shut behind him and set her, sputtering and furious, on the floor. “You bastard!” she barked, throwing her hair out of her eyes and tugging at her dress.

“Kaylie—”

“This is America, Zane. You can’t take the law into your own hands!”

He winced a little at that, and storm clouds gathered in his eyes.

“Just because you’re a private detective you don’t have the right to go around…around…abducting helpless women!”

“Helpless? You?” he flung back at her, shaking his head as he strode through a pitch-ceilinged living room and beyond. “I’m the one taking my life in my hands by bringing you here!”

“Damn right,” she agreed, right on his heels. “All I’ll give you is grief.”

“Amen.” He flipped on the wall switch and walked briskly into the kitchen.

“So you may as well give me the keys—”

“Forget it!” He turned and clamped big, angry hands over her bare shoulders. “Now, listen, Kaylie, this is the way it is. I know what I’ve done by bringing you here. I don’t need a lecture on kidnapping, abduction, the rights of the American people or women’s lib! All I’m trying to do is make sure that you’re safe.”

“Spare me—”

“I have. For seven years.” His fingers tightened over her shoulders and his eyes searched her face. She felt his anger, but in his eyes she saw deeper emotions brewing. “Just try to understand,” he said quietly. “You’ve got this job where every morning anyone west of the Rockies can switch on his television and see you and Alan Bently on the tube.”

“So?”

“So what’s to prevent your personal nut case, Lee Johnston, from trying to do another number on you?”

“The law! The courts! Henshaw.”

Zane snorted, then shoved a hand through his hair in frustration. “I deal with the law and the courts every day. Things don’t always turn out like they’re supposed to. As for Henshaw and Whispering Hills, I’ve got my doubts about that setup, too.”

“Johnston’s been there seven years.”

“Then he’s probably due for reevaluation,” Zane said. “We’ll know in a few days.”

“A few days?” she echoed. He expected her to stay up here that long?

“That’s how long it will take to check out the rumor. Maybe this Ted guy knows what he’s talking about. Then again, maybe he doesn’t. Believe it or not, I didn’t bring you up here just to get you angry. I’m scared, damn it. Scared for you. When I think of what Johnston could have done to you—what he’s still capable of…” Zane shuddered. Rubbing his arms, he strode to the window and, leaning his palms on the counter, stared through the glass to the black night beyond.

Kaylie’s heart softened a little. Though she was furious with him for abducting her, she couldn’t help but feel a kindness toward him, a thawing of that cold part of her heart where she’d kept her memories of their short marriage. She had loved him with all of her young, naive heart, and no other man had ever taken his place. No man could. But she forced all those long-buried thoughts of love aside.

“You have no right to do this,” she said quietly.

“I have every right.”

“Why?”

“Because I care, damn it.” He whirled on her, and his gaze, flinty gray, drilled deep into hers. “I care more about you than anyone else on this planet—even more than your precious Alan Bently. If you haven’t figured it out yet, that man’s a leech. He only cares about you because he thinks a public romance with you will further his career.”

“Oh, save me—”

“It’s true.”

“How do you know? Have you ever talked to Alan?”

He snorted derisively. “Of course not.”

“Well, if you had, you might have found out that I’ve never been involved with him.”

“That’s not what the tabloids say.”

“You read the tabloids?” she repeated, amused.

“No, but where there’s smoke, there’s fire.”

“And you care?”

His lips twisted downward. “I told you—I care about you. As for Bently, the man’s the worst kind of opportunist. All those rumors that link you to Alan, I can just imagine what they do to the ratings.”

“Wh-what?” she demanded, getting a glimmer of what he was alluding to.

“It’s a ratings thing, isn’t it? Your morning talk show is pitted against a couple of other shows, isn’t it? I’ll bet your network thought it would boost viewership if you and Alan got married.”

“That’s absurd!” she gasped.

“Is it?” He opened a cupboard and found a brand-new bottle of Scotch. With a hard twist of his wrist, he snapped open the cap, breaking the label, and after locating a small glass, poured himself a stiff shot.

He took a slow swallow, and her gaze traveled from his firm chin to the silky way his Adam’s apple moved in his neck. God, he could reach her as no other man could. There was an irresistible male force surrounding him, and she was oh, so susceptible. She dragged her gaze away.

“I know you never believed it, Kaylie, but I loved you. More than any man should love a woman. I was the one who was obsessed.”

“And now?” she asked, her voice trembling. They were wading in hazardous water. “Did you bring me up here because of Johnston? Or was there another reason?”

His gaze locked with hers for a second. Then he tossed back his drink. “And now I’m protecting you. Period. If you think this is some kind of exotic seduction, guess again. I don’t have to go to so much trouble.”

“I’d hope not,” she said evenly, though emotions were tearing through her, “because if you did, you would’ve lived a very celibate life in the past seven years!”

“Maybe I have,” he said, but he had to have been joking. Dear Lord, when she thought of his passion, his wild lovemaking, his wanton sense of adventure in the bedroom, delicious chills still skittered down her spine. No, Zane Flannery might have gone seven days without a woman, possibly even a month or two, but seven years—never! His sexual appetite was too primal, too instinctive. She studied the rock-hard jut of his chin, the angle of his cheeks, the authority in the curve of his thin lips.

He eyed her just as speculatively. “And what about you, Kaylie?” he asked suddenly, his eyes darkening to the color of a winter storm. “What about your sex life?”

She hadn’t blushed in years, but now a red heat stole steadily up her neck and face, stinging her cheeks. “I don’t think we should be discussing this!”

“It’s just one question. A pretty straightforward question.”

She swallowed back the urge to lie and tell him that she’d had a dozen or so lovers. “My work keeps me pretty busy,” she hedged. “I haven’t had time for too many relationships.”

“Neither have I,” he replied, his gaze finding hers. The silent seconds stretched between them. Kaylie heard only the rapid cadence of her heartbeat, the air whispering through his lungs. “I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you, Kaylie,” he added, staring into the amber depths of his glass. “You can deny it all you want, you can even pretend that you didn’t love me, but there it is. I handled it badly, I admit. But I just loved you too much.” Drawing in a deep breath, he finished his drink, dropped his empty glass into the sink, then started out of the room. “Your bedroom is upstairs to the right. I’m next door. But don’t worry about your virtue tonight. I’m just too damned tired from arguing with you to do anything about it.”

Her throat closed in on itself as she watched him saunter out of the room, the dog at his heels. The faded fabric of Zane’s jeans clung to his hips, and his buttocks moved fluidly, though his shoulders and back were ramrod stiff.

“Good night, Kaylie,” he called over his shoulder as he mounted the stairs. “Turn out the lights when you go to bed.”

“And what makes you think I’ll stay here?” she replied, following him to the stairs, but remaining at the bottom of the steps.

He paused at the landing, one hand resting on the banister. Turning, he towered over her, and again she noticed the torment in his eyes. “It’s dark, and the nearest house is over ten miles away. The main road is even farther. Now, if you want to start making tracks through the wilderness, there’s nothing I can do to stop you, but I will catch up to you.”

“You have no right to do this! No right!” she screamed.

He suddenly looked tired. “That’s a difference of opinion,” he said, then mounted the rest of the steps, leaving her, fists clenched in fury, to stare after him. She felt a twinge of regret for the fleeting, giddy love they’d shared, but she shoved those old emotions into a shadowy corner of her heart. Loving Zane had been a mistake; marrying him had nearly stripped her of her own personality, and she wasn’t about to fall into that trap again.

She glanced down at her hands and slowly uncoiled her fingers. Though she remembered her love with Zane as being unique, it was based on all the wrong emotions.

And now she was scared—frightened that the ominous warning on the tape was true. If only she could call someone—anyone—and find out the truth about Lee Johnston. Once she knew where she stood, she could face the rage of emotions Zane provoked in her.

Shivering, she walked outside and made her way to the Jeep. It was locked; the keys were not in the ignition and, of course, there was no mobile phone. Though she suspected he had a phone somewhere. But where? Miserably, she stared at the darkened dashboard. She didn’t know the first thing about hot-wiring a Jeep—or any other car for that matter. Hot-wiring, as well as breaking into a car were among those valuable high school lessons she’d missed while growing up on a Hollywood back lot.

She kicked at the gravel in disgust and felt the breath of a mountain breeze touch her bare shoulders. Rubbing her arms, she stared dismally at the black woods looming all around her. If she left now, she wouldn’t get far in sandals and a thin cotton dress. Nope. Zane had made sure escape was impossible. At least for tonight.

Turning on her heel, she started back up the steps. There had to be a way, she thought, refusing to give up. If she couldn’t leave tonight, she’d find a way tomorrow.

Back in the house, she searched all the downstairs’ rooms for a telephone, but though she found phone jacks, there wasn’t one telephone in sight. She clenched her teeth in frustration. Damn the man. He’d made sure to thwart her. In the living room, hidden behind panels, she discovered a television, and she worried about her job. What would happen when she didn’t show up tomorrow morning?

She turned on the power to the set but nothing happened. Then she noticed that the connecting cables swung free. Obviously the cable had been switched off.

She tried not to think of her position as cohostess of West Coast Morning. There was time enough to worry later. First she had to find a means of escape. And then, once back in the city, she’d check out Ted’s warning personally, even drive to Whispering Hills to see Dr. Henshaw in person. With renewed purpose, she continued her quick search. In the pantry she found a flashlight and an old army jacket—not the most elegant or comfortable, but something to protect her from the elements, should she have to walk any distance. But taking off in the woods alone at night was too intimidating, even though it would serve Zane right to discover her gone come morning.

Leaving the jacket and flashlight untouched, she padded upstairs and noted that the lamp in Zane’s room was still burning—a sliver of light showed beneath his closed door. She didn’t bother knocking, but twisted the knob and found Zane, wearing only the worn Levi’s, leaning back on the bed, almost as if he were waiting for her.

His head was supported by two pillows, and his eyes were the color of slate. His chest was covered with a mat of dark, swirling hair that covered a tanned skin and a washboard of rigid abdominal muscles before disappearing enticingly beneath his waistband.

The back of Kaylie’s throat went dry. She forced her gaze back to his face. His lazy smile flashed white against a day’s growth of beard.

“Your room’s to the right, remember?” His lips curved speculatively. “Unless of course you want to stay with me.”

The shepherd, lying on the floor near the foot of the bed, lifted his head and cocked it to one side, as if he were sizing up Kaylie.

Kaylie turned her attention back to Zane. “I just want control of my life again.”

Reaching over to the lamp, his shoulder muscles gliding with easy, corded strength, he clicked off the light. “Your choice,” he said in the darkness. “Here—” he thumped on the bed “—or down the hall.”

“I have a job to get to—”

“Forget it.”

“They’ll miss me.”

He chuckled, as if he knew something she didn’t. “Alan will be thrilled to have a chance to show the whole world he doesn’t need you.”

“You’ll regret this, Zane,” she muttered as she fumbled in the dark, then finding the door, walked quickly out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

What had she been thinking of? She’d been out of her mind to walk into his room and see him half-naked on the bed. A warmth in the pit of her stomach curled invitingly, and she remembered how lying next to him had been safe, secure, loving. The scent of his body lingering on the bedsheets, the feel of a strong arm wrapped around her waist.

“Stop it,” she told herself as she marched to the room designated as hers and closed the door behind her. She surveyed her surroundings with a critical eye. The bedside lamps were lit, and golden light glowed warmly against the pine-paneled walls. The hand-stitched quilt on the double bed had been turned down. “How thoughtful,” she grumbled, as if he could hear her as she stared at the plumped pillows. “But you forgot the mints!” She kicked off her sandals and padded barefoot against the smooth floor. The room was inviting, in an elemental sort of way, but she couldn’t forget that she had been shanghaied here against her will, even if, as Zane so emphatically insisted, her life were in danger.

She groaned at the thought of what would happen tomorrow morning when she didn’t arrive on the set of West Coast Morning. There would be chaos; her boss would be furious, and the phones at her apartment in San Francisco as well as at the beach house, would be ringing off the hook. Someone would call her sister, and Margot would worry herself sick.

“Oh, Lord, what a mess!” She grabbed a handful of hair and flung it over her shoulders as she padded to the closet and, out of curiosity, opened the door. An array of clothes—women’s clothes—filled every available space. Skirts, sweaters, jeans and slacks were draped on hangers or folded neatly on the shelves. So she hadn’t been the first, she thought cynically. Disappointment welled up in her, and she slammed the door shut. No time for sentimentality.

So Zane had a woman—or women. So what? She didn’t really believe that he’d lived the life of a monk, did she? It was only surprising that he would expect her to buy that whacked-out story, what with this closet chock-full of women’s things.

Flopping onto the mattress, she tossed one arm over her eyes, trying to relieve the headache that was pounding at her temples. Too much wine, too much fear and way too much Zane Flannery, she thought. But tomorrow she’d find a way to force him to take her back to Carmel or straight to San Francisco, back to her home, her job, her life without him.

She only had to get through one night of sleeping under the same roof with him. One night with him lying, stripped bare to the waist, on a king-size bed only a dozen feet away.

Stop it! she thought, squeezing her eyes shut against the pure, sensual vision of him sprawled lazily across the smooth eiderdown quilt.

She didn’t want him! She didn’t! And yet there was something so provocatively male and charming about him, that she wondered, just for a fleeting moment, what it would be like to love Zane again.

Tossing the quilt over her shoulders, she started counting slowly, hoping that sleep would envelop her and that by morning Zane would come to his senses!

* * *

Zane climbed out of bed and stared out the window. He wondered if he’d made a big mistake. He’d known she’d be angry, of course, even expected her temper to boil. But he hadn’t been prepared for her accusations cutting so close to the bone. Nor had he expected to want her so badly. Already he ached for her, and the thought of a night alone in the bed, with Kaylie only a few steps down the hall, would be torture.

From the foot of the bed, Franklin whined.

“Shh.” Zane patted the big dog’s head, then resumed his stance at the window, his thoughts drawn, as ever, to the only woman he’d ever loved.

She’d changed in the past seven years, he realized, placing one hand high on the window casing and leaning the side of his head against his arm. She’d grown up.

Gone was any trace of the naive young woman he’d married—the teenager who had made a string of semi-successful movies before Obsession.

No, this new woman was strong, forceful and well able to control her own life. He’d have to be on his toes, he thought as he stared moodily into the dense, inky forest, because if he let down his guard for a second, she’d find a way to escape and throw her life in jeopardy. She didn’t really believe that Johnston would be set free soon.

But Zane did.

He knew what it was like to have death take those he loved, and he was bound and determined that this time he’d thwart the grim reaper. Even if he had to keep Kaylie locked away for the next six months!




Chapter Four (#ulink_0d35e881-0bc0-5a0a-814a-a9a4bc0bef44)


The first few streaks of dawn crept across the bed. Groaning, Kaylie roused herself.

She was in an isolated cabin. With Zane.

God, what a mess!

Climbing out of bed, she stretched and looked out the window. The sun was rising behind a wall of sharply spired mountains. Golden light shone through the stands of pine, glittering in the dewdrops. What was she doing here?

“Oh, Zane,” she murmured, grabbing the quilt and wrapping it around her. What was she going to do? Zane had always been an enigma of sorts, and she’d never learned how to handle him—just, she supposed, as he thought he’d never learned to handle her.

Smiling at the thought, she sat on the window seat and drew her knees under her chin. She remembered the first time she’d seen Zane and the tiny knot of apprehension that had coiled in her stomach, the same warm knot she felt now as she thought about him in the next room. She should be angry with him and she was, but the morning took the edge off her anger.

Had it been ten years ago when she’d first laid eyes on Zane Flannery? She’d only been seventeen at the time, and yet, the first time she’d seen him seemed as though it had occurred only yesterday….

* * *

A bodyguard! She, Kaylie Melville, with a bodyguard! She almost laughed at the thought. Just because she’d made a couple of pictures and she’d been receiving fan mail—some of it not so nice—didn’t mean she needed a bodyguard!

“It’s a bodyguard or nothing,” her father warned her. “We can’t be following you off to God-only-knows where every time you make a movie. So, you tell that producer of yours that you get your own personal bodyguard or you won’t be making any more films for him!”

Her father, a short, wiry man with a temper that could skyrocket, wasn’t about to take no for an answer.

“That’s right,” her mother had agreed, as she did with any of Dad’s rules. “You listen to your father.” Her mother had winked broadly. “No reason to give up your career. Just have the studio hire a guard. I’ll talk to them myself.”

Kaylie didn’t argue. She loved making films. Her first picture had been mildly successful—a teen horror flick that made the studio more money than had been expected. Her second film was meatier, as she played a teenager who fell for the boy from the wrong side of the tracks and had to deal with unsupportive parents and pregnancy. Her third movie, Carefree, was a teen comedy that surprised the critics and earned the director, as well as Kaylie, glowing reviews. The film had grossed over a hundred million. Triumph Studios was ecstatic. Barely sixteen, Kaylie had become a household word, a budding star who received fan mail and was asked to do interview upon interview to promote her forthcoming projects. She was compared to other young actresses of the time. People sought her autograph. And the fan mail kept pouring in. Letters of undying love, proposals of marriage, and a few not-so-kind missives from a few tortured fans.

Soon the powers-that-be at Triumph Studios agreed with her father and insisted she retain a bodyguard.

But, at seventeen, she hadn’t expected anything like Zane Flannery to walk into the offices of Triumph Pictures and announce that he would be looking after her. Not by a long shot! She had thought she’d be protected by some husky ex-football player with a couple of teeth missing. Or by some man with a huge belly and unshaven jaw who had once been the bouncer at a bar. But, oh no, Flannery was nothing like either man she’d envisioned.

He was younger than she’d expected—in his early twenties, by the looks of him, and much cuter—well, more handsome than any of her costars. His hair was longer than stylish and sable brown, curling over his collar and falling over his forehead in shiny, windblown waves. His face, though rough-hewn, took on a boyish quality whenever he flashed a rakish, devil-may-care smile that turned her inside out.

“Miss Melville,” he said, extending a work-roughened palm. They were seated in the cluttered office of Martin York, the producer of her latest film, Someone to Love.

Flannery’s large palm dwarfed hers as he shook her hand, then released her fingers. Wearing only a leather jacket, jeans and a T-shirt, he looked as if he were one of the stagehands or construction workers on the set, but his eyes gave him away. Gray and penetrating, they seemed to take in all of the office at once as he turned back to the producer.

Martin tossed his Dodgers baseball cap onto a chair behind him. Grinning beneath his beard, he reached over a desk piled high with scripts, reels of film and overflowing ashtrays, and clasped Zane’s outstretched hand. “How the hell are you?”

“’Bout the same,” Zane drawled, dropping into the chair next to hers and slouching low, his jean-encased legs stretched out in front of him.

“That bad, eh?”

Both men laughed, and Kaylie repressed the urge to giggle. Their easy camaraderie caused her to feel like an outsider, and when she was nervous, she often giggled. But she didn’t want Zane to see her as the least bit girlish. He looked like the kind of person who wouldn’t easily suffer fools, and she didn’t want to get on his bad side.

“I’ve known Flannery here for more than a few years,” Martin said, looking at her as if suddenly remembering she was in the room. “We knew each other in the navy. So don’t let his appearance fool you. He’s the best in the business.”

Kaylie trained her gaze on the man who was to be her protector. The best in the business? So young?

“Zane’s worked on some top-secret stuff for the armed services, then he landed a job at Gemini Security. Now he’s starting his own company—right?”

“That’s the rumor,” Zane replied lazily. He glanced at Kaylie again, and his smile faded. “I’ll take care of you, Miss Melville. You can count on it.”

“Kaylie,” she replied with a shrug. “And I’ll call you Zane. Okay?”

“If that’s the way you want it.”

She looked from Zane to Martin, but Martin, too, lifted a shoulder. “Whatever works.”

Kaylie grinned and tried not to be lost in the power of Zane’s gaze. But she felt giddy and conspicuous and—What was wrong with her? He was just her bodyguard. No big deal. Or was it? This man—well, he looked as if one hot look from him could melt a glacier.

“Okay, okay,” Martin said, handing Zane an address book. “Now, here’s Kaylie’s address. She still lives with her folks and her sister, and she’ll be working here as well as on location in Mexico and Australia. Her folks won’t be going along, so Kaylie will be your responsibility. She’s been getting a few crank letters….” He tossed a stack of mail, bound by a rubber band, to Flannery just as he finished copying her address into his own book. “I want you to check them all out—”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Kaylie cut in, surprised. “That’s my mail, right?”

Martin nodded, his expression growing peevish.

Objecting, Kaylie reached for the small bundle. “Don’t I get to read it?”

Martin waved off her request. “Don’t worry about it. The secretary will respond.”

“No way. I always read—”

“You don’t have time,” Martin said, obviously irritated. “You’ve got a plane to catch in three days and—”

“And it’s mine,” Kaylie said, hoping not to sound too petulant. But she wasn’t going to let this new guy think he could boss her around. She’d agreed to the bodyguard but that was all. To Zane, she said, “If there’s something else you want to know about me, just ask.”

He arched one dark brow, and a smile tugged at the corners of Flannery’s lips, though he tried to keep his expression grave as he slapped the stack of envelopes into her hand. “When you’re done with them, I’d like to see them again.”

Martin was fit to be tied. “We don’t have time—”

“It’s cool,” Kaylie assured him, and Martin rolled his eyes.

“Women,” Martin muttered under his breath, but Kaylie, cheeks burning, jaw tight, refused to rise to the bait. She just wanted this bodyguard to understand that she wouldn’t be treated like a little kid. As for Martin’s bad mood, he’d get over it.

From that point on, Zane was all business. He was with her constantly, but never obtrusively, and she began to relax around him. He helped her with her studies and taught her card games and even ran through her lines with her. Once in a while he’d show her a different side to him—a side that proved he did have a sense of humor. While going over her lines, he’d ad-lib, all very seriously, and she’d foul up her lines and they’d both end up laughing. Once in a while she’d catch him looking at her intensely, his eyes darkening, and she’d feel a tightening in her stomach, a warmth that seeped through her whole body.

When they were together, she felt secure. Even when they went out at night, he was cool and calm, almost relaxed. But at the slightest hint of danger, if any fan got too close and he sensed her unease, every muscle would flex and his eyes would glint with warning.

Being so close to him, closer than she was to any other male, she began to rely on him and fantasize about him. He was as handsome as any of her costars and seemed much more virile and worldly. He didn’t party, nor try to impress the stars. He was just there—steady as a rock—with his sexy smile that turned her insides to jelly. They spent month after month together.

In Australia, after grueling hours on the set, he’d swim with her in the ocean, and walk with her as the warm sand squished between her toes. He never touched her, though she’d caught his gaze drifting over her body as the wind teased the hem of her dress or the drops of saltwater dried on her skin.

Once, she caught him staring at the dusky hollow between her breasts. She couldn’t breathe for a second. Instinctively she placed her hand over the halter of her swimsuit and his gaze moved, but not before she saw the flame in his eyes. Without a word, he tossed her a beach towel and kept his distance from her for the rest of the day.

It wasn’t until the next year, after the success of Someone to Love, when they were filming in Victoria, British Columbia, that their relationship changed. Her parents had stayed with her on the set for two weeks, then flown back to California.

Kaylie, feeling restless, paced in her room. From her window, she spied the storm clouds gathering to the west, reflecting her own mood as they shifted in dark patterns on the water. She opened the window, feeling a stiff breeze, smelling the heavy scent of rain. There was electricity in the air, currents as charged as her emotions, and she couldn’t think of anything but Zane and what it would be like to kiss him.

She told herself she was crazy, that her mother would tell her she was in the throes of puppy love, that her feelings for Zane were nothing more than a schoolgirl crush.

Nonetheless, she was wild for him.

For the first time in her life she had sexual fantasies, and they always involved Zane. Sometimes she blushed just looking at him.

After filming, she and Zane decided to walk back to the hotel. The wind picked up and the clouds overhead opened. Huge raindrops peppered the ground, forming puddles. “Come on,” Zane said, turning up his collar and grabbing her hand as he dashed across a street. “We’ll catch a cab.”





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