Page 63 of Big Bad Wolfe

The pulse beneath the smooth copper skin at his throat throbbed rapidly as golden flames ignited in the umber pools, and Jillian’s belly clenched. “M-morning, Zane.”

One steely arm wrapped her shoulders and he leaned in to kiss her cheek, nuzzle her ear. “Sorry I kept you waiting.” His husky murmur trailed shivers down her backbone. “I went for a run and lost track of time.”

“No problem,” she whispered. She understood he was only performing the obligatory post-wedding-night PDA for any onlookers, but was having trouble catching her breath anyway. “I figured as much. I never doubted you.”

He pulled away and tenderness glowed in his eyes, softened his sensual mouth. Then he banked his emotions and his expression again went enigmatic. “I’m starving,” he said with false heartiness. “What’s everyone having for breakfast?”

Jillian took another swig of coffee. So, they were both going to play pretend.

Which one would crack first?

* * *

Jillian and Zane eventually relaxed during breakfast, Mia awoke from her daze as promised and the meal turned into a lively party of jokes and banter.

Mia related the story of how she’d conned Zane and left him handcuffed to a toilet in the Phoenix airport bathroom while gagged with his own tie, then stolen his wallet and tossed his gun in the airport Dumpster, and Jillian had laughed until tears streamed from her eyes.

Zane unleashed his reserve and teased Mia mercilessly about kicking his ass, and he good-naturedly accepted the return ribbing from everyone at the table. The double-whammy of his quick wit and natural charm burrowed more deeply into Jillian’s heart and she’d reveled in this appealing facet of the man she’d married.

The camaraderie continued during the limo ride to the airport two hours later, where the quartet boarded the return flight to Portland.

Jillian took her seat by the window and glanced up expectantly at Zane, eager to have him to herself all the way home.

But instead of sitting down, he moved past the row. As Mia started to take the seat across the aisle, he gently caught her arm. “I’m going to hijack your husband for the next couple hours. I want to pick his brain about some computer files I’m trying to decipher, and discuss upgrading the outdated security system at the Hope Center.”

“No problem.” Mia bounced into the seat next to Jillian. “That’ll give us time for girl talk.”

He rolled his eyes. “Look out.” He flashed one of his rare gorgeous grins at Jillian, making the world tilt. “Don’t believe a single thing she says.”

Jillian enjoyed Mia’s lively intelligence but after the companionable breakfast, she’d hoped two solo hours in Zane’s company would further draw him out. Her disappointed gaze lingered on his lean, powerful frame as he commandeered the window seat across the aisle.

“Oh,” Mia said sotto voice. “You’ve got it bad for our boy.”

Jillian fastened her seatbelt with suddenly clumsy fingers. “I’m afraid so. I’m just not sure what ‘it’ is.”

They both went quiet while the flight attendant recited the “in the event of” spiel.

As the aircraft taxied along the runway, Mia leaned closer to Jillian. “So what doyouthink it is?”

The plane picked up speed, lifted off the ground and Jillian’s nerves shot sky-high along with the aircraft. “He’s not at all what I thought I wanted.”

Mia tilted her head. “What did you think you wanted?”

“Well … someone who loves kids and devotes himself to being a father. Someone sensitive and caring, with an even temperament. A scholarly gentleman.”

“Hmm. In other words, a comfortable, passionless relationship.”

Startled, Jillian blinked. “I— When you put it that way, I suppose so, yes.”

Mia nodded. “I know where you’re coming from. I used to feel the same way. Only I thought I didn’t wantanyman in my life. Intense passion scared the crap out of me. Does it scare you, too?”

Mia’s direct analysis rattled Jillian. Could the intuitive attorney be right? Jillian’s mom and dad had enjoyed a close, vibrant relationship. So close that her mother’s sudden, unexpected death from an aneurysm had devastated Dean Ramsay. Her death had hit them all hard, but years passed before any spark of life returned to Dean’s sorrowful eyes. Even then, the small flicker was a dim shadow of the previous inner light. A helpless witness to his wrenching pain, Jillian had longed to ease his agony. But no one had been able to help.

And growing up in the rough-and-tumble loud male Ramsay domain, Jillian had felt invisible. Her guys all loved her without reservation, but they had an annoying masculine tendency to pat her on the head and dismiss her dreams. She’d clung to the fantasy of a suave, sophisticated man who would share her more tender feelings. Someone who valued sensitivity instead of viewing it as an indulgence. She’d envisioned a relationship with a man more motivated by thoughts and words than action.

She gripped the armrest. Had her father’s intense suffering unknowingly influenced her toward an intellectual relationship? One she viewed as safe? Had her macho brothers’ teasing and disdain of soft emotions convinced her she’d be happier with a meek-mannered poet instead of a fierce warrior?

“I don’t know,” she whispered, confused. “I guess … I’m afraid of heartbreak. My dad is the strongest, most sensible man I know. But he was eviscerated when my mom died. He was never quite the same.”

---