Page 36 of Dream Lake

Affectionate. Nice.Alex’s brain summoned thoughts of Zoë’s luscious naked body, and what he would have done to her, given half a chance. The glinting locks of her hair trailed like curled ribbons, and he couldn’t stop himself from touching them, playing with the tousled silk. “When did you find out?”

Zoë took an extra breath as his fingertips reached the curve of her scalp and stroked gently. “He told me he’d been having an affair with another man. A lawyer at the firm. He hadn’t meant for it to happen. He didn’t want to hurt me. But something was missing in our relationship, and he’d never been able to figure it out.”

“Given the fact that he slept with another guy,” Alex said, “it’s pretty obvious what was missing.”

Zoë looked at him quickly, but when she saw the glint of humor in his eyes, she relaxed.

Sliding his hand to the nape of her neck, Alex relished the texture of cool, soft skin, the fine muscles beneath. The kitchen seemed to breathe around them, stirring currents of toasted air that carried the bittersweet zest of lemon rind, the dank sweetness of scrubbed wooden cutting boards, the floating richness of cake, the crisp bite of cinnamon, and the black tang of coffee. All of it whetted a deep thrill of hunger. It seemed as if Zoë were part of the feast all around him, made to be tasted and felt and sensually enjoyed. The only thing that held him back from her was a thread of honor that was stretched nearly to the breaking point. If he let himself do what he wanted, if Zoë didn’t stop him, he would end up being the worst thing that ever happened to her. He had to make her understand that.

“In high school,” he said, “I was the kind of asshole who would have teased and bullied you.”

“I know.” After a moment, Zoë said, “You would have called me a dumb blonde.”

At the very least. He had been angry at the world. He’d hated all the things he couldn’t have. And he would have especially hated someone as gentle and beautiful as Zoë.

She took a deep breath before asking, “Is that how you think of me now?”

Although she’d just handed him the perfect way to put some distance between them, Alex couldn’t bring himself to use it. Instead he told her the truth. “No. I think you’re smart. I think you’re good at what you do.”

“Do you think I’m… attractive?” she asked hesitantly.

He was nearly drowning in the desire to demonstrate exactly how attractive he found her. “You’re sexy as hell. And if I thought you could handle my kind of trouble, we wouldn’t be standing here talking. By now I’d have dragged you to the nearest dark corner I could find, and—” He broke off abruptly.

Zoë gave him a look that was difficult to interpret. Eventually she asked, “What makes you sure I couldn’t handle you?”

She didn’t know what she was asking for, from a man who couldn’t remember what it was like to be innocent. Lightly gripping her hair, Alex forced her face close to his. The blond curls danced around his fingers and tickled the backs of his hands. “I’m a bastard in bed, Zoë,” he said quietly. “I’m selfish and mean as the devil. I have to have all the control. And I’m… not nice.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

He wasn’t about to discuss his sexual preferences with her. “No, we’re not going there. All you need to know is that I don’t make love to women, I use them. To you, sex is about kindness, honesty, commitment… well, I don’t bring any of that to bed. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll believe that.”

“I do,” Zoë said promptly.

Drawing his head back an inch, Alex stared at her. “Really?”

“Yes.” But after a long hesitation, Zoë’s gaze dropped and the corners of her mouth quirked. “No,” she admitted, “I really don’t.”

“Damn it, Zoë—” He broke off in frustration, all the more provoked because she was trying not to smile, as if she thought of him as some big pussycat trying to pose as a tiger. She was playing with fire. She wouldn’t begin to understand the depravity that had passed for his love life. He knew who he was, and he knew how to hurt people—God knew he’d done it often enough.

The hint of amusement flitting across her lips drove him crazy. Before he knew what he was doing, he crushed his mouth over hers, holding her head so she couldn’t jerk back. He expected resistance. He wanted to scare her off. That was how the lesson would go. But after the first innocent start of surprise, she went soft and easy against him, her fingers lacing into his hair, curving around his skull. Alex was mortified by the force of his own response. He could have no more broken her hold on him than he could have snapped a steel beam in two.

She tasted like lavender sugar. Sweet, dark-flowering kisses, opening in a way that focused all his senses on this one moment, this one blinding perception of pleasure.

Too late, he realized that she wasn’t the one playing with fire.

He was.

He reached down to gather her in, all the deep curves and persimmon-smooth skin and silky heat. The feel of her was so lush, so unlike his ex-wife’s spareness, that he kept adjusting his hold, trying to fit her more closely against him, and the voluptuous friction aroused him unbearably.

Once, when he was still a teen, he’d been bodysurfing on a trip to Westport with friends, and he’d timed a six-foot wave badly. He’d been tossed and turned like a load of laundry until he’d finally been deposited on the beach, so disoriented that for a few minutes he couldn’t remember his own name. He felt like that now, only this time he wanted to dive back in and never come up for air.

His hands went to the inward arc of her waist and moved blindly upward. Reaching the sides of her breasts, he encountered the edges of a bra with sturdy straps designed to support substantial curves. His fingertips followed the straps in restless strokes, up to the tops of her shoulders, back down again.

Her mouth broke from his. Alex stood there panting with fractured breaths. Zoë held his gaze, her eyes pure blue and drowsy and intent. She had no understanding of how close to the edge he was. She reached behind her waist to untie her apron, and then the straps behind her neck. The garment dropped limply to the floor. Rising on her toes, she kissed him again, her fingers touching the sides of his face, stroking tenderly. This moment would haunt him for the rest of his life, the sweet bloom of her mouth, the overpowering heat of his response to her, the way the moments drifted like sparks from a fire and vanished before he could catch them.

He felt her reaching awkwardly for his hands, trying to pull them to her. She wanted him to touch her. God help him, if he started, he wouldn’t be able to stop. But his will eroded in the rush of pure feeling, and resisting her was no more possible than stopping his own heart from beating. Zoë took his stiff wrist and shyly urged his hand to the front of her shirt. The backs of his fingers brushed against her breast, the tip jutting distinctly against the elastic webbing of the bra. For a second he couldn’t breathe. His hand opened to cup the luxurious weight, his thumb rubbing the peak in savoring circles, until she gasped against his lips.

Alex took his hand from her, having to secure his balance by gripping the edge of the sink behind her. His equilibrium was gone. It didn’t help that Zoë began to nuzzle into his neck with erotic delicacy, nibbling and kissing, the tugs of her lips siphoning up pleasure. His body was nothing but drive and sensation. He reached down to grip her bottom with both hands, pulling her high and tight. Zoë’s eyes opened as she felt the searing pressure, blatant even through the layers of their clothing. He urged her closer, letting her feel how much he wanted her, letting the hardest part of him slide with intimate exactness against the softest part of her. She quivered, a vibrant hum in her throat… and then she flinched with a cry that had nothing to do with pleasure.

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