Page 61 of Dream Lake

“This outfit makes me look dumpy,” Zoë said, and was instantly annoyed with herself. “Forget I just said that,” she told him before he could reply. “I’m not fishing for compliments, I’m just feeling insecure. About everything.”

“It’s normal to feel that way,” Alex said, “when you’re facing a lot of challenges. But ‘dumpy’ is never a word that could apply to you.” He drained the coffee cup and set it down. “And if you need a compliment… you’re a great cook.”

“Can you tell me one that’s not about my cooking?” she asked wistfully.

That almost made him smile—she could see the subtle deepening at the corners of his mouth. “You,” he said after a moment, “are the kindest person I’ve ever known.”

Before Zoë could recover from that, he started for the door. “Get your bag,” he said in an offhand tone. “I’ll take you to Dream Lake.”

***

The cottage on Dream Lake Road was spotless and light-filled and beautiful, the rows of new casement windows glittering in the sunshine. It smelled agreeably of fresh paint and scrubbed wood. They carried boxes inside, Alex taking two heavy crates of dishes to the new kitchen island. Following him, Zoë was surprised to see the retro dining set, finished with a gleaming coat of new silver chrome, the chairs reupholstered with liqht aqua vinyl that approximated the original hue. She set down the box she was carrying and stared at the dining set in amazement. “You restored it,” she said, running her fingers over the shiny white tabletop.

Alex shrugged. “Just gave it a few shots of chrome spray.”

She wasn’t fooled by his nonchalance. “You did a lot more than that.”

“I worked on it now and then when I needed distraction. You don’t have to use it, by the way. You can sell it and use the money for another dining set.”

“No, I love this. It’s perfect.”

“It goes with your bowling lockers,” he agreed.

Zoë grinned. “Are you making fun of my decorating style?”

“No, I like it.” Seeing her dubious expression, he added, “Really. It’s cute.”

Her smile lingered. “I suppose your decorating style is very tasteful.”

“It’s impersonal,” he said. “Darcy always said that no one would ever be able to tell a thing about either of us by looking at our house. I kind of liked it that way.”

Noticing a couple of objects in the center of the table, Zoë picked one up. It was a little plastic strap with a buckle, and something that looked like a miniature transmitter. “What is this?”

“It’s for the cat.” He retrieved the other object on the table, a tiny remote control of some kind, and showed it to her. “This goes with it.”

She shook her head, mystified. “Thank you, but… Byron doesn’t need a shock collar.”

That drew a brief grin from him. “It’s not a shock collar.” Taking her by the shoulders, he steered her to the door that led to the back patio. “It’s for that.”

A small Plexiglas square in a frame had been set into the wall beside the main door. Alex pressed a button on the remote control, and the clear pane slid upward with a quiet whoosh.

Her mouth fell open. “You… you put in a cat door?”

“The collar will activate it automatically, but only when Byron approaches directly. So nothing else will get in, including spiders.” At Zoë’s silence, he added, “It’s a gift. I figured you’d be busy enough with your grandmother, you didn’t need to be opening the door a dozen times a day for a cat.” Alex pointed to a sticky note on a nearby cabinet. “Those are directions for how to use it. The instruction manual is in the—” He broke off as Zoë reached for him. Reflexively he snatched her wrists in his hands before she could put them around his neck. The remote control clattered to the floor.

“I was just going to hug you,” Zoë said on a breath of laughter. No gift had ever pleased her as much. She was too filled with delight to be cautious.

His grip on her wrists was gentle but inexorable. His face had gone taut, grim, as if he’d just found himself in mortal danger.

“One hug,” she whispered, smiling.

Alex shook his head slightly.

Zoë watched, fascinated, as a band of color crossed the crests of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The front of his throat rippled with a swallow. How remarkable his eyes were, striations running through the light blue-green irises like spokes of starlight. He looked at her as if he wanted to eat her alive. And instead of being nervous, she was filled with giddy excitement.

Since he was still holding her arms, she lifted on her toes and leaned close, until her lips caught gently at his. She kept her wrists yielding in his grip, understanding that he was fighting some inner battle. She sensed the moment that he lost. Slowly he brought her hands behind her back, pressing them toward the base of her spine until her breasts were arched upward. His mouth came to hers. He held her in a way that made movement impossible—she could only answer him with her mouth, her lips clinging desperately.

Still kissing her, he let go of her wrists and lifted his hands to her face, cradling her cheeks. He seemed determined to pull in every sensation and make it last forever. Neither of them was rational, there was no room left for thought. Only for feeling. Only for wanting. Zoë reached under his T-shirt until the skin of his back was against her palms. She drew them slowly along the muscles on either side of his spine. He reacted with a quiet grunt and pushed her back against the edge of the wooden countertop, and tugged the front of her shirt upward. His breath was rough, but his hands were gentle on her breasts, squeezing and stroking as he kissed her. He licked inside her mouth, hot and deep. His fingers slipped beneath the top edge of her bra until his knuckles brushed a sensitive peak. The tender flesh went tight, and she felt the sweet ache of his touch all through her. He caught the tip and tugged, gently harrowing until the pleasure made her writhe. She struggled to get closer to him, rising on her toes, while he kissed her as if he were feeding on her, openmouthed and wet and slow—

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