Читать книгу Christmas Secrets Collection - Laura Iding - Страница 48

Lin was sitting on the edge of Zoe’s desk, waiting for her, when Zoe got to the office first thing Friday morning. She held out her arms. “Get over here.”

Zoe set Dax’s coffee down and they shared a quick embrace.

“You lost weight.” Lin stepped back and looked her up and down.

“Freeze-dried soup, bamboo shoots and snake meat. Very slimming.”

“Still, you look pretty damn good, all things considered.” Lin’s sharp eyes spotted Zoe’s ring finger. She grabbed Zoe’s hand. “Omigod. What happened? You and Johnny …?”

“Long story. Lunch?”

“You’re on.”

The rest of the staff was already gathering around to welcome her back. They were quick about it and had left her to power up her computer and start getting her workday under way when the elevator doors slid open and Dax emerged.

Zoe ordered her silly heart to stop bouncing off the walls of her chest and handed him his coffee. “Good morning.”

He leaned his cane against her desk and took off the lid, the way he always did. After sniffing it suspiciously, he condescended to a sip. “Good,” he said.

She had no idea whether he meant the coffee or the morning. She supposed it didn’t matter. He was there, three feet away from her, even if she couldn’t throw her arms around him and take his mouth in an endless kiss.

She asked, “You got my directions to Bravo Ridge?”

He sipped again. “I saw you sent them. But I won’t need them. We’ll go together.”

Joy leaped within her. She wished it would stop.

We’ll go together. Was that wise? Probably not. But it certainly made sense. No need to take two cars, or to make him find the way on his own. Yes, it was dangerous, the two of them in a car, side-by-side, driving to her family ranch, the way any two people on an actual date might do.

But she was his assistant after all. They were going to be together a lot anyway. She needed to start getting used to being around him without being with him.

“I’ll pick you up, then,” she said.

“No, I’ll drive.”

She wanted to argue with him, say that she knew the way and he might as well ride with her. But she would only be picking a silly fight over nothing, seeking conflict with him as an outlet for her frustrated desire. “However you want it.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“Say, two-fifteen?”

“That’ll work.” He grabbed his cane and disappeared into his office.

Thirty seconds later, he buzzed her. She got up and went in.

He looked up from typing something on his computer and his dark gaze ran over her, head to toe and back up again.

She felt weak in the knees, wet down below. It was absurd and she knew it. She had made her choice and she needed to stop indulging herself, stop wallowing in her own unsatisfied lust.

He said, “I’ll need the pictures you took in the jungle. We’re moving up a contributing editor’s Spotlight to fill the slot for the January issue. I’ve decided to write the story of what happened in Chiapas as a special feature—don’t worry, just the survival story. Not our story.”

She didn’t even try to hide her triumphant smile. “And you’re using my pictures.”

“Yeah, well. Are they any good?”

“Some of them are excellent. And I do realize it’s a great opportunity ….”

“But you want to be paid. And you should be. You will be.” He named a very generous price. “That is, if they’re usable.”

“They are. And the price is right, thank you.”

“Get with Jeffrey.” Jeffrey Walleghar was the art director and the photo editor. “He’ll give you the contract and see that you get the check.”

“I’ll do that.”

He looked her up and down again. He wore the strangest expression. It wasn’t a happy look. “You think you’ll be the next Ramón Esquevar now?” Was he angry, for some reason?

Or simply frustrated and yearning for something he couldn’t have? Just as she was.

She sat in the black club chair. “Dax, look. I know it doesn’t work like that. It takes years to get to Esquevar’s level. Most never get near that. And I’m good, but I’ll never be that good. I enjoy photography, but in terms of a job, I like the editorial side better.”

He leaned back, tossed his pen to the desk pad. “Are you reassuring me that I’m not going to lose you, is that it?”

“Yes. And I’m telling you that I don’t want to be a full-time professional photographer. I want to be an editor. Maybe someday, an editor-in-chief.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “I wouldn’t dream of getting ahead of myself.”

“Sure you would. Don’t.”

She wanted to ask him please not to be an ass, but that probably wouldn’t be appropriate. “I’ll have the pictures for you right away.”

“Ten minutes? And we can do the huddle then.”

“I’ll be ready.”

“Of course you will.”

She left him, put the pictures on a memory stick and brought them back to him along with her laptop, ready for the huddle. He took the stick and they had their huddle, which went pretty smoothly, all things considered. There was a lot to catch up on, but he’d made a good start on it the day before.

After the huddle, she spent the morning getting on top of his correspondence, fielding the constant calls, dealing with catering for the two big meetings they were having that afternoon. The hours zipped by.

Before she knew it, Lin was standing over her, waiting to go to lunch.

They went to the coffee shop down the street. They ordered and waited for the food to come. Once the waitress had served them and left them alone, Lin got down to it.

“Okay, what happened with Johnny?”

Zoe told the truth. “There never was a Johnny. I bought a big, fake ring to get everyone off my back about falling for Dax.”

Lin threw back her blue-streaked head and laughed out loud. “Oh, you are so bad.”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“It absolutely did. So … you busted yourself to Dax while you were lost in the jungle?”

“Yeah. Under the circumstances, the whole pretense started seeming beyond silly, not to mention no longer necessary.”

“You and Dax had a thing, huh?”

Zoe kept a straight face. “What happens in the rainforest stays in the rainforest.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’m giving you.”

Lin stuck her fork in her taco salad. “You are no fun at all, you know that? But still, I like you a lot and I’m glad you’re here, safe.”

“Me, too.”

“Plus, Dax is getting so he can’t function without you, so I guess it’s just as well that you didn’t fall hopelessly in love with him.”

Hopelessly in love with him. Was she?

Lin was shaking her head. “Uh-oh.”

She scowled. “What do you mean, uh-oh?”

“You should see your face.”

“Eat your taco salad.”

“You know what? You’re right. It’s time to change the subject. Your pictures are terrific. The feature is going to be a killer.”

“I’m excited about it.”

Lin forked up a big bite of salad, stuck it in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “I’d still rather talk about you and Dax.”

“It’s not going to happen.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

When Zoe got back to her desk, Dax was in the first of his two afternoon meetings.

She went to work. There was no end of stuff to catch up on after almost two weeks away.

Dax reappeared at a little after three. “The pictures look good.”

She stopped typing and grinned up at him. “Told you so. I know you sent them to Lin. She said at lunch that she likes them, too.”

“I’m going to go on home now, see if I can finish the feature over the weekend.” Below the giant bandage on his forehead, his eyes were dark and deep as ever, his nose as handsomely hawkish, his mouth an invitation to sin. If they were still in the clearing, she would rise and wrap her arms around him and tell him that he was the sexiest man alive. “Zoe?” Suddenly, his voice was husky, temptingly rough. “Did you hear what I said?”

She blinked. “Uh, yeah. Every word. You’re going to finish the feature over the weekend.”

“Is there … something you’d like to speak with me about privately?” His gaze spoke of agreements—of the hundred and one delicious ways they might be broken.

“Oh. No. Not a thing.” She waved a hand, a gesture that failed to be as airy and unconcerned as she intended, mostly because she hit herself in the nose when she did it.

He grinned then.

Lin’s fateful words echoed. Hopelessly in love with him.

Pull yourself together, a voice of steel within insisted. Do it now.

She sat up straighter, pushed the keyboard a little out of the way and folded her arms on the desk pad. “You were saying?”

There was a moment. They gazed at each other and so much was said without a word being uttered.

When he actually spoke, he was all business once again. “Play dragon lady as much as possible. Only forward my calls if something’s on fire. And tell them all I’ll be checking email periodically. Try to get them to reach me that way.”

“Will do.”

“See you Sunday.”

“‘Bye, then.” She focused on her monitor again, put her hands on the keyboard and started her fingers moving. Still, she heard him walk away from her, was acutely aware of the sound the elevator doors made—sliding open and then shut.

When she knew he was safely gone, she let her flying fingers slow. She forgot all about the letter she was composing. Her gaze wandered forlornly to the shut elevator doors.

Hopelessly in love with him …

The phone on her desk rang. She answered it, took a message, finished the letter she was typing. Proceeded to the next item on her endless to-be-done list.

Hopelessly in love with him.

She wanted to press her hands to her ears, shake her head, close her eyes tight and shout good and loud, over and over, No, no, no, no!

Anything to keep the scary words out.

Not that putting her hands over her ears would have done any good.

After all, the words were already inside her head.

She went out with girlfriends that night to celebrate her safe return. They went to Armadillo Rose, the bar her sister-in-law, Corrine—Matt’s wife, Kira’s mom—owned. The bar had belonged to Corrine’s mother before her.

Matt had met Corrine there, at the Rose, fallen hard at first sight, or so the story went. Matt was a sweetheart. And also extremely pigheaded—a lot like Zoe’s dad and more than one of her other brothers. It had taken him more than a few years to admit he was a goner, that Corrine was the only woman for him.

Weekends, the Rose always had a good band playing. It was a down-home kind of place. The bartenders were all female and easy on the eyes. They were also famous for getting up and dancing on the bar.

Corrine was there. Zoe caught her eye and waved her over. Corrine greeted her and her friends. “It’s so good to have you home. First round’s on the house.”

“How about a pitcher of margaritas?”

“You got it.”

When the pitcher came, Lisa Eppersill, Zoe’s friend since middle school, offered a toast. “Here’s to you, Zoe.

May the road, however twisty, always carry you back home.”

Zoe thought of that last night in the clearing, when Dax broke out the bottle of very old Scotch and they toasted a full week of survival.

So what was he doing tonight, she couldn’t help but wonder?

Slaving away at the feature story maybe?

Or enjoying an intimate evening with any one of a number of beautiful women who traveled in his glittering circle of friends and acquaintances?

It hurt, and bad. Like a knife, twisting hard and deep. To think of him with someone else.

And it didn’t matter how sternly she reminded herself that she had known his reputation with women, had already seen him in action, when she decided to tinker with their strictly professional relationship in the first place. She had set the terms for their time in the clearing when they were lovers and for their return to civilization.

She had zero right to be hurt if he exercised his option as a single guy with no commitments. He was free to do the wild thing with a different gorgeous, sophisticated woman every night.

Even if the thought of his kissing someone else made her sick to her stomach—and furious, too.

“Dance?” A cute cowboy stood by their booth.

Zoe sent him a blinding smile as she realized he was talking to her. “Sure.” She set down her margarita and got up to follow him out onto the floor.

When the dance was over, she rejoined her friends. The cowboy was not only cute but really sweet. It just wouldn’t be right to use him to distract herself from the real issue.

Which was Dax and the growing likelihood that she actually had managed to fall hopelessly in love with him.

She got back to her condo at a little after midnight.

The first thing she did when she walked in the door was to dig around in her bag for her PDA, though she knew she shouldn’t. Any texts or emails could certainly wait until morning. She ought to just leave it alone, refuse to check—as she’d been resolutely doing all evening.

There wouldn’t be any email from Dax and there shouldn’t be. And even if there was, she had no business checking her cell in the middle of the night just to see if there might be. She had to stop torturing herself. She had to let Dax go, move on. Or maybe, more correctly, go back.

To what they had been. Before the clearing.

Why wasn’t that working for her? Why couldn’t she just make an agreement and stick to it, for pity’s sake?

Because you’re hopelessly in love with him, that’s why.

There was an email—two, as a matter of fact.

At 9:06: I was going to pretend I needed to get with you about the feature story. But that would be a lie. I do need to get with you, Zoe. And it’s not about the feature.

And at 10:08: You’re out with some other guy, right? And I’m making a fool of myself. Okay, enough. Please disregard previous email.

She didn’t want to feel overjoyed and triumphant. But she did. On both counts. Her heart was suddenly light as a moonbeam in her chest.

Her thumbs flew over the BlackBerry’s keys. I just got in. I was out with some girlfriends. I don’t want to disregard your email of 9:06. What I want is you, Dax. Here. In my arms.

She hit Send before she could stop herself, before she let herself start remembering all the very valid reasons why she shouldn’t.

Fifty-three seconds later, her cell rang. Now her bright moonbeam of a heart was lodged firmly in her throat.

Her hand shook as she punched the talk button.

Before she could even get out a hello, he asked, “Now?”

She had to cough to make her windpipe open up. “Um. I don’t know if we …”

“Just answer the damn question, Zoe.”

“I …”

“Say it.”

What else was there to do in the end, but follow the dictates of her desire, of her foolish, yearning heart?

“Zoe, you’re driving me crazy here. Just make up your mind.”

“Sorry. Yes, Dax. Now.”