Abruptly, he turned. “Yeah. You’re safe now.”
And there she was, gazing at him across the room with glimmering blue eyes and lips that were pink and glistening. It had been nothing, he reminded himself. The kiss. Nothing.
Paige had been euphoric to be alive, had felt a need for intimacy, and Zach had been on hand. He’d been willing, and able, and more.
She was curiously examining the room, and it was too damn bad the sparse furniture provided no such distraction for him. He could not drag his eyes away from her. Yeah, she was safe now. But not from him. Not from the past so quickly catching up with them.
She’d never looked so bedraggled— hair tousled, cheeks bright red, shirt rumpled. Just . . . adorable.
With some difficulty, he cleared his throat. “Cody ran the license plate. The SUV was reported stolen forty-eight hours ago.” Would that the owner had better luck finding it than Zach had his Camaro all those years ago. Damn, but these things made a man feel impotent.
He sank down on the only chair in the room, rubbed his face in his hands. “Lieutenant O’Neill wants to meet with you tomorrow. He suggests you go under hypnosis. You know something, and we need to know what that is.”
“Hypnosis?”
He dropped his hands. “O’Neill’s wife, Sue Ellen,” he explained. “She’s a master hypnotist. We don’t usually require her ser vices, but he believes that in your case, she could be of some help.”
Paige’s fingers opened on her stomach. “Mom always refused to go that route, she said we shouldn’t trust our minds to anyone.” Her smile was sad. “But I guess I must try. To remember. Sometimes I get a thought and I push it away, my stomach hurts.”
He curled his fingers into fists over his knees, wanting to reach out to her, hold her, say— God, so many things. “I’m sorry, Paige.”
She nodded. “I’m sorry, too. And thank you for . . . what you did.”
He could not tame his heartbeat, find calm, even if on the outside his voice was strangely disembodied. “No thanks necessary.”
He shifted in his chair, uncomfortable in his jeans. They were stretched to their limits. He hauled in a calming breath, but he could still feel her rubbing against him. He could still see the car screeching by inches away from her, could still feel the panic and terror clawing his gut.
He wanted someone’s blood. He wanted sex. He wanted . . .
Paige.
Needed her.
Long ago, he’d envisioned roses, wine, the best for Paige Avery— now he just wanted. Nothing mattered. She was here. If he never saw her again, if she never remembered him or felt again what she once had for him, she was here. Right now. In the shadowed little motel room. Where he could keep her safe from anyone but him.
Zach, touch me, touch me there . . .
Here? Where it’s wet and tight and hot for me?
Zach!
“What is this place anyway?” Paige glanced around the room with increasing curiosity. She studied the mirror behind the bed. The mirror above the bed. The basket of condoms on the nightstand. It was all so tacky and, in her fine eyes, probably not too clean.
“Somewhere he won’t look for you,” Zach said curtly.
Her eyes widened as though a thought just socked her. “Is this where people come to . . . to . . .”
“Fuck?” She gaped in shock, and Zach spread out his arms apologetically. “Depends. On whether or not they feel like a fuck.”
She went statuesque, like a Venus about to be beheaded. A panting Venus.
A queen bed occupied most of the room. It was more than they’d ever had before. And Zach wanted her more than he’d ever wanted her.
A year of foreplay— months of holding back, being gentle, being patient— and a week of torture knowing it would happen Friday, a week anticipating, panting, sweating, wanting . . . He’d known their lives would change that Friday— and their lives had changed, all right.
She’d never come back to him.
Restless, he rose and propped a shoulder against the wall. His eyes, traitors, kept falling to her chest. Her blouse was damp, the lace collar soiled, and two soaked circles delineated her breasts. It was a trial not to stare at the creamy rise of flesh visible through the moistness, impossible not to notice the faint dusky hue of a nipple. Christ.