He hadn’t felt safe?
She turned to look at him but his eyes were as unfathomable as the darkest depths of the ocean. “Zach—”
“Do you want to sit down a little longer or walk?”
Neither. She felt like a child, peeping through the keyhole of a door, unable to form a
complete picture of what was on the other side. She wanted to know more. She needed to know more. She wanted to ask him what was behind that remark, but he’d already revealed more than he ever had before and he took a step back, his body language making it clear that he considered the conversation at an end.
Retreating, she thought desperately. Always retreating.
She wanted to dig for the truth as she did in her job, but her training had also taught her the value of patience. As an archaeologist she knew that the past had to be uncovered layer by layer, the ground persuaded to yield buried secrets to the world. Too much haste and impatience and you risked damaging what was there and losing it forever.
Zach didn’t want to talk about his past and because she didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing and driving him away, she didn’t push.
Instead, she walked to the end of the dock.
“Be careful.” His voice vibrated through the darkness, low and deep. “Some of the planks are uneven and you only have one working wrist.”
“I’ll be fine. My wrist was a silly accident, that’s all. I was laughing at something a friend said and I wasn’t looking where I was putting my feet.”
“Was the ‘friend’ that guy you were talking to the other night?” The roughness of his tone almost made her miss her step.
“Yes. His name is Spyros. Dr. Spyros Nicolaides.” She stood at the end of the dock, trying to still the questions in her head. Who? What? Why? At what age had Zach not felt safe? How had he protected himself? “We call him Spy. He’s Greek.” She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent and sounds of the forest.
She felt his arm brush against hers as he stood next to her.
“Did you have sex with him?” The question startled her as much as his rough tone.
“Zach—”
“Sorry. Don’t answer that question.” His voice was raw and she turned her head to look at him, confused and off balance. She was still trying to work out the meaning behind his words when he curved his hand around the nape of her neck and drew her face towards his in a possessive gesture. She was locked between the strength of his hand and the desire in his eyes and in that single moment she was aware of every detail of him. The thickness of those lashes, the spectacular lines of his bone structure and the hard pressure of his thighs against hers. She felt the warmth of his breath brush against her lips and gave a low moan of anticipation.
There was a moment of exquisite torture when she thought he might pull back, but then his mouth touched hers and he kissed her, opening her mouth with his. There was none of the primal desperation of their last encounter. His kiss was skilled and gentle, a slow, deliberate exploration, a relentless pursuit of pleasure, but her response was as powerful as ever. She fell, tumbling into the whirlpool of heady excitement, lost in every breath-stealing, heart-stopping moment of that incredible kiss. Never in all her life had she felt the same wild rush of excitement that came from kissing Zach. Pleasure was thick and sweet. Need became desperation, desire an agonizing ache low in her pelvis.
And he knew.
He knew what he was doing to her.
She felt his fingers tighten on her head as his mouth moved over hers with knowing expertise and erotic purpose.
A moment before she’d been cold, but it was impossible to feel cold as each melting slide of his tongue sent heat shimmering across her skin. She lifted her hand to his face, felt the roughness of his jaw against her palm.
This, she thought. This they’d always had.
It seemed impossible that a simple kiss could make her feel so much, until you remembered that this was Zachary Flynn, who knew how to kiss a girl until the flesh melted from her bones. And because she knew his skills weren’t limited to kissing, she wanted more. So much more.
“Zach—” She tried to shift her body against his, but he eased back slowly.
“You’re cold.” His body was no longer touching hers but his hand was still locked behind her head, as if he was letting her go by degrees and couldn’t quite manage the final part.
“That’s why you kissed me?” Her voice was a whisper, lost in the rush of the breeze over the pond. “I thought you didn’t want to. I thought— I don’t understand what’s going on here.”
“Nothing is going on.”
But she wanted it to. And she knew he did, too. She could feel the tension in him. Knew that if she pressed herself close to him, she’d find him hard and ready. Once again she felt a rush of frustration that this had to be so complicated.
And still she felt the firm pressure of his hand, holding her. All it would take was a small movement on his part to bring their mouths back into contact.