Zoë smiled as she scraped cooled melted white chocolate from a small saucepan into a bowl. She and Alex were alone at the house on Rainshadow Road. Sam had gone to visit Lucy in New York, while Justine had volunteered to stay with Emma at the Dream Lake cottage. “I’m not doing it for Alex, I’m doing it for you,” she had told Zoë. “You should have an occasional night when you don’t have to worry about Emma.”
Setting aside the empty saucepan, Zoë said, “Why would anyone want to spend that much time in a virtual world instead of the real one? You could go to all the trouble of making a virtual meal, but you still wouldn’t have a real dinner to eat.”
“Gamers don’t want a real dinner,” Alex said. “They like things you can eat with one hand. Potato chips. Pop-Tarts.” He laughed at her expression, and watched, intrigued, as Zoë used a spatula to mix the white chocolate into a bowl of whipped cream. “Why are you stirring it like that?”
“I’m folding it. If you stir it the regular way, it won’t be fluffy.” She cut the rubber spatula vertically through the bowl of whipped cream and liquid white chocolate, swept it across the bottom of the bowl and up the side, and over the top of the mixture. Each time she finished the movement, she rotated the bowl a quarter turn. “See? This way it keeps the mixture light. Here, try it.”
“I don’t want to ruin it,” Alex protested as she gave him the spatula.
“You won’t.” She put her hand over his, and showed him the motion. He stood behind her, his arms around her, while she guided his hand deftly. “Down, across, up, over. Down, across, up, over … yes, that’s the technique.”
“I’m starting to get excited,” he said, and she laughed.
“It doesn’t take much for you.”
He gave the spatula back to her, and nuzzled into her curls as she finished folding the batter. “What are we making this stuff for?”
“White chocolate strawberry shortcake.” She dipped a fingertip into the rich whipped cream and turned in his arms. “Taste.”
He tasted the cream from her finger. “My God. That’s good. Give me another.”
“No more after this,” Zoë said sternly, dipping her finger once more into the bowl. “We need the rest for the shortcake.”
Her finger was drawn into the warm suction of his mouth. “Mmmn.” Bending his head, he shared the taste with her, his tongue sweet like white chocolate. Zoë relaxed against him, her lips parting. The kiss lengthened, turning lazy and deep, while his hands slid over her arms and shoulders. Grasping the hem of her T-shirt, he began to pull it upward, and she stopped him with a little squeak of protest.
“Alex, no. We’re in the kitchen.”
His lips dragged gently to her neck. “No one’s here.”
“The windows …”
“There’s no one for miles around.” He stripped the shirt away from her. His mouth caught hers with a sensual greed that made the down on her neck and arms rise. When she felt him pulling down her bra straps, she tensed uneasily but let him do it. His fingers, so clever and sure, went to the back of her bra and unfastened the tiny hooks. One … two … three. The straps and elastic webbing fell away.
His hand covered her br**sts with warm, stimulating pressure, his palms rubbing softly, and then his thumbs flicked until the tips were rosy and hard. She leaned back against the hard edge of the counter, forcing words between shallow gasps. “Please … upstairs …” She wanted the dark enveloping privacy of a bedroom, the softness of a bed.
“Here,” Alex insisted softly. He took off his own shirt and dropped it to the floor, all toughness and masculine brawn, his body rampantly aroused. His eyes were light and devil blue as he reached into the bowl of frothy cream and scooped some with two fingers. She blinked as she realized what he intended.
“Don’t even think it,” she wheezed, giggling, trying to slide away. “There’s something wrong with you.” But his free hand gripped the front edge of her shorts, anchoring her in place, and he dabbed the chilled white chocolate mixture over the tips of her breasts. She closed her eyes, trembling as he bent to lick and suck the sweetness from her. He stood and kissed her again, his mouth delicious and hungering. His hands were in her shorts, his palms hot against her skin. She couldn’t think, could hardly breathe. Just let him, her body urged, the pleasure unfolding in wanton blooms. Let him ease her shorts and panties off, let him kiss the vulnerable curve of her stomach and grip her bottom with his hands. Let him kneel in front of her, his mouth following the taste of her excitement.
Her legs shook, and she leaned back against the cold granite counter for support. Gooseflesh covered her skin everywhere. He reached for the bowl of cream. A dab of cool sweetness between her thighs. He opened her with his mouth, his tongue flickering. Down, across, up, over. The rhythm was persistent, merciless, allowing her no time to think, lavishing her with a feeling so intense that it shortened the spaces between her heartbeats. She heard herself making sounds like a distraught dreamer, her h*ps moving in tight circles against his mouth. Her flesh swelled, and he licked deeper, rougher, faster, sending her into a commotion. She cried out, their surroundings shimmering in a brilliant blur. He stayed with her, stroking while the release melted through her, until she was moaning and spent.
Rising to his feet, Alex tugged at the zipper of his jeans. His arms went around her, pulling her upward against the stiff shape of his erection. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her head falling to his shoulder. There was no need for condoms, she had started taking the pill. Reaching down, he angled her h*ps and positioned himself, and she gasped as a heavy upward thrust nearly lifted her toes from the floor. Her body closed around him, working at the hard invasion until he groaned and thrust again. She was weightless, anchored only by the force of him inside her, shudders of pleasure rebounding from her flesh to his and back again. The breath hissed between his teeth as he came in rough pulses, his arms curling tightly around her. They stood locked and shivering, exchanging soft, sated kisses that soon turned greedy … the kind of kisses you shared with someone you might not have for always, but you could have for right now.
They went upstairs to Alex’s bed, with its cool white sheets and the screened windows open to the salty breeze from False Bay. As Alex kissed and caressed her, the September moon shed cold lavender light into the room. She felt the pull of it, the moon tide of emotion and energy rising as Alex made love to her as if he owned her. As if he wanted the feel of him to sink deep in her nerve memory and never be erased.
He was so strong over her, so deliberate, filling her with heavy lunges while the moonlight wrapped around them. His hand went beneath her bottom, lifting her into his movements. The lust gathered to an agonizing pitch, and she groaned the moment before it uncoiled, but he backed off, slowing, not letting her come. He circled his hips, teasing until she writhed. She gasped out a few pleading words, telling him she wanted him, needed him, she would do anything for him. It wasn’t enough. He brought her to the edge and retreated until they were both sweating and shaking with desire, and he breathed her name with each thrust as he drove her at a slow, merciless pace. She felt hot pleasure-tears leak from her eyes, and he kissed them, pressing wordless gasps against her cheek.
And then she understood what Alex wanted, what he was trying to force from her even though he wasn’t aware of it. The moment she gave it to him, she would lose him. But she had known from the beginning that this was where they’d been heading. Withholding the truth wouldn’t change what was real, what was inevitable.
Turning her face, she spoke close to his ear. “I love you.”
She felt the jolt that went through him, as if she’d just hurt him. But he began to thrust harder, losing control. “I love you,” she said again, and he crushed his mouth over hers, his h*ps pumping roughly. She felt herself splintering, rapture spilling and spreading. Tearing her mouth free, she repeated the words as if they were an incantation, a charm to break a spell, and he buried his face against her neck and found his own shattering release.
Twenty-three
In the morning they treated each other with the forced casualness of two people desperately trying to pretend nothing had changed, when everything had. Zoë found it unbearable, trying to pretend to be light and cheerful when she could see the way Alex was pulling back from her. They talked impersonally while he drove her to the cottage. It was positively gruesome, Zoë thought privately, feeling miserable and defiant. She knew with every fiber of her being that Alex loved her but would never admit it, that he wanted her to love him but would never allow it.
The home-care nurse’s car was in the driveway. Justine had already returned to the inn.
Pausing at the front door, Zoë turned to face Alex. “Last night was fun,” she said brightly. “Thanks.”
He leaned forward and brushed a light, dry kiss against her lips. His gaze didn’t quite meet hers. “It was fun,” he agreed.
“Will I see you later?” Zoë asked. “Maybe tonight?”
Alex shook his head. “I’m going to be busy the next couple of days with this Inari stuff. But I’ll call you.”
“No … don’t,” she heard herself say.
Alex looked at her then, his eyes questioning.
Zoë didn’t want to keep up pretenses. The idea of waiting and wondering while their relationship drained like sand in an hourglass was too depressing. She had to be honest with him. “What I said last night … I’m sorry it freaked you out. But I can’t take it back. And I don’t want to.”
“I don’t—”
“Please let me finish,” she said with a wavering smile. “If this is the point where you feel like breaking it off, that’s okay.” She reached up to touch his taut cheek. “The only thing is … if you want this to go on, we can’t pretend last night didn’t happen. You have to be okay with me loving you … or else we shouldn’t see each other anymore.”
He was silent for a long moment, his face expressionless. “Maybe we should take a break.”
“Okay,” she whispered, her heart plummeting.
It was over. He was right there with her, but the distance between them might as well have been infinity.
“Just for a few days,” he said.
“Absolutely.” She wanted to plead with him. “Don’t leave me. Let me love you. I need you.” Somehow she managed to lock the words away before they could escape.
“But if you need anything,” Alex said, “call me.”
Never. She wouldn’t do that to him, or herself.
“Yes.” Zoë turned and fumbled in her bag for her key, and somehow managed to unlock the front door. “Bye,” she said without turning back, her eyes burning. And she went inside and closed the door.
The ghost didn’t say anything until they had returned to Rainshadow Road. Alex felt sick and exhausted. He hadn’t slept all night, he’d just watched Zoë while she had pretended to sleep. He longed to jump into the truck and go back to her, but at the same time he couldn’t handle it if she said those three words again. That had been the deal breaker. He knew he was screwed up—hell, he’d never doubted it—but this wasn’t something he could joke about or sneer at or ignore. This was painful.
He went to the kitchen and saw the place at the counter where Zoë had leaned while he’d undressed her. He remembered the intense pleasure of the previous night, the earth-shattering joy and tenderness of a physical act that could only be described as making love. He’d never known anything like it before … he hoped he never would again.
His gaze touched on a bottle of half-finished wine, a cork wedged in the top. Sam’s wine. Despite the early hour, Alex wanted a drink more than he ever had in his life. Whenever something went wrong, something in his gut clamored for booze. He wondered if that would ever change. Swallowing an excess of saliva, he went to the sink and splashed cold water on his face.
The ghost spoke behind him. “So this is it, I guess.”
“I’m not listening,” Alex said hoarsely, but the ghost was undeterred.
“Zoë committed the unforgivable crime of saying she loves you—for what reasons I can’t begin to imagine—and now you’re bailing on her. You know what’s funny? I heard Darcy tell you dozens of times how much she hated you, and you couldn’t seem to get enough of that. Why is it easier to tolerate a woman who hates you than one who loves you?”
Alex turned, swiping at the excess water on his face, pushing back wet locks of hair. “It won’t last.”
“That’s what I used to think,” the ghost said. At Alex’s stony silence, the ghost looked grim and defeated. “I’ve never understood why I’ve been shackled to you. I probably never will. There’s no point in any of this. I should be with Emma, not you. What’s going to happen to her when she passes on and I’m not there?”
“Nothing will happen. She’s going to die whether you’re there or not. She’ll end up where she’s supposed to be, and you’ll end up where you’re supposed to be, and God willing, I’ll be left alone.”
“You don’t believe in God. You don’t believe in anything. You asked if I could find a way to disappear, and I told you I was afraid that if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to talk to you anymore. Now I don’t care. Might as well be invisible.” He saw Alex’s gaze alighting on the wine bottle once more. His mouth twisted with scorn. “Go ahead and have a drink. What does it matter? I’d pour one for you if I could.”
In the blink of an eye, he was gone.
The kitchen was quiet.
“Tom?” Alex asked, almost stunned by the complete absence of movement or sound.
No reply.
“Good riddance,” Alex said aloud. He went to the wine bottle, his hand closing around it. The weight of the liquid inside, the inky slosh of it against the glass, wrenched him with sudden craving. He pulled the cork from it with his teeth and began to take a swig. Out of the corner of his eye, however, he saw a shadow slide across the floor.
In an explosive movement, Alex hurled the bottle at the dark shape, and the glass shattered everywhere. Wine hit the cabinet in splatters. The rich smell of cabernet flooded the room. Alex sat and leaned back against a cabinet, gripping his head in his hands, while red liquid pooled on the floor and spread outward.