Jed sighed again. He really had to get on with his life. He was growing tired of feeling like a third wheel now that his host and old friend had forged a solid relationship with Sierra Gibbs. She was spending more and more time on the houseboat, and he tried to give them privacy. In deference to his presence, they retired pretty frequently to Ryder’s cabin, but it was clear he was restricting their freedom of sexual expression.
He had to do something and soon. It wasn’t just boredom or restlessness motivating him. It was also that slim possibility that Bailey Montgomery, his would-be assassin, had spotted him at that party.
And there’d been something else that had occurred on the night he’d kissed Zoë. After the party, he and Ryder and Sierra had driven her home, and he was pretty sure that they’d been followed by a dark-colored car—a van or an SUV. It hadn’t gotten close enough for him to be sure. He’d been driving Ryder’s car, and it hadn’t taken much to lose the tail. He’d delayed telling Ryder this weekend because Sierra was here, but he was going to have to tell him soon.
Maybe his best strategy was to make the first move. What did he have to lose if Bailey Montgomery already knew he was alive?
Jed pulled his baseball cap down over his eyes to block out the sun. It was a big if, but certainly worth considering. In the meantime, he was going to take a nap. In some of the toughest situations he’d found himself in, he’d always relied on his subconscious mind to come up with a plan.
He hoped it wouldn’t fail him now.
3
ZOË BRAKED HER MIATA to a stop, then peered at Sierra’s directions. Ahead of her was a houseboat, white with green shutters just as Sierra had described it. To the right was Ryder Kane’s sporty red convertible. Sufficiently reassured that she’d finally arrived at her destination, she climbed out of the car, lifted the box of note cards from behind the driver’s seat and walked toward the boat.
Nerves knotted in her stomach, but she made herself put one foot in front of the other. The time for analysis was over. She was going to act. She should feel relieved instead of feeling like Joan of Arc climbing up her funeral pyre.
She was ten feet away from the houseboat when she heard a muffled moan. Dropping the box, she raced forward, but when she heard the second moan, louder this time, she stopped short. The third moan was longer and accompanied by a rapping sound as if something was bumping against the wall in a steady rhythm. Zoë was pretty sure that no one was in trouble or pain. Chances were good that Sierra and Ryder were making love.
And she’d been about to break in on them. Not her best move under the circumstances. As the rhythm of the rapping noise increased and she realized that she was just standing there eavesdropping, she turned and hurried back to the box she’d dropped.
Dropping to her knees, she began to gather up the note cards that had fallen out of the box. But in one part of her mind, she was picturing what Ryder and Sierra were doing, and the images triggered a hot lick of lust inside of her.
Pushing the mental pictures away, she focused on the note cards. Sierra used blue ones and hers were white. Methodically she began sorting them into two piles. But the images slipped back into her mind—only this time, it wasn’t Ryder and Sierra that she saw. It was Jed Calhoun and herself, limbs entwined, bodies locked and moving in that quickly escalating rhythm that she was listening to. Heat flooded through her with such intensity that for a moment, she thought she just might melt into a pool on the ground. So vivid were the pictures in her mind that she could almost feel Jed’s long, hard body pressing against hers, and she could imagine quite vividly what it would feel like to have him pushing into her, withdrawing and pushing in again. She wanted, oh, she wanted…
There was another sound, a long feminine cry, and there was no mistaking the satisfaction in it. Then there was silence. Zoë pressed a hand against her stomach. Her insides were so hot, so empty, and longing for…something. When was the last time she’d achieved that kind of release? That kind of pleasure? Years ago.
She should leave. She should get back into her car and drive around a bit. After bunching all the note cards together, she stuffed them back into the box.
And then suddenly, she felt him. It wasn’t a sound that warned her. It was her body’s reaction that told her Jed Calhoun was there even before she turned and saw him standing at the edge of the trees, wearing nothing but cutoff shorts and a baseball cap.
Her mouth went dry as dust, and a rush of sensations cartwheeled through her. Heat. Cold. An electric shock of lust. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t even think.
He was watching her in that intent way he had. Even at this distance, she could feel his eyes moving over her, the heat of his gaze on her skin. The sensation was as real as if he were touching her.
She wanted him to touch her. She wanted his hands on her. More than that, she wanted her hands on him. But he wasn’t moving. He was a man who could wait for what he wanted.
Lifting her chin, she rose to her feet. Well, she wasn’t going to wait for what she wanted.
JED HADN’T THOUGHT it was possible for his body to get any harder, but it did with the first step she took toward him. He’d been watching her for some time, and the sounds coming from the houseboat had made his head spin with images of what it would be like to touch her until she was hot and wet and slick, to thrust inside of her and feel her close around him….
If he’d gone to her now, he wasn’t sure he could have kept himself from taking her right here on the spot. Control was something he’d always prided himself on. But it seemed to disappear around Zoë. Case in point, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from getting out of the hammock and coming to see her. Now he was willing her to come to him.
That’s what she’d done in the little daydream he’d been having in the hammock before he’d heard her car. The woman he’d conjured up in his mind had risen out of the water like a nymph or some kind of sea sprite, and she’d walked toward him just as she was doing now. Her hair had been loose, just as it was now.
The punch of desire that hit him low and hard was new and very real. So was the sharp need to bury his hands in that hair.
In the daydream, she’d been out of those baggy, drab clothes of hers. He’d imagined her in a bikini, but in the snug jeans and tank top, she looked even sexier. That slender, compact body was more appealing, and those legs were much longer than he’d imagined.
How often in life was reality better than a fantasy?
She didn’t stop until she was nearly toe-to-toe with him. Though amber-colored sunglasses covered her eyes, he felt it like another little punch in the gut the minute her gaze locked on his.
She cleared her throat. “Would you like to have sex with me?”
Jed felt his mind begin to empty, and he was pretty sure his mouth had dropped open. Talk about fantasies. But this was real, right? He badly wanted to pinch himself to make sure, but he didn’t think he could move his hands. He concentrated on finding his voice.
She certainly wasn’t having any trouble using hers. He could see her lips moving, and through the buzzing sound in his head, some of the words were getting through.
“I’m not crazy—don’t think I am—it’s just that you keep slipping into my thoughts and my dreams.”
He could understand that and even sympathize with the annoyance he heard in her voice. That was real. And so was her scent: sunshine and something that reminded him again of homemade sugar cookies. He wasn’t sure how long he could wait to take a bite of her.
“So…what I’m thinking is we have sex—if you think that you’d be open to that?”
Open? He felt another punch of desire and struggled to focus.
“I’m not suggesting anything long-term. Just a brief liaison.”