Ordinarily, Cage was a pretty amiable person in the mornings. But when night melted into day without a minute’s worth of sleep, a body was entitled to feel a little irritable. As if in direct reflection of his mood, the weather had turned sultry, with clouds boiling and bumping across the sky. Most likely they were in for a much-needed thunderstorm before the day was over, but not before they’d been treated to several hours of suffocating humidity.
He wasn’t in a welcoming mood when he pushed his office door open and saw the visitor sitting in his chair, feet propped on the desk before him.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Tanner raised his eyebrows, then handed him one of the steaming cups of coffee sitting before him. “Rather testy this morning, aren’t you, son?”
Cage grunted, took the cup and sipped. Aiming a telling look at his desktop, he pulled up another chair. Tanner obligingly swung his feet to the floor.
Peering at Cage closely, he noted, “You don’t look like you slept much. Now that could mean one of two things, but given your temperament this morning, I think I’m safe in guessing that you struck out with your lady love and spent hours last night cursing your ineptitude in the dalliance department.” He shook his head in mock reproach. “You know if you need help in that direction, you’ve only to ask.”
If possible, Cage’s foul mood worsened. He suggested that Tanner perform an anatomically impossible act, and gritted his teeth at the other man’s bellow of laughter.
When Tanner finally sobered, he said, “You should have stopped in at Jonesy’s. You and I haven’t been out together for a while. I was there until the wee hours showing Marianne Jamison a little sleight of hand.” He winked.
“I wasn’t in the mood.”
“Might have done you good. You could have told ol’ Uncle Tanner all about it.” He whirled his chair to face Cage expectantly. “C’mon,” he wheedled when his friend remained silent. “I tell you everything.”
“Yes. And I’ve asked you to stop.”
Chuckling again, Tanner sipped cautiously from the steaming brew. “All right, then. I won’t regale you with tales of my exploits with the fair Marianne. No one ever accused me of insensitivity.” He ignored the other man’s snort. “I didn’t have the best day myself yesterday. Had to go to Baton Rouge and meet with our branch manager there. Seems we had a teller who was tucking away a bit of money for a rainy day. Spent a couple of hours with a Detective Fuller filling out a report to file charges.” He drank reflectively. “He said to tell you hey.”
Cage slouched lower in his chair and tipped the cup to his lips. The coffee was succeeding in making him feel at least half human again. “Lloyd Fuller? Tall fella, thinning dark hair, wire-rimmed glasses?”
After giving careful consideration to his light-colored trousers, Tanner crossed one leg over his knee. “Don’t know about the thinning hair. Looked plumb gone to me, but that sounds like the detective I met.”
Cage scratched the chin he hadn’t felt like shaving that morning. “I’ll be. I worked with him in New Orleans. I didn’t know he’d transferred to Baton Rouge.”
“Spent the better part of the afternoon trying to get that mess sorted out. Then on my way home I was nearly run off the road by another old friend of yours.” Tanner raised his glass in mock salute. “None other than good ol’ Donny Ray.”
His attention arrested mid-yawn, Cage went still. “Really? Where was he coming from?”
“Looked to be the same direction as me, Baton Rouge. Recognized that decrepit old truck when he practically sideswiped me. No offense, son, but it’s a fact that there isn’t an officer of the law around when you need one. Not that the boy ever could drive worth a damn. Do you recall when you beat him in a race out on the old Bonneyville blacktop?” He leaned back, clearly lost in old times. “You had that sweet little souped-up Mustang, and he was running that ’72 Chevy pickup.”
“I remember.” But Cage hadn’t followed his friend back some fifteen years. He was too busy wondering what kind of business Donny Ray had had in Baton Rouge. “Was he hauling anything?”
Tanner threw him a surprised look. “Hell, no, don’t you remember? Bucky Hanover did the judging and he made sure you emptied out your trunk and Donny Ray cleared out the bed of the truck. He wouldn’t even let me ride with you, the little twerp.” He gave a frown, as if the memory still rankled. “Always regretted missing the opportunity.”
“I mean yesterday,” Cage said with all the patience he could muster, which wasn’t much. “Was Donny Ray hauling anything yesterday?”
Tanner lifted a shoulder. Clearly the events of a day ago couldn’t compete with the memory of a childhood victory, more than a dozen years previous. “Didn’t notice. Happened to see him last night at Jonesy’s, though, and gave him my opinion of his driving abilities.” His teeth flashed. “He accepted it with his usual good grace and humor.”
Cage winced. No doubt Stacy Rutherford had taken the brunt of her husband’s temper last night. He made a mental note to send one of the deputies out on some pretext to check on her. A familiar powerlessness filled him. Some way, he had to convince the woman to leave her husband and seek safety. He did what he could, but slipping her a card and a few extra dollars now and again dimmed miserably against the realities of the life she led. He wondered how he would deal with it if the day came that Donny Ray used his fists on her once too often. He was afraid he already knew.
Belatedly, he realized Tanner was speaking again. “I said, the obvious aside, how are you coming along in the courting of Zoey Prescott?”
“None of your damn business.”
“You sound a bit peevish, Cage, m’boy.” Clearly enjoying himself, Tanner rocked back in the chair. He wasn’t above needling his friend when the opportunity arose. “If the lady is sick of your pretty mug already, could be she’s in the mood for a change. Maybe she’s ready to appreciate my more heroic qualities. Don’t know how she failed to see them the night we met,” he mused aloud. “Usually I’m like glass when it comes to women.”
“Give or take a few letters.” Driven to move, Cage rose and threw his cup into the trash.
It suited Tanner to ignore Cage’s last remark. “Could be I’ll just ask Miss Prescott if she’d like to see a little more of the parish. There’s nothing like a moonlight drive to allow the most interesting developments.”
His smile humorless, Cage said softly, “Don’t.”
Their gazes met—Tanner’s amused, the other man’s dangerous. Slowly, slowly, the teasing smile faded from Tanner’s face and he gave a long, tuneless whistle. “Well, I’ll be. Looks to me like you’re smitten, boy.”
There was a dull throb beginning in Cage’s left temple. “You know, I’ve got about one nerve left, Tanner, and you’re on it.”
His friend’s eyes crinkled. “Yep, smitten is what you are. Don’t know of anything else that turns a normally easygoing man into the snarling beast I see before me right now.” He held up a hand to ward off the obscenity Cage mouthed. “Now don’t you go getting riled up. It was bound to happen to one of us sooner or later, and it’s just my good luck that it happened to you.” Chuckling at his own joke, he glanced down at his watch.
“Shoot.” He rose swiftly to his feet. “I’ve got a meeting with the bank auditor in five minutes.”
“By all means,” Cage said with mock politeness, rising to throw open the door. “Don’t let me keep you.”
When he got to the door, Tanner turned. “As much as I abhor seeing my best friend go through the pangs of true love, I have to say I do admire your taste.” He winked. “I couldn’t have chosen better if I’d picked her out for you myself. And in a manner of speaking, I did.” He had the good sense to duck, and missed the halfhearted swing Cage sent his way.
Hand propped on the doorjamb, Cage watched his friend stride away. He could and did blame his foul mood on the sleepless night he’d just spent, but he’d been shocked at the burst of pure primal possessiveness that had had him warning Tanner off Zoey. It had been immediate, and completely involuntary. Any idiot could have recognized that Tanner was merely baiting him, but the visceral response Cage had felt at his friend’s words hadn’t stemmed from logic.
He took a deep breath, released it slowly. A damned sorry state of affairs, indeed, to get this heated up over a woman who had told him, in a reaction clearer than words, that she didn’t trust him. It shouldn’t matter. He wished like hell he could figure out when it had started to matter all too much.
He pushed away from the door and headed down the hall in the opposite direction to the one his friend had taken. Entering the room labeled Investigative Services, he absently returned the greetings of the deputies seated at their desks and made his way to the bank of computers at the back of the room.
Progress, he thought, as he sat down before the mainframe computer, was a wonderful thing. Given enough local funding, law-enforcement officials around the nation could tap into a huge database of information compiled on unsolved crimes throughout the U.S. Eyes intent on the computer screen, he keyed in his command and waited for access.
Of course, there wouldn’t have been sufficient funding available to bring twentieth-century technology to the St. Augustine sheriff’s department without philanthropic contributions. Cage didn’t consider it strange that he’d donated an amount ten times his annual salary to the sheriff’s office after he’d been hired to bring its investigative abilities up-to-date. He’d been raised to understand that being born to wealth entailed certain obligations. Although he’d never given it much thought growing up, he’d been aware that his parents had contributed freely to the town and the parish. The new addition to the school, and the two fire trucks the parish volunteers kept polished to a gleaming shine were evidence that the Gauthier tradition of charity was continuing. Or at least, that of the most recent Gauthiers. He seemed to recall having heard a thing or two about his granddaddy’s ability to keep two sets of books and every penny he ever made.
Cage squinted at the screen and tapped in the information he wanted to access, narrowing the search to Louisiana: Homicide female unsolved. As the volumes of data began downloading he prepared the printer and turned to the deputy nearest him, Bob Sutton. “Some time this morning I want you to run out to Donny Ray’s place. Check up on Stacy.” The man nodded. It wasn’t the first time the request had been made. As a wave of resignation swept over him, Cage knew better than to hope that it would be the last.
The day had been a total loss. Zoey shoved away from the computer and rose to pace. She had the self-discipline to keep herself at the screen all day and the determination to type eight new pages. She also had the insight to realize every word she’d written would have to be trashed.
Unfortunately, concentration had been far more elusive to summon than self-discipline had been—unless she was willing to admit that her concentration had been focused solely on Cage, and the events of last night.
In a strange sense, she felt as though she’d failed some test, one she couldn’t even put a name to. The thought of putting a stop to their growing intimacy had never entered her mind, not once that slow, persuasive mouth had met hers again. Not after those warm lips had cruised up her jawline and unerringly found the sensitive spot below her ear. Not after he’d cupped her breast in his clever fingers. And especially not after she’d touched him, tasted him.
A shiver ribboned down her spine. No, she’d elected just for once to feel, and feel she had. The explosion of desire had been more raw, more primitive than anything she’d experienced before. She hadn’t considered backing away. Logic simply hadn’t entered the equation.
Until one little word he’d spoken had shattered the spell.
She turned sharply, and nearly tripped over Oxy, who gave a startled yelp, then looked up at her with reproachful eyes. She knelt down to give him a soothing pat. She’d been a fool to react so violently to something Cage had said half in jest. Even now, she could remember his easy tone and the heat in his eyes as he’d uttered the phrase.
“You’ll just have to trust me on that.”
Surely he hadn’t meant the words to be taken literally. And certainly her response must have surprised him, embarrassed him—almost as much as it had embarrassed her.
As if he understood the emotions churning within her, Oxy reached up and swiped her face with his tongue. She hunched her shoulder, wiped her cheek on her shirt. One little word. So silly, really. Easy to utter, but, oh, so difficult to give. She drew in a shuddering breath and gathered Oxy close. Why, then, did it feel like a personal failure on her part?
She sat there holding the dog, rocking a little, until Oxy began to wriggle and squirm out of her arms. She released him and stood, resolve forming. She’d spent the entire day wondering what Cage was feeling, what he was thinking. Was he still worrying over the investigation the way he’d been when he’d come to her last night?
Turning, she headed toward the stairs. In some odd way Cage had needed her last night, in more than just the physical sense. A compulsion that ran far deeper than simple emotion demanded she find out if he still did.
Zoey took a quick shower and blow-dried her hair. Then she dressed with slightly more care than usual, applied some makeup and went to her dresser for the locket she kept there.
Funny. She frowned, looking into the crystal bowl on top of her dresser. She wore the locket so frequently she rarely put it away, electing instead to drape it over the side of the bowl. But there was no sign of it now, neither in the bowl nor, a quick search determined, in the jewelry box where she sometimes kept it.
Glancing at the clock on her bedside table, she paused for a moment, indecisive, before turning on her heel and heading down the steps. She’d look for it tomorrow, first thing, she promised herself. Right now there was something much more pressing to do.
She went to the kitchen, took out a sack and then opened the refrigerator to examine its contents. Before she could give her better judgment time to talk her out of it, she put some food in the bag, scooped up Oxy, locked the door and headed for the car.
It wasn’t until she was standing on the front porch of the stately Gauthier home that her knees began to shake. It took all of ten seconds in the still, suffocating air for dampness to form along her spine. Stalwartly, she stepped forward and rang the bell.
And waited.
She rang it again, clasping Oxy a little tighter. For the first time it occurred to her to wonder what she would do if Cage wasn’t home from work yet. Or worse, if he was home, but didn’t want to see her. Or even worse, if—
The door swung open and Zoey’s gaze fixed on the woman filling the doorway. Surprise, and a healthy dose of awe, kept Zoey silent.
“Well?” The woman crossed her broad arms and began to tap what was surely a size-twelve sneaker. Her brassy gold curls bobbed as she swept Zoey with a look that didn’t miss an inch, top to bottom. “If you’re selling something, miss, I’m not the lady of the house.”
“No.” She was unable to say more, unable to do more than stare.
The woman’s three strands of brightly colored beads jingled as she tapped more furiously. “No? What do you mean, no? No, you’re not selling something, or no, I’m not the lady of the house?”
Fascinated, Zoey watched the woman’s heavily rouged cheeks deepen in color. “No, ma’am. I’m—ah—not selling anything.”
“Well, good, because I’m about to go home and I just don’t have time to watch a demonstration of dirt being sprinkled on the carpet and vacuumed all up again. Lucky for you, too. Last salesman did that to my clean carpet limped for a week.”
Zoey didn’t doubt it. “Actually, uh, ma’am…I was wondering if Cage was home.”
The tapping stopped. The woman peered at her more closely. “Well, of course you are. Don’t know a salesperson who brings a dog with her.” She shot Oxy a suspicious look. “Fact of the matter is, don’t know one of Cage’s women who travels with one, either. Is he expecting you?”
If there was a God in the heaven, the earth would open up and swallow her right now. Seconds ticked by. The earth remained solid. Natural disasters were notoriously unreliable.
Zoey cleared her throat. “Yes,” she lied baldly.
“Humph. Never said a thing to me about it, and I can’t say as I recognize you, either. You’re not from around here, that’s for sure. I know nearly everybody in the parish….” Her mouth made an O of discovery. “Well, I’ll be… You’re that writer from up north that moved in, ain’tcha?”
Oxy squirmed in her grasp, and Zoey tightened her hold on him. The woman before her—Cage’s housekeeper, if she didn’t miss her bet—didn’t look the type to be charmed by animals, no matter how adorable. “Yes, ma’am.”
The blond curls bobbed emphatically. “Don’t know why it took me so long to see it. I’ve had my ears filled with news about you since the day you drove into this town. So you’ve come to sniff around my Cage?”
Zoey’s brows rose and her chin angled. Cage would have recognized the frigid tone. “Certainly not.” It was a moment before Zoey unbent enough to observe the twinkle in the woman’s eyes.
“Actually, the way those Potter sisters tell it, the boy’s got his sights set on you, but you’ve been giving him the cold shoulder. Never known him to put forth this much energy before on the chase.” As if to discover the reason for the anomaly, she gave Zoey another thorough once-over.
She was a contained one, Ila noted, with the confidence to stare down the devil himself. Intelligence shone from those surprising green eyes and there was stubbornness in the angle of her chin. Cage wouldn’t have this one falling at his feet with a little sweet talk and his effortless charm. At the realization, Ila’s estimation of the woman rose. Cage wasn’t family, but he was the closest thing to it, and Ila wasn’t getting any younger. She wouldn’t mind a few surrogate grandchildren tearing through the house while she was still around to enjoy the experience.
She swung the door wide. “Cage isn’t home from work yet, but since he’s expecting you, you’d better come in and wait. Mind you, now, I don’t want any messes in the house.”
Zoey was almost certain that remark was directed at Oxy.
The other woman turned away and headed toward what, Zoey remembered from her previous visit, would be the kitchen. “I’m Ila, by the way. Been housekeeper here since Cage’s folks moved back from Florida. Can’t tell you what’s keeping that boy, but I don’t have the time to wait for him. Got an appointment in ten minutes to have that silly twit, Mavis, perm my hair again. Never had such a time keeping the curl in my hair before I started going to the girl. I have half a mind to do it myself from now on.”
During the monologue Ila had retrieved a huge bag from a closet, dug around in it for her keys, and continued walking through the kitchen to a back screen door. “You tell Cage I didn’t make him any supper to warm up. He never ate what I fixed last night, and from the look of that sack in your hand, he’s probably got other plans for tonight.” The screen door slammed behind her, and her voice trailed over her shoulder. “Don’t let me find no pet hair on the furniture.”
Then a car engine sounded, and Zoey dropped her gaze to Oxy. “That, I’m positive, was aimed at you.” She set him down, and placed the bag of food on the counter. “Your entire future might just hinge on your behavior this evening, so keep that in mind.”
Zoey turned slowly about the kitchen, newly aware of the emptiness of the house. Not even to herself did she admit that her words could apply as much to her as to the puppy.
Eyes burning, Cage made his way through the cloaked shadows to the house. Ila must have turned some lamps on before she left, and their muted glow was welcoming in the silent, still darkness. The weather hadn’t yet given in to the tumultuous rains that had been forecast, but heat lightning seared and scored the sky, and the air was almost too thick to breathe.
It was a measure of his weariness that he was almost to the front door before the sight of a car parked alongside the house registered. Slowly he backed up, squinted into the darkness. A long breath hissed between his teeth. It was too dark to discern the color, but he recognized the make. The hard band that had been forming in his chest all day loosened. The glow beckoning from the windows took on new warmth.
Oxy greeted him at the door, and he bent to rumple the dog’s ears, but his attention was acutely fixed before him. Wasting no time, he straightened and went in search of Zoey.
He found her in the kitchen, a book in her hand and a soda on the table in front of her. She was seated on a ladder-backed chair with her feet curled beneath her, in one of those joint-defying positions that only women could seem to manage and men could only drool over.
Like a sneaky left jab, desire hit him square in the gut. She was wearing a white sleeveless top that made him think of the one she’d worn the first night he’d met her, but this one was softer somehow, with lace and ribbons tracing the edges. She was a breath of cool, sweet air after the mugginess of the day, a flash of blessed sunshine after the unbelievably savage crime reports he’d immersed himself in all afternoon.
Unfamiliar emotion surged through him—a simple sense of longing that was nearly staggering. For the first time, he realized how long it had been since this house had seemed like a home. Until he’d found her waiting in it for him.
Her eyes, when she looked up, were startled. She straightened self-consciously. “You may have to rethink Oxy’s function as a watchdog. I had no idea you’d come home.”
With effort, he matched her wary tone with a casual one of his own. “Now don’t go blaming this little guy. He just hasn’t learned to bark yet.” The dog had followed Cage to the kitchen, and trailed after him as he went to the refrigerator to get a beer. Cage’s gaze lingered on the thick, seasoned steaks lying on a plate inside, next to a bowl of fresh salad. He snagged a bottle with two fingers and straightened to face her again. Twisting off the top with a quick efficient movement, he raised the beer to his lips, grateful to have something to occupy his hands.
Zoey watched him searchingly. She’d never seen him look so fatigued, his shoulders slightly slumped as if from carrying a burden too great to bear. She had an overpowering urge to go and wrap her arms around him, let some of the tired cynicism he wore drain away.
Because the strength of the urge terrified her, she rose swiftly. “I didn’t know dogs had to be taught to bark. It appears I’ve been neglecting Oxy’s lessons.” Cage was still leaning against the refrigerator, so she busied herself at the stove, fiddling with the broiler she’d found in the drawer beneath the oven.
Cage saw the nervous energy in her movements and wondered at it. “He’ll discover that talent all on his own soon enough. Then you’ll be wishing he could unlearn it.” Thunder rolled ominously outside, followed by a crack of lightning. She started, her gaze darting to the screen door.
“I suppose we should close that.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Every porch on this place—and I think it has six or seven—is covered. The rain’s not going to hurt anything.”
“I’ve been waiting for a while. I didn’t realize you’d be late. I kept thinking you’d be home anytime….” She bit her lip when she realized she was babbling.
“I was involved in something.” Not by the slightest inflection did he let on that he’d spent hours wading through reports of carnage and violence, and that the experience had left him weary and sick. And not for the world would he have her know the awful suspicion that drove the search, even as a part of him prayed to be proved wrong.
“I have steaks.” Her voice steadier now, Zoey raised her eyes to his. “Maybe it’s too late for you to eat. Or maybe you’d rather I’d go so you can be alone.”
He pushed away from the refrigerator and went to her. Tipping her chin up with one crooked finger, he let his lips sink into hers, savoring her texture, her taste.
“No.” His voice was soft when their mouths parted. “I don’t want to be alone.”
So while the thunder rumbled warnings outside, and lightning flashed to herald the long-awaited rain, Cage let himself enjoy the simple pleasure of just being near her. They broiled the steaks together, bickering amiably about the best way to cook them. When he refused a potato, they ate only the steaks and salad. The rain came, softly at first, then in a wild torrent that pounded against the windows and walls.
When he was pleasantly full, Cage sat back and drove Oxy into delirium by offering him small scraps of meat. “My mama had a custom for this kind of storm,” he mused aloud, as he yanked his fingers out of the way of the puppy’s sharp teeth. “The kind that built up for hours and hours and when it broke just poured for hours more. No matter what the season, or the time of day, she’d bully my daddy into building a fire in the fireplace in the den. Then the whole family would gather in there, stay to talk, read some, until it passed. When we were teenagers Nadine and I made like the whole thing was a big ordeal.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “But we never have a rain like this that I don’t think of those times.”
An answering smile curled her lips. “Maybe that’s what you need now. To build a fire in the den and curl up in front of it.”
Abruptly his nostalgia vanished. He’d spent too many hours in that room last night, staring blankly into the darkness, fighting ghosts that refused to stay banished. “I don’t think so.” Because the words sounded harsher than he wished, he added, in masterful understatement, “I didn’t get much sleep last night. After the long day I put in today, I wouldn’t trust myself to start a fire, much less tend to it.”
Was that a hint? she wondered. If so, it lacked his usual subtlety. All at once, she questioned her decision to wait for him. He had probably come home exhausted, and was just too well-mannered to tell her to go. “You must be tired.” Zoey rose abruptly. “I’ll just clean these dishes up and head home.”
“You can leave them.”
She looked at him askance. “No way. Did I mention I met your housekeeper?”
His lips curved. “Ila. I figured she must have let you in. And I’m just as afraid of her as you are. But tomorrow’s Sunday so she won’t be in. I’ll do them in the morning.”
She already had water running in the sink for the broiler, and had the dishwasher open.
“Or,” he murmured, leaning back and propping his feet on the chair she’d vacated, “you could just clean those dishes right up.” He sipped from his beer and watched her.
“It won’t take me long at all,” she assured him, turning from the counter to bend over the dishwasher rack, arranging the plates efficiently. With a subtle twitch and roll of her hips, she rose, turned for another handful of dishes and repeated the process. “I’ll be out of here in no time.”
He watched with great appreciation as she swayed and twisted, her shorts riding up with each movement as she leaned over the dishwasher, glimpses of muscles flashing in those fine legs as she straightened. “I’m in no hurry.” He cocked his head consideringly and wondered if he had to choose the sexiest, most mouthwatering part of her, would it be those long, smooth legs or that sweet little butt? He tipped his head to get a different angle. Some decisions weren’t to be made lightly.
One of the forks escaped her grip and fell to the bottom of the dishwasher. She gave a curse that she probably thought he couldn’t hear, and bent to retrieve it.
“You can reach it.” He offered the words as encouragement, paused for another drink. “Stretch on in there.”
“I’ve got it.” Turning triumphantly, she caught the wicked grin of pure enjoyment on his face and realized what he’d been up to. “You are a sick and depraved man, Gauthier.”
He gave her a slow, lusty wink. “Funny you should say that. I’m feeling remarkably healthy.”
She dropped the fork into the silverware holder, filled the soap container and slammed the door shut. Starting the appliance, she turned back to the sink, her cheeks hot. “I’m beginning to think that red meat is the last thing I should have fed you tonight.”
“Did you have something else in mind as dessert?”
Her hands stilled in the act of scrubbing the broiler and she resisted the urge to press a wet hand to her fluttering stomach. She might be the writer, but she was more than willing to admit that when it came to double entendres, he was the master.
“The only thing I have in mind—” her shoulders jerked as a loud crack of thunder reverberated overhead “—is getting out of here so you can catch some sleep. I should have realized when it got so late that you’d be too tired for company.”
One moment he was lounging in the chair, the picture of indolence, the next he was at her side. Her breath tangled in her throat as she looked up at him. He was so laid-back most of the time that it was easy to forget that he could move like a whip when he wanted to.
“I would have been too tired for company,” he agreed, lifting a hand to smooth the hair away from her face. “But I can’t think of a more welcome sight than finding you in my kitchen waiting for me.” His hand lingered on her jawline, stroked lightly. “I don’t think I can tell you how much I needed that tonight.”
His words warmed her as surely as his touch. And when his lips lowered to hers, a candle of heat sparked to life, flickering along each and every nerve ending. Her heart began to thud.
The pressure was light, a mere whisper of movement. Then his lips firmed, rubbed against hers once, twice, and again. He savored her mouth with all the leisure and enjoyment of a man lingering over a prized wine. Or the decadent dessert he’d mentioned earlier. With a little sigh of pleasure, she leaned into the kiss.
For long moments thunder rolled overhead, rain pelted the windows, but she was oblivious to the elements. She sank against him, delighting in the feel of hard arms wrapped around her, of her breasts pressed against his muscled chest. If she’d been thinking, she might have been alarmed by how natural it seemed to be in his arms now; how right. But thought had danced capriciously away. Now there was only sensation.
Much too soon he lifted his head to rest his brow against hers, his voice slightly unsteady. “I believe I finally realize what Shelley meant. ‘I arise from dreams of thee / In the first sweet sleep of night, / When the winds are breathing low, / And the stars are shining bright.’”
A shiver cascaded down her spine. “Shelley.” Would he never cease to surprise her? “I’m impressed.”
His lips brushed against her eyelids, her temple. “English lit, senior year. Mr. Gilhardy had a gallbladder attack and our sub was a twenty-something dewy-skinned college grad with high expectations and short skirts. For three weeks I was a star pupil.”
She smiled, as he’d meant her to. But she was well aware that the bit of humor was meant to defuse the situation. She took a deep breath, and used every bit of willpower she could muster to step back.
“I was going.” The slight distance seemed to help her head clear, so she took another step away. She looked around for the dog, which seemed to have disappeared. “Oxy?” she called. “Where did you get to? Here, boy.”
The soft kissy noises she made to summon the mutt weren’t particularly effective for Oxy, but Cage had to suppress his sudden savage urge to cover her mouth again, swallow the sounds. He jammed his hands in his pockets instead. One thing last night had taught him was the need for patience. Zoey had to come along at her own pace; she couldn’t be hurried or rushed. Because right now, patience had never seemed more distant, he turned and went to look for the dog.
They found him curled up in a corner of the parlor, one long ear lying across his nose. A ghost of a smile passed across Cage’s mouth. “Looks like he’s made himself right at home. Why don’t you leave him here? I can deliver him tomorrow.”
She eyed the dog doubtfully. “I can’t be sure he’ll be this peaceful all night. He has a penchant for nocturnal wanderings, and I didn’t bring any of his toys to chew on. I’d hate if he decided to chew on anything valuable. Ila would have my head.”
Lightning flashed and it seemed as though the wind would drive the rain right through the windows. Cage cocked his head. “I’m beginning to think both of you would be better off right here for the night.” A corner of his mouth pulled up when he saw her immediate reaction. “No need to worry. This house has about ten bedrooms, give or take. You can choose the one farthest away from mine, with the stoutest lock.”
Silently she looked at him. He was telling her she had nothing to fear from him, but he needn’t have wasted his breath. It wasn’t Cage’s restraint she was fearing, at any rate, but her own.
With an edge of desperation prodding her, she turned and went down the hall to pull open the front door. The rain came down in sheets, slanted by the heavy wind. Except for the frequent flashes of lightning, the darkness was solid. She couldn’t even make out the shape of her car next to the house.
Without turning around, she knew he was behind her, could feel his breath in her hair. “There’s no way I’m letting you go out alone in this.” As if he sensed a protest coming, he added, “If you’re set on going home tonight, I’ll follow you in my car. Just to be sure you get there all right.”
He’d managed to make her feel guilty. She knew he was exhausted. “That won’t be necessary. It’s only a couple of miles.”
But he was already crossing the hall, pulling a rain poncho from the hallway closet and tossing it toward her. “Won’t take me but a minute. And I wouldn’t sleep tonight if I didn’t get you home safely.” His voice was muffled; he had his head deep in the closet.
She was being ridiculous. Already weary from little sleep and long hours on the job, Cage didn’t need to be dragged out in the middle of a storm like this. And there would be no talking him out of this plan. He had an ingrained sense of responsibility that she’d only recently let herself become aware of. She took a deep breath.
“No, you’re right.” He straightened to look at her quizzically, a second poncho in his hand. “There’s no reason for both of us to go out in this storm. I’ll…” Inexplicably, her throat went dry. “I’ll just…stay here for the night. That is, if your offer’s still open.”
There was a flicker of something indiscernible in his eye, then he turned away and replaced the poncho in the closet. “It’s still open.” She shut the front door and went to him, handed him the second poncho. When he’d hung it up he turned to her. “Why don’t I show you the bedrooms? I think I’m going to take a page from Oxy and turn in for the night.”
She nodded, then said, “Wait a second.” She went to the kitchen and retrieved the book she’d begun reading. Reaching him again, she held it up. “I browsed through the books in the den while I was waiting for you. I hope that’s all right.”
He stared at the book for a moment, before giving her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s fine.” She followed him up a long, sweeping staircase that Scarlett O’Hara would have looked at home on, to a spacious hallway. The room he took her to was at the end of the hall. “You have an adjoining bathroom. If you’d like something to wear, I can get you a T-shirt or something.”
Her skin went hot. She couldn’t imagine anything less practical than spending the night wrapped in something of Cage’s. Something that still held his scent, his warmth. Something that would guarantee that if she got any sleep tonight, it would be filled with disturbing dreams of him.
Her gaze met his and her words were soft.
“I’d like that.”