The Darling Jade Page 10

  'Hmm?' His head leaned a little closer, but he kept his eyes on their path.

  'Why did you make me listen to that phone call?' Suddenly it seemed very important to know. Had there been any reason at all, other than mischief?

  'I wanted . . .' Zan's low voice trailed away into silence. He walked on, head bent, oblivious to her sidelong glance. His thick brows lifted and dropped in a small shrug. 'I don't know, Jade.' He shot a glance at her. 'I don't know . . .'

  Jade studied his hard, clear profile for a second and sighed. For no reason at all, then. It figured. Just Zan's brand of innocent fun.

  '—but you know I didn't mean to hurt you!' He caught her arm suddenly and swung her to face him. 'You do know that, don't you, Jade?' he demanded, his pale eyes searching her face, his eyebrows a remorseful, shaggy line. She flinched as his fingers tightened unconsciously.

  'Yes, Zan, I know that.' She sighed again, looking down, and after a second he released her. Turning, Jade walked on, her eyes on the sidewalk. And it was the truth. Zan would never hurt her intentionally, any more than he would hurt his Irena, or his Mona, or any other woman unfortunate enough to love him. He was as innocent, and as heartless, as a young lion playing with a rabbit. And like the lion, she guessed that Zan knew nothing of pain nor heartache. But the rabbit learns soon enough. She looked up. They were nearly at her corner. 'This is where I turn off.'

  'Don't go yet. Let's walk into town, find some seafood.'

  She shook her head. 'Not tonight, Zan.'

  His thick brows pulled into a small frown, Zan stared down at her silently, assessing her resistance. Finally his chest lifted in a slow sigh. 'You know, I get lonesome too,' he remarked humbly. 'Couldn't we be lonesome together? I'd behave myself.'

  'You'd behave yourself according to my terms or according to yours, Zan?' she asked carefully.

  His grey eyes widened. 'Yours, sweet, if I can figure what they are,' he said softly. 'If I step over the line tonight, just tell me, okay?'

  Jade studied him sceptically. There was a catch somewhere, she knew. With Zan there was always a catch. 'You promise?'

  'I promise.' Eyes gleaming, he offered his good hand to close the deal.

  He was impossible—and irresistible. Shrugging ruefully, she gave him her hand.

  Solemnly, awkwardly Zan shook it, then turned towards town, still holding on to her. 'So where do we find a lobster in this burg?' he asked over his shoulder, pulling her along gently.

  Jade bit her lip. He just didn't quit, did he? She gave a gentle tug, and scowled when he ignored it. 'Zan . . .' she growled ominously. She had no intention of walking in to town hand in hand with the brute.

  'Hmm, sweet?' Still walking, he glanced down at her, eyes wide and innocent.

  'You're over the line already,' she told him.

  'Line? . . . Oh, you mean this?' He lifted her hand to study it as they walked. 'I'm supposed to give it back now?' His lips curled in spite of his efforts to look indignant.

  'That's the custom,' she said dryly.

  He squeezed it gently and released her, then took a deep breath. 'Guess I was thinking of some other custom, sweet,' he said quietly. 'Sorry.'

  When they reached the waterfront, Zan took her hand again and towed her behind him, breasting the stream of pedestrians like a big tug. Jade followed docilely in his wake, eyeing the jammed sidewalks with dismay. The tourists were out en masse tonight, blue-blazered yachtsmen crammed shoulder to shoulder with kids in tee-shirts and skin-tight jeans. A bare-chested fisherman in cut-offs and seaboots bounced off Zan's chest and staggered past, cutting in front of a pair of blue-haired matrons in mink and diamonds. Bright colours and bare skin flowed around them in a dizzying splendour punctuated by blocks of dazzling white, as Navy officers from the War College up the bay steamed past in close-ranked convoy. Ahead of her, Zan was losing way as he craned to take all this in and navigate as well. Reaching the eddy of a street light post, he swung into it and pulled her to him, his arm wrapping around her to hold her against the current. 'My God, if it's like this on a Thursday, what's it like on a weekend?' he marvelled, his mouth at her ear.

  'This is Saturday, you hermit!' she laughed up at him. 'This is the scene. Half the state comes here to strut their stuff!'

  'Saturday?' His gold brows twitched gently as his head swung to follow the passage of three girls in bikini tops and flowing cotton skirts. He turned back to her, smiling. 'Okay, it's Saturday, if you say so. Where do we eat?' His hand tightened around her shoulders and he pulled her against his chest as two kids careened by on roller skates.

  'Without a reservation?' Jade frowned against his neck, the gold hairs in the open vee of his shirt drawing her eyes. 'How about a clam shack?'

  But Zan shook his head, his chin grazing her hair. 'Something nicer, Jade. Show me a good restaurant—I hear the town's full of 'em.'

  'Okay,' she agreed doubtfully. 'I suppose we can try. My favourite's on this next wharf, down near the water. Take a left after that art gallery.'

  'Right.' Zan pushed out into the stream, to forge a slow and steady passage across the mob's flow with Jade huddled behind his wide shoulders, her hand held fast and safe in his casual paw.

  Galleries, shops and bars lined the cobblestoned alley leading down to the docks. Edging their way through the swirling throng outside an outdoor bar, they turned another corner, leaving the cheerful din of the bar scene for the sound of the sea lapping against the pilings and the wind-chime tapping of a loose halyard against an aluminium mast.

  'Ah,' Zan breathed, 'this is more like it! Is that your restaurant?' He nodded towards the low, shingled building that extended out over the water, its windows flickering with candlelight and moving shapes beyond.

  'Mm-hm. But it looks pretty crowded.' Jade stopped in front of a boutique across from the entrance. They were wasting their time. Although it was not a part of the frantic social scene just around the corner, this restaurant had a solid reputation with the locals and yachtsmen who sailed up to its docks for an evening of seafood and quiet music. It would be full.

  'Well, we'll see what we can do,' Zan smiled. 'Want to wait here?'

  'All right.' She watched him pad away across the cobblestones, then turned to the shop windows at her back. Focussing on a blue-green bikini, her favourite shade, she tried to blot out the image of his long-legged casual stride, the feel of his hand.

  In a few minutes, Zan was back, two drinks clutched in one hand and looking quite pleased with himself. Touching her shoulder, he turned to saunter out along the dock past the restaurant. 'Let's look at some boats,' he suggested, beginning to smile.

  'And supper?' she asked, her stomach seconding the question with a soft growl.

  'They'll take us, but we've an hour to kill yet.'

  Boards echoing hollowly under their slow feet, they moved in companionable silence, stopping to admire each boat as they came to it. Zan finished his drink and balanced the glass carefully on the dock's railing. His head turned towards Jade. Still walking, she ignored his scrutiny, her eyes flicking nervously to the boats ahead of them.

  Finally Zan spoke. 'You know, Jade, for someone with . . . auburn hair, you're surprisingly non-violent,' he remarked quietly.

  'How's that?' she asked over her shoulder as she walked on, the thin cotton of her dress billowing back against her legs with the breeze off the water, her hair fluttering off her shoulders in slow, silky waves.

  'Well, I would have thought that in our. . . difference this evening a slap might have been the accepted female response,' Zan said thoughtfully. 'And though you look rather fragile, I suspect you pack a pretty good wallop, so why the scruples? Is it against your principles as a liberated female?'

  Jade shook her head, frowning down as their toes hit the dock in perfect step. 'No,' she said lightly, 'it isn't. But the one time I ever tried it, I picked on a liberated male.' Suddenly she was cold. She hugged herself, rubbing her bare arms as they roughened in the breeze.

  'And?' Za
n asked quietly, bumping against her shoulder.

  'And nothing,' she said quickly, wishing she'd never spoken. She began to walk faster.

  'And . . . what . . . happened?' he repeated beside her, giving each word a weight which emphasised his sudden determination to know.

  Jade sighed in exasperation. 'And he nearly knocked me cold,' she said flatly.

  Zan's fingers bit into her arm as he swung her to face him. His face was hard and frozen, only the bruising pressure of his fingers giving a clue to his temper. 'Zan!'

  'Who?' he bit out carefully. 'Lover boy?' His eyes caught the lights from the shore, and threw them back glittering.

  Suddenly she was as angry as he was. Why couldn't he mind his own business? She jerked her arm, but his grip held—loosened a little, but held. 'No, not Fred. Would you let me go, please?'

  'Who, then, and when, please?' Zan demanded coldly, his icy eyes scanning her face as he ignored the request.

  Jade took a deep, steadying breath, her green eyes wide and determined. 'Look, I'm sorry I mentioned it, but I really don't want to talk about it, Zan.' She jerked her arm again, but it might as well have been cast in concrete.

  He pulled her closer. 'Just tell me—'

  'Zan,' she cut in passionately, 'correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought you'd already apologised once tonight for manhandling me.' She slanted a bitter glance at the hand clamped around her arm and then stared up into the hard face above her. 'Do I get another apology once this is over?'

  Zan's eyes shifted to his hand, and then back to her face as his grip eased. He sighed impatiently, his fingers tracing her bare arm down to the elbow in an absent caress before dropping away. 'Why—'

  'Zan, I don't want to fight, and I don't want to talk about it. Lay off!' She shook the hair back from her cheeks and frowned up at him, willing him not to spoil this evening.

  A muscle jumped along his jaw. 'Okay—okay, okay, okay!' he muttered savagely, wheeling away from her. He stalked further out the dock, and, reaching the end of it, slouched against a piling to stare out into the dark harbour, his broad shoulders strained tight.

  Jade stayed where she was, shivering. She turned to stare blindly at the boat tied below her in the water, trying not to think. . . How had Zan got that out of her? She didn't let herself think about Jack, much less discuss him. Since that night, she'd packed him away, walled him off into a corner of her mind, shutting the pain and the humiliation out of her consciousness.

  But Zan had pulled a brick out of that wall tonight, and as the minutes passed and her mind waited, wincing, it was rather stunning to find that no pain blew through the gap. Where and when had it gone? And what was left? All she could find at the moment was a wry incredulity. How could she have ever fallen for such a man in the first place? And how long had she been free of him, without even knowing it?

  A long arm wrapped around her shoulders. 'You're freezing, aren't you, sweet? Let's get out of this wind.' Zan pulled her gently towards the shore, his face sombre and preoccupied. He glanced down at her as they left the dock, and his eyes narrowed. 'And who is that funny little smile for, Red?' he asked roughly.

  Jade shook her head, tried to swallow it, and failed. This one was for Zan, but she couldn't tell him that, could she?

  With half an hour left to kill, they wandered the wharves. By unspoken agreement, they avoided the mixers in front of the bars in favour of window-shopping. Fine silver, hand-made pottery, nautical knick-knacks, high fashion—all these and more could be found in the tasteful and expensive shops they strolled past. They browsed through a bookstore, and Jade went directly to the thriller section. Eagerly she checked the shelves—Haggerty, Hailey . . . Halloran. She blinked. There were more than she had expected. This last week or so, she had come to think of writing as being an agonisingly slow, often frustrating process. But judging from the number of titles here, apparently Zan did not always write so slowly—if this work was indeed Zan's. Jade pulled one out at random, made a face at the cover, and flipped it open to read the front copy. And reading, she began to smile. So he was Wyk Halloran—it hadn't been a joke. His style was unmistakable. She found the one she wanted and made Zan loan her the money to buy it, in spite of his mocking disgust.

  'Why not?' he shrugged finally. 'You've got everything else.' He jerked his chin towards the door. 'Come on, Jade, we've got to go. I worked hard for that reservation.'

  At the restaurant, the blonde hostess greeted Zan like a long-lost and very dear friend. Jade found that Zan's hard work had earned them a table for two next to the windows—the choicest location. The hostess led them to it, swaying beside Zan as they walked, her generous, earthy curves bumping softly against him twice as they skirted the tables.

  Zan seated Jade with careful, clumsy courtesy, and an appreciative word to the blonde. As she gave him the menus, her breast brushed his shoulder in the lightest of touches. And then she was slinking away again, her long gown whispering. Not once had she even glanced at Jade.

  Speechless, Jade looked up from the candle on the table between them. Menus in hand, Zan sat frozen, his eyes wide and darkened with the flare of his black pupils, his face a study in granite. The thick lashes swept down in a slow blink and he glanced up at her, and then quickly away again, but not before she had seen the anger and the arousal in his wide eyes. A pain like a thread of fire whipped around her heart and pulled tight. Was this what Irena had felt when she answered the phone?

  'Nice place,' Zan commented huskily. His lips twisted up in a slight, rueful grin as he heard his own voice and he turned back to her, the hard look slowly fading to an apologetic smile. 'I hear they even serve food here,' he remarked wryly, handing her a menu.

  Although she knew what she would have already, Jade took it and studied it intently, hiding behind her long lashes. When had Zan last had a woman, she wondered, that he should look so hungry just then? How long had. Mona been gone? She bit her lip thoughtfully. For that matter, why conclude that Mona was the last woman he'd taken to bed? Demonstrably, all Zan had to do was whistle. No wonder she frustrated him sometimes!

  Her hands clenched as the thought hit home; had Zan ever found a woman he couldn't have, before? Was that why she seemed to intrigue him sometimes? Zan liked a challenge as well as the next man—probably preferred it to having his conquests handed him on a platter, judging from the anger in his face a moment ago. The thought was particularly depressing. She did not want to be an abstract challenge to Zan, an object to be reached and mastered.

  'Well, Jade?' She'd been so far away, it was a shock to find Zan sitting there before her. His gold brows knotted as he searched her face, his grey eyes puzzled. 'What'll you have?'

  She had to pull herself together. 'Are you feeling rich, Zan?' she asked lightly.

  'Rich enough. And this is a celebration. What'll it be?'

  'The stuffed lobster, please. What are we celebrating?' Or should she have asked that?

  But he shook his head slowly, his eyes holding hers.

  'I'm not sure yet,' he said softly. 'Isn't it National Grape Stompers Week?'

  Jade raised an eyebrow. 'Then what was last week?'

  'American Mud-Volleyball Week,' he said gravely.

  Smiling, she pulled her eyes away to study the harbour beyond the glass. A late moon must have risen. She couldn't see it from here, but its moonbeams skittered over the water like pearls bouncing across a black mirror. The dark shapes of the boats curtsied and bowed at their moorings in the dancing light.

  *

  While Zan ordered, Jade pulled his book Out of the bag. She thumbed slowly through the opening pages and came to the dedication. 'To A1 and to Mona', it said. She shut the book again quickly, to find him watching her. 'Who's Al?' she asked breathlessly.

  'He's the rookie cop I lived with day and night for nearly a year to get that story.'.

  She flipped on restlessly through the pages. 'And did this book do well?'

  Zan smiled ruefully. 'I made almost enough to pay my f
ather back for the year's tuition at Columbia I'd thrown away.'

  'You failed college?' she asked incredulously. It was hard to imagine a college course that could faze him.

  'I dropped out too late to withdraw honourably, my junior year.' His lips quirked at some memory. 'Mona was there, getting a business degree, at the time. She persuaded me that if I was serious about writing, it was time to dump the English courses and put up or shut up. She was right, of course—she always is.' The warm smile now lighting his face was not for Jade, but slowly his eyes came back to her. 'That's why this book is for her, as well.'

  'So this is your first book,' Jade concluded absently, her thoughts on the woman who had made it possible. Mona again . . . So he'd known her that long. The pattern was clear. There were other experiences, other women, other facets of his life, but in the end, Zan came back to Mona. He probably always would.

  When the food and the wine came, Zan set himself to entertain. While Jade cracked his boiled lobster for him, he told her about the year in New York as a city cop's shadow and alter ego. It was a carefully edited version, she suspected, all gloom and gore deleted, the strange and the good times shamelessly embroidered. She laughed until the couple at the next table stared and Zan hushed her, only to tell stories even more outrageously in whisper and pantomime.

  When the plates had been cleared and the coffee brought round at last, Zan grew quiet, slowly drawing into himself to stare down at the cup before him. Jade didn't mind the silence, she was used to watching him think by now. He was probably writing in his head at the moment, and she only hoped it would keep until tomorrow. She was in no mood to type tonight—too happy, too peaceful for that.

  Jade took another sip of coffee and leaned back in her chair, her eyes on his big-boned wrist, the long fingers curled absently around his cup. And in the unguarded moment, the thought eased gently and inevitably into her mind—or rather, words came at last to fit the wordless instincts she'd been fighting for weeks; what kind of lover would Zan be? Her heart accelerated with the question as she studied that hand. She thought she knew now. He'd be the same, only more so. He'd be gentle and lunatic, friend and tyrant, unbelievably strong and never quite predictable. He'd be heart-breakingly tender with her body while he demolished her heart, and finally—he'd be gone.