The Darling Jade Page 11

  'I believe it's illegal to look like that in a public restaurant, Jade. What are you thinking just now?'

  Fantasy meshed with reality as their eyes met and the blood leaped to her face. Zan was real, he was here, and for a second, Jade wasn't sure into which world she was waking—only that he was there with her, and that she stood naked before him, defenceless before his wide-eyed, probing scrutiny.

  Wrenching her eyes away, Jade broke the contact to stare across the restaurant, feeling the fire in her cheeks, the heat of his eyes scorching her profile. 'I was . . . just thinking of the last time I ate here,' she lied breathlessly. She found she was staring at the hostess, as the woman swivelled across the room to greet an incoming couple, and she transferred her gaze to the candle before her.

  But Zan was not satisfied yet. 'And when was that?' he pressed sceptically, his voice warmly taunting.

  When . . . she searched for the answer, numb with embarrassment, and found it with an inward jolt that brought her eyes up to meet his dancing gaze. How could she have forgotten that? 'The night Fred and I became engaged,' she blurted.

  His chin jerked slightly as his head came up, the laughter freezing in his eyes. His face closed. 'Oh,' he said flatly.

  Jade looked down at her clenched hands, suddenly miserable. The fragile bond that had tied them together tonight was snapped, broken by her own clumsy words. She was sitting with a stranger. Suddenly she had to get away. 'If you'll excuse me a moment, Zan . . .' He nodded silently, looking past her shoulder, his mouth a straight line as she fled.

  Fool! she told the pale face that stared back at her from the mirror in the women's room. You fool, didn't you learn the last time? But she knew now that that last heartache hadn't prepared her for Zan's explosive potential, any more than a head cold prepares one for a bout of bubonic plague. It had taken her a year to get over Jack's shabby little con game. How long would it take to recover from Zan, if she were to fall in love with him? Zan, who would take and give without apology or deception . . .

  If . . . Her eyes in the glass before her were huge. They looked almost black, the pupils dilated and pulsing. You're not that stupid, she told herself. You've been through the fire once, and now you've found a good man. A long-term man. Don't throw him away for a light-hearted, light-loving joker like Zan! What do you want? A summer of 'fun' as he put it, or a lifetime of kindness and caring? Make your choice! She took a deep breath, and began to smooth her windblown hair. No, she wasn't such a fool. . . Her mother might be, but she was not.

  And neither was the hostess, Jade decided when she finally returned to the dining room. The blonde stood at their table, one hip cocked, her red-tipped fingers resting on the edge of the table by Zan's arm as she smiled down at him. Bright head uplifted, Zan returned the smile with a mocking, lazy look that Jade had never seen before.

  She stopped in the doorway, feeling like a fool—an intruding fool at that. And she'd actually worried about Zan's needs as well as her own! A shimmer of undirected rage swept through her. She was an idiot! Zan could take very good care of himself, thank you. Perhaps she should go back to the women's room, or perhaps even home, and leave him to make his contact, to fill those needs, since she had nothing to give him.

  Across the room, Zan's eyes dropped from the woman, swung around to pin her in the doorway as his smile faded. His brows twitched gently—a silent message that she couldn't interpret. His eyes still holding her, he answered the woman absently, and she laughed and glided away, a satisfied smirk on her handsome face. And Zan simply waited, his cool eyes holding her, studying her with detached and sombre interest as she approached.

  'I ordered you a liqueur.' He nodded to the glass before her.

  'Thank you, but I didn't want one,' she told him as she sat down.

  'So drink it anyway.' He swirled his glass in the candlelight between them, watching the pale liquid revolve and gleam.

  'Yes, Master,' she murmured insolently, taking a sip as she met those glittering eyes. The brandy burned her tongue, exploded softly in the back of her mouth, and blazed a warm, vaporous comet trail down her throat. She took another sip. 'Get yourself a date?' she asked mockingly, her eyes flicking towards his friend across the room.

  Zan didn't pretend to misunderstand her as his head lifted dangerously. His mouth hardened. 'I don't "date" when I'm writing, Jade. It's too distracting,' he said evenly.

  'Oh?' The word came out sounding more challenging than she'd meant it to be.

  'Neither do I fight with people I like. Nor do I waste time going out to supper in .the middle of a book like this.' He tipped his glass and finished the last of the brandy.

  Jade widened her eyes. 'Oh?' It was a stupid syllable, but it seemed to annoy him, and that more than justified its use at the moment.

  'Yes, "oh", Red,' he mimicked savagely. 'This is a first for me, but don't let it bother you. It's just another of my rules I've had to break since you barged into my life.' Reaching across the table, he plucked the glass out of her startled fingers. He twirled it slowly, until finding the place her lips had touched, he drained the glass, his eyes taunting her as he drank. 'Since you didn't want it . . .'he explained mockingly. Rubbing the edge of the glass against his lips, he studied her flushed face. 'And in case you hadn't noticed, the book's not going so well either,' he finished ironically, holding the empty glass out to her.

  Jade ignored it. 'What you're saying is that I'm bothering you.'

  'Bright girl!' he applauded, setting the glass before her with insolent precision.

  She took a deep breath. There must be some way to hurt him as well. She smiled. 'Well, that's easily solved, isn't it?' she said lightly. 'I've sold eight paintings and my car this month—I'm rich. Let me buy you a dictaphone, and I'll buy me a ticket to Greece, where I'm still wanted.'

  Zan's head lifted slowly. 'Mention Greece again and I'll break your neck,' he drawled politely, his voice at its gentlest. 'You made a promise, if you'll recall.'

  It was as good an exit line as she would find. 'Promises can be broken,' she remarked sweetly, starting to rise.

  He had her wrist before she could straighten, as a glass smashed over with a soft tinkle. 'Sit ... down,' he breathed, his eyes blazing with cold fire.

  Jade sat, feeling rather than seeing the faces at the next table turn their way. She shut her eyes as the tears started to gather. Blood pounded in her captive wrist, but whether it was Zan's pulse or her own, she couldn't tell. She took a shaking breath. How had this started? How could an evening move from laughter to anger to tears in the space of a few words?

  For a long moment, they were both still, perhaps both sharing the same strange feeling of deja vu. Finally Zan lifted her hand and rubbed it slowly across his lips, his hard cheek. 'God! What are you trying to prove?' he whispered against her skin.

  'You need a shave,' she pointed out, her eyes still closed, as she tried to fight the tears and the sweet, languid sensations coursing up her arm.

  'That's not what I need.' He spoke the words into the palm of her hand, his breath steaming against her flesh.

  'Shall I tell you what I need, Jade?' His tongue traced the soft web between her thumb and forefinger. 'I'll say it right here,' he told her, 'but grab it quick. It's a secret, and I don't want those snoops at the next table to know.'

  Jade shook her head, trying to close her fingers against his secret as her eyes shut him out, but he pressed her palm against his lips, forcing it open, his teeth bruising the soft skin.

  'Zan—'

  'Ask me what I need,' he insisted, his mouth moving against her hand.

  'Zan!'

  'It's okay, sweet, I've got all night,' he reassured her, his words tickling and warm. 'I'll wait.'

  She sighed, defeated. 'What do you need?'

  'You,' he said huskily, dropping it into her palm with a kiss. His hand slid up to close her fingers over it. 'You can open your eyes now,' he told her gently. 'And yes, I'm sorry. How many apologies does that make tonight?'
>
  'I've lost count,' she said bitterly, turning to stare out the window, her hand clenched tightly under the table.

  They walked back in silence, their steps measured and slow in the late night stillness, their shadows black and small as the three-quarter moon rode high. Only when he guided her up the front steps did it dawn on Jade that, as far as Zan knew, she still lived on the second floor, and she winced at the thought of his discovering her deception. Not tonight! There had been enough hurts traded back and forth already, tonight.

  At the front door, she turned to lean back against it, smiling up at him. 'Well, Zan, thanks for supper,' she said briskly, willing him to leave now!

  His brows twitched gently as he scanned her face. 'My pleasure,' he said finally, his hand closing on the doorknob beside her. Obviously he intended to see her up the stairs.

  If she stood here much longer, he'd think she was waiting for a kiss, she realised. 'Goodnight,' she told him firmly, holding her ground.

  But Zan shook his head. 'Not till I check your stairs for cat burglars and assorted crazies, it isn't, Jade. Move,' he ordered.

  She stepped aside, hissing in exasperation. Let him look, then, since she couldn't stop him! But her eyes fell on the mailbox, and the solution to her problem. Snatching the blue airmail letter out of the box, she stepped lightly back across the porch to perch on the top step. Good old Fred. He always came through when she needed him, didn't he?

  'What do you think you're doing, Jade?' Looking back from the doorway, Zan sounded thoroughly out of temper.

  'My letter from Fred finally came,' she explained. 'The mail's unbelievably slow from there!' She made as if to open it.

  'That's nice,' Zan said evenly. 'Bring it along and you can open it in a minute.'

  Jade shook her head gaily. 'There's moon enough to read by. It's more romantic out here.' She looked up at him pleadingly. 'Please go home, Zan. You're tired. I'll go up in a minute.' She stroked the letter nervously.

  Cursing softly, he threw himself down beside her. The top step squealed. 'Fine! Be difficult. Go ahead and read it,' he bit out savagely. He tossed the book he'd been carrying for her into her lap. Leaning back against the porch railing, he glared at her and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Her temper flaring to match his own, Jade could almost believe the letter was the real issue. Chin tilted defiantly, she shook her hair back and scowled up at him. 'Zan, this is a personal, private, special letter,' she enunciated carefully. 'Do I have to spell it out for you? Go home!'

  He lunged forward as if to grab hold of her, but caught his balance on the step beside her instead. 'Want me to spell out what happens to little girls who sit out on the street at one in the morning, with their eyes on their letters and their minds in Greece?' he snarled into her face. 'We read about 'em in the paper the next day, and it's not in the comic section! You go upstairs and I'll gladly go home.'

  Jade took a deep breath and held it, staring up into his blazing eyes. His breath warmed her face, he was so near. It would be so easy to touch his cheek, turn that rage to—'Zan,' she said softly, 'this isn't New York City, I'm not a little girl, and I go to bed when and where I choose. Is that clear?'

  'Quite!' He was off the steps and on to his feet in one surge, stood towering above her. Glaring down at her, he breathed deeply, started to speak, then wheeled away instead and padded off.

  'Zan!' She couldn't let him go like that. 'Zan, please!'

  He spun around, a tall, indistinct shape in the moonlight, head high and waiting.

  'I . . . please . . .' She had nothing planned to say. Nothing she could say. 'What time do you want me there tomorrow?'

  'I don't want you tomorrow.'

  It was a crisp, free-swinging verbal backhand, and tears stung her eyes as it landed. 'Oh . . . when—'

  'I'll call you.' Zan backed away a step, his mind already gone from here. 'I need a few days to think.' He turned away again.

  Anger flooded in to fill the hollow space in her stomach. 'I may not be near a phone these next few days!' she called after him defiantly.

  'You'd better be!' The words floated back over his shoulder and then he was gone, a long-legged, tear-blurred shadow fading into the moonlight.

  Jade sat on the steps a long time, the letter forgotten in her lap. Finally, wiping her eyes, she crept around to the back door to let herself in.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rolling off of her stomach and out of a dream, Jade groped for the phone by the mattress and lifted it on the second ring. She flopped back against the pillow, with the receiver at her ear and her eyes closed.

  'Red?' Zan's voice tickled her ear, sending an unconscious smile spreading across her face.

  Her eyes fluttered open and she grinned up at the newly painted ceiling. She'd painted walls, trim, and ceiling all day yesterday, finished long after midnight. It looked lovely. And the light coming in the kitchen window through the herbs promised a lovely day. She sighed softly. Lovely.

  'Anybody there?' he murmured curiously.

  His words sent a slow shiver rippling across her bare body beneath the sheet. She gripped the receiver harder and tried to wake up. 'Nobody here by that name,' she breathed at last.

  'Hmm.'

  Jade closed her eyes and pictured him leaning back against the counter, the gold hair falling down towards his shaggy brows, a faint smile tugging at his long lips.

  'Well have you seen anyone around there with green eyes and auburn hair, who types and cracks eggs?'

  Still smiling, Jade brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. 'I could check, sir. Do you have any messages if I find such a person?'

  'Yes, would you tell her that after three days of cold cereal my spirit is well and truly broken? And that I'll take her and her omelettes back on any terms she'll give me?'

  'Any terms?' Jade purred, stretching luxuriously.

  'Umm . . . Well, let me rephrase that,' Zan murmured thoughtfully. 'Tell her if she doesn't get her little self over here pronto there's going to be hell to pay. You spell that B-i-gT-r-o-u-b-l-e, comma, R-e-d. Hell. . .to . . . pay. Got that, sweetheart?'

  'Yes, sir, I will relay that message, sir. Is there anything else?' She sat up slowly.

  'Yes,' the low voice had roughened and dropped even lower, 'tell her—'

  'Yes?' A prickle of uneasiness shook her shoulders.

  There was an instant of silence and then she heard him exhale slowly. 'Forget it,' he said briskly. 'Don't be long.' The phone clicked in her ear.

  Thoughtfully, Jade put down the phone and stared at it. After a moment she found she was grinning again. She shook her head briskly and stood up, wandered smiling to the bathroom to find her hairbrush. So he had forgiven her after all. Or rather, decided he needed her. For a while there, she'd wondered if he would. She'd spent the last three days in a restless limbo - painting the kitchen, cursing the plants, waiting . . .

  Absently, she set the unused brush on the kitchen counter, and pinning her hair back, washed her face in the kitchen sink. The one in the bathroom was hopelessly clogged.

  Zan would know how to unclog a sink . . . Pity she couldn't ask his advice. Ah well, she shrugged and grinned at the plants. She'd just have to fix it herself. This morning she felt as if she could fix anything.

  Humming, Jade brushed her hair out until it crackled. She swung right side up again and continued brushing, and found she was facing Fred's photograph at the end of the counter. Slowly, her smile faded. It wasn't fair. How could she miss Zan more in three days than she'd missed Fred in a month? How could she?

  'Fred . . .' she appealed to the picture, and stopped, biting her lip. What could she ask Of him, after all? Patience? He was giving her that already. His letter had been more than patient—as well as confused, hurt and exasperated. Where had she been the two times he'd made it into town to call her? What was going on? . . . What was this mysterious debt she'd incurred? . . . Did she still love him? . . . Well? She shook her head angrily. 'It's not fair, Fred,... or mayb
e I'm not.' For it was her fault. Somehow. She couldn't really blame Zan. He hadn't asked to be run down, after all. It must be her fault.

  And she was going to be late. Big trouble and hell to pay, with a hungry man waiting . . . Two men waiting . . . She spun away, picked out a blouse of blue gauze that he'd never seen before, and dressed quickly. She was smiling again by the time she bounced out of the back door. She glanced around jubilantly—blue sky, early morning sunshine, mocking-bird singing in the next yard—lovely day!

  But no one answered her jaunty rap on Zan's door when she arrived, and her smile faded. Somehow she had expected Zan to throw .open the door at her first knock. Where was he? She tried again with the same result, considered the door bell and decided not to ring. Shrugging wryly, she fished her key ring out of her pocket. He had forced a key on her a few weeks, back, although she had never had to use it before. 'Zan?' she called as she stepped inside.

  Nothing. She walked into the room, remembering her fear the first time she had entered it. Now it was like coming home again. 'Zan?'

  No answer. The glass doors to the patio were open though, the leaves of her begonia lifting in the soft breeze. She walked outside. Not on the patio, but at the end of the dock . . . Jade stared. A small, neat sailboat was tied off, facing the harbour. Something moved in its cockpit, a dark blond, touselled cap of hair. Zan.

  Jade crept down the dock, her eyes fixed on the back of his head. Long legs stretched out on the seat before him, Zan lounged back in the deep cockpit, his head resting against the back edge of the deck. As he moved suddenly, lifting a cup of coffee to drink, Jade froze, admiring the hard line of his high cheekbone broken by the soft blur of his lashes. He turned towards her, jerked in alarm and the coffee sloshed over.

  'Son of a—' he gasped, and set the cup down, shaking his hand and scowling up at her. 'You'll kill me yet, Jade! Motorised assault, heart attack, or scalding—One way or another, you'll get me in the end!'