Zoe, silent, cocked her head toward Rafe bemusedly. She knew they were headed toward southern Oregon, but she hadn’t the faintest idea how he’d managed to rent a plane…or that he had two brothers, a fact she’d learned from his mother, or that he knew how to fly. The questions would wait. At the moment, she was busy absorbing the knowledge that she had Rafe to herself for two whole days. Her heart sang the bittersweet refrain that these two days might be all she’d ever have.
An hour with his mother had been enough to convince Zoe that Marjorie was an angel, and an angel who was more than familiar with little boys. She had a gift for making people comfortable. Initially, the situation had struck Zoe as impossibly awkward. What could Marge possibly think of a woman who would casually take off for a fun-filled weekend, leaving two kids in her wake?
Only Marge, as it happened, was an enthusiastic proponent of fun-filled weekends. She had two other sons who regularly called her to babysit so they could enjoy weekends of a similar nature with their wives. Marge figured such things saved marriages. In the case of her one bachelor son, she hoped it would make a marriage. “Rafe gave me a very serious song and dance about how you two needed some private time to discuss the children,” Marge told her frankly. “I admire both of you for taking on Aaron and Parker, but I knew the minute I saw my son’s face that kids were the last thing on his mind. I’ve never heard so much throat-clearing in my entire life. Good heavens, you’d think by now he’d realize I know a little about life.”
Marjorie Kirkland was a blend of frankness and subtlety, humor and common sense. She also knew the difference in action figures between Magneto and Cyclops, and the boys had been so absorbed in playing with her that a kiss and a quick squeeze at the door had been all they could spare for Zoe and Rafe.
“Cat got your tongue?”
She turned her head with a smile. “No.”
Rafe glanced at a dial in front of him and then shot her an easy grin. “Well, it’s got mine. I’m terrified I won’t remember how to have an adult conversation. I don’t think either of us has had the chance to finish a sentence in the last five weeks.” He hesitated. “You’re not worried about them?”
She shook her head. “Not at all.”
“Good. Relax, Zoe. It’s past time the two of us shared a very different world.”
Like the slow seep of a sunset, Zoe felt that different world gradually take hold of her senses. The cool cockpit and steady engine drone ended in the total stillness and silence of a hideaway landing strip tucked in among mountains. A rental car was waiting for them. Rafe seemed totally familiar with where they were and where they were going, but Zoe had no idea and increasingly didn’t want to know. Magic was stealing up on her like a secret.
Each minute took her farther from her work, the children, her apartment. The night was crisp, and midnight was creeping closer. Simple weariness slowed her blood to a languid pace, yet her heart kept beating with anticipation. She was alone with him. In all this time, she really hadn’t been alone with him.
Especially during the past few days, the future had yawned ahead of her like a chasm without a bridge to span it. Even arranging this weekend struck Zoe as further proof that Rafe missed the privacy and freedom and choices that a life with children made impossible. Decisions waited like the dread of a toothache, yet perhaps that added to her growing excitement, desperation, recklessness. She had now. She had Rafe. There was a time when she hadn’t believed in living for the moment, but this was different. If one only had minutes, the seconds were precious. These two days with him were hers-they had to be.
Neither lights nor road signs marked the gravel path where he finally turned in. Moments later, Zoe stepped out of the car, mesmerized. The thunder and roar of the sea were unmistakable. Jagged rock cliffs and the glistening sheen of moonlight. This place was a blend of her world and his, mountain and ocean, and nestled in a cradle of rock was a cabin, dark and wind-weathered, its windows overlooking the sea.
Rafe stood for a minute, watching her with a small smile on his lips. “Like it, Zoe?” he asked softly, but he knew. From the ease of her smile to the helpless gesture she made with her hands…she didn’t have to say anything.
He carried the suitcases inside, and by the time she wandered through the door, he had a fire started in the corner hearth. Flames were already starting to lick the dry cedar logs. A kerosene lantern sat on the only table.
“Yours, Rafe?” she asked idly.
“It was. I sold it to a friend two years ago, but he rarely uses it except in the summer. He didn’t mind lending it to us for a weekend.”
She nodded, arms loosely folded around her chest as she explored. The cabin was as small as it was unexpectedly luxurious. Thick rust carpeting complemented the rich teak paneling. The double bed in one corner had a feather comforter and a mountain of down pillows. The kitchen ell was tiny, but stocked with everything from wok to microwave. Two oversized chairs flanked the fireplace, on both sides of a long couch in rust velvet.
A bath and a long storage room opened off from the main cabin. The bathroom ceiling was a skylight; the fixtures were brass and the towels pamper-thick.
Everywhere, she could hear the sea. Everywhere, she was conscious of isolation and privacy, of the romance implicit in the situation for two people who’d craved being alone for weeks, of Rafe watching her explore, waiting for her in total silence.
He still said nothing when she finally knelt beside him on the carpet by the hearth, but his gaze settled on her like an intimate touch. She suddenly registered the hammer-beating of her heart, her not-quite-dry palms, the texture of fragile feminine nerves. Her pulse throbbed with inordinate sensitivity; she wasn’t sure what to say, what to do. She’d always been natural with Rafe-she’d never had any choice but to be natural with Rafe-but these circumstances were different. Before, she’d always known that two children could interrupt them at any minute. Her heightened awareness of Rafe was a measure of her knowledge that no one would interrupt them now, any more than anyone could save her from a man who suddenly seemed part stranger, vibrantly sexual, and inescapably male.
She didn’t want to be saved. She just wished she could find something reasonably intelligent to say.
His jacket was gone, and so were his shoes. Clamped between his knees was a long green bottle, so recently uncorked that vapor still rose in wisps from its neck. He poured the sparkling wine into two stemmed glasses that gleamed like crystal in the firelight. The man’s eyes had a far more purposeful gleam when he handed her a glass. “I figured it was about time I found out if you could handle your wine, Zoe.”
“Yes?”
He nodded, his voice hushed and throaty. “Do you realize how much there is about you that I don’t know? Simple things, like whether you get silly on champagne. What you look like all dressed up. What you’ll look like when I wake you first thing in the morning. Or what colors you like-or what you’re like, naked, when there isn’t a soul around for ten miles and you know exactly what I want to do to you-Careful, sweet. You nearly spilled the wine.”
She was so shaken she could barely manage the first sip. “Rafe,” she said slowly, “I think you’re deliberately trying to unnerve me.”
He gave her a lazy smile. “A little.”
The champagne sizzled over her tongue, as heady as dancing blue eyes that spelled trouble as they peered over the rim of his glass. “It seems to me that a gentleman would make a little effort to make a lady feel at ease in a circumstance like this,” she scolded him.
“But then, I’m not always a gentleman, and I hope to hell you’re in no mood to be a lady. Have you had enough of that yet?”