Chapter Eleven
I know how she likes her damn coffee, he thought sourly as he carried the tray into the kitchen.
Yeah, he knew how she liked her coffee.
He knew how she liked her tea, and he knew which kinds she drank, and at what time of the year.
He knew the kinds of wines she liked, the kinds she hated—anything that wasn’t sweet enough to cause a cavity—and he kept her particular favorite on hand at his place even though he couldn’t stand the stuff.
He knew what movies she loved, knew what movies she hated, and he knew what kind of books were likely to get thrown across the room and which ones were going to make her cry, and which ones would make her laugh.
Yes. He knew her.
Dumping the dishes in the sink, he rinsed everything off and loaded the dishwasher, taking those few minutes to try and get the frustration out. It should be a little easier right now, he thought. Should be. He finally had his chance, right? Granted, this wasn’t exactly evolving because he’d been up front or anything . . .
One hand curled into a fist and he realized that was something he had to do. Something he needed to do before this moved too much further.
Now.
He’d go do it now.
He finished up and dried off his hands, mentally bracing himself as he headed into the shower.
Dread curdled in his gut, but if he didn’t do this, he was going to risk f*cking it up for good. And he couldn’t risk that. No matter what.
* * *
. . . into the shower . . .
Abigale groaned at the random page she’d found in the journal. Take the damn thing into the shower? It would get ruined.
Except . . . well. That was the point, right?
Wrecking it.
She sighed and kicked her legs off the bed, glancing out the door into the main room. Zach was still out there, moving around in the kitchen. Something was bothering him, but she didn’t know what. He’d told her he’d clean up and although she had wanted to argue, she hadn’t pushed.
Not once she saw that glint echo in the back of his eyes. He tried to hide it, and she let him, because there was no point in pushing him when he retreated into one of his moods. Besides, she got damn tired of washing dishes.
She’d tugged the journal out of her bag, thinking she’d just jot a few things down, but then she’d remembered she was supposed to actually be doing these things and she’d told herself she’d do one thing today.
One thing.
“Take it into the damn shower.” She headed into the bathroom. Hitting the lights, she laid the journal on the marble counter as she stripped her borrowed sweatshirt off. The bathroom was ridiculously lavish with a shower bigger than a queen-size bed. There was a long bench along two of the walls and before she could change her mind, she tossed the book onto one of them. That should do it, really. It would be in the shower with her. In there, where it wouldn’t get too wet. She didn’t have to get it soaked, right?
Just looking at it there made her uneasy so she turned her back to it and focused on getting the water going. She’d just leave it there. If it got wet, it got wet. It was in the shower, after all.
Once she had the water going, she was able to forget about it. A little. Standing with the hot water blasting down on her, she sighed, welcoming the pulsating blast of water coming at her from the multiple showerheads. That was just about perfect, she thought. Just about perfect.
Turning around, she angled her back under the main spray and opened her eyes.
A shriek escaped her as she caught sight of the shadow at the door.
“Damn it, Zach!”
He chuckled and slid the door open, eyeing her with a look that was rapidly becoming very familiar. “You’re wet.”
Shoving her hair back from her face, she glared at him. “I’m in the shower. You get wet in these things.”
He reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it off. “Is that a fact? I should try it out.”
She might have had a response to that. If she could have thought. About anything, other than the fact that he had just peeled his shirt off and was now unzipping his jeans.
In a matter of seconds, he was inside the shower and as he came to her through the crisscrossing sprays, her heart jumped up into her throat. “Zach . . .”
She licked her lips and shifted around so that the water wasn’t constantly running down into her eyes to blind her. That, unfortunately, or fortunately, maybe, had her with her back against the wall. He followed her and caught her around the waist. “You do get wet in these things.” He hauled her close. “Imagine that.”
“Very wet.” She groaned as she felt the head of his cock nudging her against her belly. “We . . . well, I didn’t exactly bring anything in here. I wasn’t planning on water sports.”
“I was.” He flashed a packet at her and tore it open. “I heard the water come on and made a detour.”
She tugged it away from him and tossed the wrapper onto the bench after she’d pulled the condom out. It missed and landed on the floor, but she didn’t care.
As she started to unroll it, Zach’s chest shuddered. His hands gripped her hips, fingers kneading her flesh restlessly. “Hurry up,” he rasped, dipping his head to rake his teeth down her neck. “F*ck . . . hurry.”
“Impatient.” She smoothed the thin shield of latex down over him and before she could say another word, think another thought, even blink, Zach had her in his arms. He boosted her up and she caught her breath, staring into his eyes as he wedged the head of his cock against her sex and pressed.
“Now.” He stared into her eyes, watching her like he sought to see down into her very soul. “Right now.”
She nodded, sucking in a breath. It wasn’t enough . . . she was still scrambling for oxygen, scrambling to think, to function as he slowly sank inside her.
“You have no idea.” He stared down into her eyes. “No idea how bad I need this. Need you. I waited . . . I wanted . . .”
I waited . . .
Those words burned through her brain and she knew she needed to think that through. But she couldn’t. Not when he pulled back and then surged forward, driving so completely inside her.
“Tell me you want this,” he demanded. “Tell me you want me.”
Dazed, she stared at him. He shot a hand into her hair and tangled his fingers in the curls, jerking her head back, forcing her to watch him. She whimpered as his mouth crushed against hers. Hard and desperate, that kiss ripped a response from her and she was all but sobbing when he lifted just enough to peer down into her eyes. “Tell me you want me, damn it.”
“I want you,” she said, and her voice trembled with the force of that want. “I want you so much I can’t breathe for it. I dream about you and I feel your touch on me even when you’re not there.”
* * *
Her eyes, nearly black, stared into his as she spoke and Zach tried to cling to the hope in those words.
It meant something.
Had to.
But just then, all he could do was give in to the madness that had ripped through him when he’d seen her in the shower. One more time, damn it. Before he explained, because if he lost her . . .
She arched against him, her wet hands sliding down his arms, then back up along his shoulders to tangle in his hair. She swiveled her hips and he moved back a little, changing their angle so that her shoulders rested against the wall and he could stare down, watch as he moved within her.
Her flesh was pale as cream, unmarred and smooth. And he loved the way his hands looked on her as he guided her hips, lifting her up as he pulled away, dragging her back down over his cock as he sank back in. “Mine.” For that moment, at least. She was his.
Abby keened, a low, rough sound of female pleasure that had his balls drawing tight and his gut twisting in a blinding knot of need.
He pushed her harder. Faster. Giving in to the burning edge that had ridden him for so damned long.
As she clenched down around him and started to come, his own climax tore through him like a tornado, nearly undoing him.
* * *
He saw the journal on the long, narrow bench as he went to pull off the condom.
That journal.
That wonderful journal.
That stupid journal.
Part of him wanted to bronze it while another part of him wanted to rip it apart.
Except right now, it needed to be dried off.
After he’d dealt with the condom, he glanced over at Abby and said, “You like the journal so much you brought it into the shower with you?”
She was still leaning against the wall, her lips curved in a smile of pure, smug female satisfaction. It went straight to his dick and he wanted nothing more than to go back to her and do a repeat of the past five minutes. Except maybe make it last longer than five minutes. Hell. He touched her and lost all control.
But if he didn’t do this now . . .
“Abby.” He nodded to the journal again and said, “The journal is getting soaked.”
She made a face at him and said, “It’s supposed to. Have you looked at what’s inside there? It’s got a page that says take this journal into the shower with you. Or something like that. Okay? It’s in the shower.” A funny little grin curled her lips upward. “I was stressing about it pretty bad before you came in.”
He moved to block her view of the journal, catching one of the showerheads and wetting his hair down. It wasn’t because he was in any hurry to wash up. He just needed a way to distract himself. To not look at her while he thought this through. “Abby . . . ah. Actually, about the journal . . .”
She sighed. “I should probably get it out of here before it’s ruined, shouldn’t I?”
Swallowing the knot in his throat, he turned away and grabbed it. It was dripping wet as he nudged the door open and placed it on the floor. “It should be fine.” His voice sounded like he’d swallowed a frog. Turning around, he looked at her.
She had her head cocked. “Are you okay?”
“Ah . . .” Scooping his damp hair back, he glanced around. Then he held out a hand as he settled on the bench near the jets. A fine mist wrapped around them, but it didn’t soak them and that worked. He thought. “I need to tell you something. You’re going to be mad at me. I . . .” He groaned as she hooked an arm around his neck. Slamming his head back against the marbled tile of the wall, he closed his eyes. “I told you, just a few minutes ago. It wasn’t just . . . um. It wasn’t just my dick talking when I said I’ve been waiting to touch you like this. That I wanted you for a while.”
All my life—
“Zach . . . ?”
He opened his eyes and made himself meet her gaze. He figured it would be better to play it down a little. “You just . . . hell, Abby. You were engaged and all. What was I supposed to do?”
Her hand splayed over his cheek as she stared at him.
“Ah . . . this . . .” She closed her eyes and dropped her head down on his shoulder. “Well. Um. I’m sort of thrown here, but okay. I figured out the fact that you weren’t exactly oblivious the second or third time you had your tongue down my throat.”
He cupped a hand over the back of her neck. “No. Not oblivious. I just . . . Don’t be mad at me. Abby, I saw what you had written in that damn journal. I knew you were planning to have an affair with somebody and I wanted it to be me.”
She stiffened.
Her hand fell away from his cheek.
Pain ripped through him as she pulled away and stood up. A few seconds later, she left him alone in the shower and he sat in there, eyes closed.
Had he just f*cked it up for good?
Please . . . no. Just. No.
* * *
“He wanted me. I was engaged. Shit.”
It was only the fifteenth time she’d muttered that, or some variation over the past twenty minutes. Dressed in her woefully inadequate clothing, a blanket wrapped around her with her damp hair making her even more miserable, Abigale stood on the balcony, freezing her ass off and brooding. She could go inside, dry her hair, lock herself in the bedroom, but just then, she needed the space. So she stood out there, freezing and cranky and confused.
“Don’t be mad, he says.”
Swearing, she dropped down onto the chaise lounge and buried her head in her arms.
Don’t be mad . . .
She wasn’t mad, exactly.
She was . . . embarrassed. Sort of. She’d been so miserable and uncomfortable about the major lust-on she’d developed for her best friend, and he’d been doing the same thing for her. For . . . hell. A while. She’d been engaged for almost two years.
She was uncomfortable, but with herself. How hadn’t she seen it?
And she was aggravated, yeah, because he’d been nosing in the journal, but she wasn’t mad, really. That was just typical Zach. If she wanted him to leave something alone, she specifically had to tell him or keep it away from him.
The door opened and she lifted her head, shooting him a dark look.
He stood in the doorway, hands jammed in his pockets. His hair was still damp and while he’d tugged on a pair of jeans, he hadn’t buttoned them and he hadn’t bothered with a shirt, either. Lust and desire and all sorts of crazy needs hit her, so hard and fast that she just had to look away from him before she lost it.
Before she came up off the lounge and just jumped him.
“So are you done?”
His voice, hard and flat, was like a slap in the still air and she barely managed to keep from flinching. Shooting him a narrow look, she asked icily, “Am I done what?”
He averted his head, a muscle pulsing in his cheek.
Done.
What, did the jerk think she wasn’t allowed to be irritated? She wasn’t allowed to be confused or pissed? He thought she was out here having a sulk over nothing? Is that what he thought? Surging up off the lounge, she let the blanket fall as she stormed over to him. “Am I done what?” she demanded.
He turned his head and stared at her, but still didn’t answer.
She curled her hand into a fist and thumped it on his chest. “You think I don’t have a right to be aggravated, Zach? You think I’m out here sulking and I’m just supposed to stop at a certain—”
His hands came around her waist and he spun her around. The rough brick of the wall scratched against her spine as he backed her up. “Damn it. Me,” he snarled down into her face. “Are you done with me? Is this it? Did I f*ck it up? I’m sorry, damn it. I shouldn’t have been messing with your stuff and if I’d thought I was going to see something like that . . .” He stopped and looked down, a ragged breath escaping him. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I just . . . shit. Maybe I should have come clean or something, but I just had to watch you spend three f*cking years with that prick Roger and if I had to see with you somebody else . . .”
Oh.
Light dawned as she stared at his bowed head.
I’ve been waiting . . . I wanted you . . .
It wasn’t exactly a shining, beautiful declaration of love, but she hadn’t been expecting that. Zach wasn’t in love with her. She knew that. He’d already told her that he’d been in love and it hadn’t worked out.
“No, Zach. I’m not done.”
He jerked up his head, staring at her with that intent, focused gaze. It went right to the very heart of her and made her ache. Hell. Whoever that woman was, she was an absolute moron. If Zach had been looking at her like that . . . ?
“Abby?”
She reached up and touched his cheek. “I’m not done. I’m irritated as hell over you messing with my stuff, but I’m not done. I’m irritated, and I’m confused . . . but this isn’t anywhere close to done for me.”