Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(33)

Alex wasn’t quite certain how he’d come to be in this position, standing at a sink with Zoë while she confided in him. He didn’t want to hear any of it. He had always hated talking about personal problems—his own, and other people’s. But Zoë kept on talking, and he couldn’t seem to find a way to shut her down. And then he realized that if he had really wanted to shut her down, he would have by now. He actually wanted to listen, to understand her, and that scared the hell out of him.

He heard himself ask, “Before you got married, did you and he …”

“Yes.” Zoë’s face was partially averted, but he could see the pink curve of her cheek beneath the dark sweep of her lashes. “It was affectionate. It was … nice. I wasn’t sure if either of us was really into it, but I didn’t have enough experience to know how it should be. I thought in time we’d get better at it.”

Affectionate. Nice. Alex’s brain summoned thoughts of Zoë’s luscious na**d body, and what he would have done to her, given half a chance. The glinting locks of her hair trailed like curled ribbons, and he couldn’t stop himself from touching them, playing with the tousled silk. “When did you find out?”

Zoë took an extra breath as his fingertips reached the curve of her scalp and stroked gently. “He told me he’d been having an affair with another man. A lawyer at the firm. He hadn’t meant for it to happen. He didn’t want to hurt me. But something was missing in our relationship, and he’d never been able to figure it out.”

“Given the fact that he slept with another guy,” Alex said, “it’s pretty obvious what was missing.”

Zoë looked at him quickly, but when she saw the glint of humor in his eyes, she relaxed.

Sliding his hand to the nape of her neck, Alex relished the texture of cool, soft skin, the fine muscles beneath. The kitchen seemed to breathe around them, stirring currents of toasted air that carried the bittersweet zest of lemon rind, the dank sweetness of scrubbed wooden cutting boards, the floating richness of cake, the crisp bite of cinnamon, and the black tang of coffee. All of it whetted a deep thrill of hunger. It seemed as if Zoë were part of the feast all around him, made to be tasted and felt and sensually enjoyed. The only thing that held him back from her was a thread of honor that was stretched nearly to the breaking point. If he let himself do what he wanted, if Zoë didn’t stop him, he would end up being the worst thing that ever happened to her. He had to make her understand that.

“In high school,” he said, “I was the kind of ass**le who would have teased and bullied you.”

“I know.” After a moment, Zoë said, “You would have called me a dumb blonde.”

At the very least. He had been angry at the world. He’d hated all the things he couldn’t have. And he would have especially hated someone as gentle and beautiful as Zoë.

She took a deep breath before asking, “Is that how you think of me now?”

Although she’d just handed him the perfect way to put some distance between them, Alex couldn’t bring himself to use it. Instead he told her the truth. “No. I think you’re smart. I think you’re good at what you do.”

“Do you think I’m … attractive?” she asked hesitantly.

He was nearly drowning in the desire to demonstrate exactly how attractive he found her. “You’re sexy as hell. And if I thought you could handle my kind of trouble, we wouldn’t be standing here talking. By now I’d have dragged you to the nearest dark corner I could find, and—” He broke off abruptly.

Zoë gave him a look that was difficult to interpret. Eventually she asked, “What makes you sure I couldn’t handle you?”

She didn’t know what she was asking for, from a man who couldn’t remember what it was like to be innocent. Lightly gripping her hair, Alex forced her face close to his. The blond curls danced around his fingers and tickled the backs of his hands. “I’m a bastard in bed, Zoë,” he said quietly. “I’m selfish and mean as the devil. I have to have all the control. And I’m … not nice.”

Her eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

He wasn’t about to discuss his sexual preferences with her. “No, we’re not going there. All you need to know is that I don’t make love to women, I use them. To you, sex is about kindness, honesty, commitment … well, I don’t bring any of that to bed. If you’re as smart as I think you are, you’ll believe that.”

“I do,” Zoë said promptly.

Drawing his head back an inch, Alex stared at her. “Really?”

“Yes.” But after a long hesitation, Zoë’s gaze dropped and the corners of her mouth quirked. “No,” she admitted, “I really don’t.”

“Damn it, Zoë—” He broke off in frustration, all the more provoked because she was trying not to smile, as if she thought of him as some big pu**ycat trying to pose as a tiger. She was playing with fire. She wouldn’t begin to understand the depravity that had passed for his love life. He knew who he was, and he knew how to hurt people—God knew he’d done it often enough.

The hint of amusement flitting across her lips drove him crazy. Before he knew what he was doing, he crushed his mouth over hers, holding her head so she couldn’t jerk back. He expected resistance. He wanted to scare her off. That was how the lesson would go. But after the first innocent start of surprise, she went soft and easy against him, her fingers lacing into his hair, curving around his skull. Alex was mortified by the force of his own response. He could have no more broken her hold on him than he could have snapped a steel beam in two.