Dream Lake (Friday Harbor #3)(74)

“She knows it was,” Emma said, gazing at Zoë.

Zoë looked back at her with resignation. “It was the best I could do,” she said simply. “But that’s never been enough for him.” She stood from the table and gestured for them to stay in their chairs. “I’ll be right back. I’m going to put on another pot of coffee.” She left the library.

Seeing Justine begin to stand, Alex said quietly, “Let me.”

She frowned but remained seated as he headed after Zoë. Alex wasn’t entirely certain what he would say to Zoë once he reached her. For the past two hours, he had watched her set plate after plate of magnificent food in front of a father who would never appreciate such offerings. He understood the situation all too well. From his own experiences, Alex knew that parental love was an ideal, not a guarantee. Some parents had nothing to give their children. And some, like James Hoffman, blamed and punished their children for things they’d had nothing to do with.

Zoë was occupied with measuring grounds into the basket of the small coffeemaker. Hearing his footsteps, she turned to face him. She looked expectant, oddly intent, as if she wanted something from him. “I wasn’t surprised,” she said. “I knew what to expect from my father.”

“Then why did you make this dinner for him?”

“It wasn’t for him.”

His eyes widened.

“If you hadn’t agreed to come here tonight,” Zoë continued, “we would have gone to a restaurant. I wanted to cook for you. I planned every course trying to think of what you would enjoy.”

Frustration and bewilderment tangled inside him. He had the sense of being manipulated in the softest possible way, like silken nets being drawn around him. A woman didn’t do these things purely for the sake of kindness or generosity. There had to be something behind it, a motive he would only discover when it was too late.

“Why would you do that for me?” he asked roughly.

“If I were an opera singer, I would have sung you an aria. If I were an artist, I would have painted your portrait. But cooking is what I’m best at.”

He could still taste the flavor of the pot-de-crème, clover and wildflowers and deep amber nectar. The taste bloomed on his tongue and tightened his throat with sweetness, and flowed through him until he could have sworn the honey scent was even rising from his pores. Without meaning to, he reached Zoë in two strides and took her by the arms. The feel of her, voluptuous and silky, sent his blood racing. Emotion and sensation swirled together in a volatile mixture, and all it would take was a single spark to obliterate him. He was so hard, so hungry for her. So tired of trying to keep apart from her.

“Zoë,” he said, “this has to stop. I don’t want you to do things for me. I don’t want you to think about ways to please me. You’ve already ruined me. For the rest of my life, I’ll never be able to look at another woman without wanting her to be you. You’re woven all through me. I can’t even dream without you being there in my head. But I can’t be with you. I hurt people. It’s what I’m best at.”

Her face changed, her mouth rounding in an O of tender dismay. “Alex, no.”

“I’ll hurt you,” he said ruthlessly. “I’ll turn you into someone we both would hate.” The truth came from the deepest part of his soul. You’re nothing. You deserve nothing. You have nothing to give anyone except pain. Knowing that, believing it, was the only way the world made sense.

As Zoë held his gaze, he saw anger gathering on her face. The sight relieved him. It meant she would strike him, reject him. It meant she would be safe.

Her hand came to his cheek. But softly.

Her fingers were gentle against his jaw, her thumb brushing his lower lip as if to erase the razor-edged words. It threw him into hot confusion to realize that her anger wasn’t directed at him. “No,” she murmured, “you’ve twisted it all around. You’re the one who’s been hurt. You’re not trying to protect me. You’re trying to protect yourself.”

He shoved her hand away from him. “It doesn’t matter who the hell I’m trying to protect. The point is, some things are broken too bad to be fixed.”

“Not people.”

“Especially people.”

Seconds passed, sawing deep through the silence.

“If either of us gets hurt,” Zoë said carefully, “it’s still better than never taking a chance.”

“You want to take a chance on something hopeless,” he said in a scornful tone.

She shook her head. “Something hopeful.”

In that moment Alex hated her for what she was trying to do, for making him want to believe her. “Don’t be stupid. Don’t you get what having a relationship with me would do to you?”

“We’re already having the relationship,” she said in exasperation. “We have been for a while.”

Alex seized her, wanting to shake some sense into her. But instead he was gripping her close against his hammering heart, forcing her to stand on her toes. He didn’t kiss her, only held her with his head bent so that he could feel her breath on his face.

“I want you,” she whispered. “And you want me. So take me home and do something about it. Tonight.”

The sound of the kitchen door made him flinch, but he still couldn’t let go of Zoë.