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CHAPTER EIGHT
WHEN Rachel awoke just before eight the next morning, it was with the sensation of slowly surfacing through layers of deep fog. Not surprising considering she hadn’t been able to fall asleep until nearly dawn, and even then she’d slept in fits and starts, terrified of inadvertently curling up to Zac.
She hadn’t been able to tell if Zac was awake during the long night hours. His breathing had certainly indicated he was asleep, being even and steady, but something had told her he was feigning it. Whatever, she had remained resolutely still physically, although her mind had more than made up for her body’s lack of movement, whirling and dissecting and running riot.
For the first couple of hours she’d told herself she was mistaken, that what she felt for Zac wasn’t love but sexual attraction, lust if you like, and as such easily put aside once the object of the desire was gone. And she might have been able to carry on convincing herself if they hadn’t had their earlier conversation. As it was, the bitter facts about his marriage and the loss of his child had kept nagging away until she’d finally admitted to herself around two in the morning that, if things had been different, he very possibly might have been ‘the one’.
That little piece of virtuous integrity kept her awake for another two hours as she played every possible scenario for the future over and over in her head. The possibilities ranged from Zac saying goodbye once the weekend was over and not contacting her again during his stay in England to him having a miraculous change of heart and falling in love with her, along with every conceivable—and inconceivable—spin-off from the two.
A good half an hour was spent dissecting whether she could trust her judgement after Giles; thirty minutes of taking apart every word Zac had said and inspecting it under the microscope. At the end of that time, she’d come to the conclusion that nothing in life was an absolute but that Zac was as different from Giles as it was possible to be and she’d been a fool not to recognise that before. Or perhaps she had. Perhaps she’d known from that initial meeting and that was why she’d been so frightened of getting involved with him. She’d known he was her Waterloo.
Because let’s face it, she told herself at last, her head aching, he’s utterly drop-dead gorgeous in every way, and you are a mere mortal. End of story.
This last pearl of wisdom had produced a dull weariness, making her mind and body feel heavy, and it was after that she must have drifted off to sleep. But it had been fitful.
Now the last veil of fog cleared and she opened her eyes.
‘Good morning.’ Zac’s tawny eyes glittered like a cat’s in the light coming from the skylights positioned over the bed, which were encrusted with a layer of sparkling snow. He was lying on one elbow and the sight of him, hair tousled, stubble on his chin and his hairy chest, took her breath away. At the same moment, she had the unwelcome thought that he had been watching her while she’d slept, morning face and all. Terrific.
‘Good morning,’ she whispered, knowing she was blushing but unable to do anything about it.
His lips spread back from white, even teeth as he smiled. ‘I love it that you do that,’ he murmured, touching her hot cheek with a lingering finger. ‘I thought the modern woman had lost the art, but not you. I find it immensely…satisfying.’
He made it sound like an attribute rather than a weakness that made her resemble a boiled lobster. Rachel grimaced. ‘I don’t.’ Surreptitiously checking that her top hadn’t ridden up over her breasts in the night, she sat up, brushing her hair out of her eyes. She’d survived the night, then. ‘What’s the time?’ she asked matter-of-factly, trying for normality.
‘Nearly eight. I’ve only just woken myself.’ He touched her hair, murmuring to himself, ‘Beautiful, like multicoloured silk. Did you know your hair has an amazing array of shades in it when you study it? Fascinating.’
She wrinkled her small nose. ‘It’s dark brown.’
‘Dark brown with all the different shades of autumn leaves,’ he corrected softly. ‘And your eyes are the colour of the wild cornflowers I used to pick as a child, just verging on violet.’
Rachel was sitting with the covers held against her chest. She knew at some point she was going to have to get out of bed in her skimpy pyjamas, and considering they’d shared a bed she shouldn’t be feeling so hotly embarrassed, should she? Trying to emulate Zac’s easy, insouciant manner, she forced a smile. ‘I had no idea you had such a poetic streak.’
‘There’s nothing like sleeping together to find out those little things about someone.’ His eyes were dancing.
The colour that had begun to subside rose again in a crimson flood. ‘I suppose not,’ she said primly, refusing to rise to the bait. ‘Shouldn’t we start getting ready for breakfast?’
Zac laughed and slid out of bed, stretching like a big cat. Rachel found her gaze was riveted on him, every magnificent muscled inch. The lights had been dim last night but now she could see just how lithe and tanned the beautifully honed body was. She had to tell herself to breathe.
If Zac was aware of her rapt attention, it didn’t bother him. He walked to where he’d dropped his towel the night before, wrapping it round his hips and rummaging in his suitcase for fresh clothes before he stood up again as best he could in the low-ceilinged room. ‘I’m happy to take the first stint in the bathroom, give you time to wake up properly,’ he offered casually turning to face her again. ‘OK?’
Rachel nodded, thinking she’d never been more awake in her life. Zac Lawson practically stark naked would wake the dead.
He walked across to where she sat, bent and touched her cheek. ‘I can never tell what you’re thinking,’ he murmured softly, ‘unlike most women. I find that…intriguing.’
Thanking her lucky stars that was the case because her thoughts would undoubtedly have shocked the pants off him more than once, she looked up at him. ‘I was wondering what was for breakfast,’ she lied, smiling. ‘Riveting stuff, eh?’
He grinned, and then his smile died as their gazes held. She closed her eyes as he kissed her with a controlled hunger that stirred her blood, and when she opened them again he was already at the bedroom door. He left the room without a backward glance, shutting the door carefully behind him as he ducked out.
Rachel stared after him for some moments and then jumped out of bed. She’d dress now and then undress for a quick wash in the bathroom, she decided. No doubt it would amuse him but that couldn’t be helped—she needed all the protection she could get around Zac, and confronting him with just two pieces of thin silk between her and that fabulous body wasn’t sensible. He might be able to control himself with admirable coolness but she was in danger of melting at his feet.
Excitement, swift and sharp, sent the blood singing through her veins before reality kicked in and reminded her that everything about her re
lationship with Zac was temporary. He didn’t want love or togetherness or happy ever after, merely relationships that were mutually sexually satisfying for as long as they lasted. She had to keep reminding herself of that this weekend. This man didn’t do for ever.
She flung her clothes on with feverish haste, just in case Zac decided to return for some reason or other, but it was fifteen minutes before he opened the bedroom door. He was fully dressed and carrying his towel and toiletry bag, and her heart bounced at the sight of him in black jeans and a heavy sweater a shade or two darker than his eyes.
She’d switched the TV on while he’d been gone but had sat gazing blankly at the screen most of the time, her mind taken up with thoughts of Zac showering, Zac having a shave, Zac running his hands through his hair and dabbing aftershave on his face. Now she bundled up her things off the bed and scuttled past him after a brief ‘I won’t be long.’
