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The lips that came down on hers were brutal, bruising. One hand was tangled in her dark hair, holding her head immobile while he searched her mouth with his tongue as if seeking answers to the questions that plagued him. She berated herself for not fighting him, punishing him as he was punishing her, but her emotions were running too high, too close to the surface. All day they had been pent up, safely stored. The trauma of seeing Rayburn near death on the floor, the hazardous drive to the plantation and back, the tense waiting in the hospital, the argument with Zack, all culminated in her answering his kiss with unrestrained passion. Her emotions sought an outlet, a release, in his arms, his mouth, his heat.
When he accepted her acquiescence, his lips softened, became more persuasive. His mouth pulled gently on her lips, her tongue. He murmured incoherently, or was she making those small pleading sounds? She didn’t know, didn’t care. His lips trailed to her ear, her neck, and settled against the base of her throat. She threw her head back and allowed him access to her neck and more.
He pulled the silk shirt from the waistband of her slacks and slipped his hands under it. She still wore the same peach-colored blouse without the restrictive bra it required and felt his hands close over the sheer fabric of the one that revealed too much.
“I’ve got to touch you,” he rasped as his hands unclasped the front fastener of the bra, and her breasts spilled into his palms. “Oh, God, Camille,” he breathed as he nuzzled her neck. His fingers explored gently, teasing her nipples to a response.
She barely had time to softly cry his name before his mouth descended on hers once again with a renewed passion. His hips fit snugly against hers as he slipped the blazer off her shoulders. He unbuttoned her shirt with maddening slowness, pausing to caress the creamy flesh as it was exposed, bending once to kiss a sensitive spot. The stroking of his tongue generated a shock wave through her body.
Camille reeled against him with mounting desire. She worked feverishly with the buttons of his shirt and finally succeeded in pushing it from his broad shoulders. They both broke away to slip out of their sleeves. When they stood facing each other, naked to the waist, Zack reached up and cupped her face in his palms, running his thumbs lightly over her lips. His eyes were tender, soft, all arrogance and anger vanquished. He adored her with his eyes, sweeping across her features, her flesh, with affectionate delight. “Camille, you’re so beautiful. I want you. I need you tonight.” His words were little more than an expulsion of breath.
Then one hand lowered and lightly cupped her breast, stroking it softly. The pressure of his hand increased slightly, and, with utmost gentleness, he pulled her forward and pressed her breast against his own warm, naked flesh. She moved into him, the crisp hairs on his chest tickling her, thrilling her. He drew her even closer until her breasts were flattened against the wall of muscle. She could feel the gold cross he always wore around his neck imbedding itself in her skin. The mouth that took hers was promising, tantalizing, yet demanding. Their tongues touched.
“Zack, is everything all right? I heard you come in but didn’t see any lights.” Dearly’s voice seemed to echo for an eternity in the hallway as an arc of light fanned out into the hall when the kitchen door was opened in the back of the house.
Camille retrieved her blouse and jacket from the floor and held them in front of her as she darted into the dining room. She frantically tried to slip on her blouse.
Zack dodged the light by stepping into the deep shadows under the staircase. “Yes, Dearly. We’re all right.” He cleared his throat and tried again to sound convincing. “We were just talking. Dad’s condition is stable. I’ll call you if we have any further word.”
“Well, I waited up to tell you that there’s food in the refrigerator if you want it. Oh, and Mrs. Hazelett called three times.” Her tone betrayed a touch of asperity as she divulged this last piece of information.
“Thank you, Dearly. Go on to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” They heard the kitchen door swing shut, plunging them into darkness again. Then the back door slammed, signifying that Dearly had gone to her garage apartment where Simon had already retired.
“Damn!” Zack exclaimed under his breath. “I feel like a schoolboy. I’m a grown man and I’m standing here under the stairs necking like a damn fool.” He raked his hands through his hair, which only moments before Camille had rumpled with impassioned hands.
“I… uh… I’ll see you in the morning,” she stammered as she finished buttoning her blouse.
“Yes, I guess we’d better go to bed,” he said. His laugh was harsh and humorless. “Separate beds, Miss Jameson,” he mockingly assured her with a sweeping bow. “Once again you have been saved from a fate worse than death. Will your luck never run out?”
“Ooooh! You are always so superior, aren’t you?” His bitter, sarcastic inflection hurt as much as his words themselves. She lashed back, “I suppose you think that I planned all this, that I knew Dearly was in there. Well, I don’t care what you think. I’m only glad that she was there and that she made her presence known when she did.” She stalked to the door then flung back over her shoulder, “Besides, what would Erica think?” She felt smug at having gotten in the last word, but her triumph was short-lived as he called after her.
“I don’t know. But I intend to find out. I’m going to call her immediately.”
He only laughed as she slammed the door behind her.
Seven
Camille could barely recall afterward that first week that Rayburn spent in the hospital. As hectic and nerve-wracking as they were, the days fell into a grinding routine. She and Zack left Bridal Wreath for the hospital each morning and stayed through late into the evening. Camille would take a break late in the morning, go back to Bridal Wreath, check on the work being done on the house, eat her one balanced meal for the day, and then return to the hospital so Zack could leave for a while.
At first, Dr. Daniels forbade Rayburn having any visitors other than a three-minute visit with Zack about every four hours, but as his patient seemed to improve and gain strength, the doctor granted his permission for Camille to go in, sometimes alone, but often with Zack. These visits seemed to help Rayburn more than any of the strong medication he was ta
king.
Camille refrained from talking about the restoration of the house when she was in his room, but Rayburn asked questions about it, and she soon found herself giving him detailed progress reports. Each day she received some of the materials previously ordered, and now she had seamstresses making draperies, carpenters making cornices, and paperhangers hanging wallpaper. He wanted to know about it all. She realized just how much this project meant to him.
After a week in the ICU, Dr. Daniels informed Zack that he was moving Rayburn to a private room.
“He’s a tough old geezer, Zack. He has a tenacious hold on his life, and that’s as crucial to his recovery as medication or surgery or anything else I could do. With proper care and attention to his diet, I think he’ll be okay for a while. But I still don’t want a parade of people through his room. Rest is still the best medicine right now. Keep an eye on things and, if it gets too crowded in there, I’ll slap a ‘No Visitors’ sign on his door.”
Dr. Daniels also mentioned that the stairs at Bridal Wreath weren’t good for a heart patient to climb each time he wanted to go to his room. He suggested that other arrangements might want to be made. Camille was consulted.
“What can we do about that, Camille? This is your area of expertise, and I’ll guarantee any amount of money required to have something fixed up for him.” Zack’s eyes had lost some of the haunted anxiety they had reflected for the first few days after Rayburn’s attack. His love and concern for his father had been apparent. He stood by hopefully as Camille groped for inspiration.
When the idea came to her, a light shone in the golden depths of her eyes, and her face fairly sparkled as she envisioned what she had in mind. “Yeeeees.” She drew out the word. Then excitedly, “Yes, Zack, I think I have an idea that he might like, and it won’t cost too much.”
“Your first priority was right. He must like it. I’m not sure he’ll go for the idea of being ousted from his own room. Maybe we should keep it a secret for a while.”
“Okay, but let’s call it a surprise rather than a secret. It sounds less devious.”
