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As he drove, the skyscrapers gave way to shorter complexes, the city lights became less frequent, the traffic thinned and eventually the offices gave way to homes lining the streets. Adria wondered about his childhood. Witt Danvers had been a powerful, dominating man. His first wife was weak, and his second…how little she knew of the woman who had become Zachary’s stepmother.
“What kind of trouble was Katherine?” she asked, when Zach didn’t elaborate.
“The worst.” Deep lines bracketed his mouth. An unspoken emotion—guilt—surfaced, then disappeared.
“Meaning—”
“Meaning that she came on like gangbusters. If she saw something she wanted, she’d use every means possible to get it. She never stopped until she got it.”
“What did she want?”
Hesitating, he stared through the windshield and he seemed lost in a whirlpool of murky memories. His mouth compressed into a hard, unyielding line; the cords in his neck seemed more pronounced, as if he were angry and waging an inner battle with himself. Seconds passed without an answer as the Jeep sped out of the city and through rolling pasture land surrounded by black, looming hills. He braked for a corner as the mist thickened into rain.
“What did Katherine want?” she repeated as the road angled upward through the hills.
Again, he slid her an insolent glance. The tires whined on the wet streets. “Everything.”
Adria felt that he was talking in circles and yet at least he was speaking. After hours in the library, reading dry accounts of the Danvers family, she finally had someone who was willing—albeit reluctantly—to give her information. She cautioned herself to tread softly.
The road had narrowed into two twisting lanes winding through the foothills. Adria barely noticed—she was too intent on finding out about the woman whom she thought was her mother. “Did she get it? Everything?”
He snorted in disgust. “Don’t you know?” he asked sarcastically.
“No, I—”
“After all those hours in the library, digging through the dirt. Kat’s dead, Adria. She killed herself. Jumped off a damned balcony.”
Stunned, she could barely speak. The temperature in the Jeep seemed to drop ten degrees and she shivered. “I thought it was an accident,” she whispered. “The accounts I read said she inadvertently overdosed on sleeping pills—and stumbled…”
“It wasn’t an accident,” Zach said as he yanked on the steering wheel and turned into the gravel parking lot of some kind of tavern or inn. “Kat took her life. She opened up a bottle of sleeping pills and downed them all with half a bottle of eighty-proof whiskey, then took a walk on a balcony and took a flying leap.”
“You don’t know—”
He slammed on the brakes, cut the engine, and grabbed her with both hands. His fingers dug into her shoulders as he gave her a little shake. “She committed suicide, Adria. It was whitewashed in the papers, but Katherine Danvers was a victim of her own fantasies, her own dreams.”
His eyes had narrowed at the memory, his nostrils flared in the close interior of the cab. Raindrops beat against the roof of the car and music, floating out of the door of the inn whenever a customer entered or left, drifted through the closed windows of the Jeep. Adria licked her lips and stared up at him, this man who could be her half-brother.
His breath was warm against her face, his hands strong and forceful, his eyes as dark as the night. Adria’s throat caught and she couldn’t look away. Spellbound, she held his gaze and knew in an instant that he was going to kiss her. Her heart squeezed. Unwanted desire—wicked and wanton—crept stealthily through her blood.
“Damn you,” he whispered hoarsely, his face so close to hers she could see smoky desire in his eyes. “You look so much like her!”
“Zachary—”
“Go home, Adria,” he said, letting go of her so suddenly she nearly fell against him. His expression turned harsh. “Go home, before you get hurt.”
13
“Who’s going to hurt me?” she demanded, pushing away from him and creating as much distance as possible in the Jeep. Her heart was pounding so loudly she could barely breathe. She’d thought he would kiss her, knew it was on his mind, and he’d run scared. She couldn’t get involved with him. The windows of the rig had fogged, seeming to cut off the rest of the world, and as she stared at him, she felt as if they were the only two people on earth.
“You’re going to hurt yourself.”
“How?”
His eyes glittered in the darkness. “You’re playing with fire.”
“And you’re talking in circles.”
“Am I?” He reached for her again and this time when he drew her close she could feel the heat of his body, found her own heart beating with desire. His breath was warm and ragged, his eyes defiant. “Why are you doing this?” he asked before he lowered his head and his lips crashed over hers in a kiss that was almost brutal and his fingers wound in the thick strands of her hair. Anger and passion sizzled through her blood. She tried not to respond, to push him away, but her hands were useless against his broad chest and he ground his mouth over hers in a way that was wickedly possessive and seared her to her very soul. His tongue prodded insistently at her teeth, gaining entrance to and plundering the dark recess of her mouth.
