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“I didn’t have any choice. The decision had already been made.”
“But that’s crazy,” Zane said, pacing between the desk and the window. “It just promotes—” He clamped his mouth shut and, though still tense, leaned his hips against the windowsill. His eyes, when he stared at her, still burned, but his expression was soft. “You look like you’ve had a rough day. How about I take you home and cook you dinner?”
She rolled her eyes and struggled out of her chair. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to,” he said, trying to break the tension, though apprehension grappled with his forced calmness. What the hell was going on at West Coast Morning? Didn’t they know that they were potentially setting up Kaylie as a target for the next publicity-hungry nut?
And what about “Ted”? Who was he?
Alan’s name kept popping into his mind, but the voice on the tape didn’t sound like Alan at all. And he didn’t suspect Jim Crowley. So who? Who? Someone at the television station? One of Kaylie’s friends? Or someone at the hospital who had invented a fictitio
us name?
They drove separately back to the apartment, and Franklin, the traitorous beast, padded after Kaylie when they walked inside.
Zane, true to his promise, poured them each a glass of wine, then began fixing dinner. But as he broiled steaks on the grill and steamed potatoes in the microwave, he thought about the upcoming show.
All his instincts told him the program was a big mistake. But his hands were tied. Kaylie had about come unglued when she’d found out he’d had men watching her, and, he supposed, glancing over his shoulder to the counter where she was chopping vegetables for a salad, he didn’t blame her. He hadn’t played fair.
And now he had to.
“Hey—watch out!” Kaylie cried. “Medium-rare, remember? I’m not into ‘burned beyond recognition.’” She grabbed a long-handled fork from the drawer in the cooking island and flipped the steaks on the interior grill. Without asking, she dashed a shot of lemon pepper over the two T-bones.
“You’re fouling up my recipe,” he said with a good-natured gleam in his eye.
“Recipe?”
“I watch Chef Glenn on Friday mornings.”
“Oh, give me a break,” she said. “This is all well and good, Zane, but you don’t know a curry sauce from a fruit compote—”
He whirled, grabbed her and swept her off her feet. One of her shoes dropped to the floor. “Watch it, lady,” he growled in her ear, “or I might have to take my spatula to you.”
“Promises, promises.” She giggled as he carried her into the bedroom. “Hey, wait. Zane,” she cried, laughing. “You can’t—” He tossed her onto the bed and, while standing over her, ripped off his shirt in one swift motion.
“But the steaks,” she protested, forcing her eyes away from the wide expanse of his chest.
“I’ve decided ‘burned beyond recognition’ is the best way to serve T-bones.”
“But—”
He dropped onto the bed and covered her mouth with his. She was still laughing, but as his kiss deepened, her giggles gave way to moans. “Zane, please,” she whispered, still thinking of the steaks sizzling into charred bones.
The smoke detector started beeping loudly.
“Saved by the bell,” she said with a giggle. For that remark, she was rewarded with a pillow in the face. Zane, muttering under his breath, jumped off the bed and hurried into the kitchen. In a state of dishabille, she followed, laughing when she saw the T-bones—small, black replicas of steak.
Zane turned off the grill and opened the windows to air out the kitchen. “How about take-out Chinese, Mrs. Flannery?” he asked, a slightly off-center smile curving his lips as he tossed the burned meat into the sink. The smoke slowly dissipated, and the smoke alarm quit bleating.
“Anything’s fine with me.”
“But first we have some unfinished business,” he said, thinking aloud, a menacing glint in his eye. He grabbed her again, and this time they weren’t interrupted.
* * *
On Friday morning, Kaylie was nervous as a cat. She and Zane hadn’t discussed the show again, and she’d finally forgiven him for having her followed. It’s going to take time, she reminded herself. Zane was used to being in command, and slowly, with visible effort, he was allowing her to make her own decisions. Though, she suspected with a smile, it was killing him.
For the past few days there had been no silver Taurus, no blue wagon, no car or man following her. She couldn’t help looking over her shoulder occasionally and checking her rearview mirror more often than usual, but she was convinced that Zane had kept to his word.
