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Carl acknowledged him with what was best described as a low growl. Zane noticed the bruise beneath Carl’s left eye had started to fade to a sick shade of yellow. He never had learned how Carl came by the injury, but then, he hadn’t asked. Carl hadn’t been all that anxious to volunteer the information, either.
It used to be that the two of them had plenty to talk about, but recently they’d done little more than snarl at one another. Zane was well aware of the reason for his own general state of disagreement: Lesley.
His mood certainly hadn’t improved since the revised plans for the remodeling project had been delivered to the house the day before. He’d taken the blueprints and spread them across the table to study the alterations. As he had been the first time he’d seen the plans, he was awed by what she’d done. With a few strokes of her pen she’d captured the very heart of his home.
She’d captured his heart, as well, Zane reminded himself.
A muscle jerked in his jaw, just thinking about her. It was something he’d vowed he wouldn’t do. Proof again of how weak she made him—and weakness wasn’t a trait Zane tolerated, least of all in himself.
After the kissing incident in the barn, he had sworn he wouldn’t touch her again. At the time, he knew it would be difficult to keep that promise but not impossible.
Within a matter of hours, Lesley had proved him wrong.
The night of the storm, his leg had burned like fire. When he was at his weakest, she’d come to him like a vision. An angel sent from heaven above to torment him. Her hair was mussed, her skin pale and translucent, her eyes soft and loving.
He couldn’t believe she was there, and attributed it to a mind fogged with brandy and pain. Then, just when he was convinced she was a figment of his imagination, her hand had joined his to massage the spasming muscle. And her gentleness touched a space deep inside him, a spot he rarely acknowledged and chose not to expose.
Her delicate fragrance reminded him of his grandmother’s roses, and when her eyes found his, Zane’s body had ached with a longing that was impossible to ignore. Gone were the promises he’d made himself right along with the consequences. His desire had knotted his insides tighter than the constricting muscle in his leg. He longed to touch her. Longed to taste her. What he hadn’t understood was that those moments had condemned him to a deeper level of hell than what he already suffered. In that brief time with Lesley, his need left him more crippled than the explosion that had nearly cost him his leg.
Even now, Zane was convinced he would have taken her right there in the library if the electricity hadn’t come on.
Talk about the cold light of reality.
Eventually he had found the strength to send her back upstairs. But after she’d left, he’d been alone to battle his own private demons. As dawn inched its way over the skyline, Zane had made his decision.
Because he was weak, because he didn’t have the sense the good Lord gave a duck when it came to this woman, there was no help for it. He refused to see her again. Refused to let her dawdle in his thoughts. Refused to care about her.
Only, his dictates hadn’t worked any better than his vow not to touch her. Thoughts of Lesley had hounded him from the moment he’d watched her drive away that morning. And the matter hadn’t improved with time—not even after a week.
Nothing would change, and he knew it. Not in two weeks. And not in a month.
Zane stood, and slammed his mug on the kitchen table. Coffee sloshed over the edges, staining the place mat.
Mrs. Applegate gasped and placed her hand over her heart. “Is something wrong?”
“Not a thing,” he said with a snarl. He glared at Carl, half expecting a reaction from his friend, but the former soldier gave him none.
To irritate him further, Mrs. Applegate chuckled. Apparently she found something amusing. She faced both men and shook her head. “If wise men play the fool, they do it with a vengeance.”
Zane hesitated. He didn’t like being referred to as a fool, especially by the motherly housekeeper he considered a friend. “What does that mean?” he demanded.
“What do you think it means?” Carl answered, sounding none-too-pleased himself. “You’ve got a burr up your butt about something. That much is obvious.”
“Look who’s talking! You haven’t said a civil word in days. Not since you showed up with a broken nose and a black eye. What going on with you?”
“Same as you,” Carl snapped. “I’ve got woman troubles.”
“Who said this had anything to do with a woman?” Zane asked and wondered when he’d become that easy to read.
Carl took a long, thoughtful drink of his coffee, then shrugged. “I can’t think of anything else that would put both of us in such foul moods, can you?”
“Hell, no.”
Carl smiled for the first time in days. “That’s what I thought.”
Zane stormed out of the kitchen, unreasonably angry and not sure why. He had what he wanted. He’d made certain he wouldn’t be seeing Lesley again. He should be happy.
He walked into the library, drawn once more to the blueprints that had been delivered the previous day.
