Broken Angels (20 page)

His gaze traveled down the length of her body, over her thin cotton sundress, all the way down to her bare feet. As always, her stomach folded with a painful thud. Nearly a lifetime later nothing had changed. She was just as affected by him now as she’d been on that cold winter’s night so many years ago, when she’d finally cut through his defenses and crept into his heart.

Maybe that was the reason this place was so dear to her. It made no difference that it had taken a near-death experience to get him to admit he had feelings for her. All that mattered was that he had.

He came to stand beside her, staring out at the rippling water, where Kristen and Noah dove in search of seashells.

“Should they be doing that?” His face was an impassive mask, but she sensed the anxiety churning beneath the surface. She wondered if he’d ever learn to feel comfortable around the sea.

“They’re good swimmers,” she reassured him. “Lindsay had them taking lessons when they were still in diapers. But you know that.”

“Yeah.” A worried frown pleated his brows. “Still, there could be a riptide—”

“Maybe out in the Atlantic, but not here in the harbor.”

Will clambered away, then clumsily climbed into the canoe that sat tethered to a post on the beach. The toddler squealed with delight, and Rebecca couldn’t help but smile. “They’re really enjoying themselves.”

“Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all,” he grudgingly conceded.

Triumph pressed against the walls of her chest. “Told you.”

Silver sunbeams glanced off the waves. Rebecca closed her eyes and sighed.

She felt Zach’s gaze upon her, and her lids sprang open again. The intensity with which he watched her unsettled her. Her pulse took off at a gallop. “What?”

“You look—” he shook his head as if at a loss for words, “—serene.”

A laugh vibrated in her throat. “You sound surprised.”

“I haven’t seen you like this in a very long time. You’re different, that’s all. It’s like…you’re
you
again.”

Remnants of the old bitterness returned to dampen her mood. “As opposed to the crazy woman who inhabited my body for a while?”

He shrugged. “She
was
kinda scary.” The boyish hitch of his shoulder coupled with the crooked grin tugging at one corner of his mouth made amusement bloom in her belly, despite her best efforts to feel offended.

“Aunt Becca! Uncle Zach! Look what I found.” Kristen clomped onto the beach, water dripping from her hair and body, an unbroken crab clasped between her eager fingers.

Rebecca leaned in for a closer look. “Is that thing still alive? Careful it doesn’t pinch you.”

“It’s just a shell.” The girl sparkled with pride. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Sure is.” Zach clasped one of her wet locks.

Bolt abandoned his position beneath the ospreys and padded to Kristen’s side. As if to show his approval, he proceeded to lick the salt water from her legs. “That tickles.” She giggled.

Noah swam to the shore, his own hands full. He dropped his shells in a bucket, then shook the water from his hair in a way reminiscent of the dog. Seconds later, his gaze latched onto his brother and he sprinted across the beach to the canoe.

“Will’s got something in his mouth.” His voice was pitched, laced with panic.

By the time Zach and Rebecca made it over there, Noah had already pried the object free from the toddler’s clenched gums. The boy studied it for a second or two, then palmed it and walked to the edge of the harbor, where he crouched in the sand, his expression far too serious, far too pensive for a nine-year-old. He seemed to see nothing but the foam licking his feet, hear nothing but the clamor of waves and gulls.

Zach studied him, and the look on his face perfectly matched his nephew’s. Both appeared rigid, carved in flesh-toned marble. Two statues—still and composed—with a tempest brewing inside. How long could they contain it? she wondered. How long before the storm broke?

“What do you have there?” Zach tried to infuse some levity into his voice as he squatted beside his nephew.

The boy didn’t answer.

“Noah?” Zach persisted.

Slowly, Noah uncurled his fingers. In his palm lay an elaborate silver band. Zach reached for it, but Noah made a tight fist around it. “It’s my dad’s,” he explained. “He lost it last summer.”

“That’s what Will was chewing on?”

Noah nodded. “He could’ve choked.”

“Let me see.” Kristen flew to her brother’s side, but he refused to open his hand.

“It’s mine now,” he spat.

“I just want to see it.” She tugged persistently at his fingers.

Noah shot to his feet. “No.” Briefly, the marble cracked and his young face reflected a well of pain too deep even for anger to conceal. “I told you it’s mine.”

Then, wrapping his arms around his torso as if to hold himself together, the boy bulleted across the beach and disappeared into the house.

The sense of victory Rebecca had felt earlier was short-lived. Now she questioned how wise it was to have come here. Maybe Zach was right. Maybe this place did indeed harbor too many memories. Every item was imbued with meaning. The cast-stone fireplace, where Zach had lit a fire to chase the chill from her bones after she’d nearly died in a blizzard. The hand-knit, blue and white afghan they’d huddled under on countless occasions. The down-filled leather sofa, where they’d made love for the very first time…

She remembered that night as if it had been yesterday. She and Lindsay had vowed to spend Valentine’s Day here at the Cape, swearing off men and drowning their sorrows in ice-cream. Then, at the last second, Lindsay had changed her mind, and Rebecca had driven to the beach house on her own. She’d discounted the snowstorm, the icy pellets crashing onto her windshield, the warning whistle of the wind. All that had mattered was getting away from Boston and the man who’d owned her heart from the moment she first laid eyes on him.

She hadn’t expected her car to break down or to have to trudge through two miles of knee-deep snow. But more importantly, she hadn’t expected Zach to show up and haul her over his shoulder and into the heated cocoon of his Jeep.

What had come afterward still felt like a dream. She recalled the taste of his intoxicating kisses, the tenderness of his touch, the delicious warmth of his body against hers. She could still feel that slow, seductive tingle in her center, the way it had stretched to surround her heart. She knew without a doubt that, given the chance, she would endure it all again—the hypothermia, the tumultuous marriage, even the heartache. The years she’d spent with Zach were the best—and worst—of her life.

Reluctantly, she approached the couch and sank into its welcoming folds. The leather was soft and cool, as familiar as an old friend. She ran her palm over its smooth surface, then reached for the afghan and pulled it up to her chin, even though the evening was warm. She liked the smell of it, the feel of it.
Welcome home
, it seemed to say.

Zach chose that instant to walk into the room. His eyes were shadowed, his expression grim…until he caught sight of her. Then an altogether different expression washed over his face. Need slow-danced with tenderness, wrapped in dread. She saw her own memories reflected in his smoldering gaze and knew he struggled with the same questions that plagued her. Would they be able to resist the pull this time? Did they really want to? Were they destined to repeat the same mistakes over and over again until it ultimately destroyed them? Even so, wasn’t it better to know happiness, however brief, than to live with this unrelenting emptiness?

He approached her in unsteady steps, stopping a few feet from the couch, as if this small measure of distance could somehow protect him from the strange energy that had always existed between them. The tension around him was so thick she could almost reach out and touch it.

“How’s Noah?” she asked.

“Asleep. Finally.” He dropped onto the sofa, his back stiff.

“Finding that ring really upset him.”

“Any reminder of his parents would upset him right now. Unfortunately, there’s no way to escape memories.”

Their gazes locked, simmering with everything that remained unspoken between them. “Especially here,” he added, and she knew exactly to which memories he alluded.

Heat flooded her system. It shot from her scalp all the way to her toes. “This place hasn’t changed at all.”

“Dad isn’t really into decorating. That was always my mother’s job.”

The mention of Phyllis brought on that familiar throb beneath her breastbone. Zach’s mother had been an amazing woman, always welcoming, with a heart as big as her smile. She was the glue that had held the Rylers together. Rebecca had always admired their close-knit family, the sense of belonging they each enjoyed, the shared history. All she’d ever wanted was to be part of that, and thanks to Zach and Lindsay she’d gotten her wish—for a while, anyway.

Nostalgia flickered across his face, and she read the pain in his eyes. Instinctively, she knew what he was thinking. Both of the Ryler women were gone. Only he and his dad remained. The family had been split down the middle, and it was incomplete now, forever damaged. He’d had the one thing she’d always wanted and he’d lost it. Which was worse, she wondered, never experiencing that sense of togetherness or having it stolen from you?

She needed to distract him, draw his mind away from morbid thoughts of a past he couldn’t change and a future he had yet to figure out.

“I think I know just what you need.” She stood and shuffled to the kitchen, then returned with two wine glasses and the bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon Neil Hopkins had given them, glad she’d thought to bring it along.

She poured him a glass, then one for herself.

“Is that the bottle Hopkins brought us?”

“Sure is.” She sat down beside him and handed him his wine. “Let’s see if it’s as good as he claims.” With a flick of the wrist, she tipped her glass toward his. “To new beginnings.”

A slow, lazy smile crawled across his full mouth. “To staying sane.”

“That too.”

They both took a hearty sip. Rebecca let the full-bodied beverage rest on her tongue for a second or two before swallowing. “I taste currant,” she said. “And cherries. How about you?”

He reflected, then sampled the wine again. “Oak, vanilla and a twist of mint.”

Settling deeper into the couch, she allowed the alcohol to soothe her frayed nerves and calm the rush of her pulse. “Guess Neil Hopkins really does know his wine.”

“Guess so.” He downed the glass.

She shook her head. “You’re supposed to savor it.”

“I savored it just fine.”

She grabbed the bottle, topped off his glass again.

Zach watched her warily. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” The humor in his glance offset the suspicion in his voice.

“Maybe. You look really stressed out.”

“That’s because I am. Neck’s killing me.”

Whenever Zach was tense, pain coiled at the base of his skull, delivering smarting lashes down his nape and across his shoulders. Ignoring the warning that screeched in her head, she placed her glass on the coffee table, reached across the space that divided them, and massaged his neck.

His muscles stiffened beneath her fingertips. “You don’t have to do this,” he rasped.

“I know. I want to make you feel better.”

The sound he made was between a laugh and a growl. Everything feminine inside her responded to it. Maybe it was this place or the wine or the sweet, balmy night, but she realized with a surge of excitement that she wanted to seduce him. It made no difference that he’d probably break her heart all over again. She wanted this man. She always had. She didn’t care if she had a lifetime with him or one night. She just wanted him, any way she could have him.

She edged in closer, made her movements softer, more sensual. Her fingers feathered across his collarbone, traced a line up his neck to tangle themselves in the short crop of his hair. Then she massaged his scalp—gently, deliberately.

His eyes drifted shut. His head grew heavy in her palm. Encouraged, she took the wine from him and deepened her caress. Slowly, the strain ebbed away and his body shifted. Any minute now he would reach for her, the way he had that night so long ago. The thought made a swarm of butterflies uncurl silky wings inside her.

He fell toward her. His arm slid across her abdomen—warm and languid.

“Zach.” His name escaped her lips in a husky breath as every inch of her skin came alive.

His only reply was a sharp snore. The fantasy disintegrated like a soap bubble. Rebecca laughed past her disappointment. She was a natural at this. A real temptress, she mused. Maybe if she was lucky, he’d dream about her.

With a defeated sigh, she wrapped her arm around him and threw the afghan over his legs. It barely covered half his body. Snuggling close, she buried herself in the warm shelter of his embrace, lulled by the gentle whoosh of the wind brushing the treetops. Beyond the window, the crescent moon glowed silver, a fissure of light scarring the blackened sky.

Zach’s familiar heat wrapped unforgiving shackles around her, binding her to him in ways she couldn’t even begin to comprehend, speaking to a part of her spirit she’d thought was long dead.

Welcome home
, it seemed to say.

Chapter Nineteen

Bolt’s excited barks woke Rebecca the next morning. With a grunt, she stumbled out of bed and squinted at the blinding rush of light that streamed through the window. Once again Zach had insisted that she take the master bedroom. It was just as well that he’d fallen asleep on the couch. That was where he’d planned on sleeping anyway. Noah and Kristen were sharing the king-sized bed in the only other room, with Will sleeping in his playpen a few feet away.

After taking a moment to stretch, she dragged herself to the front door to let the dog out. She had no choice but to pass through the living room, where Zach lay sprawled across the sofa, his lean body way too long even for a three-seater. The blanket she’d thrown over him sometime during the night had fallen to the floor.

Bolt let out another succession of barks. Zach twitched and threw his arm over his head to block out the irritating noise. His entire face contorted into a scowl. He looked murderous, and yet he was still lost in sleep. Amusement yanked at the corners of her mouth. She’d forgotten how expressive he could be when he was unconscious.