Judith McNaught (52 page)

On the other hand, she knew she didn't have many alternatives. She needed something long to wear because she didn't have any stockings, and she drew the line at borrowing another woman's lingerie.

With the exception of this lounging dress, everything else in the closet that was ankle length was either very fancy or else it was pants. Moreover, the owner of these clothes was definitely taller than she which vastly limited her choices among those things.

Biting her lip, she decided to wear the wonderful blue

dress, and she uttered a silent apology to the unknown woman with the gorgeous wardrobe.

A second foray into the closet yielded a pair of matching blue ballet slippers that were a half size too

large, but perfectly comfortable. Satisfied that she'd done the absolute best she could with what she had to work with, she fluffed her hair and took a last glance in the mirror. She'd spent more time getting ready

for her "date" tonight than she had for her role as a bridesmaid in Carl and Sara's wedding, but it was time well spent, she decided. The cosmetics with the foreign names that she'd used tonight were much different than the inexpensive ones she'd bought in the drug store in Keaton and then discarded—these
208

were far softer and more subtle. The muted eye shadow and mascara flattered her eves, even though it

looked strange to her, and the touch of blush at her cheeks made her cheekbones seem higher and more prominent, but it was the prospect of seeing Zack and spending a lighthearted evening with him that made

her eyes sparkle and her skin glow. All in all, she decided, she'd never looked nearly as nice as this.

Leaning forward, she applied some of her own lipstick, then she stepped back, smiled at her reflection,

and headed for the bedroom door. She'd find out the address here, she decided, and send a check to cover the cosmetics she'd used and the cost of dry cleaning the clothes she'd borrowed.

The candles were already lit on the coffee table when she walked into the living room, the fire was burning brightly on the grate, and Zack was standing at the counter, opening a bottle of champagne. She caught her breath at how handsome he looked in his borrowed dark blue suit that clung to his wide shoulders and contrasted beautifully with his snowy white shirt and patterned tie. She was about to say something when she suddenly remembered that she'd seen him dressed up once before—only in his own

clothes—and she felt a sharp pang of sorrow for what he'd lost. That other time, she'd seen him on television during the Academy Awards ceremony, once when he presented an Oscar and then again when he strode up onto the stage to accept his own Oscar for Best Actor. He'd been wearing a black tuxedo that night with a white pleated shirt and black bow tie, and she remembered thinking how

gorgeously, elegantly male he was, so tall and sophisticated. She couldn't recall what he'd said in his

acceptance speech, but she remembered that it had been brief and very witty, because the entire audience had exploded with laughter and kept on laughing while he walked off stage.

The fact that he was now relegated to hiding like a hunted animal and wearing borrowed clothes made her feel like crying.

Even while she thought it, she realized that he never complained and he wouldn't welcome either her sympathy or her pity. Since this was supposed to be a festive, lighthearted evening, Julie resolved to make certain it was. Feeling a little shy and self-conscious, she shoved her hands into the pockets concealed in the side seams of her dress and stepped forward. "Hi," she said with a bright smile.

Zack looked up, his eyes riveting on her, and the champagne he was pouring began to spill over the side

of the glass. "My God," he said in an awed, husky whisper, his gaze moving slowly down her face and hair and body. "How could you possibly be jealous of Glenn Close?"

Not until that moment did Julie realize that was
exactly
why she'd wanted to dress up and put on makeup and fix her hair: She'd been trying to compete with the glamorous women he'd known on more

even ground. "You're spilling the champagne," she said softly, so pleased she hardly knew how to behave.

He swore under his breath, jerked the bottle upright, and reached for a dish towel to mop it up.

"Zack?"

"What?" he said ruefully over his shoulder, picking up the glasses.

"How could you possibly have been jealous of Patrick Swayze?"

The glamour of his sudden white smile made it clear he was as pleased by her compliment as she was by his. "I honestly don't know," he joked.

* * *

"Which singers did you choose?" Julie teased after their candlelit dinner as he slid CDs into the player.

"Because if you picked out Mickey Mouse, I'm not going to dance with you."

"Yes, you will."

"What makes you so sure?"

"You like dancing with me."

Despite the playful exchange, Julie was well aware that his mood had been disintegrating during their meal. Although he'd specifically asked her to treat the evening as a festive occasion, there was an indefinable tension and a grimness in his features that were becoming more pronounced as the evening wore on. She told herself it was their discussion of the murder that had caused his strange mood, because

the only other explanation that came to her mind was that he was thinking about sending her away, and that she could not bear to consider. Despite her desire to stay with him, she knew perfectly well that the

final decision was not going to be hers to make. And even though she was in love with him, she had no idea how he really felt about her, except that he very much liked having her around. Here.

Behind her on the stereo, Barbra Streisand's voice lifted effortlessly into the first bars of an intensely romantic song, and Julie tried again to shake off her foreboding as Zack opened his arms to her. "That's definitely not Mickey Mouse's voice," he pointed out. "Will she do?"

Julie nodded, smiling with pleasure. "Streisand is my absolute favorite singer."

"Mine, too." Zack slid his arm around her waist, moving her closer to him.

"If I had a voice like hers," Julie said, talking to keep her worries at bay, "I'd sing just to hear myself. I'd sing when I answered the door and used the telephone."

"She's phenomenal," Zack agreed. "Operatic sopranos are a dime a dozen, but Barbra is …

unique,

incomparable."

Julie suddenly realized his hand was roving slowly up her bare back; she saw the banked fires in his eyes

kindling slowly into flame, and deep within her, she felt the answering stirrings of longing begin again—

a

longing for the tormenting sweetness of his touch, for the stormy insistence of his kiss, and the shattering

joy of his body possessing hers. How thrilling it was to know she was going to have all that before the night ended and to be able to savor and prolong the moment, just as she sensed Zack also wanted to do.

But was she going to have all this tomorrow night and the night after, she wondered, struggling to hold down her panic over what her intuition was telling her was behind his somber mood. "Did you know her?" she asked.

"Barbra?"

Julie nodded.

"Yes, I used to know her."

"What is she like? I read somewhere that she isn't very nice to people who work with her."

Zack thought for a moment, trying to explain. "She has a gift unlike anyone else's in the world," he said after a moment. "She knows how she wants to use it, and she doesn't like other people treating her as if
210

they know better than she how to do that. In short, she doesn't suffer fools easily."

"You liked her, didn't you?"

"I liked her very much."

Julie listened to the poignant words of the song, wondering if he was noticing them, too, or if he, like most men, merely listened to the music and ignored lyrics. "Pretty song," she said because she desperately wanted him to hear the words as if they came from her.

"Beautiful lyrics," Zack agreed, trying to steady himself, to tell himself that what he was feeling would

soon fade when he was away from her. He gazed at her face, and the words of Streisand's song seem to pierce his heart:

Those tomorrows waiting deep in your eyes—

In the world of love you keep in your eyes—

I'll awaken what's asleep in your eyes.

It may take a kiss or two.

Through all of my life…

Summer, winter, spring, and fall of my life…

All I ever will recall of my life, is all of my life.

With you.

He was actually relieved when Streisand's voice faded and a Whitney Houston/Jermaine Jackson duet began to play. But Julie chose that moment to lift her cheek from his chest and look up at him, and as he looked into her eyes and heard the lyrics of the song, he felt his chest tighten.

Like a candle burning bright—

Love is glowing in your eyes.

A flame to light our way

that burns brighter every day.

211

I was words without a tune,

I was a song still unsung.

A poem with no rhyme, a dancer out of time…

But now there's you.

And nobody loves me like you do.

When the song came to an end, she drew a shaky breath, and he realized she was trying to pull out of the music's spell by picking up their conversation about their mutual favorites. "What's your favorite sport,

Zack?"

Zack tipped her chin up. "My favorite sport," he said in an aching, husky voice he scarcely recognized as his own, "is making love to you."

Her eyes darkened with a love she wasn't trying to conceal from him anymore. "What's your favorite food?" she asked shakily.

In answer, Zack bent his head and touched her lips in a soft kiss. "You are." And in that moment, he realized that sending her out of his life tomorrow was going to be harder than it had been to hear the prison gates clanging shut behind him five years ago.

Without realizing what he was doing, he tightened his arms around her, buried his face in her hair, and squeezed his eyes closed.

Her hand touched his face, her fingers spreading over his rigid jaw, and her voice was shattered.

"You're

planning to send me home tomorrow, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Julie heard the absolute finality in the word, and she was so attuned to him that she knew it was going to be futile to argue, but she did it anyway. "I don't want to go!"

He lifted his head, and even though his voice was still soft, it was steadier and more resolute. "Don't make it harder than it already is."

Julie wondered desolately how it could possibly be any harder, but she swallowed back that futile protest and did as he asked for the time being. She went to bed with him when he asked and tried to smile when he asked. After he'd brought them both to a shattering climax, she turned in his arms and whispered, "I love you. I love—"

His fingertips covered her lips, silencing the words when she tried to say them again. "Don't."

Julie dragged her gaze from his and bent her head, staring at his chest. She wished he would say it back to her even though he didn't mean it. She wanted to hear the words from him, but she didn't ask because she knew he would refuse.

212

The Blazer's motor was idling, exhaust curling thickly from its tailpipe into the frosty air of dawn as they

stood beside the car. "There's no snow in the weather forecast," Zack said, glancing up at the faint pink sunrise streaking the sky as he reached around the steering wheel and put a thermos full of coffee on the

passenger seat beside it. He looked down at her, his expression composed. "You should have clear roads all the way back to Texas."

Julie understood the rules for this departure because he'd made them clear this morning—no tears, no regrets—and she was trying desperately to seem composed. "I'll be careful."

"Don't speed," he said. As he spoke, he reached out and pulled the zipper of her jacket up higher and then smoothed the collar up closer to her chin. The simple gesture almost made her cry. "You drive too damned fast."

"I won't speed."

"Try to get as far from here as possible without being recognized," he reminded her again, taking her sunglasses from her hand and sliding them onto her nose. "Once you make it across the Oklahoma line, pull into the first rest stop you pass and leave the car in front of it. Stay out of sight for fifteen minutes, then go straight to the pay phones and call your family. The Feds will be listening in on the conversation,

so sound as nervous and confused as you can. Tell them I left you at the rest stop on the floor of the back seat, blindfolded, and that I vanished and you've gotten free. Tell them you're coming home.

Once

you get home, stick strictly with the truth."

He'd already taken a neck scarf from the house, knotted it as if it had been tied around her head and tossed it in the car this morning. Julie swallowed and nodded because there was nothing left to do or to say—at least, nothing that he wanted to hear.

"Any questions?" he asked.

Julie shook her head.

"Good. Now, kiss me good-bye."

Julie leaned up on her toes to kiss him and was surprised when his arms closed around her with stunning

force, but his kiss was brief, then he set her away from him. "It's time," he said flatly.

She nodded but couldn't seem to move, and her resolve not to make any sort of uncomfortable scene cracked a little. "You'll write to me, won't you?"

"No."

"But you could let me know how you are," she said desperately, "even if you can't tell me where you are.

I have to know you're safe! You said yourself they won't watch my mail for very long, if at all."

"If I'm caught, you'll hear about it on the news within hours. If you don't, you'll know I'm safe."

"But
why
can't you write to me?" she burst out and instantly regretted it when his face became stiff and
213

aloof.