Under Her Spell (16 page)

Zach sighed and checked his watch for the hundredth time. He knew Bryony would be annoyed if he came looking for her. She'd made that clear when he had offered to go along. He didn't blame her for wanting time alone. But he'd expected her back long ago. He couldn't sit and wait for one more minute.

In the closet by the door, he found a yellow rain slicker close to his size, a coat that must have belonged to Bryony's father. Zach put it on and went out into the storm. He walked quickly down the path to the beach and glanced around. It was empty as far as he could see in both directions. The tide was high, almost to the bluffs.

Maybe Bryony had gone into town instead. That made more sense in this weather. She was probably sitting at a cafe with a girlfriend this very moment, gossiping over hot coffee. Zach began to feel foolish for worrying. He turned to go back inside the house.

Just then, a flash of red caught the corner of his eye. He turned back, squinting against the rain. There it was again, far to the north, at the base of the promontory. Zach grew cold with fear. Bryony had worn a red raincoat. If she was on the rocks, and the tide was high . . . .

He began to run.

She must not panic. Bryony's breath came so fast it rasped like sandpaper in her throat. There must be a way out. She used her fingers to probe the crack where her foot had wedged itself. It held her sneaker like a vise.

Directly in front of her foot, the crack widened by a fraction of an inch. Bryony bent down and reached under her shoe's rubber sole. The waves came rushing in, covering her arm to the elbow and splashing her face. The salt water stung her eyes and
mixed with her tears of terror as she tried to pry her foot out. It was no use. She was caught like a bear in the jaws of a steel trap.

Time was running out, and Bryony knew it. If only she could inch her foot forward, just a little, she might hope to escape. She pushed, hard, ignoring the pain that flared red at the edge of her vision as she strained her twisted ankle. Nothing.

She crouched down again, ignoring the gray water that soaked her clothes, and used her last ounce of strength to pound on the heel of her shoe. At last she felt something give and her foot slid forward a fraction of an inch. Was it far enough? She yanked desperately and felt her shoe come free. A harsh cry escaped from her throat. She moved forward, toward safety, and staggered badly as her weight landed on her injured foot. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to take the last few steps to the edge of the rocks.

So close, and yet still so far to go. She stared down at the churning water ahead of her. She'd freed herself, finally, but the delay might still
proved
deadly. Bryony took a deep breath and struggled out of her raincoat. It would only weigh her down as she swam.

Someone shouted her name. Bryony strained to see through the rain, her heart lifting a little. "Zach!" she yelled.

He came running toward her, his face twisted with fear. "Are you all right?" he shouted up to her.

"Yes; yes, I'm fine," Bryony called back. She had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. She wrapped her arms around herself, choking back the hysterical laughter that rose in her throat.

Zach didn't stop when he reached the expanse of white-capped water stretching between them. He didn't even wait for the waves to recede. He plunged right in. Within a few seconds he was in over his head. Bryony held her breath as his dark hair disappeared
beneath the water. Then he reappeared, swimming toward her, his muscular arms smoothly cutting the waves.

Bryony couldn't wait helplessly for him to reach her. She slid down from her perch on the rocks to join him in the icy water. A powerful wave broke over her head and she breathed in a mouthful of salt water. She felt the current suck at her body, bearing her helplessly toward the ocean. She nearly gave in to her dismay. Then she shook it off and struck out with all her strength toward the shore.

A moment later she felt Zach's arm around her waist, bearing her up. He helped her to the beach as if she were no burden at all. Bryony collapsed on the sand, gasping and coughing. "Are you all right?" Zach asked again.

Bryony nodded, unable to speak. She looked up into his blazing eyes. "You scared me to death. Do you know that?" he asked, holding her hard by the shoulders.

Before she could answer he folded her tightly in his arms and held her close against his chest. Bryony wrapped her own arms around his neck and shut her eyes. She was suddenly wonderfully, amazingly happy.
Happy to be safe, happy that Zach cared so much, happy just to be alive.

They didn't move until Bryony began to shake uncontrollably, half from the cold and half from the realization of how close a call she'd just had. "Let's get you inside and warm you up," Zach said. "Can you walk, or shall I carry you?"
"I can walk," Bryony said. But when she stood, her legs buckled under her. Zach scooped her up without a word and bore her quickly down the beach with long, confident strides. She buried her face against his warm neck to stop her trembling.

"We've got to get you to a doctor," he said. "You might have hypothermia."

Bryony shook her head emphatically. "Please, no. I'll be fine after a hot shower and a cup of tea. If word got out about this, I'd never hear the end of it. I can't believe I was so careless."

"I still think a doctor . . . ."

"I can always call Vivien," Bryony said. She knew she couldn't bear the humiliation if the whole of Cypress Point knew she'd been caught by the tide.

"I suppose that's all right." Zach tightened his grip around her torso, shifting her weight, and Bryony blushed to realize that one of his hands was pressed against the side of her breast. Either he didn't notice, or he was being unusually discreet by ignoring it.

Since there was nothing else she could do, Bryony relaxed into Zach's arms. When they reached the house, Zach set her down for a moment to open the door. He caught her wincing as she tried to stand on her injured leg. "You're hurt," he said.

"It's not broken.
A mild sprain, at most.
I can manage from here."

"Lean on me," he said. It was
a
order, not an invitation. Bryony obeyed. Zach helped her up the stairs to her room. He marched into her bathroom and turned the shower on hot. Steam billowed through the room. "Take off your clothes."

Bryony, balancing on one foot in the doorway, raised her eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Don't get modest on me now," he said. He pushed his soaking wet hair off his face with an impatient hand. "You have to get out of those damp clothes, unless you want to get sick. Or shall I undress you myself?"
The  commanding
look in his eye told her it was not an idle threat.

"That won't be necessary," she said, and began pulling her sodden sweater over her head to prove it.

"I'm not leaving until I'm sure you're all right," Zach said, "but I won't watch."

He turned away while Bryony stripped down and stepped gingerly into the steaming shower. If he peeked, she didn't catch him. She wrapped her arms protectively around her breasts anyway. After the previous night, she knew her shyness was silly. Still, her cheeks were flushed from more than the hot water.

The shower felt wonderful after the wind and the icy seawater. Scalding needles penetrated her skin, probing her tense muscles and melting away the chill. Wrapped in delicious warmth, Bryony began to relax. She rinsed the salt from her long hair and leaned back to let the water massage her face. Even her sore ankle felt better as she luxuriated under the pounding spray.

With a guilty jolt, she realized that Zach was still in the room, his face turned politely away as he waited for her to finish. He was just as wet and cold as she was. Bryony stepped hurriedly out of the tub and groped for one of the thick burgundy towels hanging near the door. She wrapped it around herself and then tapped Zach on one muscular shoulder.

"Your turn," she said. Unable to resist, she added with a giggle, "Better get out of those wet clothes. I swear I won't watch."

Zach turned and gave her a slow, secret grin tinged with erotic promise. His eyes traveled slowly from her bare feet, up her long ivory legs to her exposed thighs. Bryony clutched the towel tighter around her breasts as he drank in the sight of her flushed, rosy skin and the creamy flesh spilling above the towel. "You can watch if you want to," he said. "I don't mind."

Bryony gulped and lost her nerve. "Forget it," she said. "I'll just -- I'll be outside." She fled, closing the bathroom door behind her and cursing Zach for his uncanny ability to leave her flustered and abashed.

Bryony slipped into a pair of green silk pajamas and buttoned the shirt all the way up. She towel-dried her hair and left it loose around her shoulders. Then she sank down at the edge of her bed to let it all sink in.

So much had happened in the past hour. The beach, the treacherous tide, the rocks slick under her feet.
The advancing waves -- so cold, so relentless.
Then Zach, running down the beach calling her name.
His arms around her, helping her to safety.

She could barely believe she was sitting here now in her own dear, warm bedroom. The nightmare was over. Bryony shut her eyes and shuddered, thinking of what might have happened. The tears she'd fought so well during her narrow escape came surging up at last, dripping down her cheeks and making spots on the silk pajamas. She dashed them away with an angry gesture.

"It's all right, love," Zach said. "Go ahead and cry. You had a scare today. We both did."

Bryony gasped. She hadn't heard the water in the bathroom go off. He was naked except for the towel around his hips. He set down the bundle of wet clothes he carried and knelt before her, and wrapping his arms around her waist. He pressed his cheek against her stomach, and she could feel the heat from the shower through the fabric of her pajama top. She set her fingers on the defined muscles of his upper arms. His skin was soft as the silk she wore, but the muscle below felt hard as stone.

She touched his wet hair wonderingly, stroking it back from his tan, chiseled face. When he turned his dark eyes on her, they were smoky with desire. Her lips parted and
she let her head fall back. Zach rose to press gentle, thrilling kisses onto her collarbone, but she could feel the tension in his arms as he reined himself in.

He wanted her to take the lead this time. He wanted her to be sure. But it wasn't easy to slow down. Zach gritted his teeth at the sight of Bryony's breasts rising under the forest green pajamas, her nipples already tight buds pressing into the silk of her shirt. Her thick, damp hair fell to the small of her back, glistening dully gold, with highlights the color of flame. Her skin was fevered to his touch.

"Is this what you want?" he asked. "If you don't, I'll leave right now."

Instead of answering, Bryony threaded her fingers through his hair and slid her body down off the bed, kneeling before him so that they were face to face. She brushed her lips over his, so gently he could barely feel the contact. The simple, innocent act inflamed his need. Then she pressed her mouth to his, waiting until his breath came in ragged gasps.

"Yes," she whispered against his lips.
Just the one word, nothing more.

Zach needed no more invitation. He claimed her mouth with his own, taking it with a demanding, almost violent urgency. His tongue probed the recesses of her mouth. She gave herself to the passion of the kiss with such shocking enthusiasm that Zach nearly stopped breathing.

He broke off the kiss and scooped her up in his arms for the second time that day. She gave a small, startled cry of protest. "Does your ankle hurt?" he asked. She shook her head. "Good. Then let's get you comfortably resettled." He deposited her in the center of her velvety comforter and crawled onto the bed with her. "Better?"

Bryony gazed up at him, her eyes wide with nervousness and desire. "Fine," she said, her voice shaking a little. His bare chest loomed above her, and he'd planted his knees firmly on either side of her outstretched legs. His muscular thighs tensed as he
knelt over her, tenderly brushing a long strand of hair out of her face. She reached up and traced the line of his jaw with one trembling finger.

Zach caught her hand and held it tight against his cheek, feeling the slight quiver. He narrowed his eyes speculatively. He was used to casual relationships with women who were experienced, even jaded. They didn't tremble or look up at him with wide, apprehensive eyes. Compared to his usual partners, Bryony Lowell was an innocent. But how innocent? "This isn't your first time, is it?" he asked.

"Not exactly," Bryony said, looking away. She flashed back to her few, fumbling experiences with college boyfriends. She had never reacted to the men she'd dated the way she reacted to Zach.

Zach frowned. "What do you mean, 'Not exactly'? Either you're a virgin or you're not."

"I'm not," she whispered, raising her eyes to meet his. "But --
but
I've never felt like this before."

"What do you mean?"

Bryony felt the heat rise in her cheeks. The words choked her, but she forced them out. "You --
you
do something to me. I thought there was something wrong with me, before. People always talked about sex like it was -- well, like it was
fun
. And I never understood that. Until last night." She licked her dry lips nervously. Zach was staring down at her as if she'd grown a third eye in the middle of her forehead.