Zach gave the wheel a sharp turn. Their car swerved onto the grass and bounced down a shallow decline. Unable to make out anything now that the street lamps were gone, Zach operated on instinct. He slammed his foot on the brake, sending the car weaving from side to side toward what he hoped was the thicket of bushes he'd spotted just before veering off the road.
He'd remembered right.
They rammed into the bushes. Twigs snapped, scratched their windshield, and yielded, the thick brush slowing their motion as they advanced.
Finally the car came to a halt.
Back up on the road, their assailant slammed down on his gas pedal and, with a loud roar, drove his car into the night.
Silence.
Zach jerked into motion, releasing his seat belt and reaching for her. "Victoria. Are you all right?"
She stared at him in dazed bewilderment, then looked down at herself, assessing her slightly battered but uninjured state. A shaky nod. "I think so." Actually, she felt numb. "Whoever was in that car just tried to kill us."
"No," Zach corrected. "Not to kill us. Just to scare us." He cupped Victoria's face between his hands and studied her features. "You're sure you're not hurt?"
"Positive. Unless you count a few bruises and a bad case of shattered nerves." She drew an unsteady breath. "What do you mean, just to scare us?"
"He had ample chance to kill us. He didn't. Instead, he picked an open area to shove us off the road. He obviously chose it on purpose. That was a scare, not a murder attempt."
Victoria squeezed her eyes closed. "This is about the Hope Institute. We're being warned. I'm being warned. They want me to stop poking around." She swallowed. "Which means they suspect I'm still doing that. How, I don't know. And who would they send? Mr. Cigar? I was hoping he'd stopped watching me. If it was him, how did he know where I was going tonight? Did he follow us all the way to Greenwich? Or . . ." Her voice quavered. "Did my father tip him off?"
"Don't." Zach caressed her cheeks with his thumbs. "Don't start thinking like that. For what it's worth, I don't believe your father would hurt you. This wasn't his idea. I don't buy it. You're his legacy, his chance to carry on the Kensington name. He respects the hell out of you. And you're his daughter. Let's remember that."
"We do. Does he?"
Tenderly, Zach kissed the top of her head, then reached for his cell phone. "Let's get out of here."
* * *
The car was in decent shape, considering what it had been through. The entire passenger side was a mass of shredded metal and paint, but the driver's side had just a few dents, and mechanically the car was fine. The police wrote up the report, chalked it up as the act of a drunk driver, and sent them on their way.
The ride home was silent.
"I'm going to return the car at the hotel and explain what happened," Zach said quietly as they rounded Sixty-fourth Street. "Then we'll catch a cab to your place."
Victoria nodded.
"You go inside," Zach instructed as they pulled up in front of the familiar red awnings that heralded the entrance to the Plaza Athe'ne'e and a doorman came around to assist Victoria from the car. "Wait for me in the lounge or the lobby. I won't be long."
She settled herself in the hotel's posh, gleaming tiled lobby, resting her head against the back of the French antique chair and thinking that it felt like six months rather than six hours since she'd left the city that night.
"Ms. Kensington?" A uniformed attendant with a distinctly European accent appeared by her side.
"Yes?"
He handed her a glass of sparkling water. "Mr. Hamilton asked me to give you this, and to say he'll be with you shortly."
"Thank you," Victoria said gratefully, taking the glass. "It's been a rather harrowing evening."
"So I heard. I'm terribly sorry. If there's anything you need, don't hesitate to ask."
"The water is perfect. Thank you."
With a half bow, the attendant hurried off.
The Plaza Athénée, Victoria thought, sipping her water and taking in the classic ambience of the elegant muraled. lobby with a private inner glow. It had been four years since she'd walked through those doors. And nothing had changed. It was still the most exquisite, dignified hotel imaginable, a step into a world that was a continent and a lifetime away.
At the front desk, late-night clerks shuffled papers as efficiently as if it were midday rather than one-thirty in the morning. In the rich mahogany alcove that housed the managerial station, the concierge spoke with a few hotel guests who were night owls looking for the best local hot spots. And in the elevators, staff members wheeling food carts rode up to deliver room service to waiting guests.
A. soft smile touched Victoria's lips. How many nights had Zach taken advantage of the hotel's twenty-four-hour room service to have wine and cheese sent up at 2 or 3 a.m. because they'd been too absorbed in each other to eat? How many nights had they skipped dinner altogether?
She glanced down and studied her palm, touched the soft places Zach's lips had grazed a few hours earlier. They'd be in bed right now if that maniac hadn't pushed them off the road. They'd be together in a way she'd tried desperately to forget and couldn't. Maybe she was being a fool. Maybe those snatches of happiness she'd talked about really were all they had. Maybe tomorrow's pain didn't matter. Maybe...
"Victoria?"
Her head snapped up and she blinked, still lost in her reflections.
Zach was standing beside her chair. He extended his hand, helped her to her feet, placing her empty glass on a nearby table. "We're alt set." He frowned when he saw how disoriented she looked. "Victoria," he said carefully, sounding as it he'd struggled with a decision, then made it. "It's been a long night. You're at the breaking point. Why don't we stay here? I've got a bottle of cabernet in my room. You can have a glass and go to bed. I'll stay in the living room. My suite's almost as big as your apartment."
For more reasons than she cared to contemplate, that sounded like heaven. "If you throw in a long soak in that incredible bathtub, you've got yourself a deal," she heard herself say.
"Done."
They rode up in the elevator without speaking, and Victoria stepped out on the tenth floor, automatically heading for Suite 1010. It always had been Zach's favorite. Actually, it reminded her a lot of him—worldly, magnificent, and understated. She remembered the suite in vivid detail. Plush blue carpet, blue floral drapes, a full living room, a dining room that led out to the solarium and balcony, and a bathroom she could lose herself in.
And, right off the bathroom, a bedroom brimming with memories.
It looked exactly the same, right down to the antique furnishings. But then/a hotel was supposed to be consistent. It was what brought guests back time after time, to stay in the same comfortable surroundings, enjoy the same amenities.
Conjure up the same memories.
"I'll pour the wine," Zach said, locking the door and heading across to the dining room's mahogany end table. "You run your bath."
Victoria complied, going into the bathroom and shutting the door. This room was sheer opulence, all marble, with every amenity you could ask for. She turned on the bath taps and wriggled out of her clothes, shrugging into the thick terry robe that hung on the back of the door.
Zach had been wearing it. The robe had his scent, together with the scent of his cologne.
She padded out to the living room where he was standing, having poured two glasses of wine. His gaze drifted over her, but he said nothing, just handed her a glass. She took it with her.
Five minutes later, she was immersed in heaven, hot water lapping around her, a glass of good cabernet on the ledge. She sank down in the tub, closed her eyes, and let the heat envelop her. She didn't want to think about anything, not the party, not the Hope Institute, and definitely not the person who'd run them off the road. Mentally, she was drained, too tired to do much of anything. But not physically. Physically, she felt warm and languid, yet revitalized by the bath, relaxed enough to re
st but too awake to sleep.
It was with great reluctance that she left the tub twenty minutes later, and then only because the water had turned cool and her skin had started to pucker. The ends of her hair were damp, but she felt no compulsion to dry them. She just left them to air dry, slipped back into the robe, and went out.
She'd thought perhaps Zach was dozing, because the suite was silent. But he was standing on the balcony, staring at the lights of the city. He looked up when she emerged and, seeing her, came back inside.
"Are you okay? You were in there a long time."
"Um-hum." She ran her fingers through her damp strands of hair. "Just unwinding."
His lids were hooded, hiding his gaze, and droplets of rain clung to his hair. "Unwinding sounds good. I think I'll do the same."
"A shower?" Victoria asked. Zach didn't like baths.
"A shower," he confirmed.
She glanced down ruefully at herself. "I stole your robe."
A corner of his mouth lifted. "I'll get a lawyer. In the meantime, I'll suffer with a towel." He walked past her, paused, then continued to the bathroom. "Help yourself to the bed."
"Thanks. I will." She went to the bedroom doorway, then turned. "Good night."
"Good night."
* * *
Wrapped in the terrycloth robe, Victoria curled up on the bed, willing sleep to come.
It didn't.
She lay awake for almost an hour, first listening to the shower water run, then hearing Zach move around as he got ready for bed.
The clock told her it was two-fifty. She'd had a disaster of a night. She should be out for the count.
But she wasn't. And she knew exactly why.
She looked around the room, felt its bittersweet familiarity, and gave up the battle, letting the tidal wave of memories wash through her. How many hours had she and Zach spent in this bed? Countless. They'd wanted each other with a hunger that was bottomless, endless, insatiable. She'd never imagined being so wildly uninhibited, never knew such intense passion existed. Then again, she'd never believed Zach existed.
But he did.
She'd wanted him urgently, incessantly.
She still did.
With a shiver, she rolled onto her side. Her skin felt hot, the roughness of the terrycloth making it tingle. Her heart was beating rapidly, and she couldn't stay still.
Zach was awake. She could hear him tossing and turning, probably battling the same deluge of memories she was. Finally, she heard him get up as he abandoned sleep altogether. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to i
care that she could put an end to their torment with one sim-pie act.
Indifference wasn't in the cards.
Neither was abstinence.
He came to her doorway, hovered there as he looked in toi check on her. She felt his presence, reminded herself that she could ignore him, wait for his shadow to vanish, and until it did, pretend to be asleep.
She didn't.
She opened her eyes, propped herself up on one elbow. "Hi."
"Hi." His voice was rough. Even in the dim glow cast by the light he'd left on in the living room, she could see he was wearing only a pair of jeans. "I thought you were sleeping."
"I wasn't. I'm not." With a sense of inevitability, she stood, walked toward him.
"Victoria." There was a fierce expression on his face, a look of almost pained restraint. "I . . ." Whatever he was going to say was never uttered. Their gazes met and locked, and Victoria reached out, lay her palm on his bare chest. He caught her wrist, brought her palm to his mouth, and kissed it as he had earlier, this time with an urgency that burned through them both.
"I want to," Victoria whispered to his unspoken question. Then she was in his arms, crushed against him, tugging his mouth down to hers even as his hand crumpled in her hair, dragging her mouth up to his. Their lips met in a frenzy of need, parting instantly so their tongues could meld, so they could deepen the kiss before it began.
Zach lifted her off the carpet, devouring her mouth again and again as he carried her to the bed. He unbelted her robe, and she shrugged out of it, then yanked at the button on his jeans.
She was naked before they reached the bed. He was naked a heartbeat later. He pushed her backward onto the sheets, the weight of his body covering her, anchoring her there.
There was nowhere else Victoria wanted to be.
She couldn't touch him fast enough, completely enough. She wanted to rediscover every inch of him at once. The powerful breadth of his shoulders, the muscled planes of his back, the hair-roughened wall of his chest. It was all so achingly familiar, so unbearably erotic. Her entire body was on fire, burning with need, pulsing with four years of pent-up longing. She arched, rubbed herself against him, the throbbing between her legs so acute it bordered on pain.
Zach caught her wrists, pinned them to the bed, and began devouring her. His mouth was rough, hungry, his teeth lightly scraping her skin as he tasted her neck, her shoulders, the scented hollow at her throat. His hands shook as they shaped and caressed her breasts, defined the curves of her waist, her hips, her thighs. He bent her knees, pulled them up and around him, needing to feel himself between her legs. Then he lowered his head, his lips closing around her nipple, tugging it into his mouth with a suction that made tiny explosions of pleasure erupt inside her so that she cried out. He shifted to her other breast, his lrps surrounding her nipple, pulling and tugging until she was frantic.
His fingers slid between her thighs, slipped inside her, discovering the wetness that shattered his control.
"I can't wait." His voice was guttural, his motions jerky as he kneed her legs farther apart.
She helped him, wrapping her legs around his flanks and, reaching down, closing her fingers around his erection.
Zach's breath hissed out between his teeth, and he probed at the entrance to her body, then pushed inside. Bracing his arms on either side of her, he thrust all the way in, cursing as he felt her body's resistance, the tender skin fighting to accommodate him after four years of abstinence.
"Tory." The endearment brought back a flood of memories as poignant as the feeling of his body penetrating hers. Tory. No one but Zach called her that. And he only called her that in bed, when he was deep inside her and there was no world outside the one she had in his arms. "God, sweetheart, I'm sorry." His voice was harsh with worry and regret, even as he continued to thrust back and forth, moving deeper and deeper inside her, withdrawing only to push all the way back in. "Dammit. Goddammit. I'm hurting you."
Victoria's breath was suspended in her throat. Yes, she felt raw, stretched, her flesh unused to this intrusion. But she was caught up in a maelstrom of sensation so acute, so magnificent, she couldn't bear it. Her nails dug into Zach's shoulders, her hips lifted greedily, her thighs clenching around him even as her internal muscles coiled tighter and tighter around his rigid penis. The pleasure intensified with each thrust, and she arched to meet him again and again and again, a harsh cry of frustration and need escaping her lips. She wanted this to last, needed to make it do so. But she couldn't. Her body wouldn't wait. Not after four years without.
"Zach." Her hands slid down his back, gripped the base of his spine, and she urged him into her, faster, harder.
He needed no encouragement. He was battering her with his thrusts, unable to slow down, to think, or even to breathe. He was pounding toward his own climax, his entire body screaming to pour itself into her.
Victoria arched, a low sob wrenching from her throat, her body shuddering as the spasms boiled up inside her. She pulsed around him, gripping his entire length, drawing him high into her at the exact moment he needed to be there.
He climaxed like a wild man, grabbing the headboard's mahogany posts, his knuckles turning white as his hips pumped convulsively. He spurted into her, hot bursts of completion, and Victoria clung to him, let the pleasure spin itself out, helpless in the throes of her own orgasm, shaken by the magnitude of his.
&nbs
p; Recovery took longer than the act itself.
Victoria sank into the bed, blanketed by Zach's body, too spent to move. Her mind was blissfully empty, her body still quivering with aftershocks. She felt Zach shudder, felt his breath release on a sigh. Then he relaxed, his weight pressing hers into the mattress. He was still inside her, and neither of them made any move to change that.
Long minutes ticked by.
Finally, Zach stirred, turning his head so his lips were just above Victoria's ear. "Did I hurt you?" he asked in a rough, gravelly voice.
"No." Her own voice was barely audible. She was shaking, she realized. Then again, so was he.
Zach released the headboard, his hands moving down to cradle her head, his weight shifting to his elbows. "Victoria."
She opened her eyes with the greatest of efforts, met his stunned gaze in the darkness of the room. Rather than lazy with sexual satisfaction, his features were set in stark lines of amazement. His breathing was still ragged, his face sheened in perspiration, and strands of dark hair clung to his forehead.
"Victoria." He said her name again, his probing gaze searching her face.
"Hmm?" It was all she could muster.
"I wanted to slow down. I couldn't."
"1 know. Neither could I." She reached up, brushed the damp wisps of hair off his forehead.
"Sweetheart, I—"
"Shhh." Victoria silenced him, pressed her fingers to his lips. "I don't want to talk. I don't want to think. I just want to feel." She caressed his jaw, slid her hand around to stroke the nape of his neck, run her fingers through the wet silk of his hair. "Can we do that?"
He moved his head from side to side, savoring her touch. Then he reached down, capturing her other arm and bringing it around his neck. "We can do anything and everything you want," he muttered thickly, bending to take her mouth under his.
Borrowed time. That was the phrase that drifted through Victoria's head. It was what they were on. A dazzling respite before the insurmountable issues slammed back to the forefront, before the painful aftermath of what was really happening in this bed intervened and the sober reality of their investigation redominated their lives.