The Heart of a Hero (7 page)

During the fall, her glasses had fallen off, leaving him with an up-close, unobstructed view of her pale blue eyes. The most polished sea glass in the world couldn’t come close to how gorgeous they looked. And her lips. He’d never noticed how plump and full they were.

“You’ve got sand in your hair,” he murmured. Before he realized what he was doing, his hand reached up and combed the strands from her face. The dark locks were warm from the sun. And soft like silk. He twisted the strands between his fingers.

“We should get up before a wave lands on us.” Though he said the words, he didn’t feel any urgency. What he wanted was an excuse to touch her hair again. Dear God, when was the last time he’d felt something so soft?

Zoe smiled. “Afraid we’ll wash out to sea?”

“You might.” Taking care not to tip her off, he raised himself up onto his elbows. “I’ve seen sand fleas bigger than you.”

“I’m not sure if I should be flattered or insulted.”

“Ever see what a sand flea looks like? Definitely be flattered.”

Her skin was already pink from the sun, and the blush covering her cheeks only deepened the color. It reminded him of pink frosting. If he ran a finger on her cheek, would it come away tasting sweet? His mouth watered with curiosity.

What on earth had her ex been thinking? He had to be insane, cheating on someone so beautiful and sweet. And sending flowers to apologize? The man should have come in person to beg on his knees for forgiveness. Kissing those perfectly plump lips ’til they were sighing with desire.

He couldn’t help himself; he brushed some imaginary hair from her cheek. The softness under his fingers took his breath away. Her eyes had darkened, their paleness eclipsed by her widening pupils.

He felt pounding against his ribs. Took a moment, but he realized it was Zoe’s heart beating in rhythm with his. She probably had no idea he could feel it.

God, but he bet those lips tasted amazing. He bet
every inch of her did. They were so close, too. All he needed to do was lift his head and they’d be his.

“Zoe?” His voice sounded raw and rough to his ears.

She raised her head, edging those lips closer. “Yes?”

It took all his resolve, but he found the right words. “You need to move first.”

“I can’t.” The blush managed to deepen yet another shade. “I don’t know where my glasses landed.”

Oh, right. Her glasses. He’d been so mesmerized by her blush, he’d crazily mistaken it for arousal. Somewhere deep inside him, the truth brought a sense of relief. What else would it be?

Patting around the sand, he located the frames. She grabbed them from his hand like they were a life raft, and shoved them into place. “Thanks.”

Her vision restored, she rolled off, leaving a cold empty sensation in her wake. The feeling was so sudden that his hand automatically began reaching out to pull her back. Fortunately he kept his head.

Or rather Zoe kept it for him. “I’m hungry,” she announced.

Her pronouncement pulled him from his inner struggle. “Excuse me?” he asked as he struggled to his feet.

“I haven’t had anything to eat since dawn, and I’m starved. Aren’t you?”

“Hadn’t thought about it.” Eating had long ago
become something he did when he needed to do; he didn’t give meals—or lack of them—much thought.

“Well, I have. It’s late afternoon, in case you haven’t noticed.”

It was? How the hell did a whole afternoon pass by?

“Poor Reynaldo must be starving, too. He hates it when dinner is late.”

“Then you better go feed the both of you.”

“Hmm.” She was looking at him, the sparkle all of a sudden reappearing in her eyes, brighter than before. Jake got a sinking sensation.

“Or…” She smiled. “I’ve got a better idea.”

Better
was a relative term.

“I still can’t believe I agreed to this,” he said.

“Why not?” Zoe tossed a piece of driftwood onto the campfire, sending sparks shooting into the sky. “I can’t cook and you don’t have any food. This is the perfect solution.”

Jake shook his head. A campfire. His earlier assessment was right—he was out of his freaking mind. Actually, when Zoe first suggested the idea, he told her she was the one out of her mind. If only he hadn’t slipped up and mentioned that his refrigerator was empty… She’d argued him into a corner at that point. “I’m going to build the fire anyway so you might as well join me. What else are you going to do? A man’s
got to eat, right?” She’d badgered him ’til he had to say yes, just to get her to stop.

Go ahead.
His mind flashed back to them lying together on the beach.
Tell yourself you don’t really want to be here.

Meanwhile Zoe was busying herself with piercing a hot dog with a skewer. Soon as he acquiesced, she’d dashed across the street for supplies. After ordering him to gather wood, of course. She was, Jake was slowly learning, a bundle of enthusiasm. Once she made up her mind to pursue something, she wouldn’t be deterred.

Or ignored, for that matter, he thought with an internal smile.

Hot dog in place, she handed him the skewer. “What I can’t believe,” she said, “is that you’ve never cooked over a campfire before.”

“I didn’t say that. I said I’d never roasted hot dogs over a fire.”

“My mistake. What have you cooked?”

He thought of the chipmunks, snakes and other creatures scrounged during survival training. “You don’t want to know.”

“Something tells me you’re right.”

Reynaldo came trotting up looking for a snack. The dachshund, who’d returned with her, was happily covered with sand. Zoe reached into her sweatshirt pocket and pulled out a dog biscuit. “Here. This
should tide you over.” Rey took the treat and settled contentedly on a nearby towel.

“My dad loved campfires on the beach,” she said. “We used to have them once a week. Hot dogs and S’mores. Inevitably he’d set the marshmallows on fire. Funny how some memories stick with you, isn’t it?”

“Hmm.” More than she’d realize.

“Then again, I suppose mine are tainted by childhood nostalgia. I guess that’s human nature for you. We tend to romanticize the past. Paint it better than it really was.”

Jake didn’t answer.
If only all memories worked like that.
But some could never be repainted. They were doomed to repeat themselves with perfect Technicolor accuracy. Zoe didn’t need to hear that, though. She, like so many, was better off untouched by dark thoughts.

He looked over at his companion. She was perched on her knees, carefully holding her hot dogs over the flame. You’d think from the way she was turning the skewer—slowly, like a rotisserie—she was cooking a gourmet meal. Her skin was pink from the sun and heat. And her hair was pulled back in a haphazard ponytail. It wasn’t hard to picture her as a young girl licking marshmallow from her fingers.

“It’s going to burn,” she said, jerking him from his thoughts. He realized she was looking at him.
“If you stick your hot dog in the flames like you’re doing, you’re going to burn it.”

Turning to the fire, he saw that he’d absently stuck his skewer deeper into the flame. “I like them burned. The carbon adds flavor,” he added when she quirked a brow above her frames.

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

“What I believe is I’ve finally found something you’re not good at.” The way she cocked her head reminded him of Reynaldo, all eyes and cuteness. “Hard to imagine you not being good at everything.”

The compliment hit him cold and he looked to the fire. “I’m far from perfect, Zoe.”

“I never said you were perfect. Just capable. Extremely capable.”

He had no business feeling pride from her compliment, but he did anyway. “I am a handyman.”

“Good thing, too, for me,” she replied with a grin that made his pride stand at attention. “Otherwise the bats and I would be roommates. However…” She leaned over and, taking his hand, adjusted the angle of his skewer. “That doesn’t change the fact that you can’t cook over a fire.”

Jake’s skin tingled where she touched him. He found himself contemplating lowering the skewer again so she’d repeat the action.

“You’re in good company, by the way,” she told
him. “When my father burned the marshmallows, he claimed the flame added flavor, too.”

“See? Great minds think alike.”

Jake fell silent. The beach was empty now, the locals having gone home for the evening. Only he, Zoe and the dachshund remained.

He looked at the fire. It felt strange, seeing flames without destruction. But here, watching the sparks rise and fade into the night, it was almost—
almost
—possible to imagine a more innocent time. Before everything turned dark and painful.

It was Zoe, he decided. Her enthusiasm and energy trumped everything around her. Odd, but what he’d first found incredibly annoying, tonight he found amazingly calming.

Looking over, he noticed she was lost in thought, she, too, focusing her attention on the fire. Shadows moved across her face like dancing clouds.

“Would you mind if I asked you a personal question?” she asked.

Jake’s spine stiffened.

“Did you ever think that somewhere in life you took a wrong turn?”

Of all the questions she could ask, that wasn’t one he expected.
Every damn day,
he wanted to say. “This is about the ex, isn’t it?”

“Paul?” She shook her head. “No. Maybe a little. It’s just that I can’t help but wonder how I ended up where I am in life.”

“You mean divorced?”

“My divorce, my career, everything. I mean, I like what I do, but lately…” She lifted her shoulders in a sad shrug as if the gesture alone was enough to fill in her thoughts. “It’s like I’m out of step with the universe. Know what I mean? Like the universe is sending me signals and I’m missing the meaning.”

“What kind of signals?”

“Beats the hell out of me. Don’t fall for a needy golf pro?” She gave another hollow laugh. He hated the sound. It lodged heavily in his gut, like lead. He sought to change the subject, hoping at least one of them could shake the encroaching despair.

“How do you become an advice expert anyway?” he asked. It was something he’d wondered since she’d told him what she did.

“My college newspaper used to have a column and when the writer graduated, I volunteered for the position. I enjoyed it so much that after graduation I decided to see if I could keep it going. I started with a blog, and voilà, ‘Ask Zoe’ was born. All because I wanted to be useful.”

“Useful?” Sounded like an odd word choice.

“Helpful,” she corrected, brushing sand from her legs. Not, however, before he caught a flash of something in her eyes. “I like being helpful.”

Making her the target for every sad story that came along.

“Anyway, I’m being maudlin.” She broke off a
piece of hot dog and tossed it to Reynaldo. “That’s the downside of being nostalgic. For every memory, you get a matching what-if.”

And for every what-if, you got ten more. Then a hundred. Until eventually you have so many regrets and what-ifs you can hardly breathe from the weight. Jake heaved a sigh. The contentment he’d felt earlier, however slight, vanished, replaced by the familiar weight of guilt.

Did you really think you could escape yourself?

He stared into the flames. At the red-orange tongues. Just like Zoe warned, his hot dog had caught fire. The smell of burning meat met his nostrils. He watched as the flames turned the casing blistered and black.

Like a length of charred flesh.

Bile rising in his throat, he hurled the skewer into the fire. The force sent ashes scattering across the sand. A stray piece of wood flew up and landed on the back of his hand. Jake hissed from the contact.

“What the—?” Zoe was in front of him before he saw her move. “Are you all right? Did you burn yourself? Let me see.”

He must have clasped his fist to his chest, because all of a sudden he could feel her soft touch as she pried open his fingers. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he heard her say. “We should wash off your hand with cold water, though.”

Before he could protest, she slipped away. She was
back a moment later, a bottle of water and a paper towel in her hand. “This will have to do for now. When you get home, you can put some antibiotic ointment on.”

He tried to shake off her attention. “It’s just a burn. I’ve had worse.” Far, far worse.

Although right now, his heart seemed to be slamming against his ribs more violently than it ever had under fire.

“Even a small burn can get infected,” she retorted as she pressed the damp cloth to his skin. The lemon scent of her hair rose up to greet his nostrils and he inhaled deeply. More than grounding, it was the scent of clean and home and everything good he’d forgotten could exist. He breathed and breathed until his lungs were so full he feared they might burst. He wanted to lose himself in the aroma, in Zoe herself with her silky sweet skin and promised refuge. An ache, unfamiliar yet strong as steel, took hold in his chest.

Zoe looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “Better?”

Hell no. He was off balance and out of breath. And God, how he ached.

“Yes.” It wasn’t a complete lie. His hand didn’t hurt anymore.

“Good.” She smiled. Jake’s insides spiraled into free fall. A groan rose in his throat. Just a slip of his
arm around her waist. That’s all it would take to pull her lemon-scented brightness tight.

Refuge.
It called to him.
She
called to him.

Expectancy hung in the hair. Zoe felt it, too. There was no mistaking the desire dancing in her eyes.

He heard a dull thud as the water bottle fell to the ground. Free, her hand reached toward his face, her fingers shaking as they tracked the line of his jaw. Jake’s breath caught. The feathery touch stoked the fire inside him. He wanted her. God, but he wanted her.

But then what? Did he kiss her senseless? Lose himself in the sanctuary of her arms for a night, taking what she so willingly offered without giving anything in return? Because what did he have to give but emptiness and darkness and cold?