Tides of Passion (20 page)

Savannah felt her heart sink but pasted on a plucky smile. "She sounds perfect."

Zach reached for a firefly as it floated by, blinking madly. "She wasn't. She was good and kind, but she wasn't made to be a wife, I don't think. Birthing Rory was hard on her, terribly hard. And she didn't really seem to like living away from home, from the comfort of her family. Our entire marriage, she spent half her time there, coming back to my house when it made her happy to do it. Or made me happy, I reckon. I didn't complain. How could I when she was so naïve, so innocent? I think Rory even understood from the time he was a baby that his mother wasn't as
strong
as some of the other mothers in town."

Savannah stopped herself from touching him when he was talking about Hannah. So she nodded in lieu of a reply.

"Even when she was older than you are right now, she seemed"—he shrugged a broad shoulder—"young. But I was young once, too. When I left. Seventeen to her thirteen. And I was full of passion for life, excited by every blessed thing. I guess I couldn't help myself: the women, the drinking. I knew the sea so well it attracted all sorts. Hell, I was a kid. What did I know? Though I didn't ever do anything to my knowledge that hurt her or my family. It just never seemed to be like that between me and Hannah. Like the two people, rowdy Zach and kind Zach, weren't connected, and she only knew the one."

"You did an excellent job sheltering her from the wicked truth. Trust me."

"Yeah, maybe. But I failed her in the long run."

Savannah peeked at him, his windblown beauty affecting her like a blow to the head. She wanted to lighten his mood, steer him away from distressing memories. Even though curiosity ate at her, she didn't want to cause him more pain. "The entire town thinks you're a saint. I'm ill from hearing everyone lionize you. I'm sure Hannah felt the same." She rested her head on her drawn knees, releasing a gust of laughter. "And Elle thinks you were a virgin when you got married."

"Jesus Christ," he said, disgusted, stabbing his finger in the sand. "You must be joking."

She shook her head, her shoulders shaking. Her eyes pricked with tears as she gasped, trying to regain control. After all the things Zach had shown her, and his huskily murmured promises to show her more, she couldn't imagine thinking the man had no experience. Truly, it was preposterous. One hot look, and she had known. How could another
woman
fail to see it?

"I almost wish you'd told her what we were planning now. All the nasty details." He cleaned his hand on his trousers with a vicious swipe. "What man spends five years sailing in and out of every port in the Carolinas, washing away his loneliness with cheap ale and whatever friends he can find, and
doesn't
lose his virginity?"

"Zachariah Garrett, humanitarian, town constable, and all-around nice guy, that's who."

With a rueful smile, he rested on his elbows, studying her with his penetrating charcoal gaze. She felt a nagging lick of desire in the pit of her stomach but squashed it. Obviously, he felt two times was enough.

That she thought it wasn't was consistent with a lifetime of unladylike behavior.

"Is that all Miss Ellie had to say, Irish?"

Deciding to see if he was as steady as he appeared, Savannah swiveled around on her wet bottom and drew her skirt to her knees. Her boots and undergarments were in a pile by the bridge. Heaven help her if anyone came along and found them.

Feeling wicked, she propped her bare foot on his stomach and wiggled her toes. Because she was looking closely, she caught the slight narrowing of his eyes, his fingers clenching in the sand.

"Maybe that's not all she had to say," she replied with an airy wave.

Licking his thumb, he leaned in, rubbing hard on her chin. "Care to enlighten me? That word should be big enough to spark your interest."

She wiped her chin, forcing back the rising tide in her mind, in her body. The tide telling her to crawl over there and climb on top of him, appease every impulse still standing.

"A dab of paint," he said in reply to his touch. Casually, as if he didn't need to touch her again, he lay back. But after a moment, his hand circled her ankle, his thumb caressing a particularly responsive spot. "What else?" When she didn't answer, he tugged, bringing her bumping against his side.

She dug her heel deeper in the sand and contemplated him across the short distance, shifting only when a shrieking gull flew past, signaling the approach of daybreak.

The end of their night together.

She drew a breath of air so thick it felt hard to swallow. Her heart ached for a split second before she regained control of it. "Elle told me to take it easy," she blurted before she had the chance to ask any foolhardy questions or make any impetuous statements. If she pushed Zachariah Garrett for promises he could not, in all honestly and with noble intent keep, he would put an end to their affair.

"She said you were rusty," she finally said.

He dropped his head back, laughing. "Rusty? I'll be damned. That much is"—he squeezed her ankle again—"
was
true. Other than that, I think they have the wrong fella."

She flopped to the sand, relaxing into his touch, her clothes thoroughly ruined now. A thousand stars twinkled from black velvet folds, more than you could ever see in a city sky. "Yes, it appears most don't know you at all. You're a shrewdly intelligent, very cunning diplomat who is seen by everyone in this town as a priest without the appropriate neckwear. An angel without detectable wings. They're as blind as bats, the lot of them."

"So you're not falling for that angel business, huh?"

She closed her eyes, the night mist cooling her overheated skin. Zach's hand had worked its way to her thigh. "No. I'm afraid I've... seen the light."

And everything else he had to offer.

Sand squeaked; then she felt him flooding over her body like a wave, knee to knee, hip to hip, chest to chest. Hands cradling her head, his lips found hers, the urgency in the kiss warming her insides like a shot of spiced whiskey.

"I've decided two wasn't enough," he said, and set about proving how far from an angel he was.

Chapter 10

No matter how hard a man may labor,
 

some woman is always
 

in the background of his mind
.

~Gertrude Franklin Atherton

Heart pounding, the dream returned in a series of flashes. Hannah's shrill, weak cries; his lungs burning as he raced for a doctor; her crystal blue eyes wide and unseeing; her arm hanging off the bed, fingers trailing on the cold floor.

The ending was always the same.

Zach drew a hitching breath and let his head flop back to the pillow. The salty sting of tears pricked his throat, and he swallowed thickly. For a moment, he had awakened and imagined someone slept beside him, someone warm and sweet-scented. Before he had the chance to align his thoughts, a sharp burst of pleasure expanded his chest.

Savannah
.

Blinking, he rolled over, searching for the round indentation in the pillow, the wealth of glossy hair spread across his sheets.

He wasn't going crazy, he reminded himself as he had so many times since she arrived in Pilot Isle two weeks ago. Savannah Connor was real. Flesh-and-blood real. Not simply a product of his dreams.

Or his loneliness.

And while she was here, she was
his
.

It took another moment to realize he lay on the cot in the jail cell and not in what he had come to think of as "their" coach house. He never had nightmares during the nights—or rather the stolen hours in the middle of them—that he spent with her there, in what had become a frequent occurrence. Wrapped around Savannah's body, exhausted from loving her, he slept better than he did after a shot of whiskey, even better than after a late-night walk on the beach. If not for the sunset-to-sunrise patrols like the one he had finished at daybreak, he would consider himself well rested for the first time in two years.

Stretching, he slung his legs over the side of the cot, untangling himself from a blanket he hadn't remembered throwing over his body. Strange. Rising unsteadily to his feet, he scratched his day-old beard and sniffed.

He followed the scent to his desk and the yellow mug, covered with a napkin to hold the heat inside. A note lay beside it. Zach squinted, unable to make out the script. Glancing over his shoulder, checking to see that he was alone, he went around his desk, opened a small side drawer, and took out a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles. He stared at them with such strong distaste he could
feel
the sneer twist his lips.

Damn, when had he become old enough to need spectacles?

The wire arms hooked unfamiliarly over his ears, mug of lukewarm coffee in one hand, he began to read and sip in time.

I stopped by to schedule the final meeting with Hyman Carter and his employee delegation. Please let him know that I'm available tomorrow afternoon. The coffee is from Christabel's; I hope it stays warm. You were too fatigued to wake. Long night with the patrol, I imagine. I pitched in as any able-bodied citizen, even a temporary one, of the town should and entered the latest figures into your cargo book as well as I could manage without your participation. I recorded the stack of lists and placed them in the envelope marked "input figures." I believe this is a perfect job for someone on my committee. You're overworked as it is
.

S.C
.

P.S. If Mr. Carter needs to meet in the evening, I'm available tonight
.

Zach took a sip of coffee, gripping the mug to keep his fingers from trembling. For a split second, he considered walking down Main Street, poking in every shop until he tracked her down. Dragging her back and locking the door behind them.

The cot wasn't in such bad shape as that.

It had been two days since he'd seen her. Or more specifically, since he'd touched her. His heart kicked as a picture of her on the beach that first night popped into his mind. Waves lapping her feet, her long legs spread, her eyes a clear, green invitation.

Get a hold of yourself, Zach
.

Flopping into the chair, he thumped the mug on his desk. Did he miss Savannah, was that it? His body did; he knew that much. Once it realized what it had been doing without, it seemed to have unlimited vigor. And enthusiasm.

He got hard every time she was within spitting distance.

But missing...?

Did she feel the same? She had come here this morning, an unscheduled visit, rare for a woman who lived and died by her damned appointment book. Covered him with a blanket. Tattered and none too clean, but still.
And
brought him coffee. It made him feel suspicious and... wonderful in a way that scared the hell out of him. No one had taken care of him since, well, since never. His mother had two infants to worry about not too many years after he came along. He'd helped out, doing chores and tending his baby brothers until that job defined him.

Thirty years later, it still defined him.

Then, suddenly, someone came along offering to help
him
. First the cargo ledger. What would be next? Scheduling the men for beach patrol? Shopping for his groceries?

Sliding the ledger into view, Zach studied her entries. The ink glistened, barely dry. Orderly figures, not a period out of place. Everything written in her neat, flowing script. He did a quick calculation. All tallied perfectly.

Of course.

Smart as a whip, the woman was. Zach didn't buy that weaker sex bullshit for a minute. She could outfox nearly every man in town, and from the fearful looks on their faces when she stepped into a room, they knew it. He'd wondered on more than one occasion if she was
too
smart for him. Not that this thing they had was going anywhere beyond Elle's return from university. So forget brains for the time being.

Because, physically, there wasn't a better match in any universe, his or hers.

There was no way there could be.

He hadn't imagined a woman existed who would fit him in bed the way Savannah did. He could suggest any foolish old thing, like having sex in the ocean, and she'd get this clever look in her eye, wheels turning as she figured out how to do it.

Still, it rankled to be with a woman who ate books like candy and whose vocabulary included terms he often didn't understand. Though he had quit teasing her about it because watching her mouth form those fancy words excited him almost as much as watching her take her clothes off.

He studied the cargo ledger, took another swig of coffee. What was he worrying about? Between passionate descriptions of what they planned to do to each other, there were plenty of assurances on both sides that when it ended, it ended. Savannah wasn't establishing any roots she couldn't yank up quickly. A telegram from New York arrived nearly every day.

Zach pushed aside the coffee mug and the niggling voice telling him that he sometimes didn't feel so final when he said final.