Stranger in Paradise Read online

  She tossed the bologna back in the fridge and leaned on the counter. “What did you hope to find, Debbie Does Dallas?”

  His gaze snapped to hers, those green eyes fairly sparking.

  “Forget it, and before you ask, you won’t find X-Men or Jurassic Park in there, either.”

  “Then I’m stumped. How can you consider any of these—Pride and Prejudice, Somewhere in Time, Legends of the Fall….” He looked up, holding one up as an example. “Really? Sabrina? You call this inspiration for writing erotica?”

  A knock on the front door saved her from throwing a nearby vase at his head. She started down the hall.

  “I’ll answer that.” His big hands--amazing hands, really--fell on her shoulders and gently pushed her aside as he stepped around her and opened the door.

  “Good evening, room service.”

  Zack focused on the rolling cart of covered dishes and pulled out his wallet, ready to tip the young waiter.

  “Excuse me, sir. I’ll just set this up inside.”

  Surprise registered on his face, but Zack stepped aside. He wasn’t the only one surprised. Even if Zack hadn’t noticed, Kacey caught the hesitancy in the young man’s reaction to Zack answering the door. It was Andrew, the same young man who had put her groceries away the day before.

  “Good evening, Ms. Winters,” the young waiter said congenially, his expression briefly dumbfounded as to the absence of the dining room table turned ready-made office area.

  “Thank you, Andrew. You can just put it on the breakfast bar.” She snagged a glass of ice water from the cart and pressed it against her cheek. Momentary relief flooded her, but not before her astute observation skills took note of Andrew’s clear discomfiture. She figured it had everything to do with Zack’s six-foot-plus, ready-for-hand-to-hand-combat look that would intimidate the toughest of men.

  Agreed, he’s yummy, her muse responded, causing tingles where there hadn’t been any in…well, too long. She pressed her knees together.

  Without another word, the waiter worked quickly and, when finished, directed his attention to Kacey.

  “Will there be anything else, Ms. Winters?” His expression changed as his gaze fell upon her cheek. He glanced at Zack, who was too busy inspecting the food to notice. Some detective. “The, um, extra ice you requested is in the bucket.” He reached under the cart and pulled out two ice cube trays. “Though these might come in handy.”

  Zack plucked them from his hand. “Thanks, junior. Here’s a little something for getting you out on a night like this.” He held out a folded five-dollar bill.

  “We have a no tipping policy, sir. This is part of the resort services.” His tone was clipped as he stared a moment longer at Zack.

  The air crackled with tension. Kacey, her cheek numb from the glass, watched in rapt fascination at the silent struggle of male domination.

  The corner of Zack’s mouth twitched with the beginning of a grin. “My mistake, dude, sorry.” His gaze narrowed as he held the young man’s eyes.

  He could be an old west gunslinger, her muse whispered, almost with a sigh.

  “Will there be anything else…Ms. Winters?” The young waiter turned his complete attention on her.

  Kacey blinked from her western cowboy fantasy, responding with a lift of her glass in tribute to his concern. “Oh, no. No, thank you.” Her voice was still a little wobbly with cowboy lust. She noticed how he tipped his head to study her face. Was it beginning to bruise? She waved off his concern with a laugh. “I tripped getting up from the couch and hit my cheek on the coffee table. My fault entirely, I’m such a klutz.” She held up her hand. “That’s the reason for the extra ice.”

  “Would you like for me to arrange a visit to the twenty-four-hour clinic? It’s just up the road. I’d be—“

  “If the lady needs an ER, I’ll make sure she gets there,” Zack interjected with Clint Eastwood-like calm.

  Andrew nodded. “Very good. I’ll leave you to enjoy your supper, then. Have a good evening.”

  Kacey watched as Zack held the door, then closed and locked it behind the waiter.

  ***

  “Is it me, or did that kid think I roughed you up, then ordered a steak?” He lifted a mushroom from the glaze on his steak and sampled it. He watched her under hooded lids, not half as concerned about what that kid thought as much her skittish behavior around him.

  “That was the same guy who was here yesterday when I arrived. He was unloading my groceries as though he lived here. I didn’t think much about it, though usually they just bring them to the door after I arrive and let me put them away.” Her focus remained on the door. He could almost hear the gears turning in her head. “He wouldn’t take a tip from me, either.” She turned her gaze to his. “Guess he takes his job very seriously.”

  “As do I,” Zack remarked, giving her a pointed look. “I bet your blood sugars were too low from not eating and that’s the reason you fell.” He eyed the food.

  “Or I’m just naturally klutzy.”

  “Yeah, I thought of that, too.” He smiled.

  “You’re such a gentleman.”

  “It’s a gift.”

  She snorted.

  “Come on, let’s get you set up over here.” Making certain the afghan was not in her path, he led her to the sofa and placed her supper in front of her. “You park yourself there and I’ll get you some wine. Then we’ll watch one of your movies. How’s that for being a gentleman?”

  The look he received was skeptical, but she listened, easing back with her feet on the coffee table, her soup bowl cradled in her hands. “I must say I’m impressed.”

  “Are you seducing me, Ms. Winters?”

  “It seems to take so little,” she remarked with a quirk of her mouth.

  A mouth that he’d thought about more than once since they met. He couldn’t figure out what, exactly, about her intrigued him--perhaps it was her quick, dry wit, or maybe it was her independence. Most certainly her feminine curves hidden beneath the tomboyish clothes she wore made him curious to see what was beneath. Shoving aside such thoughts and reminding himself of why he was there, he set his meal beside her and prepared to pop in a movie. “You ready?”

  She looked cute seated there with an ice pack on her cheek, gingerly slurping soup from her spoon. Nodding, she looked at him as he sat down. He had to admit, he was genuinely curious about this movie. At the very least, there was not a danger of going into sugar shock with this one.

  “Which one are we watching?” she asked.

  “Research,” he said, cutting eagerly into his steak.

  The soft Indian-infused soundtrack gave away the movie before a single word came on the screen.

  “Are you crazy?” She reached for the remote, and he held it away from her. On the screen appeared a happy couple, leaving their wedding reception “You don’t really expect me to sit here and watch this with you, do you?” She started to stand, and he caught her arm.

  He grinned. “Afraid you won’t be able to handle it?”

  She made a disgusted sound and flopped back on the sofa. “Whatever trips your trigger.” She picked up her bowl and, head down, continued to eat.

  His chewing slowed as he watched the meticulous way the two lovers disrobed, then shared a bath that lasted far longer than he’d have. Maybe this wasn’t such a great idea. At this rate, he was going to need a cold shower and a few moments alone. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when he glanced down, his steak was half-eaten and plenty cold. Which was more than he could say for his libido, which had been revving on idle. Who knew that foreplay could go on that long. “You know, I have to say there’s something to be said for spontaneity, don’t you think? I mean, how many times have you watched this?” He glanced over his shoulder to find Kacey snuggled under the afghan, her eyes closed, mouth parted, snoozing blissfully.

  “Yes, my love. My flower awaits your kiss.”

  Zack’s head swung toward the screen, his attention again focused. “
It’s about damn time,” he muttered as he tipped his head and attempted to keep up with the many contortions the couple demonstrated—pillow placement notwithstanding. “Damn, you gotta wonder if they use stunt doubles,” he said quietly.

  He heard a soft sigh and felt the couch give a little as Kacey stirred. “Not in this one.” She stretched her arms over her head with a yawn akin to a small grizzly.

  Zack barely noticed the action on the screen as he watched Kacey rake her hands through her hair and struggle to sit up. Her shirt twisted up around her midriff did little to alleviate the current tightening in his basketball shorts.

  “Is there more wine?”

  Soft sighs and animalistic groans provided background noise to the fantasy going on in his head. She, on the other hand, seemed unfazed. He glanced at the screen and he immediately averted his eyes. He stood quickly, grateful his shorts were baggy, mentally chiding himself that he’d chosen the movie. “I take it you’ve seen this a number of times, then?” he said as he walked with both glasses to the kitchen. Making the mistake of glancing at the television, he nearly tripped on his own feet. “I’m okay.” He skipped across the floor, glasses held high.

  ***

  Much to Kacey’s discomfiture, Zack seemed eager to learn all she knew about Karma Sutra history. On the upside, he’d turned off the video in favor of talking, insisting the movie itself was “utterly boring.”

  “The philosophy is different than our western view on lovemaking.” Kacey took a sip of re-fortifying wine. Zack, who’d grabbed his cake and more wine, now sat at the other end of the couch, facing her. He shoved forkfuls of the dessert into his mouth, never taking his eyes off hers.

  She cleared her throat. “Karma Sutra goes back hundreds of years. It’s a form of worship in some cultures. There are those who believe that the anticipation, the reverence each partner shows during intimacy is a sacred blessing to be celebrated before copulation occurs. It’s believed to bring the ultimate physical pleasure for both partners.”

  He coughed mid-swallow and gulped down a healthy swallow of his wine. “Copulation?”

  Kacey frowned. “Yes,” she said, studying him. “You understand the concept?”

  He snorted a laugh. “Do I…understand? Where I come from we call it sex.”

  “It’s a clinical term.”

  He leaned toward her, those dark, tempest eyes staring deeply into her soul. Okay, maybe that was the wine, affecting her brain. “Sweetheart, there isn’t anything clinical about it.”

  She opened her mouth to refute him and stopped herself. He was probably right--there was nothing clinical about it when he was involved.

  Damn straight, her muse replied.

  “In fact”--he squinted one eye heavenward as though in thought--“I can’t think of a single time when I’ve had a problem with pleasure and it sure as hell didn’t require forty-seven positions to achieve it.”

  Oh dear, oh dear.

  She might have squirmed a bit beneath her afghan as she looked away and polished off her wine. “I’m sure.” She wasn’t sure if she said that or if her muse had taken over her vocal chords. She felt his hand on her calf.

  “What does that mean?” he asked.

  Glad for the blanket covering her legs, she shifted to pull it away, but he held it in place.

  “What does what mean?” She pretended she hadn’t spoken loud enough for him to hear. Big mistake. The man had radar hearing. “Okay, I was just agreeing with you. No big deal. I’m sure your prowess with women—which, I’d guess is quite extensive—is just fine.”

  “Fine?”

  “Adequate?”

  He sat back and stared at her. “Sweetheart, it might be amazing, spectacular, even, and I’m quoting here… ‘you rocked my world.’ But adequate?” He gave her a disapproving look. “I don’t think so.”

  A long silence stretched between them. She was not immune to the tension, though her brain cautioned that this was Zack. She barely knew him. Hell, she wasn’t even sure she liked him very much. But he was sex-on-a-stick and those stormy gray-green eyes combined with a body made for…yeah, well, there was that.

  “I think it’s time I turned in,” she managed in a whisper. Parts of her came alert at the suggestion. Her muse went crazy. Great idea! Should she be having tingles there?

  The quirk of his mouth caused those parts to shiver with anticipation. He leaned closer, sinking into the heat glittering in his eyes as he draped his arm over the back of the couch.

  “I’m open to research.”

  She’d used the words a dozen times in her writing and not before now had she ever experienced a real swoon. She clutched the afghan to her stomach, her mouth gone dry as he inched his way toward her. “Zack.” Her eyes dropped to that tempting mouth.

  “Kacey,” he responded just before his lips met—no, captured--hers.

  Her brain screamed no, but the rest of her body succumbed to the pleasure of his body pressing against hers. He moved away, long enough to stroke his knuckles down her cheek and then he was kissing her again, seductive and slow, sucking nearly every remaining brain cell, save one…

  The racket outside registered slowly in the sex-filled haze of her mind. It sounded as though something had fallen over on the patio. Perhaps it was only the wind. Before she could speculate, Zack had pulled out his gun, doused the light, and rolled her to the floor, covering her body with his.

  “Stay here,” his hot breath whispered near her ear.

  “Hell of a seductive move,” she muttered. She waited, her heart pounding, anticipating his large hands exploring every inch, his mouth following suit. Disappointed, she felt his weight lift from hers, a chill brushing over her body. She strained to hear any familiar sounds, afraid to move lest Zack mistake her for an intruder in the inky blackness. At the same time, she was afraid of…well, an intruder. What if something happened to Zack? How would she defend herself? “Zack?” she managed to squeak out in a hoarse whisper.

  No answer came and her fear escalated. She crawled onto the couch, carefully staying low, and peered out the picture window. She sucked in her breath at the sight of a silhouette creeping across the lawn. She took a deep, fortifying breath and realized she couldn’t just sit there. She had to do something. Kacey cleared her throat and called out again with a little more bravado. “Mr. Elliot?”

  Slithering off the couch, she crawled on hands and knees toward the patio door. A stiff wind caused the curtain to billow in the shadows. Sitting with her back to the wall, she saw the screen door had been left open--surely that was Zack’s doing. The sound of her rapid breathing matched the thrum of her heart, making her feel more alone. A thump came from the direction of the front door and another from just outside the patio door. She wanted to yell out to Zack, but her throat, constricted with fear, prevented it. Searching her mind for some kind of weapon, she remembered the long piece of twisted driftwood on the end table beside her. Pushing to her feet, she grabbed it and swung with all her might as a tall, dark figure entered through the patio door.

  “Ooofff. Dammit,” quickly followed by a gunshot, exploded in the dark. A moment later, the ornate glass and pewter chandelier usually over the dining room table, crashed to the floor.

  Shielding herself from the gunfire, Kacey recoiled and made ready to take another swing at the intruder. “I’ve got him, Zack. Careful, he’s got a gun!”

  “What the hell—Kacey, it’s me, Zack!”

  The petrified weapon was ripped from her grasp just before a light illuminated the devastation made to the fixture now on the floor. “I thought that was you coming up the front porch.” Her gaze flew to the midsection of his gray T-shirt, sliced open by the sharp points of the driftwood. “You’re hurt.” She reached for him and he batted her hand away.

  “You heard a noise out front?”

  “Well, yes, but after that gunshot I’m sure they’re long gone.” She fought to keep up with him as he strode toward the front door, unlatched the locks and yanked open
the door with no caution.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Kacey hurried to his side and peered around the door. Teetering on the porch rail sat a chubby raccoon, holding a partially eaten hot dog perched between his front paws.

  “I should shoot you just because,” Zack muttered raising the nozzle of his gun with his eye on the animal.

  “You wouldn’t!” Kacey blurted in horror. She heard the safety feature click on the firearm.

  “You owe me a new shirt.” Her hunky guest/would-be-protector slammed the door and locked it as he raised a brow to her. Like he didn’t have a zillion gray T-shirts. Still, the look in his eye reminded her of just where they’d been before their furry friend showed up. And it reminded her of exactly why he was there, and why they couldn’t engage in any hanky-panky.

  Even though her body wanted very much to hanky his panky. She sighed, shaking away those thoughts. “We better take a look at that wound.” She flipped on every light switch within reach as she made her way to the kitchen cabinet where she kept her medical supplies. “Surely I remembered to pack Bacitracin or some kind of salve we could use.” She pulled a container stuffed with a proverbial drugstore of items. “Maybe you should--” She glanced over her shoulder and her brain went dead, catching Zack in the process of peeling his shirt over his head. She stared blatantly at his washboard abs, reminding herself not to drool. She turned away, admonishing her weak hormones, and reminding herself that sex—the “just for the fun of it” kind—was highly overrated, unfulfilling, and, in the long run, just not wise.

  Especially when he’s supposed to be protecting you.

  You’re such a stick-in-the-mud, her mused chided.

  “Don’t think about sticks,” she argued quietly with her muse.

  Chapter Five

  Zack checked the safety on his gun and placed it atop the refrigerator, out of harm’s way. He winced as the gesture caused the fresh slice across his flesh to stretch. It wasn’t bad. He’d suffered worse. But he secretly liked the idea that Kacey saw herself the nurse to care for him. He had to give her credit--the woman was not afraid of defending herself if necessary.