"How do you know I didn't want you here on the floor?" he growled, tickling the side of her neck with his tongue.

"The bed, remember? You have one, right?"

"Too far away," he murmured.

And as his body covered hers, she could only agree that the bed was much too far away.

In the early minutes of dawn, Zach pulled Katherine's body close against him as they slept together in the bed he'd finally gotten her into just after midnight. The sheets and blankets were a tangled mess around them, but Zach had never slept better, never felt so warm, so complete, so satisfied. Even as he breathed, he could smell Katherine, lilacs, lavender, gardenias. She smelled like a garden. She smelled like a woman-his woman.

He rested his head on her hair, feeling the silky strands beneath his rough chin. He splayed his fingers across her bare stomach and felt her muscles clench even as she slept. He shouldn't want her again. They'd already made love three times. It should have been enough, but it wasn't. And the thought terrified him. He'd always been able to walk away from a woman, always been able to say good-bye. Since Crystal, he'd been able to divorce s.e.x from every other emotion, especially love. Now the line seemed blurry, especially with this warm, soft, fragrant woman's a.s.s pressed right up against his...

He felt an immediate response, a hardening, a need that he couldn't hide. Getting naked with Katherine Whitfield took away all his defenses. If she woke up now, if she felt how much he wanted her, he'd never be able to convince her to go home. And maybe he didn't want to.

Maybe he wanted her to stay here, in his arms, in his bed, in his life. Maybe he wanted to let down his guard. It was exhausting trying to keep everyone out of his heart. Maybe he could trust her. Maybe he could love her.

The thought shocked him to the core. He hadn't thought about loving anyone in a very long time. And now it had to come to mind with absolutely the wrong woman-a city girl h.e.l.l-bent on changing her history as well as her future.

Although he had to admit she wasn't what he'd first thought. She was much more complicated. Cool and sophisticated at times, then a mess of soppy emotions and vulnerable smiles. She'd grown up in the lap of luxury, yet seemed as unloved as a lost kitten.

And he wanted her. He wanted her so bad he ached. It reminded him of the times he'd gone to bed hungry with a hole in his stomach that tortured him through the long, lonely hours of the night. It had been a very long time since he'd felt so hungry, so needy. And it scared the s.h.i.t out of him.

He took several deep, calming breaths and tried to relax. He could control his feelings, his needs. He could take what he wanted and let the rest go.

"Zach," Katherine murmured. "Are you awake?" He saw a smile cross her lips, even though her eyes were still closed. "I can feel you."

"And I can feel you."

She rolled over to face him, opening her sweet blue eyes, dusty with sleep and desire. "Do you always wake up this way? Or is it me?"

"What do you think?"

"I think," she said, pausing to kiss him on the lips, "that we should do something about your little problem."

He smiled against her mouth. "It's not so little, sweetheart."

She slipped her hand between them and stroked. "You're right. I underestimated you."

"A big mistake."

Katherine dropped kisses all over his chest, her tongue tracing circles around his nipples as she pressed him against the mattress. He ran his hands up and down her bare back, the curve of her b.u.t.tocks, impatient to sink into all that warm softness. He could fill this one need right now. And maybe it would be enough-at least for a little while.

He urged her on top of him, and she willingly complied, but instead of spreading her legs for him, she moved lower down his body. He tensed as she cupped him, as he felt her warm breath, her mouth, her tongue. She was somewhat awkward in her movements but incredibly willing, incredibly generous. His body turned rigid as she brought him to a peak, a peak that he didn't want to reach without her.

"Kat," he murmured. "No."

She looked up at him in surprise, her eyes antic.i.p.ating rejection.

"I don't want to be alone," he confessed, not having any idea where the words had come from. He'd never meant to say them. Never.

"You don't have to be alone," she promised as she slid back up his body, straddled his legs, and pulled him into her warmth.

He wrapped his arms around her and moved deeper and deeper within her, seeking a satisfaction, a filling, a completeness that only she could give him. He heard her cry out, "Zach," then whisper, "I love you," as a thousand tiny lights exploded in his brain.

Katherine lay sprawled on top of him for long, breathless minutes, then rolled off of him onto her back. He turned on his side, throwing his arm once more across her waist. He wanted to rea.s.sure her, but he couldn't find the words, couldn't relay the "I love you" back at her, not yet, not now, not when he wasn't even sure her words had truly come from her heart.

Maybe she'd just thrown them out in the heat of the moment. She was affectionate. She liked to touch, liked to show she cared. Maybe "I love you" felt as right to her as good morning, how are you, happy birthday. But it meant more than that to him. He'd only said "I love you" once to Crystal, the night before their wedding. And she'd said it back to him, probably knowing even then she wasn't going to show up.

His mind continued to grapple with the situation. Finally he knew what he wanted to say. Only then he realized that Katherine was asleep, her breathing deep and heavy.

"Kat?"

She didn't respond.

He smiled in disgust. His timing, as always, was impeccable. Oh, well, he'd tell her later. They had time.

Zach didn't know when he fell asleep, but the next sound he heard was the ringing of the phone. He grabbed for it, knocking it onto the floor. He swore as he bent over the bed, found the receiver, and grumbled, "h.e.l.lo."

"Zachary."

Zach woke up abruptly. Only one man called him that. "What do you want?"

"You shouldn't have slept with her," Jackson said.

Zach immediately looked over to the other side of the bed, suddenly realizing that Katherine was no longer tangled in his sheets. His gaze crossed to the digital clock. Seven-thirty. Jesus! He should have been down at the training track an hour ago.

"Zach?" Jackson's angry voice buzzed in his ear like an annoying bee. "Are you there?"

"I'm here."

"I saw her go to your house last night. Is she still there?"

"Are you spying on me?"

"I was coming over to tell you something, but I didn't want to interrupt."

"Tell me what?"

"She's not who you think she is."

"She's not my sister. Nothing you can say would convince me of that. I want you to end this little game right now. Do you understand? You are not to mess with Katherine. Leave her alone or else."

"Are you threatening me?"

The hard edge in Jackson's voice gave Zach a momentary pause, reminding him of all the times he'd looked the other way. He wouldn't do that this time, not with Katherine's welfare at stake. "I'll do whatever it takes to stop you."

"Well, that's a touching show of family loyalty, son, but you're wasting your breath. I'm afraid it's no longer my move."

"What does that mean?"

"You better ask Mrs. Stanton."

"Mrs. Stanton? What does she have to do with this?"

"I hope you haven't gotten too cozy and secure thinking you're going to inherit the old homestead, son. Because it isn't going to happen."

"Why wouldn't it?" Zach felt the anger turn to fear as Jackson toyed with his lifelong dream.

"I told you, Zachary. You'll have to ask Mrs. Stanton. You know, we didn't have to play it this way. I didn't like what you did the other night. You could have helped me. I could have helped you. It's a shame, really. But you had to be stubborn."

"What have you done?"

"I've simply enlightened Mrs. Stanton. Everyone has a secret, you know. And finding it is the key to success, my boy. You'd do well to remember that."

Zach hung up the phone on his father's taunting voice, refusing to listen to any more vague innuendos. But he was truly shaken. What did Jackson have up his sleeve? d.a.m.n him.

Zach looked over at the empty side of his bed and dammed Katherine as well. He wished he could talk to her right now. He wished he could share his fears with her, but she was gone. Story of his life.

Zach got up from bed, slipped on his jeans, then walked into the living room. For a brief second he let himself think that Katherine was in the kitchen or on the porch, but one look out his living room window confirmed the fact that she had indeed left.

The question was why? Why leave without a word of good-bye?

Because he hadn't said "I love you." He knew it had to be that. She'd wanted something he couldn't give.

The phone rang again and Zach rushed to the kitchen. He grabbed the phone hanging on the wall by the refrigerator. "Kat?"

"It's Sam. I guess I don't have to ask why you're an hour late to work."

Zach let out a shaky breath. "I'll be down in a few minutes."

"All right. By the way, it's probably already all over town that J.T. had a heart attack yesterday. He's over at MemorialHospital. Mrs. Stanton just left to go see him."

Zach leaned against the wall. "J.T. had a heart attack?"

"That's right."

"Is it serious?"

"Don't know. Hope not. I spoke to Harry, and it's strange, but he seemed really upset. Said he wouldn't be down to the barn today at all. Oh, and he said to tell you to stop by after lunch. He has something he wants to talk to you about."

"Fine. I'll be down there in a few minutes."

Zach hung up the phone and hurried into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and jumped in before the water began to heat up. The stinging cold water on his head and shoulders helped to wake him up. And he needed to wake up. He needed to figure out why Katherine had stolen out like a thief in the night, why his father had called to taunt him, and why Harry was upset about J.T. having a heart attack when, as far as Zach knew, the two men barely liked each other.

His mind kept rearranging the facts while he finished dressing. The pieces of the puzzle were all there, only they didn't fit together. He was struck by the disturbing feeling that all h.e.l.l was breaking loose in Paradise, and Katherine was somehow in the middle of it.

Chapter 19.

Mary Jo paced around the small hospital waiting room, feeling like a caged animal. She wanted to leave, but she couldn't. She wasn't bound by bars or locks but by personal responsibility and loyalty to the man she'd married twenty-seven years ago.

John Thomas had had a heart attack. The doctors had warned her that sometimes second heart attacks could follow the first and that she needed to be prepared.

Prepared? How could she be prepared? J.T. was forty-nine years old. He wasn't prepared to die, and she wasn't prepared to watch him do so. As much hate as there was between them, he was still her husband. Her husband!

Mary Jo put a hand to her mouth, feeling like she was going to vomit. She'd once loved this man more than life itself. And now, after years of standing by his side through all the shameful affairs and gossip, she wasn't prepared to just watch him die.

There was a limit to a woman's strength, and as Mary Jo sat down on the beige couch in the waitin room, she knew she'd reached her limit.

People in Paradise thought she was strong, a quiet warrior who would weather every storm. She wasn't strong. She was weak, and more than anything she wanted a man's shoulder to rest her head on, a man's arms to lift her up, a man's confidence to rea.s.sure her that everything would be all right. That this time the worst would not happen.

But the only man she'd ever had in her life was J.T., and he'd never been good at lending comfort and support. In fact, he'd been horrible. And she couldn't keep on pretending otherwise.

He'd hurt her over the years. Taken her love and stomped on it. He'd done everything he could to make her hate him. And yet-G.o.d! She didn't want him to die.

She didn't want to let go of him, even though her conscience, her soul, told her to do exactly that. She couldn't still love him, not after everything he'd done. To love him would be absolute proof that she was certifiably crazy.

But as she'd waited through the long hours of the night, she'd thought about other times, their honeymoon in Hawaii, their first years together, the dreams they'd shared, the nights they'd talk for hours about nothing really, just wanting to be together, to hear the sound of each other's voice.

It had all gone wrong when they'd begun to focus on having a baby, when they'd started to doubt and resent and blame each other for the inability to conceive. Everything seemed to go downhill from those years of test tubes and s.e.x on schedule.

It was a lifetime ago that they'd been happy, but she still remembered and wished she didn't.

"Mary Jo, there you are." Leeanne Callaway hurried through the doorway, her navy blue spike heels clattering against the floor. Leeanne wore a slinky blue knit dress with a matching scarf, making Mary Jo feel even more tired, more lonely, more out of whack.

"Why didn't you call me yesterday?" Leeanne wanted to know.

Mary Jo shrugged. "I kept thinking we'd go home any minute and it would be a false alarm." Leeanne's gaze narrowed on Mary Jo's face, allowing her no opportunity to lie. "Is it bad?"

"I think this one was a warning."

"I hope J.T. takes it seriously. What on earth happened?"

"We had a fight, a huge, ugly fight. The next thing I knew, he was holding his chest and this terrified look came into his eyes, like he was about to die. I've never seen anything so horrible."

Leeanne sat down on the couch next to her. "He'll be all right, Mary Jo. J.T.'s not that old. The doctors will help him."

"If he dies, it will be my fault."

"Don't be ridiculous. If he dies of a heart attack, it's because he has been eating cheeseburgers by the dozen and drinking beer by the keg. You didn't fill his heart with cholesterol. You didn't block his arteries."

Mary Jo wished she could agree with Leeanne, but J.T.'s body hadn't done him in. No, he'd been stricken by her words, by her accusations, and by the photograph of Margaret, an image that still burned in her brain.