THE EARLY-MORNING sunlight was strong, with the sort of clarity found only in the high country. The softening mist had burned off, leaving the Santa Catalinas stark and brutally beautiful against the cerulean sky.
Kira breathed deeply, letting the pinon-scented breeze intoxicate her with its tangy fragrance. That same breeze lifted her hair away from her face in a gentle caress and tugged like a playful child at her yellow robe. Her hands tightened on the redwood railing of the balcony. No wonder Zack had built his lodge on the side of this mountain. The simplicity and power of the man were echoed in these surroundings.
She crossed her arms over her chest as a little shiver ran through her. She had been determined not to let Zack Damon intimidate her, but, apparently, in order to block out uncertainty it was necessary not to think at all. Which was going to be a near impossible task when even the blasted mountains reminded her of him.
She had been unable to sleep for a long time after she'd gone to bed. Her mind had been a turmoil of jumbled thoughts, impressions, and apprehensions. Why was she so upset? It wasn't like her to brood about things she couldn't help. There was a price to be paid and she would pay it. Zack Damon was both attractive physically and fascinating mentally. And, she went on thinking, there had to be scores of women who would do virtually anything to wind up in bed with him. It wasn't as if Kira had any hang-ups about her virginity, for heaven's sake. Stefan was the conservative one, not she. There just hadn't been a man who appealed to her in that way before.
And there was certainly no doubt that Zack did appeal to her sensually, she thought, amused that she'd used such a tepid word as “appeal” to describe how he made her feel. Her reaction to him had been near inflammatory in the brief time they'd been together. It wouldn't be any hardship giving him what he'd asked, if she could only get rid of this uncharacteristic shyness.
“Do you like my mountains?” Zack asked from behind her.
She whirled to face him. He leaned against the jamb of the sliding glass doors, watching her. He was dressed in jeans and a cream-colored sweatshirt, but the casual garb did nothing to diminish his aura of controlled power. If anything, it augmented it. Now he blended into his surroundings, rather than standing deliberately apart, and she again had the feeling he was drawing power from everything around him.
“I didn't mean to startle you. I brought your breakfast tray. I knocked, but you evidently didn't hear me.”
“No.” She felt suddenly tongue-tied as she gazed up at him. “I thought Juana was going to bring my tray. Do you usually provide personal service to your houseguests?”
“I wanted to see you,” he said simply. “I couldn't sleep for thinking about you last night.”
Her eyes widened. “Why?”
“You persist in questioning the obvious.” He smiled, his eyes bright with amusement. “If I tell you, do you promise to blush again?”
“How unkind. I know it's provincial, but I can't help blushing. I assure you I'm working on eliminating it.”
“Don't. I like your blushes. Every time I see the heat beneath your skin I want to reach out and touch you, feel the heat, the softness, the silk.”
She tried, but couldn't manage, to look away from him. That maddening color rose to her cheeks. “Your words are very pretty, but I'd prefer to appear sophisticated rather than naive.” Her lips were trembling as she smiled at him. “I'm not usually like this, you know. For some reason, you make me a bit nervous.”
His smile faded. “I don't want that. I want you to feel entirely comfortable with me.”
How could she when the mere sight of him caused her breath to catch in her throat and her legs to turn boneless? She glanced away. “I will. It will just take time. I've never met anyone like you before. I'm more accustomed to men who are social butterfly types than to men who are so serious about everything.”
He frowned. “You think I lack a sense of humor?”
“No, you're just more… intense.”
“Yes, I am intense. I don't believe you should do anything unless you're prepared to throw everything you have into it. But then, you should understand. You're an exceptionally intense person yourself.”
Her gaze flew back to him. “Who me? You have the wrong lady. I'm known as the original scatterbrained madcap. Ask anyone.”
“I don't need to ask anyone. I prefer to form my own judgments.” His eyes narrowed on her face. “And I think you're probably one of the most intense people I've ever met. I wonder why you're so determined to hide that intensity?”
“I'm not hiding anything.” She turned her back on him and stared at the mountains. “You asked me if I like your mountains. Do you own them?”
He walked to her side. “I own them. I don't have a deed to them, but they're still mine.”
“What?” she asked, puzzled.
“My grandfather used to say that if you love something enough, you become one with it. One entity flows into the other to merge and then to seal.” His gaze was fixed on the mountains with possessiveness as well as affection. “Yes, in spirit these mountains belong to me.”
“That's rather an abstract philosophy for a tough businessman to have adopted. I would think your instincts would lead you to pin down anything you wanted, to buy it outright and to have the deed in your pocket.”
“No one has just one face, particularly not me. There are times when I want to reach out and grab.” His gaze was still fastened on the mountain peaks. “And there are other times when I think that the only way to keep what's mine is to let it go.” He turned to face her, his gaze meeting her own with the same intensity with which he had regarded the mountains. “That's what many Indian tribes believed, you know. They would strive very hard to acquire rich trappings, slaves, and horses, only to give them away to show how little material wealth actually meant to them. It wasn't the acquisition but the release that was important.” His tone was halting, as if he were trying to express something beyond the surface meaning of the words. “Do you understand what I'm saying to you?”
She shook her head. “I don't think so. It's clear you wouldn't be in the position you're in now if you gave everything away, so you must subscribe to a more materialistic philosophy than your grandfather's.”
He was silent for a moment and then he smiled cynically. “You're right, of course. I'm probably far more philistine than shaman. I suppose I wanted to justify myself in your eyes. I don't know why. I've never been tempted to do that before.” He turned away abruptly. “Come along inside and have your breakfast. The plane will be ready in two hours.”
She was troubled as she trailed him into the room, pausing beside the bed on which he had deposited the wicker breakfast tray. She had the vague impression that she had hurt him in some way, and it was causing an odd aching deep inside her. “I may not understand you, but I'm not stupid enough to think I have any right to judge an unknown quantity,” she said gently. “Marna trusts you, so I'm sure you can't be as ruthless as you've been portrayed.”
“But I am ruthless,” he said softly. “It's the other side of the coin. Not with you, though, Kira. You won't ever have to worry about seeing the ruthlessness in me.”
His expression was enigmatic, yet it once again generated within her the warm languid heat she had known last night. She drew a deep, shaky breath and tried to smile. “I'll be very grateful for that. I don't think I'm equipped to handle a man like you, Zack.”
There was a sudden glint of mischief in his eyes. “It's a skill I expect to enjoy teaching you. It will be an exquisite pleasure being handled by you.” He held out his hand. “Starting now. Come here, Kira.”
She hesitated. “You said we had to leave soon,” she murmured.
“Not that soon.” He smiled with a warmth that bemused her. Such a lovely smile, full of gentleness and understanding and… “Come to me.”
Her gaze clung to his as she moved slowly toward him. There was something there, waiting just beyond his glowing intensity. She came to a halt before him and looked up at him searchingly. It was still there, still waiting. She had always hated waiting, she thought hazily, and this waiting was centuries old and curiously timeless.
His hand was waiting for her, too, outstretched in silent invitation. She slipped her small hand into his large one with the supreme naturalness of a trusting child and suddenly experienced a tingling shock of sensation that was immediately drowned in a sparkling sense of perfect
“Hello,” he said thickly. “Welcome home, love.”
Home. Yes, that's what was waiting for her. Why hadn't she realized it? What had been before, was happening again. A smile suddenly lit her face with radiance. “Oh, I'm so happy. I do love-” She broke off. There was something wrong. She frowned, trying to pierce the mists obscuring the shining truth she'd known just a minute before. “Zack?”
