Judith McNaught (27 page)

her mind. Looking nice for an escaped convict was not only completely unnecessary but probably a major mistake, considering that kiss in the snow she'd participated in at dawn this morning.

That kiss…

It seemed like weeks, not merely hours since he'd kissed her, and now that she was rested and alert, Julie felt reasonably sure his only interest in her was merely to ensure his safety. Not sexual.

Definitely not sexual.

Please, God. Not sexual.

She glanced at the mirrors on the bathroom walls and felt reassured. She'd always been too busy and preoccupied to worry much about her appearance.

When she had taken time to study it, she always felt she had a rather odd face filled with startling features that were too prominent, like her eyes and cheekbones and that absurd cleft in her chin that had deepened to real visibility when she was thirteen.

Now, however, she was thrilled with her looks. In jeans and an oversized sweater, with her hair like this

and no makeup on, she wouldn't appeal sexually to any man, particularly one who'd been to bed with hundreds of gorgeous, glamorous, famous women.

His interest in her would definitely not be sexual, Julie

decided with absolute confidence.

Drawing in a long, steadying breath, she reached for the door handle and turned it, reluctant but ready to face her captor—and hopefully a delicious meal. The bedroom door wasn't locked. She distinctly remembered locking that door, on principle, when she went to bed.

Silently, she opened the door and stepped into the main room of the house. For a split second, the inviting beauty of the scene made her feel completely disoriented. A fire was roaring in the fireplace, the

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lights on the beams high above were dimmed, and candles were lit on the coffee table, flickering on the crystal wine glasses he'd set out beside linen place mats. It might have been the wine glasses and candles

that suddenly made Julie feel as if she was walking into a seduction scene, or perhaps it was the dimmed lights or the soft music playing on the stereo. Trying to inject a brisk, businesslike tone into her voice, she headed toward Zachary Benedict, who was standing in the kitchen, his back to her, taking something out of the broiler. "Are we expecting company?"

He turned and looked at her, an inexplicable, lazy smile sweeping over his face as he surveyed her from

head to foot. Julie had the staggering, and impossible, impression that he actually liked what he saw, an

impression that was reinforced by the way he lifted his wine glass to her in the gesture of a toast and said,

"Somehow, you look adorable in that oversize sweater."

Belatedly realizing that after five years in prison, any woman would probably appeal to him, Julie took a cautious step backward. "The last thing I want to do is look nice for you. In fact, I'd rather wear my own clothes, even if they're not fresh," she said, turning on her heel.

"Julie!" he snapped, all goodwill gone from his voice.

She lurched around, amazed and alarmed by the dangerous swiftness of his mood swings. She took another cautious step backward as he stalked toward her, a wine glass in each hand. "Have something to drink," he ordered, thrusting a long-stemmed glass toward her. "Drink it, damn it!" He made a visible effort to soften his tone. "It'll help you relax."

"Why should I relax?" she countered obstinately.

Despite the stubborn lift of her chin and her rebellious tone, there was a tiny quaver of fear in her voice,

and when Zack heard it, his annoyance with her evaporated. She'd shown so much courage, such indefatigable spirit during the last twenty-four hours; she'd fought him so relentlessly that he'd actually believed she wasn't very frightened most of the time.

Now, however, as he looked at her upturned face, he saw that the ordeal he'd put her through had left faint blue smudges beneath her glorious eyes, and her

smooth skin was decidedly pale. She was amazing, he thought—courageous, kind, and plucky as hell.

Perhaps if he didn't like her—genuinely like her—it wouldn't have mattered that she was watching him as

if he were a dangerous animal. Wisely suppressing the urge to put his hand against her cheek and try to reassure her, which would undoubtedly panic her, or to offer an apology for kidnapping her, which she'd definitely find hypocritical, he did something he'd promised himself he'd never bother to do again: He tried

to convince her of his innocence. "A moment ago, I asked you to relax, and—" he began, but she interrupted him.

"You ordered me to relax, you didn't ask."

Her prim reprimand brought a reluctant smile to his lips. "Now I am asking."

Thrown completely off balance by what sounded like gentleness in his voice, Julie took a sip of her wine,

stalling for time, steadying her confused senses, while he stood only two feet away, towering over her, his

broad shoulders blocking out her view of anything but him. It hit her suddenly that he'd evidently showered, shaved, and changed clothes while she slept … and that, in a pair of charcoal trousers and a black sweater, Zachary Benedict was far more handsome than he'd ever looked on screen. He lifted his

hand and braced it against the wall beside her shoulder, and when he spoke again, his deep voice had

that same strange, compellingly gentle quality. "On the way here, you asked me if I was innocent of the crime I was sent to prison for, and I gave you a flippant answer the first time and a grudging answer the

next. Now I'm going to tell you the truth simply and voluntarily
…
"

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Julie tore her gaze from his and stared into the ruby wine in her glass, suddenly afraid that in her state of weak weariness, she might actually believe the lie she sensed he was about to tell her.

"Look at me, Julie."

With a mixture of dread and helpless anticipation, she lifted her eyes and met his steady amber gaze.

"I didn't kill or plot to kill my wife or anyone else. I was sent to prison for a crime I didn't commit. I'd like you to at least believe there's a
possibility
I'm telling you the truth."

Noncommittally, she stared into his eyes, but in her mind she suddenly saw the scene at the rickety bridge: Instead of insisting she drive across the bridge with him, he had let her get out of the car and then

he had given her blankets to keep warm in case the bridge collapsed, in case he drowned when the car plunged into that deep, icy creek. She remembered the harsh desperation in his voice when he kissed her in the snow, pleading with her to go along with the ploy, so the truck driver wouldn't be hurt. He'd had a gun in his pocket, but he'd not attempted to use it.

And then she remembered his kiss—that urgent, hard

kiss that had gentled suddenly and then become soft and insistent and sensual. Since dawn that morning, she'd been forcibly trying to forget the memory of that kiss, but now it came back—vibrant and alive and

dangerously exciting. Those recollections combined seductively with the rich timbre of his deep voice as he added, "This is the first normal night I've had in over five years. If the authorities are close behind on my trail, it will be my last one. I'd like to enjoy it if you'll cooperate."

Julie was suddenly inclined to cooperate: For one thing, despite her nap, she was mentally exhausted and

not up to sparring with him; she was also starving and heartily sick of being afraid. But the memory of that

kiss had nothing to do with her capitulation. Nothing whatsoever! she told herself. Nor did it have anything to do with the sudden, impossible conviction she had that he
was
telling her the truth!

"I'm innocent of that crime," he repeated more forcefully, his gaze never leaving hers.

The words hit her with a jolt, yet still she resisted, trying not to let her foolish emotions overrule her intellect.

"If you can't actually believe that," he said with a harsh sigh, "could you at least pretend you believe it and cooperate with me tonight?"

Stifling the urge to nod, Julie said cautiously, "What sort of 'cooperation' do you have in mind?"

"Conversation," he said. "Lighthearted conversation with an intelligent woman is a forgotten pleasure to me. So is decent food, a fireplace, moonlight in the windows, good music, doors instead of bars, and the sight of a pretty woman." A definite note of cajolery lightened his voice as he added, "I'll do all the cooking if you'll agree to a truce." Julie hesitated, stunned by his reference to her as a pretty woman, then

she decided he'd meant nothing by it except a little empty flattery. A night without tension and fear was being offered to her and her battered nerves cried out for relief. What harm was there in what he asked, particularly if he were truly innocent. "You'll do all the cooking?" she bargained.

He nodded, a lazy grin sweeping over his rugged face as he realized she was about to agree, and the unexpected glamour of that white smile did treacherous things to her heart rate. "Okay," she agreed,

smiling a little despite her desire to remain at least partially aloof, "but only if you'll do the cleaning up as

well as the cooking."

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He chuckled at that. "You drive a hard bargain, but I accept. Sit down while I finish dinner."

Julie obeyed and sat down on one of the stools at the counter that divided the kitchen from the living room.

"Tell me about yourself," he said, taking a baked potato out of the oven.

She took another swallow of the wine for courage.

"What do you want to know?"

"General things, for a start," Zack said casually.

"You said you aren't married. Are you divorced?"

She shook her head. "I've never been married."

"Engaged?"

"Greg and I are talking about it."

"What is there to discuss?"

Julie choked on her wine. Stifling an embarrassed laugh, she said, "I don't actually think that question falls in the category of general information."

"Probably not," he agreed with a grin. "So, what's holding up the engagement?"

To her disgust, Julie felt herself blush beneath his amused gaze, but she answered with admirable calm.

"We want to be certain we're completely compatible

—that our goals and philosophies match."

"Sounds like to me you're stalling. Do you live with this Greg?"

"Absolutely not," Julie said in a censorious voice, and he lifted his brows as if he found her quaintly amusing.

"Any roommates?"

"I live alone."

"No husband and no roommates," he said, as he poured more wine in her glass. "So no one is looking for you now, wondering where you are?"

"I'm sure a lot of people are."

"Who, for instance?"

"My parents, for a start. By now they're undoubtedly frantic and calling people to see if anyone's heard from me. The first person they'll call is my brother, Ted. Carl will be looking for me, too. It's his car I'm driving, and by now my brothers are organizing a manhunt, believe me."

"Is Ted the brother who's a builder?"

"No," Julie stated with amused satisfaction. "He's the brother who's a Keaton sheriff."

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His reaction was gratifyingly sharp. "He's a sheriff!"

As if to wash away the unpleasant information, he took a long swallow of his wine and said with heavy irony, "And I suppose your father is a judge?"

"No. He's a minister."

"My God!"

"You got it. That's his employer. God."

"Of all the women in Texas," he said with a grim shake of his head, "I managed to kidnap the sister of a

sheriff and the daughter of a minister. The media will have a field day when they get ahold of who you are."

The brief feeling of power Julie felt at seeing him alarmed was even headier than the wine she was drinking. Nodding happily, she promised, "Loyal lawmen everywhere will be hunting you down with dogs

and guns, and God-fearing Americans will be praying they find you right away."

Turning slightly aside, he poured the last of the bottle of wine into his glass and tossed it down.

"Great."

The mood of conviviality had been such a relief that Julie soon regretted its loss, and she searched for something to say that might restore it. "What are we having for dinner?" she said finally.

The question shook him from his reverie, and he turned to the stove. "Something simple," he said,

"I'm

not much of a cook." With his body blocking her view of the preparations, she had little to occupy her, and so Julie idly watched the way his sweater stretched across his wide shoulders. He was amazingly

muscular, as if he'd been working out in the prison gym. Prison. She'd read somewhere that many people

who are sent to prison are actually innocent, and she found herself suddenly clinging to the comforting hope that Zachary Benedict might actually have been one of them. Without turning, he said, "Sit down on

the sofa. I'll bring the food over there."

Julie nodded and got off the stool, noting that the second glass of wine was definitely affecting her, making her feel a little too relaxed. With Zack following her, carrying plates, she went over to the sofa

and sat down at one of the linen place mats he'd laid on the coffee table in front of the fire. He put down two plates, one of which contained a juicy steak and baked potato.

In front of her, he plopped down a plate on which he had upended a can of tuna fish. That was all. No vegetable, no garnish, no nothing.

After having her mouth water for so long in anticipation of a thick, juicy sizzling steak, Julie's reaction to

that cold, round mound of unadorned, unappetizing tuna fish was swift and unguarded. Her irate gaze snapped to his face, her mouth open in angry dismay.

"Isn't that what you wanted?" he asked innocently.

"Or would you prefer a nice steak like the one I left in

the kitchen?"

There was something about the boyish prank, something about his engaging grin and smiling eyes that

caused an unexpected, uncontrollable, and, under the circumstances, bizarre reaction from Julie: She started to giggle. And then she started to laugh. Her shoulders were still shaking when he walked back to the sofa carrying another plate with a steak on it and put it in front of her.