the middle of a fight infuriated Zelda almost more than any words he could have spoken. He hadn’t taken half a dozen steps when she instinctively flew after him, leaping on him from behind. Her arms looped around his neck and her knees dug into his sides as if she’d jumped astride a runaway horse.
“What the hell…?” he muttered just as they fell to the ground in a tangle. The air whooshed out of him as he landed with an ungraceful thud. Zelda’s own fall was cushioned, but she was beyond caring if she broke every bone in both their bodies.
“Damn you, Taylor Matthews, don’t you dare walk away from me like that again,” she shouted, pummeling his back with her fists.
He was absolutely still beneath the onslaught. In fact, he took it for a full minute, allowing her to vent her fury. Then, before she could catch her breath, he flipped her over as if she were no more trouble than a gnat and pinned her to the ground. She felt an almost forgotten surge of excitement race through her as she saw the angry sparks in his eyes. This was the man she’d adored, the man filled with passion, the man who tilted at windmills, the man who’d lavished more tenderness on her than both her parents combined.
“Come on, Taylor, fight with me,” she taunted. “Used to be we argued half the night away, then spent the rest of it making up.”
She could feel the heat rising in his body, even as his stormy expression gave way to something far more dangerous. Suddenly, just as she realized exactly what she’d set loose, his fingers were cupping her head and his mouth was on hers—hot, urgent, demanding. Years of pent-up hunger were in the kiss that shocked then thrilled with its deepening intensity. There was no tenderness on his part, no hint of gentle longing, just a raw, primitive need. Deep inside Zelda, a matching need exploded, even as it set off warning bells that clanged so loudly only an idiot would have ignored them.
“Taylor,” she murmured, too softly, too ineffectively. Her body, crushed beneath his, seemed to have a will of its own. Even as her mind screamed that she needed to get away, her hips arched to fit more intimately with his, seeking the source of the heat that had raged between them as quickly as a brushfire.
It had always been this way with them. Always.
And it never solved anything,
a voice inside her warned.
This time Zelda listened. She shoved hard against Taylor’s chest, tumbling him off her. He looked at her and groaned, his expression torn between guilt and a desire he couldn’t do a thing to hide.
“I will not allow this to happen,” he muttered under his breath, as if a sheer act of will was all that was required to shatter an unbreakable bond.
She glared at him. “What, Taylor? What is it you won’t allow?”
“This,” he said, waving his hand to encompass the two of them, the ground, their rumpled clothes.
“You were the one who kissed me,” she reminded him.
“I’m not denying that,” he snapped, scrambling back to his feet and brushing the grass off his suit. “It was a foolish mistake, okay? It won’t happen again.”
Zelda watched him flee, then murmured with an odd sense of exhilaration, “Bet it will.”
* * *
“Taylor, what’s this I hear about Zelda Lane being back?” Beau Matthews asked that night over dinner.
Taylor almost choked on a mouthful of black-eyed peas. Given the events of that very afternoon, he viewed Zelda as an even more dangerous topic than usual. He glanced toward his mother, appealing to her to switch the direction of the conversation. Unfortunately she didn’t take the hint.
“I saw her myself,” Geraldine Matthews said. “She was sitting in the diner before lunchtime, talking to Sarah Lynn. She looked even lovelier than I recalled.”
“There is nothing lovely about that girl,” Beau said. “She’s trouble. Always has been. That mother of hers was a drunk. If you ask me, Zelda’s bound to turn out just like her.”
The
“What the hell…?” he muttered just as they fell to the ground in a tangle. The air whooshed out of him as he landed with an ungraceful thud. Zelda’s own fall was cushioned, but she was beyond caring if she broke every bone in both their bodies.
“Damn you, Taylor Matthews, don’t you dare walk away from me like that again,” she shouted, pummeling his back with her fists.
He was absolutely still beneath the onslaught. In fact, he took it for a full minute, allowing her to vent her fury. Then, before she could catch her breath, he flipped her over as if she were no more trouble than a gnat and pinned her to the ground. She felt an almost forgotten surge of excitement race through her as she saw the angry sparks in his eyes. This was the man she’d adored, the man filled with passion, the man who tilted at windmills, the man who’d lavished more tenderness on her than both her parents combined.
“Come on, Taylor, fight with me,” she taunted. “Used to be we argued half the night away, then spent the rest of it making up.”
She could feel the heat rising in his body, even as his stormy expression gave way to something far more dangerous. Suddenly, just as she realized exactly what she’d set loose, his fingers were cupping her head and his mouth was on hers—hot, urgent, demanding. Years of pent-up hunger were in the kiss that shocked then thrilled with its deepening intensity. There was no tenderness on his part, no hint of gentle longing, just a raw, primitive need. Deep inside Zelda, a matching need exploded, even as it set off warning bells that clanged so loudly only an idiot would have ignored them.
“Taylor,” she murmured, too softly, too ineffectively. Her body, crushed beneath his, seemed to have a will of its own. Even as her mind screamed that she needed to get away, her hips arched to fit more intimately with his, seeking the source of the heat that had raged between them as quickly as a brushfire.
It had always been this way with them. Always.
And it never solved anything,
a voice inside her warned.
This time Zelda listened. She shoved hard against Taylor’s chest, tumbling him off her. He looked at her and groaned, his expression torn between guilt and a desire he couldn’t do a thing to hide.
“I will not allow this to happen,” he muttered under his breath, as if a sheer act of will was all that was required to shatter an unbreakable bond.
She glared at him. “What, Taylor? What is it you won’t allow?”
“This,” he said, waving his hand to encompass the two of them, the ground, their rumpled clothes.
“You were the one who kissed me,” she reminded him.
“I’m not denying that,” he snapped, scrambling back to his feet and brushing the grass off his suit. “It was a foolish mistake, okay? It won’t happen again.”
Zelda watched him flee, then murmured with an odd sense of exhilaration, “Bet it will.”
* * *
“Taylor, what’s this I hear about Zelda Lane being back?” Beau Matthews asked that night over dinner.
Taylor almost choked on a mouthful of black-eyed peas. Given the events of that very afternoon, he viewed Zelda as an even more dangerous topic than usual. He glanced toward his mother, appealing to her to switch the direction of the conversation. Unfortunately she didn’t take the hint.
“I saw her myself,” Geraldine Matthews said. “She was sitting in the diner before lunchtime, talking to Sarah Lynn. She looked even lovelier than I recalled.”
“There is nothing lovely about that girl,” Beau said. “She’s trouble. Always has been. That mother of hers was a drunk. If you ask me, Zelda’s bound to turn out just like her.”
The
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