She moved behind him, put her hands on his shoulders and began to knead away the tension. "I think it's time you got some rest," she said.
He closed his eyes as her fingers worked to soothe his sore muscles.
"Do I look that beat?"
"Like the walking dead."
"That's not too flattering," he said with a laugh.
"You look sexy. But then, you always look sexy."
Unless he'd misinterpreted the hunger behind that statement, it was an invitation, not just a compliment. He twisted around to see her expression.
"You don't have to offer me an incentive to stay focused on the case, Zoe.
I'm going to stick it out."
Her hands stilled. "I'm not trying to manipulate you. This isn't about trading favors."
He guided her around in front of him. "Then what is it about?"
She blushed and glanced away, and he got the impression that she wasn't often so direct. "An escape, I guess. A few moments of forgetfulness."
With him. He could easily give her that. She was worried about Sam, in need of a reprieve, if only a short one. But where would it lead? Despite what he'd told Sheridan, he was ready to settle down, get married. Sex simply for the sake of getting off wasn't enough for him anymore. He wanted a family, with the right woman. And he was beginning to realize that finding the right woman was going to take some restraint.
"You remind me of a girlfriend I once had," he said.
"Oh really?" She hesitated as if she could tell that wasn't a good thing, but asked anyway. "What was she like?"
He pictured Maria. "Beautiful. Great to be with." He lowered his voice. "And in love with someone else."
Bending close, she brushed her lips across his. "I'm not in love with anyone else."
He caught her face in his hands and let his gaze fall to her mouth. He wanted much more than the quick taste she'd just given him.
For the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to imagine her on the mattress beneath him. But he knew, no matter how tenderly he made love to her, that he had very little chance of ever reaching her or that added dimension of meaning he craved. "No, you're not in love," he said. "Not with Anton. Not with anyone. And my guess is you never will be."
She jerked away. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means I've had enough casual encounters, Zoe. I'm nearly thirty, ready to grow up. I'm looking for more."
She bit her lip as she stared at him. "You don't think I'd be willing to give you more?"
"I don't think you can," he said, and then he went to bed.
Alone.
It didn't take long to regret his decision. But Jonathan was stubborn enough to toss and turn for three hours before he was willing to acknowledge that despite all his good intentions, it all came down to one thing: capitulation. He wanted Zoe too badly for it to end any other way.
Which meant he hadn't grown up nearly as much as he'd thought.
You're making another mistake, he told himself, but that didn't change anything.
As exhausted by the battle inside him as he was by his hours the past week, he got up and crossed the hall. Kino, who was sleeping in his room, didn't bother to follow him.
Zoe hadn't shut her door all the way.
Jonathan pushed it open with one finger. The hinges whined as it moved, and she rose up on one elbow. Standing there in the doorway, he could see her hair falling over her shoulders, which were bare except for the straps of some nightgown. He hadn't put blinds on this window because it faced away from the neighbors, and the room was mostly for storage, anyway.
"Jon?"
Knowing she couldn't see him as well as he could see her, he spoke.
"Yeah, it's just me."
Caution entered her voice. "Is something wrong?"
"No." But obviously there was.
"What do you want?"
He thought about repeating the line she'd used earlier. An escape...a few moments of forgetfulness. But for him it was much simpler than that.
What he wanted could be summed up in one word. "You."
She pressed her fingers to her eyes, and he realized she'd been crying.
He felt guilty about that, wished he could go back to their encounter in the living room--and say less. Do more.
"No," she murmured. "I was stupid to think it would make a difference. We're both better off keeping it impersonal."
Impersonal? There was nothing impersonal about what they'd been through the past week. But she pulled up the covers and turned toward the wall.
Jonathan waited, hoping she'd change her mind. Just the memory of her lips brushing his filled him with need. But when she didn't move or speak again, he went back to his own room.
Zoe listened to the creak of Jonathan's footsteps. Thank God, he's leaving. As desperate and alone as she felt, she'd just left one relationship; she shouldn't jump into another. Especially with a man who affected her as deeply as Jonathan. Maybe she'd decided Anton had the qualities she needed in a partner. But rational thought seemed to play a very small role in her attraction to Jonathan. It was all instinctive--a gut-level desire to make love with him despite the consequences.
Submitting to that kind of animal attraction had gotten her in trouble before and always made it more difficult to walk away afterward. She didn't know who she was anymore or where she was going. She only knew she had to find Sam, and that meant remaining strong and focused.
In other words, she had to use her head.
But she was losing hope, grasping at anything good that was left in the world. And the last good thing seemed to be Jonathan.
She stared into the darkness long after the house fell silent, thinking about Toby. Would he ever wake up? She'd been praying, day after day, that he'd regain consciousness. But his condition hadn't changed.
The line between life and death was so thin....
Maybe the biggest mistake she could make wasn't getting involved with the wrong man. Maybe it was not being with him while she could.
Chapter 27
When Zoe entered his room, Jonathan didn't speak; he simply turned back the blankets.
He'd had a T-shirt on before but must've taken it off as he returned to bed, because it was lying on the floor. She could see the broad outline of his muscular shoulders, his bare chest--and felt her body yearn.
Thoughts of Sam entered her head, but she quickly blocked them out.
No more pain. Not right now.
She'd pulled off the sweats he'd lent her before bed, they were too hot to sleep in. Now she was wearing a short spaghetti-strap nightie and a pair of panties. But the intensity with which he watched her move toward him made her feel completely naked.