Run for Your Life

  All that would occur soon enough.

  But not tonight.

  Zach must have felt the same sense of urgency, the same yearning as she to grab these stolen moments while they lasted, because he drew back abruptly, a look of almost fierce determination on his face. 'Tonight is ours," he declared, his thumbs caressing her cheekbones. "God knows we deserve it. Nothing exists but us. No regrets. No outside world. No walls."

  "Just what I had in mind," she murmured.

  He lowered his mouth to kiss her again, savoring her lips in a slow, sensual exploration. "We're going to live every fantasy I've had these past four years, and then some. You're going to lose yourself in my arms. I'm going to drown in your body. And nothing, nothing, is going to intrude."

  Blindly, Victoria nodded, streamers of wet heat unfurling inside her at the images Zach's words conveyed. It had been so long, so long and, despite the magnitude of her first climax, she wanted him again.

  Zach felt her response. He went very still, his eyes darkening to near black, his body hardening inside hers. "God, how I want you," he ground out, his hands gliding down the length of her arms, sliding underneath her so he could grip her bottom, lift her into him. "You have no idea how much. But you will. Because I'm going to have you, again and again. And you're going to have me. All night. Every damned second."

  Her hips arched in response, her legs wrapped around his. The night was too short, she thought, drunk on sensation. Mere hours from ending. She shoved aside that realization, hurled herself into the moment.

  Sharp pleasure exploded through them both.

  Zach sucked in his breath, reading the expression on her face as if she had spoken. Teeth gritted, he thrust forward, pushed all the way inside her. "The hell with tonight. Plan to spend all day Sunday in bed."

  * * *

  21

  Sunday, April 23

  2.30 pm

  The Hope Institute was quiet.

  Lunch had been served. The trays had been collected. Nurses wrote up reports at their stations, preparing for the afternoon shift to take over. Patients slept, watched TV, or dozed. Doctors, having completed their rounds, exited the building through the underground garage.

  The disinfection team assembled in Conference Room A.

  The Institute's attorney of record walked over to the door to detain Frank Harper, the head of security, before he entered. They spoke in a quiet undertone. "It's done?"

  "Yup."

  "You're sure they weren't hurt?"

  "Positive. They were scared shitless, but fine. I made sure. Leaman followed them home. He just called in. He's hanging around Hamilton's hotel. They're in there, safe and sound. Also, I got a report from our hacker. Victoria Kensington's computers are clean, at work and at home."

  "Good." A satisfied nod. "Do we know how Zachary Hamilton fits into all this yet?"

  "Not yet. Soon. My guess is, he's just helping her out so he can get laid."

  "Don't guess. Know." A restraining hand on Harper's arm as, behind them, the team leader called for the meeting to begin. "Remember, no one is to find out about last night's fender bender."

  "Gotcha."

  They entered the room.

  Harper locked the door, and the group convened around the oval table.

  "This meeting is covered under attorney-client privilege," the team leader pronounced. "Now, let's start with a status report on existing patients." A purposeful look at Gloria Rivers, the RN at the table. "Where do things stand?"

  Ms. Rivers folded her hands in front of her. "Mr. Kenwood's bad. I don't think he'll last the week."

  "We expected this. He's already outlived the time set forth in his original prognosis by six months."

  "I know. He's responded beautifully. No complaints— from him or his family." Ms. Rivers frowned. "Speaking of families, we have a more immediate concern. Mrs. Housley's and Mr. Pratt's next of kin are calling daily. They're upset that their visits have been suspended for so long. The taped messages aren't appeasing them anymore."

  "Not surprising. It's been a good couple of months." A contemplative pause. "Very well. Call both families. Stagger the calls—one today, one early tomorrow. Express our condolences. Arrange for two separate counseling sessions at the Institute. When the families arrive, make sure to review with them all the papers they signed. If all goes smoothly, they can pick out the urns on the spot." A glance at the attorney. "All that's in order, I assume?"

  "Perfectly."

  "Good."

  "I'll take care of it." The nurse scribbled down a reminder. "Also, we have two patients who were discharged last month coming in for follow-ups. Shall I go through the customary procedure?"

  "Yes. Give them the injection here, the pills to take with them."

  "Okay." More scribbling. Uneasily, Ms. Rivers pushed aside her pad, rolling her pen between her fingers. "I have one more priority matter to discuss. Audrey Kensington. She's becoming increasingly agitated. You instructed me to keep her off heavy doses of medication, but I'm not sure that's possible. Not if you want to keep her from upsetting the other patients."

  The team leader turned to glare at the attorney. "I thought she'd been handled."

  "She was."

  "Not effectively enough, it seems. Fine. I'll handle her myself. Her presence is compromising the Institute. She's got to go." A dismissive wave, and a quick glance at the meeting agenda. "On to new arrivals. We're expecting two tomorrow. Mrs. Housley's room is already filled, but Mr. Pratt's is still available, as is the one directly across from it. Prepare those two rooms for new patients."

  2:55 p.m.

  They were in one of those meetings.

  Now was her chance.

  Audrey wriggled off the bed, leaned against the night table to gather her strength. She had to do this. And it had to be now. The nurses were changing shifts and wouldn't be in to check on her for at least fifteen minutes. The powers that be were occupied in the conference room. It was the only time she could pull it off.

  She dragged shallow breaths into her lungs, trying to ease the dizziness she was already beginning to experience. She wasn't ready to be off the bed. But she couldn't let that stop her.

  She brushed damp strands of hair off her face, ignoring the weakness that enveloped her like a heavy blanket. She gathered her hospital gown around her. Slowly, knees wobbling, she made her way to the door. She peeked through the glass, scanning the hall.

  The area was deserted.

  The phone was just around the bend.

  She had to get there.

  Arms quivering, she pushed at the door.

  3:30 p.m.

  Zach knew their time was almost up.

  Propped on one elbow, he watched Victoria sleep, drinking her in with a wonder he'd known only once before and never believed he'd know again.

  He reached out to trace the silky curve of her shoulder, the delicate column of her spine. She was curled on her side, her back to him, her hair a disheveled black cloud on the pillow, her exquisite features utterly peaceful.

  Her breathing was deep, even. She was exhausted. So, for that matter, was he. They'd made love for hours, until long after dawn had become day. Then they'd slept, but only in snatches, awakening every hour or so to reach for each other, to drown in the pleasure their bodies made together. Sometimes their coupling was slow and seductive, a building of sensual tension, as varied and creative as his fantasies. More often it was swift, frantic, a desperate need to be fused as deeply and completely as possible.

  The bed was a shambles. There was only one pillow remaining on it, and that was the one under Victoria's head. The bedding was a tangle on the floor, and even the sheet Victoria had pulled over herself when she'd dozed off a short while ago had slipped down and was now twisted around her hips.

  God, she was beautiful.

  Of its own volition, Zach's palm shifted, whispered over her breast. Yes, he'd had her—again and again. But the wanting hadn't lessened. It never would.

  He lean
ed forward, cupped her breast more fully, pressed his lips to the side of her neck. He nuzzled her, inhaled the fragrance of her skin, the heavy scent of their lovemaking.

  That alone made him hard.

  He continued stroking her, felt her nipple pucker beneath his touch. He rolled her to her back, drew her hardened nipple between his lips, circled it with his tongue. She made a soft sound of pleasure, her eyelids fluttering slightly before sliding shut again. Her lashes swept her cheeks, telling Zach she was still asleep.

  He shifted his weight, easing her legs apart and rising to his knees between them. He caressed her calves, her thighs, combing his fingers through the soft triangle of hair between them. His fingertips slipped inside her, stroked erotic circles on her flesh. She was already wet from their lovemaking, and the wetness intensified, her body responding even in slumber. With another broken murmur, she began squirming, her head tossing on the pillow as the cobwebs of sleep faded: He waited only until she was fully awake, until her lashes lifted and her stunned, aroused gaze found his.

  Then he opened her with his fingers and lowered his head.

  Victoria cried out, her hands groping for Zach at the first stroke of his tongue. He shuddered, losing himself in loving her. Her taste, her scent, her softness—it all made him crazy. And her sharp whimpers of pleasure nearly pushed him over the edge. Desire slammed through him like gunfire, and he deepened his caresses, draping her thighs over his shoulders and sinking his tongue deep inside her. He cupped her bottom, lifted her closer to him, his lips devouring her, his tongue swirling over her swollen flesh until she arched wildly, dug her fingers into his hair, crying out his name and convulsing in his arms.

  He didn't wait.

  Crawling over her, he thrust all the way inside before her spasms had lessened. He withdrew, pushed deep again, fighting back his orgasm as he watched her face. She was perfect, her features flushed and damp, her eyes glazed with sensation, her breath coming in pants. She realized how close he was. He saw it in her eyes, knew it the instant she reached up, pulled him into her, and wrapped herself around him inside and out. Her climax gripped him, pulsing around his erection, squeezing him until all restraint shattered. Zach groaned, his fingers biting into her hips as he matched her wildness with his own.

  He came violently, hard spasms that slammed through him, jetted into her. His entire body jerked with the impact, and when it was over, he just sank onto her, into her, not even trying to move.

  Victoria's limbs unclenched and relaxed, her fingers trailing lightly up and down his spine. "Thanks for waking me," she murmured in a lazy voice,

  Zach smiled against her hair. "Sorry I did?"

  "What do you think?"

  "I think you might forgive me."

  "I think you're right." She stirred, turning her head toward the clock. "What time is it?"

  "Does it matter?"

  She swallowed, his question dragging reality back to the forefront. "Yes. It matters."

  "It doesn't have to."

  "Zach, please." She kept her gaze averted. "We agreed not to talk."

  "That was when we had a whole night ahead of us. Now . . ," His hands, balled into fists, made deep depressions in the pillow beneath her head. "I can already feel you pulling away. Ironic, isn't it, considering how tightly joined our bodies are?"

  She wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Our bodies aren't the problem. They never were." Her gaze shifted back, finding his. "Can't we just call this an incredible night in bed and stop trying to make it more?"

  "No. We can't. I can't. What's more, neither can you."

  "I can try." She pressed at his shoulders until he eased off her. Then she climbed out of bed, groped on the floor for the robe, and headed for the bathroom. "I'm taking a shower. Then I'm going home. A lot's happened since yesterday. I need some time to think."

  "To think. You mean to put up those damned walls of yours."

  "Call them what you want. They're my only means of protection."

  Protection. That was an interesting topic—one that had occurred to him some hours ago.

  "Victoria, are you still on the pill?" he asked bluntly.

  She froze in place, her rigid stance confirming his suspicions. She'd gone on the pill four years ago, when they first started sleeping together. The other day she'd told him there had been no one since him. And knowing Victoria's dislike for taking medication of any kind, even Tylenol, why would She have continued taking the pill?

  "Well?" he pressed.

  She was already racking her brain as she turned to face him, and the color flooded back to her cheeks as she remembered. "We should be okay. I just finished my period Wednesday." Never one to shirk responsibility, she raised her chin and added, "This was my fault. I'm the one who knows my birth control status. I should have realized and said something. I'm just not used to thinking about protection. When we were together, I was on the pill, so condoms were never an issue. And since I haven't been with anyone else, my only experience has been—" She cleared her throat. "That's no excuse. I was careless."

  "Don't apologize. I'm more at fault than you. This possibility occurred to me sometime around dawn. I could have brought it up. I didn't. Because it didn't matter. No, that's a lie. It did matter. I was half hoping I'd get you pregnant." Zach watched her eyes widen, but he didn't retract his words. He couldn't. They were the absolute truth.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and advanced toward her. "Think back. This wasn't the first time we lost our minds. First, there was the beginning, before we knew we'd end up in bed. Then, there were those times before your prescription could be counted on by itself. Times we couldn't keep our hands off each other, couldn't wait long enough to open the condom packet, much less use it. Times when all we could think about was falling into that bed, when all I wanted was to get inside you, when all you wanted was to have me there." He gripped her shoulders in his hands. "Have you forgotten?"

  Victoria went very still. "No," she said with quiet dignity. "I haven't forgotten. That's the problem. I haven't forgotten anything. And I don't have the strength to go through it again. 1 told you the other night, I can't have an affair with you."

  "Is that what you call these past twelve hours—an affair?"

  "I call them too much for me to handle." She backed away. "I'm very vulnerable right now, Zach. I'm also very confused. Your pressuring me isn't going to help. You tried that once. We both know how it ended."

  He swore, bit back what he'd been about to say. Talk about being caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. She'd opened an emotional door to him last night, a door that would only stay unlocked for a^brief time. If he waited outside too long, the door would shut again, this time forever. If he pushed his way in, he'd destroy the precarious feelings that had compelled her to open it in the first place.

  It was a no-win situation.

  One he intended to win.

  "You made your point," he replied, making no move to reach for her again. "I won't push you. Take your shower. Go home and think. But before you come to any decisions, we're going to talk. That's the least you can give me, Victoria. Especially since whatever you decide will affect us both."

  "Okay." She ran a hand through her disheveled hair, looking even more dazed and disoriented than she had after last night's car accident. "Later, we'll talk."

  He didn't press her for a definition of when later would be.

  She didn't offer one.

  * * *

  Victoria didn't let herself think while she showered. She was too out of it, and Zach was too close by. When she got home, she'd let down her defenses and analyze her thoughts. For now, she just needed to get herself together and get home.

  She went through the motions, washing away all the tangible evidence of last night's passion, letting her mind remain blissfully numb.

  A short while later, she emerged from the bathroom to find a multicolored running suit laid out on the bed and a pair of Nikes placed on the floor besi
de it. On the chair nearby were a thick pair of sweat socks.

  She swallowed, hard. It was just like Zach to be so thoughtful, to consider her comfort no matter how complicated things were between them.

  Pushing aside the emotions that threatened to resurge, she yanked on the clothes, slung her cocktail dress over her arm, and left the bedroom.

  Zach stood near the dining room table, shirtless, his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. He watched her with a brooding expression. "All set?"

  "Yes." She indicated the running suit jacket as she zipped it up. "Need I ask where this came from?"

  He shrugged. "We're on the Upper East Side. Clothing stores are plentiful. And the hotel staff's accommodating. I thought it would be more comfortable than your dress."

  "It is. Thanks."

  "I'll have the concierge get us a cab."

  "I'll do it. And it won't be us that needs the cab. It'll just be me." She crossed over to the phone, purposefully averting her gaze. She was in no mood for Zach's inevitable reaction. He'd be adamantly opposed to her going home unescorted—for emotional and safety reasons. But none of those reasons was going to stop her. Not this time. She needed space.

  "Actually ..." she continued, readying herself for an even more severe reaction—one that wasn't entirely without merit. What she had in mind was probably stupid, considering last night's car episode. But, she reminded herself defensively, she couldn't become a prisoner to her fears.

  Besides, if she had to be honest, she was more unsettled by what was happening between her and Zach than she was by the prospect of their road-rager attacking her in the middle of a crowded Manhattan street. He'd accomplished what he set out to do. Now, he was presumably in wait-and-see mode.

  "Actually?" Zach prompted in a deceptively quiet tone.

  "First, I'll check my answering machine. If no one's looking for me, I think I'll walk. It'll do me some good. And now that I'm dressed for the occasion—"