Zena Valentine - Star-Crossed Lovers

He turned quickly from the cabinet, gripping the rental car keys in his hand and strode outside. He was heading for the rental car when she called to him, and without thought he instantly responded.

She was running from the small plane, jogging toward him in a short sleeveless tank top that revealed too many inches of delectable flat midsection, and khaki shorts, a clipboard held against her side. Her hair was frizzed by the heat and humidity, pulled into an inadequate clasp at the back of her neck so that wildly curled tendrils framed her face. As she drew near, he saw that some of the tendrils were wet and stuck to her face.

He saw the sheen of perspiration from her forehead down her clear tanned skin to the top of her breasts. That was how he had thought she would look under him when he finally made love to her, her skin glowing with pleasure and heat while she gave herself to him.

Adolescent thoughts, he warned himself, better forgotten. It would never happen. He would never make love to a woman he despised.

But he remembered her convincing innocence and her quiet vitality. He could still hear her calling his mother “Reggie Mom,” see her savoring the sour apples off the sprawling tree in the Nobles’ backyard.

“Kale,” she called, although she was within a few feet of where he forced himself to stand without expression. He ordered himself to be absolutely still, to express nothing, to stay in control of himself.

She studied him for a moment as though she was looking for something in his face, and then she spoke. “I want to talk to you, Kale,” she said quietly, still searching his face. “Would you have time after your business today?”

“What have we to talk about?”

She inhaled sharply and winced. She ran a hand over her hair which was hopelessly wild. He watched her struggle for a reply, keeping his face cool and immobile, keeping his body still while inside a fire was raging.

“Nothing, I guess,” she said in a voice so low he saw rather than heard it. “Forget it,” she murmured.

He should, although he would like to talk some more about Amanda. He already knew the girl was Charlotte’s and not Jessi’s. And he shouldn’t talk to Jessi. He shouldn’t allow himself to be caught in a conversation with her, and yet, he did intend to pursue his suspicion that she was hiding something in regard to Arnanda. He wanted to ask when Amanda was born. He wanted to know whether there was a possibility she was Paul’s.

It seemed unlikely that even the Jezebel Caldwells could have been cruel enough to withhold all these years a precious child of Paul’s. Still, he wanted to know for certain.

He was watching Jessi’s knotted eyebrows, and then he looked into her eyes. Hell, it was Friday afternoon, and he wouldn’t mind a cool drink before he crawled back into the plane. He tried not to think of how it would be sitting near her, watching her, sharing a drink.

“All right,” he said finally. “But I don’t know what time I’ll be back.”

“I’ll be here,” she said softly.

He nodded and tore himself away from her soft voice and her luscious glowing woman’s body, turning swiftly to walk in the opposite direction to the rental car, letting himself through the high latched gate at the end of the sidewalk. He looked back once before he tucked himself into the car, but she was gone.

Jessi wrote her instructor’s comments in the student’s logbook, then gassed the plane and returned it to the hangar. She looked at the schedule for the rest of the day, what planes were reserved by whom for what time periods, and she went through message slips that had been accumulating during the day, then checked the ground school schedule to make sure that Chaz had arranged his hours to teach the Saturday morning class. She would be tied up with lessons as she usually was on Saturdays, and once again she promised herself she would hire another part-time flight instructor.

She had hired Harry, a retired airline pilot, as a part-time pilot after Rollie and Frank had died, and she had given Chaz the full-time job, but she and Chaz were the only ones qualified to instruct, and during the summer she needed another person on weekends.

Amanda skipped in from school, threw herself into Jessi’s embrace and told her aunt she had been invited to spend the night at a friend’s. Jessi approved of the friend and agreed to drive her there if Amanda would go home and pack a bag and come back when she was ready to go.

Before leaving to transport Amanda, she told Chaz she would be gone for fifteen minutes. “If Kale Noble comes back, ask him to wait. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Both Amanda and Chaz were startled at her casual words.

“Mr. Noble? That gorgeous man who said I look like my mom?” Amanda asked.

Chaz observed, “The man can hardly stand to be in the same room with you, Jessi.”

“We have something to discuss,” she snapped, and headed to the door so quickly Amanda had to jerk herself around to keep up.

“I’ll tell him you’re busy getting into your armor,” Chaz yelled after her.

When she returned, Chaz was waiting for her. “You watch out for him, Jessi,” he warned.

“Well, what do you think he’s going to do to me, for heaven’s sake,” she scoffed, fleeing further questions by dashing to her upstairs retreat.

“Jessi!” he shouted, taking the steps two at a time behind her. “Did you ever look in his eyes? They’re black as coal, like there’s a fire burning in there. And the way he acts like he has the whole world in his control. Curt Burness says he’s a genius! A genius, for crying out loud!”

“Curt Burness said that? Interesting.” She pulled an accounting book out of a desk drawer. Well, Curt Burness would know a genius if he worked with one.

Chaz was silent for a moment. She could hear his heavy breathing. When she looked up, his face was a picture of chagrin, but his voice had softened and his arms were still. “I think he could hurt you,” he said.

She was dismayed not only by the intensity of his concern, but also by the unwitting accuracy of his words. Any hurt Kale Noble caused her wouldn’t be of the physical variety, but rather it would be the soul-deep pain of a twice-broken heart. She forced a small smile. “Thank you for worrying, Chaz, but Kale Noble has never been a violent person,” she replied, deliberately misinterpreting his prediction.

“Every time I see that damned Noble plane I get a pain in my gut. Every time I see it fly away I feel relieved. The guy is arrogant as hell,” Chaz continued.

So it wasn’t just her imagination that Kale Noble paced through life with an aura of power and intimidation. It wasn’t just memories of the past or her awareness that he resented her that gave him an appearance almost sinister. And then, there had been the incident behind the counter the last time they were together, when he crowded her and put his hand in her hair. She saw him as a walking energy force, threatening her emotional stability with his raw sensuality.

“You’re probably right, Chaz,” she agreed. “I’ll suggest we meet at the restaurant.”

He reluctantly left, and she worked on accounts payable, stopping frequently while her mind wandered.

Was she doing the right thing intending to probe to learn how close he was to discovering the truth about Amanda’s parentage? She deeply regretted her taunting and defiant response to his question when he held her against the cabinet and let her see for the first time that his rage had been fostered by abject pain. It wasn’t in her nature or true to her principles that she be coy with him. She didn’t approve of playing games with people’s feelings. Certainly it was inappropriate not to be honest about a subject that was so emotionally charged it was bound to cause yet another series of painful eruptions between the Caldwells and the Nobles.