Christmas Secrets Collection. Laura Iding

bite of salad, stuck it in her mouth, chewed and swallowed. “I’d still rather talk about you and Dax.”

      “It’s not going to happen.”

      “I was afraid you’d say that.”

      When Zoe got back to her desk, Dax was in the first of his two afternoon meetings.

      She went to work. There was no end of stuff to catch up on after almost two weeks away.

      Dax reappeared at a little after three. “The pictures look good.”

      She stopped typing and grinned up at him. “Told you so. I know you sent them to Lin. She said at lunch that she likes them, too.”

      “I’m going to go on home now, see if I can finish the feature over the weekend.” Below the giant bandage on his forehead, his eyes were dark and deep as ever, his nose as handsomely hawkish, his mouth an invitation to sin. If they were still in the clearing, she would rise and wrap her arms around him and tell him that he was the sexiest man alive. “Zoe?” Suddenly, his voice was husky, temptingly rough. “Did you hear what I said?”

      She blinked. “Uh, yeah. Every word. You’re going to finish the feature over the weekend.”

      “Is there … something you’d like to speak with me about privately?” His gaze spoke of agreements—of the hundred and one delicious ways they might be broken.

      “Oh. No. Not a thing.” She waved a hand, a gesture that failed to be as airy and unconcerned as she intended, mostly because she hit herself in the nose when she did it.

      He grinned then.

       Lin’s fateful words echoed. Hopelessly in love with him.

      Pull yourself together, a voice of steel within insisted. Do it now.

      She sat up straighter, pushed the keyboard a little out of the way and folded her arms on the desk pad. “You were saying?”

      There was a moment. They gazed at each other and so much was said without a word being uttered.

      When he actually spoke, he was all business once again. “Play dragon lady as much as possible. Only forward my calls if something’s on fire. And tell them all I’ll be checking email periodically. Try to get them to reach me that way.”

      “Will do.”

      “See you Sunday.”

      “‘Bye, then.” She focused on her monitor again, put her hands on the keyboard and started her fingers moving. Still, she heard him walk away from her, was acutely aware of the sound the elevator doors made—sliding open and then shut.

      When she knew he was safely gone, she let her flying fingers slow. She forgot all about the letter she was composing. Her gaze wandered forlornly to the shut elevator doors.

       Hopelessly in love with him …

      The phone on her desk rang. She answered it, took a message, finished the letter she was typing. Proceeded to the next item on her endless to-be-done list.

       Hopelessly in love with him.

      She wanted to press her hands to her ears, shake her head, close her eyes tight and shout good and loud, over and over, No, no, no, no!

      Anything to keep the scary words out.

      Not that putting her hands over her ears would have done any good.

      After all, the words were already inside her head.

      She went out with girlfriends that night to celebrate her safe return. They went to Armadillo Rose, the bar her sister-in-law, Corrine—Matt’s wife, Kira’s mom—owned. The bar had belonged to Corrine’s mother before her.

      Matt had met Corrine there, at the Rose, fallen hard at first sight, or so the story went. Matt was a sweetheart. And also extremely pigheaded—a lot like Zoe’s dad and more than one of her other brothers. It had taken him more than a few years to admit he was a goner, that Corrine was the only woman for him.

      Weekends, the Rose always had a good band playing. It was a down-home kind of place. The bartenders were all female and easy on the eyes. They were also famous for getting up and dancing on the bar.

      Corrine was there. Zoe caught her eye and waved her over. Corrine greeted her and her friends. “It’s so good to have you home. First round’s on the house.”

      “How about a pitcher of margaritas?”

      “You got it.”

      When the pitcher came, Lisa Eppersill, Zoe’s friend since middle school, offered a toast. “Here’s to you, Zoe.

      May the road, however twisty, always carry you back home.”

      Zoe thought of that last night in the clearing, when Dax broke out the bottle of very old Scotch and they toasted a full week of survival.

      So what was he doing tonight, she couldn’t help but wonder?

      Slaving away at the feature story maybe?

      Or enjoying an intimate evening with any one of a number of beautiful women who traveled in his glittering circle of friends and acquaintances?

      It hurt, and bad. Like a knife, twisting hard and deep. To think of him with someone else.

      And it didn’t matter how sternly she reminded herself that she had known his reputation with women, had already seen him in action, when she decided to tinker with their strictly professional relationship in the first place. She had set the terms for their time in the clearing when they were lovers and for their return to civilization.

      She had zero right to be hurt if he exercised his option as a single guy with no commitments. He was free to do the wild thing with a different gorgeous, sophisticated woman every night.

      Even if the thought of his kissing someone else made her sick to her stomach—and furious, too.

      “Dance?” A cute cowboy stood by their booth.

      Zoe sent him a blinding smile as she realized he was talking to her. “Sure.” She set down her margarita and got up to follow him out onto the floor.

      When the dance was over, she rejoined her friends. The cowboy was not only cute but really sweet. It just wouldn’t be right to use him to distract herself from the real issue.

      Which was Dax and the growing likelihood that she actually had managed to fall hopelessly in love with him.

      She got back to her condo at a little after midnight.

      The first thing she did when she walked in the door was to dig around in her bag for her PDA, though she knew she shouldn’t. Any texts or emails could certainly wait until morning. She ought to just leave it alone, refuse to check—as she’d been resolutely doing all evening.

      There wouldn’t be any email from Dax and there shouldn’t be. And even if there was, she had no business checking her cell in the middle of the night just to see if there might be. She had to stop torturing herself. She had to let Dax go, move on. Or maybe, more correctly, go back.

      To what they had been. Before the clearing.

      Why wasn’t that working for her? Why couldn’t she just make an agreement and stick to it, for pity’s sake?

       Because you’re hopelessly in love with him, that’s why.

      There was an email—two, as a matter of fact.

       At 9:06: I was going to pretend I needed to get with you about the feature story. But that would be a lie. I do need to get with you, Zoe. And it’s not about the feature.

       And at 10:08: You’re out with some other guy, right? And I’m making a fool of myself. Okay, enough. Please disregard previous email.

      She didn’t want to