She couldn’t stop thinking about Zane. Nothing new, she told herself. The man had become an important part of her world. For a while she’d had a simple crush on him. Then she’d started to think the attraction was mutual. Then they’d made love, and she hadn’t needed to think aside from the fact that she was blissfully happy, and now she was confused. Again.

She knew he was in pain—both about the land and what had happened with his father. She’d recognized the pain in his eyes. She’d wanted to comfort him, but he wasn’t the kind of man who welcomed that sort of intimacy. If only he was.

With a sigh she rose and pulled on jeans, then replaced her sleep shirt with a long-sleeved T-shirt. Barefoot, she walked to the door and let herself out into the hallway, one of the books she’d purchased in Fool’s Gold tucked under her elbow. If she couldn’t think herself to sleep, maybe she could find a quiet place to read.

She made it to the top of the stairs before she heard something. A slight creaking made her turn around while a dark shadow loomed in the darkness.

“Phoebe?”

Her breath caught as she recognized the voice. “Zane? What are you doing up?”

“I can’t sleep. I was lurking outside of your room, trying to figure out how to talk to you without waking Maya.”

He wanted to talk to her? Really?

She moved toward him. “Here I am.”

Instead of saying anything, he took her hand and led her down the hall. They entered the bedroom he’d been given, and when he’d closed the door behind them, he hit the light switch.

One of the bedside lamps came on, illuminating the small room. There was a double bed, a dresser and a door to a bathroom.

She turned to ask him what he wanted, but before she could speak, he took the book from her and set it aside, wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, pressing his cheek against her hair. “I’m such a jackass.”

She rubbed her hands up and down his back. He was warm and alive and next to her. Nothing else really mattered.

“Jackass seems strong,” she murmured.

“How about a first-class screwup?”

“If you’re going to do a job, then do it the best you can.”

He chuckled low in his throat. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He drew back and took her hand. Tugging her along, he walked to the bed, then pulled her down next to him.

“You’re a hell of a woman,” he said as he brushed the hair from her face.

Her? “I’m not all that special.”

“Sure you are. You’re fearless.”

“So are you.”

He shook his head. “Not even close. I’m sorry I pushed you away before. I’m not used to sharing my troubles. When I was a kid—” He shrugged. “I was a complete screwup. Just like Chase. My old man never understood. Whenever things went bad, he’d give me this look. I think I have it, too. Chase calls it the ‘death-ray look.’”

Phoebe angled toward him, shifted so she tucked one foot under her. “It’s tough when we disappoint a parent.”

“Worse than tough,” he said, staring past her.

Her heart ached for him. Phoebe took his hand and squeezed. “Your father was wrong. He sounds like a difficult, mean man who couldn’t see how he was destroying his son.”

“This isn’t about me.”

“Of course it is. There’s a part of you deep inside that still hurts.” She released his hand and cupped his face. “I would do anything to go back in time and hold that little boy and tell him it’s okay.”

Zane started to pull back. She didn’t want to let him go. Not just yet. Not while he was hurting so much she could feel the pain surrounding him. His wound ate away at him, making him hollow. She wanted to crawl inside and fill that space.

“Don’t you ever give up?” he asked hoarsely.

“Not really. It’s a flaw.”

“No, it’s not.”

He reached for her and pulled her close. Then they were stretched out on the bed, their arms around each other and nothing in the world mattered but being together.

She surged forward as he dropped his head, and they met in a kiss that quickly consumed them. Heat, need and desire exploded into an out-of-control fire.

He touched her everywhere, and she touched him back. Breasts, chest, back, hips, legs. She felt the length of his muscles, the power of his shoulders. Her mouth parted as he plunged inside of her. Tongues met, stroked, danced, as her blood pounded and flowed in a hot, passionate river of wanting.

His long fingers found her breasts and squeezed them. Her nipples were already hard, and the brush of his thumbs against the tight tips made her whimper. She hadn’t pulled on a bra, and she was desperate to feel his hands on her bare skin.

“Naked,” she whispered against his mouth.

She wasn’t sure if she meant him or herself. Nor did it matter. He pulled back enough to allow her to drag off her T-shirt.

While his gaze devoured her bare chest, he worked the buttons of his shirt, then jerked off the garment. She had already unfastened her jeans and quickly pushed them and her panties off. Even as he reached for his belt, he scrambled off the bed and headed for the bathroom. Seconds later he was back, naked and clutching a handful of condoms.

“Don’t ask,” he said when she glanced at them and raised her eyebrows.