Everlasting - Iris Johansen [13]
“I'm not hiding anything.” She turned her back on him and stared at the mountains. “You asked me if I like your mountains. Do you own them?”
He walked to her side. “I own them. I don't have a deed to them, but they're still mine.”
“What?” she asked, puzzled.
“My grandfather used to say that if you love something enough, you become one with it. One entity flows into the other to merge and then to seal.” His gaze was fixed on the mountains with possessiveness as well as affection. “Yes, in spirit these mountains belong to me.”
“That's rather an abstract philosophy for a tough businessman to have adopted. I would think your instincts would lead you to pin down anything you wanted, to buy it outright and to have the deed in your pocket.”
“No one has just one face, particularly not me. There are times when I want to reach out and grab.” His gaze was still fastened on the mountain peaks. “And there are other times when I think that the only way to keep what's mine is to let it go.” He turned to face her, his gaze meeting her own with the same intensity with which he had regarded the mountains. “That's what many Indian tribes believed, you know. They would strive very hard to acquire rich trappings, slaves, and horses, only to give them away to show how little material wealth actually meant to them. It wasn't the acquisition but the release that was important.” His tone was halting, as if he were trying to express something beyond the surface meaning of the words. “Do you understand what I'm saying to you?”
She shook her head. “I don't think so. It's clear you wouldn't be in the position you're in now if you gave everything away, so you must subscribe to a more materialistic philosophy than your grandfather's.”
He was silent for a moment and then he smiled cynically. “You're right, of course. I'm probably far more philistine than shaman. I suppose I wanted to justify myself in your eyes. I don't know why. I've never been tempted to do that before.” He turned away abruptly. “Come along inside and have your breakfast. The plane will be ready in two hours.”
She was troubled as she trailed him into the room, pausing beside the bed on which he had deposited the wicker breakfast tray. She had the vague impression that she had hurt him in some way, and it was causing an odd aching deep inside her. “I may not understand you, but I'm not stupid enough to think I have any right to judge an unknown quantity,” she said gently. “Marna trusts you, so I'm sure you can't be as ruthless as you've been portrayed.”
“But I am ruthless,” he said softly. “It's the other side of the coin. Not with you, though, Kira. You won't ever have to worry about seeing the ruthlessness in me.”
His expression was enigmatic, yet it once again generated within her the warm languid heat she had known last night. She drew a deep, shaky breath and tried to smile. “I'll be very grateful for that. I don't think I'm equipped to handle a man like you, Zack.”
There was a sudden glint of mischief in his eyes. “It's a skill I expect to enjoy teaching you. It will be an exquisite pleasure being handled by you.” He held out his hand. “Starting now. Come here, Kira.”
She hesitated. “You said we had to leave soon,” she murmured.
“Not that soon.” He smiled with a warmth that bemused her. Such a lovely smile, full of gentleness and understanding and… “Come to me.”
Her gaze clung to his as she moved slowly toward him. There was something there, waiting just beyond his glowing intensity. She came to a halt before him and looked up at him searchingly. It was still there, still waiting. She had always hated waiting, she thought hazily, and this waiting was centuries old and curiously timeless.
His hand was waiting for her, too, outstretched in silent invitation. She slipped her small hand into his large one with the supreme naturalness of a trusting child and suddenly experienced a tingling shock of sensation that