Finding Zoe (Atlantic Divide)

by Diane Saxon

  As it sprang free from her body, he fixed his teeth on her shoulder and bit. She thrashed, but he held her still and traced the line of her tendon up to the nape of her neck with his lips.

  Reveling in the feel of her smooth, tender skin, he skimmed his fingers along her arms and captured her fisted hands in his as he continued his assault with his mouth.

  She relaxed under him and he released her hands, smoothing his down the velvet skin of her inner arms. Placing small kisses across her shoulder, he ran a light finger down her spine and dipped it neatly into the crevice below.

  Delighting in her sultry moan, he held her body down as she tried to turn over, restrained her by throwing his leg over the backs of her thighs.

  Dark pleasure rolled over him as he nipped her flesh with his teeth and slid two fingers into the heat of her and then held still as she shuddered beneath him. He rubbed his beard-roughened cheek over the soft, creamy skin of her back and flexed his fingers inside her.

  Desire churned his stomach as she mewled. Her fingers gripped the sheets, her hips pressed into the mattress, and he slowly withdrew, thrilled in her disappointed groan, and plunged his fingers back inside her, deep and seeking. Her body vibrated under him in a turmoil of desperate need.

  Withdrawing his fingers, he spun her around and took her mouth before she had time to even focus on him.

  “I need a condom.” His voice was barely more than a gravelly whisper as his fingers reached across the bedside table for one.

  “Let me.” She took it from him and surprised him when she pushed him onto his back once more, and as she sheathed him, he thought he might die. She’d overwhelmed him, controlled him, consumed him, and still she continued. He thought it was his turn, but in the flip of her body, she’d taken control. He wasn’t sure he could allow it.

  She sat astride him and slid herself sinuously over his flesh, undulating to take his length in deeper. She rocked her hips against him and sent his control spiraling into outer space as he held her firmly and thrust fiercely into her, unable to wait, unable to let her set her rhythm.

  Ruthless, he took over, hips thrusting; he thrilled at the sound of her shocked cry and watched her body bow back, her skin heat and flush as he bucked under her, no control left as he cupped her breasts. Her body squeezed him and he moved, fast, furious, matching her, overtaking her, demanding more, his breath keeping pace with her short, choppy gasps. Determined to possess her, brand her as his, he almost lost his mind as her wet heat contracted around him. His chest bellowed, his primal need consumed him as he emptied himself into her. His heart filled, stuttered blindly to a halt as she collapsed, limp across his body, her dampened cheek plastered to his chest.

  “I love you.” she whispered.

  * * * *

  His phone rang, jarring and persistent. He leaned over, trying not to disturb Zoe. It was Astral.

  Zoe stirred, her eyes still closed, her body warm and inviting as she stretched against him. He was tempted to stay a little longer. Maybe twice in one night wasn’t enough.

  The phone jangled again. This time a text. Astral again. She was downstairs waiting for him in a private sitting room. It was urgent.

  Twice would have to do.

  “Astral wants a meeting; I’ll be back in an hour.” He trailed his fingers down her warm, silky skin, tempted, so tempted. He placed a light kiss on her shoulder and felt his heart melt with tenderness as she smiled lazily but kept her eyes shut. She nuzzled the pillow and hummed as he slipped out of bed, knowing the woman he’d left behind was satiated for now. When he returned, he was going to make sure she was fully awake before he told her he loved her and asked her to marry him.

  * * * *

  “Mac, thank God I’ve got hold of you. I just hope it’s in time.”

  Astral’s sharp twang grated on his ears.

  “What’s the problem, Astral?” He crossed his arms over his chest and waited, knowing her penchant for drama would draw their meeting out to at least an hour. He glanced at his watch.

  “This.” She threw down a handful of photographs, and he peered at them with disinterest. Nothing new. The paparazzi were always snapping him. He tipped his head sideways; felt a warmth spread through his body as one of the photos revealed both Zoe and Ryan last night on the red carpet next to him. Pride swelled his chest. The kid was a replica. Zoe stood regal and calm; not a sign of her earlier nervousness showed in her deportment, the line of her neck, or the angle of her head.

  Astral slung a newspaper down on top. The same photo held the caption CORMACK BLUNT REUNITES WITH MOTHER OF LOVE CHILD. He felt the twitch of annoyance. Distasteful, he thought, but consoled himself with the fact that he knew this was coming. It was unavoidable. It would flood the papers for the next few weeks, and then it would blow over.

  Maybe an interview with one of the more reputable magazines would set the record straight. Once Zoe accepted his proposal, they’d both be his anyway. It didn’t make much difference.

  “What do you think?”

  He stared at his agent, lifted an eyebrow. She really needed some time off; the stress seemed to be getting to her lately. Her entire skinny body seemed to vibrate.

  “Chill.” He smiled as he found himself repeating one of Ryan’s favorite words. “There’s nothing I don’t know about.”

  “I think there is.” The snappishness in her hard New York voice made him stop. Wait.

  Her eyes, sharp and piercing, met his. Her throat contracted several times before she spoke, pointing a shaky finger at the newspapers.

  “This is the woman who came to me eleven years ago and blackmailed me into giving her a check for fifty thousand pounds to keep quiet about your affair.” His heart slowed to a dull thud, thud, thud in his constricted chest. His eyes centered on Astral, his trusted agent and friend for the past fifteen years. She’d better know what she was talking about. Better have her facts straight.

  “I assume you have proof?” His voice sounded strained even to his own ears, and he tightened his jaw to stop it from dropping open. The events of eleven years ago were a blur. He’d still been a kid and life had been a roller coaster of rising fame and churning emotions. He swallowed, hoping beyond hope the woman was wrong.

  “Of course, I have proof. You know me, dot my i’s and cross my t’s.” Back to normal, her sharp twang reported out like machine-gun fire.

  Superior, back in charge, she flung a few black-and-white photographs on top of the rest of the pile and waited as he held his breath. He leaned forward and inspected them, feeling a chill slide up his spine. He picked up the photograph on top, glanced at the others strewn across the table.

  There as clear as day was an eighteen-year-old Zoe facing a younger, plumper Astral in a sequence of photographs showing Zoe accepting a piece of paper.

  Silent now, Astral placed another document on the table. A faded photocopy of a check made payable to Miss Z. Chance, dated eleven years previously.

  Confused, he rubbed his fingers across his brow and automatically smoothed out the creases created by his frown.

  “Why would she do this? Why wasn’t I told?” He flapped the photo at her.

  Astral hesitated; her gaze slid away from his. She took a moment to gather herself and clear her throat. She flicked a hand toward the photograph of the check exchanging hands between herself and Zoe.

  “She came to see you. You were on set at the time, so she asked to have a word with me.”

  He stared at her, his heart raging; disbelief filled his very being.

  “She said she was pregnant.”

  Fury filled him. She’d known. All these years, and Astral had known.

  He could barely squeeze the question out past the tenseness of his throat.

  “Why wasn’t I told?” he repeated.

  “Because it would have hurt you. She told me she was in London to get an abortion; she was on her way to the clinic after speaking with me. She just wanted money; she said it was to pay for the abortion. I had no re
ason to believe she would lie about it, it never occurred to me she had no intention of having an abortion.”

  He nodded; his clenched teeth made his face ache. His mind reeled as it sought the fault in the story. A justification for Zoe to want the money, yet not go ahead with the threatened abortion.

  “She told me she was going to spend the rest of the money on her education.”

  His head whipped up, and he gazed hard at Astral.

  Memory rushed in, overwhelmed him with its strength. She’d told him. So many times. They’d talked about her wanting to be a vet, but she was concerned the financial pressure on her parents would be too much. Her mother didn’t work, had been ill several times over the previous year. They had started to pay privately for medical tests.

  “She told me she wanted to be a vet.” Astral’s short, sharp tone sealed the lid and hammered the next nail in the coffin of his relationship.

  His teeth gritted, his jaw flexed, and he breathed heavily through his nose, trying to contain the nausea threatening to rise up his throat and choke him as his stomach muscles contracted.

  Blind, he rushed for the door.

  He couldn’t remember responding to Astral. Her voice had followed him along the corridor, but his next conscious thought wasn’t until he traveled in the elevator up to the penthouse.

  All he wanted was to get rid of Zoe as quick as possible in case he wrapped his fingers around her delicate throat and squeezed the life out of her.

  Money.

  He didn’t want to believe it, but the evidence was there, gripped in his hand. He leaned back against the side of the elevator, his heart filled with despair. She’d only wanted him for his money. Then, and now.

  His fingers clenched in his hair, almost wrenching it from his head.

  He couldn’t breathe properly; his chest ached, his ears pounded like a thousand drums had taken up residence in his skull. He tried to relax his fists, but just as he achieved it, they curled up tight again, crushing the paper in his palm.

  He wasn’t sure he could face her. He wasn’t sure he was capable of letting her go. He glanced down at the wrinkled picture in his hand.

  As he walked in through the suite door, she was there. Her face freshly scrubbed and glowing, her hair persuaded back into her usual braid. She was dressed, cool and elegant, waiting for him. She stepped forward, a bright smile flooding her beautiful, treacherous face.

  “Ryan and Flynn went to the swimming pool. I thought I’d wait for you.”

  He ran his gaze up and down the length of her in silence. Pain raged through his veins. He could barely unlock his jaw to respond to her.

  “Mac, I just wanted to say how really grateful I am.” Her fingers twined together as she smiled, her lying eyes flicking coyly to the floor, back up to his face. Her eyebrows twitched with uncertainty as she waited for him to answer. She tilted her pretty, deceitful head.

  He wasn’t sure if he would be capable of any kind of speech. The words refused to come past his throat. He was suffocating. Anger crawled through his belly like snakes writhing in a pit.

  “What for?” The words came out strangled as he stepped farther into the small lounge. He loomed over her, stared down at her long red hair, her smooth pale skin, her faithless hazel-speckled green eyes, and he seethed. Her eyes narrowed, and he admired her acting ability as she gave him an innocent, puzzled look. She should have been on the big screen too. She’d missed her vocation.

  Flicking a hand self-consciously, she dropped her gaze from his.

  “For this. All of this. It’s been wonderful. Ryan has loved it all, and I am so grateful…for the dress, and…the jewelry.” Her voice petered out as he continued to stare; she licked her lips and swallowed. “Thank you.” Barely a whisper, she stopped.

  His eyes burned, his throat ached, and the scorching rage spewed forth.

  “So you thought you would crawl into my bed last night, suck my dick, and show your gratitude.”

  Her gasp of horror did nothing to slow his tirade now that it had started.

  “Well, honey, if you want to do it again, there’s nothing stopping you.” He reached for the front of his trousers, flicked the top button open, moved his fingers to his zipper, and watched her face turn slowly white, her huge green eyes widen even farther, and her mouth drop open.

  In his opinion, her reaction was a little slow for a really good actress, but he gave her the benefit of the doubt and waited her out.

  “I beg your pardon?” Her voice still weak, stuttered as her hand flickered convincingly to her throat.

  “How much will you ask for this time, Zoe?” He yanked his button closed again, disgusted as much with himself as with her. He stared hard at her as she sank onto the nearest seat, speechless. Eyes wide, confused, and pleading.

  “Mac?”

  “Or were you happy to prostitute yourself for fame and glory? Were you going for the big prize this time? You’re older, wiser. You undervalued yourself last time.” He couldn’t contain the fury that spewed forth like an erupting volcano. “Was fifty thousand not enough for you? It wasn’t much for ten years, was it? Ten years of rearing my child.” Her breath hitched, a small hiccup of despair, but he never held back the cruelty of his words. “I would have paid more.” His voice rose to an uncontrolled roar.

  Her green eyes glowed in her white face, but he took no pleasure in seeing the tremor run through her.

  “I’m talking about the money you took for your services last time.” He threw the photograph at her, watched her flinch as it hit her face and fall to her lap.

  Empty, he gave her a moment to stare at the photo. Pale and speechless, she kept her head bowed.

  His voice was quiet now, his pulse slow and steady, his heart a void. He waited for her to deny it. Wanted her to deny it.

  She tried to pull in a breath, and he heard it stutter in her throat.

  “Get out.” Without an ounce of sympathy in him, he gazed down at her motionless figure.

  His voice gained strength as she simply sat and looked down at her knees. She hadn’t even tried to deny it. He’d hoped beyond hope she would say it wasn’t true. He shook his head in disgust, sickened by his rage.

  “Get out.” He ground out through his teeth.

  Her head shot up, her desperate eyes meeting his for a brief moment.

  “What about Ryan?” He barely heard her.

  “He’ll come back tomorrow like we arranged.” Her lips moved in a silent protest, but she seemed incapable of speech. To make sure she understood, he pressed on. “He’s my son. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

  She stood, her entire body vibrated, and he felt nothing.

  “Now, get out.”

  She took a brief moment to look around frantically, fumbled for her handbag, and ran.

  The suite door slammed behind her, and Mac sank slowly into the chair she had just vacated. He could still smell the light fragrance of her, feel the warmth of her imprinted there. Not enough to melt the ice engulfing him. He put his head in his hands and sat, frozen.

  * * * *

  She ran for the train like she had run eleven years before. This time, though, she was older, more controlled. Her fingers shook as she paid for her ticket and staggered blindly along the concourse toward the empty platform. The train would still be the same one. Aberystwyth. She glanced at a newspaper stand as she passed by.

  Confused, she blinked, squinted her eyes, and stared in horror at an image of herself on the front of a shiny gossip magazine. Desperate, she ferreted in her purse, offered money to the vendor, and rolled the magazine up, hurriedly shoving her sunglasses on to cover her eyes as the vendor cast a curious glance at her.

  She no longer bore any resemblance to the stunning beauty on the front page of the magazine. The woman from last night was gone. An illusion created for one night only. No longer recognizable.

  She boarded the train, found the quiet carriage and, heart in mouth, unraveled the magazine. She realized her mistake in be
lieving no one would recognize her. The front page contained the movie premiere shots, but the wording invited you to look further inside, at a peek into Cormack Blunt’s well-protected private life.

  The photograph had been taken the day she’d hit Mac with the fish. The photographer had caught a perfect shot as water sluiced off Mac’s heavily muscled chest while he levered himself out of the pond, his white T-shirt plastered and transparent against his tanned glowing skin, displaying every ripple and dip of his muscle tone and sinew. His white teeth showed in a wild grin she imagined could only do his reputation the world of good.

  Pain sliced through her as she realized it didn’t matter what he’d done, what he’d said; she was never going to escape him. There would always be another photograph. Exactly as it had been for the last eleven years, but this time she wondered whether she could ever survive the pain and humiliation. This time, the paparazzi had hold of it.

  Her gaze slid over the image of herself, and her heart gave a cruel and savage stab at the obvious adoration and love pouring from her face as she laughed carefree and delirious into his. She remembered her emotions at the time, and her stomach clenched and then roiled thick and sickly as she read the caption.

  CORMACK—STILL IN LOVE WITH THE MOTHER OF HIS ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.

  Shoving the magazine viciously into her bag, she simply sat and stared out of the window as the countryside rushed by and the distance increased between her and her son.

  She’d made a mistake. Many mistakes. But probably the biggest one was leaving Ryan with Mac. She chewed her fingernails down to the quick as she worried, and she wondered if Mac was honorable enough to keep his word and bring him home the following day.

  She thought he probably would this time. But he was going to take her son from her. It wasn’t an idle threat. He was furious enough and powerful enough to do it. He could afford the best lawyer globally, and he was going to take her baby away.

  Panic gripped her. She could feel the pounding of her heart at the base of her throat; she rubbed her chest where it ached.