[Invitation to Eden 22.0] Delicious and Deadly

by CC MacKenzie

  "Why?"

  "I don't want to get married to anyone," she said as plainly as she could. "I don't want what we've found ruined by a piece of paper."

  "Marriage won't ruin us, baby. It will make us stronger."

  "How do you know?" she yelled, terrified for him, for herself. "You've never been there. I have. And I'm not going through it again."

  It was obvious he was struggling with his temper, she could tell by the way his hands fisted in the pockets of his pants, by the way his jaw clenched.

  "Because one son-of-a-bitch hurt you, you truly believe that I'll do the same?" he yelled right back.

  Did she?

  Emma closed her eyes knowing full well that Oscar would never hit her.

  Never.

  But that didn't mean she was in any hurry to get married.

  Didn't he understand that she needed time?

  Tears burned her throat, stung her eyes.

  "No, I don't think you'll hurt me..."

  She sobbed and immediately he came to her.

  Emma found herself sitting on Oscar's knees as he rocked her like a baby.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry."

  "You don't understand."

  "Then help me to understand." He tilted her face up to kiss away her tears. "Don't cry, baby. It's killing me. I'm sorry I shouted at you."

  "Shouting's okay. Shouting clears the air. It's just..." She took a shuddering breath. "I don't want to hurt you. And I can see I've hurt you. Please... can we just not talk about it now?"

  "Emma, baby. We need to talk about it now. I love you. I need you in my life."

  Miserably, she shook her head.

  "I can't do it."

  "Why?"

  She closed her eyes as she tried to organise her thoughts.

  "Because I need to do what's right for me."

  His brow creased as he tried to work through what she meant.

  "Talk to me," he said.

  Now she rose and moved towards the bathroom and turned to face the man she loved more than life.

  "All my life I've always followed the rules. Whatever my mother wanted me to do, I did it. Her expectations for me have always been high. Go to the right school. Get the right grades. Put my dreams of writing aside to learn how to run a home. Marry the right man. So I did. I did all of it. And it was hell."

  Her legs felt weak, so she sank to sit on edge of a chair.

  "When things went wrong, she made it clear that it was my duty to keep my husband happy. I'd made a promise before God and needed to keep that promise. She would accept nothing less. When the arguments started with Richard and I realised that I'd made a pact with the devil, she refused point blank to listen to me. Even accused me of being frigid or why would Richard turn to other woman for affection? When I told her I was getting divorced, she was so cold, so scarily civilized, in the way she said I was no longer her daughter."

  "You made a mistake and she punished you for it. That's on her, Emma. Not you."

  "Yes, I know that. But I also made myself a promise. Never again to live my life by someone else's rules."

  "You were hurt because of something bad that was done to you, not something you did or deserved to happen to you."

  He moved when she shook her head, caught her face in his hands. "Let go of the hurt, Emma. Let me in."

  "I can't." Now she clamped her hands on his wrists. "You say you love me, so for you the next logical step is marriage because that is what you want... your rules."

  "It's got nothing to do with rules," he said as he freed his wrists. Now those hands gripped her shoulders and gave her a shake, forcing her to listen. "It's what's right for us. I want to share my life with you. Love you. Give you my babies. We have a chance to make a wonderful family together."

  She shook her head, pushed him away.

  He simply refused to understand.

  She didn't want a family.

  "I'm in control of my future. And if that makes me selfish then I'm sorry, Oscar. But marriage and children are not in my plans," she said, and wondered why she felt freezing cold when her body was too hot and her hands were damp. "You either take me as I am, or you don't take me at all."

  The ring of the telephone interrupted what he'd been about to say.

  Oscar lifted the receiver and listened to Connie tell him the worst was over, that the wave was not as bad as expected and they were safe. Although his cabin had been flooded, it was still standing. The sound of metal shutters rolling had Emma rush to the French doors and open them to a new dawn just breaking over the horizon.

  After he informed Emma that they were safe, she turned to him.

  He couldn't read the look in her eyes.

  What the hell did it matter anyway?

  His heart was in pieces, yet again.

  "I think you'd better leave now. I have work to do," she said.

  "Emma..."

  "I need time to finish my book. I need time to think."

  "Okay. How much time?"

  "I don't know."

  "Not good enough, Em."

  "It's the best I can do. Take it or leave it."

  So that was it?

  She was kicking him out?

  He'd handed her his heart, asked her to marry him, but he wasn't enough.

  Emma wanted to control her future and he wasn't invited to be a part of that future.

  Okay.

  Message received and understood.

  Oscar didn't say a word.

  He simply turned and left.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Three days later Emma's stomach roiled at the thought of coming face-to-face with her mother after a year. The words in the letter supposed to have been sent by Oscar, words written by the woman who'd brought her into the world, had a bright and fresh anger lick through Emma's veins.

  In her hour of need, Theodisius, the Master of the island of Eden, had been an incredible support. He'd agreed to bring Catherine Ludlow to the island. And Emma knew she'd never be able to repay him for his kindness. The plane carrying her mother had landed twenty minutes ago and now Emma was braced, waiting for the knock on the door of her suite.

  She'd dressed carefully for the meeting. Her hair was slicked back in a high tail. She wore skinny jeans she knew her mother disliked, a sleeveless shirt of white cotton that showcased her tanned and toned arms and flat ballet pumps.

  If only her heart would calm down.

  If only the cold sweat would stop trickling down her back.

  Hands shaking, she clasped them together.

  Emma hated confrontation.

  Hated it.

  But this confrontation was one instigated by her and she couldn't avoid it.

  Emma knew life was messy, that bad stuff and good stuff (like her feelings for Oscar) came along at the same time. However, before she saw him again, she needed to make things right. Despite the turmoil inside, Emma took a breath and lifted her chin. And readied herself for what was to come.

  The knock had her take another deep breath before she moved across the room.

  Emma opened the door and faced the woman who'd caused her nothing but heartache.

  Catherine Ludlow had a face like a thunderstorm just waiting to bring darkness and torrential rain to a bright and sunny day.

  Dressed in a silk suit of silver grey that matched her eyes, Emma's first thought was that her mother looked older. Fine lines now crept around her eyes, her mouth. As always the blonde hair was immaculate and her beautiful face had been very carefully made up.

  Her mother looked her over, a cool scan from her toes to her hair. And then she swept past her daughter and into the room.

  Emma closed the door and turned to watch her mother check out the room, take in the island scene from the French doors.

  "Hello, mother."

  No response.

  Instead she moved to perch on the end of a sofa and for the first time met Emma's eyes.

  "I'm not used to being summoned, Emma."

/>   The tone was borderline offensive and it stiffened Emma's spine and her resolve.

  "It was either here or in my lawyers’ office, or the police."

  Emma realised with something like shock that in her past life, she'd never have dreamed of talking to her mother like that. But things had changed. Thanks to her mother, she'd changed.

  Cold eyes the colour of a stormy sea met hers.

  Her mother simply stared at her as if she was speaking in tongues.

  "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  Emma moved to her desk, picked up a copy of the letter supposedly written by Oscar and handed it to her mother.

  Emma returned to her place right by the door to watch the show.

  Two bright spots of red on her mother's cheeks were the only sign of guilt.

  She sat there, back straight, her mouth a single hard line.

  Unbending.

  Unforgiving.

  "So, can I assume from this, you and that man are together? Big mistake, Emma."

  "My relationship with Oscar is none of your business."

  Her mother shot to her feet.

  "Don't you dare take that tone with me, young lady. You have ruined my life. Made me a laughing stock in society..."

  "If you're a laughing stock, you've no one to blame but yourself." Then Emma flicked her hand as if swatting away a fly. "But you're not here to talk about Oscar, you're here to talk about why you wrote that letter."

  The response was an insolent jerk of the chin as those eyes went so cold Emma shivered.

  "Your father and I gave you everything. I wasn't going to stand by and let you throw your life away. That man will never be good enough for you. He's..." The rant stopped abruptly.

  Now Emma took a step forward.

  "He's what, Mother? A man of colour? How could you do such a thing?"

  Cheeks burning, her mother didn't back down.

  "A mother's sacred duty is to protect her child. I..."

  Seriously?

  Emma took another step forward.

  "You had no right to write a pack of lies. Lies that broke my heart. And I'll tell you something right here and right now, Papa would be as ashamed of you as I am."

  Catherine Ludlow sank onto the edge of the sofa, her mouth quivering, eyes misty, but her chin rose again.

  "I did what any mother would do. I protected my child. You threw away a wonderful man. A man who loved you. A man society and our friends look up to. A man who..."

  Emma had had enough, heard enough.

  "Richard hurt me, Mama! He made my life a living hell. He terrorised me. I've a restraining order against him because even though we're divorced he still won't leave me alone, won't let it go."

  "Richard is quite right, Emma, you are hysterical and not in your right mind. He's a good man. He forgives you. He only wants what is best for you..."

  And now everything became clear, her mother needed her position in society as the grieving widow of the late British Ambassador to the United States and to bask in her position as the mother-in-law of a United States Senator.

  "You mean what is best for you, Mama, not me."

  "He wants you back where you belong."

  Emma shook her head in disbelief.

  It was like talking to a brick wall.

  And she knew, just knew, that she'd never be reconciled with this woman.

  Never.

  Abruptly, all fight left her.

  Left her feeling lost and terribly sad.

  "It's up to me where I belong, Mama. Not you, not Richard or anyone else. What you did was nothing short of a disgrace. You caused great pain, not only to me, but to Oscar, too. Neither of us deserved that pain." Now Emma went for the jugular. She'd kept the weapon in reserve in case she needed it. And she needed it now. "And since you're so close to Richard, give him a message from me. If he does not back off and leave me to live my life then I will make it public that not only is he a violent abuser, but that he's impotent."

  Pale under cheeks streaked with colour, but unbowed, her mother grabbed her purse and stood.

  "I have no intention of listening to more of your lies. You definitely chose the right career for yourself, writing pulp fiction. You invited me here, Emma. I came because I believed you wanted to build bridges between us. Now I see I was wrong. You have made your feelings clear and so have I. We have nothing more to say."

  Emma was devastated.

  She couldn't help it.

  What on earth had happened to the woman who'd given birth to her?

  What had made her so bitter, so filled with hate?

  As her mother opened the door, Emma spoke,

  "Actually we do have something more to say. And if you do not do as I ask I'm contacting my lawyers and we'll make the letter you forged public."

  Her mother turned to stare at her with something like shock.

  "You're blackmailing me?"

  Nausea roiled in Emma's throat even as she ignored the trembling in her legs.

  "You'd better believe it."

  Oscar was sitting in his office in the castle's kitchen going quietly insane. Work continued to be rewarding and the cookbook was coming along. His editor had sent back the most recent revisions.

  And he was fucking miserable.

  A tentative knock on his door had his head jerk up.

  "Come in," he said.

  Of all the people in the world that might have been standing there, Catherine Ludlow was the last person he expected to see.

  Emma's mother was as trim and immaculately dressed as ever.

  Today she wore a pale grey skirt suit, pearls, and the helmet of blonde hair didn't have a strand out of place.

  Cool grey eyes rested for a couple of beats on his hair, his tattoo.

  "I'm here to apologise," she told him in a voice that grated over his flesh. "I was only trying to protect my daughter from making a mistake. Any mother would have done the same."

  Oscar didn't do the polite thing and rise.

  "Sit down."

  It wasn't a request, it was an order.

  And by the way her eyes widened, she'd received the message loud and clear.

  Emma's mother sank slowly to the chair in front of his desk.

  "And marrying her to a sociopath wasn't a mistake?"

  Her flushed face was the only outward acknowledgement of a direct hit.

  Oscar hadn't spent the last couple of days twiddling his fucking fingers.

  He'd received some answers from Alexander and Nico and from the Del Garda PR company who were his agents in New York. Richard Murray III had plenty of dirt in his past. Plenty.

  Catherine Ludlow cleared her throat.

  Her eyes met his.

  And Oscar couldn't feel a thaw towards him in those grey eyes.

  "Emma sent you to apologise," he guessed. And saw by the heat that scorched her neck, her skinny face, he was right.

  "I admit my mistakes, Mr. Spencer..."

  "Zamani," Oscar interrupted rudely.

  Her brows rose. "Excuse me?"

  "I've taken my great-grandmother's maiden name as my professional name. It's Oscar Zamani."

  She blinked.

  "Because of you I've lost my daughter," she spat.

  "Losing Emma is down to you, Mrs. Ludlow, not me." Now those grey eyes went wide at the hard tone of his voice, as she stared for an endless moment into his face.

  She rose, swept a hand over her skirt.

  The first sign of nerves.

  "All I ask is that you do not keep my daughter from me," she whispered.

  Oscar stayed just where he was, he didn't rise to see her out the door.

  And he knew that his snub had been received and fully understood.

  "It's up to Emma to decide where she belongs, Mrs. Ludlow. Not you, and certainly not me."

  Catherine Ludlow opened the door and left.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Oscar stood on the covered front porch of his cabin and watched the moon rise.


  The night was so quiet and still he heard the beat of bat's wings over his head before they dove after insects. In one hand he held a bottle of iced beer that he sipped from time to time, although he wasn't registering the flavour. It was one of those warm, dark nights where a man could taste the salt of the ocean on his lips along with the scent of the frangipani overflowing from huge freshly planted terracotta pots.

  He'd made Emma a promise to give her time.

  But he'd be damned if he'd wait much longer.

  It had been three days since he'd seen her, since he'd touched her, since he'd held her.

  Every night, after a busy day teaching in the kitchens and after slogging over final changes to the Ludlow Hall cookbook, he found himself suffering with a ruthless ache to have her with him. He simply couldn't stand the feeling of emptiness inside him... again. It was hard enough to discover that he still loved Emma, but to deal with his own vulnerabilities where she was concerned... again, was all too much.

  She'd hurt him... again.

  Well, it wouldn't be the first time, or probably the last.

  They'd both been hurt, Oscar realised grimly now and lifted his beer.

  He was a man used to making difficult life and death decisions, but he hadn't worked out how to stop Emma Ludlow from breaking his heart all over again. But that didn't stop him from wanting her with a need that was so bad it was killing him.

  Bottom line, she didn't trust him.

  Oscar wanted more than her trust.

  He wanted her to believe in him enough to share everything with him.

  Especially her problems.

  With her mother's visit and everything the woman had put her through, Emma must be going through hell right now.

  The thought of her suffering, all alone, had his hand tighten on the bottle.

  Not once had she turned to him.

  Not once.

  Maybe he should just ignore the promise he made to her.

  Suddenly impatient, furious, he moved toward the short stairs.

  Then the sound of approaching footsteps reached him before he saw her walking along the wet sand at the edge of the surf towards him. She wore a dress. A flirty little number of lilac silk that danced around her thighs as she walked. Abruptly, tension gripped his shoulders, his stomach muscles.