His brother took in Zach and Pen as they entered the foyer, pausing with his cell phone in hand to smirk knowingly.
“Good morning, Zach. Penelope.”
“Mayor,” she said, chin held high.
Zach admired the hell out of her for that. In last night’s clothes, her hair sexily rumpled and cheeks pink from their steamy shower this morning, Pen didn’t care what Chase thought about her sleeping with his only brother.
“I have a meeting in thirty minutes,” Chase informed Zach, his gaze returning to his phone. “Legislature for...”
He trailed off as he ran his thumb along the screen. His expression blanked, accentuating his pallor.
“Chase?” Zach asked, alarm rising within. “Is there a problem?”
Chase blinked and offered a tight smile. “An old friend.” He gestured with the phone. “Haven’t thought of her in a long time.”
Her? Chase had a few hers in his past, but there was one more noteworthy than the others. But it couldn’t be...
Zach wasn’t going to find out anytime soon. Chase exited his house and climbed into the back seat of a town car idling out front.
“Sounds mysterious,” Pen commented at Zach’s side, curiosity outlining her pursed lips. Without digging deeper, she leaned in for a kiss and he gladly obliged. “I’m going to go. Thanks for...everything.”
“Don’t tell me you work today, too?”
She paused at the door and looked over her shoulder. “Your ex-wife situation isn’t going to go away on its own.”
Zach looped her arm in his. “I’ll walk you out.”
The valet had moved Pen’s car next to his in the cobblestone drive. Her white Audi sat gleaming next to his black Porsche. He opened her car door but before he closed her inside, stole another kiss for the road.
“You’ll be hearing from me, Mr. Ferguson.”
“I’ll be expecting a full report, Ms. Brand.”
She looked sleepy and adorable, as well she should after he’d kept her up all night. He opened his mouth to add that he was in no hurry for her to wrap things up with Yvonne, but instead he backed away and watched as she drove off.
* * *
A week later Zach was sitting in his office, Penelope on the other side of his desk. She’d come to Ferguson Oil to discuss the details of the Yvonne Tsunami, which was swallowing up way too much of his time.
The arrangement was far from the way he wanted to spend time with Pen. For starters, she was way too clothed for his taste, and secondly, his brother was brooding in the corner, arms folded over his suit.
Zach stood in frustration the moment Pen stopped talking.
“I won’t do it,” he said, his words clipped.
“Hear her out,” Chase advised from his position near the window. Dallas’s cityscape shone outside in the sunny day, several buildings dwarfed from Zach’s top-floor vantage.
“I heard her out,” Zach told his meddling brother. He softened his voice with Pen, but kept a position of strength when he leaned over his desk to address her where she sat in his guest chair. “I’m not giving Yvonne any money.”
“Zach...” Her pink mouth parted to argue and he cut her off.
“No.” His desk phone chirped and he pushed a button. “Yes, Sam?”
His male assistant rattled off the name of an investor who was waiting on the line.
“Zach will call him back,” Chase called loud enough to be heard.
“Yes, sir.” Sam clicked off.
Zach sent his brother a death glare. Chase was unperturbed. He was in one of the highest ranks of government. A wilting glare from his younger brother wasn’t going to rankle him anytime soon.
“Listen.” Penelope stood, eye level with Zach since he was still looming over the desk. Her pale blue eyes locked with his and she softened her voice. “Yvonne has threatened to make more noise about your marriage. This could not only harm your newly minted position as Ferguson Oil’s CEO, but also put a dent in the mayor’s approval rating.”
Zach fought a growl. Chase’s mayoral reputation had been overshadowing everything for the past decade. God, how Zach hated politics. Unfortunately, he loved his brother, so he had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time he did something he didn’t want to do for Chase’s career.
“It’s a relatively small amount of money to ensure her silence,” Pen continued. “The world knows you were married, but I wouldn’t put it past her to make up a few unbecoming stories and share them on social media. I’ve seen exes go public with false facts before.” Her eyebrows lifted in determination.
“And if she goes against the agreement?” Chase asked, stepping into their tight circle.
“She’ll have to pay Zach ten times the amount we’re paying for her silence.”
Chase and Zach exchanged glances.
“Short of that,” Pen said, folding her arms to mirror Chase. “Zach could get ahold of a time machine and steer clear of the Chapel of Love last New Year’s Eve.”
“I don’t like it,” Zach told both of them.
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to do it.” Pen’s voice was tender, reminding him of the gentle way she moaned when he was in bed with her three days ago. When he’d struck the pretend fiancée agreement with her, he’d hoped they’d share a bed more often than once a week. She’d been doing a good job of avoiding him on that front.
“Zach.” Chase’s voice crashed into Zach’s fantasy about the blonde in front of him.
“Fine,” he said between his teeth. “Now get out.”
Chase let the command roll off him. “I have a lunch with important people. Penelope. Thank you.”
“Anytime, Mr. Mayor.” When he was gone, the door shut behind him, Zach breached the few inches separating him and Pen, tugged her by the nape of the neck and kissed her mouth. She hummed, her eyelids drooping in satisfaction.
“Where have you been hiding?” He thumbed her bottom lip when she pulled back too soon.
“I’ve been working. On your problems and a few others.”
“None are my sister’s I take it?”
“No.” She shouldered her purse and tucked away her cell phone. “None are Stefanie’s. She’s been on her best behavior.”
“Have dinner with me,” he said as she pivoted on one high, high heel.
Pen peeked over her shoulder and Zach allowed his gaze to trickle down her fitted white jacket and short white skirt. Her platinum-blond hair was in a ponytail at the back of her head, the smooth length of it brushing her shoulder when she turned her head.
“I’m... I have to check my schedule.”
“You have to make an appearance with me. Especially if we’re going to approach Yvonne with a deal.” Yvonne believed Zach and Pen were engaged. Everyone who’d attended his brother’s party believed they were engaged.
“Okay. Dinner.”
He pulled his shoulders back, proud to get a yes out of the evasive woman in front of him. His eyes dipped to the cleavage dividing the neckline of a sapphire blue shirt.
“And after dinner, you can come home with me.”
She opened her mouth, maybe to protest, but smiled in spite of herself. He tucked two fingers into her shirt and pulled her closer, brushing her perky breasts.
“I’ll make you breakfast in the morning,” he told her. “And afterward, I’ll make you something to eat.”
She rolled her eyes but a soft chuckle escaped her. It was a yes if he’d ever heard one.
“I’ll pick you up at your place at seven.”
“I have to work late.”
Zach was already back at his desk. “No. You don’t. Seven o’clock.”
He punched a button and summoned Sam. “Make reservations at One Eighty for myself and Ms. Brand for seven this evening.”
“One Eighty?” Pen’s brow r
ose. Was she impressed? He hoped so.
“Have you been?”
“Once. With a client who shall remain nameless.”
“A male client?” he asked before he could stop himself.
Her Cheshire cat smile held. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Seven,” he reiterated.
“Seven.” She walked out of his office and Zach watched her go, looking forward to viewing her over candlelight the next time they saw each other. His phone beeped and Sam announced that the investor had called back.
Zach picked up the phone, but by the time he lifted his head, Pen was gone, his office door whispering shut.
Six
One Eighty was named for its half-circle shape. The restaurant hovered over Dallas, on the eighty-eighth floor of one of the city’s most shimmering skyscrapers.
Outside the smudgeless windows, deep blue skies were losing their light and the moon was making its nightly appearance.
Pen had stopped working at five, unusual for her, but then so were billionaire dinner dates that were personal rather than solely business.
“How are your prawns?” Zach, fork and knife in hand, leaned over his steak dinner to ask.
“Delightful. How is your strip?”
“Fantastic.”
They shared a grin over the low candlelight, and a ping of awareness that started in Pen’s stomach radiated out until it created a bubble around her and Zach.
Along with that ping of awareness came a lower, subtler thrum of warning.
She liked him. A lot.
Their chemistry was off the charts in bed, but also out of it.
She could’ve easily dismissed him as a playboy—a charmer who knew what to say to get a woman out of her clothes. Admittedly, Zach had done just that. But along with getting her out of her clothes, he’d also made a point to keep her in his life.
After what went down with her ex-boyfriend, Cliff, in Chicago—where she’d quite literally been bamboozled by a smooth-talking charmer—she should be wary of Zach.
But she wasn’t wary.
Maybe it was because she’d gotten to know his brother, the mayor, and Stefanie, his sister. Maybe it was because of the way Zach had asked her to dinner when he full well could have invited her to his place.
She’d have said yes either way.
Did he know that?
She sliced into her shrimp dinner—buttery, garlicky, lemony heaven. “I contacted Yvonne today and let her know you were willing to talk about—”
“Penelope.”
Fork hovering over her plate, she hazarded a glance at her date. Zach didn’t look perturbed as much as patient.
“Sorry,” she said. “I want to get this over with.”
His eyes narrowed, eyelashes a shade darker than his hair obliterating his gorgeous green stare. “With Yvonne, yes. You and I? Not so much.”
When she’d called him a caveman at the mayor’s party, she hadn’t been far off the mark. But she saw no reason to argue the point. The fact was she would wrap up the issue with Zach’s ex-wife and then they’d have no reason to see each other. She’d make her services available for Chase or for their party-loving sister, but Pen and Zach had an expiration date.
So why are you here?
Excellent question.
“Did you pack a bag like I asked?” Zach lifted his wineglass, which was as foreign as the black shirt and black suit combo. She’d been so sure at that jazz club that she’d run into a blue-collar guy moonlighting in slacks. Now that she’d seen him in tuxes and suits, her brain scrambled to make sense of it.
He’d seemed safer when he was a contractor. Before she learned of his bank account or his heritage.
Nevertheless...
“I packed a change of clothes, yes.” She took a dainty sip from her own wineglass. While she wasn’t sure how to define what she and Zach had or to know how long they had access to it, she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to fill her head and heart full of sexy, vivid memories that would last if not a lifetime, at least a few years.
“Good. I want to show you my place. I think you’ll like it.” He took another bite of his steak, but not before dragging it through his mashed potatoes. A steak and potatoes guy. She shook her head as she tried to merge the two versions of Zach she thought she knew.
“Why did you leave Chicago? You seemed...at home there.”
“I like the city. I liked the work more,” he said. “But my family needed me, so I came home.”
“Do you mean Stefanie?” She could imagine the youngest Ferguson sibling asking for his help.
“No. She leans on Chase.” His smile took on a slightly sad quality. In a firmer voice, he added, “My father’s heart attack required surgery and a long recovery. He was under strict orders not to return as acting CEO of Ferguson Oil.”
“Doctors,” Pen said with a roll of her eyes.
“Worse. My mother.” Half of Zach’s mouth pulled to one side in good humor, his dimple shadowing his stubbled cheek. She liked him a touch unkempt. “Once Dad was benched, that left me to work for the family business. Chase is obviously busy and Stef is obviously uninterested. She’ll grow out of it.”
Pen couldn’t imagine Stef giving up her life as a socialite heiress to go into the oil business, but she kept that thought to herself.
“What about you?” Zach asked, turning the tables on her. She’d seen that possibility coming and had already decided she wouldn’t deflect. She’d been eager to leave her life behind in Chicago, but face it—the internet was alive and well. If Zach typed her name into Google, he’d learn about her association with Cliff.
Still, she inhaled deeply before telling him the sordid, slightly embarrassing tale.
“Ever heard of the phrase ‘the plumber’s pipes are always leaking’?”
“The cobbler’s children have no shoes?”
“Same idea.” She laughed, already feeling better about confessing. She sobered quickly. “I had a PR problem I couldn’t spin.”
Zach’s eyebrows lowered. He didn’t know.
“Cliff Goodman started out as a client. He hired me to repair his business’s reputation when he was accused of dishonest practices.” She’d believed him at the time—the research she’d done on him pointed to his upstanding reputation. “Once the issue was handled, he and I started dating and then—” she lifted her wine and ripped off the Band-Aid “—he became involved in my public relations business.”
Her date’s face darkened. Pen looked away from his intense stare. Diners quietly chatted at their tables, points of candlelight dotting the dimly lit room, mimicking the city lights outside the windows. The blue sky had gone black.
“Long story short, he went from involved to over-involved. I found out he’d been meeting with my clients in my place, cashing their checks and never following through. He left the city with a lot of my money after destroying my hard-won reputation. I didn’t want to leave Chicago, but I didn’t want to stay, either.”
“Why Dallas?”
“A college friend of mine started an organic cosmetic company. She lives here and needed help maintaining her pure reputation in the face of a nasty divorce. So she hired me.”
“And you stayed.”
“I did.”
They shared a silent moment. Pen wondered if he was thinking what she was thinking—that had it not been for her friend Miranda’s phone call, Pen and Zach may never have seen each other again.
“It’s a beautiful city.” Pen swallowed some more wine, smoothly changing the subject.
“You’re beautiful in it.”
See? When he said things like that, she forgot all about her past and her rules and her personal struggles.
She forgot everything—including her promise to herself about not letting a client get too close. Especially a male c
lient.
The waiter approached after they’d finished their plates.
“Madame, sir,” the older man greeted, hands clasped in front of him. “Might I interest you in our fine dessert selections, or perhaps a glass of port wine or coffee?”
“No,” Zach answered for them. “We’ll pay and be on our way. My compliments to the chef.”
“Such a gentleman,” Pen teased.
“I grew up right.” He leaned over the table and then, tossing the idea of his humble upbringing on its ear, took her hand and murmured, “I’m making you my dessert, tonight.”
* * *
“Your post-dessert dessert.” Zach’s hand appeared from behind Pen, a glass of port wine in his grip. “It’s a tawny, which I prefer. That bit of vanilla goes a long way.”
She accepted the miniature wineglass and a kiss to her cheek. Zach rounded the enormous brown leather couch wearing nothing at all, another miniature glass dwarfed in his large hand.
Pen wasn’t wearing anything, either, but had curled up in a blanket she’d found tossed over his ottoman. A blanket she now opened to include Zach. He accepted, cradling one of her breasts and delivering a tender kiss to the side of her mouth.
They’d stepped foot in his expansive apartment and stripped off each other’s clothes in record time. She hadn’t so much as seen the bedroom yet, though she did make a quick stop to the bathroom. Zach’s apartment was a manly array of exposed brick, lights suspended from long, metal rods, his furniture deep browns and grays. The overall vibe was more industrial than rustic, yet had warmth that mirrored the owner himself.
She sipped the super-sweet wine, savoring the vanilla notes that Zach mentioned and quirking her lips at the way her dress had been haphazardly tossed over a chair along with Zach’s discarded suit. Their shoes made a line from the foyer to the living room, the first articles of clothing they’d kicked off.
“You have a really nice apartment.”
“Thanks.”
“No billionaire mansion for you?”
“Nah, that’s Chase’s style.”
“What about Stef? Does she tend toward high-rise apartment or sprawling mansion with horses and twenty-two bathrooms?”
Lone Star Lovers Page 4
