Zach gave no immediate response, but his entire expression altered—eyes hardened until they resembled sapphires set in a stone mask. He withdrew his hand from her chin. “How can you think something like that of me, Theresa? I thought we were friends. Worse, how can you set such a poor value on yourself?”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have these doubts if you’d been honest with me right from the start,” Theresa said, her tone soft but steadfast. She looked Zach right in the eye and refused to back down. She didn’t care if he was upset, because she was every bit as angry.
He opened his mouth, obviously struggling for words. His brow furrowed, and his head ducked as he bit off whatever he’d been about to say. She expected sarcasm or withdrawal, whatever obfuscation best suited the moment. Zach never showed his hand to anyone, not even her, and he wasn’t likely to start now.
Abruptly, Zach’s demeanor solidified into one of resolution. His big hands reached out and grasped her shoulders, and he hauled her to him. A squeak of surprise escaped Theresa just before his mouth descended and claimed her lips in a kiss. Rough, passionate, demanding. His skin felt hot and dry, and she tilted back her head to grant him better access. She clung to his arms with both hands, digging her nails into his muscular biceps.
Her lips parted, and his tongue thrust deep into the moist recesses of her mouth. He tasted of nicotine, and she realized with a burst of shock that he’d been smoking. The taste didn’t repel her as she might have expected because the heat and spiciness of his mouth blended with the smokiness, creating a rich flavor that was distinct. Pure Zach.
His tongue delved deeper, stroking the slick surface of her teeth, penetrating deep enough so the tip caressed the roof of her mouth. It was nothing like the prior kisses they had shared, lacking both in playfulness and gentleness. Instead, he communicated anger and need. He crushed her soft curves against his chest so that the friction abraded her erect nipples, and she whimpered, wanting to experience his hands cupping her full breasts. The intensity of the embrace left her breathless, and her weak legs threatened to collapse out from beneath her.
As suddenly as it had begun, the kiss ended. Zach set her away from him, back on her feet, and then released his hold on her shoulders. He looked at her, obviously waiting, expecting her to say something.
Theresa produced a small sound, unable to formulate words. Her fingers crept to brush her bruised lips, and she ached for his touch.
The kiss tasted like goodbye.
“Take care, Theresa,” Zach said in a voice frozen, devoid of emotion. He stepped away from her and walked to his car.
In shocked disbelief, she watched him drive away and fought back tears of confusion and loss as her entire world crumbled about her. Had she just lost her best friend?
Chapter Eight
Tuesday afternoon, Theresa arrived early to pick Isabel up from school. She waited with the other mothers, but the speculative glances aimed in her direction and the hushed whispers behind raised hands were not her imagination. She seemed to be the subject of their gossip, and yet she couldn’t fathom why. It was Isabel’s first year in primary school, so Theresa didn’t know most of the other mothers very well. Their reaction worried her and left her wondering what she had done wrong.
“Don’t take it personally.” A short woman with curly red hair stepped forward and flashed a smile so that her cheeks dimpled. “They’re just dying to know more about that man of yours who picked up your daughter from school yesterday. He was simply gorgeous, and a famous author to boot. It’s pricked the curiosity of every red-blooded woman in town.”
“Oh.” Theresa stared at the impertinent woman. Her eyes and mouth rounded, and then she blushed. “He’s not mine. We’re just friends.”
The mention of Zach made her heart ache. By now his plane would have landed in Chicago, and he’d be checked into his hotel room. The poor man would be alone in a city full of beautiful women. Opportunities would abound, and who could blame him for seeking solace? An angry green-eyed monster gnawed at her insides at the thought of him in the arms of another woman. Violent self-recrimination plagued her. What had she done? He was all she had ever wanted. Why had she rejected him?
“Well, that’s something you should fix right away.” A mischievous light shone in the redhead’s eyes.
Right away, Theresa decided she liked this nosy little woman. “I’m working on it,” she said with a sheepish smile and offered her hand. “Theresa Sanchez. My daughter is Isabel.”
I’m Martha Stewart—no relation.” The woman took her hand and gave it a vigorous pump. “My daughter is Madison.”
They made small talk for fifteen minutes until the bell rang, signaling the release of school. Theresa walked away from the encounter feeling optimistic; maybe she had made a new friend. She joined the other moms at the gate to the kindergarten yard and waited while the playground filled with children excited to be free.
Isabel appeared, carrying her backpack. “Hi, Mom!”
“Hi, sweetie, how was your day?”
Before Isabel replied, Ms. Spaulding, Isabel’s teacher, motioned Theresa aside. “Mrs. Sanchez, could I speak with you for a moment?”
“Of course.” Theresa cast a worried glance at her daughter. Isabel wore a pensive expression. “It’s Ms. Sanchez, please. I’m divorced.”
“Of course, I’m sorry. Isabel, why don’t you go onto the playground and give me a moment alone with your mother,” Ms. Spaulding said.
“Yes, Ms. Spaulding.” Isabel tilted her head back and gazed at them with knowing eyes. She looked to her mother for permission.
“Go ahead and play.” Theresa watched while Isabel turned toward the swing set and broke into a skipping run. She waited until her daughter was out of earshot. “Is everything okay, Ms. Spaulding?”
The young teacher offered a tense smile and crossed her arms. Theresa scented discomfort and embarrassment emanating from the other woman. “Isabel is a wonderful child. She’s bright and imaginative…”
“But?” Theresa suspected she knew what was coming.
“She’s just a little too imaginative,” Ms. Spaulding said. “Isabel talks constantly about her imaginary fairy friends. So much so that I’m afraid it’s becoming a distraction in the classroom.”
Theresa closed her eyes and sighed, then opened them. “I’m sorry, Ms. Spaulding. We had the same issue last year in preschool. I’ll speak with her about it.”
The teacher’s face reflected her relief. “Thank you. I really do appreciate it.”
Theresa nodded and walked out onto the playground to collect her daughter. Isabel sat on a swing by herself, rocking slowly back and forth. Isabel was always alone, even in a crowd of other children, and it made Theresa sad. She wasn’t sure what to do to help her daughter make friends. Isabel lived within her own head and clung to her fairy friends with stubborn tenacity.
“Am I in trouble?” she asked with a worried frown.
“No, sweetie, you’re not in trouble, but we do need to talk when we get home.”
Isabel pouted. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Don’t frown, sweetie.” A smile curved Theresa’s lips. She took Isabel’s hand and they started toward the gate. Halfway there, a woman’s voice caught her attention.
“Theresa, hi!”
Theresa turned and spotted Charlaine standing on the other side of the fenced-off kindergarten playground. She wore the orange safety vest of a teacher on yard duty and stood at the gate, directing the flow of children and parents.
Theresa mustered a nervous smile. Together, she and Isabel walked over to greet Charlaine. She felt a little uncomfortable due to the difference in their ranks within the pack, but Charlaine’s assistance the night before had done a great deal to alleviate her uncertainty.
“Hello, Ms. Gale,” Isabel said.
“Hello, Isabel, you look pretty today. Theresa, hi,” Charlaine said.
“Hi, Char,” Theresa said. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is.�
�
They conversed, mostly small talk, and passed a few minutes. Theresa enjoyed the social interaction more than she’d expected. After a few minutes, the exodus thinned and then the playground was empty.
Acting on impulse, Theresa grasped Charlaine’s fingers. “I never said thank you for your help last night, so thank you.”
Charlaine’s brow shot up, but she permitted the contact. She squeezed Theresa’s hand in return and then released it. “You’re welcome. So, do you two have any big plans today?”
“We’re going shopping over in Sparks,” Theresa said. “Isabel has outgrown her shoes. Again.”
“I want big kid shoes with lights and laces,” Isabel said with a disdainful glance at her strap-fastened athletic shoes.
“I hear rhinestones are all the rage.” Charlaine kept a straight face, but her dark eyes danced with laughter.
Isabel’s small forehead scrunched as she frowned. “Only if they’re pink or red. My favorite color is red.”
“Mine too,” Charlaine said.
Theresa hesitated and gathered her courage. “Char, are you free? It’d be nice to have company.”
Isabel, bless her little heart, jumped on the idea. “Oh, please! Come with us! It’ll be so much fun.”
Surprise crossed Charlaine’s face, but only for a second. She considered and consented with a slow smile. “I think I’d like that. Shall we take one car?”
“I’m parked around the corner on Ray Street,” Theresa said, indicating the direction to her vehicle.
Charlaine checked her watch and then removed the orange safety vest. “I’m right here in the parking lot. Let’s take my car.”
Theresa glanced down and hid a smile behind her hand, pretending to scratch her nose. Dominant wolves always wanted to drive. They had such control issues.
“I saw that.” Charlaine shot her a quick smile and sideways glance.
****
A backdrop of voices engaged in hushed conversations created a slight din, but Zach had no trouble following what his companion was saying. Her voice had a sultry resonance that made him believe she’d be an amazing singer. She was pleasant to listen to and even easier on the eyes. However, the meaning of her words didn’t sit well at all, and his annoyance grew with each passing second.
At long last, she took a break from talking to solicit his opinion. “Mr. Hunter, what do you think?”
Blue eyes narrowed, Zach peered over the rim of his wine glass. The gorgeous redhead had a model’s ideal figure: tall, svelte, and leggy. He sighed and slugged his wine without regard for the rich bouquet that demanded sipping for sincere appreciation.
“I’m sorry, Miss Dawson,” he said. “Could you please repeat that?”
Irritation crossed Danielle’s face. She obviously knew he’d been paying attention and understood everything she’d said. He figured he owed her one last chance to come to her senses and retract her erroneous stance.
No such luck.
“I said,” she gritted out, “that I don’t buy Wesley’s actions in chapter twelve. Frankly, I feel it’s out of character for him to shoot McTavish, especially considering how long they’ve been friends…”
She kept talking, but Zach wasn’t listening. He knocked back the rest of his wine and motioned to the waiter even though their food had not yet arrived. “Check please.”
Miss Dawson sputtered. “Mr. Hunter, you could at least hear me out. My concerns as your editor—”
Zach cut her off. “Junior editor,” he fumed, “and I only agreed to meet with you as a favor to Suzie while Sam is out with an emergency appendectomy. And if we’re being frank, it isn’t your place to tell me what is or is not in character for Wesley. He’s my creation and it’s precisely because of that betrayed friendship that he must shoot McTavish. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Danielle colored a delicate shade of pink. “Mr. Hunter, I’m aware some writers don’t take criticism well, but really, I’m trying to help you.”
Zachary stood and intercepted the check before the waiter had a chance to set it on the table. “Thank you so much for that.”
“Mr. Hunter!” Danielle shot to her feet.
“Miss Dawson.” Zach swung on the young woman. He met her gaze and summoned his power, allowing her to perceive enough of the wolf lurking within to stop her in her tracks. And stop she did. Her pale complexion blanched, and she shook in her expensive high heels.
Zach continued with his irate outburst. “I did not come here to receive a lecture on the canonical doings of Wesley Anders from you. This conversation is over.”
The tiresome redhead took a step back. Zach accepted her expression of fear and astonishment as a gesture of submission and reached for his wallet. He withdrew a credit card and forked it over to the waiter for payment. “I’ll contact Suzie in the morning, so that you will not have the chance to make this mistake again, Miss Dawson.”
As he watched, Danielle Dawson’s green eyes filled with tears, and her lower lip trembled. However, he refused to take pity on the stupid woman. It might have been her misfortune to cross him while he was already in a foul mood, but damn it! She’d been asking for it, and he had curbed the sharper edge of his tongue.
Zach jerked his credit card from the waiting server, took his leave, and caught a taxi back to his hotel room. The early fall Chicago evening was quite lovely, but he remained too preoccupied to enjoy it. His entire day, from the early morning flight with the associated delays in security and takeoff to the four-hour book signing, had been crap. Danielle Dawson had been the last straw.
****
Back at his hotel, Zach set his keys and wallet down on the dresser. He kicked off his leather shoes and left them in the closet, then shed his trench coat over an armchair. He unknotted his tie and left it hanging about his neck, and then popped open the top three buttons of his linen dress shirt to ease the pressure around his throat and chest.
He investigated the mini bar, opened a bottle of Scotch, and dumped the contents over ice. Glass in hand, he sank into one of the rectangular hotel chairs and fished his cell phone from his pocket. He had no missed calls, but the voicemail message symbol showed on the top of the screen.
Zach took a sip of his Scotch and sat back, putting up his feet on the edge of the queen-size bed. He considered the phone, deliberating on the potential identity of the sender. There were a small handful of friends who might call him. Trouble was, he would be in an even worse mood if it wasn’t from her.
Staring at the phone was not only a waste of time, it was killing him. Making the decision, he checked his incoming call log. For the first time that day, he smiled to see that it was from Theresa.
He dialed his voicemail and listened to Theresa’s soft voice, full of uncertainty, “Zach, are you still mad? Call me.”
The timestamp read 8:45 p.m. The phone’s clock showed that it was now 8:58 p.m. Isabel would be asleep, and Theresa would be winding down before going to bed. Zachary set aside the glass and used the touch screen to pull up his directory. He selected Theresa’s number from the top of the list. The house phone rang once before she picked up.
“Hello?” Theresa said with a breathy quality and his insides warmed at the sound of it. He longed to hear her sultry voice sigh his name, crooning and whimpering with the intensity of her desire. He wanted to taste her lips and feel those luscious curves writhing beneath him. He needed her to complete him.
“Theresa?” Zach’s smile infused her name with glow. “I thought you were angry with me, love.”
She hesitated and he envisioned her front teeth biting into her lower lip. “I’m not angry with you. Just with myself.”
Zach snorted. “Why? This is on me. I managed to balls up everything.”
Theresa laughed. “How’s Chicago?”
“Eh,” Zach said, but it was an unfair characterization of the city. “It’s lovely. The weather is perfect.”
“I miss you,” Theresa said on a plaintive note.
“I
miss you, too.” Abruptly, everything felt okay, but he knew it to be an illusion that couldn’t last. There wasn’t enough trust between them.
“We miss you,” she said, amending her first statement. “Isabel said to remind you about her present.”
Zach chuckled, and his hand reached for the bag bearing the exclusive toy store logo. He pulled out the stuffed pony he’d purchased for inspection. “I have it right here. I hope Isabel still likes horses.”
Theresa giggled. “Isabel is a girl. Of course she likes horses.”
“That’s good, because I couldn’t find a stuffed fairy.”
“Isabel has every fairy toy ever made. I’m sure she’s going to love it.”
Zach slipped the toy back into the bag. On an optimistic impulse, he had made a second purchase—a wrapped box filled with tissue paper, containing an expensive peignoir and lace panties. It was a piece reminiscent of the glory days of Hollywood, a sheer georgette robe. He possessed a vivid imagination and could envision how the white silk would look against her warm brown skin.
Zach realized he’d gotten hard and had to adjust his pants so his rigid cock wasn’t crushed. He cleared his throat. “Theresa?”
“Hmm?”
“Are you still angry with me, love?”
Theresa drew in a sharp breath. “I…I don’t know,” she said. “I think I was more hurt than angry.”
“You don’t trust me.” The harsh statement slipped past his lips despite his reluctance to speak his conclusion out loud. Saying it aloud made the damning fact all that much more real. However, a number of people had accused him recently of being tight-lipped. He owed it to Theresa to try to communicate.
She protested. “That’s not true! We’ve been through this already. I know you’ll never hurt me or Isabel.”
He exhaled. “You trust me not to physically hurt you, but you don’t trust me with your heart, Theresa.”
He had her. She stumbled over the words. “Zach, I-I…”
“At least respect me enough to admit it.”
Her breathing stuttered on a wet exhalation. She sounded close to tears, and his chest ached for the hurt she must be enduring. It was a long time before she spoke again. “It’s not you, Zach, it’s me. I don’t trust my own judgment. My own worth.”
The Mating Game Page 12
