by Fiona Brand
And he had refused to accept just any assistant; Damon had wanted her. He wanted her in his bed and at his work.
She was abruptly certain that whatever Damon was feeling, it wasn’t just sexual attraction.
Her mood soared. Suddenly, Damon wanting her as a person, maybe even falling for her, seemed...possible.
Minutes later, using a key card to gain entrance, dim shadow swamped the car as Damon took the ramp down into the underground garage of his building. Zara’s stomach did a nervous flip at the sheer familiarity of the garage as Damon removed his sunglasses, killed the engine and exited the Audi.
Before he could walk around the front of the car and help her out, Zara hurriedly unfastened her seat belt, collected her handbag and swung the door of the sleek, low car wide.
As she exited the car and straightened, she found herself close enough to Damon that when she inhaled she caught the clean scent of his skin, the utterly familiar tang of his cologne. In the dimness of the garage the impact of his gaze made her breath catch in her throat. Yesterday she would have kept her manner neutral and breezed past him, but today was a new world.
Hooking the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she allowed Damon to close the door with a thunk. Before she could lose her nerve, she met his gaze. “Thanks for being so understanding about Rosie. The last thing I wanted was for you to feel trapped into fatherhood.” And trapped into a relationship with her.
Balancing herself by resting one palm on his shoulder, she lifted up on her toes to kiss him on the cheek.
Damon cupped her neck, stopping her from stepping back. The heat of his palm burned into her skin as, slowly and deliberately, he bent his head and kissed her on the mouth.
Long seconds later, her legs feeling as limp as noodles, she stumbled back a half step. It occurred to her that while the garage was a secure one, it did still service a number of clients.
“Maybe we shouldn’t kiss in public,” she said a little breathlessly. As soon as she said the words she realized that Damon would pick up on the clear implication that he could continue to kiss her in private.
Surprise and a glint of masculine satisfaction registered in his gaze as he caught her close and kissed her again. The kind of kiss shared by couples who were not just lovers, but who were in a real relationship. Couples who liked one another. The very nature of it filled Zara with hope because she was certain that in the past few minutes they had turned some kind of corner.
As he released her, Zara noticed a blue-suited janitor and froze. As quiet as their conversation had been, in the cavernous garage it had echoed. From his frozen posture, the janitor had heard every word.
Zara’s breath froze in her throat as he disappeared from sight behind a large concrete pillar. For a split second she tried to buy into the fantasy that maybe the janitor hadn’t heard. And if he had, who would he tell, anyway?
Potentially everyone.
Now thoroughly rattled, the warm sense of togetherness with Damon splintered, Zara freed Rosie from her car seat and lifted her out. As she straightened, in her hurry, the back of her head caught the frame of the Audi’s door, which was lower than that of her own car. She winced and straightened. As she did so, her bag, which she’d hooked over her shoulder, flopped to the ground, sending items scattering.
Damon steadied her. “Babe, are you all right?”
Muttering that she was fine, Zara clutched Rosie’s warm, soft little body securely against her own and rubbed at the sore patch.
Babe. The surprise of the endearment was so distracting that Zara forgot she’d dropped her handbag and stepped back. Something crunched beneath her heel.
Her mood plummeted even further. That would be her phone. A little awkwardly, she retrieved it. A cracked screen, and the insides were undoubtedly mashed too. It would be a miracle if it ever worked again.
Before she could pick up any other items, Damon collected the keys and compact that had scattered, dropped them into her bag and handed the bag to her. Seconds later, he collected Rosie’s things, locked the car and indicated the elevator. “If you’re worried about the phone, don’t be. I was giving you a company phone in any case.”
Zara walked into the familiar private elevator. As Damon joined her, the feeling of disorientation that she was actually returning to work for Damon intensified.
The first person Zara saw as she stepped into the foyer was Howard Prosser, Damon’s office manager. Howard’s look of surprise that Zara was holding a baby informed her that Damon had been true to his word. If he hadn’t confided the fact that Rosie was his child to Howard, then he hadn’t told anyone.
Zara adjusted her grip on Rosie, who was becoming restless, and tried to look as if her relationship with Damon was as casual and incidental as Howard clearly thought it to be.
Damon glanced at a file Howard handed him. “Zara’s just filling in for a few days, until the McCall takeover is complete.”
Howard looked distinctly grumpy. “That’s not likely to happen unless you track down whoever has that block of missing voting shares.”
Damon’s palm briefly cupped her elbow as he urged her toward the door to her old office. The small, proprietorial touch sent a small thrill of awareness through her.
“A rival firm’s been buying shares,” he explained as he set the baby bag and portable crib down behind the desk. “That wouldn’t be a problem except that ten percent of the voting shares are held by an anonymous shareholder, something that should never have happened. The net result is we’ve been having difficulty securing a majority of the stock.”
Zara set her handbag down beside the desk. “Why shouldn’t the shares be held by an anonymous shareholder? Surely that happens all the time.”
“Not with voting shares. And these were Tyler’s personal shares. By rights they should have remained in the family, since they guaranteed the majority vote. At some point, and for some reason I can’t fathom, he must have sold them. We’d buy them back but, unfortunately, there’s no record of the transaction.”
Zara shifted Rosie from one arm to another and became immediately aware that the baby needed a diaper change. As she rummaged in the baby bag for a changing pad and a diaper, Rosie wriggled and craned around and sent Damon a smile that was literally blinding. She held out her arms as if she had already recognized that Damon was her daddy.
Damon lifted a brow. “May I?”
“She needs a diaper change.”
“If that’s supposed to frighten me, you’re failing.”
“Because you’re already an old hand at it, having changed her diaper last night.”
Damon’s gaze caught hers. “I figured you could use the sleep.”
Zara’s cheeks burned as she considered exactly why she had needed the sleep and, with an odd reluctance, because up until now Rosie had been solely hers, she allowed Damon to take his daughter. As he balanced Rosie against one broad shoulder, his hand cradling her head, Zara experienced a curious sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She should look away, she thought a little desperately, except that she couldn’t. There was something about Damon cradling Rosie that was utterly mesmerizing.
With effort, she dragged her gaze from the too-fascinating juxtaposition of Rosie’s cute pink beanie and the tough line of Damon’s jaw and concentrated on laying the changing pad out on the desk. While Damon was dealing with the dirty diaper, she found baby wipes, ointment and a plastic bag.
When Rosie was freshly changed, Damon picked her up as if she was a fragile piece of porcelain, hugged her close for a few seconds, then handed her back to Zara. “By the way, I’ve received confirmation that Ben and Emily are on Medinos, staying at a house we own there. I’ve arranged to fly out in the company jet and talk to Ben.”
Sudden crashing disappointment hit Zara. A trip to Medinos and back meant Damon would be away for the best part of four days. When she didn’t kno
w how much time they had before the media discovered Damon had a daughter, four days was an eternity.
“Can’t you just talk to Ben on the phone?”
“He would have to answer his phone for that to happen.” Damon walked to the windows and stared out at the view as if he was mulling something over. When he turned, the morning light threw his face into shadow. “Since it’ll be a working trip,” he said quietly, “I want you and Rosie to come with me.”
As shocking as the idea of flying overseas anywhere with Damon was, the idea of going to Medinos irresistibly appealed. For one thing, because she’d been absent for so long it wasn’t likely that she’d be recognized. And the trip could prove a lifeline because it would buy her more time with Damon away from the Auckland reporters. It would also allow her to check out her mother’s safe-deposit box. Added to that, traveling in the Magnum company jet would cost her nothing.
A cautious sense of relief gripped her. Could it be, after so much had gone wrong with her life, that her luck had finally turned? “Okay.”
Damon didn’t try to hide his disbelief. “You agree?”
“Either way I’ll still be working, and at least it’ll stop that nosy reporter from sniffing around.” Zara struggled to keep her expression bland when what she really wanted to do was give in to the relief and either grin or cry. She checked her watch and saw it was time for Rosie’s feeding. She grabbed at the excuse to do something, anything, that would distract her from revealing to Damon just how important it was for her to get to Medinos.
Frowning, Damon perched on one corner of the desk as she made a production of finding the insulated container that held Rosie’s bottle.
“There’s just one glitch—we’ll need to get Rosie a passport. Walter can probably pull some strings and get one in a day or—”
“Rosie already has a passport.” Zara could feel her cheeks burning as she directed what she hoped was a matter-of-fact smile in Damon’s direction. As if it wasn’t at all unusual for a four-month-old baby to have a passport. As if they hadn’t been planning to go to Medinos all along. “When do we leave?”
There was a small silence during which the sounds of the office registered: a phone ringing, the low burr of Howard’s voice, the tapping of a keyboard.
Damon checked his watch, his expression oddly grim. “The only holdup would have been getting Rosie a passport. Since you’ve taken care of that already, I’ll call the flight crew. We leave this afternoon.”
Nine
An hour later Damon gave up on his efforts to call Ben, who had clearly turned his phone off, or more probably thrown it into the deep blue Mediterranean Sea.
He paced to the enormous glass doors that stretched the length of one entire wall in his office. The heavy cloud from last night had gone and the day was clear and dry, the sun sparkling on the harbor and gleaming off the glossy, expensive yachts tied up in the viaduct. But the view, spectacular as it was, barely impinged on his thoughts. At this point, even Ben was the least of his problems.
Zara had gotten Rosie a passport.
There was no point doing that unless Zara had intended to leave the country with Rosie. Disappearing from sight again as she had tried to do just over a year ago.
Broodingly, he considered that maybe Zara had only wanted to take a vacation? The problem with that scenario was that he knew Zara didn’t have that kind of money. Walter had made a few discreet inquiries, so Damon knew that in financial terms, Zara was struggling to keep her head above water. The fact was, he had been propping up her finances for months, by hiring people he didn’t need.
If Zara couldn’t afford a holiday there was only one scenario left, she had been planning on leaving the country with Rosie and, in the process, leaving him.
But why start a new business if she was planning on emigrating? None of it made sense.
With sudden decision, he walked through to Walter’s office. “I need you to run a security check on Zara.”
Walter looked up from a thick legal pad on which he was making notes. “Didn’t we do that last year?”
“Not in depth.” Since Zara was fresh out of college, he had just asked for a standard check, which was relatively superficial, establishing whether or not there were any criminal convictions or debt issues that might compromise business loyalties, checking that qualifications and references were authentic. Since Zara had just graduated with an honors degree, and had been referred by a business acquaintance, an in-depth check had seemed like overkill.
“What exactly are you worried about?” Walter’s gaze narrowed. “The baby’s not yours.”
“Rosie’s mine.”
Walter gave him a bland look. “Knew it as soon as I saw her.”
Despite his irritation, Damon had to stop himself from grinning. “That obvious?”
“’Fraid so.” Walter shook his head. “At least the baby explains why Zara left. Although it still doesn’t really add up.”
Damon’s brows jerked together. “Explain.”
“Disclosure. It’s big with women.”
Damon waited for more; when it didn’t come he kept a grip on his irritation. “Walter, you’re going to have to use more words.”
Walter sat back in his chair. “Margot made me join this group for men who have difficulty communicating—”
“I thought Margot liked the strong, silent type.”
Walter gave him a stony look. “Do you want to hear this or not? According to the group facilitator, women actually like to talk about their emotional lives. It’s called disclosure. Darned irritating and a waste of time if you ask me, but Margot has got some bee in her bonnet because, apparently, I don’t discl—”
“Let’s take it back to Zara.”
Walter blinked as if he’d just returned from a dark place. “Okay. Simple equation. Zara was in love with you, so, being a woman, she should have told you about the pregnancy.”
Damon’s chest locked up. He felt like he’d just been kicked by a mule. “What makes you think Zara was in love with me?”
Walter gave him an “are you serious?” look. “Zara has all the raw materials of a sergeant major or a general. She could organize a war. So, it figures, why else would she let down her guard and sleep with you if she wasn’t, you know, in love?”
Damon’s jaw tightened on a complex surge of emotions—heat, raw possessiveness, unaccountable relief. An hour ago, any idea that Zara was in love with him would have had him warily backing off. But that was before she had calmly admitted that she already had a passport for Rosie. The passport was a game changer because it signaled that Zara and Rosie were leaving, and he did not want that to happen.
“So why do you think, if Zara was in love with me, that she didn’t ‘disclose’ the pregnancy?”
Walter looked reflective. “Zara’s a decisive woman. Maybe she just got tired of you.” He nodded his head. “Yep, that’s a pretty clear-cut reason for leaving.”
Damon restrained his irritation with difficulty. He could see why Margot had sent Walter to counseling. “She didn’t get tired of me.”
Walter drummed his fingers on the desk. “I guess, since she’s back.”
Damon’s jaw tightened. And she still wanted him.
“Which is why I need that security check. ASAP.”
Given Walter’s summation of Zara’s character, which was startlingly accurate, Zara’s contention that she had left him because she didn’t think he would want her in his wealthy, successful life now seemed both wimpy and implausible.
There had to be another reason.
That meant she was hiding something. Something important.
* * *
Several frantic hours later, Zara boarded Damon’s private jet, carrying Rosie. A uniformed steward followed, carrying the baby bag and all of Zara’s and Rosie’s luggage.
Since Zara had only ever w
orked for Damon for a few weeks, she had never seen the jet, which was unashamedly luxurious, with spacious cabin seating and a well-appointed bathroom and sleeping cabin at the rear.
Damon stepped into the cabin, instantly dwarfing the compact space. His cool gaze briefly connected with hers, leaving her feeling oddly confused, because the warmth of that morning seemed to have disappeared. He tossed his jacket over the back of a leather seat and chatted with the steward, whose name was Mark.
Predictably, Mark was an older man with a lean, muscled physique and a somewhat grizzled face marred by what looked like a serious burn scar on one side. She had no doubt whatsoever that this was another of Damon’s ex-soldiers.
As Zara tried to settle Rosie, enough that she could put the baby down to sleep in the portable crib Damon had sent ahead, the door to the flight deck popped open. Zara expected another ex-army type would have the job of pilot. Instead, a stunning blonde wearing a crisp flight uniform stepped into the cabin.
Zara continued to rock Rosie on her shoulder as the blonde introduced herself as Buffy McNamara, the pilot. Buffy lifted a hand at Damon, her polite smile transforming into a sparkling grin. Her casual “Hey, Damon” made Zara tense up inside.
Rosie chose that moment to spit up on Zara’s shoulder. Feeling distracted and out of sorts, Zara searched for some baby wipes.
When Damon didn’t end the conversation with Buffy, but showed every evidence of enjoying the exchange, even down to calling her Mac—the first part of her surname, and obviously some kind of extra special pet name—Zara’s tension coalesced into annoyance. She was busy trying to untie Rosie’s bib. What she really wanted to do was frog-march Mac back to the flight deck and tell her to stay there.
Jaw taut, Zara located a laundry bag and jammed the soiled bib inside it. She knew what the problem was. She was jealous, horribly jealous, although she could not afford to let Damon know that.
