by Ann Major
“Oh.”
“You’ll need to wear a long-sleeved shirt, jeans and boots. I’ll supply you with a plastic hard hat and a safety vest with reflective tape.”
“Sounds like a dangerous place.”
* * *
Even though it was Saturday, cranes, bulldozers and jackhammers were operating full force as battalions of workers carried out all sorts of tasks, none of which made sense to Summer as she adjusted the inner straps of her hard hat. Zach seemed as happy as a kid showing off as he led her around the site, pointing at blueprints, sketches and plans with a pocket roll-up ruler, introducing her to all of his foremen and contractors. Local men, all of them, who eyed her with open speculation.
Zach was developing hundreds of acres along the bayou, creating a dock for his riverboat casino, as well as restaurants, a hotel, a small amusement park, shops, a theater, a golf course and no telling what else.
“I’ve never built anything,” she said, “so I’m impressed. Look, you don’t have to entertain me. I’ll explore on my own.”
“You be careful and don’t go too far.”
At first she stayed close to him because the ground was rough and muddy. Then she began walking toward the dock on two-by-fours that men had laid across deep holes as makeshift bridges.
She was standing on such a bridge when Nick drove up in his battered pickup, looking for Zach. The elderly shrimper wore faded jeans, a T-shirt and scuffed boots. Even though he dipped his cowboy hat ever so slightly when he saw Summer, his cold, unsmiling face told her he hadn’t forgiven her. Until Zach’s uncle had shown up, Nick had been Zach’s sole advocate.
“Didn’t expect to see the likes of you here, cher,” he said when he walked up to her. “Dangerous place for a woman.”
Nick was thinner than the last time she’d seen him, his tanned skin crisscrossed with lines, his wispy hair steel-gray. But the penetrating blue eyes that pierced her hadn’t changed much.
“And you’re a dangerous woman for any man, even Zach. I warned the boy to stay away from you, but he won’t listen,” Nick said, eyeing Zach, who stood a hundred yards to their right, deep in conversation with a contractor. “He never did have a lick of sense where you were concerned. I don’t like you settin’ your hooks in him again. By coming out here with him you’ll have the whole town talkin’ and thinkin’ you’re a couple again.”
“Tell him. He invited me for the weekend.”
Nick spat in disbelief. “Well, you tell him I stopped by and that I’ll catch up with him later. Or, if he’d prefer, he can drop by…after he gets rid of you.”
She nodded.
He turned and left.
Her mood dark and remorseful, she headed toward the dock. Because of the deep holes in the ground, she was forced to cross on the makeshift bridge again. She’d nearly reached the dock when Zach called out to her.
Maybe she turned too fast—one of the boards slipped, and she tumbled several feet into the muddy hole filled with rocks and debris. When she tried to stand, her left ankle buckled under her weight.
She looked up in alarm and saw Zach running toward her, his dark eyes grave. Leaping over the boards, he was soon towering over her. “Are you okay?”
“Yes—except for my left ankle.”
“I should never have brought you here.”
“Nonsense. I fell. It all was my fault.”
“Hang on to me, then,” he commanded, jumping down into the hole.
Half carrying her, he led her out of the pit and back to his car. As he drove away from the site, he called Gram, who recommended her doctor, a man who generously offered to meet them at the emergency room. Dr. Sands actually beat them to the E.R., and Summer, who’d once fallen off a stage in Manhattan and had waited hours in a New York E.R., was both appreciative and amazed to be treated so quickly and expertly in such a small hospital. Most of all, she was grateful to Zach for staying with her.
When a team of nurses stepped inside the treatment room and asked him to leave, Zach demanded to know what they planned to do.
“Dr. Sands wants her to disrobe for an examination, so we can make sure we don’t miss any of her injuries.”
“But it’s only my ankle that hurts,” Summer protested.
“Hopefully you’re right. But this is our protocol. We have to be sure.”
Summer reached for Zach’s hand. “Would you…”
So, he stayed beside her, gallantly turning his back when they handed her a hospital gown and she began to undress. But once, when she moaned, he turned. She saw his quick flush and heard his gasp before he averted his gaze from her body.
Her stomach fluttered. Funny that it hadn’t occurred to her to be embarrassed that he should see her almost naked. She simply wanted him beside her.
When the professionals finished checking her body and stooped to examine her ankle, she cried out in pain.
Zach was at her side, pressing her hand to his lips. “Hang in there. We’ll be home before you know it.”
Home. How sweetly the word buzzed in her heart. She squeezed his fingers and held on tight, feeling illogically reassured.
He was right. In less than an hour she was back at Zach’s house, propped up on his couch by plump pillows, surrounded by his remotes, her script and her favorite snacks.
Strangely, after the hospital, there was a new easiness between them. Gram and Tuck had stopped by to check on her, and after they departed, Zach remained attentive, never leaving her side for long. He said he wanted to be nearby in case she needed anything. She found his hovering oddly sweet and realized it would be much too easy to become dependent on such attentions.
When the sun went down, he cooked two small steaks and roasted two potatoes for their dinner while she watched from her chair at the kitchen table. They had their meal with wine and thick buttered slices of French bread out on the back veranda.
Again she marveled that a man who must be used to servants knew his way around in a kitchen. She didn’t mind in the least that he hadn’t thought to prepare more sides. The simple meal was perfect even before the three deer re-appeared to delight them.
Later, when she was back on the couch again and he’d finished the dinner dishes, he pulled up a chair beside her. Pleased that he hadn’t gone up to his room, she declared the steak delicious and thanked him for his trouble.
“I’m not much of a cook,” he said. “Eggs, steak and toast. That’s about it.”
“Don’t forget potatoes. Yours were very nice. Crispy.”
“Right. Sometimes I can stick a potato or two in the oven and sprinkle them with olive oil and salt. I have a cook in Houston, but I don’t like eating at home alone. So, mostly I eat out.”
“Me, too. Or I do take-out. Because I don’t have time to cook.”
“I imagined you in ritzy New York restaurants, dining on meals cooked by the world’s best chefs, eating with famous movie stars.”
When his expression darkened, she suspected he was thinking of Hugh.
“Not all that often. Fancy meals take time to eat…as well as to cook and serve,” she said, avoiding the topic of Hugh. “And fans pester you for autographs. Besides, there’s nothing quite like a homemade meal, is there?”
“You used to want to be an actress so badly. What’s it like now that you’ve succeeded?”
“It’s nice, but I work almost all the time. Even when I have a job, I’m always auditioning for the next part. When I sign on with a show that isn’t in New York, I travel and live out of a suitcase. One minute it’s a crazy life, full of parties and friends, then it gets pretty lonely. You can’t hold on to anything because it’s all so ephemeral. The friends I make within a cast feel closer than family for a while. Then they vanish after each show closes,” she admitted.
“But when you sign with a new show or film you have a new set of friends.”
“Yes, but as I get older, I see that, despite the bright lights, a life without stability isn’t nearly so glamorous as people think.”
/>
“It’s what you wanted.”
She sighed. “Be careful what you wish for. I guess I took my real life for granted. Lately, I’ve realized how much I miss family…and roots.”
“What does that mean?”
“My job is so all-consuming that I…I haven’t been good at relationships. I’m Southern, like Gram. She sees my single state as a failure, and lets me know it every chance she gets. Her dream for me was marriage to a handsome husband. I was supposed to have two children, a boy and a girl, and live happily ever after in a cute house surrounded by a white picket fence.”
He smiled. “But you, being a modern woman, aren’t into such an outdated, traditional formula for happiness. Strange, that it can still exert such a hold over a female as wise as your grandmother.”
“You’re right, of course. I just wish I could make her understand that I have everything I set my heart on. I’m grateful for what I have, for what I’ve achieved. So many people would give anything to be me.”
She was saying the same truths she’d lived by for years, but, for some reason, the words felt hollow tonight.
Zach didn’t say anything.
She’d never imagined having such an ordinary, simple, companionable evening with him, and she found herself enjoying it more than she’d enjoyed anything in a very long time. When they’d been kids, they’d been friends before they’d been lovers. They hadn’t fallen in love until after he’d graduated and she’d been entering her senior year.
Now, as an adult, she spent so much time working on her image and her brand, so much time learning various roles, and never very much time being herself. What would it be like to have a lifetime of such evenings with a man like him? To take them for granted?
She sighed. That wasn’t who she was now. She had her career, a bright future—and it was on the stage and screen.
“What about you?” she whispered. “You’re successful. Are you happy?”
“Like you, I’m not unhappy,” he muttered thickly. “I, too, have everything I always thought I wanted…except maybe for…” He shot her a look that was so intense it burned away her breath.
“For what?”
“It doesn’t matter,” he growled. “Not even billionaires can have it all. Not that we don’t pretend that we can, with our fancy cars and homes and yachts.” Frowning, he sprang to his feet and then glanced at his watch. “But you’re injured, and it’s late. You must be tired. Besides, Sands prescribed that painkiller. I’m afraid I’ve been very selfish to keep you up so long.”
She didn’t want him to go. “No. I’m barely injured, and you’ve waited on me hand and foot…. And I just sat there and let you.”
“Well, I won’t keep you any longer.”
“But I really do want to know…about you,” she whispered.
“Let’s save that boring tale for later,” he said, cutting her off. “Who knows—maybe you’ll get lucky and never have to hear it.” He picked up her crutches. “Why don’t I help you to your room?”
Feeling stunned and a little hurt by how abruptly he’d ended their pleasant evening, she got to her feet. As she stood, her uncertain eyes met his. But he wouldn’t hold her gaze.
Suddenly, she again felt awkward at the thought of their sharing the house for another night. Stiffening, he handed her the crutches and then backed away.
“I hate these things,” she said as she placed the crutches under her arms.
“It’s a minor sprain. The doctor said you might even be off them as soon as Tuesday.”
“I hope so. Thanks again for tonight. When you convinced me to come here for the weekend, I never thought…we would have this kind of evening or that I could enjoy simply being with you so much.”
“Neither the hell did I,” he admitted in a stilted tone, still not looking at her. “Believe me—I had a very different kind of weekend in mind.”
“Well, you’ve been very nice.”
“Good night, then,” he muttered, his voice sounding so furious she realized he’d had more than enough of her company.
He’d blackmailed her because he’d wanted revenge. He’d wanted sex. Had this evening, with its simple pleasures, bored him?
She felt hurt and rejected, just as she had last night.
Six
Zach knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep for a while, so instead of undressing for bed, he poured himself a glass of scotch. Then he strode out onto the balcony where the humid air smelled of honeysuckle, jasmine and pine.
Damn those bewitching blue eyes of hers and her pretty, sweet smile that made him want her so badly he hurt.
Why hadn’t he taken Summer as he’d intended? Why hadn’t he punished her? Usually he came on strong with women. What the hell was wrong with him this weekend?
Next week she would be with Hugh, making love to him—at least on film. And probably offscreen, too. Not that her relationship with Jones should be any concern of Zach’s. Still, he burned every time he thought about her with that egotistical phony.
Their first night here she’d seemed so vulnerable and uneasy. Then today, when she’d fallen, she had taken his hand and begged him to stay with her. Her fingers and wrist had felt so slim and fragile in his much larger hand. What kind of man forced his presence on a woman who seemed so defenseless and in need of his protection?
Still, Zach wasn’t so noble that he could forget the glimpses he’d seen of her breasts and her creamy thighs. He wanted to kiss those breasts, tongue all the warm, succulent places between her thighs. He knew what she’d done in the past, how close she’d come to nearly destroying him—but for reasons he didn’t understand, he continued to balk at using her sexually.
No longer did he want to expose their relationship to the press for public consumption.
This weekend had backfired. Damn it.
The sensitive male was a new role for him.
She’d beaten him.
To save his own ass, tomorrow he’d tell her their deal was off and send her packing.
Then he’d do the smart thing: return to Houston and forget her.
* * *
The next morning, when Summer awoke, her ankle was so much better she could almost walk without limping if she used one crutch. When she went into the kitchen she discovered that Zach had already cooked and eaten breakfast. She looked down at his dishes in the sink and realized he was avoiding her.
Rolling the scrambled egg and bacon he’d left for her into a tortilla, she walked outside and saw him swimming laps in his pool. When she waved, he got out.
As he dried off, it was all she could do not to stare, even though he wore swimming trunks.
His eyes were guarded as he strode up to her. “How’s the ankle?”
“Much better,” she whispered, lowering her lashes.
“Good. Bob is standing by to fly you to L.A. So, whenever you’re ready, just call him. I know you’ve got work, and so do I, so I won’t keep you.”
He was so remote and cool that her acute disappointment and hurt felt like withdrawal, which was ridiculous.
“What about next weekend?” she whispered, her voice catching. “Do you still want to see me?”
Zach sucked in a breath. “Like you said, maybe spending the weekends together wasn’t such a good idea. So—you won.” His voice was cold, revealing nothing.
He slung a towel across his shoulders and turned away, dismissing her as if she were of no importance to him.
“Are you mad at me?”
“Yeah. Mad at myself, too.”
“Zach…”
“You have your real life…in the theater. And I have mine. I think we should just cool it.”
He was right, of course.
“Or maybe not,” she said huskily as she focused on his profile. “I want to know why you blackmailed me and then changed your mind, why you were so nice last night and are so cold today.”
“Maybe I started thinking about what happened fifteen years ago and don’t see this going anywhere positiv
e.”
He wasn’t making sense. Last week he’d wanted to punish her. And now… What did he want?
“What if I disagree?” she whispered. On impulse, she leaned forward on her tiptoes and kissed his rough cheek tentatively.
When he jerked away as if burned, she beamed. “I enjoyed last night, you see. Too much. And I thought maybe you did, too…just a little. You were sweet.”
“Sweet?” He almost snarled the word.
She smiled gently. “And I thank you for what you’re doing for Tuck, too…taking him out to the tech school and all…especially after what he did to you.”
“Forget it,” he snapped.
“What if I can’t?”
“Soon you’ll fly to L.A. to film those love scenes with Jones. Don’t waste your charm or blatant come-on sexuality on me. Save it for him.”
“I don’t care about him.”
Not believing her, he scowled.
“I don’t.”
When she edged closer and held her hand to his face, Zach froze. At the first light touch of her fingertips on his warm throat, he shuddered. When he tried to wrench away, her hands came around his neck so she could hold him close. She had no idea what she was doing or why she was doing it, she only knew she didn’t want to part from him so dispassionately, when something new and wonderful was beginning in her heart.
“Can’t you at least kiss me goodbye,” she whispered, too aware of her taut nipples pressing against his hard, bare chest.
“Not a good idea,” he growled.
“You sure about that?” She rubbed her hips against the hard ridge of his erection, sighing as her body melted against his.
On a groan, he reached for her, gripping her with strong, sure arms, pulling her close, like a man who was starving for her.
She was starving, too, starving for the intoxicating sensuality of his mouth claiming hers. He tasted so good, so right. For fifteen years, she’d wanted this and denied it. Why should she fight it now? Moaning, she kissed him back.
His savage grip crushed her. His hungry passion ignited unmet needs. Murmuring his name feverishly, her fingertips ran through his thick, inky hair.
