by Ann Major
“Sure. Anytime.” Moving like a dancer, the girl, who was thin as a rail, got up languidly, picked up the magazine she’d been flipping through and left in a swirl of silken yellow skirts as she winked at Zach.
“We were just doing an interview for Dangerous Man. That’s all. My agent called me less than an hour ago or I would have told you… . I had to do it. Because I signed a contract saying I would. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”
“I understand. I was on the phone.” With Thurman, he thought, frowning.
“No, you don’t understand. I can see that. You look furious… .”
“I said I believe you’re doing an interview, and I do. But before the press is through with this story, nobody else will. I can’t help wondering if this will always be the way we have to live—with the press playing up your nonexistent relationships with other men and making me look the fool.”
He knew he wasn’t being totally honest. He felt too raw to be completely open with her. He’d come here to propose, and then Thurman had called and stirred up all his old doubts about her.
“Zach, I want you in my life. I do… . What are you doing here a day early?”
He shouldn’t have surprised her like this. He felt vulnerable, as if his heart was on his sleeve, and suddenly he didn’t want her to know about all the plans he’d made. Now wasn’t the time to ask her about New Orleans or to propose.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.”
“I wish you’d stay.”
“Well, I’m not sure I want idiots second-guessing every stage of our relationship when I feel…” He stopped, torn.
“When you feel…what?”
“Nothing.”
“Zach, what’s wrong?”
“Maybe I’m not in the mood to share you with everyone in the known universe. So, I’d better go, so you can finish the damn interview. The entire crew and cast is waiting on you, right?”
She swallowed. “Talk to me, Zach. Please talk to me.”
Her eyes were so earnest maybe he would have, if a red-faced Paolo hadn’t burst into the room, shattering the moment.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Sandy said you were in here. You did say fifteen minutes. How much longer is this damn interview going to take?”
“Sorry. We haven’t started yet.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It’s my fault, but I’m going,” Zach said.
“No!” she cried, grabbing him.
Paolo shot him a look of disgust before he turned and left.
“I’m beginning to realize how demanding I am,” Zach said. “You see, I’m the kind of guy who expects his wife to put him first sometimes…like now, even when I know it’s a very bad time for you.”
“Your wife… . Did you say your wife?”
“I came over here because I had something very personal to say to you… . Something very important, to me at least. Now I see that you have a lot more to deal with than my concerns.”
“Zach, did you come over here to ask me to marry you? Because I will.”
He didn’t want to ask her now, like this. He was beginning to think he shouldn’t ask her at all. Instead of answering her, he said, “On the way over here I got a phone call. From Thurman.”
“Thurman?” She went very white.
“He told me to ask you about New Orleans. He insinuated that you’ve been keeping something important from me. Is that true?”
“Oh, Zach… .” Her eyes misted with guilt-stricken anguish. Her hands were shaking. “I…I tried to tell you in Louisiana. I want to talk about it. Truly I do, but not now. I have rehearsals, the interview…and you’re too upset.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
He saw now that he’d been a stupid, emotional fool to be in such a rush to marry her. They both had huge, time-consuming careers; their past had haunted them for years; the press wouldn’t leave them alone. Was there room for love and marriage with so many distractions, responsibilities and conflicts?
“Maybe neither of us has time for a marriage,” he said.
“That’s not fair. This is just a very bad time for me. What if I happened to drop in on you, when you were in the middle of a negotiation and forty people were waiting on your decision?”
“That’s the point, isn’t it? I’ve just realized there’s not room in a marriage for two huge egos and two big careers…along with everything else that’s between us. I don’t like goodbyes, Summer, so I’ll just make a quick exit.”
“You’re not telling me everything,” she said, grabbing his arm to keep him in the room.
“I could say the same thing to you, couldn’t I, sweetheart?”
The last thing he saw was her ashen face as she staggered backward, knocking a wig stand over as she sank down onto her friend’s couch. Her big blue eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and she looked white and shaken. It tore him up to realize he’d hurt her again.
But maybe there had always been too much between them for a relationship to ever work. Maybe he’d let their chemistry blind him. Had he been rushing into marriage because he hadn’t wanted to stop to think about the realities?
On his way out of the theater, he pitched the perfect red roses in the first stinking trash barrel he saw. Then he stepped through the throng of reporters and into the hushed silence of his luxurious limo.
“Take me to LaGuardia Airport,” he said.
Eleven
Summer Wallace Dumps Billionaire For Movie Star.
Summer felt sick to her stomach as she sat up straighter in her bed to turn the page of the newspaper.
She’d tried to phone Zach, but he wouldn’t take her calls. She had to tell him about their lost little girl even if the timing was awful and the news killed whatever remaining tenderness he felt for her.
“When will the thirty-one-year-old actress make up her mind… .”
There was an awful picture of Zach and Hugh together. Two more shots showed Zach entering the theater with roses, and there was one of him looking furious as he dumped the gorgeous bouquet on his way out.
Why did the headlines always have to mention her age and remind her that her biological clock was ticking? Why did every headline have to remind her that Zach would never marry her? That she would never have his darling black-haired children.
She felt a rivulet of perspiration trickle down her back. Then a hot sensation of dizziness flooded her. Cupping her hands over her mouth, she lurched to her feet and ran to her toilet where she was violently ill.
When she was able to lift her head, she opened the window and gulped in mouthfuls of sweet, fresh air. Then she put the toilet lid down and sat, holding her head in her hands.
The episode of nausea was the third she’d had this week. Since her stomach was often queasy during rehearsals and she’d been so busy, she hadn’t really thought about it. Until now.
“Oh, no,” she whispered as comprehension dawned.
Slowly she arose and stared critically at the reflection of her white face in the mirror.
She was pregnant. Since she’d been pregnant before, she should have recognized the signs. Her breasts were swollen, and her period was late. She had the oddest cravings at the strangest times. Like that other night when she had to have a corn dog and a tomato and a pickle and nothing else would do. She felt lethargic, different.
Great timing. Just like last time.
Zach had left her. And she hadn’t even told him about their little girl yet. He wouldn’t be happy to learn the truth about their past, nor would he be overjoyed that they were going to have another child.
Then there was the not-insignificant detail that she was starring in a play that was going to open in less than three weeks. One where her character was not pregnant and the director and cast were on the verge of a collective nervous breakdown if things didn’t start coming together soon.
* * *
Zach had been swimming laps in his pool behind Thibodeaux House for an hour, so it was time
to get out.
He wanted to forget Summer, to go on with his life. So, he’d ignored her calls; ignored the pain he felt at her loss.
He would get through this. He would. Not that it would be easy.
As he toweled off, he heard furious shouts and scuffling out front.
At first he thought it was the press and paid no attention. They’d been stalking him all week, ever since they’d caught him with Jones the day of the interview. Then he recognized the hateful voice.
“Let me through, damn it,” Thurman Wallace yelled at Zach’s security team. “I’ve got something to say to Torr, and I won’t go until I say it.”
Pulling on a shirt without bothering to button it, Zach strode to the front of the house. “Let him in,” he said.
When Wallace stepped through the gate, Zach smelled the hot stench of liquor on the man’s breath.
“Say your piece and leave, Wallace.”
“You think you’re something, don’t you, you arrogant you-know-what, coming back here, to my town, getting everyone on your side because you’re rich…. Taking up with Summer again…. Using her like a…”
“Watch your language. Say your piece. Then get the hell off my property.”
“It wasn’t all me, wanting to bring those charges. You think she wanted you back then, but she didn’t. She thought you were trash, same as I did.”
“Shut up about her.”
“If she’d cared for you, why did she kill your baby?”
“What the hell did you say?”
“You got her pregnant. I had to send her to New Orleans before she started to show so nobody around here would know about her and ruin my good name.”
“I don’t believe you! Get out of here before I throw you out!”
When Wallace didn’t move, Zach started toward him. “Get out of here now, or you’ll be sorry!”
Wallace took one look at Zach and ran for his life.
Zach sank to his knees and thought about a younger Summer, pregnant and alone in New Orleans. Whatever she’d done, he’d never believe she’d deliberately killed their baby. But she hadn’t told him about it, had she? So, how could he trust her?
All doubt that he had made the right decision in leaving her vanished.
The sudden certainty hurt.
God, how it hurt.
* * *
Billionaire And Actress Had Secret Baby!
The ugly headline screamed at Summer, shattering her heart into a million tiny pieces.
Gram had warned her about the awful story that Thurman had sold to the tabloids. In spite of the warning, Summer was still shaking as she laid down a wad of cash for all the newspapers on the rack at the tiny grocery store a block from her apartment.
Folding them, she plunged them into her bag, put her sunglasses back on and ran outside where she dumped them in the first trash bin she saw. It was a hollow gesture since there were hundreds of thousands on similar racks all over the country. Everybody would see them when they were in the check-out lines.
How could Thurman be so filled with hate? How could he have sold such a personally heartbreaking story? She felt brokenhearted, betrayed and mortified at the same time. But most of all she hurt for Zach. This was no way for him to discover the truth.
Until now, she’d held on to a fragile hope that Zach might be missing her as much as she missed him, and that given time, he would change his mind and come back to her.
Thurman’s story extinguished all such hope.
She felt like weeping, not just for herself, but for the baby she was carrying.
Then a reporter sprang out of nowhere and called her name. When she turned, he took her picture.
* * *
“Gram, I’ve got to talk to Zach.”
A week had passed since Thurman’s story had hit the stands. Zach was still refusing to take her calls. His secretary was impatient whenever Summer called his office and left a message. So she’d called Gram, hoping for her help.
“But I thought that he and you…that it was…over,” Gram said.
“It is,” Summer said softly. “I’ve called him so many times, and he won’t talk to me. But that’s not the worst. Gram, I’m pregnant. I don’t know how it happened…because we were always careful.”
“It was meant to be,” Gram said in her know-it-all way.
“No,” Summer replied, knowing Gram couldn’t be right. “What this means is that in spite of everything that’s wrong between us, I’ve got to talk to him.”
“Nick told Moxie Brown, who told Sammy, who told me that Zach has fired the contractor he’d hired to remodel that old Thibodeaux place and has put it up for sale. Nick said that big gambling boat of his is arriving at the end of the week. So, Zach’s coming to town to inspect it.”
Summer let out a breath. Finally, she’d caught a break. Once the play opened, she’d be doing eight shows a week. It would be very difficult for her to take time off. Paolo would pitch a fit, but maybe she could sneak in an overnight trip home.
She couldn’t make the same mistake she’d made the first time they’d broken up, when he’d put up roadblocks and she’d given up on telling Zach the truth about their little girl.
She had to see him one last time—to tell him face-to-face about the baby they’d lost and this precious baby that she was carrying.
Their baby.
* * *
Summer barely glanced at the chain-link fence covered with No Trespassing notices meant to keep out the press. And her. Nor did she take note of the large sign over the gate that blared in big red letters, No Admittance. Employees Only.
Hunched over, with a pink pashmina covering her hair, Summer rushed past a uniformed man.
“Ma’am, you can’t go in there. Ma’am…”
Running now on her ice-pick heels, Summer ignored the burly individual in the hard hat and brown uniform as she sped toward the dock where Zach’s magnificent floating gambling palace was now secured.
“Ma’am!”
What luck! There he was.
Every muscle in her body tensed. Then she forced herself to let out a breath.
Holding a clipboard and pen, Zach stood in the middle of a dozen men. His stance, with long legs spread slightly apart, reminded her of a large cat who looked relaxed but was coiled to spring. His face was hard, and he was talking fast. The other men, their heads cocked toward him, held clipboards and pens, too. Those standing beside him were frowning in frustration as they wrote furiously in an effort to keep up.
“Zach,” she cried, pink heels clattering as she ran farther out onto the dock.
She wore a soft pink dress. The bodice clung and its skirt swirled around her hips. Once he’d accused her of dressing to be desirable. Well, today she’d given it her best shot. She’d gone shopping and had deliberately picked a sexy dress for this confrontation.
All the men stopped talking at once. She let her pashmina slide to her shoulders.
Jaws fell. Zach spun, then hissed in a breath at the sight of her. Even though his eyes went icy and hard, she’d seen the split-second spark of attraction her appearance had caused. She’d caught him off guard in front of his men, exposed his vulnerability, and she knew he hated that.
Grief that he was hers no longer, that she couldn’t run into his arms, slashed through her like a knife.
He didn’t look as sure or confident as he had the last time she’d seen him. His face was thinner; his eyes shadowed.
“Get her out of here,” he ordered, his frigid voice radiating antagonism.
“Sorry, Mr. Torr. Ma’am, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave,” the burly man said behind her.
She had only seconds before she’d be forced to go.
“Zach,” she cried. “I’ve got to talk to you.”
“Too bad. I’m in a meeting.” Slamming on a pair of dark glasses, he turned away.
The burly man grabbed her arm and began to tug her gently in the direction of the exit. “Please, ma’am…”
&nb
sp; Frantic, she struggled to free herself. “Zach… You’ve got to listen to me.”
The man’s grip hardened. “Come on, ma’am.”
“Zach! Please!”
His face tight and determined, Zach tapped his pen against his clipboard and continued to ignore her.
She didn’t want to tell him like this—not when he was surrounded by other people. She didn’t. But what were her choices?
“Zach, I’m pregnant!”
* * *
Zach had selected the elegant office onboard his ship as a place where they could be alone, but the space felt cramped and airless to Summer as Zach subjected her to a thorough, intimate appraisal. Never had she found his arresting face more handsome, but when she searched its hard, angular planes for a trace of sympathy, she found none.
His eyes were so intense and cold, they made her feel almost faint with grief.
“Zach…” For a second, everything in her vision darkened except his face, which blurred in swirling pinpricks of light.
His hard arms reached for her, steadied her, led her to a chair, where she gulped in a sweet breath of air.
“Are you okay?” he demanded.
“I—I’m fine.”
He stood over her, watching her carefully to make sure.
“Zach, I didn’t want to tell you the news like that…in front of your men…when you were so furious. But I had to tell you face-to-face. I didn’t want to leave a message with your secretary, or for some reporter to accost you with questions because I was having our child.”
“Oh, really? You didn’t bother to tell me the last time you were pregnant. Are you eager to share this child with me since I’ve got money now? And when do you intend to tell the press, so as to heighten your box-office draw? Frankly, I’m surprised you didn’t bring the hounds with you today.”
Again Zach’s eyes had become emotionless. She felt as if her heart were freezing and dying. It was as if, instead of her, he saw some cruel, cunning stranger.
She took a deep breath. “No… Why would I… You can’t, you can’t believe I’m that low.”
“You’re wrong.”
“I want to protect our baby. And I have my own income, I’ll have you know. So, money is the last thing I need from you.”
