by Maisey Yates
THE plane ride back to San Francisco was a study in torture. Zack was hardly speaking to her and she felt battered from the inside out. Her body was a little bit sore from her first time, and her heart felt like it had been wrung out and left to dry.
Zack was acting overly composed. His focus on work, not on her. Not on the revelation that had passed between them, both in bed and out.
She didn’t feel like the same person. She felt changed. She wasn’t sure if Zack was the same person, either. Or maybe he was; maybe it was just that she saw him better now.
“I think I’ll probably take a couple days off,” she said, looking over at Zack who was engrossed in his laptop screen. “Recover. From the jet lag.”
“Fine.”
The chill in his response made her shiver. “And I’m thinking of buying a pony.”
“You don’t have anywhere to keep one,” he said drily, still not looking up.
“Just a small one. For the rooftop garden.”
He did look up this time. “Your neighbors would complain.”
“I don’t like my neighbors.” That earned her a slight smile. “So, what’s the plan when we get back to civilization?”
“With any luck, things can go back to normal.”
Two questions flitted through her mind. Luck for who? And, what’s normal? She didn’t voice either of them. “Okay.”
“I still need you there, at Roasted, until Amudee signs off on the deal.”
“Right.” She looked down at her hand. The ring was still there. “You’ll want this back, I assume.” She pulled the ring off and got up, walking over to his seat and depositing it on the desk in front of him. “Since we won’t need it.”
A relief. Wearing another woman’s ring made her feel weighted down.
“No. We won’t.” His eyes met hers and held. She felt heat prickle down her arms, her nipples tightening as a flash of arousal hit her.
“Great. I’ll um … I’m going to try to sleep.”
As she drifted off in the plane’s bedroom, she tried not to be disappointed that Zack didn’t join her.
“Amudee is coming here.”
Clara looked up and saw Zack. For the first time since they’d landed in San Francisco three days earlier. She’d taken a couple of days to get over her jet lag, and had sneaked around the office yesterday like a cat burglar, trying to get work done without encountering him.
Because ultimately, avoiding him was simply easier than trying to juggle all the emotions she felt when she saw him. Cowardly? Yes, yes, it was. But she felt a bit yellow-bellied after all that had happened between them, and she was wallowing in it.
“What?”
“He’s coming here to see how we run our operation. He wants to talk to employees, to see where we work. If we truly do conduct business in an ethical manner.”
Zack reached into his pocket and took out an overly familiar velvet box. He set it on the edge of her desk, his expression grim. “And now it continues. And every single person working in the this office has to believe it, too.”
“Zack this can’t. It has to end.”
“It will. After. And you can take as much money as you need for a start-up. You can have my blessing, hell, you can have free Roasted coffee for the first five years. But I want this deal to go through.”
“Ironic that you’re trying to convince him of your business ethics by using a lie,” she said, annoyance spiking inside her.
“Odd that it’s necessary, too, don’t you think?”
“He’s a nice man.”
“And a romantic, it seems. He loves you. He wants to make sure he sees us together as a couple again while he’s here.”
“Tangled web,” she snapped, putting her pencil down on the desk.
“Isn’t it?”
The air between them seemed to crackle, everything slowing for a moment, the silence so tense and brittle she was certain she could splinter it into tiny pieces if she spoke.
“Put it on,” he said, looking at the ring.
“I gave it back,” she said tightly.
“Clara, I need you to do this for me.”
She fought the urge to make a rude gesture with a different finger than the one meant for a ring and grabbed the box, opened the lid and slid the ring on. “There.”
“Come on.”
“What?”
“We have to make an announcement.”
“Zack …”
“We’re going to see this through, right? Then you can leave. Whatever you need to do, you can go do it, but finish this with me.”
“Fine.” She stood up and rounded the desk, he wrapped his arm around her waist and drew her to him. Heat exploded in her, stronger than she remembered, more arousing than anything had a right to be.
Instantly she was assaulted by images of their night together. His mouth, his hands, the way it had felt when he was over her, in her. It was torture. She clenched her hands into fists and the heavy ring band bit into her fingers.
There was a small group of employees who worked on her floor, their desks clustered in the center of the room. Roasted’s office had a social atmosphere, which Zack had always believed made for optimum creativity. Because Zack was a great boss, the kind who made everyone feel appreciated, all the time.
And he never, ever showed the dark, tortured side of himself she’d seen in Chiang Mai. He never showed the intense, sexual side of himself, either. But she’d seen it. She’d felt it.
“Clara and I have an announcement to make.”
Ten heads instantly popped up, eyes trained on her and Zack. Her heart started pounding, her palms sweating. It was one thing to lie to a man she’d never met before. A thing she hated. But it was really quite another to lie to people she worked with every day. People who she considered her friends.
“We’re getting married,” he said.
“Pay up.” Cynthia, a woman with gray hair and pronounced smile lines turned to Jess, a twenty-something computer whiz who did their online marketing.
Jess swore and took his wallet out.
“What is this?” Clara asked.
“Congratulations,” Cynthia said, beaming. “We had bets placed on this. I bet you would get married. Most everyone changed sides when Mr. Parsons got engaged to someone else. But I held out. And now I’m collecting.”
“Unbelievable,” Clara muttered. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this revelation, either. A little bit flattered that people believed it was possible.
“Clearly I’m not giving people enough work to do,” Zack said.
“Kiss her!” This from Jess, who undoubtedly considered it a consolation prize.
Everything inside Clara seized up, her muscles locking tight. Zack looked down at her, his fingers brushing her jaw. He dipped his head and kissed her. A perfectly appropriate kiss to give her in front of his employees. Nothing scandalous or overly sexual. But it grabbed hold of her world and shook it completely. Shook her.
When he lifted his head there was a smattering of applause. “Feel free to spread the news,” Zack said, lacing his fingers through hers and leading her toward his office.
He closed the door tightly behind him, taking long strides to the far window that overlooked the bay, his back turned to her.
“Good show,” she said icily.
He looked over his shoulder. “You could have been a little less stiff,” he said.
“You.” She strode across the room, embracing the anger, unrest and desire that was rioting through her. “You.” She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and stretched up onto her toes, kissing him with every last ounce of passion and frustration that she felt.
He locked his arm around her waist and drew her up tight against his body, his erection hard and hot against her. He spun them around and backed her against the wall, pressing her against the hard surface, his lips hungry as he tasted her, feasted on her.
She wrapped her arms around him, sifted her fingers through his thick brown hair, holding him to her as she returned e
ach stroke and thrust of his tongue. The days of not touching him, thinking of him and denying herself the pleasure of even seeing in him, crashed in on her, fueled her desperation.
She growled in frustration, needing more, faster. Now. She pushed his jacket down his arms and onto the floor, grabbing the knot on his tie and tugging it down as he put his hands on her thighs and pushed the hem of her skirt up. She wrapped one leg around his calf and arched against him.
He tore his mouth away from hers and put his palm flat on the wall behind them, a short, sharp curse punctuated by heavy breaths escaped his lips.
The full horror of what she’d done hit her all at once, like getting a bucket of freezing water dumped in her face. She echoed his choice of swear word and ducked beneath his arm, leaning forward and bracing herself on his desk.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” she said.
“For more than one reason.”
“Why don’t you list them?” she said sharply.
“Fine. I’ll list them. We said one night. And that kind of kiss doesn’t stop at just a kiss. The second reason is that you mean more to me than this,” he said.
“Than what?”
“Than an angry make out session against a wall. Than you sneaking around, avoiding me, because we slept together. You mean more to me than sex.”
That cut. And maybe it shouldn’t have, but she couldn’t separate having sex with Zack from the emotions she felt for him. She loved him; sex had been an expression of that. Being joined to him, intimate with him, it had been everything.
But not to him. To him, the sex was separate from the feeling.
“Great. But I apparently don’t mean so much to you that you won’t use me as a pretend fiancée.” Her argument was thin, because frankly, if her feelings for him were platonic, the engagement thing would be nothing big at all.
But her feelings weren’t platonic. Not even close.
“Then leave, Clara. If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it. I’m not holding you hostage. But understand this. I will likely lose the deal with Amudee, and then I won’t be able to get the product I need to start the boutique stores. And my search for an acceptable product will continue. It will cost everyone time and money, lots of it. That’s just stating a fact—it’s not emotional blackmail or anything else you might be tempted to accuse me of.”
Clara looked at his face, at the familiar planes and angles. The mouth she’d seen smile so many times, the lips she’d kissed just now. She knew him differently now than she had a week ago. She knew his body, she knew his loss. And as hard as it would have been for her to walk away then, it was impossible now. Impossible to leave him when she’d promised she would see this through.
“I’ll do it. I’ll play the part, I’ll keep playing the part, I mean. But I didn’t expect for it to go this far.”
“I know. But we had a deal.” He probably thought she meant the farce, but she was thinking of the sex. Or maybe he knew what she was really talking about and he was content to leave it ambiguous, just like she was.
“When the ink is dry on the agreement, it can be finished. You gave me your word,” he said.
“That’s low, Zack,” she said, sucking in a deep breath, trying to make her lungs expand.
“It’s true. I’ve been there for you when you needed me. I held your hair while you …”
“I know. Food poisoning. Please don’t bring that up.” It was right up there with her high-school humiliation. Zack watching her vomit. But he had taken care of her. There hadn’t been anyone else. Truly, they were the key players in each other’s lives. They were there for each other, at work and at home.
“My point is, I’ve helped you. Help me. I’m asking you as a friend, not your boss. Your friend.”
She gritted her teeth, raw emotion, so intense she couldn’t identify it, flooded her. She swung her arms back and forth, trying to ease the nervous energy surging through her limbs. “So when does Mr. Amudee get here?”
“Soon. He’ll be in the office tomorrow morning, so it would be good if we came in together.”
If they spent the night with each other, it would be even easier for them to commute to Roasted together, but she didn’t say that. And she wouldn’t. One night, that was all it was supposed to be and that was all it would be. Make-out sessions against the wall would be immediately stricken from record and forgotten. Completely.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“We should probably leave together, too,” he said.
“Probably.” That would mean an evening waiting around for him to leave. “I’m going to go down to the kitchens and fiddle around with some recipes.”
“I’ll see you down there.”
“See you then.” Hopefully a little baking therapy would clear her mind. Because if not, they were both in trouble.
By the time Zack made it down to the kitchen he didn’t have a handle on his libido or his temper. He’d figured a couple of hours separation for him and Clara would be a good idea, but it hadn’t accomplished anything on his end.
No, he wouldn’t feel satisfied until he was in bed with her again. Or just against the wall. That was why he had stopped kissing her, though. He didn’t have a condom.
As an adult he hadn’t had all that many lovers, mostly because he believed in taking things slowly, and making sure everything was completely safe. He liked for the woman to be on the pill, and he still used condoms, every time.
Already with Clara he’d been lax, skipping steps he hadn’t since high school, and then he’d been ready to forgo any sort of protection in his office so that he could be with her again. In her. Because the truth of the matter was, he hadn’t stopped thinking about how amazing that night had been since they’d arrived back in California. Not even close.
He’d dreamed of it, or rather, fantasized about it since sleep had eluded him. And when he hadn’t been thinking about making love with her, he’d been replaying the moment he’d told her about his son. Over and over again.
He never talked about Jake. Ever. Not since he’d died, still in the hospital he’d never had a chance to leave, only a couple of days old. Sarah had never wanted to talk about it, and they hadn’t had a romantic relationship at that point, anyway.
His parents … they had been horrified that their star football-playing son was going to give it all up to raise a child. If anything, they’d been relieved.
That day had changed everything. He’d been nothing more than a spoiled brat. An only child, destined to skate through college on a football scholarship. He’d taken everything, the adoration of the girls at his school, the free passes the teachers had given him, as his due.
But when Jake was born, he’d felt the weight of purpose. And when he died, it hadn’t gone away. He hadn’t fit anymore. In one blinding, clear moment he saw everything he’d done that was wrong, selfish, careless. He saw how his stupidity had cost everyone so much.
And he’d left. Left who he was. Left everyone he knew. And every day that passed was one day farther away from that awful day in the hospital. That day that had felt like someone reaching into his chest and yanking his emotions out, twisting them, distorting them.
He had never wanted to feel that way again. Ever. Even more importantly, he’d never wanted to have anything unplanned happen ever again. He wanted control. To plan, to consider the cost of his actions. To be in charge of his life.
He wasn’t sure why he’d told Clara about it. Although she had asked why the birth-control lapse was such a big deal to him. But then, a few of his girlfriends had wanted to know why he used every method he could think of to prevent pregnancy. It had cost him relationships since the women involved had taken it as a sign of just how much he didn’t want to be with them.
And while it was true he hadn’t been looking for forever, his reasoning hadn’t quite been what they’d assumed. Still, he hadn’t felt compelled to tell them the story. Maybe it was because Clara was … Clara. She was the one person who had
been in his life with any regularity for the past decade.
And now he’d likely screwed it up by sleeping with her. Or by kissing her. Or maybe he’d screwed it up the moment he’d asked her to play fiancée and go on his honeymoon.
He pushed open the stainless-steel double doors that led to the baking facility and saw Clara, bending down and looking in one of the ovens.
He took the opportunity to enjoy the view, the way her skirt hugged the round curve of her butt. It was a crime that she’d been made to feel insecure about those curves. He flashed back to the heady moments in his office, when he’d had her skirt pushed up around her hips, when he’d been ready to.
She straightened and turned, her brown eyes widening. “Oh! I didn’t know you were here.”
“Just walked in. What did you make me?”
“I think you’ll like them. I have some cooling. I’m going to pass them out at lunch hour tomorrow.”
“No walnuts?”
“None. They’re Orange Cream. Don’t look at me like that, they’ll be good.” She handed him a vaguely orange cupcake with white frosting, coated in bright orange sugar crystals.
“It has orange zest in the cake, and there’s a Bavarian cream in the center. And the frosting is buttercream.”
“All things I like.” He took a bite, relishing the burst of sweet citrus and cream. She really was a genius. She’d hooked him with her cupcake-making skills the first time he’d met her, and he’d known then he had to have her for his company. That with her, his line of baked goods would be a massive success. And they had been.
And now she was leaving him.
“Good,” he said, even though now he was having a hard time swallowing the bite.
“See? I told you.”
“And I told you you wouldn’t be easily replaced. You’re the best at what you do.”
She smiled, a sort of funny smile that almost made her look sad. “I do bake a mean cupcake. I’m glad you like them.”
He wasn’t going to ask her what was wrong. Because he wasn’t sure if he could fix it, and he was afraid he might be the cause of it. “Ready to go?”
“Yes, ready. Oh, wait.” She stopped and moved toward him, her eyes fixed on his mouth. His entire body was hot and hard instantly. Ready for her touch, her kiss. She extended her hand and put her thumb on the corner of his mouth. “You had some frosting there,” she said, her tone as sweet as her cupcakes, her eyes filled with a knowing, sexual expression that told him she was tormenting him, and she knew it. It was going to be an interesting few weeks.
