Esme and Sadie shared a questioning glance at being put on the spot.
Sadie clicked her fingers. “John Allerton.”
“John Allerton? That guy who used to pee in the showers in gym class?”
“He’s a successful engineer now. Tell him Mom.” Ilsa opened her mouth, but before she could respond, Esme cut her off. “Oh, oh, I know who, Sadie! Josh Carroway. He’s taken over his father’s textile business in Reno. I used one of their denims in a shirt for last year’s line. Have you seen him lately, Sadie? He is so—”
“Gay. Josh Carroway is gay,” Z interrupted.
“He’s not!” Esme insisted.
“Tell his husband that,” Z muttered, slumping back on the bench with his arms folded over his chest, his gaze glittering briefly over at Ursa. She fisted her hands in rising irritation.
“Sheldon Soffiez. He is definitely not gay,” Esme said smugly. “We made out for hours one time behind the snow groomer at Heavenly. I never got cold once.”
“These are your brilliant ideas for Ursa? Esme’s reject, a gay married guy, and a shower pee’er?”
“Don’t be so negative, Z. We’ll come up with a couple good potentials eventually,” Sadie said, nodding reassuringly at Ursa. Z scoffed.
Ursa leaned forward, gripping the edge of the picnic table. “You seem awfully sure that there’s no one out there who would have me, Z.”
Z appeared stunned at her attack.
“I never said anything like that!”
“You know as many guys in the area as Esme and Sadie do. Maybe you know of someone like that specifically, someone that would automatically reject the idea of going out with me?”
“That’s… that’s ridiculous,” Z sputtered, straightening on the bench, his eyes blazing.
Damn straight it’s ridiculous. It’s you, Z Beckett!
She didn’t say it out loud, but the accusation burned in her brain. She saw his jaw go hard, and wondered if he hadn’t read her mind.
“I’m sure that’s not what Z meant, Ursa,” Ilsa said, appearing completely bewildered. She gave Stephen a pleading look.
“More than likely, Z just doesn’t think anyone is good enough for you. Right, Z?” Stephen asked. But Ursa was mostly only aware of Z’s hot, wild stare and the sound of her heart throbbing in her ears.
“I’m sure Zev does feel that way. I know I do,” Grandpa Joe said warmly. “It’d be quite a challenge to find someone worthy. There’s no one kinder and sweeter than our Ursa.”
Ursa realized everyone’s attention was directed at her. She blinked and willed the pressure of her anger to recede. She took a deep breath and started to stand.
“Thanks, Grandpa Joe. Unfortunately, kindness isn’t what most guys are looking for these days. I’m sure as a single male, Z would agree.”
She gave Z one last irritated glance before she picked up her empty plate and walked away.
As she stared into the flames of the bonfire later that night, Ursa finally felt her temper start to cool. She was still angry and confused, but upon reflection, she had to admit that Z had been correct earlier. She had been “right there with him” this afternoon. It’d be hard to guess, which one of them had been more eager.
The question now was, what were they going to do about it?
Several times, she caught Z watching her from across the fire. The flames cast a pattern of shadow and a reddish glow across his face, emphasizing his slanting dark eyebrows, gleaming eyes, and overall devilish good looks. His gaze on her appeared pensive, and Ursa couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.
Why had he come to Tahoe? Had he realized she was here, or was it the opposite? Had her presence taken him by surprise?
What did he expect from her? Nothing? Something? She couldn’t decide which option agitated her more.
Finally, the heat and the questions became too much for her. She needed to clear her head. She stood from her beach chair.
“I’m warm. I’m going to walk a little ways.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stephen look at Z and make a motion with his head in Ursa’s direction. She rolled her eyes and sighed. Stephen was telling Z to follow her and apologize for what had happened at dinner, to try and smooth things over. There was a fifty-fifty chance that Z would follow Stephen’s nonverbal suggestion. Z rarely did anything because he was expected to.
But he might have his own reasons for seeking her out.
So she wasn’t entirely surprised when she heard him approach from behind as she stood at the shoreline a minute later.
“I’m not sure what that was all about. At dinner.”
She shivered at the sound of his deep, gruff voice in the darkness.
“Don’t you?” she murmured.
“Are you really going to let your sisters set you up with a bunch of guys?”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“Were you thinking about it mostly just to get a rise out of me? Because it worked.”
“I noticed.”
He grunted in obvious annoyance. “I know you’re mad at me. I’ll say it again…I’ll say it a hundred times, if I need to. I’m sorry about what happened. It clearly wasn’t the smartest move on my part.” Ursa turned to face him in the pregnant pause that followed. “Okay…part of me isn’t sorry, to be honest. It was incredible.”
She could barely make out his large shadow in the darkness.
“Did you know I was here in Tahoe, when you came this weekend?”
“Yes.”
She started slightly at his quick, concise answer. When she realized that her heart had started to hammer in her chest, instinct told her to move. She began walking along the shoreline, uncertain if she was trying to escape him, or if she was attempting to move further into the cloaking shadows and the intrusive gazes of their families.
“Ursa, stop,” he said after a moment. She felt his hand on her upper arm, and came to an abrupt halt. The night enveloped them in an inky blackness. His warm hand moved subtly on her arm, the sensation making her skin roughen.
“Here,” he murmured. She realized he was moving, but she couldn’t make out what he was doing. A few seconds later, he draped his hoodie around her shoulders. The fabric was warm from the fire and his body heat. She slipped her arms through the sleeves, grateful for the warmth. His hand slid along her nape. Her breath caught at the sensation of him lifting her hair out over the jacket. He seemed to hesitate, but then he shifted his hand. His fingertips ran across her cheek, his caress achingly tender. She felt her throat swell.
“Don’t, Z.”
“I’ve missed you.”
She started at his stark honesty. “You were the one who sent me away.”
“I know that. But I sent you away because I was worried about you. Not because I don’t care. I came here because there’s something I want to discuss with you.”
“That hardly seemed like a discussion this afternoon.”
“I realize that. But…Damn it, Ursa, you’re going to have to believe when I say I didn’t plan it.” He touched the shell of her ear lightly, and she couldn’t disguise another shiver. He stepped closer, his body ghosting hers. She sensed that he bent his knees. Her breath stuck in her lungs. She knew from experience that he dipped down just before he kissed her.
Instead of feeling his mouth on hers, however, she felt him nuzzle her temple.
“You smell so good,” he rasped, his rough, low voice raising goose bumps along her neck. “Like clean skin and flowers. And sex. You always smell like sex to me, Ursa.”
“Z, stop it,” she said, but she didn’t move away. She felt bewitched. She couldn’t have moved away in that moment from his nuzzling nose and lips if her life depended on it.
“It’s just that I saw you lying there this afternoon, and you looked so beautiful, like the sweet, peaceful g
irl I remember from when we were young, but more. So much more. It hit me like a tidal wave or something, how much I wanted you. Not the Ursa from my past. The woman I’d been with, in Columbia. Don’t be mad at for me for losing my mind for a few minutes. The last thing I wanted to do was take advantage of you.”
He nuzzled her ear and drew her deeper into his arms. She struggled to regain reason.
“I don’t understand. What’s changed? Why would you go from blowing me off, to this? What’s happened?” she demanded.
“That’s what I came to Tahoe Shores to talk to you about.”
“Z,” she whispered, acutely conscious of is hard male body next to hers. “Our families will be able to see us.”
“I don’t think so. But if they can, let ‘em watch,” he growled.
“Are you saying you want to go public with this?” she asked incredulously.
“I’m saying I’m not willing to let you out of my arms right now.”
“But you might want to let go of me tomorrow, depending upon your mood and your cock.”
He stiffened next to her. She made a frustrated sound and forced herself to step out of his embrace. The cool night air flowed between them, unwelcome, but sobering.
“Maybe I deserved that, given this afternoon,” he said quietly after a pause. “But I didn’t come here to jump on you, Ursa. You don’t actually believe that I did, do you?”
“Maybe not,” she said cautiously. She sighed as reality hit her. This was Z, not some horn dog sniffing around single-mindedly for sex. “No, I don’t think you came here exclusively for that. Of course not. What did you want to talk about?”
“This isn’t a great place. Will you meet me tonight? Later?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Meet me out by your mailbox tonight at eleven. We’ll go somewhere and talk, okay? Ursa?” he prodded when she didn’t answer immediately.
“Okay. But I can’t take anymore of your hot and cold, Z. It hurts too much.”
He caught her hand. “The last thing I want to do—the last thing I ever wanted to do—is hurt you, baby girl.”
“But you did.”
His hand tightened on her. The he released her. Dread seemed to press on her in the silence that followed.
“I know I did. I think about it dozens of times every day, and twice as much at night. I regret it, maybe even more than you hate it. Would you rather not meet me? Is that what you’re saying? Because I’ll understand, if that’s what you want.”
She clamped her eyes shut. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying I’m confused, Z. I’m saying you confuse me.”
“The feeling is mutual. You’ve got me turned inside out, Ursa. I guess we need to decide what to do about it. Right?”
You’ve got me turned inside out, Ursa. The emotion in his deep voice ran over her like a soothing balm and an intoxicant all at once.
“You’re right. Eleven o’clock,” she agreed softly.
“Eleven o’clock.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Lakeside, a favorite local restaurant and bar, was packed when they walked in together a few minutes after eleven that night. Luckily, they were walking past just as another couple was leaving, so they snagged the only available booth in the place.
“It doesn’t bother you to go to bars?” she asked him curiously after the waitress had cleared the table and taken their drink orders. “I mean… I know you own one, but that’s different. You’re working when you’re at the Moto Café.”
He shook his head, his sharp gaze running across the crowded room. “Being around people drinking isn’t a trigger for me. Besides, if I survived this summer without relapsing, I doubt there’s much of anything that could push me over the edge.”
“What happened with Emory Martin was that much of a stressor for you?”
“Having Emory Martin hold a gun to your head was that much of a stressor for me. That, and the look on your face when I told you to get out of my house and never speak to me again.”
For several rapid heartbeats, neither spoke.
“I haven’t said I was sorry for that yet. But I am,” he said stiffly.
She swallowed thickly. She appreciated hearing it, but she’d already read the palpable regret in his eyes.
“He’s been arrested, you know. Martin,” Z said.
“Really?”
“They picked him up in Nevada, but on a different charge. California pressed charges for what he did to us, as well. He’s accepted a plea deal, so there isn’t going to be a trial. We won’t have to testify. He’s going to be out of commission for a long time.”
She exhaled shakily. Is that why Z’s attitude toward her had changed? Because Emory Martin was safely behind bars? “Are you relieved?” she asked him cautiously.
He shrugged, drawing her eyes down to his chest and shoulders. He looked ruggedly handsome and incredibly potent, wearing a white T-shirt that highlighted the tan he’d gotten on the beach today, along with a blue and green fitted plaid shirt that showed off his fit, muscular body.
“I’m more relieved because of the fact that Frankie Saccardi came to see me in Columbia earlier this summer.”
A shiver passed down her spine. “Frankie Saccardi? The guy who Emory Martin said he was collecting the money for?”
Z nodded.
“But didn’t you tell the police he was the president of that motorcycle gang, the Psychles?”
“The Reno chapter of the Dark Psychles, yeah.”
“What did he want with you?” Ursa asked, alarmed.
“He gave me back all the money Martin took.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Every last dollar. He apologized for sending Emory to collect it. But best of all, he promised I’d never see him darken my door again.”
“What made him do that? Was he worried he’d be implicated in Martin’s crime?”
Z shook his head, glancing around when the waitress arrived to set their drinks in front of them. He waited until she left before he continued.
“It’s not what made Frankie Saccardi promise to steer clear of me and my business forever. It’s who.”
“Who?”
“Contrail Williams. A bigger boss in the Dark Psychles. Much bigger. The biggest one of all, in fact. Frankie couldn’t have done whatever Contrail wanted fast enough.”
“Why would Contrail want Frankie to give the money back, and promise never to bother you again?”
“Because Contrail and I made a deal. I did a custom for him. Just finished it this week, and he collected the bike yesterday. He’s very satisfied.”
A feeling of trepidation went through her. “But Z…how is that better? Before, you were building a bike for a small time gangster, and now you’re building a bike for a big time one.”
“Because Contrail Williams isn’t Frankie Saccardi. We drew up a legal document and he paid me up front for the bike. He paid me well. That’s not all. We put in the agreement that this was a one-time deal. And, I agreed to never build another bike for a Psychle. That was a no brainer for me to go along with, since I never want to build a bike for a known criminal ever again.”
“That’s crazy.”
“It’s not, once you get to know Contrail. He’s a smart businessman, and also a huge narcissist.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It turns out that Contrail had been following my career. He saw one of the bikes I’d sold to a guy in San Fran, and he’d read some articles about me. He came to Columbia this summer to ask me to build a bike for him exclusively. He wanted a bike that everyone would recognize immediately as his, one that no other Psychle owned. Something innovative. One of a kind. Contrail thought he was going to have to pay me a huge amount for exclusivity. When I told him about my disagreement with Frankie, though, we both realized
we could scratch each other’s back. I put it in the contract that the bike I built for him was a onetime, exclusive deal, and that I didn’t owe him anything beyond delivery of that bike. He agreed to handle the situation with Frankie, which he did before I’d even finished the job. I turned the bike over to him yesterday, and we both agreed to wash our hands of each other. He’s even put out a ban on Psychles coming into the Moto Café. Again, he did it for himself as much as he did me. Contrail doesn’t want them nosing around my bikes or approaching me for a design behind his back. I just don’t want them around, period, so it worked out great.”
Ursa regarded him with amazement. “It sounds like Contrail Williams wasn’t the only smart businessman in the deal.”
She saw a sparkle in his eyes before he took a swig of his soda. His small smile vanished as he glanced around the Lakeside. “I wasn’t sure, at first, if it was all going to work out smoothly or not. I was worried.”
“But you’re not anymore?”
He met her stare. “No. I’m satisfied the criminal element from my past isn’t going to jump up unexpectedly to bite me in the ass anymore. I’m not worried about you anymore. Or maybe I should put it this way: My concern is at manageable levels. I wouldn’t have shown up in Tahoe Shores, knowing you were there, if I wasn’t certain about that, at the very least.”
“Why do I hear a ‘but’ in there?” she asked him slowly.
He glanced away. She saw his throat convulse as he swallowed.
“I still don’t think I’m the best thing for you, Ursa. Somehow, it just doesn’t seem…right.”
“I honestly don’t understand why you keep saying that.”
He looked uncomfortable. Irritated?
“Z?”
“The business is doing well. Better than I ever expected it would. But it’s still a new business, and it’ll take a while to fully establish myself.”
“What’s that got to do with us dating?” Ursa asked bemusedly.
“Nothing,” he said, frustration flashing across his face before he went expressionless again. “I’m not he ideal candidate for you, that’s all.”
“Going by your reaction at dinner to Sadie’s and Esme’s dating suggestions, you think there are worse candidates than you,” Ursa said, thinking it was best to take a lighthearted approach to the topic, since he seemed so edgy about it.
Wild, Wounded Hearts Page 24
