“I want to take you out Friday night. Down to Blue Moon and then Poor Boys to hear your sister sing with her band.” His gaze stayed on the picture above her fireplace while his voice confirmed her early suspicions.
“I’m married.” She flashed her hand at him, blushing when she realized nothing was there.
“As friends, Zoe. Nothing more.” His indigo eyes gazed at her, in their depths so much pain that she covered her mouth in shock. “For old time’s sake.”
“Are you okay?” She lay the hand that had covered her mouth on his arm.
“Fine.” He grabbed one her pillows, flipping it around in his hands. “Just thought you might need someone to talk to or a shoulder to lean on.”
His shirt was damp from where she‘d done just that. “Guess I did.”
Things had always been easy between her and Gabriel. They’d always been more like friends than lovers. More like brother and sister than an engaged couple. While she knew he had his own beliefs about sex and marriage, he was still a man with a man’s needs and wants. Needs and wants that he’d never pressed on her.
If she didn’t know how much of a stand-up kind of guy he was, she would have suspected he’d been cheating on her. But that wasn’t his style. He was too honest.
Azalea Holland had been the one to insist they belonged together. On paper they were perfect, but in real life…boring and there had been times when Gabriel had been downright mean and impatient with her. Totally out of character for him. Like now.
“Did one of my brothers put you up to this?”
He sighed and leaned back on her sofa. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I agreed to ask you out as a favor to someone.”
“Luke?”
“Yeah.”
She should have known.
“I’m sorry, Zoe,” he said, placing the pillow between them. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you when we were dating.”
He sounded so sincere that she moved her hand down to his, gripping it. “I know. You said that in the letter you wrote me. You’re a good man.”
His shoulder sagged, then he placed his hand over hers. “I need some advice. “
Scooting to the edge of her cushion, she said, “I’m all—”
“Get your bloody hands off my wife.”
Chapter Twenty- Seven
Zoe fell off the couch, pain exploding in each kneecap as the hardwoods gave them a high five. “Ow!”
Christian rushed over before Gabriel could help her, lifting her by the elbows and making her body hum in approval.
Stupid body.
She shouldn’t be excited to see him. She should only be mad and hurt. And suspicious. There hadn’t been anything in the news or on the Internet about the pictures. Yet. Not that she cared.
“Get your bloody hands off of me,” she snapped, but Christian didn’t let go until she was firmly on her feet.
“Shall I get some ice for your knees?”
“Why are you here?”
“I’m done with my documentary, wife.” Christian stroked the side of her cheek, his touch soft and gentle. It made her knees weak. It made her wish for a knife. “Now I’m home to stay.”
Once she would have loved to hear those exact words, but now she wondered if he had more horrible publicity to get rid of, or those stupid pictures had finally gone viral.
“I’m not your wife.” She scowled at him, then remembered Gabriel sat on the couch. “And you’re interrupting my date.”
Instead of pissing him off or making him leave, Christian extended his hand to Gabriel. His hand. “I’ve heard good things about you.”
“Nice to meet you, Romanov,” Gabriel stood, then shook Christian’s hand. “I better be going.”
She did not want to be alone with Christian. “I thought you needed my—”
“Let’s have a beer.” Her husband, yeah she could refer to him in her head like that, ambled over to the kitchen like he owned the place.
“Seriously, Zoe, I think it’s best if I leave,” Gabriel said quietly.
“Here we are,” Christian handed Gabriel a beer and Zoe a glass of juice. “Your toast will be just a minute, love.”
“Quit trying to remind me of Vegas,” she snapped.
Christian smiled, then sat in the chair closest to the fireplace. She and Gabriel copied him by resuming their former seats on the sofa.
“This was your Grandmother Waverly’s house, right?” Christian asked, surprising her with his knowledge. Just how much did Sasha find out about her? And more importantly why had Christian continued to read it?
He searched the open floor plan of her house, and much to her dismay she found herself wanting Christian to like it. To love it and want to stay with her. She mentally shook herself. He didn’t want to be here and she sure as heck didn’t want him either.
“I started renovating it about three years ago, but I’m not quite finished,” she said, plucking at a quilt throw, then smoothed her skirt down. Bells at the hem jingled.
She took a large gulp of her juice.
“I like your skirt, love. Puts me in the mind of dancing girls and sultans,” Christian said, his gaze caressing her face.
She spit out her drink.
“Hey!” Gabriel shot to his feet, brushing at the liquid with his hands.
Clenching her jaw, she wiped her mouth. Christian would bring up her wearing nothing but that stupid skirt for him while doing her best impersonation of a belly dancer.
Orange juice dripped off of Gabriel and onto the floor. “Can someone get me a towel so I don’t make your floor sticky?”
She marched to the kitchen to grab a towel, leaving her half-empty glass on the counter.
“Was that a movie you starred in?” Gabriel asked as she handed him the towel.
“There were cameras involved, but it will never be seen by the public.” Christian winked at her, his smile wicked and making her mouth drop open in shock. He’d recorded them? Ringing her husband’s neck would be too good for him. He should be made to star in a reality television show instead.
Gabriel’s eyebrows rose as he gave her a sidelong glance. “Now I really have to go.” He tugged at his wet shirt.
She grabbed his arm. “Don’t be silly, Gabe. You know you’re always welcome. After all, we were planning on living here. Together.” Turning to Christian, she said, “We even picked out the furniture in the master bedroom. Together.”
Christian’s smile evaporated and she wanted to cheer, but Gabriel cut her preemptive celebration short.
“I need to get this in the wash before it stains. Nice to see you both. Take care of her.” Gabriel moved to the door. He shut it behind him and a few seconds later his truck rumbled to life, the pulled out of the driveway.
“Alone at last, love.” He crossed the small distance between them. She jumped up, determined to not let him touch her. She would fall apart if he did. Fall apart into pieces so small that they could fit on the head of a pin.
“Don’t call me that.” She backed away from him, occasionally glancing over her shoulder to make sure she didn’t do the ultimate Zoe move and trip over something.
“Sweetheart?”
“Asshat!”
Christian lifted a brow and stopped in his tracks. “Now’s who trying to reminisce?”
“Just go.” Zoe whirled away, but was stopped from leaving the room by his hand on her arm. Looking up at him when he moved to stand in front of her, she steeled her resolve. Steeled herself against the pure unadulterated pleasure of his touch. She remembered those elegant fingers as they touched, explored and satisfied every need.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he warned. “Or I’ll take you against the nearest wall.”
Fury flashed through her body as some of his last words to her echoed in her mind. “I’d rather forget we ever happened.”
He let go of her long enough to rake his hand through his perfectly tousled hair. For some reason it made her even angrier. How dare he show up here? So damn smug and as if he hadn’t been cruel. As if he hadn’t cut her deep with his words and actions.
She ran the length of his body with her eyes. No, Christian shows up looking like he’s about to be photographed for some men’s fashion magazine. All sexy and dressed to kill her.
“Obviously, I lied about wanting to —”
“Obviously.” She tried to put some distance between them, rounding the couch to make her way to the back of her house. An ocean between them was preferable, but the island in her kitchen would have to serve.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Christian stopped short of joining her side of the barrier she put between them.
“How do I know anything?” She pounded her fist against the cold granite countertop. “We barely know each other.”
“I wouldn’t classify what we do know as bare. More like carnal. Intimate knowledge between a man and woman,” he drawled, infuriating her even more, but then he did the unexpected. His posture changed and his eyes seemed to glint with… something? “I’m sorry. I made a mistake and I’m here to right it, to be that man I told you about. The one you deserve. Let’s try to work things out.”
She almost forgave him. Right at that moment she wanted to run to him, wrap her arms around him, stroke his hair and whisper she loved him. That she understood, that she’d been just as much as at fault. It would be entirely easy to give in to him.
But she couldn’t. “There’s nothing you can say to make things better.”
Christian exhaled. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. That he couldn’t waltz into her house, announce that he was home and she’d come running to him. Seeing Zoe with her ex had put him in full blow this-is-my-woman mode. Jealousy, true jealousy at the intimacy she and Gabriel had shared had made him want to plant his fist in the guy’s face. All over them talking. Talking.
“Let me stay the night and show you how sorry I can be.”
“Just one night?” She raised her chin. “Then what—you’ll leave in the morning?”
“If you wish.” There was no way in hell he was going anywhere, but if Zoe calling the shots—or at least thought she was—led to the desired outcome, he’d gladly follow.
Her green eyes looked black in the softly lit room before she narrowed them. “I want you to get back on the plane you flew in on and never return.”
“Not an option.”
“So much for what I wish.” Her lips flattened into a thin line and she marched away, slamming the sliding glass door that led to her back porch behind her.
Ten minutes. He’d give his wife ten minutes before he went after her.
He rolled his head to one side, cracking his neck and relieving the pent-up tension. Well, at least some of it.
Looking around the room, he took note of the coziness. The warmth, the hominess that seemed to seep from the cheery yellow kitchen to the muted green walls of the living room. This was a house that had been lived in, loved and restored by Zoe. Pictures of her family were everywhere. Walls, tables, and bookshelves held their images. He walked over to the mantle of the fireplace. A collection of crystal fairies danced along the length while a framed print of Hale’s The Crimson Rambler held a place of honor above it. Maybe he should buy her the original.
Nodding to himself, he pulled out his phone and texted Sasha, then wandered around. The chair he’d sat in had been large and comfortable. Made for a man or rather a woman who liked to curl up with her e-reader by the fire. He could practically guarantee the sofa was wide enough and long enough for him to stretch out on. With her.
And while his taste ran to ultra modern designs with sleek lines and bold color, he found that he loved Zoe’s feminine style. The whimsy she placed in the oddest of places. An old pair of paint-spattered rain boots held emerging daffodils on the front porch while an open-mouthed frog umbrella stand greeted visitors in the small foyer.
He peeked into what he thought was her bedroom. The bed was all wrong. The style, the size, and the color of the wood used for the headboard. It took up the entire room, overpowering the antique dresser and vanity.
Moving into the room, he felt like an intruder, but he had to see her closet. What he found made him laugh. Actually, it made her all the more charming. Most of her wardrobe made noise or was one of the colors of rainbow sherbet ice cream. Sasha would have a stroke if he ever saw it.
A quick glance at his watch told him his self-imposed time limit was almost out. He jogged up the stairs and then back down to find her office. It could use more shelving and a new desk while the entire second floor with the exception of one guest room needed to be finished. That could be a project for him to do while he was trying to woo back his wife.
Glancing at his watch, he put on his mental armor.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
It had taken Christian a good ten minutes to find her. She sat hunched over a wooden picnic table, seemingly staring at the small waves that lapped at the shore.
The sun dipped low in the sky behind them, casting gloomy shadows on the sandy expanse. To his right, what looked to be an old mansion with a double balcony sat surrounded by live oaks and Magnolia trees. A woman paced back and forth, blond hair trailing out behind her. Fireflies seemed to follow her as she walked. Soon, a dark haired man appeared and wrapped his arms around her.
Was that Gabriel?
He blinked, then blinked again. The balcony was empty of people and fireflies. “Did you see the woman walking with all the fireflies?”
Zoe shook her head.
“This is an absolutely fantastic beach. No worry of shark attacks, jelly fish and most importantly no fear of seeing a three hundred pound bloke wearing a Speedo with black socks and white trainers.”