Читать книгу One Night: Exotic Fantasies - Maisey Yates, Janette Kenny - Страница 13

THE honeymoon villa was the epitome of romance. The anterior wall of the courtyard was surrounded by dense, green trees, clinging vines and flowers covering most of the stone wall, adding color, a sense that nature ruled here, not man. There was a keypad on the gate and Zack entered a code in; a reminder that the man very much had his fingerprints all over the property.

“Nice,” she said, as the gates swung open and revealed an open courtyard area. The villa itself was white and clean. Intricate spires, carved from wood and capped in gold, adorned the roof of the house, rising up to meet the thick canopy of teak trees.

“Mr. Amudee had planned on giving Hannah and I a few days of wedded bliss prior to meeting with me, so he made sure I had the code, and that everything in the home would be stocked and ready.”

Clara tried not to think about Zack and Hannah, using the love nest for its intended purpose. More than that, she tried not to think of her and Zack using it for its intended purpose.

She really did try. There was no point in allowing those fantasies. Those fantasies had led to nothing more than dateless Friday nights and lack of sleep.

“Well, that was … thoughtful of him.”

“It was. I believe he has some activities planned for us, too.”

Oh, great. She was going to be trapped in happy-couple-honeymoon-activity hell.

She followed Zack through the vast courtyard and to the wide, ornately carved double doors at the front of the villa. She touched one of the flower blossoms etched into the hard surface. “These are gorgeous. I wonder if I could mimic the design with frosting.”

“I will happily be a part of that experiment.” He pushed open the doors and stood, waiting for her to go in before him.

“You do seem to hang around a lot more when I’m practicing my baking skills.”

“I don’t know how.”

“I could teach you,” she said. “Maybe sometimes after I can teach you how to use a food processor.”

“I think I’ll pass. Anyway, I’m a bachelor. Have pity on me. I wasn’t supposed to be a bachelor after today, but I am, and now I still need my best friend to cook for me.”

“And probably do your laundry.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

Basically he wanted her to be his wife with none of the perks. She nearly said so, but that would sound too much like she wanted the perks, and even if a part of her did, she’d rather parade naked through the Castro District than confess it.

“I’m not doing your laundry.”

Zack closed the door behind them and a shock of awareness hit her, low and strong in her stomach. She felt so very alone with Zack all of a sudden that she could hardly breathe. And it wasn’t as though she’d never been alone with him. She had been. Hundreds of times. Late nights in the office, at her apartment cooking, at his luxury penthouse watching a movie.

But this wasn’t San Francisco. It wasn’t their offices; it wasn’t one of their apartments. It felt like another world entirely and that was … dangerous.

She looked up at the tall, peaked ceilings, at the intricately carved vines and flowers that cascaded from wooden rafters. Swaths of fabric were the only dividers between rooms, gauzy and sexy, providing the illusion of privacy without actually giving any at all.

And in the middle of it all was Zack. He filled the space, not just with his breadth and height, but with his presence. With the unique scent that was so utterly Zack mingling with the heavy perfume of plumeria. Familiar and exotic all at once.

This was like one of her late-night fantasies. Like a scene she’d only ever allowed herself to indulge in when she was shrouded in the darkness of her room. And now, those fantasies were coming back to bite her.

Because they were mingling with reality. This was real. And in reality, Zack didn’t want her like she wanted him. But in her fantasies he did. There, he touched her like a lover, his eyes locked with hers, his lips.

She needed her head checked.

“I have a housekeeper, anyway. I was teasing,” he said.

“I know.” She hoped she didn’t look as flushed as she felt.

“I don’t think you did. I think you were about to bite my head off.” He looked … amused. Damn him.

“Is there food?”

His lips curved into a half smile. “I can check.”

He wandered out of the main living area, in search of the kitchen, she imagined, and she took the opportunity to breathe in air that didn’t smell of Zack. Air that didn’t make her stomach twist.

She walked the opposite direction of Zack, through one of the fabric-covered doorways and stopped. It was the bedroom. The bed was up on a raised platform, a duvet in deep red spread over it. Cream colored fabric with delicate gold vines woven throughout hung from the ceiling, shielding the bed. It was obvious that it wasn’t a bed made for one, or for sleeping.

She swallowed heavily, her eyes glued to the center of the room.

She heard footsteps behind her and turned. “I found food.”

“Good,” she said, trying to ignore the fast-paced beating of her heart. Zack and the bed in one room was enough to make her feel like her head might explode. “There is. I mean, this isn’t the only bedroom is it?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Oh,” she said.

“I set dinner out on the balcony, if you want to join me.”

“Don’t you want to go to bed?” she asked, then immediately regretted the way the words had come out. Heat flooded her face, and she was certain there was a very blatant blush staining her cheeks. “I mean … well, you know what I mean. That wasn’t. I meant you. By yourself. Because I slept and I know you didn’t.”

“At least let me buy you dinner first, Clara,” he said, his mouth curved in amusement, his eyes glittering with the same heat she’d noticed earlier. It made her uncomfortable. And jittery. And a little bit excited.

She laughed, a kind of nervous, fake sound. “Of course.”

Zack ignored the jolt of arousal that shot through his veins. For a moment at least, he and Clara had both been thinking the same thing. And it had involved that bed. That bed that was far too tempting, even for a man who prided himself on having absolute control at all times.

Things with Clara had always been easy. No, he’d never been blind to her beauty, but their relationship had never been marked by moments of heavy sexual tension. Not until today.

And knowing that, even for a moment, she’d shared in the temptation, well, that made it all worse. Or better. No, definitely worse, because in his life, he valued boundaries. Everything and everyone had a place and a purpose. Clara had a place. It was not in his bed.

Or this bed.

It was important that his life stay focused like that. Controlled. That nothing crossed over. He’d been rigid in that, uncompromising, for the past fourteen years.

“This way, beautiful,” he said, clenching his hand into a fist to keep from putting it on Clara’s lower back. He would have done it before. But suddenly it seemed like far too risky of a maneuver.

Clara shot him a look that was pure Clara, his friend, and it made the knot in his chest ease slightly. Though it didn’t do much for the heat coursing through his veins.

He was questioning why he’d thought bringing her was a good idea. And he never questioned his decisions. Not anymore. Because he thought everything through before he acted. Not thinking, letting anything go before reason, was a recipe for disaster.

And bringing Clara had been the logical choice. At least until thirty seconds ago.

He moved in front of her, under the guise of leading her to the deck, but really just so he wouldn’t let himself look at her butt while she walked. Occasionally he allowed himself the indulgence of looking at her curves. Harmless enough. He was human, a man, and she was a beautiful woman. But it seemed less harmless after a moment like that.

“This is really nice,” she said when they were outside.

Her words were true, banal and safe. He’d set the table and turned on the string of lanterns that were hung above the table. A moderate effort, but he had wanted it to be nice. Now it felt strangely intimate.

He couldn’t remember the last time a dinner date had seemed intimate. He couldn’t even remember the last time that word had seemed applicable to something in his life. Very often, sex didn’t even seem all that intimate to him.

Of course, it had been so long since he’d had sex maybe that wasn’t true. That was likely half of his problem now.

Clara wandered to the railing and leaned over the edge, tossing her glossy copper curls over her shoulder and sniffing the air. Or maybe the sex wasn’t the problem. Because being alone with Hannah hadn’t made him feel this way. And there were days when the scent of Clara’s perfume hitting him when she walked past made his stomach tighten.

But he ignored that. He was good at ignoring it.

“What are you doing?”

“It smells amazing out here. Like when you bake bread and the air is heavy with it. Only it’s flowers instead of flour.” She turned to him and smiled, the familiar glitter back in her eyes.

The knot inside him eased even more.

“I would never have thought of it that way.” He pulled her chair out and nodded toward it and she walked over to the table and took her seat.

He sat across from her, ladling reheated Tom Yum Ka into her bowl and then into his. She smiled at him, the slight dimple in her rounded cheeks deepening as she did.

Things seemed to have stabilized, even if her sweet grin did have an impact on his stomach.

“So, tell me more about this deal with Mr. Amudee.”

He put his forearm on the table and leaned forward. “I think we covered most of it. Although, another reason it’s nice to have you here is your palate. I’d like you to taste the different roasts and come up with pairings for them. It would be particularly nice to have in our boutique locations.”

“Pairings!” Her eyes glittered. “I love it.”

“Good coffee or tea really is just as complex as good wine. There are just as many flavor variations.”

“I know, Zack,” she said.

“Of course you do. You appreciate good coffee. It’s one reason we get along so well.”

Clara took another bite of her soup and let the ginger sit on her tongue, enjoying the zip of spice that hurt just enough to take her mind off the weird reaction she was having to Zack. Yes, being attracted to him was nothing new.

But this was different. The attraction she felt at home was like a sleeper agent. It attacked her when she least expected it. In dreams. When she was looking at other men and contemplating accepting a date. It wasn’t usually this shaky, limb-weakening thing that made her feel tongue-tied and exposed in his presence. Maybe it was the feeling of utter seclusion. Or maybe it was because she knew just what that big bed was here for, what he’d been planning on doing with it.

“That and I bake you cupcakes,” she said, swallowing the tart and spicy soup.

“There is that.” Zack looked toward the railing of the deck, off into trees, the look in his eyes distant, cold suddenly. “Tell me about your bakery.”

“The one I hope to have?”

“Yes. And the life you’re going to put with it.”

Her chest constricted. “It will be small. I’ll have regular menu items and daily specials. I’ll have more time to make fancy little treats with a lot of decorations. I’ll have a hand in everything instead of just conceptualizing and farming the instructions out to hordes of employees.”

“And that’s important to you?”

“It’s how we started. Me in the flagship store, you going back and forth between your—What did you have when I met you? Fifteen stores up and down the West Coast? It was fun.”

“Yes, but now we have money.”

She nodded. “We do. And it’s great. You’ve done this incredible thing, Zack. The growth has been … amazing. Way beyond what I imagined.”

“Not beyond what I imagined.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “It was always the plan. Planning is key. It’s when you don’t plan, when you drift, that’s when things are a surprise. Good or bad.”

“You didn’t plan for Hannah to opt out of the wedding.”

“I didn’t plan for you to leave Roasted, either. Sometimes other people come in and mess with your plans,” he said, his dark eyebrows locked together.

“This doesn’t mean I won’t see you anymore,” she said. Though she probably shouldn’t. But the thought of that made her chest feel like there was a hole in it. Still, she’d baked the man’s wedding cake. She was such a pushover, such a hopeless case, it was obscene. It had to end.

She didn’t want it to. But if she didn’t see him at work every day … it would be a start.

“I know you’ll still see me,” he said, his mouth curving. “You’d have withdrawals otherwise.”

If only that weren’t true. “Right. Can’t live without you, Zack.” She felt her throat get tight. Stupid. So stupid. But Zack really did mean the world to her, and she had a very strong suspicion that her statement was nothing but the truth. He had offered her support when no one else in her life had. He still did.

She regretted saying she wanted to leave Roasted. Regretted it with everything in her. But she couldn’t change her mind. The reasoning behind the decision was still sound. And she really would still see him. He just wouldn’t fill up her whole world anymore. She couldn’t let feelings for him, feelings that would never be returned, hold her back for the rest of her life.

Zack’s arm twitched and he reached into his pocket. “Phone vibrated,” he said. He pulled out his smart phone and unlocked the screen, a strange expression on his face. “Hannah texted me.”

“Really?”

“She’s really sorry about the wedding.”

“Oh, good,” Clara snorted. The weird jealousy and protectiveness were back together again. She was still righteously angry at Hannah for what she’d done, even while she was relieved.

“She met someone else.”

“What?”

“Yes.” He looked up, his expression neutral. “She’s in love apparently.”

“And she’s texting this to you?”

He shrugged. “It fits our relationship.”

“No, it doesn’t. Love or not, you still had a relationship.”

“We weren’t sleeping together.”

Clara felt her stomach free fall down into her toes. “What?” That didn’t even make sense. Hannah was a goddess. A sex bomb that had been detonated in the middle of her life, making her feel inadequate and inexperienced.

And he hadn’t slept with her? She’d assumed—imagined even, in sadly graphic detail—that half of the meetings in his office had been rousing desk-sex sessions. And … they hadn’t been? So much angst. So much stomach curling angst exerted over … nothing, it turned out.

“Why?” she asked, her voice several notches higher than usual.

“Hannah’s kind of traditional. Because we weren’t in love … well, she needed love or marriage. We were going to have marriage.”

“Hmm. Well, then maybe texting is appropriate. I don’t understand how you were going to marry this woman.”

“Marriage is a business agreement, like anything else, Clara. You decide if you can fulfill the obligations and if they’ll be advantageous to you. Then you sign or you don’t.”

“Cynical.”

“True.”

“Then why bother to get married? I don’t understand.”

He shrugged. “Because it’s the thing to do. Marriage offers stability, companionship. It’s logical.”

“Good grief, Spock. Logical. That’s not why people get married.” She snorted again. “Did your parents have a horrible divorce or something?”

Zack shook his head. “No.”

“You never talk about your family.”

He looked down at his soup. “Not on accident.”

“Well, I figured. That’s why I never ask.”

“This isn’t never asking.”

She looked at him, at the side of his head. He wouldn’t look at her. “We’ve known each other for seven years, Zack.”

“And I’m sure I don’t know everything about you, either. But I know what counts. I know that you lick the mixer. Even if it’s got batter with raw eggs on it.”

She laughed. “Tell anyone that and I’ll ruin you.”

“I have no doubt. I also know that you like stupid comedies.”

“And I know that you put on football games and never end up watching them. You’re just in it for the snacks.”

He smiled, his gray eyes meeting hers. “See? You know the real truth.”

Except there was something in the way he said it, a strange undertone, that told her she didn’t. She wasn’t sure how she’d missed it before. But she had. Now it seemed blatant, obvious. Zack had a way of presenting such a calm, easy front. In business, she knew it was to disarm, that no matter how easygoing he appeared, he was the man in charge. No question.

Now she wondered how much of the easy act in his personal life was just that. An act.

His eyes lingered on her face for a moment, and she suddenly became acutely conscious of her lips. And how dry they were. She stuck out the tip of her tongue and moistened them, the action taking an undertone she hadn’t intended when she’d begun.

This week was going to kill her. Eventually the tension would get too heavy and she would be crushed beneath the weight of it. There was no possible way she could endure any more.

“I’m really tired,” she said, the lie so blatant and obvious it was embarrassing.

To Zack’s credit, he didn’t call her on it. “The inner sanctum is all yours. I’ll make do with the couch.”

She wasn’t going to feel bad about that for a second. “All right, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Maybe by morning some of the surrealism of the whole day would have worn off. Maybe by morning she wouldn’t feel choked by the attraction she felt to Zack.

Maybe, but not likely.