Читать книгу Accidental Fiancee - Renee Roszel - Страница 7

ZACK fell through empty air toward earth. He watched them appear from out of nowhere—the almighty security force that guarded Merit Island. Seconds after he pulled the rip cord on his main parachute, they were no longer scurrying ants, but loomed large enough for him to see the sun glinting off their state-of-the-art artillery.

He grinned. He hadn’t expected a marching band to welcome him home after all these years, but he would have preferred to touch down with fewer side arms aimed at his heart.

He attained a zero rate of descent as his feet reached ground level. A perfect landing, especially considering twenty years had passed since he’d seen the topography of Merit Island. His shoe soles skimmed the grass while he sat in his harness. Stepping lightly on the ground, he removed a little of his weight from the rigging. With each successive step he tread more heavily until he fully supported his weight. Coming to an easy halt, he shifted to watch his black-and-silver rectangular chute flutter to the lawn. He also noticed the troops surround him.

As briskly as he could, without making any moves that looked threatening, he took off his helmet and gear, then lifted both hands to reassure the gentlemen in starched gray that he was unarmed and represented no threat, though he was dressed a little like Captain Galaxy in his black jumpsuit.

He smiled at the grim-faced security force as they approached. “Hi, boys,” he said with as much friendliness as his desire not to be riddled with bullets could muster. He spread his fingers, his webbed gloves making his surrender look unearthly. Maybe he should have shouted out, “Take me to your leader.” He wagged his webbed fingers skyward, surveying the troops. “As you can see, guys…” Making a slow, composed turn, he took a quick inventory of how many muzzles were aimed at his gut.

Eight.

“I can’t hide many machine-guns in this sausage-skin getup.”

“You’ll have to come with us, sir.”

Zack glanced at the gray man who’d spoken, no doubt the highest ranking sentry.

“No problem, General.” He smiled benignly. “I don’t want any unsightly holes drilled in my carcass. Lead the way.”

The burly man jerked his head toward the three-story stone-and-timber home Zachary remembered from his childhood. Shifting his gaze from the leader’s laser-sighted weapon, Zack stared at the house, his first glimpse since he left home at seventeen. The tightening in his belly surprised him. He’d thought if he ever saw the old homestead again it would seem smaller, somehow less significant. But it didn’t.

The image of an English manor house, Zack’s boyhood home was still the stately tribute to capitalism it had been all those years ago, with its spectacular view of the Atlantic from the crest of the island’s highest point. The sight brought back a wave of feelings, stronger than he’d believed possible. It wasn’t the splendor of the residence that made him ache inside, or the memory of the importance of the family dynasty, not the island’s primeval beauty or even the vast wealth he’d walked away from all those years ago.

He ached because of the empty hole inside him, a hole that couldn’t be filled, no matter how much adventure and excitement he poured in. After a tragic boat racing accident last year when he’d lost his best friend, he’d awakened to the fact of his own mortality, and that a life lived all alone was a barren existence. That realization had sparked the urge to reconnect with family.

Pride had stopped him for much too long. But now that things had gone so royally nuts, he’d been driven by circumstances to come back, pride or no pride. Though the problem that forced him to return to Merit Island made him furious, deep in his soul he was thankful for this chance.

“Sir?” The brawny sentry’s guttural prodding jarred Zack to the problem at hand. He peered at the scowling head man, who wagged his weapon in the direction of the house. “Let’s go.”

Zack nodded, then indicated his chute and rigging. “Would you mind having a couple of your sidekicks gather up my gear, Admiral? Parachutes are bears to re-pack once they get tangled in a rose garden.”

Zack’s attempt at a joke died a sober death. Apparently Jake had carried on the family tradition of hiring sentinels who’d had their sense of humor surgically removed. Indicating the mansion with a brisk nod, he offered, “I’m ready if you are, friend.”

“My Lord—Zachary?”

At the sound of his name, Zack turned, surprised to see his older brother, Jake, appear from the mansion’s loggia. He was jogging around the expansive gardens, which, Zack belatedly noticed, were in riotous bloom on this bright, still Sunday in mid-July. Some things never changed.

With a quick grin, Zack shifted to watch his brother’s rapid approach. Ignoring the gaggle of guards, Zack strode toward Jake. “Hey, old man,” he shouted, taking off his webbed gloves and tossing them into his discarded helmet. “Don’t give yourself a heart attack.”

The sentries seemed to grasp that the interloper who’d so outrageously parachuted onto Merit Island might not be there to pilfer from the emerald mine, after all. Stepping back, they allowed him through. Zack noticed fire-arms being holstered, adding greatly to his capacity for enjoying the afternoon.

Not far behind Jake, several other people appeared, hurrying briskly in his direction. One, Zack could tell, was his younger brother, Marc. Two of the others were women. The wives—Susan and Mimi—no doubt.

A white-haired man emerged from the shadow of the house, and Zack experienced a lurch in his chest. “Well,” he muttered, “if it isn’t the old tyrant himself.”

He didn’t have time to contemplate how his father’s greeting might go—icy aloofness or heated combat—for at that instant Jake punched his arm in greeting.

“Damn.” Jake grinned. “If it isn’t the prodigal himself.”

Zack was so happy to see his brother, he didn’t know how to react. A handshake seemed sterile considering the wealth of emotion he felt.

After a second’s hesitation, Jake stepped forward and clasped his brother in a comradely hug. “Blast it, Zack,” he said warmly, “It’s good to see you.”

Zack returned the embrace for a long moment before he could find his voice. “Yeah.” It was all he could say and keep his macho image intact. The only day in his life he’d shed a tear had been at his mother’s funeral, hating like hell the precious time he’d lost with her by leaving home. Feeling such intense emotion, good or bad, wasn’t something he relished, so he swallowed hard, choking back any reaction that might smack of soppiness.

As they separated, Marc, Mimi and Susan arrived. Zack noted that a couple of security guards were gathering up his chute and harness. The others had withdrawn as furtively as they’d arrived.

“Do my eyes deceive me or is it Zachary Merit, the tabloid’s hunk du jour?” Marc asked.

Zack eyed his younger brother with high dudgeon. “Very amusing, little brother.” He grasped him in a bear hug. “You deal with it for a month, and see how fast you retreat to the old Merit sarcophagus.”

When they drew apart, Marc planted his hands on his sibling’s shoulders and swept him with a look that Zack could only describe as doctorly. “You’ve grown into a tall son of a gun,” Marc mused aloud, then lifted a hand to Zack’s chin, brushing his thumb along to a thin scar that ran from his jaw, across his cleft, ending just short of his lower lip. “Hmm.”

Zack knew Marc had become a doctor, but he’d never expected to be the subject of his professional grimace. Though he experienced a twinge at the painful reminder of the freak accident that took his teammate’s life, he forced himself to laugh. “How long have I got, Doc?”

Pursing his lips, Marc dropped his hands. “Keep jumping out of planes, buddy, and—”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Zack glanced toward the slender redhead who’d spoken. He winked a brazen “how-do-you-do” and admired the pink color that rose in her cheeks. Susan was exactly as Jake had described, and he understood why his older brother was so crazy about her. “Yeah, Marc,” he prodded. “Introductions are in order.” His gaze swept from Susan’s beautiful blush to the striking blonde who had taken Marc’s arm. So this was the ravishing Mimi. From everything his brothers had said, Zack decided the married Merit men were damn lucky. He felt a surge of envy, and was jarred by it.

He eyed Jake, then Marc. “Though you both have been nauseatingly long-winded about the perfection of your wives during our phone conversations, could we get on with the formalities?” He grinned mischievously. “I have brides to kiss.”

As Susan and Mimi were officially introduced to their brother-in-law, Zack kept track of his father’s plodding approach. He wondered if the old man was intentionally delaying his arrival to build tension. If that was the case, it was working. His throat felt parched as he kissed his sisters-in-law on the cheek.

“They’re too good for you bums,” Zack kidded, trying to get his mind off his father’s psychological manipulations. “They’re beautiful and cultured.”

“And pregnant,” Mimi added, her cheeks flushing as she hugged Marc’s middle.

Even with his thoughts divided, Mimi’s remark came through loud and clear. Zack gave her his full, appreciative attention. She wore pink shorts, a white tank top and strappy sandals, looking trim and fit. He couldn’t tell she was expecting from looking at her. “Oh?” Bowing slightly in deference, he murmured, “May all your children look like you.” He cast Marc a glance and smirked. “Heaven forbid they should look like the doc.”

Mimi giggled. “Now, Zack,” she said with a cautioning smile, “I think you and Marc bear a striking resemblance to each other. Except you have Jake’s green eyes—and those dimples are all yours.”

Zack made a playful grimace. “My dear Mrs. Merit, comparing me to my homely brothers cuts me to the soul.”

“All three of you not only look alike, but you share a scary sense of humor,” Susan said with a laugh. “And speaking of look-alikes, Zack, you look a little like Darin DeBruin.”

Zack glanced her way, going along with her game, whatever it was. “The man is blessed,” he kidded. “Who is he?”

Susan’s smile grew incredulous. “He’s the actor playing you in the movie about you saving Senator Nordstrom’s daughter—you know, Out of the Blue. Haven’t you seen it?”

Zack winced at the reminder. “No, but I might be persuaded to—for a couple million bucks.”

“I figured that love story between you and Olivia Nordstrom in the movie was storybook fiction,” Jake cut in, “until your engagement was announced in the newspapers yesterday.” He drew Susan beneath a protective arm. “I gather the woman’s insane, considering she agreed to marry you. But on the upside, our stock jumped five points when the news broke that a Merit was engaged to the future first-daughter of our country. Congratulations, Bro.” He extended a hand.

Zack’s happy mood sprang a leak and he waved away the handshake. “Take my advice, and sell,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Don’t mention that woman to me.” He dragged a hand through his hair, annoyance overwhelming him for the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours. “There’s no truth to that story. I think your instinct about Olivia Nordstrom being nuts sounds about right.”

He watched his brothers and sisters-in-law. Their expressions were priceless. Total confusion. That had been his first reaction, hearing the news, too. The next had been fury.

How the senator’s daughter could have told the press they were engaged was too deranged for words. The one time he’d been in the senator’s home, he’d been invited for dinner as a “thank-you” for his parachute rescue of their daughter. The whole evening the senator and Mrs. Nordstrom had been extremely cool. He could tell by the look in their eyes that Olivia, their beautiful Yale educated daughter, was off limits to the likes of him—with his reckless lifestyle, racing boats for a living and jumping out of planes for relaxation.

Zack could see by their attitudes they felt he had nothing to recommend him. He had no Ivy League education. For that matter he had practically no formal education at all. Plus, he was sadly lacking in the necessary dancing school manners for acceptance in uptight, conservative circles of their ilk. Oh, he was good enough to save their precious daughter’s life now and then, but that was the extent of any relationship he would ever have with her.

Since the ridiculous movie’s release last month, he’d grown sick and tired of being unable to go anywhere unmolested by paparazzi or squealing females. As for Olivia Nordstrom’s announcement that they were engaged? Clearly the stress of her father’s precampaign campaigning, plus the added strain brought on by the movie’s popularity, had caused her to suffer some kind of bizarre breakdown.

He’d been traveling home from a speedboat race when the story broke. Stunned, he’d read about his own engagement on the flight. Then, in the wee hours, when he got home, a couple hundred voice mail messages waited for him, demanding that he confirm or deny. The continual ringing of his phone all night had been the final straw. He was sick of the movie and sick of being linked to the pretty, if a bit too polished and prim, senator’s daughter. He wanted his life back, but he had a feeling until this movie stupidity—and now the engagement craziness—died down he wouldn’t have any peace.

Slipping out of his high-rise condo at dawn, he’d escaped Los Angeles and made a beeline for Merit Island, off Maine’s coast, and its Fort Knox type security.

Though angry with Olivia Nordstrom, he didn’t hold grudges and hoped she eventually made a full recovery from her mental collapse. Soon enough the next summer blockbuster, whatever it might be, would draw attention away from the unauthorized movie depicting his rebel lifestyle and the parachute rescue. That day couldn’t come too soon for him.

Zack could see that both Mimi and Susan were disappointed to hear the movie’s love story was fiction. What romantics his brothers had married. Working to amend the mood of the group, he grinned. “The real Miss Nordstrom is a little tightly wound for my taste,” he said. “I like my women—”

“Please don’t say loose,” Jake broke in. “I’ll pay you not to say loose.”

“Okay, Bro, I’ll take that bribe in the form of food. I’m starved.” He chuckled, though it was difficult. At long last, his father had joined the circle and was trudging up to front and center.

“How dare you invade our home like some kind of mercenary commando, Zachary?” he bellowed. “I suppose it’s typical of you. As always—completely self-centered and thoughtless.”

George Merit’s cutting rebuke brought with it a wave of anguish, evoking memories of their bitter battles. Zack faced the old man. Though his smile felt stiff, he held onto it, determined to make this visit work. He’d promised himself again and again on the trip over that he wouldn’t fight with his father. Zack was well aware that he’d been disinherited, and years ago he’d accepted it. He didn’t want anything from his family but a little time.

Moving up beside his father, he flung an arm about the older man’s shoulders, surprised at how insubstantial he seemed. Zack was three inches taller, at six-five, and outweighed George by fifty pounds of muscle. Odd, he’d always thought of his father an immovable mountain. “It’s good to see you, too, Dad,” he said, realizing with a jolt that he actually meant it. “What’s for dinner?”

Olivia had never expected to see Zachary Merit again after the evening he’d visited her parents’ home. The very next day she’d been swept up in the political whirl of her father’s quest for his party’s presidential candidacy. But this was an emergency. Last week she’d done a stupid thing, and she wanted to apologize in person. Plus, she and Zachary needed to come up with something to tell the press so they would quit dogging her to the edge of insanity. Judging by her half-witted statement, she’d stepped—rather leaped—over the edge, at least once.

Frustrated by the tight security that surrounded Merit Island, Olivia ran a hand over her eyes. The outboard and driver she’d hired to take her to Zachary’s family home had been stopped by no less than two cabin cruisers, now looming over them like vultures. A dozen warrior-types glared down at her.

“Look, sir,” she shouted over the roar of engines, trying to keep the tension out of her voice, “Please tell Zachary Merit that Olivia Nordstrom needs to speak with him in person. It’s urgent.”

The head scowler spoke into a handheld mike. She couldn’t hear the response, but crossed her fingers, hoping against hope. Zachary must be furious with her for what the papers were saying. She was furious with herself, and mortified that the reporter had taken her sarcastic remark as gospel. But she’d had it up to her eyeballs with stupid questions. That dratted movie and her father’s breakneck electioneering pace clearly had gotten to her.

One of the few times in her cloistered life she’d broken out of her Little Miss America mold to do something different, exhilarating, liberating, she would surely have died if not for Zachary Merit’s heroism. And how did she repay him? After one too many nosy newshounds demanded “the truth” about their relationship, she’d shot back that they were engaged.

The humiliating exchange rang in her head so vividly she couldn’t keep from running it over and over, like a videotape her traitorous brain was forcing her to memorize in every painful detail.

The journalist, if he could be called that, was a greasy-haired scandalmonger with two nose rings who sold celebrity dirt to the highest bidder. He always wore a baseball cap with Papo emblazoned on the brim, so that’s how she referred to him in her recurring murder fantasies.

As usual, he’d been front and center in the crowd, shouting out his questions, interrupting, demanding responses, driving her batty.

“How close is the new film to what actually happened when you were rescued in that parachute accident by Zack Merit?” he’d yelled.

Ignoring him hadn’t worked, so she’d decided she’d better address his questions and get it over. “In some ways it’s quite accurate,” she said calmly. “It was a very dramatic rescue.”

“In the film, a romance develops between Olivia and Zack. I take it that film was accurate in that respect, too?”

“No—that’s pure Hollywood fiction.” She’d wanted to shout, How many times do I have to deny it? Leave me alone about Zack Merit. Yes, he’s handsome, and yes, I’m a female and I was tempted, but he never even looked at me funny. I’m not the type to attract a man like Zachary Merit. She’d managed to hold on to her smile, but with difficulty.

“Are you sure you want to go on record that it’s total fiction?” he’d prodded with a leer. “The director insists he researched the rescue very thoroughly—and the people who saw you together said there was definite chemistry between you two. Do you deny that?”

Whatever they might have seen was purely one-sided, her mind screamed. Zachary Merit was kind, charming and his smile would melt steel, but he was not interested! “Er—why—no, there—”

“Why the hesitancy, Miss Nordstrom?” he’d baited. “Why not admit it? Something’s brewing between the senator’s princess and the king of wild abandon?” He poked his recorder’s microphone in her face, but when she only stared, he pulled it back to speak into it. “Be up-front, Miss Nordstrom. The likelihood of a romance between you two is real, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t seen Zack lately, so I’d have to say no, probably—”

“And when you do see him again?”

The sexual innuendo was embarrassingly clear. Her patience wearing thin, she said, “Really, this is none of your business.”

“So—you’re saying there already has been something between you two, just as the movie suggests?”

Olivia’s pounding migraine was beating her down, and her frustration level had shot to an all-time high. Fed up, she’d retorted, “What do you want me to say? Would it satisfy you if I admit I’m madly in love with my rescuer and we’re engaged to be married? Now, please, Papo, give me a break!”

She’d said it with such flippancy, she’d been sure the reporter would take it for the sarcasm it was. Who but a headline-hungry member of the paparazzi would take such blatant sarcasm seriously?

After the smoke cleared from her brain, and she read those rash words in print, she’d been horrified. Olivia Nordstrom Engaged To Zachary Merit, the headline shrieked.

Her father, Lawrence Nordstrom, his features an unhealthy shade of purple, had rattled the newspaper over his head, shouting he would commit mayhem before he or any member of his family would be connected with an idle good-for-nothing playboy who—he assured Olivia at the top of his lungs—never voted, never gave a tinker’s dam about anything or anyone but himself. Her father’s campaign was based on his up-from-poverty-I-am-the-glorious-everyman platform. He hated rich prodigals who lived useless, imprudent lives. Unfortunately that was a perfect description of Zachary Merit.

The senator had demanded that his campaign manager, Jerry Skelton, go “handle” Mr. Merit, for essentially confirming the “revolting” engagement story by his silence. As far as her father was concerned, Zachary was a conniving snake, trying to add luster to his polluted reputation through the senator’s cultivated, refined daughter. Olivia would have disagreed if she could have gotten a word in.

First of all, she’d been the one to announce their engagement. Second, it certainly hadn’t been Zachary’s fault, just because he’d been “unavailable for comment” that his silence had fueled speculation. Clearly he’d been out of the country somewhere, and by the time he’d even heard about it, the media hype had escalated beyond repair. His only recourse by then was to avoid the fray. She couldn’t blame him. He had to be angry with her. Why should he feel the slightest responsibility to help get her out of her own mess?

Yet, trying to explain that to her father while he fumed and growled and paced was like trying to ward off an attacking bear by pelting it with marshmallows. At least she’d dissuaded him from sending Jerry to sort out Zachary. Jerry’s pit-bull personality would only make matters worse. No, it was her fault, she would find the courage to handle it, no matter how angry Zachary might be.

She hated confrontations, but this had to be done, and done by her. Besides, lately Jerry had become bothersomely persistent in his amorous attentions towards her. The senator’s delight at the idea of his only daughter marrying Jerry compounded her stress. The flight from her father’s California headquarters, where she headed up his finance staff, had been a relief. Not to mention a much needed break from Jerry’s possessive—

“Miss?”

Olivia blinked back to a reality filled with intimidating patrol boats and uniformed troopers. She peered up at the head man, her heart shooting to her throat. “Yes?” She wouldn’t blame Zachary if he refused to see her, but she had to hope he was more forgiving than her father.

“Mr. Merit said you could come aboard.”

“Come—” she was confused “—aboard?”

The man hooked a metal ladder over the side and stretched out his arm to offer her a hand. “We’ll take you to the island.”

“But…” She glanced at her driver. “What about my boat? I hired this man.”

The gray-clad official eyed the boat’s muscular young helmsman with a frown. “I can’t authorize the boat, miss. Just you.” Once again, he held out a hand.

With a reluctant nod, she accepted. “Okay.” Turning to the man at the controls of the outboard, she said, “I’ll need you to wait.”

He gave her a narrowed look. “’Fraid not, miss.” He appeared uncomfortable. In the face of all the hovering muscle, she could understand his misgivings. She wasn’t thrilled by the situation, either. “I’m sure these guys will see you get back to the mainland okay.” Without making eye contact, he turned away.

Obviously her driver had no intention of staying, so she didn’t waste her breath pleading. Working on her nerve, she grasped the ladder and started to climb. Before she reached the top rung, the outboard was buzzing away like a scared gnat, into the setting sun. Olivia’s slim skirt and three inch heels made it difficult getting into the cruiser without landing on her head. Dressed more for the boardroom than buccaneering, she had to accept help from two brawny members of the crew.

Ultimately she was welcomed aboard. Well, “welcomed” might be a bit of an overstatement. She was hauled on deck without a word, though she noticed a full contingent of speculative looks. It seemed, even out here on the high seas where the Merit Emerald Empire held absolute sway, news of the improbable liaison between herself and Zachary Merit had penetrated the defenses.

During the ten-minute ride to the Merit pier, Olivia sat stiffly on a cushioned bench, fretfully scanning the island that rose and rose before them, out of the sea. A sprawling mansion at the crest of a hill caught her eye, and she stared. It wasn’t as though she’d never seen a mansion. Being the daughter of a respected United States senator, she’d been in some swanky homes, but this place…

As daylight faded, the estate’s many windows began to glow with golden light. Standing proud and alone, the residence was both compelling and disturbing. The situation seemed surreal, as though she’d been levitated into some crazy kind of alternate universe.

For such an imposing, unbreachable citadel, it almost seemed to welcome her. She breathed in a gulp of sea-laden air, trying to calm her nerves and get her wits about her. Welcome her, indeed! What would her reception really be? How would Zachary receive her? With a handshake or a kick in the backside? She swallowed hard, not really believing he’d do her physical harm. Still, he was so—so big. She wasn’t exactly tiny, at five-seven. And in three inch heels, she was as tall as lots of men. But Zachary was huge, broad shouldered and muscular.

She experienced a quiver of remembered appreciation. Tall and gorgeous, and compelling and—and disturbing. She quirked a rueful grin. “Like his home,” she murmured under her breath. It would have been easy to fall for him—the daring hero who saved her life by risking his own. But he was a thrill-seeker and a lone wolf, no doubt with a half-dozen girls on the string at any one time. Besides, they had nothing in common. It had been better that her parents hustled her off to fourteen-hour workdays of raising campaign funds. It would have been foolhardy of her to harbor silly schoolgirl notions about Zachary Merit.

The boat came to a stop. She bit her lip, apprehensive about what the next few minutes would bring.

“Miss?” The officer in charge offered her a hand. “Mr. Merit is waiting for you.”

Her heart performed an unruly two-step as she stood and cast an anxious glance along the dock. When she failed to spot him, she looked at the officer. “Where?”

The man in gray escorted her to the side and helped her onto the pier. “Beyond the boathouse, I believe.”

She nodded, stifling the urge to ask, “With a baseball bat?”

Once on the dock, she straightened her skirt and readjusted her handbag strap on her shoulder. Clambering on and off cabin cruisers in a slender-fitting linen suit was difficult to do with grace. If Zachary watched her disembark she had to assume he was enjoying a hearty chuckle about now.

Angling her chin high, she marched along the wharf past several other cruisers. Ahead she noted an attractive building, which must have been the boathouse, though it looked more like an oversized cottage, complete with artful landscaping, blossoming plants and flowers.

The wooden dock ended and a stone path took its place. Olivia’s heart raced as she stepped down onto a walkway that meandered around a corner. Her heart thumping in her ears, she headed into the unknown. Not many steps later, she almost slammed into a towering male blockade in brown shorts and a green polo shirt. Though she’d been warned he was in the vicinity, and had expected him, she shrieked, stumbling a step backward.

Pressing her hands to her heart, she tried to breathe, managing strangled little gasps. What was the matter with her? It was only Zachary Merit. He wasn’t wielding a bat, and he didn’t even look like he’d done any frothing at the mouth.

Lounging against the boathouse, he folded his arms loosely across his broad chest as he surveyed her with shuttered eyes. His silent inspection went on for an interminable couple of pulse beats before one dark eyebrow rose. “Hi, honey,” he said, without the hint of a smile. “Have a rough day at the office?”