Читать книгу Accidental Fiancee - Renee Roszel - Страница 8

OLIVIA’S startled reaction surprised Zack. For a woman who’d jumped out of an airplane, she was pretty nervous about walking around corners. He wondered how she managed to get from her office to her father’s without having a full-blown panic attack.

He watched as she gathered her poise. Maybe it was the fiery sunset behind her, but her straight black hair seemed to have a coppery radiance about it. Her skin looked pale. Too pale. Back-lit the way she was, the honey-brown eyes he remembered as huge looked black as pitch. She seemed thinner and looked tired. Maybe it was the dying day throwing him a visual curve. Or maybe Olivia Nordstrom wasn’t feeling well. His annoyance abated slightly as he observed her take another shuddery breath.

“Oh…” she presented him with one of the weakest smiles he’d ever seen. “I—you startled me.”

He pushed away from the boathouse wall. “Then, I’m glad I changed my mind at the last minute and didn’t jump out and shout ‘boo.”’

Her smile twitched, but grew no stronger. She was either very tired, very nervous, or both. He slipped his hands into his pockets. “How did you find me?”

She cleared her throat. “Oh—I knew about your family and the island, the emerald business and all, so I took a shot.”

“I see.” Of course, she would have had no way of knowing he’d been estranged from his family for two decades. A week ago, he would have sworn the likelihood of ever finding him on Merit Island would have been nil. How ironic that he owed his presence here to none other than Olivia Nordstrom, herself. His ire surged, but he hid it. “What can I do for you, Miss Nordstrom?”

“Please, call me Liv,” she said. “I think saving my life gives you that right.”

He slashed a cynical grin. “Being your fiancé doesn’t count?”

She winced at his taunt. “Oh—I—well…”

He shrugged. “Never mind—what can I do for you…Liv?”

Her gaze darted away from his face, ricocheted off the boathouse, then pinged up to the mansion. She blinked several times, her fingers lacing and relacing. “I—first…” She slid her attention back to him, and he sensed the move had taken extreme effort. “I want to apologize for the—the engagement thing.”

“Ah, yes.” He fought a renewed surge of irritation. “I seem to remember reading something about that in a few newspapers.” He lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “Imagine my glee.”

She swallowed visibly, thrusting a hand through her glossy hair. Zack bet it felt like silk. The odd thought startled him at first; then he decided it wasn’t that odd. After all, Olivia Nordstrom was pretty. A pretty woman, two or three years out of college, from a prominent family. Zack would wager his racing sponsors he wasn’t the first male to notice her—and be interested.

But he was no fool. He was thirty-seven, a vagabond who made a fair living at the moment racing boats. In the long run, that didn’t mean much to women. They wanted to believe there was more potential for permanence in their men than his lifestyle exhibited—both emotional and physical. What he did was exciting and dangerous, so women seemed to find him exciting and dangerous. And temporary.

Olivia sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. “That remark about our engagement was stupid,” she admitted. “I was being flip. That reporter had been driving me nutty with his everlasting inquisition about our relationship, and I just—I just…snapped.” She peered at him from beneath her lashes, looking guilt-ridden. “I never—never in a trillion years—thought he’d take me seriously. I’m truly sorry.” She grasped her skinny handbag strap with both fists. “My father’s furious with me.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Zack said. “I’m not exactly the poster boy for ideal son-in-law of conservative presidential hopefuls.”

“Hardly,” she said, then made a pained face. “Oh—I didn’t mean, er…”

He couldn’t suppress an ironic chuckle.

She lifted her glance to his face, appearing both surprised and alarmed.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, Liv. My hide’s tough. I’m hardly bleeding.”

She ran her knuckles across her lips, appearing weary and frustrated. “Zachary,” she said. “This isn’t how I wanted things to go.” She inhaled, looking as though she was working on her resolve. “Could we start over? Why don’t you ask me why I’m here?”

He peered at her. “Okay.” He didn’t know why, but he extended a hand. “Hello, Miss Nordstrom.” He paused, and the silence grew deafening.

He could tell when she finally grasped what he was waiting for because she jumped, unclenched a fist from around her handbag strap and slid her fingers into his. They were cold and trembly. “Hello, Mr. Merit.” She sounded more confident than her shaky hand indicated.

His anger slipped a cog, but only one. He squeezed her fingers for a second, then released her. “What can I do for you?” he repeated.

This time she managed a smile that didn’t look quite so bleak. “According to the Chinese, if you save somebody’s life you’re responsible for them forever.”

Taken off guard by her remark, he said, “But neither of us is Chinese.”

She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “No, but I decided if one of us became angry enough to harbor thoughts of—well—doing away with the other, I might need to remind, uh, the homicidal one of us that he’s responsible for me. That means you can’t snuff out my lights on a whim.”

Her attempt at humor surprised him, and though he had a fleeting urge to smile, he kept his expression skeptical. “Let me see that in the rule book.”

Even as Zack made the quip, he had to admit he wasn’t as furious with her now as he had been for the past week. In truth, “furious” was a mild word for what he’d felt—having been forced out of his town, reporters nipping at his heels.

There was something about the senator’s daughter, today, something tangibly vulnerable—in her eyes, her stance and the way she almost-but-not-quite smiled, that made him realize his desire to strangle her had died a quiet death. She didn’t look as though she was having the time of her life, either. If he were to be fair, she not only had the bothersome movie and all its ramifications to deal with, she was hip deep in her father’s bid for his party’s presidential candidacy. That couldn’t be a bed of roses.

He was amazed that after being in a bloodthirsty froth for days, he could conjure up sympathy for her. Maybe it was the island’s doing—the unending boredom. He wasn’t cut out for such a pastoral existence. He was beginning to believe all the quiet was making him lose his will to live—or in Olivia Nordstrom’s case—to kill.

“I—I came to ask if you’d be willing to discuss what to say to reporters to get them off our backs once and for all,” she said, almost pleaded. “I hoped we might work out a press release we could both live with.” Her expression pained and sheepish, she added, “My dad would like us to say we’ve parted amicably.”

Dubious, he asked, “Wouldn’t the senator rather have you tell the press you’ve seen me for the bum I am and dumped me?”

The automatic lighting system for the boathouse and dock clicked on, flooding Olivia with a bright spot. Zack bore witness to the intense blush that crawled up her pale cheeks. He could tell by her sudden, downward glance that her father had suggested exactly that.

“Out of the question,” she murmured, then met his eyes. “I would never dump the man who saved my life.”

He let that statement sink in for a few seconds, and found himself shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the situation, and even more ridiculous conversation. “I’m touched, Liv,” he said, only half joking. “I presume you’d like this press release as soon as possible?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I should get right back. But I felt this was so important I had to come myself. It was only fair to you.” She managed a slight, embarrassed smile. “Especially since I didn’t let you know about our engagement.”

“I appreciate being included this time.” He indicated the mansion on the hill. “Why don’t we go inside where we can discuss our amicable breakup under fewer spotlights.”

Her blush faded somewhat, and Zack noticed, with the stark light, she really did look unwell. Her eyes seemed hollow, lusterless. He hadn’t seen her for nearly a year, when he’d had dinner at her home. She’d been attractive and vivacious, with a golden tan. But this Olivia Nordstrom was so pallid her beige linen suit seemed dark by comparison. If he didn’t miss his guess, she’d lost weight. Though she was still lovely, the change wasn’t for the better.

Without determining why, he took her arm. “It’s fastest if we cut across the lawn.”

She balked. “But—across the lawn?”

He halted and glanced at her. “Is that a problem? Do you have a grass allergy?”

She shook her head. “No, but heels don’t do well in grass. They tend to sink.”

“We wouldn’t want you making divots in the lawn,” he quipped offhandedly, glancing at the shoes. Actually his attention only flicked off the high heels before seeking out slender ankles. “Take them off,” he suggested, working to keep his mind on track.

“And walk in my stockings?”

“That’s a problem?” He met her gaze.

“I’ll get a run. I have to wear these stockings all the way home.”

“I see.” In fact, he was mystified. She seemed totally unprepared for this trip. “What did you think Merit Island consisted of, a high-rise condo surrounded by pavement?”

She flushed again. “I’m afraid my decision to come was rushed. I—I didn’t really think.” She swept a hand down to indicate her legs, half exposed below a knee-length skirt.

Those legs had been a major area of interest ever since he’d seen her scramble from the boat, so her insistence that he examine them was criminal. Up until now, he’d made every effort to avoid ogling.

“My plan was to run out here for an hour, then go right back,” she said. “I saw no need for a change of clothes.”

Deciding he’d given her legs as much attention as was appropriate to the situation, he met her eyes. “Sounds like you had your father’s complete approval for this jaunt,” he taunted.

She looked away. “Not quite.” She glanced back. “He wanted to send Jerry Skelton, his campaign manager, but I didn’t think you two would hit it off. Jerry can be…abrasive.”

Apparently “abrasive” was the most diplomatic word she could think of. Ol’ Jerry must be a real doll. “Were you afraid he’d hurt me,” he asked, “…or that I’d hurt him?” He hoped it was the latter, but he had a feeling Liv was protecting him from Jerry’s rapier intellect rather than rescuing the campaign manager from Zack’s left hook. So what if she thought of him as a muscle-bound oaf. What in bloody hell did he care?

She dropped her gaze again, which gave the impression of a coy come-on. You only wish, Merit! He squelched the notion. You’re annoyed with her, idiot! Let’s not get off track over the way she looks at her own feet!

“I didn’t think you deserved Jerry’s barking and growling.” He was chagrined to see tears glittering in her eyes. Damn. She was having a bad time.

“Jerry might have made some disagreeable remark about you fueling the rumors by not coming forward to deny the story. About how you were feathering your own nest, bolstering your reputation, by allowing people to think you and I…” She spread her arms in his general direction. “Of course it’s ridiculous. I know you were angry with me, and your silence was your way of telling me to go to—well, that is—to deal with my own mess, no matter what Daddy and Jerry might think.” Hugging herself, she did that looking-down thing with her lashes again, and he felt his stomach clench. “I don’t want you to have any more trouble because of me than—”

“Yeah, thanks,” he broke in, needing to move, to concoct this press release and get her and her sexy-coy eyelashes off the island. Without engaging his thinking processes, he lifted her into his arms. Her gasp didn’t surprise him, and he ignored it.

So her important daddy and his fine-feathered campaign manager thought he was trying to mend his reputation by implying through silence there was a love affair going on between him and the prim, sophisticated Miss Nordstrom? As he trudged over the manicured lawn, holding her in his arms, his annoyance resurfaced. “Before you announce your next engagement,” he grumbled, “either learn to deal with walking on grass or pick on some guy who doesn’t live on such brutal terrain.”

Olivia didn’t expect to cross the Merit threshold in Zachary’s arms. If she’d been in a joking mood, she might have made some reference to the fact that they’d gone from a quickie engagement to a quickie honeymoon. But his sarcastic shot about her inability to walk on grass knocked any idea of joking right out of her, which was probably for the best. Zachary didn’t appear inclined toward matrimonial banter.

All the way across the sweeping lawn his expression had been one of scowling intensity. His gaze had not met hers once. She knew that because she’d stared at his face the whole way. She had no idea why, but for some reason watching his troubled features, his striking green eyes, his firm mouth, was all she could do.

A muscle knotted in his jaw, and she sensed he’d gritted his teeth. No doubt he was struggling to keep from calling her a silly female hothouse orchid who, not only couldn’t walk the distance of a football field on her own two feet, but couldn’t get out of a cabin cruiser without the aid of two beefy men.

He already knew she couldn’t jump out of an airplane and live to tell about it, unless a man happened to whiz through space, risking his own life, to save her inept backside. What a weak-Wanda impression she’d made on Zachary Merit. Add to that the fact that she’d betrothed herself to him via the newspapers, making him so uncomfortable and angry he’d fled clear across the North American continent! Yes, she was definitely at the top of Zachary Merit’s Get-Out-Of-My-Life list.

They entered the mansion through a set of glass-paned double doors, which opened onto a covered patio. Once inside, Olivia was startled to find that she and Zachary weren’t alone. Several adults, one toddler and an infant were scattered about a pleasantly furnished den of rich earth tones. Soft music played in the background.

Olivia had a feeling the two women, eyeing her and Zack with strange smiles, had been peeking out, giving a blow-by-blow commentary of their approach. An elderly man with a thick shock of white hair sat on an oriental rug between a marble hearth and a chocolate leather sofa. He cuddled a baby in the crook of one arm. In his free hand, he held a rattle.

When he looked up, his smile faded. His was the only reaction that seemed negative. The other two men grinned openly. A blond toddler, about a year-and-a-half old, sagged sleepily on the lap of another man with green eyes, just like Zack’s.

“Well, well, little brother, you left here mad at her and you come back married?” Laying aside a storybook, he winked at Olivia. “If your father is half as persuasive as you, Miss Nordstrom, I predict you’ll one day call the White House home.” Gently he shifted the drowsy child to the sofa where the little cherub curled up and stuck a finger into his mouth.

“Forgive me.” The man with Zack’s eyes rose and walked to her. “I should have said Mrs. Merit.” He extended a hand. “Welcome to the family.”

Zachary cleared his throat and Olivia shot him an apprehensive glance. He didn’t look amused, but he did, finally, look at her. “Liv, meet our resident comic, Jake, my older brother.” Zack nodded toward the man who’d spoken. “Lucky for him, he has a steady job as CEO of Merit Emeralds, because as a comedian he stinks.”

Olivia felt herself being lowered to her feet. She did the best she could to land steadily and not make a further fool of herself by toppling over in front of his family.

She shook Jake’s hand as firmly as she could. “How do you do, Jake.” She hoped somebody would introduce her to the rest of the family before Zack rushed her off to get their business done.

“This is Marc, the baby.” Zack indicated another man, lounging against the marble hearth. The pretty blond woman moved to his side and he draped an arm about her.

“The baby?” Marc made a disgruntled face. “Remember, Zack, I’m not above contaminating your orange juice with a flu virus.” He grinned at Olivia. “Besides enjoying the questionable honor of being the baby of the family, I’m the resident doctor and this is Mimi, my wife.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Olivia,” Mimi said with a smile. “I guess your leg isn’t too badly hurt?”

Olivia was confused at first, then realized what Mimi meant. She shook her head, embarrassed. “There’s nothing wrong. I just—” She felt ridiculous. “High heels and lawns don’t mix well.”

“I see.” Mimi’s smile widened and she eyed Zack. “How gallant! We seem to have a regular Sir Walter Ralegh in the family.”

Olivia noted Zack’s tan deepen in a flush of unease. With a grunt of what had to be displeasure, he thrust an arm toward the redheaded woman who’d seated herself on the sofa next to the dozing toddler. “This is Susan, Jake’s wife.”

The redhead nodded and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you in person, Olivia. Mimi and I went into Portland the week before last and saw the movie.” She cast Zack a sly look. “That’s a taboo subject around here, but we loved it. Don’t you think Angela Cassio was perfect as you?”

Olivia was embarrassed to be repeatedly compared with Hollywood’s latest hot property. “I haven’t seen the movie. It’s somewhat of a—” she bit her lip, trying to come up with phrasing less harsh than her father’s “—a sore point at our house. Daddy was going to sue until he found out Aaron Scott was playing him, and Shellie Shipley was to be my mother—Daddy’s loved Ms. Shipley ever since she played that spunky, blue-collar worker in that factory strike movie. He’d never been a fan of Aaron Scott’s TV cop show—too wild and disrespectful but Mr. Scott is handsome so daddy decided to defer to the movie with benevolent tolerance…” She realized her anxiety was making her babble and she cut herself off, murmuring, “Anyway, I haven’t seen it.” Desperately wanting to change the subject, she faced the gray-haired man. “And this is your father, Zachary?”

The older man had gone back to rattling the toy over the infant’s head. At Olivia’s remark, he looked up, his silver eyebrows knitting.

A backdrop of discordant jazz seemed strangely apropos in the conversational rift. Finally, Zack spoke. “Olivia Nordstrom, meet George Merit, our father.”

George nodded at her but said nothing, so Olivia merely smiled and nodded back, wondering at the antagonism she sensed between George Merit and his middle son—and evidently anybody he carried into a room. The elder Merit seemed annoyed at her. Of course, he might simply have strong political views that didn’t agree with the senator’s. She’d run up against that mind-set often enough that it didn’t bother her any longer.

“The baby is Benjamin,” Zack went on. “Ben’s the newest Merit, compliments of Susan and Jake.”

“And the sweetheart sleeping on the sofa?” Olivia asked, kneeling to caress Ben’s downy head.

“Kyle is our big boy.” Susan smoothed the child’s hair and glanced at Jake with what Olivia could only describe as adoration. Jake winked at his wife, and even Olivia felt the sensual promise in the act. She swallowed hard and stood, swaying slightly.

She felt light-headed, which wasn’t surprising since she hadn’t had time to eat all day. Readjusting her handbag strap she returned to Zack’s side, certain he wanted to get the press release written. She gave him an “I’m ready whenever you are” look. “We probably should get to work, don’t you think?”

“Right.” He glanced around at those gathered. “If you’ll excuse us, Liv and I have a press release to compose.”

“Really?” Mimi asked. “About what?”

“About our amicable breakup,” Zack said without smiling.

“Oh?” Susan asked. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry to hear you’re not going to try to work things out.”

Zack stared at Susan, his expression so shocked she might as well have announced that Olivia was pregnant with his child.

After a second, Susan burst out laughing. “Lighten up. I was kidding.”

His eyebrows furrowed for an instant before his features returned to some semblance of normal. Even so, Olivia could see irritation in the set of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils.

All of a sudden, he had two noses. How bizarre! She blinked to clear her vision, but it didn’t help. Now he had two mouths and two sets of narrowed eyes. She shook her head and tried to refocus, but it only got worse. This time both of Zack’s heads spun and the motion made her sick to her stomach.

She felt hot all over—no, cold—no, clammy. Raising ponderously heavy hands to her temples, she rubbed. Her fingers were icy. “Zack…” she whispered, “I don’t…”

The world went black.