Fyre & Revenge

by Mina Carter

  On automatic, her hand stroked over her bump. Six months gone now she was visibly pregnant. So far she’d refused to comment on her pregnancy or her ‘failed before it started’ marriage, despite repeated pleas from the media. Her PR people gave them the same answer every time. Zette’s personal life was not up for discussion. Ever. And any reporter, paper, magazine…hell even small town community newsletters, which printed anything about her or her baby that wasn’t sanctioned, would be on the receiving end of some very nasty attention from her lawyers.

  Fortunately JJ seemed to have the same approach to them. She hadn’t seen anything from him in the papers as yet. She knew her office shielded all her mail and checked the news to make sure. Hell, she’d even tried to retain Logan Fyre in case she needed some heavy duty legal muscle. He was JJ’s friend, but she could still appreciate that he was the best in the business.

  Unfortunately he’d turned her down, but he’d been nice about it. Assuring her that his friend was an ‘asshole who deserved everything he got’ but no, he wouldn’t be the one that was dishing it out in court. She was however relieved to hear that Logan would also not accept a case against her, unless she decided to all out screw with JJ. In other words, let sleeping dogs lie and so would he. In the circumstances, she figured it was the best she was going to get.

  She opened her eyes and looked at the couch longingly, gathering the energy to waddle over there and collapse on it.

  “You, sweetie, make mommy tired,” she said, her voice soft as she stroked a loving hand over her bump. She’d asked not to be told what sex the baby was on her scans, but she had a feeling it was a little girl. She didn’t know why, but it just seemed feminine. A small foot kicked out, hitting her hand with unerring accuracy. Zette laughed, making it across the room to lower herself onto the couch.

  “Okay, okay, that’s your space, mommy not touch.”

  She’d barely sat, her limbs relaxing into the comfortable cushions of the couch, when there was a knock at the door. Zette groaned, her head flopping back into the cushions for a moment. Why did people always do that when she’d just sat down? Didn’t they know it wasn’t exactly easy to get up and down when you were the size of a small house? The knock came again, the sharp rap of knuckles against the wood, as though the owner didn’t like to be kept waiting.

  “Okay, okay, hold your horses, I’m coming!” she called as she hauled herself out of the luxurious clutches of the couch to waddle over. She opened the door, her mouth already open to give whoever it was a lecture on impatience but no sound emerged as she recognised the tall form standing in the doorway.

  JJ.

  Her heart lurched, clenching painfully as she looked at him. She hadn’t seen him since the wedding reception and even now that image of him reappeared in her mind from the small box she’d locked it in, tall and handsome in his wedding suit. As soon as that one got in, the rest, a hundred images of him in different states of undress…or smiling as he woke, assaulted her with painful clarity. Memory was a bitch when you wanted to forget.

  “Hello Zette, how are you?”

  She just looked at him. How was she? How did he think she was? She’d just been on stage, pouring her heart out about heartbreak and faithless lovers and the man who’d planned their divorce before he’d even married her was asking her how she was?

  “When are you filing the papers?” she asked bluntly, in no mood to mess about with the kind of games JJ played. She was too tired, too heart-sore for that.

  “If you’ve brought them now, I’ll sign them and you can postdate them. I don’t care what you want to tell the courts. Mind you, I’m sure you’ve already got that all worked out. So, where are they?” She arched an eyebrow at him, crossing her arms over her full breasts. Pregnancy had only made her already generous figure curvier.

  “I’ve not got the papers, I’m not filing them.” He stood in the door and, if Zette didn’t know better, he looked hesitant, as though he was unsure of his welcome. It was the first time she’d ever seen him show anything approaching a weakness. Her eyes narrowed, what game was he playing now?

  “You’re not? Why?”

  He cleared his throat, looking down at the floor for a moment, as though he was having trouble with what to say. He looked up, his hazel eyes unguarded and open. Zette caught her breath at the sorrow there.

  “Because I don’t want to,” he said simply. “Can I come in?”

  The last was as near to a plea as Zette had heard him make. Warily she nodded, stepping back from the door to allow his tall figure to pass her as she shut the door.

  Once she had though, she wished she hadn’t. The dressing room wasn’t the smallest she’d ever had. Hell, she’d had apartments smaller than this. But somehow he seemed to take up all the room, dominate the space as though he owned it. It was that innate self-confidence of his, she decided, wishing she could steal a little for herself and appear something other than over- heated, exhausted and heavily pregnant. Frazzled, that would be one way to describe it.

  “Okay, you’re in. Now what do you want?” she demanded, not caring that she was harsh. If he thought he could just turn up and expect her to welcome him with open arms, he had another thing coming.

  He winced at her tone, raking a hand through his hair. A nervous gesture she realised, noting the dark shadows under his eyes and the lines of strain around his mouth. He looked like a man who had been kicked in the guts after losing a week’s sleep.

  He laughed, a short sound that had nothing to do with amusement.

  “I don’t know where to start. So I’ll just come out with it.” He turned to her, his expression contrite. “Zette, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done what I did. I guess…” he trailed off, shaking his head a little. “I don’t have excuses for what I did. There aren’t any excuses for what I did, the way I treated you.”

  Zette just stood there, not quite believing the words, what she was hearing. Hope began to blossom in her chest, her heart aching as she relaxed the stranglehold she’d had on it these last few months. Long months. But he still hadn’t said what she needed to hear. He’d said sorry and for a man like JJ, with the way he’d treated her, she still wasn’t sure this wasn’t another elaborate stunt.

  “No, there aren’t,” she agreed, her expression guarded. “Was that it?”

  “Dammit Zette! I’m trying to apologise, give me something to work with here!” he exploded, voice fraught with frustration as he took a step toward her. She stood her ground, glaring at him as her anger flared.

  “Why the hell should I? In case you’ve forgotten, you were the one that was—”

  He reached her in an instant, hands smoothing down her arms to take her hands before she realised, could stop him.

  “I know baby, I know and I’m sorry,” he said softly, his hazel eyes more green than brown as he looked down at her. He held her gaze, thumbs stroking over the back of her hands. “I realise what a prize idiot I was, I can’t say any more than sorry and… I love you.”

  He looked down, as though he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes anymore, waiting for her to say something. But she couldn’t, the pain in her heart blossoming out to become hope and stealing her breath. Underneath her heart, the baby jumped and kicked, as though she knew her daddy was close by. A daddy Zette had thought she’d have to grow up just looking at in photos or pictures in the press. When she didn’t reply, he pressed his lips together, his shoulders drooping in defeat.

  “Thank you for listening to me, I didn’t deserve even that.” His lips quirked. “Actually I was surprised to get through security.” He leaned forwards and pressed a kiss to her temple.

  “I’ll leave you in peace, if that’s what you want?”

  His question hung in the air, shimmering between them. She knew if she asked him to leave now, that would be it. He wouldn’t bother her again. The JJ she knew, the one that had played games with their marriage and her heart, would. He’d have kept harassing her until he’d got what he wanted. But this m
an, the one standing in front of her with longing and hope in his voice, somehow she knew she was looking at a completely new JJ.

  She took a deep breath and looked up, wondering whether she could take a chance with her heart again. Could she afford not to with her baby involved, a baby who deserved a chance to get to know her father?

  “Say it again—” she asked, her voice breaking a little as she spoke.

  It was all the excuse he needed, dragging her against his hard body and enfolding her in his arms. “Say what again love? That I’m sorry, thank you for listening to me or that I love you more than life itself? That if I ever cock up like that again I’ll…well, I won’t. Not that badly. Not ever. But you can name your forfeit for if I even slightly piss you off. I’ll do anything if you agree to have me back,” he admitted gruffly, his eyes suspiciously wet.

  She smiled through her tears and reached up to touch his face, smoothing her fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. Her heart filled with love and, more importantly, hope. Hope that they could turn this around despite its rocky start.

  “How about breakfast in bed…forever?” she replied gently, her answer in her eyes. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for him. “And you get up to feed the baby, when she puts in an appearance.”

  His eyes flicked down to her stomach, the hard swell between them. “Anything,” he promised, wonder in his eyes as he reached down to touch it. He paused at the last moment, looking up for permission. Zette nodded, biting her lip as he knelt down. His big hands smoothed over her and inside she could feel the baby move, considering this new presence and deciding whether to batter the hell out of him with feet and fists.

  But she didn’t. Zette almost felt the happy little movement as, unborn, the baby moved against her daddy’s hands and settled down to sleep. He smiled and planted a gentle kiss on the bump.

  “She?” he asked, standing and drawing her tight against him. A shudder went through his big body as she leaned against him, letting him take her weight. Trusting him. “I suppose that means I have to put up with two bossy women about the place eh?”

  Zette grinned, leaning her head on his shoulder. “Yep. Just remember to do everything we say and you’ll be fine.”

  The End

  Playing with Fyre

  By Mina Carter

  Chapter One

  She had less coming in than she had going out, which was all well and good when it came to diets, but not when it came to her bank balance. In Rae’s experience it meant she was in it up to her neck. The financial version of up a creek without a paddle.

  Raelyn Borne sighed, slumped back in her chair and ran her hands through her hair as she searched the ceiling of her tiny office for inspiration. Hoping for some sort of divine intervention that would make the figures on the screen in front of her magically add up in her favour. Hell, she’d even throw in a prayer or two if she thought it would help, despite the fact she was definitely not religious. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a church. Not since childhood—a harvest festival or something. She vividly remembered the tables laid out behind the pews, covered in tins and baskets of fruit and vegetables interspersed with corn dollies and whatnot. It was bizarre what avenues Rae’s mind took when she was trying to avoid facing facts.

  She dropped her hands, the heavy mass of red brown hair falling about her shoulders, and glanced at the screen again in defeat. She’d have been all right; everything would be fine if not for bloody Jensen and Fyre. Her eyes narrowed. A flash of annoyance and hatred surged through her at the mere thought of the name. A property development company, they’d bought up a lot of properties in the area, including the Big House. It had another name of course, Ashton Grange, but locally it was known as the Big House. Jensen and Fyre had bought it a few months ago and rumour had it they wanted to turn it into some swanky hotel.

  Rae didn’t have a problem with that. A hotel would bring in much needed business for the local area. A small town, Ashton on Sea had to compete with the larger, more popular tourist destinations along the coast. Trouble was, a little off the beaten track it didn’t have the resources to attract the visitors, with no big shopping centres or piers like the bigger towns. So a big, posh hotel would provide lots of visitors and jobs for the locals. It would be just the boost the local economy needed.

  No, a hotel she didn’t have a problem with. The problem was they wanted her place, the Gatehouse, too. A small building set to one side of the long, impressive drive up to the Big House, it had once been a part of the Grange Estate. Even as a small child Rae had dreamed of living in the quirky little house. So when the last owner had decided to start selling off pieces of the estate, Rae had been first in the queue, determined to get her little house.

  Now though, she realised she’d overstretched herself by borrowing over and above what she had really been able to afford, justifying the risk with the fact she would be running her own business from the adapted front room of the house. But that wasn’t the real problem. She sighed, resisting the urge to bang her forehead against the desk, and reached forwards to shut the PC off.

  No, her real mistake had been entrusting her mortgage to small town independent bank Bennett and Bennett. Her teeth ground again in anger, her jaw aching from the pressure. Because when she’d refused the offer they’d made for her house, Jensen and bloody Fyre had decided to play dirty. They’d bought the bank she had her mortgage with.

  The doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of her last appointment. Rae sighed again, twisting the heavy fall of her hair into a sloppy pleat and securing it with a silver clip before heading out of the office to greet her client.

  * * *

  Logan Fyre was not a patient man, unless it suited him to be. At the moment, however, it didn’t suit him to be as he waited at the front door of ‘Gatehouse Aromatherapy.’ This place was the fly in the ointment of his plans for Ashton Grange, a really annoying fly. He pressed the bell again, frustrated at the wait now that he’d decided to come down here and put an end to this messy situation.

  He turned in the doorway, ducking down and trying to catch a look through the window. Was anyone even in there? Surely they had to answer the door to customers. A tall, lean figure dressed in a black trench coat over a sharply tailored business suit, there was no way he’d be mistaken for someone wanting ‘aromatherapy.’ His pale eyes narrowed in irritation. Bloody load of rubbish if you asked him. The owner was no doubt some weird old cat lady who made all her decisions by reading the tea leaves of her morning cuppa, waving a bottle of lavender around and claiming to be able to cure all his ills.

  He snorted, spotting a figure inside heading his way and straightened up. If she could do that, he’d be amazed. Not that he had any ills, other than being irritable and stubborn. Oh, and a jackass apparently. His latest ex, Jane, had thrown that one at him as she’d stormed out… Logan Fyre, you...you vain, manipulative piece of shit… You’re a jackass, and one I hope never to see again as long as I live…

  Now the last part he understood. He’d just told her it was finished, their relationship over. She’d had her six months in his life, in his bed, and it was time to move on. In his experience, women tended not to take the news too well and Jane had been no exception. He shrugged to himself; it wasn’t a problem. The spot she left in his bed was easily filled.

  But vain? That had cut deeply. He wasn’t vain. Not by a long stretch of the imagination. Sure he liked to look good. There was a big difference between checking in the mirror to make sure your hair wasn’t standing on end or that you hadn’t missed a spot shaving, and the full-on male bimbo thing. Metro-sexual they called themselves apparently. Didn’t make a blind bit of difference to him what name they used, any man that had more cosmetic products than a woman needed his head checked, in Logan’s opinion.

  * * *

  The door opened to reveal Cat Lady in all her glory. Only she wasn’t what he was expecting. She wasn’t a cat lady at all, at least not the stereotypical crazy old cat la
dy. His imagination had conjured up a woman in her late forties with thick bottle-bottom glasses and bad hair. Instead, a younger woman who couldn’t have been older than her late twenties stood in front of him. Not only was she not a cat lady, but she was stunning to boot. Warm chocolate eyes, a pert little nose, and full, full lips that just begged to be kissed; the combination gave her an elegant, exotic look he was sure should be gracing a screen somewhere since she looked a little like Audrey Hepburn.

  Speechless, Logan’s gaze carried on downward. Slender and petite, she was dressed in a white tunic and trousers, her rich, dark hair twisted into a haphazard pleat. His hands itched to pull the clip out and watch her hair tumble around her shoulders. A loose, dark mass for him to slide his hands through, use to pull her head back whilst he claimed her lips…

  Shaking his head to dislodge the image, he realised she was looking at him in expectation. Shit, she’d spoken and he’d been so wrapped up in his own little fantasy world he hadn’t heard her. He chastised himself; he knew better than that. He’d learnt early in his career not to take his eye of the ball, that was a sure-fire way to get bitten in the ass.

  “I do apologise, I was speechless for a moment. I didn’t expect to find such a beauty out in the middle of nowhere like this.” He recovered in a heartbeat, giving her his most charming smile. Behind his blue eyes the cogs turned as he rearranged his initial thought that the cat lady was the wife of the guy he’d come here to see.

  The guy who owned the place. Ray Borne. It gave the impression of an older guy, middle aged at the least. In which case he’d netted himself a much younger and gorgeous wife, the lucky bastard, or Daddy had bought the property for his daughter. Hopefully, it was the second. Yeah, that would be so much easier to work with.