by Tara Wyatt
“I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand again, and that small gesture, coupled with the two simple words he’d offered, made her want to keep talking.
“Thanks. There was a lot of pressure, growing up. A lot of expectations, which I never seemed to meet. I’m pretty sure I was a constant disappointment to my parents. Nothing was ever good enough, you know? I wasn’t booking enough jobs. I wasn’t pretty enough. I wasn’t thin enough. I wasn’t interesting enough. I wasn’t…” She swallowed as blood rushed to her cheeks and she stared at her knees, her eyes tracing the contours as she fought down the sickening shame that always rose up when she thought about it. She took a breath before continuing. “It wore me down, and sometimes I just needed to get away. Hide out and be left alone.”
“Assholes.” Zack muttered the word and then shook his head. “Sorry. I know they’re your family, but that’s horseshit, that they made you feel that way.” He paused and rubbed his free hand over his mouth. “None of it’s true. I hope you know that.”
She sent him a small smile, warmth spreading over her skin and unknotting her shoulders slightly. “Thanks. I do, thanks to some very expensive therapy. I’m in a better place now than I was a few years ago, but…it’s hard to shake that stuff completely, you know?” She shrugged one shoulder. “I still struggle with it sometimes, and I probably always will. I’m just a little bit better at dealing with it now, I guess.”
The sounds of the party drifted out the open windows, but she liked it better out here, in the peaceful dark with Zack, his long, thick fingers woven with hers. His skin was warm and slightly rough against hers, and she traced her thumb over a scrape on one of his knuckles.
“So what happened tonight?” he asked, steering them back on track.
She cleared her throat, some of her tension returning. “I was in that room, the one off the library, when I heard my dad talking to one of his business associates, a producer named Gordon Kramer.” She paused, her pulse pounding in her temples as she replayed the conversation in her mind, her brain whirling as she tried to make sense of what she’d heard. “They…they talked about killing Jeff Astor.”
“The producer who disappeared last week?” Zack asked, his eyes wide, his brows drawn. “You heard your father talking about killing Jeff Astor?”
She nodded and pushed herself to continue. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s what I heard. It sounded like Kramer did it, but my father…” She trailed off, trying to sort through everything as she spoke. “It sounded like he’d…like he’d ordered it. Like he’d made Kramer do it. It was almost like Kramer was reporting back to him.”
Zack’s grip tightened on her hand, his dark eyes intense, shining like deep pools in the faint light. “Alexa, did anyone see you? Know you were there?”
She bit her lip and shook her head, trying to keep her breathing steady as the scene replayed itself over and over again. “No. No one saw me go into the library, or the room off of it. They couldn’t have known I was in there.”
“And did anyone see you leave?”
She frowned, thinking. “I don’t think so. I waited until they were long gone before going back downstairs. I said quick good-byes to everyone and left. I said I wasn’t feeling well, that I was going home.”
“But you came here.”
She glanced down at her lap and shrugged. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
He nodded and squeezed her hand again, warmth flowing over her skin. God, just that small touch was doing ridiculous things to her. It was wrong for her to enjoy the feel of his hands on her the way she was. Wrong, she reminded herself. But something hot and wanton crested through her at the word, the single syllable taunting her.
“And that’s everything you heard?”
His question chased away the warmth, because they were headed into the part of the conversation she was dreading having to repeat because of the questions it would raise. And yet…she wanted to tell him. She needed to tell someone who could maybe help her figure out what the hell she was supposed to do.
She squared her shoulders and tipped her chin up slightly. “No. There’s more. They talked about other people, a cop named Morales and someone named Crosby.”
“Do you know who they are?”
“No. I don’t know any cops. And whoever Crosby is, my father wants him dead too, and he promised Kramer that…” She sucked in a deep breath, as if about to dive underwater, and then forced the words out. “He promised him that if he does it, if he kills Crosby, that Kramer…he could have me.” The last few words tasted like sawdust in her mouth, and she swallowed, fighting down a wave of nausea.
Zack frowned and leaned toward her, his voice quiet but full of intensity. “What do you mean, have you?”
With a shaky hand, she gestured to her body. “Have me.”
Zack’s eyes followed her hand and then trailed down her body. His brows drew together and then slowly inched up his forehead as understanding dawned. “He can’t do that.” His voice was low and fierce, and she had the sudden urge to rub her thighs together.
Instead she let out a mirthless laugh and shrugged one shoulder. “He’s a powerful man, Zack. There are very few things he can’t do. What chance do you think I’d have if Kramer felt entitled?”
Zack studied her for a second, his jaw tight, a strange light in his eyes. “Has he ever done anything like this before? Promised another man he could”—he paused, his nostrils flaring as he practically spat out the next word—“have you?”
She opened her mouth, her heart pressing up into her throat, and for a split second, she thought she might tell him everything. But with his fingers laced through hers, and a hot, protective glower on his face, the words wouldn’t come. He probably wouldn’t look at her that way, touch her that way, if he knew the truth.
“No,” she lied.
“I just can’t believe…He’s your father. It’s so fucked up, Alexa.”
“I know.” She took a shuddering breath, her chest constricting as tears stung her eyes. “I know. I’ve always known that he isn’t a saint, but this…” She tried to take another breath, but it came out as a sob, and as she blinked she felt hot tears cut paths down her cheeks.
“Shit. Come here.” Zack’s voice was slightly rough as he pulled her against his chest, his big hand stroking her hair. “I’m not going to let that happen, Alexa. I promise.” Her tense muscles relaxed, as though her entire body wanted to melt into him, into his warmth, his strength, his protectiveness.
“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered, tucking her face into his neck. Zack’s scent filled her, and he didn’t smell like cologne or laundry or anything other than warm skin and the faintest hint of masculine spice. God, he smelled good. His heart beat steadily in his chest, and she closed her eyes, letting the rhythm soothe her, synchronizing her breaths with it.
Two beats in.
Two beats out.
He rubbed a hand over her bare shoulders, her skin tingling at his touch. His hand was warm and strong against her, and her nerve endings felt like flowers, blooming and stretching toward the sun. Gently, he eased her away from him and slipped a hand under her chin, tipping her face up and forcing her to meet his eyes.
“We’ll figure it out.”
“We?” she asked, a slight tremor in her voice.
“Hell yes, we.” He cursed softly. “No way am I letting you deal with this alone.” The corner of his mouth tipped up in a half smile. “I’m glad you came here instead of going home. I’m glad I saw you in the hallway. And I’m glad you talked to me.”
She nodded, his callused fingertips rasping against the underside of her chin and sending an electric chill through her. God, she was coming apart because of the crazy night she’d had. It was the only way to explain the insanity roiling through her body every time he touched her.
“Thanks,” she said, easing out of his arms, needing to think, to get herself together so she could figure shit out.
“For now I think we should go insid
e and talk to Sean. He’ll know what to do.”
She bit her lip, considering. “I don’t want to interrupt the party with my drama, but you’re right. We should tell Sean.” She toyed with the hem of her skirt, running her fingers along the seam. “Let’s go inside, enjoy the party, and talk to Sean after. I would hate to do something to take the shine off of Taylor and Colt’s night.”
A breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees and the palm fronds around them, and a soft, rustling hush enveloped them for a second. A strand of her baby-fine hair blew across her face, and Zack reached up and tucked it behind her ear. For the briefest second, she thought his hand might linger on her face, but he took it back almost immediately. He leaned forward, his muscular forearms braced on his thighs, his hands clasped.
He looked up at her over his shoulder. “You’re too fucking sweet, you know that?”
“What do you mean?”
He shook his head and then rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining against his T-shirt. “You heard your father—your father—talking about murdering someone tonight and offering you up as bait in exchange for more murder, and you’re worried about upsetting Taylor and Colt.”
She shrugged. “Well, it’s their party. They did get married.”
“Yeah. They did.” He nodded slowly.
“You’re sure you’re okay?” she asked, and she slipped her hands under her thighs, sitting on them to prevent herself from touching him.
He huffed out a quiet laugh. “Like I said, you’re too fucking sweet.”
She didn’t know how to process his compliment, so she tucked it away to examine later. “Let’s go inside. I could use a distraction and a drink.”
* * *
Zack watched Alexa from across the room as she hugged Colt and Taylor, laughing with them and congratulating them. She’d washed the tear-smeared mascara from her cheeks before heading into the party, and, to most people in the room, she probably looked like she always did: sweet and pretty and happy. She was doing a good job of hiding her fear, her sadness, and the ugliness she’d overheard earlier. She didn’t look like a woman who’d been crying in his arms less than fifteen minutes ago. He wasn’t sure if it was her need for a distraction or the fact that she always seemed to put her friends’ happiness above her own that had her laughing and smiling as though nothing were wrong.
Which was fucking bullshit, because everything was wrong. He couldn’t stop everything Alexa had told him from echoing through his mind, her words pinging restlessly around his brain. Jesus, her father. He couldn’t even wrap his mind around it. So fucking wrong.
And then there was the way she’d felt in his arms. How soft and warm her skin had been. How good she’d smelled. How badly he’d wanted to take on the world for her.
How badly he’d wanted all kinds of things he couldn’t have. He didn’t have room in his life for any kind of relationship right now, and especially not with someone like Alexa. He’d fucked up so badly with Taylor. He’d hurt her. He hadn’t meant to, but he had, and he couldn’t risk getting himself into the same situation again. He spent too many hours training in the gym and was too focused on his fighting career, and he knew he’d make a lousy boyfriend. And if his career took off, there was a chance he’d move away to train—the best gyms were in places like Albuquerque and Coconut Creek, Florida, and Montreal and Brazil. If the opportunity came, he’d leave. Just the idea of hurting Alexa the way he’d hurt Taylor had his stomach clenching.
No. He couldn’t let that happen. Instead he needed to focus on what he could do to keep her safe. He’d made her a promise that he wouldn’t let her father hurt her, and he damn well meant to keep it.
Zack slipped his hands into his pockets and clenched them into fists, his eyes glued to Alexa. She was listening to Taylor, her head cocked, a wide smile on her face. She was a better actress than her family apparently gave her credit for.
He believed everything Alexa had told him, but fuck, it was shocking. He knew who Jonathan Fairfax was—millions of people around the world had seen his movies, but apparently nothing was as it seemed. All he knew for sure was that he didn’t want to let her out of his sight, safe as she might be at the party. The idea that her own father would…Jesus, he couldn’t even think the words without his skin crawling. Her father couldn’t just offer her up like that.
The idea of another man’s hands on Alexa made Zack want to punch things, but it wasn’t only that. The fact that her father, a man who should’ve been protecting her, would throw her to the wolves like that…No. He couldn’t let that happen. As soon as the party was over, he’d find Sean, and they’d figure out what to do to keep Alexa safe.
He had to keep her safe.
Because it was his job.
Great. Now he was lying to himself. Perfect.
“You stare at that lass any harder, you’re likely to burn a hole in her dress. But maybe that’s what you’re aiming for.” Ian MacAllister, another Virtus bodyguard, tipped his beer at Zack and shot him a thin-lipped smile. It was rare to get any kind of smile out of the Scot, so Zack returned it.
“Didn’t mean to stare. I’m just tired.” It was a half truth that saved him from wading into the murky waters of Mac’s comment.
Mac nodded, a lock of his curly reddish-blond hair falling across his forehead. He brushed it away with a scarred hand. “Training going well?” he asked, his brogue twisting the words as they came out.
Zack tipped his head, his eyes still on Alexa, his mind still spinning with what she’d told him. “Yeah, pretty well.”
“When’s your big fight?”
“In less than a week.”
“Zack-man! I was looking for you!” A slightly drunk Jamie Anderson clapped him on the shoulder, leaning back when his hand made contact. “Holy fuck. This thing’s like a rock. You been juicing?” Jamie winked and laughed at his own joke, his eyes bright.
Zack smiled down at the floor, shaking his head. “Are you driving his ass home?” he asked, pointing at Jamie and making eye contact with Carter Davis, the hulking ex-NFLer following on Jamie’s heels.
Carter rubbed a hand over his short black hair and chuckled, his deep baritone infectious. “Someone’s gotta be the responsible one.” He shrugged his massive shoulders, smiling and shaking his head.
“So I guess you’re not making it to training tomorrow morning,” Zack said, watching as Jamie picked at the label on his beer bottle. Although he didn’t compete at the same level as Zack, Jamie trained at the same mixed martial arts gym and liked to take the occasional fight.
“Nah.” Jamie rolled the piece of damp paper between his fingers, his eyes slightly glassy. Taylor’s friend Chloe smiled at him from across the room, and Jamie narrowed his eyes and took a long pull on his beer. Then he smiled and wiggled his eyebrows. “Excuse me.” Without a backward glance, he headed in Chloe’s direction.
“What the hell’s got into him?” asked Mac, scratching his stubbled cheek. Normally Jamie wasn’t much of a drinker, but he’d clearly been hitting it tonight.
Zack watched as Jamie flirted with Chloe with dogged determination, and realization dawned. “Shit. It’s June eleventh.”
Carter and Mac shot him puzzled looks, but Zack shook his head. “It’s not my story to tell, but it’s a tough day for him. Let him do what he needs to do.”
Colt’s best friend Roman made his way over, a beer clutched in one hand, his shoulder-length hair twisted up into a knot. Roman was another bodyguard, but he worked freelance, not for Virtus. In the few instances Zack had worked with him, he’d found Roman to be tough as fucking nails and smart. The guy had great instincts and was easy to work with, normally cracking jokes and entertaining everyone with his cocky bravado. But right now he was glowering at Jamie and Chloe, his nostrils flaring as he watched them flirt.
Not long ago Roman had had a thing for Chloe, but for whatever reason it hadn’t gone anywhere. Zack didn’t know why, and Roman wasn’t exactly
the caring-and-sharing type.
“What are you guys talking about?” Sierra asked, sidling up to them. She took a sip of her wine, her cheeks slightly flushed.
“Beyoncé,” said Zack, grinning at her.
She snorted out a laugh. “Sure you were. There’s like a metric ton of testosterone in this corner.”
“So what do you think we were talking about?” challenged Carter, his arms crossed over his chest.
She shrugged, frowning slightly. “I don’t know. Sports. Work. Cars. Sex. How great I am at throwing parties.”
Colt came up and pulled her in for a hug, kissing her quickly on the cheek. “Yes, you are. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Then Sierra fisted the collar of Colt’s T-shirt and tugged his face down to her level. “If you hurt her, I’ll castrate you.” She smiled prettily at him, and Colt returned her smile.
“If I hurt her, I’ll do it myself.”
Something in Sierra’s expression softened, and she let go of his shirt, rubbing his arm. “You would, wouldn’t you?”
“Hey, back off. You’ve already got your own hot bodyguard,” said Taylor, a bright smile on her face.
Sierra laughed and then glanced at her engagement ring. “Damn right I do.”
Taylor turned to Colt and smacked him on the ass. “Take me home, Husband,” she said, then leaned toward him and whispered something in his ear. Colt slipped his arms around her and pulled her against him, apparently not caring that they were surrounded by people. He closed his mouth over hers in a hot, slow kiss, and Zack looked away, feeling a bit like a voyeur. His eyes landed on Alexa, who stood only a few feet away, her eyes glued to Taylor and Colt, her lips parted slightly, a delicate pink flush creeping across her cheeks. She took a deep breath, her breasts rising and falling. Watching Taylor and Colt make out like teenagers, she looked…Fuck, what was the word?
Wistful. Sad, and longing, and at least a little turned on.
She pulled her eyes away from Taylor and Colt, and those gorgeous blues slammed right into him, and he felt his cock swell, just a little. Her eyes widened slightly, and he wondered if she could tell that he was thinking about how fucking good it would feel to kiss her like that.