Sweet Home Carolina

by Rice, Patricia

  “I’ll provide a nanny for them while we go to High Point,” he said sternly when she pulled away.

  She could see the heat of desire in his eyes, but also his concern. She couldn’t trust the lust, but she’d learned his concern for her children was as reliable as her own. She nodded. “Or Jo, if she’s in that week. I’ll ask.”

  “I knew you would be an asset to the company,” he said with pride. “Don’t ever underestimate yourself again. If we succeed, you’ll be the reason.”

  Astounded, Amy watched Zack lift Josh’s box and walk out.

  She was an asset? She couldn’t even operate a computer. She couldn’t fix machinery. All she had done was offer her furniture. And make a few phone calls. She wasn’t doing anything more than she had done for Evan, except he’d never paid her for her ideas — not in money or gratitude.

  Important people got things done, made things work. All she’d done was call her mother.

  But she liked that Zack thought she was important. Maybe that meant he was suffering the same throes of lust and hero worship she was suffering right now. Her dreams these last nights had been filled with Zack, not just of sex, but of waking up with him, of talking over problems with him….

  Juggling hope and caution was a balancing act she hadn’t quite perfected yet, but if Zack stayed around long enough, she just might manage it. Listening to him singing the quacking-duck song as he hauled toys to the attic, she relaxed and decided to enjoy the moment.

  Tomorrow always came too soon.

  Twenty-seven

  “No, no, Pascal.” Holding his cell to his ear and shaking his head, Zack stood on the balcony overlooking the interior of Building Three, keeping an eye on production. “The show is next week. We’re working around the clock. I absolutely can go nowhere until it is done.”

  The smaller loom chattered and clanged and inch by inch produced the marvelous jacquard in a goldenrod motif to complement the apple green brocade. The colors suited his demand for historical accuracy while meeting Amy’s demand for marketability.

  There were way too many variables in this venture. It required promotion and salesmanship he’d never needed for his former limited ventures. He’d never designed textiles for mass production before.

  Pascal was offering a terrific special project, in Paris.

  “Yes. In November.” Zack didn’t think he could accept the job even then. He was taking each day as it came, praying that all would work out. “Yes, it is an honor, but I am committed here.”

  He grinned at how easily the word flowed off his tongue after years of denying it existed. It was liberating to drop the continual struggle against his natural inclinations.

  But the conflicts he and Amy faced were still valid. He had to do this right this time, not just for his and Amy’s sake, but because children were involved.

  Ringing off with Pascal, he sought calm by watching Amy chat with their temporary sewing machine operators, examining the display pieces they’d created out of little or nothing, practically overnight. It would have taken weeks to order anything similar from China. These women could produce miracles in less time than he could place an order.

  The mill and the show presented one headache after another, but those were material things, the things his life had been made of these last years. He did not fear them. It was Amy who had him pacing the balcony.

  She belonged here. Even he, in all his selfishness, could see that. She knew the people, she knew the product, she knew the market. This was her world.

  Europe was his.

  His cell rang again. This was his personal phone, and everyone in Europe was at home at this hour with nothing better to do than check on him. It didn’t matter that he was still in the middle of his workday.

  He clicked on the phone just to shut it up.

  “Jacques, I just talked to Pascal, he says you won’t be home for Christmas!”

  Zack contemplated accidentally dropping the phone to the floor below the loft.

  If he did, he’d probably hit someone on the head, and they’d pick up the phone and have to deal with his mother. Not a bad idea, except he really didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him.

  “Mother,” he said politely.

  “You sound just like your father when you do that enigmatic distant thing,” she replied crossly. “And he doesn’t mean it any more than you do. Shout, if that’s what you want to do.”

  “I’m at work. Shouting would cause a certain degree of agitation.” Zack headed for the stairwell in hopes that the inevitable disagreement that would result from this conversation wouldn’t travel quite as far as in the warehouse.

  “Agitation would be better than your usual ennui,” his mother said. “Did Pascal lie about your being involved with a woman? Is it Brigitte? She’s not your style, really, Jacques. Whoever it is, bring her home with you. You know I can’t do Christmas without you.”

  “I’ll be home for Christmas, Mother. Pascal simply wants me home sooner.” Pascal wanted the prestige of working with Versailles, but Zack refrained from passing on that tidbit.

  “He’s your friend. He’s concerned. Tell me you’re not falling for some mountain girl. She won’t fit in here. You know that. It’s just a passing fancy because you’re far from home.”

  Zack almost grinned. It was hard to take his mother seriously. She never thought before she spoke or she’d have bitten her tongue by now. “You’re from the mountains, Mother. I don’t see you having any difficulty fitting into London. When is your next gallery showing?”

  “The first of December. You will be here, won’t you? Your father won’t come unless you call him, so you have to come. Is she pretty? Does she at least speak proper English?”

  “Mother, I have three lines blinking and a secretary waiting,” he prevaricated. It was far easier to lie than to argue. “I’ll send you my flight schedule when I have it. And you can call Father without my help. He always goes to your showings.”

  “No, I will not call the scoundrel! Do you know what he called my Faberge design?”

  “Sorry, Mother, I’ll send you an e-mail. Have to go now.” He clicked off the cell and stuffed it into his pocket just as he hit the exit door.

  He stepped outside into the sunny mountain air and inhaled the scent of crisp autumn leaves.

  “Bad news?” Coming from the main-floor exit, Amy followed him out and fell into step with him.

  “Parental nagging. Is there some point at which we outgrow our parents?” He wanted to wrap his arm around her shoulders, but they were doing their best to behave properly during business hours.

  But Amy’s mere presence reminded him of nonbusiness hours, when he could occasionally have her to himself. Still, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to be in her bed all night, every night. He wanted to wake up with her tousled hair upon his shoulder. Stolen minutes and a hotel room weren’t good enough for his Amy.

  As one of Jo’s songs said: “Lonely is a bad place to be.” He hated spending his nights alone, thinking of Amy doing the same.

  “If we’re lucky, we might make friends of our parents, but even friends nag,” Amy admitted. “My mother just finished telling me that we’re wasting our money making expensive fabric, and we should be producing cheap towels that Wal-Mart can buy.”

  Zack laughed, letting the tension roll out of him. “So, mothers are not always right.”

  “Limited points of view,” she agreed. “But they’re usually looking out for us. It’s not bad having someone always on our side.”

  “Even if they don’t agree with us? But enough of that. How are the samples coming?”

  “The ladies are getting more creative by the day,” she replied. “It’s all I can do to hold them back and keep it simple. They’ve found an old love seat they want to upholster. I’m thinking we can set up tableaux of two rooms, with the cotton print as a tablecloth and the brocade as place mats for the dining room. We could serve cider and muffins and attract attention.”

  “Cha
mpagne,” he said firmly. “These are elegant fabrics. We want a wealthy setting. Add silk tassels to the tablecloths and bouillon fringe to the draperies.”

  “Petit fours,” she said excitedly. “We can decorate them and place them in gold boxes like Godiva chocolates. I’ll find my wedding crystal. We can set the table with it, and use disposable cups for serving.”

  To heck with professional. Zack hugged Amy’s shoulders and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “You are always a genius! People flock to food. Tell me what else they do at this show that we can do better.”

  As they entered her office, Zack crooked his finger at Emily, his secretary, and had her take notes while Amy rattled off the sales techniques she’d garnered over the years of Evan’s attendance at the market.

  “How did the mill fail with you to display the fabrics?” he asked, shaking his head in amazement as he made notes of his own.

  “Me? I poked around and took care of the kids while Evan talked to the bigwigs.” Using an electric kettle she’d brought from home, she poured boiling water over tea leaves. “I didn’t have anything to do with the booths.”

  Amy waited for Zack’s eyes to glaze over with disappointment.

  Instead, he muttered something about Evan being one bolt shy of a pallet, his lips compressed into a tight line of disapproval.

  “Unlike me, you’re not cute when you get mad,” she quipped. His always outraged reaction to Dr. Evil’s idiocy was incredibly good for her ego, and she unashamedly enjoyed the sensation. She settled into the big leather office chair she’d brought from home, sipped her tea, and watched him pace.

  Zack rubbed his hand over his face as if to erase his expression, then managed a crooked grin. “What am I, then?”

  “Pretty much cross-eyed,” she said decisively.

  Behind her, Emily coughed on a laugh.

  Zack’s grin grew wider. Crossing his eyes, he looked down his nose. “Fine then. Emily, take note. Should Ms. Warren ever deprecate her abilities again, I want her marched to the computer room, where she is not to be allowed out until she produces the entire payroll report without reducing a single machine to rubble.”

  “Yes, sir. Permission to prepare requisition for new computers in advance, sir?”

  Zack pointed to the door. “Out, Emily. And close the door behind you.”

  A shiver of anticipation tingled Amy’s spine as the door closed. Whenever they were alone, Zack never failed to touch or hold her, as if he couldn’t get enough….

  Now, there was an ego booster. Had she actually begun to believe a wealthy jetsetter saw her as more than a brief affair? “In case you haven’t noticed, I really don’t have any experience at this business thing,” she babbled, rattled by her realization. “But I think my ideas will help until I learn.” Setting her cup down on the table beside her, she tried to keep her hand from shaking.

  Firmly gripping both arms of her chair, Zack met her nose to nose. With his face directly in hers, Amy thought she’d stop breathing at his suddenly fierce expression.

  “Your ideas are what got this mill running,” he asserted. “Your ideas will keep the mill operating. What in hell do you think any other management does that you aren’t already doing?”

  She didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she could think with his face in hers like that. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and nipped his neck.

  “Ow. Vampire.” Zack lifted her from the seat and stopped her cannibalization with a hard kiss.

  She threw herself fiercely into the bracing strength of Zack’s arms and kiss and adoration.

  She wanted Zack. And her children. And muffins with pig snoses. And her cottage. She’d do what she had to do to keep them. But she really wanted Zack’s respect and support as well.

  As his mouth so expertly plied hers, Amy realized with mounting alarm that she really, really wanted Zack.

  She just didn’t know if he wanted to be kept.

  In panic, she shoved herself from his arms, brushed her hair back to catch her breath, and picked up her notebook. She ignored the questions in his eyes as she headed for the door. “Um, I’ve found a photographer. We need to set up a shoot immediately if we want the brochures by next week.”

  She felt horrible walking away like that. That wasn’t who she was.

  She hadn’t spent the last thirty-two years in total oblivion. No matter how Zack praised her, she knew precisely what she was. She was a caretaker, a nurturer, a creative who liked to dabble with ideas.

  She wouldn’t become what she was not, just to keep a man who might or might not come to town once or twice a year. Not anymore. She was willing to give her all — but she expected the same in return.

  Twenty-eight

  “Ah, that wallpaper design is from William Morris,” Zack said with satisfaction, studying the Biltmore Estate’s South Tower Room, renovated to duplicate the early 1900s style when the house had been built. They’d arrived in Asheville a day early to rest and plan for the trade show. Visiting Biltmore had seemed the ideal opportunity for both. “Excellent use of historic effect of a previous era.”

  Amy had been to the magnificently restored estate several times over the years, as a student and as a tour guide for Evan’s guests. She’d never been through the mansion’s elegant chambers with a man who so fully understood her awe and admiration for this historical legacy.

  It was almost enough to distract her from the luxurious hotel room waiting for them down the road. Almost.

  “They had twenty-one rooms for servants alone,” she whispered so the other tourists wouldn’t hear, “an entire floor for just the help. For what? Two people?”

  Zack patted her back sympathetically. “My poor Amy, who would house the entire town here, if she could. Would it make you feel better to think of how many people they employed — the masons and plumbers and chimney sweeps….”

  “Sixty-five fireplaces,” she said, reading the brochure. “Can you imagine cleaning sixty-five fireplaces? Two hundred fifty rooms?”

  “And don’t forget the swimming pool, and who waxed the bowling alley?” he reminded her with a twinkle in his eye. “Can you not picture yourself as a guest enjoying all this magnificence rather than as the maid who cleans it?”

  “Wallowing in the lap of luxury while others work their hands to the bone? Nope, not me. Let’s take another look at that hand-painted chintz. Is there any way we can duplicate that?” She took off at a brisk walk toward one of the other bedrooms, trying to convince herself that this conversation proved the distance between them. Zack was used to being the wealthy guest. She was more accustomed to being the maid. If she could just keep these differences in her mind, she wouldn’t endanger her vulnerable heart.

  But she couldn’t, not when they laughed and worked together as equals. They were on the same wavelength, and that meant they were both thinking of that bed waiting for them, and a room with no children to interrupt, and….

  “We must take a garden gnome home for you,” he said abruptly as they came down from the tower rooms and passed the gift shop. “It will bring you good luck.”

  He was thinking of her garden? She blinked at him in disbelief, and he winked back, as if he knew perfectly well what was running through her head. Which he did. He knew her far too well, and she squirmed with discomfort. He’d stripped her of all her defenses. She simply didn’t know how to do affairs and keep her distance. If they weren’t so good together, if she didn’t desperately long for their stolen moments together, she’d just bang her head through a wall and get the pain over with.

  “Will he come to life at night and do my weeding?” she asked, hiding her delight that he knew whimsicality would appeal to her. She stroked the red cap of a gnome who looked like Disney’s love-struck Dopey.

  “That poor fellow needs a home,” Zack said decisively, picking up Dopey and taking him to the clerk. “He’ll benefit from more nourishing surroundings than all this artificial light, don’t you think?”

  Am
y laughed. She had a feeling he was talking about himself, and as much as she’d liked to envision him permanently in her garden, she wasn’t foolish enough to believe it was going to happen. “How do you know he doesn’t thrive on fluorescent?”

  “Because I know. He will be much happier in your garden in your good care.” He took the gift bag and her arm and steered her toward the exit. “I hope you have brought a fancy frock, as I told you. This will be the only night this week that we will share alone, you are forewarned. All is business once we reach High Point.”

  She had to be mad to have agreed to this. A romantic night of dinner and dancing and lovemaking with this sexy, fascinating man who made her feel like a woman again…. But she was determined to be strong, to show him she could be a woman of the world. Still, she had to admit her frailties. “I feel guilty leaving the kids to come here early.”

  “You have a life of your own,” he said firmly. “You must live it while you can. The little ones are quite happy with their cousins.” He helped her into the Bentley, then leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Are you regretting me, perhaps, hmm?” He raised a wicked eyebrow.

  Oh, Lord, she had it so bad that his playful leer made her want to forget his promise of dinner in favor of the big bed he meant for them to share.

  She wanted so much and could have so little….

  “Do I regret Dopey?” She produced the gnome and studied him. “Nope. He looks quite happy to be with me.”

  “Oh, he is. You may take my word for that.” Whistling, Zack closed the door and returned to the driver’s seat.

  Amy traced the gnome’s lips and glanced surreptitiously at Zack. He ran his tongue over his lips and made a smacking sound.

  She burst out laughing and resolved to shut all misgivings in a closet for the evening. If she didn’t know better than to lose her heart to a man who could be gone tomorrow, she might as well enjoy what they had together while it lasted.