A Facade to Shatter

by Lynn Raye Harris

  And she’d realized, boom, that she felt far more than she should be feeling. That she’d let herself fantasize him right into her heart.

  How could you love someone you hardly knew? How could your heart make such a catastrophic mistake?

  She hadn’t seen it coming. How could she? Of course, she’d thought about him for the past month, thought about their blissful nights together and the way everything between them felt so right—but that was lust, not love.

  When did love enter the equation?

  When he’d made her an omelet and told her he wanted to do something meaningful with his life? Or earlier, when he’d pulled her against his hard body in Palermo and told her she was beautiful?

  “Lia.”

  She turned at the sound of his voice, her heart thrumming, her skin flushing hot. She didn’t want him here, and yet she did. He moved toward her, so tall, dark and gorgeous that he made her want to weep inside.

  How had she let this happen? Panic flooded her as he approached.

  But then she had a thought. Maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t love, after all. Maybe it was simply a deep infatuation. Yes, she could certainly be infatuated with him. That was far less pitiful than falling in love with a man who was only marrying you because you were pregnant.

  Zach came closer, his brows drawn together. “Is everything all right?”

  “I needed space,” she said. “The crowd was too much.”

  It wasn’t entirely untrue. She wasn’t accustomed to so many people. Her life in Sicily had rarely involved crowds or massive gatherings. Her grandparents entertained, and quite frequently, but she hadn’t been expected to attend. Now she’d been to three events in as many days, and it was tiring.

  “Do you feel well? Should we sit down somewhere?”

  “I’m fine,” she said quickly.

  “Lia.” He stopped in front of her, so close she could feel his heat. Her head tilted back to stare up at him. Her breath shortened in her chest as their eyes caught and held. His hands came up to settle on her shoulders, and she felt a deep throbbing note roll through her at that simple touch. “Don’t lie to me, cara mia.”

  She loved it when he spoke to her in Italian.

  “Fine, I will tell you,” she said. “I feel overwhelmed, Zach. I feel as if I don’t really know you, and I won’t know you so long as we are constantly putting on a public face. I miss the man I spent time with in Palermo, the one who didn’t say or do anything he didn’t mean. There were no masks there, no appearances to maintain.”

  She dropped her gaze, focused on the buttons of his deep blue shirt. He’d worn a gray pinstripe suit, no tie, and Italian loafers. His jacket was open, and his shirt molded to the hard muscles of his chest. It was custom fit, of course—and the effect was mind-blowing on her already addled brain. He was perfect, beautiful.

  For the life of her, she still didn’t know what he’d ever seen in her. Or what he ever would see.

  “This is my life,” he said. “The way it really is. Palermo was an anomaly.”

  “Yes, well, I choose not to believe that is entirely true. You were more you because you weren’t worried about being Zach Scott. You were freer there. You know it’s true.”

  His head dropped for a second. And then he was looking at her again, his gaze dark and mysterious. “Yes.”

  “That’s it? Just yes?”

  He sighed. His hands on her shoulders were burning a hole in her. He slid them back and forth, back and forth, and the tension in her body bent like a bowstring. When he slid them to her upper arms, it wasn’t a relief.

  “You’re right. What more do you want me to say?”

  She couldn’t believe he’d admitted it. But it made something inside her soar that he had. “About which part?”

  “That I felt freer in Sicily. I wasn’t the main attraction, and I knew it. The press might hound me here, they might follow me if I make a well-publicized trip abroad, but Sicily was unexpected. And too quick to matter much, though of course, they now wish they’d pursued me.”

  “Why?”

  He laughed softly. “Because of you, Lia. Because the confirmed bachelor went to Sicily and came back with a fiancée.”

  “Thank heavens they didn’t,” she said, imagining a photographer lurking outside the Corretti Hotel. Or, worse, somehow learning they’d spent two nights together and contriving to get a photo through the open window. Lia shuddered.

  “If they had, I doubt any of this would have happened,” he said, and her heart twisted in pain. She knew what he meant.

  “Perhaps you wish that had been the case.” She lifted her chin, trying to hide the hurt she felt deep inside. He was so close. Too close. All she could smell was his delicious scent—a hint of spice and hard masculinity. She wanted to step in, close the distance between them and wrap her arms around him.

  Her body ached with the need to feel him inside her again. To be needed by him.

  Dio, she was pathetic.

  She expected him to agree, to step away, put distance between them and tug her toward the house and the party.

  He did not do any such thing. Instead, he slid one of those electric hands up to her jaw, cupped her cheek. The other went to the small of her back, brought her that short step closer, until her body was pressed to his, until she could feel the heat and hardness of him emanating through the fabric of his clothes.

  “I should wish it,” he said. “But I don’t.”

  Her head was tilted back, her eyes searching the hot depths of his. “I don’t know what that means, Zach.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered. And then his lips spread in the kind of wicked smile that made her heart flutter. “I think I’m about to show you, bella mia… .”

  His mouth claimed hers in a hot, possessive kiss that stole her breath and her sense. Lia threaded her arms around his neck without hesitation, melded her body to his. She could do nothing else. She simply wasn’t programmed to respond any other way.

  The answering hardness in his groin sent a fresh blast of desire ricocheting through her. Had it been this incendiary between them the first time? Had she felt this sweet, sweet fire raging in her belly, her brain, her core? His tongue against hers was nirvana. She couldn’t get enough. She kissed him back hotly, desperately, her tongue tangling with his again and again.

  He groaned low in his throat, pulling her closer, one hand splayed over her hip, the other sifting into her hair, cupping her head, holding her mouth against his.

  She was being swept away on a tide of heat and deep burning feelings that ached to get out. If he kept kissing her like this, she wouldn’t survive it. She would not be the same Lia Corretti when it was over.

  She would be his creature, his to do with as he wanted. His slave. His, his, his …

  With a cry, she pushed him away. She didn’t know why, except she knew it was necessary to her sanity, her survival. She could not be any less in control of herself and her emotions than she already was. She could not allow him to own her like this when he gave her nothing of himself in return.

  Because she was certain, as certain as she was breathing, that she had no claim on his heart or his emotions. It was physical, this need, nothing more.

  For him anyway.

  And that was a kind of servitude she did not need. She knew what it was like to be unnecessary—and she could not bear to be so in his life.

  He let her go, his hands dropping to his sides. He looked angry, desperate—and then he looked cool, unperturbed. He wiped a thumb across his mouth, across that gorgeous mouth that had been pressed so hotly to hers only moments ago. Then he straightened his shirt, and she was mortified to see that she’d pushed it askew in her desire to touch him.

  “Forgive me,” he said coolly. “I forgot myself.”

  Her heart beat hard and swift, and nausea danced in her stomach. She took a step back, collided with the hedge. Tears filled her eyes, threatening to spill free. What was wrong with her? Why was she so emotional?
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  “I want to go home,” she said.

  His head came up, his eyes glittering hard as diamonds. “Home?”

  She was confused at his reaction, at the tightness in his voice. “Yes, back to my room. I have a headache, and I want to sleep… .”

  She wasn’t quite certain, but she thought his stance softened, as if a current of tension had drained away. He seemed remote, a gorgeous automaton of a man who stared back at her with cool eyes. He stepped to the side and swept a hand toward the entrance to the maze, indicating that she should precede him.

  “Then we’ll go,” he told her.

  They returned to the house in silence. Once there, they played the game again. Lia smiled, though it shook at the corners, as they moved through the gathering. Their leave taking was tedious, but then they were outside and the valet was bringing the car around. There were people clustered together on the mansion’s grand portico, waiting for their cars or simply finding another place to take the party.

  The lawn was wide, sweeping and, though the property was gated, the gates were opened to the street as cars came and went. A valet pulled up in Zach’s BMW while another opened the passenger door for Lia with a flourish. Zach stood by her side. Ordinarily, he would hand her into the car, but this time he didn’t touch her. She reckoned he was angry with her.

  She took a step toward the car when something bright flashed in her face. It took her a moment to realize they’d been photographed. At first she thought it was simply someone taking a picture they’d ended up in by accident, but when she glanced at Zach, his taut expression told her it was more than that.

  He stood there a moment, fists clenched at his side, but then he started around the car when nothing else happened.

  The moment he was gone, the photographer took the opportunity to approach again, this time focusing in on Lia. Zach was halfway around the car when he turned to swing back toward the photographer, his face twisted in rage. The valet tried to put himself between Lia and the other man, but the man bumped against him and the car door swung into Lia, knocking her off balance. Before she could save herself, she landed on her hands and knees on the pavement.

  Zach was at her side in a second, helping her up, his face tight with fury as he pulled her into the protective embrace of his body. He held her as if he were shielding her from another onslaught. She clung to him, breathed him in, though she told herself she should push away and tell him she was perfectly fine. Her body was still so attuned to his touch that her nerve endings tingled and sparked like fireworks on a summer night.

  “Madame, I am so sorry,” the valet said. “I tried to stop him—”

  “It’s not your fault,” Zach said, cutting him off abruptly.

  “Is the photographer still there?” Lia asked.

  “He’s gone.” Zach pushed her back. “Are you okay?”

  Lia nodded. “I think so. My palms hurt, but… .”

  Zach took her hands and turned them over, revealing scrapes on the heels of her palms. His expression grew thunderous.

  “If I ever get ahold of that bastard—”

  “I’m fine,” Lia said quickly. “It was an accident.”

  “Your knees,” Zach growled, and Lia glanced down. Her knees were scraped and bloody. A trickle of bright red blood ran down the front of her leg.

  “I’ll be fine,” she said. “But I need to wash up.”

  Zach didn’t look convinced. “Maybe we should have a doctor look at you. What if something happened to the baby?”

  Lia smiled to reassure him. The scrapes stung, but they weren’t life-threatening. She’d had worse the time she got stung by a nest of bees while working in the garden. That could have been life threatening, had she not ran and dived into the pool. “Zach, honestly. I fell on my hands and knees. If babies were hurt by such minor accidents, no one would ever be born.”

  He frowned, but he ushered her back inside. Their host and hostess were mortified, of course, and they were shown to a private sitting room with an attached bath where Lia could clean up before they went home.

  The photographer had disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived. No one could seem to find him. Zach paced and growled like a wounded lion while she sat in the bathroom with a warm wet towel and cleaned the bloody scrapes. He would have done it for her, but she’d pushed him out of the room and told him she could take care of herself.

  Once she cleaned the scrapes and stopped the bleeding on her knees, she reemerged to find Zach prowling, his phone stuck to his ear. He stopped when he saw her. He ended the call and pocketed the phone before coming over to her. He looked angry and worried at once.

  “I think we should get you to a doctor to be sure,” he said.

  “Zach, I fell on my hands and knees. I didn’t fall off a roof.”

  He looked doubtful. “I think I’d feel better if someone examined you.”

  Lia sighed. “Then make an appointment for tomorrow. Tonight, I want to soak in a hot bath and go to bed.”

  He raked a hand through his hair. “Fine,” he said, blowing out a frustrated breath.

  This time when they went out to the car, there was no photographer lurking nearby. The gates to the property were closed, opening only when Zach rolled to a stop before them and waited for them to swing open.

  It was still light out, because it was summer, but the sun threw long shadows across the road. Zach didn’t say anything as they drove, and Lia turned to look at the trees and rocks as they glided down a wide parkway that could have been in the middle of nowhere rather than in a major city.

  “We’re leaving,” Zach said into the silence, and Lia swung to look at him.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He glanced at her. “We’re not staying here and enduring a media frenzy. I won’t have you hurt or scared.”

  Lia frowned. “Zach, I’m not six years old. I’m not scared, and the hurt is minor. It’s annoying, and I’m angry, but I won’t break.”

  “I should have realized this would happen. I should have taken you somewhere else and married you first, then brought you back once they’d had time to get used to it.”

  Lia didn’t know how that would help, considering he was still a Scott and still a media target no matter where he went. “It was an accident. Celebrities get photographed every day, and rarely do any of them fall down when it happens.”

  Not that she was a celebrity. In fact, that was the problem. She wasn’t accustomed to the attention and she hadn’t reacted quicker. She’d been surprised, and she’d let her surprise catch her off guard when the valet had tried to help.

  “Vegas,” Zach said, ignoring her completely. “We’ll marry in Vegas, and then we’ll go to my house on Maui. They won’t be able to get close to us there.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ZACH DIDN’T KNOW what he was doing. It was a difficult thought to grow accustomed to. He was always sure of his choices, always in charge of his actions. Even when he didn’t want to do a thing, like stand in front of a crowd and make a patriotic speech about his time in the service, he did it. And he did it because he’d made a choice. There was an end goal.

  Always.

  What was his end goal now?

  He ran a hand over his face and tried to focus on the computer in front of him. Less than twenty-four hours ago, he’d been at the Lattimores’ cocktail party, mingling and schmoozing the guests for contributions to his causes.

  Now he was on a jet to Hawaii, having taken a side trip to Las Vegas where he’d stood in a seedy little chapel and pledged to love, honor and cherish Lia Corretti until death do them part.

  Which, of course, was a lie.

  They would not be together until death.

  There was a purpose for this match, a reason they had to join forces. He was protecting her from her family’s wrath, first of all. Second, he was avoiding a media scandal that would be troublesome and inconvenient were it to erupt.

  Except those reasons no longer felt like the whole truth.


  Zach closed the computer with a snap. He couldn’t concentrate on business right now. All he could think about was Lia, asleep in the bedroom, her body curled sweetly beneath the sheets, her hair spread out in an auburn curtain he wanted to slide his fingers into.

  This need for her was like a quiet, swelling tide. The more he denied it, the stronger and more insistent it grew.

  And now he was taking her to a remote location, where the distractions would be minimal. How would he keep his hands off her?

  Did he even need to? She’d certainly kissed him back yesterday in the garden. Until that moment when she’d pushed him away, she’d been as into the kiss as he had. He’d forgotten where they were, why he couldn’t have her the way he wanted then and there. He’d been ready to lift her skirt and push her back on the grass if it gave him the release he needed.

  But she’d been the one to say no. The one to remind him this wasn’t normal between them.

  Zach snorted. Hell, what was normal anymore? He’d left normal in the rearview the moment his plane disintegrated beneath him and he’d hit the eject button. Nothing since had been the same.

  But, for a few minutes yesterday, he’d felt like it had. And, he had to admit, for those blissful few hours in Palermo, too. When he’d been with Lia, he hadn’t forgotten—but he’d felt as if he could accept what had happened, what his life had become, and move on.

  Why did she do that to him? Why did she make him hope for more?

  Lia Corretti—Lia Scott—was a dangerous woman. Dangerous for him. It had taken time, but he’d learned how to live with himself in the aftermath of his rescue.

  She threatened to explode it all in his face. To force him to face the things he kept buried. If he told her, would she understand? Or would she recoil in horror?

  He got to his feet and paced the length of the main cabin. A flight attendant appeared as if by magic.

  “Did you need anything, sir?”

  “Thanks, but no,” he said, waving her off again. She disappeared into the galley and he was alone once more.