His expression cleared. “Of course. Are you okay? After today, I mean.” He walked into the kitchen and sat down. Zea sighed. Not now, please. She pulled a couple of glasses from the cupboard and snagged a bottle of bourbon. Her hands were trembling. Jared took the bottle from her and steered her into a chair.
“Zea, you’re tired.” A smile, but his voice had an edge. “Let me look after you.”
Zea let the fatigue wash over her, her body slumping. “Thank you.”
“Do you want to talk about what the papers are saying? About David?”
A jolt of anger shot through her. “You know what, Jared? I really am sick of talking about David. Of thinking about him, about what might have been. He killed people, Jared; he murdered them. He stabbed Emory Grace and would have killed her, and now she’s getting hammered in the press. She doesn’t deserve that. I don’t deserve this. I thought I had been living in limbo … Jesus Christ. Can we just sit for a bit? I’m so tired.”
She put her head down on the table and sighed. Jared stroked her hair, and despite her mood, it felt nice. She put her hand over his. They sat in silence for a while, then Jared cleared his throat.
“Zea … I don’t want to overstep the mark here, but…” He faltered, and she sat up, curious.
“What is it, Jared?”
He didn’t meet her gaze. “You are a very beautiful woman. You’re bright and kind and … Flynt Newlan isn’t the only option you have in front of you. I could take care of you, if you’d let me.”
Zea flushed and looked away. “Jared, please, I…”
He held his hands up. “No, it’s okay. I just wanted you to know that.”
The atmosphere had changed and turned into something new. Jared touched her face, his smile oddly hesitant.
“So, I’ll leave you alone. Unless I can talk you into some dinner?”
Zea tried to smile. “I’m sorry, but no. I really don’t feel all that well. Another night, please.”
He nodded, and she walked him to the door. He stepped out into the hallway but then turned. Swiftly, he leaned down and kissed her, quick but firm, on the mouth. Drawing away, he smiled down at her.
“He’s not the only man in the world. Just promise me you’ll think about it.”
Zea nodded. Jared waited, his eyebrows raised. Her irritation returned.
“I promise I’ll think about it, Jared,” she intoned with just a touch of sarcasm. Jared didn’t notice.
“Good girl.”
And then he was gone.
Zea closed the door and leaned back against it, confused, irked. Jared knew how to pick his moments. He’d taken her aback with the kiss, but it hadn’t been unpleasant. But she hadn’t felt anything either. She rubbed her face and groaned. Jared’s declaration wasn’t what she needed right now, she decided, but then laughed. What the hell do I need?
She padded into the kitchen and locked the back door, turned out all the lights and went upstairs. In the bathroom, she opened the cabinet above the sink and took out the small bottle of Tylenol PM. She hesitated, looking at her drawn face in the mirror. I need oblivion for a night. Then, tomorrow, I’ll make a new start. Figure stuff out. Decision made, she threw the pills into her mouth and scooped up a handful of water from the faucet. She stripped and stepped into the shower, coiling her hair up into a bun.
Drying off, she pulled on an old T-shirt and shorts and slid beneath the duvet, turning off the lamp. The buzz of the tablets didn’t take long to kick in.
She didn’t even hear the door to the apartment creaking open, or the footsteps of the intruder who stood over as she slept.
Bree Saffran felt lighter, relieved to have cleared the air between herself and Emory. She had seen how the other woman seemed strained and desolate and her heart had gone out to her. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that Emory and Luca had fallen so fast for each other; it was just one of those things.
Bree walked quickly down to the parking garage, digging in her purse for her keys. She didn’t even sense the movement behind her until a hand was clamped over her mouth and she was being dragged backward. She struggled violently, then felt the sting of a needle in her neck, and she began to spiral down into a dark void. The last thing she heard was the laugh of a man, a laugh that sounded vaguely familiar …
Raymond Grace dumped Bree’s unconscious body in the back of his truck. For a rich man, Luca Saffran’s idea of security was weak—unless, of course, the girl chafed against any protection or restrictions. She was only a teenager, of course, Ray smirked. No matter—it had made it easy for him to follow Bree.
He had no doubt that Luca would give up his lover to save his daughter’s life and then Emory would be his. The day she came to him, he wouldn’t waste any time. She would be dead in minutes.
“Enjoy the time you have left, my darling Emory,” he muttered as he pulled the truck out of the garage, “you don’t have much of it left…”
Part #3: Maximo
Snoqualmie (twelve hours before school shooting)
Clementine wished for the fifth time that evening that she hadn’t bothered coming. Marcia had invited her to one of her parties—the theme escaped Clem at the moment—more out of sympathy, Clem had supposed. The humiliation of being divorced by Luca had yet to abate, and she was dreading the next morning, sitting in their lawyer’s office to hash out the settlement. God.
Clem moved around the party, stopping to chat with her friends from the various charities she helped out. What she noticed, though, wasn’t the expected show of ‘poor Clemmie’, but something different. She saw the wariness in the eyes of her female friends, the suggestion of something else entirely in their husbands. When she realized what was going on, she felt like both laughing and crying.
She was now a threat. A threat to her friend’s perfect lives, their marriages. After an hour of trying to make conversation, Clem escaped out to the garden with a glass of champagne and a headache.
“Are you freaking kidding me?” She was aware she was muttering to herself, but she didn’t care. So, was this what her life was now? On the periphery of everything she’d known for the last twenty years?
“Not sure why you’d think I was kidding you.” A laconic, heavily-accented drawl came from behind her. Clem turned to see the speaker. He was tall, broad, and had the greenest eyes she’d ever seen. Set in a swarthy face with dark curls messy around his head, they fixed on hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. He pushed away from the wall he was leaning on and joined her on the little stone bench. He leaned forward, his forearms on his thighs, and looked around at her. “You look as if you’re having as much fun as me.”
Clem stared dumbly at him for a second, then looked away. “I wasn’t talking to you; I was talking to myself.”
He smiled. “Let me guess. A beautiful woman at a party like this … no wedding ring. And you came alone. To these women, all you are is a threat.”
Clem sighed. “But why? It’s not like I have any interest in their husbands.”
He shrugged. “You don’t have to. But I guarantee, every man in this place would give anything to be with a woman like you.”
Clem stared at him for a long moment then shook her head. “Oh, so this is your pick-up method? Flattering the woman, who will fall sighing into your strong arms? I don’t play games, Mr. …?”
“Neri. Maximo Neri. Max. And I don’t play games either. Is truth.”
Italian, then. And Christ, he was sensational, but Clem had already had sensational, and she wasn’t impressed. “And how do you know that?”
“Because I am a man. I know men, and no one could resist a night with you. I tell you this. You want your friends to be even more pissed off? Come home with me. Nothing vexes them more than seeing their newly single friend makes a conquest so quickly, especially with someone like me.”
Clem gave a disbelieving laugh. “Wow. You are really arrogant; you know that?”
Max shrugged. “I know my worth, Mrs. Saffran. I have eyes; I kno
w I’m good-looking. What’s the point in being coy about it? No point.”
Clem had gone very still. “How do you know my name?”
He smiled, and her insides went to mush. God, he was beautiful, but so very cocky, way too sure of himself. “Because I made sure you would be here before I accepted Marcia’s invitation.”
Clem rocked back. “Why?”
Maximo’s grin got wider. “Because I want to fuck you, of course.”
Clem felt her body react, but her fury at his coarseness, his honesty, his utter guilelessness, overruled the frantic beating of her heart, the way her sex quivered. For a second, she couldn’t help imagining him taking her, right here in Marcia’s pristine garden. It would almost be worth the look on her uber-conservative hostess’s face. And God knows, she hadn’t had sex in months; she and Luca had slept apart so long, she’d forgotten what a man’s touch was.
Maximo was watching her, a grin on his face. “I know what you’re thinking, but I meant it when I said I don’t play games. You Americans always say that, but hardly any of you mean it.”
He sipped his scotch thoughtfully as Clem struggled to find the words. “You are the most arrogant man I’ve ever met.”
Maximo laughed. “Probably.” He locked that intense grin gaze on her. “But I’m not a liar. I want to take you to bed, Clementine Saffran. I want to run my tongue over every inch of your skin, taste your cunt, make you come. I want to be so deep inside you that you’ll scream my name and beg me not to stop.”
Jesus. Clem could feel herself getting wet at his words, and for a second she considered how nice a night of casual sex would be.
Maximo got up. “If you decide to join me, come with me now. Nothing will piss these women off more than if you leave with me. We both get what we want.”
Clem looked up at him, her expression blank. “Do you always get what you want?”
His smile was wide, anticipating her surrender. “Always.”
Clem stood slowly, smoothing down her dress. Even in heels, she only came to his shoulder and had to crane to look up at him. She stood on tiptoes, so that her mouth was almost on his. He smelled wonderful, too, soap and cologne. She smiled softly, her lips a centimeter from his.
“Not this time, you don’t,” she whispered, and turned on her heel and walked away from him.
At home, later, she lay in bed and smiled. That was one of the most satisfying moments of my life, she thought, but something inside made her gut twist a little. Regret. She had no doubt that Maximo Neri would have made a great rebound lover, would have made a great lover, period. There was something so practiced in his manner, so refined. Which was why he was dangerous. Too much temptation. After the divorce from Luca had been finalized in the morning, she wanted nothing to do with romance for a good long time. He wasn’t offering romance, stupid; he was offering a good hard fuck. Clem pushed the thought away and tried to go to sleep.
In the morning, she met with Luca and the lawyers. Then, an hour later, David Azano went on a shooting spree at her daughter Bree’s college and Clem’s world fell apart.
Snoqualmie (two months later …)
Clem could barely breathe. She stared at the laptop’s screen until all the images on it blurred together. Luca and Emory Grace. There was no mistaking either of them. Emory straddling Luca, fucking him, her beautiful body arched in ecstasy. Luca’s look of absolute love as he made love to Emory; the couple laughing and joking as they walked along the beach.
God. Clem squeezed her eyes shut. How the hell? Luca had never even met Emory until after the shooting, when she’d been so badly injured saving Bree’s life. How was Clem supposed to feel now? The woman who had rescued Bree from certain death was now fucking the man Clem had thought was the love of her life.
Her chest felt so tight. She dragged a few labored breaths in before the tears came. Hot and silent, they coursed down her cheeks as she heard Bree calling out to her.
As her daughter burst into the kitchen, Clem reached out for her, and Bree went into her arms.
“Mom? Mom, are you okay?”
Clem shook her head, and Bree hugged her tightly. “I’m so sorry, Mom.”
“Did you know?”
Bree shook her head, and Clem believed her but could see she was conflicted. She knew Bree loved Emory.
“Mom … I encouraged them getting together. I meant it half as a joke, because I could see how well they got along. I swear I didn’t know they’d actually started…” Bree looked desolate. “Mom, I’m so sorry.”
Clem hugged her. “You did nothing wrong.”
Bree rubbed her face. Her dark eyes and hair were so much like Luca’s that Clem had only ever seen her husband’s features in her tomboyish daughter. “Mom … I can’t believe Dad didn’t say anything. This isn’t okay.”
She sighed. “Look, I need to use the bathroom, but when I come back, we’ll distract ourselves, yes? Movie and snacks?”
Clem smiled and nodded. She sat alone, trying to pull herself together. Bree’s phone rang and Clem picked it up. Luca. A flash of anger ran through her, and she answered it, letting all of her hurt and rage flood out before hanging up on her ex-husband. She had to admit it made her feel better.
Bree managed to distract her enough while they watched the movie that by the time Bree left to meet some friends, Clem felt more relaxed, more resigned. She took a long soak in the tub and was just about to go to bed when there was a knock at the door.
She glanced at the clock. Ten p.m. She checked that the door was chained before she answered it. Outside, a man in a chauffeur’s cap nodded to her pleasantly. “Ma’am. Apologies for the lateness of the hour. My employer wishes you to have this.” He had a very proper English accent. Clem took the envelope from him and opened it.
Hotel Sorrento, one hour. Maximo.
Clem stared at the message. The arrogance of that damn Italian … opportunistic, to say the least. She tapped the card against her palm for a second, then handed it back to the chauffeur.
Tell him to go to hell. “Give me five minutes to get dressed,” she said, and closed the door.
Seattle
Maximo Neri read the text message from his driver and grinned. On our way, boss. Hughes.
So, Clementine Saffran was coming to see him. Maximo wasn’t a stupid man; he knew she was probably coming here to give him a piece of her mind. It had been on a whim—when he saw the pictures of Luca Saffran screwing that beautiful young teacher, he hadn’t hesitated in using it to take advantage. Because he’d wanted Clementine Saffran since way before she even knew he existed.
It had been at a fashion show in Milan a few years back when Maximo Neri had first laid eyes on Clem Saffran. It had been one of the times his then-girlfriend Valeria had been able to persuade him to go to one of the designer shows. He loathed the theater of it all, the publicity. He was in the front row, of course, squeezed between Valeria and some American stylist who looked like she needed more than a sandwich in her life. He’d glanced around at the other luminaries who were granted the largesse of being on the front row. Actresses, actors (Maximo would never understand why a man would attend a woman’s fashion show voluntarily), magazine editors. He had blown out his cheeks, and Valeria had nudged him, looking annoyed. “At least pretend to be interested. There’s press here.”
Maximo had glowered, and Valeria had given a huff of annoyance and turned away. Max had rubbed his head and glanced at his watch. He had supposed he could make an effort, if it kept Valeria happy—and not sniffing around his business. He had been pretty sure she knew about his mistress in Naples, the sister of an old friend. If she made it public, it might not have affected him, but it would have affected the girl, and Maximo hadn’t wished that on her. He should never have started up with her in the first place, but there had been that night. Valeria had been withholding sex and the girl, Paulina, had harbored a crush on Max since she was a child. What was a man to do?
Then his eyes had fixed on the stunning redhead wi
th the sad eyes. She was sitting directly across from him, the other side of the runway, and her stillness, fragility, and grace took his breath away.
He’d made inquiries. Clementine Saffran (nee Fordham). Wife of billionaire Luca Saffran and a trust-fund baby in her own right. Married for twenty years, straight out of Harvard, one teenage daughter. Maximo had met Luca Saffran on many occasions and liked the man very much. He was kind, thoughtful, quiet—and like Max, loathed publicity. Max wondered if Clementine resented Luca for that, the way Valeria resented Max.
Still … Clementine Saffran. It was okay. He could wait.
He could play the long game.
And now she was here, on her way up in the elevator. Maximo pulled his tie down and opened the top button of his collar. As the elevator door opened to the foyer, he heard her voice, her heels clipping on the marble. There was a soft knock, then Hughes opened the door for her, before withdrawing discreetly.
Clementine stared at him but said nothing. Max popped the champagne he’d had on ice and poured two flutes, also staying silent. He walked slowly to her and handed her the glass. She sipped the drink, and he could see her hands trembling. After a moment of gazing at each other, he took both of the glasses and set them down on the table. He reached for her, and she went into his arms as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world. His lips fixed onto hers, and as they kissed, he heard her moan softly and smiled.
“Are you mine, Clementine?” he murmured, tracing the outline of her jaw with his mouth. She nodded, and he swept her up into his arms and took her to his bedroom.
Clem lost herself in the sensations that this man was bringing out in her. Her need for him grew wild, like an animal, as he stripped her to find her naked under her dress. A feral growl from the back of his throat made her senses whirl, and he dropped to his knees, hooking one of her legs over his shoulder as his mouth found her sex. As his teeth grazed her clitoris and his tongue delved deep into her cunt, she tangled her fingers in his dark, long curls and breathed in his scent of cologne and soap.
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