by Francis Ray
“Did you have a chance to look over the music I sent over?” he asked.
She placed her violin case on a nearby table. “Since I personally chose the music from my last tour for the CD, I’m very aware of the selections.”
Okay, so she deserved to be a diva, but he didn’t want Jesse to think she was one. He’d handpicked the crew because they were the best and they knew how to keep their mouths shut once they left the studio.
Only the audio engineer was there today because Zach knew this wouldn’t be easy for her. She didn’t need a lot of people watching her. Besides, in the pre-recording phase he’d just listen to her rehearse. When he thought she was ready, the actual recording would begin.
“When you want to begin we can run through the first two or three selections so I can get a feel for you.”
She stiffened. Her lips pressed together.
Hoping no one had caught her reaction to his bad choice of words, he opened the door to the isolation booth for her, and then went back to sit down at the control panel. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Opening the case, she removed the violin and went inside the booth. One of the twin samurai closed the door and stared straight at Zach. Get in line, Zach thought.
She looked lost. His heart ached for her. He spoke into the mike. “Ready when you are, Ms. Raineau.”
For a moment she didn’t move. Come on, honey. You can do this.
I can’t do this.
As long as they were sparring with words she had been able to push the hurt and, heaven help her, the love away. Now, standing in the booth, aware that he was watching her, she couldn’t concentrate.
She’d initially thought to drag out the preproduction sessions until Zachary got the message that under no circumstances would she work with him. Now all she wanted to do was leave quickly so she wouldn’t feel the heat, the pull of his eyes.
He’d been polite, formal even, but his eyes—they’d caressed and beckoned. She’d thought nothing he could do would make her forgive him. She’d been wrong—at least partly. It seemed her body could want his even if her mind didn’t.
Thankfully, she knew the Tchaikovsky Violin Concerto music by heart. It was her signature piece, and more importantly, she could keep her glasses on to hide her red eyes and puffy lids.
“Take your time, Ms. Raineau. We’re here for you.”
But I don’t want to be here. Positioning the violin beneath her chin, Laurel lifted the bow. The first few notes were fine; then she thought of Zach watching her, the betrayal, and she faltered, stopped. Fought tears.
“Would you like to break and come back after lunch?” he asked.
She thought she heard his voice quiver, much as her body was doing. Foolish of her. He didn’t care. He’d used her and now he wanted to make her suffer even more because she had refused him to let him produce her album. But she had freely given him her body.
Hushing the forbidden thoughts away, she shook her head, lifted the violin again, and tried to concentrate. In the past she had always been able to lose herself in her music. It had been her salvation, her solace.
Still her hands trembled. Not this time. She kept seeing Zach, remembering his betrayal.
“Let’s take a break.”
Laurel lowered the violin, closed her eyes. When she opened them, the other man was gone. Only she, Zach, and the bodyguards she’d asked Rio to send over remained. She’d foolishly thought they would be her shield. She’d been so wrong.
Just being in the same room with him hurt. The pain deepened when she looked at him and recalled how foolish she’d been, how, even now, she couldn’t stop loving him.
The door opened and closed. “The sound is off and I told Jesse to give us a few moments. You’re just nervous because you’re working with a new producer.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” she asked, her voice unsteady.
“It was the only way to keep you here. I should have been honest with you, but you have to believe I didn’t tell you because I was afraid of losing you. I lo—”
“No. Don’t lie anymore.”
“Laurel—”
“Please.” Her voice trembling, she blinked rapidly to try to keep the tears from falling.
“Do you want to try again in an hour or keep going?”
She lifted the violin. “The quicker this is done, the quicker I’ll see the last of you.”
“I care about you, Laurel. One day I’ll get you to listen.”
Laurel began playing before he finished. She didn’t want to hear any more lies.
Zach couldn’t take watching Laurel struggle for control to play the way she was born and blessed to do. Instead of getting better, she was getting worse. It broke his heart, because he knew he was the cause. He’d taken something beautiful and gifted and ruined it. There were several passages in the Tchaikovsky Concerto where it sounded as if more than one violin were playing. Although it was difficult, Laurel had mastered the piece—until now.
“That’s a wrap for today,” he said.
Laurel slowly lowered the violin. She opened her mouth, then closed it and started for the door. Her bodyguard opened it and stayed near until she placed the violin carefully inside the case, shut it, and left without a word, the two men following.
“If I hadn’t played the CD you sent over, I would think you might be wrong for the first time,” Jesse said.
“She’s brilliant,” Zach said, shutting down the control panel.
“I know, but she’s not playing like it.” Jesse slapped Zack on the back. “Did you try flowers, jewelry, groveling?”
“We’ll start tomorrow at ten.” Zach trusted Jesse, but he had no intention of discussing Laurel with him.
“You came through loud and clear. See you tomorrow.” Jesse pulled his jean jacket from the back of the chair. “Good luck.”
“Bye.” Zach would need more than luck. She wouldn’t listen, probably hadn’t been sleeping or eating. Standing, he toyed with the idea of finding her sister and telling her, then dismissed the idea. Laurel would want to handle this on her own. Suddenly he knew how to get her to eat.
Laurel went straight to her room as soon as the car dropped her off. She started to go to bed, but realized that if she did, she wouldn’t get up until the next day. She had to snap out of it, but she had no idea how.
She heard the doorbell ring and hoped it wasn’t Sabra. Her mother had a key. Laurel had spoken to both of them last night and reassured them she was all right, that she was going into the studio to start on the new album. Neither asked about the producer, and she didn’t tell them. If she had, she was sure both of them would be here.
The phone on her nightstand rang, and she went to pick it up. “Yes.”
“Ms. Raineau, there is a messenger here from Mr. Peterson. He says he has to speak to you personally.”
“Please show him to the terrace. I’ll be right down.” Laurel hung up the phone, hurried out of the door and down the stairs. Perhaps he’d heard her agent was looking for another record label and had reconsidered.
She quickly went through the double French doors, her gaze searching for the man. She went down the flagstone steps to the edge of the flower garden with giant flowering hostas beneath the trees. “Hello?”
“Hello, Laurel.”
She swung around, knowing she’d see Zachary. Her heart thudded. “Get out.”
He held up a wicker picnic basket. “As soon as you eat and promise to take a nap.”
“I won’t fall for your lies that you want to take care of me again. Get out or I’ll call the police.”
“And I’ll have to call your mother and sister and tell them you’re not eating or sleeping.”
“You’re bluffing. You don’t know how to reach them,” she told him. She was determined to not involve her family in this.
“Sabra is filming a movie in Vancouver and your mother left for Nashville this morning.” Zach removed his BlackBerry from the inside pocket of his lightweight sport j
acket. “What will it be?”
“How do you know where they are? Have you been spying on them as well?”
“Both called me the night you left Mexico. Both made it clear they’d like nothing better than to string me up by my thumbs or worse.”
Their calling didn’t surprise her. They’d both had strong words for Sean, the singer who had tried to use her. How much worse would it have been if they knew she and Zach had been lovers?
“If I call, my bodyguards will come back and make mincemeat out of you,” she threatened, knowing she’d never make the call. She just wanted him to go away so that a small part of her wouldn’t desperately want to believe him.
She’d known something was bothering him, but she’d wanted to wait to talk. She shared the blame.
He began to punch numbers.
“Wait!” she said.
He looked up, his thumb poised over another number.
“Hang up,” she ordered.
He pressed a button and returned the BlackBerry to his pocket. “Under those trees over there looks like a nice place to eat.” He walked to a mosaic table with a padded teak chair shaded by a thirty-foot oak. Opening the basket, he took out a place setting, a glass, and a large plastic container of chicken salad loaded with pecans and cranberries. Finished, he pulled out a chair.
She took the seat and picked up the fork. “You won, now please go.”
The corners of his mouth kicked up. “The moment I turned my back you’d go to your room. I’ll just wait over there until you finish.”
Her fingers tightened on the fork. “What’s the matter, Zachary? Afraid word will get out that you’ve lost your touch, that the album is going to suck?” She’d meant the words to taunt him, but they’d voiced her fear. What if she couldn’t pull it together? She desperately wanted to show him his lies hadn’t affected her, but each wrong note betrayed her.
The smile left his face. He turned her chair around. He leaned over until his face was inches from hers. “You’re the most gifted musician I’ve ever heard. It was your music that got me through the unexpected death of my father. If you were off today or tomorrow or the day after, it’s because I hurt you when I only wanted to love you.”
She slapped him. He didn’t move, almost as if waiting for her to hit him again. Appalled at what she’d done, she looked away. The lie that he loved her had pushed her over the edge.
He scooted her chair back up to the table and poured her a glass of iced tea. “As soon as you finish, I’ll leave.”
“I want you gone now,” she said, her voice wobbly.
“Then eat,” he said from behind her.
Laurel picked up her fork and took a bite of salad. She’d only planned to eat a couple of bites then somehow hide the rest, but she found she was hungry. Small wonder; she hadn’t eaten anything solid for the past couple of days.
Finished, she placed the fork aside. “Now you can leave.” When there was no answer, she glanced around and saw the housekeeper coming down the terrace toward her.
Zachary was gone.
In his home office Zachary stared down at Laurel’s picture on the cover of her last self-titled CD, Laurel. She wore a strapless red ball gown, diamond earrings, and a beautiful, winsome smile. Just by looking at the photo you knew she enjoyed playing and that she wanted to share that gift with you.
He’d ruined that.
Placing the CD aside, Zach went to the window and looked out. He didn’t see the riot of flowers and meticulously sculptured lawn and shrubs, he saw the tears in Laurel’s eyes.
Tears that he’d caused.
No wonder she had slapped him. She’d opened her heart to him, entrusted him with her body, and he hadn’t been honest with her. At the time his reasons sounded good, but looking at it now he realized he had taken the easy way out. He’d been selfish. What he wanted came before what was best for her.
And she had paid the price. Was still paying the price.
His head fell forward. He’d stayed until he was sure she was eating and not faking him out, then he’d left after giving the housekeeper instructions. He deserved the ache in his gut that refused to go away. Laurel didn’t.
If she didn’t care about him, she wouldn’t be struggling to play, and she wouldn’t need him to badger her into eating. He knew too many people who gleefully went from bed to bed with irresponsible regularity. Sex was an act, a bargaining chip, a tool.
What he and Laurel had was more than a sharing of their bodies; it was an affirmation of a deeper connection. Passion might have brought them together the first time, but not the other times she’d been with him. She’d cared.
The ringing of his cell phone pulled Zach from his unhappy thoughts. He pulled it from his pocket. “Hello.”
“I love you.”
He blew out a breath. “Sunshine. You’ll never know how sorry I am that I didn’t handle this better.”
“I think I know,” Paige said. “My accusation and tears didn’t help.”
“I hurt her on so many levels,” he said, turning away to sit behind his desk. “I’d give anything to take the pain away, to have the chance to go back and do things differently.”
“You love her?”
“Desperately. Hopelessly.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “I think she cares as well, but I ruined it.”
“Then you’ll just have to keep trying to get her to listen, just like Shane did when I refused to listen,” she told him.
Zachary sat forward in his seat and recalled the first time he’d met Shane. Paige was always quiet, somewhat reserved unless it came to the foster children she worked with. He’d expected the same of the man she was madly in love with.
Instead Shane was bold, handsome with a dangerous edge and an unexpected sense of humor. Zach hadn’t been sure Shane was the man for his little sister until he saw the way Shane looked at Paige, saw how he understood her better than him or their mother. It was gratifying to know that Paige had finally learned to stand up for herself. He was certain Shane was the reason.
“There isn’t anything Shane wouldn’t do for you.”
“I know,” Paige said happily. “I feel the same way about him.”
“I’m glad I didn’t ruin things for you. The grief I caused Laurel is enough.”
“It will help you value what you have even more once you’re back together with her.”
“I’d give anything for that to happen,” he said.
“Then you better get to work and make it happen. Bye.”
“Bye, Sunshine, and thanks for the call.” Zach hung up and picked up Laurel’s CD. “I’m not giving up on us. One day I’m going to tell you I love you and you’ll believe me.”
“Your guest asked me to clean up when you finished,” Judy, the housekeeper, told Laurel. “Your bed has been turned down as he suggested. He thought you’d be tired and want a nap. The cook is waiting for instructions on what to prepare for dinner.”
“He—” Laurel began, then closed her mouth. She didn’t know anything about the maid except she was sweet and cheerful, and came with the house. The debacle with Zach had taught her that taking people at face value as she’d always done could lead to disaster.
She couldn’t let her anger get the best of her or let any of her staff members know that Zach wasn’t who he said he was. She had managed to stay out of the tabloids and gossip TV shows, and she planned to continue to do so.
She’d take care of Zach tomorrow. If he came back to her house again, she was calling the police, and he definitely wasn’t ordering her or her staff around. “I’m going for a walk. You and the cook can have the rest of the day off.”
“You’re sure you won’t need us?”
“Positive.” He couldn’t tell her what to do!
“Thank you.” The maid moved to clean up the table. Laurel started to stop her, but decided against it. Zachary had probably told her where to send everything. He’d need it for the next time he tried to soften up a woman. The thought angered her.
It was anger, not fierce jealousy, she told herself as she started down the flagstone path toward the gardens in the back of the house. She didn’t want him. Tomorrow she’d show him as much.
Laurel was positive she was ready for Zach the next day when she arrived at the studio minus her two bodyguards. After a long talk with Sabra the night before while she’d munched on pizza, she had thought of a better way to shield herself from Zach and get a little payback.
He hadn’t faked his desire for her, and while men weren’t always selective, she couldn’t recall a time he had looked at another woman when they were together. He’d had plenty of opportunities with the scantily clad women in swimsuits and sundresses.
She intended to show him what he’d never have again. She wore a floral print mini dress with a tie-detail bateau neckline and three-quarter sleeves. On her feet were red strappy high-vamp sandals with back-zip detail.
If he asked if she’d finished the meal and eaten later—and she was almost certain he would—she’d gladly tell him that she didn’t need him pretending to care. She’d gleefully tell him that she’d ordered pizza for dinner, and this morning the cook had prepared her the best omelet she’d ever tasted. He’d remember making her one, and know she’d moved on. She’d sail on by with a smile on her face, leaving behind a subtle yet luscious scent of jasmine and gardenia.
He’d want and know he couldn’t have.
She was sure how it would turn out until she opened the door to the area outside the control room. She heard his laughter before she saw him. Her gaze jerked in that direction. Her hands curled into tight fists. A slender young dark-haired woman in a white blouse and black slacks stood close to him. She stared up at him in rapt fascination. They were so caught up with each other that neither appeared to have noticed her arrival.
“R.D., I still can’t believe I’m here talking to you,” the woman said, her voice a bit breathless with a Boston accent.
“Please call me Zach. I’ll be forever grateful for you coming at such short notice,” he told her.