“I don’t feel anything when I kiss you,” she said with such conviction that he didn’t believe her. “It is like kissing my brother. It’s just for show.”
Zach felt compelled to point out the problem with that argument. “Except that most of the times we kissed, no one was watching.”
Jen started at him and the room seemed to be steaming up. Her eyes were wider than usual, and darker too. He liked that he could almost see her thinking.
And yet, he didn’t really know what to expect.
The woman was a mystery wrapped in an enigma.
And he liked that, liked it a lot.
In the end, Jen surprised him completely. She closed the distance between them with a decisive step and reached up to frame his face in her hands. Her fingers were still cold but Zach barely jumped. “I’ll prove it to you, brother Zach,” she promised, then touched her lips to his.
Her mouth was cold too, but firm and sweet. Her kiss went straight to his head—and to another part of him—a lot more quickly than champagne. Zach felt as if everything in him was suddenly pulled taut.
If this was how Jen planned to kill him, Zach wasn’t going to fight her off.
* * *
Zach tasted too good.
Or he was too experienced of a kisser.
One or the other had to be why Jen couldn’t stop kissing Zach. She certainly wasn’t attracted to him, and she certainly wasn’t enjoying this. She was proving a point.
That’s all.
And really, it would take a little bit longer to ensure that her point was made. His hands were around her waist, holding her against him but not trapping her there. She was pressed against his chest and felt the evidence that he worked out. She had her hands on his shoulders and then around his neck and then wove her fingers into the thick waves of his hair. She liked the bit of stubble on his chin, the way his tongue teased hers, the way he used his teeth, just a little, to drive her crazy.
Roxie leaned against them and made a little whimper in a bid for attention, but Zach ignored the dog. If anything, he lifted Jen closer and deepened his kiss.
She liked that he gave their kiss—the kiss she had initiated—his undivided attention. She liked that she could feel his hardness against her belly, yet he didn’t force or push her. The way he held her made her feel that she was in charge, that she could bring it all to an end or drag him off to be her love slave for the afternoon. She felt strong and sexy as she hadn’t in a long time.
The choice was hers.
And it was too tempting.
He would only hurt her, she reminded herself, because she couldn’t just savor the moment and walk away. It wasn’t in her. She would make an emotional commitment, just as she had the last time with Steve, and it wouldn’t be reciprocated. Zach was ready to have fun, and nothing more than that.
Jen couldn’t do it.
The fact that he expected her to do so made her angry.
She planted one hand on his chest and pushed, backing way and breaking their kiss. “That’s it,” she said, her voice husky in an unfamiliar way. “That’s enough to prove my point.”
Zach grinned, unconvinced. “And what would that point be?”
“That kissing you is like kissing my brother.”
“Then your family really is odd.” He tapped a fingertip on the end of her nose. “Give it up, Jen. You’ve lost this one. That is not how anybody kisses a sibling.”
“What do you mean? I didn’t feel anything special.” Jen tried to lie and failed spectacularly, as usual.
Zach laughed. “Then you’re dead and you don’t look it. That was a killer kiss, one for the Hall of Fame, in my opinion, and nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I’m not ashamed of it…”
“Then why are you trying to lie about your response?” He folded his arms across his chest, his eyes sparkling. His gaze swept over her and he smiled, proof positive that he had noted all the damning evidence.
Jen straightened. “I came here to kill you.”
“What a way to go.”
“Don’t make fun of me. What you’re trying to do here is wrong…”
“And if I get one last wish before I die, I want another one of those kisses.”
“Do you take anything seriously?”
Zach cocked his head, as if considering this. “I try not to. As a matter of principle. I mean, stuff happens whether you worry about it or not, so why bother?”
“That’s not what I mean. Don’t you take your actions seriously? Don’t you think about the impact of what you do?”
“No. Never.” Zach shook his head, once and firmly, decisively changing the subject as Jen had seen him do once before. She’d hit a nerve, she was sure of it, and she was intrigued.
But then, maybe that was just part of his game.
“Look at this,” he invited and curiosity drew Jen after him, despite her better judgment. Zach pulled out a pile of prints out of one of the kitchen drawers and offered them to her.
Jen hesitated in the doorway.
“I promise not to bite.”
“I was looking for a sharp knife,” Jen retorted but he laughed.
He held out the prints, unafraid. She sighed, then took them from him. They were his shots from Thanksgiving Day and they were good. She would have loved to have been able to just toss them aside, but they were too good. He seemed to have a knack for catching people in action, often in the midst of a characteristic gesture. This was her family, distilled and captured at their best.
Jen lingered on the ones of her grandmother, knowing she’d never seen any better shots of Gran. She couldn’t think of a thing to say, especially when Zach hovered so close beside her. He obviously was anxious about her response and she knew from that alone that his photography was important to him.
“They’re good,” she said, not even wanting to lie. “You really caught their characters.”
He grinned, looking ready to bounce again. “I’ll give you some prints. Just pick the ones you want and I’ll blow them up.”
Jen shoved a hand through her hair with impatience. It was exasperating how he kept coming back to the same issue, how he insisted upon building bonds between them. “Look, Zach, we’re not going to do this. You don’t have to pretend to be in love with me. We’re not going to pretend to get married. We’re not going to build fake links between our lives just for the fun of destroying them. There will be no performance, understand?”
He was insulted, she saw that immediately. “That’s not what this is about. You like the shots. I’ll give you some prints.”
“Why would you do that? Why would you bother?”
Zach winked. “Because I’m head over heels in love with you, of course.”
“That’s it!” Jen dropped the prints on the counter and reached for his throat with both hands. “Liar! How could anybody trust anything that you say?”
Zach evaded her easily. Worse, he caught her hands in his and they ended up dancing—sort of—around his kitchen. He was enjoying her anger too much. “Okay, I won’t give you prints if that makes you feel better.” He nodded to one drawer. “The knife’s in there, but you’ll have to let go of me to go for it.”
There was nothing more annoying than not being taken seriously.
Jen pulled her hands from his with impatience. “You don’t understand. I don’t want to do any of this,” she said, her words low and hot. “I don’t want to lie to my family. I don’t want to pretend.”
“But it’ll be fun…”
“Only to you.” Jen turned and stepped away from him. She had to get out of there before he persuaded her to do something she’d regret.
“Wait a minute. You were the one who was laughing about your family in your grandmother’s kitchen.”
“No!” Jen shook her head. “I was laughing at you.”
Zach sobered instantly. “At me?”
“At your shock that anyone could be so weird. My family is unconventional in some ways, but we care ab
out each other, and we don’t deliberately hurt or embarrass each other.” Jen felt herself lecturing but she didn’t care. “If that’s the difference between having money and not, I’ll go with not having any, thanks just the same.”
“So, it’s about money. That’s really why you’re saying no.”
“No. It’s about principle,” Jen said firmly. “It’s about values. It’s about trust.”
“Why wouldn’t you trust me?”
“Why would I trust you?”
Zach smiled. “Because I’m charming and funny and a better man than Steve.”
“A different man than Steve, maybe,” Jen insisted despite the untimely skip of her heart. “Whether you’re better or not is anyone’s guess.”
Zach’s eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Is it better to ditch someone a month before the wedding or at the altar?” Jen held up her hands. “Seems like hair-splitting to me.”
“I didn’t know he did that to you.”
“You didn’t ask.”
“But it’s not the same, Jen. You can ditch me, if you’d rather. I’m good with it.”
“That’s not all of it.”
“Then tell me.”
Jen hesitated. She glanced around his apartment and knew she could end this for once and for all. She could make a comment that would cut to his heart, but she didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
But then, it was his feelings or hers.
“Go ahead,” Zach urged. “Dish it out. I can take it. I had my Wheaties this morning.”
“Why would any woman marry you?” Jen asked abruptly, putting one hand on her hip as she gestured to the apartment with the other one. She took a deep breath and plunged on, despite the shock in Zach’s eyes. “You live like a kid. You eat like a kid. You think like a kid, focused on fun and nothing else. You survive on your daddy’s money and it seems that the only motivation you ever had was to tick him off. You have no plan, no job, no ambition and no dream. You’re neither old enough nor young enough to get away with that crap. No one with a speck of sense would even pretend to be marrying you.”
There, it was said.
And she felt bad, but she would not take it back. Jen knew she should have marched out the door right then and there, but she couldn’t do it. Not yet. She had to wait for his response.
Did she want him to be devastated?
Or to bounce back, unaffected?
She didn’t have time to decide before Zach—as usual—found another option altogether and, one more time, surprised the heck out of her.
* * *
Zach hid his thoughts, making a point of patting the dog while he decided upon his comeback. Okay, it was an unexpected assault but not an unjustified one.
It was clear that Jen expected him to be shattered by her truth-telling, but the real truth was that he’d been thinking much the same thing, on some level, for a while. It was kind of reassuring to have it said out loud, maybe a bit less scary that way than when it had just been rattling around in his brain.
But this seriously struck him as a case of the pot calling the kettle black.
Zach considered her, trying to gauge her fragility. She stood with her hands on her hips, eyes flashing, as invincible as he’d ever seen her. She was the Amazon queen. Maybe that was why she was turning him down: she would prefer to choose her own love slave and drag him off by the hair, rather than just go with a volunteer.
Zach decided to say what he thought. “And I’m supposed to be wounded by this observation, coming as it is from a woman who lives with her mother and waits tables for a living.” He spoke lightly but Jen caught her breath. “I don’t see a lot of evidence of your plan, ambition or dream, Jen, and even you admit that your job is a crummy one.”
To his surprise, she didn’t give back as good as she’d gotten. Not this time. He’d found the Achilles heel of his Amazon, if mythology could get that mixed.
Jen’s eyes filled with tears, which she blinked away furiously. She didn’t want him to see them, he could understand that, because she liked to be seen at her strongest. All the same, he knew he had hit a nerve.
He felt like apologizing, except she’d hit harder than he had.
“I’m sorry,” he began but Jen interrupted him, one hand held up between them.
“Fair enough,” she said, her voice husky and her pose defensive. “I guess now you can see why this just isn’t going to work.” She hauled open the door and headed for the elevator, without looking back.
Zach watched her, wishing he knew how to fix this. Roxie whimpered and Zach had to hold her collar to keep her from following Jen.
“I’ll see you around, then,” he called, his characteristic optimism taking a dive when he noted how savagely Jen pressed the elevator button.
Jen gave him a dark look, but he could see that she was going to cry. He might have gone after her, but he already knew that she’d prefer him to not see her tears.
“You’d better not,” she said tightly. “Or I’ll call the cops.”
Zach didn’t think of a brilliant comeback before the elevator came. For once, it arrived quickly. Jen didn’t look at him when she got into it, just focused on the control panel as if it was the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. The doors closed almost immediately, leaving him with the conviction that he’d never see her again.
It wasn’t a good feeling.
Roxie whimpered again and nudged his hand.
“Yup,” he told the dog. “She’s gone. After a particularly smooth move on my part.” Zach closed the door to his apartment. Roxie went to the window, apparently wanting to catch a glimpse of Jen as she departed. Zach knew the dog watched for him this way, because he’d seen her from the street below.
He stood at the door and looked around. His apartment felt vast and empty. The sound of Roxie’s nails echoed as he’d never noticed before.
“You were a big help,” he said, his heart not really in his complaint. “Couldn’t you have begged for a belly rub or done something cute? Women go for that kind of thing.”
Roxie ignored him, her attention caught by something below. Zach found himself standing beside her, watching a dark-haired woman turn up her collar against the swirl of snow as she walked away from his building with long, decisive steps. This time, her hands were bunched in her pockets, fists driven deep by anger.
Or sorrow.
It was as if she couldn’t put distance between them quickly enough. She wiped at her face with one hand and Zach felt like a bigger loser than he ever had before.
Which was saying something.
When Jen disappeared into the T station—presumably to disappear forever—Zach returned to the kitchen, snagged the bottle of champagne and settled in to finish it himself. It would only go flat, otherwise. He had to admit that his brilliant plan hadn’t exactly come together.
There were quotes from famous people on the matter of champagne printed on the label. Zach paused after he filled his glass to read the one from Winston Churchill.
In victory I deserve it; in defeat I need it.
Zach could drink to that.
* * *
Jen was fuming.
A waitress who lives with her mother.
Zach’s charge had power because it was true. What was her dream? What was she doing to accomplish it? And who was she to call him on his chips when her own life didn’t look so hot?
She raged home from the bus stop, ignored her mother’s query about Zach’s health and took the stairs two at a time to her room. She heard Cin make some comment about a lovers’ spat and resisted the urge to kill her sister instead of Zach. She chucked her coat on the bed, fired up the computer and logged into website of the college she had attended.
It took an hour of going back and forth through the calendar, of reading the rules for admission and readmission, and a ping to an admin that got a quick reply, to tell Jen what she needed to know.
She could reactivate her student number,
by crossing the admissions department’s palm with silver.
Big surprise. Money fixed everything.
The thing was that she could finish her degree by the end of summer term, if she went full time in the winter and again in spring and summer term. She’d graduate with her bachelor’s in business administration.
In less than a year, she could have her degree. She could have a real job and make real money to pay off her very real debt.
It was a big step from committing to the construction of a piece of knitted fruit or even a pair of socks. Eight months of intense study from here to graduation. The thought nearly stopped Jen’s heart. The possibility of doing it part-time was unthinkable. Could she envision herself surviving even eight whole months?
Could she afford to do it?
Could she afford to not do it?
Jen pushed back from her desk and looked at the screen. All it took was money and time. She was suddenly very jealous of Zach Coxwell but she wasn’t going to think about that.
She was going to appreciate what she had. Or at least, she would begin to appreciate what she had more than she had been appreciating it for the last couple of years.
Natalie was right: Jen was alive and it was time to start living again. It was time to make a commitment to something bigger than another small knitting project and another shift waiting tables. She would have liked to have given her mother credit for the change, but Jen was honest enough with herself to admit that it had been a certain infuriatingly confident man who had finally pushed her to make something of herself.
Too bad Zach would never know.
Impulsively, she returned to the part of the website that would let her reactivate her student number and did so. Jen was going to do this and no one was going to change her mind. She paid the fee by credit card and waited for the confirmation with her heart pounding.
How would she pay for this? Jen stifled the voice of doubt that had gotten far too much airtime lately. Once upon a time, she had gotten on a plane to England with no firm plan other than to see the world. Once she had walked into a taverna in Italy and asked for a job in her mediocre Italian. Once she had taken chances, been bold, faced risk.
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