Finding Zoe (Atlantic Divide) (17 page)

“Mac, I just wanted to say how really grateful I am.” Her fingers twined together as she smiled, her lying eyes flicking coyly to the floor, back up to his face. Her eyebrows twitched with uncertainty as she waited for him to answer. She tilted her pretty, deceitful head.

He wasn’t sure if he would be capable of any kind of speech. The words refused to come past his throat. He was suffocating. Anger crawled through his belly like snakes writhing in a pit.

“What for?” The words came out strangled as he stepped farther into the small lounge. He loomed over her, stared down at her long red hair, her smooth pale skin, her faithless hazel-speckled green eyes, and he seethed. Her eyes narrowed, and he admired her acting ability as she gave him an innocent, puzzled look. She should have been on the big screen too. She’d missed her vocation.

Flicking a hand self-consciously, she dropped her gaze from his.

“For this. All of this. It’s been wonderful. Ryan has loved it all, and I am so grateful…for the dress, and…the jewelry.” Her voice petered out as he continued to stare; she licked her lips and swallowed. “Thank you.” Barely a whisper, she stopped.

His eyes burned, his throat ached, and the scorching rage spewed forth.

“So you thought you would crawl into my bed last night, suck my dick, and show your gratitude.”

Her gasp of horror did nothing to slow his tirade now that it had started.

“Well, honey, if you want to do it again, there’s nothing stopping you.” He reached for the front of his trousers, flicked the top button open, moved his fingers to his zipper, and watched her face turn slowly white, her huge green eyes widen even farther, and her mouth drop open.

In his opinion, her reaction was a little slow for a really good actress, but he gave her the benefit of the doubt and waited her out.

“I beg your pardon?” Her voice still weak, stuttered as her hand flickered convincingly to her throat.

“How much will you ask for this time, Zoe?” He yanked his button closed again, disgusted as much with himself as with her. He stared hard at her as she sank onto the nearest seat, speechless. Eyes wide, confused, and pleading.

“Mac?”

“Or were you happy to prostitute yourself for fame and glory? Were you going for the big prize this time? You’re older, wiser. You undervalued yourself last time.” He couldn’t contain the fury that spewed forth like an erupting volcano. “Was fifty thousand not enough for you? It wasn’t much for ten years, was it? Ten years of rearing my child.” Her breath hitched, a small hiccup of despair, but he never held back the cruelty of his words. “I would have paid more.” His voice rose to an uncontrolled roar.

Her green eyes glowed in her white face, but he took no pleasure in seeing the tremor run through her.

“I’m talking about the money you took for your services last time.” He threw the photograph at her, watched her flinch as it hit her face and fall to her lap.

Empty, he gave her a moment to stare at the photo. Pale and speechless, she kept her head bowed.

His voice was quiet now, his pulse slow and steady, his heart a void. He waited for her to deny it. Wanted her to deny it.

She tried to pull in a breath, and he heard it stutter in her throat.

“Get out.” Without an ounce of sympathy in him, he gazed down at her motionless figure.

His voice gained strength as she simply sat and looked down at her knees. She hadn’t even tried to deny it. He’d hoped beyond hope she would say it wasn’t true. He shook his head in disgust, sickened by his rage.

“Get out.” He ground out through his teeth.

Her head shot up, her desperate eyes meeting his for a brief moment.

“What about Ryan?” He barely heard her.

“He’ll come back tomorrow like we arranged.” Her lips moved in a silent protest, but she seemed incapable of speech. To make sure she understood, he pressed on. “He’s my son. You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

She stood, her entire body vibrated, and he felt nothing.

“Now, get out.”

She took a brief moment to look around frantically, fumbled for her handbag, and ran.

The suite door slammed behind her, and Mac sank slowly into the chair she had just vacated. He could still smell the light fragrance of her, feel the warmth of her imprinted there. Not enough to melt the ice engulfing him. He put his head in his hands and sat, frozen.

* * * *

She ran for the train like she had run eleven years before. This time, though, she was older, more controlled. Her fingers shook as she paid for her ticket and staggered blindly along the concourse toward the empty platform. The train would still be the same one. Aberystwyth. She glanced at a newspaper stand as she passed by.

Confused, she blinked, squinted her eyes, and stared in horror at an image of herself on the front of a shiny gossip magazine. Desperate, she ferreted in her purse, offered money to the vendor, and rolled the magazine up, hurriedly shoving her sunglasses on to cover her eyes as the vendor cast a curious glance at her.

She no longer bore any resemblance to the stunning beauty on the front page of the magazine. The woman from last night was gone. An illusion created for one night only. No longer recognizable.

She boarded the train, found the quiet carriage and, heart in mouth, unraveled the magazine. She realized her mistake in believing no one would recognize her. The front page contained the movie premiere shots, but the wording invited you to look further inside, at a peek into Cormack Blunt’s well-protected private life.

The photograph had been taken the day she’d hit Mac with the fish. The photographer had caught a perfect shot as water sluiced off Mac’s heavily muscled chest while he levered himself out of the pond, his white T-shirt plastered and transparent against his tanned glowing skin, displaying every ripple and dip of his muscle tone and sinew. His white teeth showed in a wild grin she imagined could only do his reputation the world of good.

Pain sliced through her as she realized it didn’t matter what he’d done, what he’d said; she was never going to escape him. There would always be another photograph. Exactly as it had been for the last eleven years, but this time she wondered whether she could ever survive the pain and humiliation. This time, the paparazzi had hold of it.

Her gaze slid over the image of herself, and her heart gave a cruel and savage stab at the obvious adoration and love pouring from her face as she laughed carefree and delirious into his. She remembered her emotions at the time, and her stomach clenched and then roiled thick and sickly as she read the caption.

CORMACK—STILL IN LOVE WITH THE MOTHER OF HIS ILLEGITIMATE CHILD.

Shoving the magazine viciously into her bag, she simply sat and stared out of the window as the countryside rushed by and the distance increased between her and her son.

She’d made a mistake. Many mistakes. But probably the biggest one was leaving Ryan with Mac. She chewed her fingernails down to the quick as she worried, and she wondered if Mac was honorable enough to keep his word and bring him home the following day.

She thought he probably would this time. But he was going to take her son from her. It wasn’t an idle threat. He was furious enough and powerful enough to do it. He could afford the best lawyer globally, and he was going to take her baby away.

Panic gripped her. She could feel the pounding of her heart at the base of her throat; she rubbed her chest where it ached.

Oh God, she’d lost everything. Everything because she’d been too shocked to speak out, too proud to beg. She’d never seen him so angry, never seen anyone angry enough for shock waves to bounce off the hotel room walls.

Unable to understand at first, she’d simply stared at him in disbelief. Try as she might, it had taken her some time before it had sunk in, and even then, she couldn’t understand how he could believe it of her.

She’d told him she loved him last night, and he’d called her a prostitute this morning.

She’d done things with Mac she’d never done with another man in her life, and she would never have dreamed of doing them without love. She’d poured her heart out to him, given him her body, taken his. She thought she had been professing her love, and he’d believed she was doing it for money.

Shaking her head, she stared out of the window and touched her fingers to her trembling lips, desperate not to break down and sob.

Eleven years ago, naïveté had made her believe he would come after her. Maturity made her understand differently now. The only contact she was ever going to have with Mac in the future was through his lawyer.

Worse still, he had the power to take her little boy away from her. The two things she had loved unwaveringly for the past eleven years, and they were both going to be lost to her.

She’d harbored the shameful secret he had paid to be rid of her from his life. Humiliated, she had hugged her secret, keeping it close and safe, and was proud of the private knowledge she had not let it defeat her. Wounded before, she had risen above it, raised a wonderful child, and lived her life.

And with the knowledge she alone had proof of her innocence came the dawning realization Mac had never known about the money.

In tune with the pounding of the train, sound rushed through her head; a frisson of disbelief tingled from the top of her scalp and spread through her entire body, giving her hope.

Until today, she suddenly realized, he hadn’t known about the check. Astral Heaven had lied eleven years ago. And she’d lied again today. It hadn’t been Mac who had paid her off but his agent. Without his knowledge.

She gave a watery smile as she stared at her reflection in the window as the train raced through a tunnel. She gazed at herself as tears filled her eyes and hovered, scalding hot, refusing to fall.

Breathing slow and deep, she calmed herself. She had the proof. She was going to put it right.

Mac was innocent.

So was she.

* * * *

Racing through her empty house, she dashed to her wardrobe, fell to her knees, and grabbed blindly at the storage boxes stacked neatly at the back, throwing them wildly out of the way. With shaky fingers, she grasped the small, black-and-gold patterned Chinese box he had given her for her eighteenth birthday.

She stared at the closed lid and the memories gushed, stealing her breath and almost knocking her backward with the power of them.

Her fingers traced along the beautifully etched gold leaf as her heart swelled with pain.

She squeezed her eyes closed as tears leaked from behind her eyelids, leaned back against her bed as she stretched out her legs. It had been years since she’d opened the box. Her heart box, as she’d dramatically named it at the age of eighteen. She’d believed it contained her heart then, and she had secured it away from any more hurt. Protected it.

She knew better now; she’d loved again since. There was no love like the one you felt for your child. But she’d never given her heart to another man. It was still contained within the box.

Reluctant to open it, she stared for a long moment and then gently eased the lid off and gasped as the pain almost overwhelmed her.

Emeralds. He’d bought her emeralds, he’d said to complement her eyes, but they had been so much deeper and darker than her own coloring; there had been no flecks, no flaws in the stones.

She held the tiny, white leather box containing them in her hand. It was still immaculate after eleven years of never being opened. The engagement ring with its three large, perfect emeralds winked at her as she drew in a painful breath. She’d made a conscious effort never to look. She’d put the memory to the back of her mind just as she’d put the box to the back of the wardrobe.

With trembling fingers, she reached out, plucked the ring from the box, and slipped it on. It had been a little loose when she was eighteen, and the weight of the stones had made it slide around until the emeralds were on the underside of her finger. It fit to perfection now. She stretched out her arm, extended her hand, and watched the play of filtered sunlight shoot pale green sparks in a light pattern.

In the silence she stared.

*

“Marry me?” His hushed voice seduced her. His lips traced their way across her temple as she leaned against him. She drew back, excited, thrilled. In the dark, wrapped in his arms, it had seemed such a possibility. She stroked his jawline.

“I can’t marry you, Mac.” He opened his mouth to protest; she hushed him by placing her fingers, gently against his warm lips. “Not yet.” She smoothed her thumb over his lower lip, her heart swelling with joy. “I have to go to uni, Mac. I really want to be a vet.”

His eyes glittered in the shadows, his disappointment palpable. He sighed, his breath brushing featherlike across her cheek. He rested his forehead against hers.

“I know. You can. I won’t try to stop you doing what you want.” He placed a soft kiss on the end of her nose, her cheekbone, her ear. “I love you, Zoe. I want us to get married.” Delicious heat swamped her as his gravelly voice broke with passion.

An upstairs light flared, chasing back the shadows, but Mac pushed her farther into the dark recess of the doorway.

“Shh…Dad’s going to hear, he’ll be down in a moment.” Panic made her voice high-pitched, and she breathed in slow and steady to try to contain it. “He said to say good night ten minutes ago.”

Mac smiled against her cheek. He captured her lips with his, held her hand, and slipped something onto her finger.

“Think about it. We can keep it secret for now.” He squeezed her fingers and pushed a small box into her palm.

He took her shoulders and turned her in the direction of the door, gave her a little nudge. Unable to resist, she turned back and watched as he started to run along the dirt track away from the house. He stopped and turned at the edge of the shaft of light and gazed straight at her. “Zoe,” he called, his deep voice resonating. “I love you.”

*

Pain tore through her chest. She clasped her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut. He had loved her.