Sweet Home Carolina (33 page)

Pascal was offering a terrific special project, in Paris.

“Yes. In November.” Zack didn’t think he could accept the
job even then. He was taking each day as it came, praying that all would work
out. “Yes, it is an honor, but I am committed here.”

He grinned at how easily the word flowed off his tongue
after years of denying it existed. It was liberating to drop the continual
struggle against his natural inclinations.

But the conflicts he and Amy faced were still valid. He had
to do this right this time, not just for his and Amy’s sake, but because
children were involved.

Ringing off with Pascal, he sought calm by watching Amy chat
with their temporary sewing machine operators, examining the display pieces
they’d created out of little or nothing, practically overnight. It would have
taken weeks to order anything similar from China. These women could produce
miracles in less time than he could place an order.

The mill and the show presented one headache after another,
but those were material things, the things his life had been made of these last
years. He did not fear them. It was Amy who had him pacing the balcony.

She belonged here. Even he, in all his selfishness, could
see that. She knew the people, she knew the product, she knew the market. This
was her world.

Europe was his.

His cell rang again. This was his personal phone, and
everyone in Europe was at home at this hour with nothing better to do than
check on him. It didn’t matter that he was still in the middle of his workday.

He clicked on the phone just to shut it up.

“Jacques, I just talked to Pascal, he says you won’t be home
for Christmas!”

Zack contemplated accidentally dropping the phone to the
floor below the loft.

If he did, he’d probably hit someone on the head, and they’d
pick up the phone and have to deal with his mother. Not a bad idea, except he
really didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for him.

“Mother,” he said politely.

“You sound just like your father when you do that enigmatic
distant thing,” she replied crossly. “And he doesn’t mean it any more than you
do. Shout, if that’s what you want to do.”

“I’m at work. Shouting would cause a certain degree of agitation.”
Zack headed for the stairwell in hopes that the inevitable disagreement that
would result from this conversation wouldn’t travel quite as far as in the
warehouse.

“Agitation would be better than your usual ennui,” his
mother said. “Did Pascal lie about your being involved with a woman? Is it
Brigitte? She’s not your style, really, Jacques. Whoever it is, bring her home
with you. You know I can’t do Christmas without you.”

“I’ll be home for Christmas, Mother. Pascal simply wants me
home sooner.” Pascal wanted the prestige of working with Versailles, but Zack
refrained from passing on that tidbit.

“He’s your friend. He’s concerned. Tell me you’re not
falling for some mountain girl. She won’t fit in here. You know that. It’s just
a passing fancy because you’re far from home.”

Zack almost grinned. It was hard to take his mother
seriously. She never thought before she spoke or she’d have bitten her tongue
by now. “You’re from the mountains, Mother. I don’t see you having any
difficulty fitting into London. When is your next gallery showing?”

“The first of December. You will be here, won’t you? Your
father won’t come unless you call him, so you have to come. Is she pretty? Does
she at least speak proper English?”

“Mother, I have three lines blinking and a secretary
waiting,” he prevaricated. It was far easier to lie than to argue. “I’ll send
you my flight schedule when I have it. And you can call Father without my help.
He always goes to your showings.”

“No, I will not call the scoundrel! Do you know what he
called my Faberge design?”

“Sorry, Mother, I’ll send you an e-mail. Have to go now.” He
clicked off the cell and stuffed it into his pocket just as he hit the exit
door.

He stepped outside into the sunny mountain air and inhaled
the scent of crisp autumn leaves.

“Bad news?” Coming from the main-floor exit, Amy followed
him out and fell into step with him.

“Parental nagging. Is there some point at which we outgrow
our parents?” He wanted to wrap his arm around her shoulders, but they were
doing their best to behave properly during business hours.

But Amy’s mere presence reminded him of nonbusiness hours,
when he could occasionally have her to himself. Still, it wasn’t enough. He
wanted to be in her bed all night, every night. He wanted to wake up with her tousled
hair upon his shoulder. Stolen minutes and a hotel room weren’t good enough for
his Amy.

As one of Jo’s songs said: “Lonely is a bad place to be.” He
hated spending his nights alone, thinking of Amy doing the same.

“If we’re lucky, we might make friends of our parents, but
even friends nag,” Amy admitted. “My mother just finished telling me that we’re
wasting our money making expensive fabric, and we should be producing cheap
towels that Wal-Mart can buy.”

Zack laughed, letting the tension roll out of him. “So,
mothers are not always right.”

“Limited points of view,” she agreed. “But they’re usually
looking out for us. It’s not bad having someone always on our side.”

“Even if they don’t agree with us? But enough of that. How
are the samples coming?”

“The ladies are getting more creative by the day,” she
replied. “It’s all I can do to hold them back and keep it simple. They’ve found
an old love seat they want to upholster. I’m thinking we can set up tableaux of
two rooms, with the cotton print as a tablecloth and the brocade as place mats
for the dining room. We could serve cider and muffins and attract attention.”

“Champagne,” he said firmly. “These are elegant fabrics. We
want a wealthy setting. Add silk tassels to the tablecloths and bouillon fringe
to the draperies.”

“Petit fours,” she said excitedly. “We can decorate them and
place them in gold boxes like Godiva chocolates. I’ll find my wedding crystal.
We can set the table with it, and use disposable cups for serving.”

To heck with
professional
.
Zack hugged Amy’s shoulders and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “You are
always a genius! People flock to food. Tell me what else they do at this show
that we can do better.”

As they entered her office, Zack crooked his finger at
Emily, his secretary, and had her take notes while Amy rattled off the sales
techniques she’d garnered over the years of Evan’s attendance at the market.

“How did the mill fail with you to display the fabrics?” he
asked, shaking his head in amazement as he made notes of his own.

“Me? I poked around and took care of the kids while Evan
talked to the bigwigs.” Using an electric kettle she’d brought from home, she
poured boiling water over tea leaves. “I didn’t have anything to do with the
booths.”

Amy waited for Zack’s eyes to glaze over with disappointment.

Instead, he muttered something about Evan being one bolt shy
of a pallet, his lips compressed into a tight line of disapproval.

“Unlike me, you’re not cute when you get mad,” she quipped.
His always outraged reaction to Dr. Evil’s idiocy was incredibly good for her
ego, and she unashamedly enjoyed the sensation. She settled into the big
leather office chair she’d brought from home, sipped her tea, and watched him
pace.

Zack rubbed his hand over his face as if to erase his expression,
then managed a crooked grin. “What am I, then?”

“Pretty much cross-eyed,” she said decisively.

Behind her, Emily coughed on a laugh.

Zack’s grin grew wider. Crossing his eyes, he looked down
his nose. “Fine then. Emily, take note. Should Ms. Warren ever deprecate her
abilities again, I want her marched to the computer room, where she is not to
be allowed out until she produces the entire payroll report without reducing a
single machine to rubble.”

“Yes, sir. Permission to prepare requisition for new computers
in advance, sir?”

Zack pointed to the door. “Out, Emily. And close the door
behind you.”

A shiver of anticipation tingled Amy’s spine as the door
closed. Whenever they were alone, Zack never failed to touch or hold her, as if
he couldn’t get enough….

Now, there was an ego booster. Had she actually begun to believe
a wealthy jetsetter saw her as more than a brief affair? “In case you haven’t
noticed, I really don’t have any experience at this business thing,” she
babbled, rattled by her realization. “But I think my ideas will help until I
learn.” Setting her cup down on the table beside her, she tried to keep her
hand from shaking.

Firmly gripping both arms of her chair, Zack met her nose to
nose. With his face directly in hers, Amy thought she’d stop breathing at his
suddenly fierce expression.

“Your
ideas
are
what got this mill running,” he asserted. “Your
ideas
will keep the mill operating. What in hell do you think any
other management does that you aren’t already doing?”

She didn’t know. It wasn’t as if she could think with his
face in hers like that. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and
nipped his neck.

“Ow. Vampire.” Zack lifted her from the seat and stopped her
cannibalization with a hard kiss.

She threw herself fiercely into the bracing strength of
Zack’s arms and kiss and adoration.

She wanted Zack. And her children. And muffins with pig
snoses. And her cottage. She’d do what she had to do to keep them. But she
really wanted Zack’s respect and support as well.

As his mouth so expertly plied hers, Amy realized with
mounting alarm that she really, really wanted Zack.

She just didn’t know if he wanted to be kept.

In panic, she shoved herself from his arms, brushed her hair
back to catch her breath, and picked up her notebook. She ignored the questions
in his eyes as she headed for the door. “Um, I’ve found a photographer. We need
to set up a shoot immediately if we want the brochures by next week.”

She felt horrible walking away like that. That wasn’t who
she was.

She hadn’t spent the last thirty-two years in total
oblivion. No matter how Zack praised her, she knew precisely what she was. She
was a caretaker, a nurturer, a creative who liked to dabble with ideas.

She wouldn’t become what she was not, just to keep a man who
might or might not come to town once or twice a year. Not anymore. She was
willing to give her all — but she expected the same in return.

“Ah, that wallpaper design is from William Morris,” Zack
said with satisfaction, studying the Biltmore Estate’s South Tower Room, renovated
to duplicate the early 1900s style when the house had been built. They’d
arrived in Asheville a day early to rest and plan for the trade show. Visiting
Biltmore had seemed the ideal opportunity for both. “Excellent use of historic
effect of a previous era.”

Amy had been to the magnificently restored estate several
times over the years, as a student and as a tour guide for Evan’s guests. She’d
never been through the mansion’s elegant chambers with a man who so fully
understood her awe and admiration for this historical legacy.

It was almost enough to distract her from the luxurious
hotel room waiting for them down the road. Almost.

“They had twenty-one rooms for servants alone,” she
whispered so the other tourists wouldn’t hear, “an entire floor for just the
help. For what? Two people?”

Zack patted her back sympathetically. “My poor Amy, who
would house the entire town here, if she could. Would it make you feel better
to think of how many people they employed — the masons and plumbers and chimney
sweeps….”

“Sixty-five fireplaces,” she said, reading the brochure. “Can
you imagine cleaning sixty-five fireplaces? Two hundred fifty rooms?”

“And don’t forget the swimming pool, and who waxed the
bowling alley?” he reminded her with a twinkle in his eye. “Can you not picture
yourself as a guest enjoying all this magnificence rather than as the maid who
cleans it?”

“Wallowing in the lap of luxury while others work their
hands to the bone? Nope, not me. Let’s take another look at that hand-painted
chintz. Is there any way we can duplicate that?” She took off at a brisk walk
toward one of the other bedrooms, trying to convince herself that this
conversation proved the distance between them. Zack was used to being the
wealthy guest. She was more accustomed to being the maid. If she could just
keep these differences in her mind, she wouldn’t endanger her vulnerable heart.

But she couldn’t, not when they laughed and worked together
as equals. They were on the same wavelength, and that meant they were both
thinking of that bed waiting for them, and a room with no children to
interrupt, and….

“We must take a garden gnome home for you,” he said abruptly
as they came down from the tower rooms and passed the gift shop. “It will bring
you good luck.”

He was thinking of her garden? She blinked at him in
disbelief, and he winked back, as if he knew perfectly well what was running
through her head. Which he did. He knew her far too well, and she squirmed with
discomfort. He’d stripped her of all her defenses. She simply didn’t know how
to do
affairs
and keep her distance.
If they weren’t so good together, if she didn’t desperately long for their
stolen moments together, she’d just bang her head through a wall and get the
pain over with.

“Will he come to life at night and do my weeding?” she
asked, hiding her delight that he knew whimsicality would appeal to her. She
stroked the red cap of a gnome who looked like Disney’s love-struck Dopey.

“That poor fellow needs a home,” Zack said decisively,
picking up Dopey and taking him to the clerk. “He’ll benefit from more
nourishing surroundings than all this artificial light, don’t you think?”