Fyre & Revenge (11 page)

Once she had
though, she wished she hadn’t. The dressing room wasn’t the
smallest she’d ever had. Hell, she’d had apartments smaller than
this. But somehow he seemed to take up all the room, dominate the
space as though he owned it. It was that innate self-confidence of
his, she decided, wishing she could steal a little for herself and
appear something other than over- heated, exhausted and heavily
pregnant. Frazzled, that would be one way to describe it.

“Okay, you’re
in. Now what do you want?” she demanded, not caring that she was
harsh. If he thought he could just turn up and expect her to
welcome him with open arms, he had another thing coming.

He winced at
her tone, raking a hand through his hair. A nervous gesture she
realised, noting the dark shadows under his eyes and the lines of
strain around his mouth. He looked like a man who had been kicked
in the guts after losing a week’s sleep.

He laughed, a
short sound that had nothing to do with amusement.

“I don’t know
where to start. So I’ll just come out with it.” He turned to her,
his expression contrite. “Zette, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have
done what I did. I guess…” he trailed off, shaking his head a
little. “I don’t have excuses for what I did. There
aren’t
any excuses for what I did, the way I treated you.”

Zette just
stood there, not quite believing the words, what she was hearing.
Hope began to blossom in her chest, her heart aching as she relaxed
the stranglehold she’d had on it these last few months. Long
months. But he still hadn’t said what she needed to hear. He’d said
sorry and for a man like JJ, with the way he’d treated her, she
still wasn’t sure this wasn’t another elaborate stunt.

“No, there
aren’t,” she agreed, her expression guarded. “Was that it?”

“Dammit Zette!
I’m trying to apologise, give me something to work with here!” he
exploded, voice fraught with frustration as he took a step toward
her. She stood her ground, glaring at him as her anger flared.

“Why the
hell
should I? In case you’ve forgotten, you were the one
that was—”

He reached her
in an instant, hands smoothing down her arms to take her hands
before she realised, could stop him.

“I know baby, I
know and I’m sorry,” he said softly, his hazel eyes more green than
brown as he looked down at her. He held her gaze, thumbs stroking
over the back of her hands. “I realise what a prize idiot I was, I
can’t say any more than sorry and… I love you.”

He looked down,
as though he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes anymore, waiting for
her to say something. But she couldn’t, the pain in her heart
blossoming out to become hope and stealing her breath. Underneath
her heart, the baby jumped and kicked, as though she knew her daddy
was close by. A daddy Zette had thought she’d have to grow up just
looking at in photos or pictures in the press. When she didn’t
reply, he pressed his lips together, his shoulders drooping in
defeat.

“Thank you for
listening to me, I didn’t deserve even that.” His lips quirked.
“Actually I was surprised to get through security.” He leaned
forwards and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“I’ll leave you
in peace, if that’s what you want?”

His question
hung in the air, shimmering between them. She knew if she asked him
to leave now, that would be it. He wouldn’t bother her again. The
JJ she knew, the one that had played games with their marriage and
her heart, would. He’d have kept harassing her until he’d got what
he wanted. But this man, the one standing in front of her with
longing and hope in his voice, somehow she knew she was looking at
a completely new JJ.

She took a deep
breath and looked up, wondering whether she could take a chance
with her heart again. Could she afford not to with her baby
involved, a baby who deserved a chance to get to know her
father?

“Say it again—”
she asked, her voice breaking a little as she spoke.

It was all the
excuse he needed, dragging her against his hard body and enfolding
her in his arms. “Say what again love? That I’m sorry, thank you
for listening to me or that I love you more than life itself? That
if I ever cock up like that again I’ll…well, I won’t. Not that
badly. Not ever. But you can name your forfeit for if I even
slightly piss you off. I’ll do anything if you agree to have me
back,” he admitted gruffly, his eyes suspiciously wet.

She smiled
through her tears and reached up to touch his face, smoothing her
fingers over the stubble on his cheeks. Her heart filled with love
and, more importantly, hope. Hope that they could turn this around
despite its rocky start.

“How about
breakfast in bed…forever?” she replied gently, her answer in her
eyes. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for him. “And you get
up to feed the baby, when she puts in an appearance.”

His eyes
flicked down to her stomach, the hard swell between them.
“Anything,” he promised, wonder in his eyes as he reached down to
touch it. He paused at the last moment, looking up for permission.
Zette nodded, biting her lip as he knelt down. His big hands
smoothed over her and inside she could feel the baby move,
considering this new presence and deciding whether to batter the
hell out of him with feet and fists.

But she didn’t.
Zette almost felt the happy little movement as, unborn, the baby
moved against her daddy’s hands and settled down to sleep. He
smiled and planted a gentle kiss on the bump.

“She?” he
asked, standing and drawing her tight against him. A shudder went
through his big body as she leaned against him, letting him take
her weight. Trusting him. “I suppose that means I have to put up
with two bossy women about the place eh?”

Zette grinned,
leaning her head on his shoulder. “Yep. Just remember to do
everything we say and you’ll be fine.”

The End

By Mina Carter

She had less
coming in than she had going out, which was all well and good when
it came to diets, but not when it came to her bank balance. In
Rae’s experience it meant she was in it up to her neck. The
financial version of up a creek without a paddle.

Raelyn Borne
sighed, slumped back in her chair and ran her hands through her
hair as she searched the ceiling of her tiny office for
inspiration. Hoping for some sort of divine intervention that would
make the figures on the screen in front of her magically add up in
her favour. Hell, she’d even throw in a prayer or two if she
thought it would help, despite the fact she was definitely not
religious. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a
church. Not since childhood—a harvest festival or something. She
vividly remembered the tables laid out behind the pews, covered in
tins and baskets of fruit and vegetables interspersed with corn
dollies and whatnot. It was bizarre what avenues Rae’s mind took
when she was trying to avoid facing facts.

She dropped her
hands, the heavy mass of red brown hair falling about her
shoulders, and glanced at the screen again in defeat. She’d have
been all right; everything would be fine if not for bloody Jensen
and Fyre. Her eyes narrowed. A flash of annoyance and hatred surged
through her at the mere thought of the name. A property development
company, they’d bought up a lot of properties in the area,
including the Big House. It had another name of course, Ashton
Grange, but locally it was known as the Big House. Jensen and Fyre
had bought it a few months ago and rumour had it they wanted to
turn it into some swanky hotel.

Rae didn’t have
a problem with that. A hotel would bring in much needed business
for the local area. A small town, Ashton on Sea had to compete with
the larger, more popular tourist destinations along the coast.
Trouble was, a little off the beaten track it didn’t have the
resources to attract the visitors, with no big shopping centres or
piers like the bigger towns. So a big, posh hotel would provide
lots of visitors and jobs for the locals. It would be just the
boost the local economy needed.

No, a hotel she
didn’t have a problem with. The problem was they wanted her place,
the Gatehouse, too. A small building set to one side of the long,
impressive drive up to the Big House, it had once been a part of
the Grange Estate. Even as a small child Rae had dreamed of living
in the quirky little house. So when the last owner had decided to
start selling off pieces of the estate, Rae had been first in the
queue, determined to get her little house.

Now though, she
realised she’d overstretched herself by borrowing over and above
what she had really been able to afford, justifying the risk with
the fact she would be running her own business from the adapted
front room of the house. But that wasn’t the real problem. She
sighed, resisting the urge to bang her forehead against the desk,
and reached forwards to shut the PC off.

No, her real
mistake had been entrusting her mortgage to small town independent
bank Bennett and Bennett. Her teeth ground again in anger, her jaw
aching from the pressure. Because when she’d refused the offer
they’d made for her house, Jensen and bloody Fyre had decided to
play dirty. They’d bought the bank she had her mortgage with.

The doorbell
rang, signalling the arrival of her last appointment. Rae sighed
again, twisting the heavy fall of her hair into a sloppy pleat and
securing it with a silver clip before heading out of the office to
greet her client.

* * *

Logan Fyre was
not a patient man, unless it suited him to be. At the moment,
however, it didn’t suit him to be as he waited at the front door of
‘Gatehouse Aromatherapy.’ This place was the fly in the ointment of
his plans for Ashton Grange, a really annoying fly. He pressed the
bell again, frustrated at the wait now that he’d decided to come
down here and put an end to this messy situation.

He turned in
the doorway, ducking down and trying to catch a look through the
window. Was anyone even in there? Surely they had to answer the
door to customers. A tall, lean figure dressed in a black trench
coat over a sharply tailored business suit, there was no way he’d
be mistaken for someone wanting ‘aromatherapy.’ His pale eyes
narrowed in irritation. Bloody load of rubbish if you asked him.
The owner was no doubt some weird old cat lady who made all her
decisions by reading the tea leaves of her morning cuppa, waving a
bottle of lavender around and claiming to be able to cure all his
ills.

He snorted,
spotting a figure inside heading his way and straightened up. If
she could do that, he’d be amazed. Not that he had any ills, other
than being irritable and stubborn. Oh, and a jackass apparently.
His latest ex, Jane, had thrown that one at him as she’d stormed
out…
Logan
Fyre
,
you...you
vain
,
manipulative
piece
of
shit…
You’re
a
jackass,
and
one
I
hope
never
to
see
again
as
long
as
I
live
…

Now the last
part he understood. He’d just told her it was finished, their
relationship over. She’d had her six months in his life, in his
bed, and it was time to move on. In his experience, women tended
not to take the news too well and Jane had been no exception. He
shrugged to himself; it wasn’t a problem. The spot she left in his
bed was easily filled.

But vain? That
had cut deeply. He wasn’t vain. Not by a long stretch of the
imagination. Sure he liked to look good. There was a big difference
between checking in the mirror to make sure your hair wasn’t
standing on end or that you hadn’t missed a spot shaving, and the
full-on male bimbo thing. Metro-sexual they called themselves
apparently. Didn’t make a blind bit of difference to him what name
they used, any man that had more cosmetic products than a woman
needed his head checked, in Logan’s opinion.

* * *

The door opened
to reveal Cat Lady in all her glory. Only she wasn’t what he was
expecting. She wasn’t a cat lady at all, at least not the
stereotypical crazy old cat lady. His imagination had conjured up a
woman in her late forties with thick bottle-bottom glasses and bad
hair. Instead, a younger woman who couldn’t have been older than
her late twenties stood in front of him. Not only was she not a cat
lady, but she was stunning to boot. Warm chocolate eyes, a pert
little nose, and full, full lips that just begged to be kissed; the
combination gave her an elegant, exotic look he was sure should be
gracing a screen somewhere since she looked a little like Audrey
Hepburn.

Speechless,
Logan’s gaze carried on downward. Slender and petite, she was
dressed in a white tunic and trousers, her rich, dark hair twisted
into a haphazard pleat. His hands itched to pull the clip out and
watch her hair tumble around her shoulders. A loose, dark mass for
him to slide his hands through, use to pull her head back whilst he
claimed her lips…

Shaking his
head to dislodge the image, he realised she was looking at him in
expectation. Shit, she’d spoken and he’d been so wrapped up in his
own little fantasy world he hadn’t heard her. He chastised himself;
he knew better than that. He’d learnt early in his career not to
take his eye of the ball, that was a sure-fire way to get bitten in
the ass.

“I do
apologise, I was speechless for a moment. I didn’t expect to find
such a beauty out in the middle of nowhere like this.” He recovered
in a heartbeat, giving her his most charming smile. Behind his blue
eyes the cogs turned as he rearranged his initial thought that the
cat lady was the wife of the guy he’d come here to see.