One Night in Paradise (11 page)

But when Jake was born, he’d felt the weight of purpose. And when he died, it hadn’t gone away. He hadn’t fit anymore. In one blinding, clear moment he saw everything he’d done that was wrong, selfish, careless. He saw how his stupidity had cost everyone so much.

And he’d left. Left who he was. Left everyone he knew. And every day that passed was one day farther away from that awful day in the hospital. That day that had felt like someone reaching into his chest and yanking his emotions out, twisting them, distorting them.

He had never wanted to feel that way again. Ever. Even more importantly, he’d never wanted to have anything unplanned happen ever again. He wanted control. To plan, to consider the cost of his actions. To be in charge of his life.

He wasn’t sure why he’d told Clara about it. Although she had asked why the birth-control lapse was such a big deal to him. But then, a few of his girlfriends had wanted to know why he used every method he could think of to prevent pregnancy. It had cost him relationships since the women involved
had taken it as a sign of just how much he didn’t want to be with them.

And while it was true he hadn’t been looking for forever, his reasoning hadn’t quite been what they’d assumed. Still, he hadn’t felt compelled to tell them the story. Maybe it was because Clara was … Clara. She was the one person who had been in his life with any regularity for the past decade.

And now he’d likely screwed it up by sleeping with her. Or by kissing her. Or maybe he’d screwed it up the moment he’d asked her to play fiancée and go on his honeymoon.

He pushed open the stainless-steel double doors that led to the baking facility and saw Clara, bending down and looking in one of the ovens.

He took the opportunity to enjoy the view, the way her skirt hugged the round curve of her butt. It was a crime that she’d been made to feel insecure about those curves. He flashed back to the heady moments in his office, when he’d had her skirt pushed up around her hips, when he’d been ready to.

She straightened and turned, her brown eyes widening. “Oh! I didn’t know you were here.”

“Just walked in. What did you make me?”

“I think you’ll like them. I have some cooling. I’m going to pass them out at lunch hour tomorrow.”

“No walnuts?”

“None. They’re Orange Cream. Don’t look at me like that, they’ll be good.” She handed him a vaguely orange cupcake with white frosting, coated in bright orange sugar crystals.

“It has orange zest in the cake, and there’s a Bavarian cream in the center. And the frosting is buttercream.”

“All things I like.” He took a bite, relishing the burst of sweet citrus and cream. She really was a genius. She’d hooked him with her cupcake-making skills the first time he’d met her, and he’d known then he had to have her for his company. That with her, his line of baked goods would be a massive success. And they had been.

And now she was leaving him.

“Good,” he said, even though now he was having a hard time swallowing the bite.

“See? I told you.”

“And I told you you wouldn’t be easily replaced. You’re the best at what you do.”

She smiled, a sort of funny smile that almost made her look sad. “I do bake a mean cupcake. I’m glad you like them.”

He wasn’t going to ask her what was wrong. Because he wasn’t sure if he could fix it, and he was afraid he might be the cause of it. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, ready. Oh, wait.” She stopped and moved toward him, her eyes fixed on his mouth. His entire body was hot and hard instantly. Ready for her touch, her kiss. She extended her hand and put her thumb on the corner of his mouth. “You had some frosting there,” she said, her tone as sweet as her cupcakes, her eyes filled with a knowing, sexual expression that told him she was tormenting him, and she knew it. It was going to be an interesting few weeks.

“I
’M
not going to bite you.”

Clara glared at Zack from her position in the passenger side of his sporty little two-seater. She was clinging to the door handle, her shoulder smashed against the window. As much space between them as was humanly possible in the tiny metal cage.

The first words that bubbled up were
well that’s a shame.
But she held them back, because she was not going to flirt with him. Was not. And she was going to forget about that lapse in the kitchen when she’d wiped the frosting from his mouth. She hadn’t licked it off and that had been her first inclination, so really, her self-control was pretty rock solid.

“I know,” she said. Much more innocuous than an invitation to bite her, that was for sure.

“Then stop clinging to the door handle like you’re planning on jumping out when there’s a lull in traffic.”

She laughed, somehow, even though most of her felt anything but amused by the entire situation. “I’m not, I promise.” She relaxed her hold on the door.

“Good.” They pulled down into the underground parking lot of Roasted and into the spot that was second closest to the elevator. He’d given her the closest spot years ago. Some sort of chivalrous gesture, silly, but at the time she’d loved it.

He put the car in Park and killed the engine, getting out
and closing the door behind him. She watched him straighten his shirt collar through the window. He hated ties. He didn’t wear them unless he had to. It was sexier when he didn’t, in her opinion. It showed a little bit of his sculpted chest, a bit of dark hair. Of course, it was sexier when he didn’t wear a shirt at all.

She felt the door give behind her and she squeaked, tightening her hold on the handle. Zack had opened it, just a bit, and was looking down at her, the expression on his face wicked.

“Are you going to sit in there all day? Because we have a meeting,” he said.

“Creep,” she said, no venom in her tone.

He winked and darn it all, it made her stomach turn over. “Only during business hours.”

She released her hold on the door and he opened it the rest of the way, waiting for her to get out before pushing the up button on the lift. When they got in and the door closed, the easy moment evaporated.

The tension was back, and so thick she could hardly breathe. Judging by the sharp pitch of his chest when he drew in a breath, he felt the same. It made her feel better. Slightly.

“So, when is he coming in?”

“Soon,” Zack said, his eyes fixed on the doors.

“Oh.”

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. Clara nearly sagged with relief as she scurried out of the elevator, eager to get back into non-shared air space.

When she and Zack walked into the main reception area the employees milling around, scavenging on last night’s baking efforts stopped and clapped for them. She ducked her head and offered a smile and finger wave. She didn’t know if Zack made a reciprocal gesture or not. She was far too busy not dying of humiliation.

The gleaming, golden elevator doors that would take them
up to their offices were just up ahead. She made a dash for it, and Zack got in behind her, the doors sliding closed.

“So many elevators,” she said.

“Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” she said.

Two interminable minutes later they were on the floor that housed both of their offices. “I have work to do,” she said, heading toward her own office. A little sanctuary would not go amiss.

“No time, Amudee is in the building. My office.”

He put his hand on the small of her back and directed her into his office, closing the door behind them. A horrible, hot, tantalizing sense of déjà vu hit her. Their eyes clashed and held, his all steel heat and temptation. He took a step toward her just as the intercom on his desk phone went on.

“Mr. Parsons? Mr. Amudee is here to see you.”

Zack leaned back and punched a button on the phone. “Send him in.”

She wished she were relieved. She wasn’t. She was just disappointed that she hadn’t gotten to experience the conclusion of Zack’s step forward. Of what he might have intended to do.

Zack’s office door opened and the reason for their charade walked in, looking as personable and cheerful as ever, the lines by his dark eyes deepening as he smiled. “Good to see you again. Zack, I stopped by one of your locations here in the city on my way in, I was very impressed.”

“Thank you, Mr. Amudee,” Zack said, his charm turned on and dialed up several notches.

She watched Zack work, a sense of awe overtaking her. He was good, and she knew that, but seeing him in action was always incredible. He was smart and he was savvy. And the best part was, he really was a man of ethical business practices.

That, she knew, was the thing that made working with Amudee so important to him. Because he didn’t just want to import coffee and tea from any farm. He didn’t want to get
involved in a share-cropping situation. He didn’t want anyone being taken advantage of so that he could turn a profit.

Unfortunately Amudee seemed just as picky about who he did business with. And when money wasn’t the be all and end all … you couldn’t just throw dollars at it to solve everything. Dollars Zack had. It was the fiancée he’d found himself short of.

She toyed with the ring on her finger, her secondhand ring. The one that had belonged to Hannah. She would be a happy woman the moment she could get it off her finger and keep it off, that was for sure.

“So, dinner tonight, then?” Zack said. “Clara?” he prompted.

“Oh, yes. Tonight. Dinner.”

“And as for today, I’d be happy to give you a tour of the corporate office. You can see how we run things here.”

Mr. Amudee nodded in approval and started to head out the office door with Zack. “So,” she said, “I think I’ll go to my office and get some work done then.”

“Great.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek before walking out of the room.

She knew it was an empty gesture, all part of the show. But it still made her feel like she was floating to her office instead of walking. And no matter how much she tried to tell herself not to think about it, her cheek burned for the rest of the morning.

“What is this?”

When Zack had seen Clara’s number flash onto his cell-phone screen, he’d heard her sweet hello before he’d even answered. So being greeted by a venomous hiss was an unexpected, unpleasant surprise.

“What is what, Clara? I’m currently battling traffic on North Point so I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“This dress. This … Do you even call it a dress? I mean it’s
short and slinky and I think the neckline is designed to show skin all the way down to a woman’s belly button.”

“I saw it, and I liked it, so I had my PA send it over.”

“I agreed to a lot when I agreed to play fiancée, but I did not,” she growled and paused for a moment before continuing, “agree to stuff myself into a gown that has all the give of saran wrap like a Vienna sausage!”

“I like the visual, but your attitude needs work.”

“Your head needs work,” she shot back.

“Wear the dress.” He hung up the phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat before maneuvering his car against the curb in front of Clara’s apartment.

He didn’t bother to wait for the elevator. He took the stairs two at a time and knocked on her door, beneath the pretty, pink flowery wreath thing she had hung there. A clever ruse to make people think the owner of the apartment was sweetness and light when, at the moment, she was spitting flame and sulfur.

The door jerked open and he met Clara’s glittering brown eyes. And then he looked down and all of the blood in his body roared south.

She was right about the dress. A deep scarlet, it would draw the eye of everyone in the restaurant. And while it didn’t show her belly button, it did put her amazing cleavage on display. The soft, rounded curves of her breasts were accentuated by the sweetheart neckline, the pleating in the waist showing off just how tiny she was, before her hips flared out, the fabric conforming to that gorgeous, hourglass shape of hers.

“I am not going out in this.”

“It’s too late for you to change,” he said, barely able to force himself to raise his eyes to her face. He had to admit, the dress was counterproductive as when it came to trying to put Clara back into the proper compartment she was meant to be in in his life, he didn’t want her to change.

He wanted to look at her in that dress for as long as he could.
And then, he wanted to lower the zipper on the back of it and watch it slither down her body. He wanted to see her again, soft, naked and begging him to take her.

“Zack …”

“Do you have something against looking sexy?”

“What? No.”

“Then what’s the problem? If it honestly offends your modesty in some way, fine, change. But otherwise, you look …”

“Like I’m trying too hard?”

He took a step and she backed away from the door, letting him into the apartment. He shouldn’t touch her. Not even an innocent gesture. Because with the thoughts that were running through his brain, nothing could be innocent.

He did anyway, and he ignored the voice in his head telling him to stay in control. He was in control. He could touch her without doing more. He was the master of his body, of his emotions.

He put his finger on her jaw, traced the line of it down her neck, to her exposed collarbone.

“You look effortless. As though bringing men to their knees is something you do every day of the week without breaking a sweat. You look like the kind of woman who can have anyone or anything she wants.”

“I … I … well, I don’t appreciate you dressing me,” she said. “It’s demeaning.”

“I don’t know if it was demeaning, but selfish, perhaps.”

“Selfish?”

“Because I’m enjoying looking at you so much.”

She bent down and picked up a black shawl from the couch, looping it over her arms before grabbing a black clutch purse from the little side table. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

She breezed out the door ahead of him, clearly resigned to wearing the dress.

“Probably not,” he said, his tone light.

“But you did anyway,” she said, turning to face him.

“I did. There are a lot of things I shouldn’t have said or done over the past couple of weeks, and yet, it seems I’ve said and done them all.”

“I haven’t,” she said, turning away from him again and heading down the stairs, eager to avoid being in an elevator with him, he imagined.

“Oh, really?”

“Mmm. I have been virtuous. I’ve wanted to say and do many things in the past week that I haven’t.”

“Why do I feel disappointed by that news?”

“I don’t know. You shouldn’t be,” she said, her stilettos clicking and echoing in the stairwell. “You should be thankful.” She pushed open the exterior door and they both walked out into the cool evening air.

“I find I’m not.”

“I can’t help you there.”

Something hot and reckless sparked in him. She must have noticed because she backed away from him until she bumped against his car. That was a picture, Clara, in scarlet silk, leaning against his black sports car. The fantasies that were rolling through his mind should be illegal.

“I wish you could,” he said, taking a step toward her.

She shook her head. “There’s no help for either of us.”

“I’m starting to think that might be true.”

He wanted to kiss the red off her lips. He wanted to take her back upstairs and do something about the unbearable ache that had settled in his body more than a week ago and hadn’t released him since.

“Let’s go. We have a dinner date,” he said, his voice curt, harsher than he’d intended.

She nodded and went around to the passenger side and he let out a long, slow breath, trying to ease the tension in his body.

Being with her once hadn’t helped at all. One night hadn’t been enough.

But there wouldn’t be another night. There would be no point to it.