Slightly Imperfect (20 page)

"Love Marcus with your voice and defy me at the same time with your eyes. That's impressive."

Her lips threatened to smile, but recovered.

The twins' shrill voices drifted down the stairs, along with the soft television drone. At the bottom of the stairs, Zac and Victoria kept their gazes pointing upward until Marcus appeared on the landing.

"I knew you'd come." His tone confident, he laced the smile he gave Victoria with tender derision.

"Bring your book,
amigo
." The moment Marcus was out of hearing range, Zac faced Victoria, his eyes questioning.

"I thought you might not—"

His look quieted her. "That's not going to happen." He tried to soften his voice, swallow his agitation. "Please don't confuse him over what's going on with you and me."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. She turned and disappeared through the hallowed door at the far end of the large room, the door Zac had not yet been privileged to enter. Later, while he and Marcus worked from the Spanish book, she passed through the room, calling a soft goodnight before leaving.

Apparently, Spanish pillow talk was all she cared to know.

* * *

Zac pitched a computer printout back into the center of Luke's desk and settled in his chair across from Luke.

"If you fell in a sewer, Zac, you'd come up holding a silver dollar."

"Thanks, Luke, I guess." He smiled dubiously. "Business is up, profits are good. All you needed was a new partner who doesn't know enough about the restaurant business to screw you up."

"Maybe." Luke shrugged. "How's the surrogate father business these days?"

"I like it. We're having fun."

"And the surrogate mom? How's she on a scale of one to ten?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "Yet."

Luke laughed.

"But this is it, Luke. God meant Victoria and me to be together. It's just a question of time."

"Sometimes, Zaccheus, I'm not sure you operate with your sharpest knife."

Zac looked puzzled.

"She has three kids."

"Right. And that puts me two ahead of where I was before Allie died, but Victoria and I call them
children
. As soon as we have our own, life will be perfect." He punctuated his declaration with a smile. "Again."

"Still holding out for perfect. Huh, Zac?"

"I'm getting closer. If I don't get anxious and screw up."

"If God made this woman for you, bro, it's too bad a couple of other guys got there first."

Yeah. The Abriendo family wasn't wild about Victoria. He pushed down his initial reaction, told himself Luke had his best interests at heart and would try any tactic to prove a point. But Zac had the answer for Luke's little test; he'd spent some time thinking about it.

"Not really bad. That was conditioning. For both of us."

"Papa isn't going to be happy about you taking up with another
gringa
."

"He likes Jan just fine. Adores her, I'd say."

"She's proven herself. When we split up he called her Anglo scum. Her coming back did it for Papa." He cocked a brow. "Is Victoria willing to prove herself?"

"I don't know, Luke. I sure haven't gotten
that
far. It's kind of like a Disney movie. You know—gentling a spirited animal. I'm treading quietly. She's pretty wounded."

"You mean over that scandal involving Tomas Cordera and her brother?"

Zac considered trying to explain the cousin-brother relationship, but, lacking the skills, he only nodded.

"Another plus for Jan," Luke said. "Her picture wasn't smeared all over the Houston paper for days on end."

"Papa remembers that?"

"One of the girls reminded him. Concepcion, I think."

"Nice," Zac murmured, then brightened. "Papa will get over it. He may be crippled, but he's not blind."

Luke's laugh had a begrudging edge.

"And it's time Papa conformed to the brave new world."

A brief silence fell between them. Luke sipped coffee, leaning back in his chair in a settled-in way that made Zac want to give him more facts, bring him along as a constituent.

"I like being in love. Being loved in return. But I really like being needed, being able to make a difference, and that could definitely be the case with Victoria."

His brother studied him, waiting.

"I don't know, Luke. She... touches something in me."

"So did Carron. You felt needed there, as I remember—thought you could love her enough to keep her from dying. It didn't work, Zac. You screwed up a lot of lives and got your heart broken. This might not work either. Whatever mission you've staked out for yourself."

"This is different."

"Always." He smiled. "But, are you sure you want to compete with a ghost?"

"Why not?" He raised his brows. "You mean just because her deranged obsession with Cordera destroyed a marriage, a political campaign and got Cordera killed? No problem." He shrugged, feigning confidence with a grin. "I'm conditioned for hardship. I was the longest distance runner in high school, the fastest in college. I win every fishing contest I enter, and I could lift the heaviest crates on that freighter. I'm victory material."

Luke's smile turned tolerant. "That doesn't count, Zaccie. Affairs of the heart and mind don't require stamina or brawn. You'd better give it some thought."

"I have a big heart and the most attuned mind in Galveston County. I want her and her entourage. I'll fight for her."

"Fine." Luke pitched forward in his chair with finality. "I see your attuned mind is made up. But it may be difficult to fight an adversary you can't see."

Astute, considering he'd never even told Luke about Coby.

* * *

Victoria heard footsteps outside the bathroom door before she caught Zac's reflection in the vanity mirror. She gathered her robe, pulling it up onto her shoulders and together at her breasts. Quickly, but too late. His dark gaze lingered on what he had observed. Even across the room his eyes ignited. She waited to be angry at his intrusion, but the emotion didn't materialize.

For the first time in two weeks, she had sat in on the Spanish lesson, silent, noncommittal. When Zac went up to see Marcus to bed she had retired as well.

As he watched now, she dipped her fingers in a jar on the marble vanity, splotched her cheekbones, chin and forehead. She spread the white globs, portraying indifference as her heart pounded. "I thought you'd gone."

"You and I didn't say goodnight." He turned his back for a moment, one shoulder braced against the doorframe, looking back into the bedroom he had passed through. "The sacred room," he said quietly. "So Tommy built all this for you and him."

"Yes."

"Probably the most beautiful room I've ever seen." He faced her reflection again.

She smiled into the mirror. She blended white cream into foundation, blush and eye shadow, working her fingers in circles to produce a myriad of color. She tried ignoring his interested gaze, the tenderness in his smile.

"Is that the secret?" Dislodging himself from the door, he came toward her and balanced one haunch on the counter, one foot on the floor. Abruptly the room grew close, small. He picked up the jar of cleanser, sniffed it, held it. "Is this what makes you so beautiful?"

"Beauty comes off with a tissue." She reached for one, wiping her forehead gently.

He smiled his disagreement, returning the jar to the counter.

"Thank you for seeing Marcus to bed. Sometimes—" She fell quiet, her own smile a little contrite. "It's nice, every now and then, to be just me. You may not understand." She wiped, discarded the tissue, took another, ran it across her eyelids tenderly.

"I understand." He rose, walked to the open closet door. "You still have his clothes." His tone tangled in incredulity, derision and defeat.

She stared at his reflected form. He stood with his back to her, one shoulder against the door again, arms folded on his chest. Dark head cocked, he gazed into the cavern of clothing. His posture honed the feeling of helplessness she experienced when she sometimes took down a shirt of Tommy's, or a sweater, and slept with it clutched to her breasts.

Lately she hadn't welcomed Tommy's ghost so much.

Zac went into the closet, saying over his shoulder, "Nice. I wonder if I could fill these?"

She discarded the soiled tissue and waited, heart racing, her eyes on the door until he reappeared.

He held a delicate white silk shirt in his hands, carried a pair of soft, leather loafers. He stood in the opening, staring at her pointedly, prompting her to speak.

"You have wonderful clothes. You wouldn't want Tommy's."

"Besides... " His tone made her steady herself, as though for a blow. "He's been dead long enough for his clothes to be out of style. Right, Victoria?"

She forced a smile as she drew her long braid over her shoulder, removing the black velvet ribbon at the end. Her fingers worked the elastic that held the braid intact.

"I want his woman, not his clothes."

Her hand froze.

"Can I do that?" The abrupt way he discarded the shirt, the shoes, depreciated their significance. He moved to stand behind her, his hands easing the braid from her grasp.

The way her body quickened at his touch astounded her. She secured the silk robe where it wrapped her breasts, pulling the belt tighter. Their eyes locked as he unleashed the intricacies of the braid.

"I've wanted to do this since Portofino." His smile negated the sensual message in his eyes. He ran his fingers into the mass, separating the twisted, ropy strands, fingertips caressing her scalp and temples.

Her eyes closed for a moment, heavily.

"What do you call the color of your hair?" he whispered hoarsely. "Winter flax? Wheat? Honey?"

Desire leaped in her, denying dormancy, vying for freedom.

His hands on either side of her face urged her backward against him, her head against his chest. His erection pressing the small of her back echoed her own response.

"Zac, the children—"

"Lizbett is with them."

Her eyes closed again, shutting out the reflected, unmasked intention in his. He drew her half around on the stool, knelt before her, easing the silky robe away from her throat, past her shoulders.

Her hand shot up, gripping the lapels of the robe. "Don't."

Catching her free hand, he cupped a breast. The hard quickening of her nipple, beneath the fragile fabric, rode the rushing wake between her thighs when he lowered his mouth to the hollow of her shoulder. Her back arched reflexively. She hated the muted groan that screamed in the silence. He kissed the hollow of her throat, raised his head and met her eyes as his hands invaded her grasp, parting the robe, easing it down her arms. Exposing her. She shook her head, eyes imploring, but her chest heaved, her breathing a betrayal.

Satisfaction settled on his dark face. She had never seen a more sated smile.

"You're
so
beautiful, Victoria. I knew you would be."

He drew the fingertips of both hands away from her throat, across her shoulders, back toward the hollow of her throat and then down, out, circling the contour of her breasts. He eased his fingertips beneath the flesh folding onto her ribcage before cupping her breasts.

In the mirror she watched him lower his dark head, press his face against her, take her into his warm, gentle mouth. Her reflected hands pulled him in, even as her mind denied the erotic surge that jolted her.

"I don't want this to happen," she breathed, head bent, lips against his course, jet hair.

His laughter was gentle, sweet. "Yes you do." He brought his hands to either side of her face, covered her mouth with his at last. His lips were full and hot. Probing. Assuring and urging her to open to him. "I love you," he vowed into the cavern of her mouth, into her being. "I love you and all you are. I want you." He stood, pulled her up with him. The robe fell about her waist.

She moved her head, her mouth away. "No," she said gently. Her palm on his chin stayed him. When she pushed his hand away from her body she ran cold, deprived, wanting what she denied herself. "No, Zac. Please, no."

"Why?" He sobered. "Tell me why. Make me believe it."

"I'll lose you."

"You'll never lose me. You're my life. I'm going to be your life. Nothing can change that."

"I don't want to love you." She met his eyes, felt her throat fill, broaden. When she strained back he released her. She quickly worked her arms into the robe. "I don't want to have sex—to make love with you. I know what will happen."

"Then tell me," he urged. "If I know, too, I can stop it."

"Tommy was—"

"Tomas Cordera is dead. But if he was half the man you remember him as—if he knew me, and how much I love you—he'd be glad for us. He'd look the other way."

She flinched with the vision.

"That's real love, Victoria. Being willing to give it up when it's over. I'm ready to do that. I'm alive, and I'm hungry for you. Tommy isn't. You're alive, and Carron isn't. Think about it."

"Everything will change. Sex—intimacy—changes people. We'll start to make demands and—"

"Make all you want."

A current of relief and regret shot through her when he pulled the gaping robe together, tucked, retied it.

He caressed the sides of her throat. "I'll comply with the
demands
I can, and explain away the rest. I'll try not to demand anything of you. Just be faithful to me—and trust me,
novia
."

"We'll hurt each other. We won't mean to or want to—sometimes we
will
want to. It will happen." She thought of Tommy's possessiveness, his attempts to control her when all he had wanted was to love her. In the ensuing complications, that hadn't been possible. She thought of Christian's vague rejection—all those years ago when she had needed him so badly—driving her in her weakness back to Tommy. She thought of Coby. "We're friends, Zac. So much truth has passed between us. We have so much in common. Why should we tamper with that?"

Her eyes widened when he urged her face up, touched her lips with his, gently at first. Then he moved his mouth on hers, slowly, lazily stimulating her. He flicked his tongue against her teeth, gaining instant admission.