A Facade to Shatter

Chapter NINE

“YOU DON’T NEED to do that.”

Lia looked up from the rosebush she’d been pruning to find Zach watching her. She hadn’t heard him approach. He stood there, so big and dark and handsome that her heart skipped a beat in response.

He was wearing faded jeans and a navy T-shirt, and his hands were shoved in his pockets. He looked … delicious. And somehow weary, too.

Lia frowned. Larry the gardener had moved farther down the row. He was whistling and cutting, whistling and cutting. If he knew Zach had arrived, he didn’t show it. Except that he moved even farther away, presumably out of earshot, and she knew he was aware of his boss’s presence, after all.

Lia focused on Zach again. “I know that,” she said. “I want to.”

Zach’s gaze dropped. “You don’t have any gloves. What if you scratch yourself?”

Lia glanced down at her bare hands holding the pruning shears. “I’m careful. Besides, I’m not in a race.”

She thought he might argue with her, but instead he asked, “Did you work in your grandparents’ garden?”

She lopped off a spent bloom and set the shears down to carefully extract it from the bush. “Yes. I enjoy growing things. I’m pretty good at it, too.”

“I don’t doubt that. But you shouldn’t be out here. It’s hot, and you’re pregnant.”

As if in response to his reminder about the heat, a trickle of moisture slid between her breasts. “It’s hot in Sicily, too. And the doctor said I should get some exercise. It’s not good to sit indoors and do nothing.”

“I have a gym, and a perfectly good treadmill. You can walk on it.”

“I want to be outside, Zach. I want to be in the garden.”

He frowned. “All right, fine. But not more than half an hour at a time, and not after nine in the morning or before five at night.”

Lia blinked at him. “Why, thank you, your majesty,” she said. “How very generous of you.”

“Lia.” Zach reached for her hand, took it gently in his. Instantly, a rush of sensation flooded her. She would have pulled free—except that she liked the feeling. “I’m not trying to be difficult. But you aren’t used to the heat here. It’s oppressively muggy in the summer, and it’ll get to you before you realize it. Besides, we have a busy schedule and I don’t want you to exhaust yourself.”

Lia reached for another bloom with her free hand, only this time she was rattled from his touch and she grasped it too low on the stem. A sharp thorn punctured her thumb and she cried out. Zach swore softly and grabbed her hand. Now, he held both her hands between his.

Blood welled in a bright round bubble on the fleshy pad of her thumb.

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to pull her hand away.

Zach’s grip tightened. “You’re coming inside and washing it.”

Lia sighed. She knew she wasn’t going to win this battle. Besides, it was kind of nice that he was concerned. She shook herself mentally. There was no sense reading more into his concern than there was.

“Fine.”

She called to Larry, who waved and smiled after she explained why she had to go. Then she followed Zach up to the house. He led her into the kitchen and slid on the taps. When the water was hot, he poured soap in her hand and made her wash.

“It’s a rosebush, Zach, not a used hypodermic needle.”

“Better safe than sorry,” was all he said.

She finished washing, and then frowned while Zach put a dab of antibiotic ointment on her thumb and covered it with a Band-Aid.

When she looked up at him, his dark eyes were intent on her, his brows drawn down as he studied her. Her heart skipped the way it always did. Angrily, she tamped down on the rising tide of want within her.

“Did you eat breakfast yet?”

“I had a cup of tea and some toast,” she said a touch breathlessly.

Zach frowned. “That’s not good enough,” he muttered, turning away from her and grabbing a pan off the hanging rack. “You need protein.”

Lia crossed her arms, bemused suddenly. “Are you planning to cook for me?”

He glanced up at her, still scowling. And then he grinned and she had to catch her breath at the transformation of his features. “I can, actually. I had to learn when I entered the service. The air force frowns on hired help in the bachelor officers’ quarters.”

A man from a rich family who’d grown up with chefs and servants suddenly having to cook for himself? What an adjustment that must have been.

“Allora,” she said. “It’s a wonder you didn’t starve.”

He winked. “I’m a quick learner.”

He retrieved eggs and cheese from the refrigerator. The housekeeper came in, took one look at the pan and him and shrugged. She retrieved whatever thing she’d come for—Lia didn’t pay attention—and was gone again.

Lia didn’t actually think she could eat anything else right now, but she was too fascinated to stop him from cracking the eggs and whipping them.

“So why did you join the air force? Couldn’t you have learned to fly planes anyway?”

His back was to her. She wasn’t sure what was on his face just then, but he stiffened slightly, the fork ceasing to swirl the eggs for half a second before he started again. She berated herself for injecting a note of discord into the conversation when it had seemed to be going so well.

“I wouldn’t have been able to fly fighter jets, no. I could have bought one, I suppose. The older ones come up for sale sometimes—but it’s not quite the same. Besides, I wanted to serve my country.”

“A noble cause.”

He shrugged. “Yes.” Then he stopped again, his broad shoulders tight. A moment later, he turned to her. His expression was troubled. “No, that’s not why I did it,” he said softly. “I joined the military because I wanted to get away from life as Zachariah J. Scott IV. I didn’t want the career at Scott Pharmaceuticals, the governorship of a state, the senate run and then maybe the presidency. Those are my father’s dreams, not mine. I wanted to do something that mattered.”

Lia’s heart felt as if it had stopped beating. Dear God, he was sharing something with her. Something important. She didn’t want to screw it up.

“You seem to have done that,” she said. She thought of the medal in her room and knew he’d gotten it for good reasons. But why had he thrown it away?

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But here I am, and all that my time in the military did for me was set me up for even greater success if I were to follow the path my father wants.”

“I think those things matter, too, Zach. It takes a lot of sacrifice to serve your country in any manner, don’t you think?”

He glanced at her. “You’re right, of course. Still …”

“It’s not the path you want to take,” she said when he didn’t finish the sentence.

He slid the pan onto the stove and added a pat of butter. Then he turned on the burner. “No, I don’t.”

“What do you want, then?”

He looked at her for a long minute. “I want to fly. But I don’t get to do that anymore, no matter that I want to.” The butter started to sizzle. Zach poured in the eggs and swirled them in the pan.

“Surely there’s something else,” she said softly.

His gaze was sharp. “I want to help people returning from the war. It’s not easy to go back to your life after you’ve been through hell.”

Lia swallowed. He was talking from experience. And it suddenly made something clear. “Which is why you speak at these fundraisers.”

“Yeah.”

Yet he wasn’t comfortable doing it. That much she knew from watching the effect on him last night. Oh, he was good at it—but it took a toll on him each and every time. “That’s a good thing, then. I’m sure it makes a difference.”

He shrugged. “It helps fund programs to return vets to a normal life. It also keeps the public aware of the need.”

The eggs set in the pan, and Zach added the cheese. Soon, he was sliding the omelet onto a plate and carrying it to the kitchen island. He turned to look at her expectantly.

“Coming?”

How could she say no? She was ridiculously touched that he’d made her an omelet, and ridiculously touched that he’d shared something private with her. She walked over to the island and hopped onto the bar stool. Zach retrieved a fork and napkin, poured her a glass of juice and sat across from her, chin on his hand as he watched her take the first bite.

The omelet was good, creamy and buttery, with just the right amount of cheese. But it was hard to eat it when he was watching her. She could feel her face growing hot as she slid a bite between her lips.

“You have to stop staring at me,” she finally said when her heart was thrumming and her face was so hot that he surely must see the pink suffusing her skin.

“I want to make sure you eat it all.”

“I won’t be able to if you don’t stop watching me.”

He sighed. “Fine.” He sat back on the bar stool and turned to look out the window. “Better?”

“Yes. Grazie.”

Though she hadn’t thought she was hungry, the omelet was good enough that she took another bite. Lia glanced up at Zach, and her heart pinched in that funny way it did whenever she realized how very attractive he was. And how little she really knew him.

“Thank you,” she said after a minute. “It’s very good.”

“Hard to mess up an omelet,” he said. “But I’m glad you like it.”

“I could,” she said. “Mess up an omelet, that is.”

He turned to look at her. “You can’t cook?”

She shrugged. “Not really, no. Nonna tried to teach me, but I’m hopeless with the whole thing. I get the pan too hot or not hot enough. I either burn things or make gelatinous messes. I decided it was best to step away from the kitchen and let others do the work. Better for all involved.”

“How long have you lived with your grandparents?”

“Since I was a baby,” she said, her heart aching for a different reason now. The old feelings of shame and inadequacy and confusion suffused her. “My mother died when I was little and my father sent me to my grandparents. I grew up there.”

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what it’s like to lose a mother, but I can’t imagine it was easy.”

Lia shrugged. “I don’t remember her, but I know she was very beautiful. A movie star who fell in love with a handsome Sicilian and gave up everything to be with him. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out.” She moved a slice of omelet around on the plate. “My father remarried soon after she died.”

She could see him trying to work it out. Why she hadn’t gone to live with her father and his new wife. Why they’d left a baby with her grandparents. Bitterness flooded her then. She’d often wondered the same thing herself, until she was old enough to know why they didn’t take her back. She was simply unwanted.

The words poured out before she could stop them. “My father pretended like his new family was the only family he had. He did not want me. He never sent presents or called or acknowledged me the few times he did see me. It was as if I was someone else’s child rather than his.”

Zach reached for her hand, enclosed it in his big, warm one. “Lia, I’m sorry that happened to you.”

She sniffed. “Yes, well. Now you know why I had to tell you about the baby. I didn’t have a father. I wanted one.”

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I understand.”

Ridiculously, a tear spilled down her cheek. She turned her head, hoping he wouldn’t see. But of course he did. He put a finger under her chin and turned her back again. She kept her eyes downcast, hoping that if she didn’t look at him, she wouldn’t keep crying. She didn’t want to seem weak or emotional, and yet that’s exactly how she felt at the moment.

Thinking of her childhood, and the way her father had rejected her, always made her feel vulnerable. Another tear fell, and then another.

Zach wiped them away silently. She was grateful he didn’t say anything else. He just let her cry.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a minute. “I don’t know why …” Her voice trailed off into nothing as she swallowed hard to keep the knot in her throat from breaking free.

Zach let her go and scraped back from the island. Another moment and he was by her side, pulling her into the warm solidness of his body.

She pressed her face against his chest and closed her eyes. Her arms, she vaguely realized, were around his waist, holding tight. He put a hand in her hair, cupping her head. The other rubbed her back.

“It’s okay, Lia. Sometimes you have to let it out.”

She held him hard for a long time—and then she pushed away, not because she didn’t enjoy being in his arms, but because she was enjoying it too much. Her life was confusing enough already.

“I haven’t cried over this in years,” she said, not looking at him. “I’m sure it’s the hormones.”

“No doubt.”

She swiped her palms beneath her cheeks and wiped them on her leggings. Dio, how attractive she must be right now, with puffy eyes and a red nose.

“It won’t happen again,” she said fiercely. “I’m over it.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “I wonder—do we ever get over the things that affect us so profoundly? Or do we just think we do?”

Lia sniffled. “I’d like to think so. Not that the past doesn’t inform our experience, but if all we do is dwell on it, how will we ever have much of a present?”

She felt a little like a hypocrite, considering how often she’d felt unwanted and out of sync with her family. But she didn’t let it rule her. Or she was determined not to. Perhaps that was a better way of saying it. It crept in from time to time, like now, but that didn’t mean it was in charge.

His eyes glittered in the morning light. “Precisely. And yet sometimes we can’t help but dwell on a thing.”

She knew what he meant. “Your dreams.”

“That’s part of it.”

Lia closed her eyes for a moment. She was in over her head with this. How could what she’d been through compare to his ordeal? Shot down, injured, nearly killed, watching others be killed before your eyes. It made her shiver.

“I think maybe there’s something in our psyches that won’t let go,” she said. “Until one day it does.”

He looked troubled. “There were things that happened out there, things—”

He stopped talking abruptly, turned his head to look out the window. His jaw was hard, tight. But he swallowed once, heavily, and her heart went out to him.

“What things?” she whispered, her throat aching. When he turned back to her, his eyes were hot, burning with an emotion that stunned her. Self-loathing? It didn’t seem possible, and yet …

He opened his mouth. And then closed it again. Finally, he spoke. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “No.”

Jesus, he was losing his mind. She’d been here for two days and he wanted to tell her everything. He wanted to take her to his bed, strip her naked and worship every last inch of her body. Which she would not allow him to do if he told her his darkest fears. His deepest secrets.

If she knew how flawed he was, she’d run far and fast in the opposite direction. She’d take that baby in her womb and get the hell away from him. Hell, she’d probably get a restraining order against him.

Her eyes were wide and blue as she sat on that bar stool and looked up at him. Innocent.

God, Lia was so very innocent. She would never understand what he’d been through, or what he’d almost done out there in that trench. Hell, he didn’t understand it himself. He lived with the guilt every minute of his life and he still didn’t understand it.

She was at a loss for words. He could see that. She dropped her gaze again, and he stepped away from her, breathed in air that wasn’t scented with her intoxicating lavender and vanilla and lemon scent.

His body was hard. Aching. He hadn’t needed a woman this much in … well, he couldn’t remember. The last time had been with her. He wanted her again.

Now wouldn’t be soon enough. But she was sweet and delicate and pregnant. She did not need him making sexual demands of her just yet.

Zach rubbed a hand over his head. He couldn’t think straight. His entire plan had been to protect his family from scandal—but really, was that the reason? His father had been in office for over two decades now. Would the news his son had knocked up a girl really shock anyone enough that they might not vote for him if he ran for president?

But what if Zach knocked her up and abandoned her to raise the child alone? Yeah, that might raise some heads. But so what?

It was his life, not his father’s. Besides, his father had people who spun these things for him. Any scandal of Zach’s, unless it involved criminal activities, wasn’t likely to touch his father’s career—or the funding for the veterans’ causes that Zach worked so hard to obtain.

His plan, such as it was, had little to do with protecting anyone, if he were truthful.

And everything to do with the odd pull Lia Corretti had on him.

He wanted her, even if his brain had had trouble figuring that out at first. He’d nearly sent her away. He could hardly credit it at this moment.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

His gaze slewed her way. She was toying with the remains of her omelet. He had a sudden, overwhelming urge to tell her what she wanted to know.

But he couldn’t. How could he say the words? He’d never said them to anyone. And if he did, what would she think of him? Would she look at him with terror or pity in her expression?

He couldn’t bear either.

“It’s not you,” he said, because he didn’t want to see that hurt expression on her face. She had so much to be hurt about, he realized, now that he knew about her father and what he’d done to her.

Rotten bastard. If the man was still alive, Zach would love to get his hands on him.

He blew out a harsh breath. “It’s just … I don’t talk about what happened out there. Not to anyone.”

“It’s okay. I understand.”

She wasn’t looking at him. He walked over and tilted her chin up with a finger. Her eyes were liquid blue, so deep he could drown in them.

“Do you?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her voice was firm. “I know what it’s like to have things that hurt you. Things you can’t talk about.”

The idea anyone had ever hurt her made him want to howl.

She reached up and wrapped her hand around his wrist. It was a soft touch, gentle—and he felt the ricochet effect all the way down to his toes. If he kissed her now, here, would she kiss him back?

“But if you ever want to talk about it,” she was saying, “I’m here.”

Here. His. He lowered his mouth, brushed his lips gently across hers. Her intake of breath made a current of hot possession slide into his veins. He wanted to hold her closer, kiss her harder.

Instead, he lifted his head and walked away.