“Please, call me Liv,” she said. “I think saving my life gives you that right.”

He slashed a cynical grin. “Being your fiancé doesn’t count?”

She winced at his taunt. “Oh—I—well…”

He shrugged. “Never mind—what can I do for you—Liv?”

Her gaze darted away from his face, ricocheted off the boathouse then pinged up to the mansion. She blinked several times, her fingers lacing and relacing. “I—first…” She slid her attention back to him, and he sensed the move had taken extreme effort. “I want to apologize for the—the engagement thing.”

“Ah, yes.” He fought a renewed surge of irritation. “I seem to remember hearing something about that in a few newspapers.” He lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “Imagine my glee.”

Dear Reader,

I had so much fun with my ENCHANTED BRIDES trilogy, I decided it would be exciting to write a series about three brothers. I envisaged each brother to be tough and successful in his own right, but lonely—whether he realizes it or not. Then I decided to place these men on a mountain of emeralds located on their own private island.

The heirs to the Merit emerald dynasty, Jake, Marc and Zack, are as different as brothers can be. But what they have in common is that they are all gorgeous men—who are each about to meet the one special woman for them.

I hope you enjoy Zack’s story, Accidental Fiancée. Zack is the Merit family badboy, the mystery man, and he likes it that way. But he’s thrust into the national headlines when he saves a senator’s daughter from certain death. Now, Olivia has accidentally become his fiancée—and they are forced to hide out on Merit Island to avoid the press. The couple’s two weeks together are a tormenting, thrilling, life-changing adventure…. Enjoy the ride!

All my best,

P.S. I love to hear from readers so do, please, write to me at P.O. Box 700154, Tulsa, Oklahoma, 74107, USA.

The Merit brothers—

it takes a special woman to win their hearts.

Accidental Fiancée
Renee Roszel

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Barbara McMahon and Patti Knoll for their continued support, humor and friendship day after day after day after day…

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER ONE

ZACK fell through empty air toward earth. He watched them appear from out of nowhere—the almighty security force that guarded Merit Island. Seconds after he pulled the rip cord on his main parachute, they were no longer scurrying ants, but loomed large enough for him to see the sun glinting off their state-of-the-art artillery.

He grinned. He hadn’t expected a marching band to welcome him home after all these years, but he would have preferred to touch down with fewer side arms aimed at his heart.

He attained a zero rate of descent as his feet reached ground level. A perfect landing, especially considering twenty years had passed since he’d seen the topography of Merit Island. His shoe soles skimmed the grass while he sat in his harness. Stepping lightly on the ground, he removed a little of his weight from the rigging. With each successive step he tread more heavily until he fully supported his weight. Coming to an easy halt, he shifted to watch his black-and-silver rectangular chute flutter to the lawn. He also noticed the troops surround him.

As briskly as he could, without making any moves that looked threatening, he took off his helmet and gear, then lifted both hands to reassure the gentlemen in starched gray that he was unarmed and represented no threat, though he was dressed a little like Captain Galaxy in his black jumpsuit.

He smiled at the grim-faced security force as they approached. “Hi, boys,” he said with as much friendliness as his desire not to be riddled with bullets could muster. He spread his fingers, his webbed gloves making his surrender look unearthly. Maybe he should have shouted out, “Take me to your leader.” He wagged his webbed fingers skyward, surveying the troops. “As you can see, guys…” Making a slow, composed turn, he took a quick inventory of how many muzzles were aimed at his gut.

Eight.

“I can’t hide many machine-guns in this sausage-skin getup.”

“You’ll have to come with us, sir.”

Zack glanced at the gray man who’d spoken, no doubt the highest ranking sentry.

“No problem, General.” He smiled benignly. “I don’t want any unsightly holes drilled in my carcass. Lead the way.”

The burly man jerked his head toward the three-story stone-and-timber home Zachary remembered from his childhood. Shifting his gaze from the leader’s laser-sighted weapon, Zack stared at the house, his first glimpse since he left home at seventeen. The tightening in his belly surprised him. He’d thought if he ever saw the old homestead again it would seem smaller, somehow less significant. But it didn’t.

The image of an English manor house, Zack’s boyhood home was still the stately tribute to capitalism it had been all those years ago, with its spectacular view of the Atlantic from the crest of the island’s highest point. The sight brought back a wave of feelings, stronger than he’d believed possible. It wasn’t the splendor of the residence that made him ache inside, or the memory of the importance of the family dynasty, not the island’s primeval beauty or even the vast wealth he’d walked away from all those years ago.

He ached because of the empty hole inside him, a hole that couldn’t be filled, no matter how much adventure and excitement he poured in. After a tragic boat racing accident last year when he’d lost his best friend, he’d awakened to the fact of his own mortality, and that a life lived all alone was a barren existence. That realization had sparked the urge to reconnect with family.

Pride had stopped him for much too long. But now that things had gone so royally nuts, he’d been driven by circumstances to come back, pride or no pride. Though the problem that forced him to return to Merit Island made him furious, deep in his soul he was thankful for this chance.

“Sir?” The brawny sentry’s guttural prodding jarred Zack to the problem at hand. He peered at the scowling head man, who wagged his weapon in the direction of the house. “Let’s go.”

Zack nodded, then indicated his chute and rigging. “Would you mind having a couple of your sidekicks gather up my gear, Admiral? Parachutes are bears to re-pack once they get tangled in a rose garden.”

Zack’s attempt at a joke died a sober death. Apparently Jake had carried on the family tradition of hiring sentinels who’d had their sense of humor surgically removed. Indicating the mansion with a brisk nod, he offered, “I’m ready if you are, friend.”

“My Lord—Zachary?”

At the sound of his name, Zack turned, surprised to see his older brother, Jake, appear from the mansion’s loggia. He was jogging around the expansive gardens, which, Zack belatedly noticed, were in riotous bloom on this bright, still Sunday in mid-July. Some things never changed.

With a quick grin, Zack shifted to watch his brother’s rapid approach. Ignoring the gaggle of guards, Zack strode toward Jake. “Hey, old man,” he shouted, taking off his webbed gloves and tossing them into his discarded helmet. “Don’t give yourself a heart attack.”

The sentries seemed to grasp that the interloper who’d so outrageously parachuted onto Merit Island might not be there to pilfer from the emerald mine, after all. Stepping back, they allowed him through. Zack noticed fire-arms being holstered, adding greatly to his capacity for enjoying the afternoon.

Not far behind Jake, several other people appeared, hurrying briskly in his direction. One, Zack could tell, was his younger brother, Marc. Two of the others were women. The wives—Susan and Mimi—no doubt.

A white-haired man emerged from the shadow of the house, and Zack experienced a lurch in his chest. “Well,” he muttered, “if it isn’t the old tyrant himself.”

He didn’t have time to contemplate how his father’s greeting might go—icy aloofness or heated combat—for at that instant Jake punched his arm in greeting.

“Damn.” Jake grinned. “If it isn’t the prodigal himself.”

Zack was so happy to see his brother, he didn’t know how to react. A handshake seemed sterile considering the wealth of emotion he felt.

After a second’s hesitation, Jake stepped forward and clasped his brother in a comradely hug. “Blast it, Zack,” he said warmly, “It’s good to see you.”

Zack returned the embrace for a long moment before he could find his voice. “Yeah.” It was all he could say and keep his macho image intact. The only day in his life he’d shed a tear had been at his mother’s funeral, hating like hell the precious time he’d lost with her by leaving home. Feeling such intense emotion, good or bad, wasn’t something he relished, so he swallowed hard, choking back any reaction that might smack of soppiness.

As they separated, Marc, Mimi and Susan arrived. Zack noted that a couple of security guards were gathering up his chute and harness. The others had withdrawn as furtively as they’d arrived.

“Do my eyes deceive me or is it Zachary Merit, the tabloid’s hunk du jour?” Marc asked.

Zack eyed his younger brother with high dudgeon. “Very amusing, little brother.” He grasped him in a bear hug. “You deal with it for a month, and see how fast you retreat to the old Merit sarcophagus.”

When they drew apart, Marc planted his hands on his sibling’s shoulders and swept him with a look that Zack could only describe as doctorly. “You’ve grown into a tall son of a gun,” Marc mused aloud, then lifted a hand to Zack’s chin, brushing his thumb along to a thin scar that ran from his jaw, across his cleft, ending just short of his lower lip. “Hmm.”

Zack knew Marc had become a doctor, but he’d never expected to be the subject of his professional grimace. Though he experienced a twinge at the painful reminder of the freak accident that took his teammate’s life, he forced himself to laugh. “How long have I got, Doc?”

Pursing his lips, Marc dropped his hands. “Keep jumping out of planes, buddy, and—”

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Zack glanced toward the slender redhead who’d spoken. He winked a brazen “how-do-you-do” and admired the pink color that rose in her cheeks. Susan was exactly as Jake had described, and he understood why his older brother was so crazy about her. “Yeah, Marc,” he prodded. “Introductions are in order.” His gaze swept from Susan’s beautiful blush to the striking blonde who had taken Marc’s arm. So this was the ravishing Mimi. From everything his brothers had said, Zack decided the married Merit men were damn lucky. He felt a surge of envy, and was jarred by it.

He eyed Jake, then Marc. “Though you both have been nauseatingly long-winded about the perfection of your wives during our phone conversations, could we get on with the formalities?” He grinned mischievously. “I have brides to kiss.”

As Susan and Mimi were officially introduced to their brother-in-law, Zack kept track of his father’s plodding approach. He wondered if the old man was intentionally delaying his arrival to build tension. If that was the case, it was working. His throat felt parched as he kissed his sisters-in-law on the cheek.

“They’re too good for you bums,” Zack kidded, trying to get his mind off his father’s psychological manipulations. “They’re beautiful and cultured.”

“And pregnant,” Mimi added, her cheeks flushing as she hugged Marc’s middle.

Even with his thoughts divided, Mimi’s remark came through loud and clear. Zack gave her his full, appreciative attention. She wore pink shorts, a white tank top and strappy sandals, looking trim and fit. He couldn’t tell she was expecting from looking at her. “Oh?” Bowing slightly in deference, he murmured, “May all your children look like you.” He cast Marc a glance and smirked. “Heaven forbid they should look like the doc.”

Mimi giggled. “Now, Zack,” she said with a cautioning smile, “I think you and Marc bear a striking resemblance to each other. Except you have Jake’s green eyes—and those dimples are all yours.”

Zack made a playful grimace. “My dear Mrs. Merit, comparing me to my homely brothers cuts me to the soul.”

“All three of you not only look alike, but you share a scary sense of humor,” Susan said with a laugh. “And speaking of look-alikes, Zack, you look a little like Darin DeBruin.”

Zack glanced her way, going along with her game, whatever it was. “The man is blessed,” he kidded. “Who is he?”

Susan’s smile grew incredulous. “He’s the actor playing you in the movie about you saving Senator Nordstrom’s daughter—you know, Out of the Blue. Haven’t you seen it?”

Zack winced at the reminder. “No, but I might be persuaded to—for a couple million bucks.”

“I figured that love story between you and Olivia Nordstrom in the movie was storybook fiction,” Jake cut in, “until your engagement was announced in the newspapers yesterday.” He drew Susan beneath a protective arm. “I gather the woman’s insane, considering she agreed to marry you. But on the upside, our stock jumped five points when the news broke that a Merit was engaged to the future first-daughter of our country. Congratulations, Bro.” He extended a hand.

Zack’s happy mood sprang a leak and he waved away the handshake. “Take my advice, and sell,” he muttered.

“What?”

“Don’t mention that woman to me.” He dragged a hand through his hair, annoyance overwhelming him for the hundredth time in the past twenty-four hours. “There’s no truth to that story. I think your instinct about Olivia Nordstrom being nuts sounds about right.”

He watched his brothers and sisters-in-law. Their expressions were priceless. Total confusion. That had been his first reaction, hearing the news, too. The next had been fury.

How the senator’s daughter could have told the press they were engaged was too deranged for words. The one time he’d been in the senator’s home, he’d been invited for dinner as a “thank-you” for his parachute rescue of their daughter. The whole evening the senator and Mrs. Nordstrom had been extremely cool. He could tell by the look in their eyes that Olivia, their beautiful Yale educated daughter, was off limits to the likes of him—with his reckless lifestyle, racing boats for a living and jumping out of planes for relaxation.

Zack could see by their attitudes they felt he had nothing to recommend him. He had no Ivy League education. For that matter he had practically no formal education at all. Plus, he was sadly lacking in the necessary dancing school manners for acceptance in uptight, conservative circles of their ilk. Oh, he was good enough to save their precious daughter’s life now and then, but that was the extent of any relationship he would ever have with her.

Since the ridiculous movie’s release last month, he’d grown sick and tired of being unable to go anywhere unmolested by paparazzi or squealing females. As for Olivia Nordstrom’s announcement that they were engaged? Clearly the stress of her father’s precampaign campaigning, plus the added strain brought on by the movie’s popularity, had caused her to suffer some kind of bizarre breakdown.

He’d been traveling home from a speedboat race when the story broke. Stunned, he’d read about his own engagement on the flight. Then, in the wee hours, when he got home, a couple hundred voice mail messages waited for him, demanding that he confirm or deny. The continual ringing of his phone all night had been the final straw. He was sick of the movie and sick of being linked to the pretty, if a bit too polished and prim, senator’s daughter. He wanted his life back, but he had a feeling until this movie stupidity—and now the engagement craziness—died down he wouldn’t have any peace.

Slipping out of his high-rise condo at dawn, he’d escaped Los Angeles and made a beeline for Merit Island, off Maine’s coast, and its Fort Knox type security.

Though angry with Olivia Nordstrom, he didn’t hold grudges and hoped she eventually made a full recovery from her mental collapse. Soon enough the next summer blockbuster, whatever it might be, would draw attention away from the unauthorized movie depicting his rebel lifestyle and the parachute rescue. That day couldn’t come too soon for him.

Zack could see that both Mimi and Susan were disappointed to hear the movie’s love story was fiction. What romantics his brothers had married. Working to amend the mood of the group, he grinned. “The real Miss Nordstrom is a little tightly wound for my taste,” he said. “I like my women—”

“Please don’t say loose,” Jake broke in. “I’ll pay you not to say loose.”

“Okay, Bro, I’ll take that bribe in the form of food. I’m starved.” He chuckled, though it was difficult. At long last, his father had joined the circle and was trudging up to front and center.

“How dare you invade our home like some kind of mercenary commando, Zachary?” he bellowed. “I suppose it’s typical of you. As always—completely self-centered and thoughtless.”

George Merit’s cutting rebuke brought with it a wave of anguish, evoking memories of their bitter battles. Zack faced the old man. Though his smile felt stiff, he held onto it, determined to make this visit work. He’d promised himself again and again on the trip over that he wouldn’t fight with his father. Zack was well aware that he’d been disinherited, and years ago he’d accepted it. He didn’t want anything from his family but a little time.

Moving up beside his father, he flung an arm about the older man’s shoulders, surprised at how insubstantial he seemed. Zack was three inches taller, at six-five, and outweighed George by fifty pounds of muscle. Odd, he’d always thought of his father an immovable mountain. “It’s good to see you, too, Dad,” he said, realizing with a jolt that he actually meant it. “What’s for dinner?”

Olivia had never expected to see Zachary Merit again after the evening he’d visited her parents’ home. The very next day she’d been swept up in the political whirl of her father’s quest for his party’s presidential candidacy. But this was an emergency. Last week she’d done a stupid thing, and she wanted to apologize in person. Plus, she and Zachary needed to come up with something to tell the press so they would quit dogging her to the edge of insanity. Judging by her half-witted statement, she’d stepped—rather leaped—over the edge, at least once.

Frustrated by the tight security that surrounded Merit Island, Olivia ran a hand over her eyes. The outboard and driver she’d hired to take her to Zachary’s family home had been stopped by no less than two cabin cruisers, now looming over them like vultures. A dozen warrior-types glared down at her.

“Look, sir,” she shouted over the roar of engines, trying to keep the tension out of her voice, “Please tell Zachary Merit that Olivia Nordstrom needs to speak with him in person. It’s urgent.”

The head scowler spoke into a handheld mike. She couldn’t hear the response, but crossed her fingers, hoping against hope. Zachary must be furious with her for what the papers were saying. She was furious with herself, and mortified that the reporter had taken her sarcastic remark as gospel. But she’d had it up to her eyeballs with stupid questions. That dratted movie and her father’s breakneck electioneering pace clearly had gotten to her.

One of the few times in her cloistered life she’d broken out of her Little Miss America mold to do something different, exhilarating, liberating, she would surely have died if not for Zachary Merit’s heroism. And how did she repay him? After one too many nosy newshounds demanded “the truth” about their relationship, she’d shot back that they were engaged.

The humiliating exchange rang in her head so vividly she couldn’t keep from running it over and over, like a videotape her traitorous brain was forcing her to memorize in every painful detail.

The journalist, if he could be called that, was a greasy-haired scandalmonger with two nose rings who sold celebrity dirt to the highest bidder. He always wore a baseball cap with Papo emblazoned on the brim, so that’s how she referred to him in her recurring murder fantasies.

As usual, he’d been front and center in the crowd, shouting out his questions, interrupting, demanding responses, driving her batty.

“How close is the new film to what actually happened when you were rescued in that parachute accident by Zack Merit?” he’d yelled.

Ignoring him hadn’t worked, so she’d decided she’d better address his questions and get it over. “In some ways it’s quite accurate,” she said calmly. “It was a very dramatic rescue.”

“In the film, a romance develops between Olivia and Zack. I take it that film was accurate in that respect, too?”

“No—that’s pure Hollywood fiction.” She’d wanted to shout, How many times do I have to deny it? Leave me alone about Zack Merit. Yes, he’s handsome, and yes, I’m a female and I was tempted, but he never even looked at me funny. I’m not the type to attract a man like Zachary Merit. She’d managed to hold on to her smile, but with difficulty.

“Are you sure you want to go on record that it’s total fiction?” he’d prodded with a leer. “The director insists he researched the rescue very thoroughly—and the people who saw you together said there was definite chemistry between you two. Do you deny that?”

Whatever they might have seen was purely one-sided, her mind screamed. Zachary Merit was kind, charming and his smile would melt steel, but he was not interested! “Er—why—no, there—”

“Why the hesitancy, Miss Nordstrom?” he’d baited. “Why not admit it? Something’s brewing between the senator’s princess and the king of wild abandon?” He poked his recorder’s microphone in her face, but when she only stared, he pulled it back to speak into it. “Be up-front, Miss Nordstrom. The likelihood of a romance between you two is real, isn’t it?”

“I haven’t seen Zack lately, so I’d have to say no, probably—”

“And when you do see him again?”

The sexual innuendo was embarrassingly clear. Her patience wearing thin, she said, “Really, this is none of your business.”

“So—you’re saying there already has been something between you two, just as the movie suggests?”

Olivia’s pounding migraine was beating her down, and her frustration level had shot to an all-time high. Fed up, she’d retorted, “What do you want me to say? Would it satisfy you if I admit I’m madly in love with my rescuer and we’re engaged to be married? Now, please, Papo, give me a break!”

She’d said it with such flippancy, she’d been sure the reporter would take it for the sarcasm it was. Who but a headline-hungry member of the paparazzi would take such blatant sarcasm seriously?

After the smoke cleared from her brain, and she read those rash words in print, she’d been horrified. Olivia Nordstrom Engaged To Zachary Merit, the headline shrieked.

Her father, Lawrence Nordstrom, his features an unhealthy shade of purple, had rattled the newspaper over his head, shouting he would commit mayhem before he or any member of his family would be connected with an idle good-for-nothing playboy who—he assured Olivia at the top of his lungs—never voted, never gave a tinker’s dam about anything or anyone but himself. Her father’s campaign was based on his up-from-poverty-I-am-the-glorious-everyman platform. He hated rich prodigals who lived useless, imprudent lives. Unfortunately that was a perfect description of Zachary Merit.

The senator had demanded that his campaign manager, Jerry Skelton, go “handle” Mr. Merit, for essentially confirming the “revolting” engagement story by his silence. As far as her father was concerned, Zachary was a conniving snake, trying to add luster to his polluted reputation through the senator’s cultivated, refined daughter. Olivia would have disagreed if she could have gotten a word in.

First of all, she’d been the one to announce their engagement. Second, it certainly hadn’t been Zachary’s fault, just because he’d been “unavailable for comment” that his silence had fueled speculation. Clearly he’d been out of the country somewhere, and by the time he’d even heard about it, the media hype had escalated beyond repair. His only recourse by then was to avoid the fray. She couldn’t blame him. He had to be angry with her. Why should he feel the slightest responsibility to help get her out of her own mess?

Yet, trying to explain that to her father while he fumed and growled and paced was like trying to ward off an attacking bear by pelting it with marshmallows. At least she’d dissuaded him from sending Jerry to sort out Zachary. Jerry’s pit-bull personality would only make matters worse. No, it was her fault, she would find the courage to handle it, no matter how angry Zachary might be.

She hated confrontations, but this had to be done, and done by her. Besides, lately Jerry had become bothersomely persistent in his amorous attentions towards her. The senator’s delight at the idea of his only daughter marrying Jerry compounded her stress. The flight from her father’s California headquarters, where she headed up his finance staff, had been a relief. Not to mention a much needed break from Jerry’s possessive—

“Miss?”

Olivia blinked back to a reality filled with intimidating patrol boats and uniformed troopers. She peered up at the head man, her heart shooting to her throat. “Yes?” She wouldn’t blame Zachary if he refused to see her, but she had to hope he was more forgiving than her father.

“Mr. Merit said you could come aboard.”

“Come—” she was confused “—aboard?”

The man hooked a metal ladder over the side and stretched out his arm to offer her a hand. “We’ll take you to the island.”

“But…” She glanced at her driver. “What about my boat? I hired this man.”

The gray-clad official eyed the boat’s muscular young helmsman with a frown. “I can’t authorize the boat, miss. Just you.” Once again, he held out a hand.

With a reluctant nod, she accepted. “Okay.” Turning to the man at the controls of the outboard, she said, “I’ll need you to wait.”

He gave her a narrowed look. “’Fraid not, miss.” He appeared uncomfortable. In the face of all the hovering muscle, she could understand his misgivings. She wasn’t thrilled by the situation, either. “I’m sure these guys will see you get back to the mainland okay.” Without making eye contact, he turned away.

Obviously her driver had no intention of staying, so she didn’t waste her breath pleading. Working on her nerve, she grasped the ladder and started to climb. Before she reached the top rung, the outboard was buzzing away like a scared gnat, into the setting sun. Olivia’s slim skirt and three inch heels made it difficult getting into the cruiser without landing on her head. Dressed more for the boardroom than buccaneering, she had to accept help from two brawny members of the crew.

Ultimately she was welcomed aboard. Well, “welcomed” might be a bit of an overstatement. She was hauled on deck without a word, though she noticed a full contingent of speculative looks. It seemed, even out here on the high seas where the Merit Emerald Empire held absolute sway, news of the improbable liaison between herself and Zachary Merit had penetrated the defenses.

During the ten-minute ride to the Merit pier, Olivia sat stiffly on a cushioned bench, fretfully scanning the island that rose and rose before them, out of the sea. A sprawling mansion at the crest of a hill caught her eye, and she stared. It wasn’t as though she’d never seen a mansion. Being the daughter of a respected United States senator, she’d been in some swanky homes, but this place…

As daylight faded, the estate’s many windows began to glow with golden light. Standing proud and alone, the residence was both compelling and disturbing. The situation seemed surreal, as though she’d been levitated into some crazy kind of alternate universe.

For such an imposing, unbreachable citadel, it almost seemed to welcome her. She breathed in a gulp of sea-laden air, trying to calm her nerves and get her wits about her. Welcome her, indeed! What would her reception really be? How would Zachary receive her? With a handshake or a kick in the backside? She swallowed hard, not really believing he’d do her physical harm. Still, he was so—so big. She wasn’t exactly tiny, at five-seven. And in three inch heels, she was as tall as lots of men. But Zachary was huge, broad shouldered and muscular.

She experienced a quiver of remembered appreciation. Tall and gorgeous, and compelling and—and disturbing. She quirked a rueful grin. “Like his home,” she murmured under her breath. It would have been easy to fall for him—the daring hero who saved her life by risking his own. But he was a thrill-seeker and a lone wolf, no doubt with a half-dozen girls on the string at any one time. Besides, they had nothing in common. It had been better that her parents hustled her off to fourteen-hour workdays of raising campaign funds. It would have been foolhardy of her to harbor silly schoolgirl notions about Zachary Merit.

The boat came to a stop. She bit her lip, apprehensive about what the next few minutes would bring.

“Miss?” The officer in charge offered her a hand. “Mr. Merit is waiting for you.”

Her heart performed an unruly two-step as she stood and cast an anxious glance along the dock. When she failed to spot him, she looked at the officer. “Where?”

The man in gray escorted her to the side and helped her onto the pier. “Beyond the boathouse, I believe.”

She nodded, stifling the urge to ask, “With a baseball bat?”

Once on the dock, she straightened her skirt and readjusted her handbag strap on her shoulder. Clambering on and off cabin cruisers in a slender-fitting linen suit was difficult to do with grace. If Zachary watched her disembark she had to assume he was enjoying a hearty chuckle about now.

Angling her chin high, she marched along the wharf past several other cruisers. Ahead she noted an attractive building, which must have been the boathouse, though it looked more like an oversized cottage, complete with artful landscaping, blossoming plants and flowers.

The wooden dock ended and a stone path took its place. Olivia’s heart raced as she stepped down onto a walkway that meandered around a corner. Her heart thumping in her ears, she headed into the unknown. Not many steps later, she almost slammed into a towering male blockade in brown shorts and a green polo shirt. Though she’d been warned he was in the vicinity, and had expected him, she shrieked, stumbling a step backward.

Pressing her hands to her heart, she tried to breathe, managing strangled little gasps. What was the matter with her? It was only Zachary Merit. He wasn’t wielding a bat, and he didn’t even look like he’d done any frothing at the mouth.

Lounging against the boathouse, he folded his arms loosely across his broad chest as he surveyed her with shuttered eyes. His silent inspection went on for an interminable couple of pulse beats before one dark eyebrow rose. “Hi, honey,” he said, without the hint of a smile. “Have a rough day at the office?”

CHAPTER TWO

OLIVIA’S startled reaction surprised Zack. For a woman who’d jumped out of an airplane, she was pretty nervous about walking around corners. He wondered how she managed to get from her office to her father’s without having a full-blown panic attack.

He watched as she gathered her poise. Maybe it was the fiery sunset behind her, but her straight black hair seemed to have a coppery radiance about it. Her skin looked pale. Too pale. Back-lit the way she was, the honey-brown eyes he remembered as huge looked black as pitch. She seemed thinner and looked tired. Maybe it was the dying day throwing him a visual curve. Or maybe Olivia Nordstrom wasn’t feeling well. His annoyance abated slightly as he observed her take another shuddery breath.

“Oh…” she presented him with one of the weakest smiles he’d ever seen. “I—you startled me.”

He pushed away from the boathouse wall. “Then, I’m glad I changed my mind at the last minute and didn’t jump out and shout ‘boo.”’

Her smile twitched, but grew no stronger. She was either very tired, very nervous, or both. He slipped his hands into his pockets. “How did you find me?”

She cleared her throat. “Oh—I knew about your family and the island, the emerald business and all, so I took a shot.”

“I see.” Of course, she would have had no way of knowing he’d been estranged from his family for two decades. A week ago, he would have sworn the likelihood of ever finding him on Merit Island would have been nil. How ironic that he owed his presence here to none other than Olivia Nordstrom, herself. His ire surged, but he hid it. “What can I do for you, Miss Nordstrom?”

“Please, call me Liv,” she said. “I think saving my life gives you that right.”

He slashed a cynical grin. “Being your fiancé doesn’t count?”

She winced at his taunt. “Oh—I—well…”

He shrugged. “Never mind—what can I do for you…Liv?”

Her gaze darted away from his face, ricocheted off the boathouse, then pinged up to the mansion. She blinked several times, her fingers lacing and relacing. “I—first…” She slid her attention back to him, and he sensed the move had taken extreme effort. “I want to apologize for the—the engagement thing.”

“Ah, yes.” He fought a renewed surge of irritation. “I seem to remember reading something about that in a few newspapers.” He lifted a sardonic eyebrow. “Imagine my glee.”

She swallowed visibly, thrusting a hand through her glossy hair. Zack bet it felt like silk. The odd thought startled him at first; then he decided it wasn’t that odd. After all, Olivia Nordstrom was pretty. A pretty woman, two or three years out of college, from a prominent family. Zack would wager his racing sponsors he wasn’t the first male to notice her—and be interested.

But he was no fool. He was thirty-seven, a vagabond who made a fair living at the moment racing boats. In the long run, that didn’t mean much to women. They wanted to believe there was more potential for permanence in their men than his lifestyle exhibited—both emotional and physical. What he did was exciting and dangerous, so women seemed to find him exciting and dangerous. And temporary.

Olivia sighed and squeezed her eyes shut. “That remark about our engagement was stupid,” she admitted. “I was being flip. That reporter had been driving me nutty with his everlasting inquisition about our relationship, and I just—I just…snapped.” She peered at him from beneath her lashes, looking guilt-ridden. “I never—never in a trillion years—thought he’d take me seriously. I’m truly sorry.” She grasped her skinny handbag strap with both fists. “My father’s furious with me.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Zack said. “I’m not exactly the poster boy for ideal son-in-law of conservative presidential hopefuls.”

“Hardly,” she said, then made a pained face. “Oh—I didn’t mean, er…”

He couldn’t suppress an ironic chuckle.

She lifted her glance to his face, appearing both surprised and alarmed.

“Don’t beat yourself up about it, Liv. My hide’s tough. I’m hardly bleeding.”

She ran her knuckles across her lips, appearing weary and frustrated. “Zachary,” she said. “This isn’t how I wanted things to go.” She inhaled, looking as though she was working on her resolve. “Could we start over? Why don’t you ask me why I’m here?”

He peered at her. “Okay.” He didn’t know why, but he extended a hand. “Hello, Miss Nordstrom.” He paused, and the silence grew deafening.

He could tell when she finally grasped what he was waiting for because she jumped, unclenched a fist from around her handbag strap and slid her fingers into his. They were cold and trembly. “Hello, Mr. Merit.” She sounded more confident than her shaky hand indicated.

His anger slipped a cog, but only one. He squeezed her fingers for a second, then released her. “What can I do for you?” he repeated.

This time she managed a smile that didn’t look quite so bleak. “According to the Chinese, if you save somebody’s life you’re responsible for them forever.”

Taken off guard by her remark, he said, “But neither of us is Chinese.”

She lifted one shoulder and let it fall. “No, but I decided if one of us became angry enough to harbor thoughts of—well—doing away with the other, I might need to remind, uh, the homicidal one of us that he’s responsible for me. That means you can’t snuff out my lights on a whim.”

Her attempt at humor surprised him, and though he had a fleeting urge to smile, he kept his expression skeptical. “Let me see that in the rule book.”

Even as Zack made the quip, he had to admit he wasn’t as furious with her now as he had been for the past week. In truth, “furious” was a mild word for what he’d felt—having been forced out of his town, reporters nipping at his heels.

There was something about the senator’s daughter, today, something tangibly vulnerable—in her eyes, her stance and the way she almost-but-not-quite smiled, that made him realize his desire to strangle her had died a quiet death. She didn’t look as though she was having the time of her life, either. If he were to be fair, she not only had the bothersome movie and all its ramifications to deal with, she was hip deep in her father’s bid for his party’s presidential candidacy. That couldn’t be a bed of roses.

He was amazed that after being in a bloodthirsty froth for days, he could conjure up sympathy for her. Maybe it was the island’s doing—the unending boredom. He wasn’t cut out for such a pastoral existence. He was beginning to believe all the quiet was making him lose his will to live—or in Olivia Nordstrom’s case—to kill.

“I—I came to ask if you’d be willing to discuss what to say to reporters to get them off our backs once and for all,” she said, almost pleaded. “I hoped we might work out a press release we could both live with.” Her expression pained and sheepish, she added, “My dad would like us to say we’ve parted amicably.”

Dubious, he asked, “Wouldn’t the senator rather have you tell the press you’ve seen me for the bum I am and dumped me?”

The automatic lighting system for the boathouse and dock clicked on, flooding Olivia with a bright spot. Zack bore witness to the intense blush that crawled up her pale cheeks. He could tell by her sudden, downward glance that her father had suggested exactly that.

“Out of the question,” she murmured, then met his eyes. “I would never dump the man who saved my life.”

He let that statement sink in for a few seconds, and found himself shaking his head at the ridiculousness of the situation, and even more ridiculous conversation. “I’m touched, Liv,” he said, only half joking. “I presume you’d like this press release as soon as possible?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I should get right back. But I felt this was so important I had to come myself. It was only fair to you.” She managed a slight, embarrassed smile. “Especially since I didn’t let you know about our engagement.”

“I appreciate being included this time.” He indicated the mansion on the hill. “Why don’t we go inside where we can discuss our amicable breakup under fewer spotlights.”

Her blush faded somewhat, and Zack noticed, with the stark light, she really did look unwell. Her eyes seemed hollow, lusterless. He hadn’t seen her for nearly a year, when he’d had dinner at her home. She’d been attractive and vivacious, with a golden tan. But this Olivia Nordstrom was so pallid her beige linen suit seemed dark by comparison. If he didn’t miss his guess, she’d lost weight. Though she was still lovely, the change wasn’t for the better.

Without determining why, he took her arm. “It’s fastest if we cut across the lawn.”

She balked. “But—across the lawn?”

He halted and glanced at her. “Is that a problem? Do you have a grass allergy?”

She shook her head. “No, but heels don’t do well in grass. They tend to sink.”

“We wouldn’t want you making divots in the lawn,” he quipped offhandedly, glancing at the shoes. Actually his attention only flicked off the high heels before seeking out slender ankles. “Take them off,” he suggested, working to keep his mind on track.

“And walk in my stockings?”

“That’s a problem?” He met her gaze.

“I’ll get a run. I have to wear these stockings all the way home.”

“I see.” In fact, he was mystified. She seemed totally unprepared for this trip. “What did you think Merit Island consisted of, a high-rise condo surrounded by pavement?”

She flushed again. “I’m afraid my decision to come was rushed. I—I didn’t really think.” She swept a hand down to indicate her legs, half exposed below a knee-length skirt.

Those legs had been a major area of interest ever since he’d seen her scramble from the boat, so her insistence that he examine them was criminal. Up until now, he’d made every effort to avoid ogling.

“My plan was to run out here for an hour, then go right back,” she said. “I saw no need for a change of clothes.”

Deciding he’d given her legs as much attention as was appropriate to the situation, he met her eyes. “Sounds like you had your father’s complete approval for this jaunt,” he taunted.

She looked away. “Not quite.” She glanced back. “He wanted to send Jerry Skelton, his campaign manager, but I didn’t think you two would hit it off. Jerry can be…abrasive.”

Apparently “abrasive” was the most diplomatic word she could think of. Ol’ Jerry must be a real doll. “Were you afraid he’d hurt me,” he asked, “…or that I’d hurt him?” He hoped it was the latter, but he had a feeling Liv was protecting him from Jerry’s rapier intellect rather than rescuing the campaign manager from Zack’s left hook. So what if she thought of him as a muscle-bound oaf. What in bloody hell did he care?

She dropped her gaze again, which gave the impression of a coy come-on. You only wish, Merit! He squelched the notion. You’re annoyed with her, idiot! Let’s not get off track over the way she looks at her own feet!

“I didn’t think you deserved Jerry’s barking and growling.” He was chagrined to see tears glittering in her eyes. Damn. She was having a bad time.

“Jerry might have made some disagreeable remark about you fueling the rumors by not coming forward to deny the story. About how you were feathering your own nest, bolstering your reputation, by allowing people to think you and I…” She spread her arms in his general direction. “Of course it’s ridiculous. I know you were angry with me, and your silence was your way of telling me to go to—well, that is—to deal with my own mess, no matter what Daddy and Jerry might think.” Hugging herself, she did that looking-down thing with her lashes again, and he felt his stomach clench. “I don’t want you to have any more trouble because of me than—”

“Yeah, thanks,” he broke in, needing to move, to concoct this press release and get her and her sexy-coy eyelashes off the island. Without engaging his thinking processes, he lifted her into his arms. Her gasp didn’t surprise him, and he ignored it.

So her important daddy and his fine-feathered campaign manager thought he was trying to mend his reputation by implying through silence there was a love affair going on between him and the prim, sophisticated Miss Nordstrom? As he trudged over the manicured lawn, holding her in his arms, his annoyance resurfaced. “Before you announce your next engagement,” he grumbled, “either learn to deal with walking on grass or pick on some guy who doesn’t live on such brutal terrain.”

Olivia didn’t expect to cross the Merit threshold in Zachary’s arms. If she’d been in a joking mood, she might have made some reference to the fact that they’d gone from a quickie engagement to a quickie honeymoon. But his sarcastic shot about her inability to walk on grass knocked any idea of joking right out of her, which was probably for the best. Zachary didn’t appear inclined toward matrimonial banter.

All the way across the sweeping lawn his expression had been one of scowling intensity. His gaze had not met hers once. She knew that because she’d stared at his face the whole way. She had no idea why, but for some reason watching his troubled features, his striking green eyes, his firm mouth, was all she could do.

A muscle knotted in his jaw, and she sensed he’d gritted his teeth. No doubt he was struggling to keep from calling her a silly female hothouse orchid who, not only couldn’t walk the distance of a football field on her own two feet, but couldn’t get out of a cabin cruiser without the aid of two beefy men.

He already knew she couldn’t jump out of an airplane and live to tell about it, unless a man happened to whiz through space, risking his own life, to save her inept backside. What a weak-Wanda impression she’d made on Zachary Merit. Add to that the fact that she’d betrothed herself to him via the newspapers, making him so uncomfortable and angry he’d fled clear across the North American continent! Yes, she was definitely at the top of Zachary Merit’s Get-Out-Of-My-Life list.

They entered the mansion through a set of glass-paned double doors, which opened onto a covered patio. Once inside, Olivia was startled to find that she and Zachary weren’t alone. Several adults, one toddler and an infant were scattered about a pleasantly furnished den of rich earth tones. Soft music played in the background.

Olivia had a feeling the two women, eyeing her and Zack with strange smiles, had been peeking out, giving a blow-by-blow commentary of their approach. An elderly man with a thick shock of white hair sat on an oriental rug between a marble hearth and a chocolate leather sofa. He cuddled a baby in the crook of one arm. In his free hand, he held a rattle.

When he looked up, his smile faded. His was the only reaction that seemed negative. The other two men grinned openly. A blond toddler, about a year-and-a-half old, sagged sleepily on the lap of another man with green eyes, just like Zack’s.

“Well, well, little brother, you left here mad at her and you come back married?” Laying aside a storybook, he winked at Olivia. “If your father is half as persuasive as you, Miss Nordstrom, I predict you’ll one day call the White House home.” Gently he shifted the drowsy child to the sofa where the little cherub curled up and stuck a finger into his mouth.

“Forgive me.” The man with Zack’s eyes rose and walked to her. “I should have said Mrs. Merit.” He extended a hand. “Welcome to the family.”

Zachary cleared his throat and Olivia shot him an apprehensive glance. He didn’t look amused, but he did, finally, look at her. “Liv, meet our resident comic, Jake, my older brother.” Zack nodded toward the man who’d spoken. “Lucky for him, he has a steady job as CEO of Merit Emeralds, because as a comedian he stinks.”

Olivia felt herself being lowered to her feet. She did the best she could to land steadily and not make a further fool of herself by toppling over in front of his family.

She shook Jake’s hand as firmly as she could. “How do you do, Jake.” She hoped somebody would introduce her to the rest of the family before Zack rushed her off to get their business done.

“This is Marc, the baby.” Zack indicated another man, lounging against the marble hearth. The pretty blond woman moved to his side and he draped an arm about her.

“The baby?” Marc made a disgruntled face. “Remember, Zack, I’m not above contaminating your orange juice with a flu virus.” He grinned at Olivia. “Besides enjoying the questionable honor of being the baby of the family, I’m the resident doctor and this is Mimi, my wife.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Olivia,” Mimi said with a smile. “I guess your leg isn’t too badly hurt?”

Olivia was confused at first, then realized what Mimi meant. She shook her head, embarrassed. “There’s nothing wrong. I just—” She felt ridiculous. “High heels and lawns don’t mix well.”

“I see.” Mimi’s smile widened and she eyed Zack. “How gallant! We seem to have a regular Sir Walter Ralegh in the family.”

Olivia noted Zack’s tan deepen in a flush of unease. With a grunt of what had to be displeasure, he thrust an arm toward the redheaded woman who’d seated herself on the sofa next to the dozing toddler. “This is Susan, Jake’s wife.”

The redhead nodded and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you in person, Olivia. Mimi and I went into Portland the week before last and saw the movie.” She cast Zack a sly look. “That’s a taboo subject around here, but we loved it. Don’t you think Angela Cassio was perfect as you?”

Olivia was embarrassed to be repeatedly compared with Hollywood’s latest hot property. “I haven’t seen the movie. It’s somewhat of a—” she bit her lip, trying to come up with phrasing less harsh than her father’s “—a sore point at our house. Daddy was going to sue until he found out Aaron Scott was playing him, and Shellie Shipley was to be my mother—Daddy’s loved Ms. Shipley ever since she played that spunky, blue-collar worker in that factory strike movie. He’d never been a fan of Aaron Scott’s TV cop show—too wild and disrespectful but Mr. Scott is handsome so daddy decided to defer to the movie with benevolent tolerance…” She realized her anxiety was making her babble and she cut herself off, murmuring, “Anyway, I haven’t seen it.” Desperately wanting to change the subject, she faced the gray-haired man. “And this is your father, Zachary?”

The older man had gone back to rattling the toy over the infant’s head. At Olivia’s remark, he looked up, his silver eyebrows knitting.

A backdrop of discordant jazz seemed strangely apropos in the conversational rift. Finally, Zack spoke. “Olivia Nordstrom, meet George Merit, our father.”

George nodded at her but said nothing, so Olivia merely smiled and nodded back, wondering at the antagonism she sensed between George Merit and his middle son—and evidently anybody he carried into a room. The elder Merit seemed annoyed at her. Of course, he might simply have strong political views that didn’t agree with the senator’s. She’d run up against that mind-set often enough that it didn’t bother her any longer.

“The baby is Benjamin,” Zack went on. “Ben’s the newest Merit, compliments of Susan and Jake.”

“And the sweetheart sleeping on the sofa?” Olivia asked, kneeling to caress Ben’s downy head.

“Kyle is our big boy.” Susan smoothed the child’s hair and glanced at Jake with what Olivia could only describe as adoration. Jake winked at his wife, and even Olivia felt the sensual promise in the act. She swallowed hard and stood, swaying slightly.

She felt light-headed, which wasn’t surprising since she hadn’t had time to eat all day. Readjusting her handbag strap she returned to Zack’s side, certain he wanted to get the press release written. She gave him an “I’m ready whenever you are” look. “We probably should get to work, don’t you think?”

“Right.” He glanced around at those gathered. “If you’ll excuse us, Liv and I have a press release to compose.”

“Really?” Mimi asked. “About what?”

“About our amicable breakup,” Zack said without smiling.

“Oh?” Susan asked. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry to hear you’re not going to try to work things out.”

Zack stared at Susan, his expression so shocked she might as well have announced that Olivia was pregnant with his child.

After a second, Susan burst out laughing. “Lighten up. I was kidding.”

His eyebrows furrowed for an instant before his features returned to some semblance of normal. Even so, Olivia could see irritation in the set of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils.

All of a sudden, he had two noses. How bizarre! She blinked to clear her vision, but it didn’t help. Now he had two mouths and two sets of narrowed eyes. She shook her head and tried to refocus, but it only got worse. This time both of Zack’s heads spun and the motion made her sick to her stomach.

She felt hot all over—no, cold—no, clammy. Raising ponderously heavy hands to her temples, she rubbed. Her fingers were icy. “Zack…” she whispered, “I don’t…”

The world went black.

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU did what?” Zack couldn’t believe Marc was serious.

“I called Olivia’s father and told him she would be here for at least a week.”

Stunned, Zack stared at his younger brother. “Why in hell would you do that?”

“She fainted, Zack.” Marc clasped his brother on the shoulder. “Being a big celebrity, you may think seeing women faint at your feet is an everyday event, but it’s not.” He removed his hand, his grin rueful. “I’m a doctor. I went to school to know these things. That woman has worked herself nearly to death. She needs rest and nourishment. I suspect she’s anemic. In a week or two I can get her back to normal.”

“Can’t she get rest and nourishment in California?”

“Apparently she can’t, and I don’t intend to send her back to the people who ran her down.” Marc eyed his brother. “What’s your problem with having her here, anyway?”

Zack wasn’t sure what his problem was, but he sure had one. “I don’t know, she’s…” He frowned, shaking his head. “She’s…” He had no idea why he didn’t want her there. It just seemed like every time she fell into his life, trouble tumbled in with her.

“She’s what—beautiful and intelligent?” Marc chuckled. “Yeah, I can see where that might get on a man’s nerves.”

Unamused, Zack stared at his brother. “That doesn’t bother me,” he said, knowing that wasn’t totally true. He had no problem with her good looks, or her brains, for that matter. So what if she was a magna cum whatever from Yale? Who cared if, according to something he’d read, she was a financial wizard—with soul-stirring eyes and kiss-me lips? Big deal if he was a hotheaded dare-devil with only one real talent—the ability to drive anything, from a speedboat to an airplane.

He experienced a stab of distress. Who was he kidding? Maybe his talent had garnered him a degree of fame and money over the years, but she was way out of his league. He’d never even graduated from high school, much of his education collected in the School of Hard Knocks.

Usually his lack of formal education didn’t bother him, since he’d done fairly well for himself—the captain of his own ship, so to speak. But Liv Nordstrom was the admiral of a fleet. Around her he felt like a slab of granite—with an absurd case of the hots for a brainy princess who’d taken it upon herself to protect him from her daddy’s bright-boy bulldozer. He didn’t like the feeling.

He exhaled wearily. “And letting her stay here was okay with the senator?”

Marc eyed heaven. “He hated it. But I asked him if he’d rather have his daughter check into a hospital out there, where the press could find out how overworked she was—which I said I’d make sure they did. I hinted the bad publicity would damage his presidential bid. He’d be compared with the slimy Simon Legree character from Uncle Tom’s Cabin. What right-thinking citizen would elect a jerk who’d allow his daughter to slave away to the brink of physical collapse? I told him if he really wanted that, I’d bundle her onto the first plane west. But as her attending physician, my recommendation was that she convalesce on Merit Island for at least a week.”

“You blackmailed the senator.” Zack felt like a volcano on the verge of erupting. He didn’t need this!

“Absolutely. I’m not partial to having perfectly fine human beings worked to death—no matter how noble the cause. And for my money, a presidential campaign is not that noble.”

Zack had to agree. Though he hated to admit it, Olivia was a whisper of her former self. She hardly weighed a thing, and he should know. He’d spent the majority of their acquaintanceship carrying her around. He peered at the hallway floor, barely noticing the polished wood or the long Persian rug runner. “What did Liv say about it?”

Marc’s laugh brought Zack’s attention to his face. “I thought I’d let you break the news, since you’re such a good friend.”

Zack knew why Marc hadn’t told Olivia. It was obvious she’d been working hard to help get her father elected, too hard, not eating or sleeping. Nobody could really blame the senator for her condition. He couldn’t stand over her with a whip making sure she ate. So, telling Olivia she’d have to take a week off would be a job suitable for only the strongest of men—or the most suicidal. Zack scowled at Marc. “Coward.”

“Hey, I blackmailed a senator. Do I have to do everything?” Marc shrugged, his expression going serious. “Besides, Mimi’s not feeling well. Her morning sickness comes at all hours, and it’s my job to hold a cool cloth on the back of her neck while she’s, er, indisposed.”

“I’d suggest you get to it, Daddy.” Zack indicated Olivia’s room. “One last thing, though. Did you remove all sharp objects she might get the urge to throw?”

Marc clapped his brother’s arms in a comradely gesture. “You jump out of airplanes, Bro. What can a delicate thing like Olivia do to you? Especially in her weakened condition?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Zack groused. “I hope you keep a stash of plasma in your office.”

Marc turned to go, his chuckle echoing along the hall. “See you in the morning, Lionheart. By the way, Mimi took her some soup earlier.” He glanced back and winked. “I figure you deserve a heads-up about the spoon.”

Without responding, Zack shifted to glower at Olivia’s door. It seemed as though the Fates were conspiring to keep him continually butted up against—er—running into—rather—in close contact— “Damn!” With a determined gnashing of teeth, he headed for her room. The deed was done. She was staying. She might not like it, but there it was.

He rapped on her door, deciding if she didn’t answer that would be fine with—

“Yes?”

“Hellfire,” he muttered, then called out, “Liv, it’s Zack.”

“Come in.”

He closed his eyes. Why couldn’t she be indecent or indisposed or whatever it was women shouted from behind closed doors when they wanted the guy to go jump? He inhaled, deciding he might as well get it over.

The crystal knob turned easily and the door accommodated his slightest touch, swinging open without a squawk. She appeared before him, small and pale in the big antique four-poster with its airy lace canopy. She wore a pale pink negligee—no, it probably wasn’t called that, since it was more sweet than sexy. He couldn’t see through it and it covered her all the way to her throat. “Hello,” he said, then flinched. He didn’t sound happy. He worked on upgrading his attitude.

She’d been smiling when the door opened, but her features grew serious. “What’s the matter?” She pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear, appearing anxious. “Do I look that bad?”

He indicated a spindly chair that had been pulled up beside her bed. “Mind if I sit?” He wondered why he’d asked that. Did he plan to stay and chat? Not on any conscious level, he didn’t.

She glanced at the chair and nodded. “Sure. I was wondering if I’d ever see you again. Everybody else has been by to see how I’m doing—even the baby. Little Ben was more or less asleep, but it was sweet of Susan to suggest he was worried about me.” She smiled. “Everybody’s been generous and caring.” She fluffed the nightgown’s ruffled neckline. “Susan loaned me this. She’d bought it for her mother’s birthday.” Olivia shook her head, seeming overwhelmed. “That’s awfully nice. I feel—unworthy of all the fuss.”

Zack sat down. The chair creaked and wobbled, but he’d committed himself to sitting, so he sat, hoping the thing wouldn’t fall into a pile of antique splinters. He leaned forward to the squeaky accompaniment of straining old wood, and rested his forearms on his thighs. “Marc called your father,” he said, seeing no reason to put it off.

She blinked, obviously startled. “Oh?”

Zack nodded. “He told the senator not to expect you back for a week. He said you’ll be staying here to relax—and eat. Doctor’s orders.”

Olivia stared for a long moment, not moving. Zack wasn’t sure she was breathing.

“Liv?” he prodded.

She swallowed, making solemn eye contact. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“We insist,” he assured her, working to sound like he’d had anything to say in the matter. Marc’s diagnosis committed her to staying, whether she cared to or not. Besides, Zack didn’t like the idea of her passing out at the wheel of her car and careening into a building. He could deal with a week of feeling like a slab of granite. He’d been through worse.

“What did Daddy say?” she asked, her voice fragile.

Zack pursed his lips, choosing to leave out the blackmail part. “He said it was fine.”

Olivia continued to stare. Zack thought he saw her swallow again. Just when he was about to call Marc to come and check on what kind of mental collapse was taking place, her eyes began to shimmer. She blinked and a tear skittered down her cheek.

Taken off guard, he sat back. “My Lord! Are you ill?”

She slouched heavily against the pillows that were propped behind her. With a shaky hand, she wiped away the tear. For a long moment she didn’t speak or move. She merely stared straight ahead as more tears spilled down her cheeks.

Zack debated whether to take her hand to comfort her or fetch Marc and his medical bag. After a long, baffling minute, Olivia shook her head as though rousing herself from some kind of stupor. Swiping at the moisture on her cheeks, she glanced his way, her pretty lips curving in a tremulous smile. “It seems you’re forever saving my life, Zack,” she whispered.

Olivia threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. Enough sleeping and eating. She wasn’t an invalid; she was a perfectly healthy twenty-four-year-old woman! After three days and nights of bed rest, with nothing to do but lie there taking Marc’s medicine and eating huge amounts of food, she was mightily sick of herself. She felt like a slug-a-bed, which was the derogatory label her daddy gave anybody who lazed around in the sack after five in the morning.

Luckily Susan and Mimi had anticipated the possibility that one day Olivia would join the land of the living, and had left some clothes. Padding barefoot to the window, she smiled at the bright, sunny day, then went to stand before the closet to scan a rack of dresses, skirts and blouses. Funny, when she thought back she realized she hadn’t seen Susan or Mimi in a dress or skirt since she’d been there. Still, they’d deduced she would prefer them. She smiled self-consciously. Was she that predictably conservative?

After a refreshing shower, she slipped into some silky undies they’d left for her. Pristine new. She had a feeling the women had gone shopping on the mainland, just for her. Once again feeling unworthy, she chose a light khaki cotton two-piece with a contrasting band of red at the rounded neck and hem. The waistband was elastic with a drawstring tie. It fit nicely. Not too snug; not too baggy. She hoped Susan and Mimi hadn’t bought these dresses, too. Surely not. Underwear she could understand, but not dresses.

She spied a pair of thong sandals and slid her feet into them. They felt strange, flat and flimsy. But she wasn’t up to wearing heels; her legs were still wobbly. She blessed the Merit women for their thoughtfulness, and vowed she’d get used to the leather strap between her toes.

A knock at her door made her turn. “Come in.”

She was startled to see Zack, since he hadn’t been by since that first night. He appeared every bit as startled to find her up and dressed.

She grinned at his expression. He had great eyes. Such a striking emerald color. Right now they were charmingly wide. “Good afternoon, Zachary,” she said, feeling suddenly very, very well. He looked fresh and cool in beige chinos and a plaid shirt of muted blues and greens. Why did the sight of this gorgeous hunk, whose discomfort at being around her was painfully obvious, make her light up inside? “You’re exactly the man I wanted to see.”

She thought she saw the tiniest flinch before he held up a small spiral notebook and pen. “I thought you’d want us to get going on that press release.”

She frowned, having completely forgotten about the reason she’d come to the island. With a contemplative nod, she walked toward him. Her last step was a mistake, since something went terribly wrong with her thong or her sapped leg muscles or the cushy carpet. She pitched forward, thudding into Zachary, face first.

“Oof!”

Olivia heard the guttural sound, but wasn’t sure if it had issued up from her throat or Zachary’s. Both of them had every right to cry out, since both had the breath knocked out of them—Zachary’s was due to her head-butt in his stomach, hers to his instinctive grab for her.

She did a little instinctive grabbing herself, and when the haze cleared from her brain, they were clasped together, her nose pressed in the V in his shirt. His mellow aftershave and the warmth of his skin registered strongly.

“If you’re too weak to stand up, you should get back into bed.”

She canted her head back to look at his face, unsettled by his coolly patronizing remark. “I’m not the hothouse pansy you think I am. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Most people who are perfectly fine can stand alone.”

Her feelings bruised, she blurted, “I’m just not used to my sex.”

“No?” He peered at her and she watched the slow sweep of his long lashes as his gaze narrowed. “I’d think you would be by now.”

What was that look? Skepticism. Wry humor? “After I walk in them a while, I’ll be okay. I’m just not used to such casual shoes.”

His lips twitched strangely, but only for the briefest instant. “Oh, shoes,” he said. “You’re not used to your shoes.”

She frowned. “Right. Is that funny?”

He shook his head and released her—almost. Running his hands up her arms, he stepped back as though making sure she wouldn’t fall on her face before he let her go. “You said you weren’t used to your sex.” He pursed his lips and cleared his throat. She had the horrible sensation he was stifling a chuckle.

She bit her lower lip, wondering if that would help staunch the blush creeping up her throat. “I didn’t,” she cried, rejecting the horrible notion. “I didn’t—did I?”

He let go of her and broke eye contact, stooping to retrieve the notepad and pen. “Forget it,” he said, sticking the items into his pocket. When he faced her, his features were entirely serious. “Why don’t I come back after you’ve had some time to practice walking in sandals, then we can get on with the press release.”

Irked by the taunt, she faced him solemnly. “Must you make cracks about everything I do?”

“You can’t walk on grass in heels and you can’t walk at all in anything else. What exactly do you do, besides fall down?”

That remark cut deep. To keep from showing him how much it hurt, she spun away. “I’m starved. But don’t fret, I bet I’ll find the kitchen without a wheelchair and a wilderness guide.” She stormed toward the door. “Thanks anyway.”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re a real prince,” Zack muttered to himself as he sat alone on the loggia. “She’s just out of her sick bed. She’s wobbly, and she stumbles into you and you act like she demanded that you scrub her back! She’s not looking for a fling. She’s not even flirting. She only wants to be your friend, but you cut her off at every turn. Why?” The trouble was, he’d met a lot of women who—well—who’d found him an enjoyable temporary diversion over the years. Until recently, that had been fine—beautiful women throwing themselves at him was every young man’s fantasy.

But these women invariably dropped him to run off and marry some solid citizen. Zack was weary of being Mr. Last Fling. At this stage of his life, he wanted something more substantial. It had been good to reconnect with his brothers and get to know their families. He hadn’t made progress with his dad, yet, but there was time.

Time.

He closed his eyes. Right now, he had nothing but time, and he was bored. Dinner was still an hour away. Marc was hard at work in the medical clinic and Mimi was in Portland chairing some “Save the Planet” meeting. Susan and Jake were overseeing work at the mine, their babies strapped to their backs. And George was taking his afternoon siesta.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.