Scandals Of The Rich: A Façade to Shatter

CHAPTER TWO

LIA WOKE SLOWLY. She coughed, her throat and chest aching as she did so. She remembered being in the pool, remembered her dress getting caught. She pushed herself up on an elbow. She was in a darkened room. She sat upright, and the sheet slid down her body. How had she gotten out of the pool? And why was she naked? She didn’t remember going back to her room, didn’t remember anything but that last moment where she’d thought of the Correttis finding her pink-clad body trapped at the bottom of the pool.

She pushed the sheet back, intending to get out of the bed, but a movement in the darkness arrested her.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a deep male voice said.

Lia grabbed the sheet and yanked it back up. How long had he been standing there?

“Who are you? And why are you in my room?”

His laugh was dry. “I’m Zach. And you’re in my room, sugar.”

Sugar. “You’re American,” she said, her heart thumping steadily. The same American as earlier?

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“For what?”

“You sound disappointed.”

She shook her head, stopping when her brain couldn’t quite keep up. She felt light-headed, as if she’d been drinking, when she hadn’t had more than a single glass of champagne all evening.

“How did I get here?”

“I carried you.”

“Impossible,” she scoffed. She was tall and awkward and fat. He couldn’t have done it without a cart and a team of horses to pull her.

“Clearly not,” he told her. “Because you’re here.”

“But why?” The last thing she remembered was water and darkness.

Wait, that wasn’t right. There’d also been light, a hard surface under her back and the scalding taste of chlorine in her throat.

“Because you begged me not to call anyone when I pulled you out of the pool.”

She vaguely recalled it. She remembered that she’d been worried about anyone seeing her, about them laughing and pointing. About Carmela standing there, slim arms folded, evil face twisted in a smirk, nodding and laughing … fat and mousy and weak.

“It was the only thing you said. Repeatedly,” he added, and Lia wanted to hide.

She put a hand to her head. Her hair was still damp, though not soaked. And she was naked. Utterly, completely naked. Her face flamed.

He sat beside her on the bed, holding out a glass of water. “Here, take this,” he said, his voice gentle.

She looked up, met his gaze—and her heart skipped several beats in a row. It was the same man. He had dark eyes, a hard jaw and the beginnings of a scruff where he hadn’t shaved in hours. His hair was cropped short, almost military style, and his lips were just about the sexiest thing she’d ever seen in her life.

She took the water and drank deeply, choking when she’d had too much. He grabbed the glass and set it aside, no doubt ready to pound her on the back if she needed it. She held a hand up, stopping him before he could do so.

“I’m fine,” she squeaked out. “Thank you.”

He sat back and watched her carefully. “Are you certain?”

She looked at him again—and realized his expression was full of pity. Pity! It was almost more than she could bear to have one more person look at her like that tonight.

“Yes.”

“You were lucky tonight,” he said, his voice hardening. “Next time, there might not be anyone to pull you out.”

She knew he was trying to say something important, but she was too weary to figure out what it was. And then his meaning hit her.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” she protested. “It was an accident.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I saw you step into the water. You just decided to go swimming while fully dressed?”

She dropped her gaze from his. “Something like that.” What would he know of it if she told him the real reason? He was beautiful, perfect. She’d thought they had something in common earlier tonight, but she’d been wrong.

Of course.

She usually was. It disappointed her more than she could say. And made her feel lonelier than ever. This man, whatever his flaws, had nothing in common with her. How could he?

“What’s your name?” he asked, his voice turning soft.

“Lia. And I hated my dress, if you must know. That’s why I jumped in the pool.”

His bark of laughter surprised her. “Then why did you buy it in the first place?”

“I didn’t. It was a bridesmaid dress, and it was hideous.”

“Pink is not your color, I’m sorry to say.” His voice was too warm to take offense. “Definitely not.” She was slightly confused, given his reaction to her earlier, and more than a little curious about him. It occurred to her she should be apprehensive to be alone with a strange man, in his room, while she was naked beneath his sheets.

But she wasn’t. Paradoxically, he made her feel safe. As if he would stand between her and the world if she asked him to. It wasn’t true, of course, but it was a nice feeling for the moment.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t save the dress,” he said. “It tore in the drain, and the rest rather disintegrated once I tried to remove it.”

She felt heat creeping into her cheeks again. “You removed everything, I see.”

“Yes, sorry, but I didn’t want you soaking my sheets. Or getting sick from lying around in cold, clammy clothing.”

What did she say to that? Did you like what you saw? Thank you? I hope you weren’t terribly inconvenienced?

Lia cleared her throat and hoped she didn’t look as embarrassed as she felt. “Did you find your medal?”

It was the most benign thing she could think of. She’d tucked it into her cleavage when she’d returned to the ballroom. She would regret it if it were lost. Something about it had seemed important to her, even if he’d cast it aside so easily.

“I did.”

“Why did you drop it?” It seemed a harmless topic. Far safer than the subject of her body, no doubt.

“I have my reasons,” he said coolly.

Lia waited, but he didn’t say anything else. “If you intend to throw it away again, I’ll keep it.” She didn’t know where that had come from, but she meant it. It seemed wrong to throw something like that away.

“It’s yours if you want it,” he said after a taut moment in which she thought she saw regret and anger scud across his handsome face.

She sensed there were currents swirling beneath the surface that she just didn’t understand. But she wanted to. “What did you get it for?”

He shoved a hand through his hair. She watched the muscles bunch in his forearm, swallowed. He’d been in a tuxedo the last time she’d seen him, but now he wore a dark T-shirt that clung to the well-defined muscles of his chest and arms, and a pair of faded jeans. His feet, she noted, were bare.

So sexy.

“Flying,” he said.

“Flying? You are a pilot?”

“I was.”

“What happened?” His face clouded, and she realized she’d gone too far. She wanted to know why he’d reacted the way he had in the ballroom, but she could tell she’d crossed a line with her question. Whatever it was caused him pain, and it was not her right to know anything more than she already did.

“Never mind. Don’t answer that,” she told him before he could speak.

He shrugged, as if it were nothing. She sensed it was everything. “It’s no secret. I went to war. I got shot down. My flying days are over.”

He said it with such finality, such bittersweet grace, that it made her ache for him. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” His dark eyes gleamed as he watched her.

“Because you seem sad about it,” she said truthfully. And haunted, if his reaction in the ballroom earlier was any indication. What could happen to make a man react that way? She didn’t understand it, but she imagined he’d been through something terrible. And that made her hurt for him.

He sighed. “I wish I could still fly, yes. But we don’t always get to do what we want, do we?”

Lia shook her head. “Definitely not.”

He leaned forward until she could smell him—warm spice, a hint of chlorine. “What’s your story, Lia?”

She licked her lips. “Story?”

“Why are you here? What do you regret?”

She didn’t want to tell him she was a Corretti. Not yet. If he were here at the wedding, he was someone’s guest. She just didn’t know whose guest he was. And she didn’t want to know. Somehow, it would spoil everything.

“I was a bridesmaid,” she said, shrugging.

“And what do you regret?” His dark eyes were intent on hers, and she felt as if her blood had turned to hot syrup in her veins.

“I regret that I agreed to wear that dress,” she said, trying to lighten the mood.

He laughed in response, and answering warmth rolled through her. “You’ll never have to wear it again, I assure you.”

“Then I owe you an even bigger debt of gratitude than I thought.”

His gaze dropped, lingered on her mouth. Her breath shortened as if he’d caressed her lips with a finger instead of with his eyes. She found herself wishing he would kiss her more than she’d ever wished for anything.

He sat there for a long minute, his body leaning toward hers even as she leaned toward him. Her heart thrummed as the distance between them closed inch by tiny inch.

Suddenly, he swore and shot up from the bed. A light switched on, and she realized he’d gone to the desk nearby. The light was low, but it still made her blink against the sudden intrusion into her retinas.

“You don’t owe me anything.” His voice was rough, and it scraped over her nerve endings. Made her shiver.

She blinked up at him. He stood there with his hands shoved in his pockets, watching her. A lock of hair fell across her face, and she pushed it back, tucking it behind her ear.

Zach’s gaze sharpened. He watched her with such an intense expression on his face. But she couldn’t decide what he was feeling. Desire? Irritation? Disdain?

Dio, she was naive. She hated it. She imagined Rosa would have known what to do with this man. Lia wished she could talk to her sister, ask her advice—but how silly was that? Rosa was as estranged from her as she’d ever been. This new connection between them meant nothing to Rosa.

Lia’s hair fell across her face again and she combed her fingers through it, wincing at how tangled it was. She would need a lot of conditioner to get this mess sorted.

She looked up at Zach, and her heart stopped beating. His expression was stark, focused—and she realized that the sheet had slipped down to reveal the curve of a breast. Her first instinct was to yank the fabric up again.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

The air seemed to grow thicker between them. He didn’t move or speak. Neither did she. It was as if time sat still, waiting for them.

“Are you staying in the hotel?” Zach asked abruptly, and the bubble of yearning pulsing between them seemed to pop.

Lia closed her eyes and tried to slow her reckless heart. “I am,” she told him.

What did she know of desire, other than what she’d read in romance novels? Her experience of men was limited to a few awkward dates to please her grandmother. She’d been kissed—groped on one memorable occasion—but that was the sum total of her sexual experience. Whatever had been going on here, she was certain she had it wrong. Zach did not want her.

Which he proved in the next few seconds. He turned away and pulled open a drawer. Then he threw something at her.

“Get dressed. I’ll take you back to your room.”

Embarrassment warred with anger as her fingers curled into the fabric of a white T-shirt. “This will hardly do the job,” she said, turning to self-deprecation when what she really wanted to do was run back to her room and hide beneath the covers. Fat and mousy and weak.

“Put it on and I’ll get a robe from the closet.”

Lia snorted in spite of herself. “The walk of shame without the shame. How droll.”

He moved closer, his gaze sharpening again, and her heart pounded. “And is that what you want, Lia? Shame?”

Between the horrendous dress she’d had to wear while people stared and pointed, to the very public brush-off she’d had from Rosa, she’d had enough shame today to last her for a while.

Lia shrugged lightly, though inside she felt anything but light. She was wound tight, ready to scream, but she wouldn’t. Not until she was back in her room and could bury her face in the pillow first.

“A figure of speech,” she said. “Now turn around if you want me to put this on.”

He hesitated for a long moment. But then he did as she said, and she dropped the sheet and tugged the shirt into place. It was bigger than she’d thought, but she still had her doubts it would cover her bottom when she stood. She scooted to the edge of the bed and put her legs over the side.

She stood gingerly. Her head swam a little, but she was mostly fine. The shirt barely covered her bottom, but it managed.

“I’ll take that robe now,” she said imperiously.

Zach walked over to the closet and pulled out a white, fluffy Corretti Hotel robe. Then he turned and brought it back to her, his gaze unreadable as he handed it over. He did a good job of keeping his eyes locked on hers—

But then they dropped, skimming over her breasts—which tingled in response, the nipples tightening beneath his gaze—then farther down to the tops of her naked thighs, before snapping back to her face. His eyes glittered darkly, and a sharp feeling knifed into her.

If she were a brave woman, a more experienced woman, she’d close the distance between them and put her arms around his neck.

But she wasn’t, and she didn’t. She was just a silly virgin standing here in a man’s T-shirt and wishing he would take her in his arms and kiss her.

Lia shrugged into the robe and tied it tight around her waist. “Thank you for your help, but there’s no need for you to come with me. I can find my own way back to my room.”

“I insist,” he said, taking her elbow in a light but firm grip.

She pulled away. “And I’d rather you didn’t.”

“It’s nonnegotiable, sugar.”

Something snapped inside her then. Lia lifted her chin. She was so very tired of people telling her what to do. Of not being taken seriously or respected in any way. She was tired enough of it that she was done putting up with it.

This day, as they say, had been the last straw.

Lia plopped down on the edge of the bed and performed her first overt act of defiance as she crossed one leg over the other and said, “I suppose I’m staying here, then.”

Zach fought the urge to grind his teeth. It was everything he could do not to push her back on the bed and untie that robe. His body was painfully hard. Lia tossed her hair again—that hot, tangled mess that was somehow sexier than any polished style could have been—and Zach suppressed the groan that wanted to climb up his throat.

Nothing about this woman was typical. She wasn’t afraid of him, she didn’t seem to want to impress him and she’d jumped into a pool fully clothed because she hated her dress. And now she sat there glaring at him because he was trying to be a gentleman—for once in his life—and make sure she got back to her room safely.

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts and he fought the urge to go to her, to tunnel his fingers into the thick mass of her auburn hair and lift her mouth to his.

That was what she needed, damn it—a hot, thorough, commanding kiss.

Hell, she needed more than that, but he wasn’t going to do any of it. No matter that she seemed to want him to.

And why not?

Tonight, he was a man who’d dragged a drowning woman from a pool, a man who hadn’t had sex in so long he’d nearly forgotten what it was like. He wasn’t a senator’s son or an all-American hero. He wasn’t a broken and battered war vet. He was just a man who was interested in a woman for the first time in a long time.

More than interested. His body had been hard from the moment he’d stripped her out of that sodden pink dress, her creamy golden skin and dusky pink nipples firing his blood. He’d tried not to look, tried to view the task with ruthless efficiency, but her body was so lush and beautiful that it would take a man made of stone not to react.

Holy hell.

She stared at him defiantly, her chin lifting, and he had an overwhelming urge to master her. To push her back on the bed, peel open that robe and take what he wanted. Would she be as hot as those smoldering eyes seemed to say she would? Would she burn him to a crisp if he dared to give in to this urgent need?

“If you stay, you might get more than you bargained for,” he growled. Because he was primed, on edge, ready to explode. It had been so long since he’d felt desire that to feel it now was a huge adrenaline rush.

Like flying.

“I’ve already had more than I bargained for today,” she said hotly, color flooding her cheeks. “I’ve had to parade around in front of everyone in a hideous dress that made me look even fatter than I am. I’ve had to endure the whispers and stares, the laughter, the humiliation.”

Zach blinked. Fat? No way. But of course she would think so. Women always did, unless they happened to be about five-six and weighed one hundred pounds. This one was taller than that, about five eight or so, and stacked with curves. She wasn’t willowy. And she damn sure wasn’t fat.

She choked out a laugh. “I also found out I have a sister—of course, she wants nothing to do with me—and on top of all of that, I finally did something daring and jumped in the pool fully clothed, only to nearly drown.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, and he knew she was hovering on the edge of tears. “And then I wake up here, with you, completely naked—”

He thought she was going to cry, but she got to her feet suddenly, her eyes blazing, her chin thrusting in the air, though he could see that it still trembled. Her hands were fists at her sides.

“Even then, the only reaction I arouse in you is pity. I’m naked in front of a man and all he thinks about is the quickest way to get rid of me—so you will excuse me if I fail to cower before this latest pronouncement!”

Zach could only stare at her, mesmerized. He’d have sworn she was going to cry, sworn she would blubber and fall apart—but she hadn’t. She was staring at him now, two high red spots on her cheeks, her dark auburn hair tumbling over her shoulders, her eyes flashing fire. The robe had slipped open a bit, exposing the inside of a creamy thigh.

Lust flooded him until he had to react or explode. He meant to turn away, meant to put distance between them. Hell, he meant to walk out of the room and not come back—

But instead, he closed the distance between them, gripped her shoulders as he bent toward her.