one reason.”
“Why don’t you list them?” she said sharply.
“Fine. I’ll list them. We said one night. And that kind of kiss doesn’t stop at just a kiss. The second reason is that you mean more to me than this,” he said.
“Than what?”
“Than an angry make out session against a wall. Than you sneaking around, avoiding me, because we slept together. You mean more to me than sex.”
That cut. And maybe it shouldn’t have, but she couldn’t separate having sex with Zack from the emotions she felt for him. She loved him; sex had been an expression of that. Being joined to him, intimate with him, it had been everything.
But not to him. To him, the sex was separate from the feeling.
“Great. But I apparently don’t mean so much to you that you won’t use me as a pretend fiancée.” Her argument was thin, because frankly, if her feelings for him were platonic, the engagement thing would be nothing big at all.
But her feelings weren’t platonic. Not even close.
“Then leave, Clara. If you don’t want to do it, don’t do it. I’m not holding you hostage. But understand this. I will likely lose the deal with Amudee, and then I won’t be able to get the product I need to start the boutique stores. And my search for an acceptable product will continue. It will cost everyone time and money, lots of it. That’s just stating a fact—it’s not emotional blackmail or anything else you might be tempted to accuse me of.”
Clara looked at his face, at the familiar planes and angles. The mouth she’d seen smile so many times, the lips she’d kissed just now. She knew him differently now than she had a week ago. She knew his body, she knew his loss. And as hard as it would have been for her to walk away then, it was impossible now. Impossible to leave him when she’d promised she would see this through.
“I’ll do it. I’ll play the part, I’ll keep playing the part, I mean. But I didn’t expect for it to go this far.”
“I know. But we had a deal.” He probably thought she meant the farce, but she was thinking of the sex. Or maybe he knew what she was really talking about and he was content to leave it ambiguous, just like she was.
“When the ink is dry on the agreement, it can be finished. You gave me your word,” he said.
“That’s low, Zack,” she said, sucking in a deep breath, trying to make her lungs expand.
“It’s true. I’ve been there for you when you needed me. I held your hair while you …”
“I know. Food poisoning. Please don’t bring that up.” It was right up there with her high-school humiliation. Zack watching her vomit. But he had taken care of her. There hadn’t been anyone else. Truly, they were the key players in each other’s lives. They were there for each other, at work and at home.
“My point is, I’ve helped you. Help me. I’m asking you as a friend, not your boss. Your friend.”
She gritted her teeth, raw emotion, so intense she couldn’t identify it, flooded her. She swung her arms back and forth, trying to ease the nervous energy surging through her limbs. “So when does Mr. Amudee get here?”
“Soon. He’ll be in the office tomorrow morning, so it would be good if we came in together.”
If they spent the night with each other, it would be even easier for them to commute to Roasted together, but she didn’t say that. And she wouldn’t. One night, that was all it was supposed to be and that was all it would be. Make-out sessions against the wall would be immediately stricken from record and forgotten. Completely.
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“We should probably leave together, too,” he said.
“Probably.” That would mean an evening waiting around for him to leave. “I’m going to go down to the kitchens and fiddle around with some recipes.”
“I’ll see you down there.”
“See you then.” Hopefully a little baking therapy would clear her mind. Because if not, they were both in trouble.
By the time Zack made it down to the kitchen he didn’t have a handle on his libido or his temper. He’d figured a couple of hours separation for him and Clara would be a good idea, but it hadn’t accomplished anything on his end.
No, he wouldn’t feel satisfied until he was in bed with her again. Or just against the wall. That was why he had stopped kissing her, though. He didn’t have a condom.
As an adult he hadn’t had all that many lovers, mostly because he believed in taking things slowly, and making sure everything was completely safe. He liked for the woman to be on the pill, and he still used condoms, every time.
Already with Clara he’d been lax, skipping steps he hadn’t since high school, and then he’d been ready to forgo any sort of protection in his office so that he could be with her again. In her. Because the truth of the matter was, he hadn’t stopped thinking about how amazing that night had been since they’d arrived back in California. Not even close.
He’d dreamed of it, or rather, fantasized about it since sleep had eluded him. And when he hadn’t been thinking about making love with her, he’d been replaying the moment he’d told her about his son. Over and over again.
He never talked about Jake. Ever. Not since he’d died, still in the hospital he’d never had a chance to leave, only a couple of days old. Sarah had never wanted to talk about it, and they hadn’t had a romantic relationship at that point, anyway.
His parents … they had been horrified that their star football-playing son was going to give it all up to raise a child. If anything, they’d been relieved.
That day had changed everything. He’d been nothing more than a spoiled brat. An only child, destined to skate through college on a football scholarship. He’d taken everything, the adoration of the girls at his school, the free passes the teachers had given him, as his due.
But when Jake was born, he’d felt the weight of purpose. And when he died, it hadn’t gone away. He hadn’t fit anymore. In one blinding, clear moment he saw everything he’d done that was wrong, selfish, careless. He saw how his stupidity had cost everyone so much.
And he’d left. Left who he was. Left everyone he knew. And every day that passed was one day farther away from that awful day in the hospital. That day that had felt like someone reaching into his chest and yanking his emotions out, twisting them, distorting them.
He had never wanted to feel that way again. Ever. Even more importantly, he’d never wanted to have anything unplanned happen ever again. He wanted control. To plan, to consider the cost of his actions. To be in charge of his life.
He wasn’t sure why he’d told Clara about it. Although she had asked why the birth-control lapse was such a big deal to him. But then, a few of his girlfriends had wanted to know why he used every method he could think of to prevent pregnancy. It had cost him relationships since the women involved had taken it as a sign of just how much he didn’t want to be with them.
And while it was true he hadn’t been looking for forever, his reasoning hadn’t quite been what they’d assumed. Still, he hadn’t felt compelled to tell them the story. Maybe it was because Clara was … Clara. She was the one person who had been in his life with any regularity for the past decade.
And now he’d likely screwed it up by sleeping with her. Or by kissing her. Or maybe he’d screwed it up the moment he’d asked her to play fiancée and go on his honeymoon.
He pushed open the stainless-steel double doors that led to the baking facility and saw Clara, bending down and looking in one of the ovens.
He took the opportunity to enjoy the view, the way her skirt hugged the round curve of her butt. It was a crime that she’d been made to feel insecure about those curves. He