Forced to the Altar

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“I don’t suppose you’re going to expand on that comment?”

“Already got me figured out, do you, Julianne?”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, as they say.”

“Nope. It sure wasn’t. You come back.”

“I will. Thanks.”

She took Lil’s advice and drove as far as she could on the main road, stopping a couple of times to admire the view. She saw two, possibly three, other islands in the distance and wondered about them. She knew that one hundred and seventy islands made up what was called the San Juans, but few of them were very touristy or had good-size populations. She wondered if Mr. Moody would take her to a couple of them by boat so that she could explore. They’d entered the rainy season, though, so maybe it wouldn’t be an easy thing to do.

She spotted the day-camp area on her way back to the castle and decided the island couldn’t possibly call it a tourist trade. Very few people must visit.

As she pulled up beside the castle, Zach came out of the house. In the light of day he looked more like the Brawny guy, a kind of lumberjack look that suited him—plaid flannel shirt with sleeves rolled to just below his elbows. Sturdy jeans. Boots. His blond hair looked like it’d been raked with his fingers to comb it, the ends touching the back of his collar. He stood, feet planted, thighs filling the denim fabric, from all that hiking, she supposed. His arms hung loosely by his sides, so she couldn’t determine from his body language whether he was irritated. If he’d crossed his arms she would know how to approach him.

So she just said hi.

“Have fun?” he asked.

“I did. Met a few of your friends.”

“Lil, Reb and Misery.”

So…he was letting her know that nothing happened that he didn’t hear about.

“An interesting bunch.” She rested a hip against the side of the Jeep. “Keep their own counsel well.”

He nodded.

She realized she’d forgotten to look for books or magazines. “Do you have another job for me?”

“Not at the moment. I’m considering giving you a project. Need to think about how it should be done.”

The sun broke through a cloud. Warmth infused her. She closed her eyes and enjoyed it. “I saw some artwork,” she said, keeping her eyes closed. “Pen-and-ink drawings of the island, particularly views from here.” She remembered the possibility of the letters being K and R. “Are you the artist?”

“I only moved here three years ago.”

She opened her eyes. He’d moved here three years ago. So what? The drawings could’ve been done yesterday, for all she knew. Or twenty years ago. “Meaning, they were done before you bought the place?”

“I’m saying that a lot of people have stayed here.”

“There’s a signature, and a price tag of a hundred dollars. That’s pretty steep for an amateur artist.” She would try an Internet search. At least it would give her something to do.

“I agree.”

Again an answer but not an answer. He was frustratingly good at deflection. She slipped out of her jacket as the clouds opened up further and let more sun through. Zach’s gaze touched her almost physically.

“Your clothes aren’t really suited to winter here,” he commented, his tone of voice casual but his inspection of her not casual at all. She felt…thoroughly examined.

“I’d go shopping, but…”

“Mr. Moody would take you to Orcas, if you want. Or into Anacordes on the mainland. You’re not a prisoner, Julianne. You’re being protected. They are entirely different things.” He came closer, until he could lean against the car with her and enjoy the sun on his face, too.

“Where are you from?” she asked, studying him, enjoying looking at him.

“Near San Francisco.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty.”

“Are you happy living in this kind of isolation?” She couldn’t understand anyone voluntarily living so far from civilization—from shopping.

“I chose to.”

“That’s not an answer, Zach.” She waited a few beats. “Do you leave the island?”

“Regularly.”

“Where do you go?”

“All over. No place in particular.”

“Do you have a family?”

“Everyone has a family.”

She blew out a breath. “A family you see? Communicate with? Like?”

“Yes.”

That surprised her. She’d pegged him as a loner.

“How about you, Julianne? Aside from your brother, do you have family?”

She hesitated, not really wanting to think about it. But fair was fair. He’d answered her question, sort of. “My dad died ten years ago. I have uncles and cousins. I’m not close to them.”

“Your mom?”

She looked away sharply. “Left us when I was little.”

“Abandoned you?”

He’d softened his tone with kindness, which surprised her, and drew her gaze back to his.

“Yes,” she said, the word coming out shaky. “I haven’t seen or heard from her in twenty years. It was her way of getting out from the family business. If she’d taken my brother and me along, they would’ve tracked her down no matter what. So she left. Disappeared. Never to be heard from again.” The pain of knowing her mother had given her up so selfishly never left her. “I figured Jamey filled you in on my history.”

“A little. He said your brother was going to trial, and you needed a place to stay, and that anything else I needed to know you would tell me.”

Julianne didn’t know whether she would’ve preferred Jamey have told Zach about her past. Saying it out loud sounded harsh, even though she’d been innocent herself—at least of committing a crime.

“I’d be interested in knowing,” he said, “whenever you’d like to talk about it.”

“There’s a lot I’d be interested in knowing about you, too.” She wanted the conversation to end, so she smiled benignly at him. “We could trade, fact for fact.”

“So you’re a deal maker.”

“I’m bored. And I’m curious.”

“It’s for your sake, not mine, that I can’t share what I do. Trust me. It’s better this way.”

“You know, I’ve heard that ‘trust me’ thing most of my life. That other people know what’s best for me,” she said, annoyed. “I decided not to take it at face value anymore. People earn trust. And I do know what’s best for myself.”

“Fair enough.”

That let the wind out of her sails. She’d wanted a little debate, some emotion, something energizing. He’d stopped the potential for any of that.

“You could’ve argued the point just a little,” she muttered.

“I know.”

Irritated, she gave him a little shove, but smiled at him. He didn’t smile. He simply looked at her, his gaze intense and heated. Had she crossed a line, touching him? Some boss/assistant, protector/protectee demarcation visible only in his mind?

Or was it desire? Had her touch done that?

She was tired of the games men played. Part of her plan—no, her ultimate dream—had been to find a man who was open and direct and trustworthy, something she’d never really known and desperately wanted. Zach was about as closed and indirect as they came, although probably trustworthy. She didn’t think Jamey would’ve sent her to someone he didn’t truly trust.

Still, there was a difference between trusting a person as a person, and a man as a man, one half of a relationship, no matter how fascinating that man was. Some day she hoped she would get to appreciate the difference.

“I would say I should get back to work, but…” She let the sentence drift. “Do you have a library or something?”

“What do you like to read?”

“To be honest, I like magazines.” She remembered she was going to research the artist on the Internet. “On second thought, maybe I’ll just check my e-mail.”

She pushed away from the Jeep. He didn’t stop her. “Will you be joining me for dinner?”

“Probably.”

“Okay.” She felt his gaze on her as she walked away. His silent intensity flattered and aroused her. She wondered how much her hips swayed. Had she changed her stride, wanting to attract him? Probably. Anticipation and need skirmished within her, slowing her down. It felt good. Too good. Freeing.