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“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.
“Pity is the last thing I feel for you, Lia,” he grated, still determined in some part of his brain to push her away before it was too late.
But then he tugged her closer, until she pressed against him, until she’d have to be stupid not to know what he was thinking about right now.
She gasped, and a skein of hot need uncoiled within him.
“Does this feel like pity?” he growled, his hands sliding down to grip her hips and pull her fully into him.
Her eyes grew large in her lovely face, liquid. For the barest of moments, he thought she seemed too innocent, too sweet. But then she reached up and put a palm to his cheek. Her thumb ghosted over his lips. He couldn’t suppress a shudder of longing.
“No,” she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. “It doesn’t.”
He thought there was a note of wonder in her voice, but he ignored it and pressed on, sliding a hand around to cup her round bottom. She wasn’t fat, the stupid woman. She was curvaceous, with generously proportioned boobs and hips that other women could only envy.
“Is this what you want, Lia?” he asked, dipping his head, sliding his lips along her cheek in surrender to the hot feelings pounding through him.
Her only answer was a soft gasp. Desire scorched into him, hammered in his veins. He’d wanted her to go back to her room, wanted to remove the temptation when he had no idea what might happen if he had sex with her, but now that she was in his arms, sending her away had suddenly become impossible.
Her arms went around his neck, and he shuddered. She should be frightened of him after what had happened in the ballroom, but she showed no fear whatsoever. Then again, he had been the one to pull her from the water. Perhaps that redeemed him somewhat in her eyes.
“Why aren’t you afraid of me?” he asked against the soft skin of her throat.
“I’m only afraid you’ll stop,” she said, and he squeezed her to him in reaction as emotions overwhelmed him.
He wanted to tell her not to trust him, wanted to tell her to run far and fast, that he could give her nothing more than a night of passion. He wanted to, but he couldn’t find the voice right now. Not when what he so desperately wanted to do was slide his tongue into her mouth and see if she tasted as sweet as she looked.
Zach drew back just enough to see her face. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes fanning her cheekbones, and her pink lips parted on a sigh. She arched her body into his and heat streaked through him. It had been so long. Too long …
He shouldn’t do this. He really shouldn’t. He didn’t know this woman at all.
But it felt like he did. Like he’d known her for ages.
With a groan, Zach fell headlong into temptation.
CHAPTER THREE
AS ZACH’S MOUTH came down on hers, Lia’s first thought was to freeze. Her second was to melt into his kiss. She’d been kissed before, but nothing like this. Nothing with this kind of heat or raw passion. He wanted her. He really wanted her. This was not a dream, or a fever, or an illusion. This was a man—a hot, mysterious, dangerous man—and he wanted her, Lia Corretti.
His tongue slid against hers, and she shivered with longing. She didn’t really know what she was doing—but she knew how it was supposed to feel, how she was supposed to react.
And she had no problem reacting. Lia arched into him, met his tongue eagerly, if somewhat inexpertly. She just hoped he didn’t realize it.
The kiss was hot, thrilling, stomach-churning in a good way. Her body ached with the sudden need to feel more than this. To feel everything.
She knew she shouldn’t be doing this with him. Wanting this. But she did.
