Hush (28 page)

She scooped up a handful of water and let it drip off her fingers. Behind her, the old man shook his head. But
he didn't say anything. “I hope one day to have the same kind of marriage my parents did. They were so happy together.” She paused. “Although I fully intend to pay more attention to my kids. What about you and Gideon and your folks? Close?”

“Not even geographically,” Zak admitted. “Crystal gave our father what he wanted. A couple of heirs to the empire he'd built up around him like some kind of kingdom. She never professed to like kids. Which was fine,” he added quickly, seeing her eyes go all soft and dewy. “We had sexy nannies, a stellar education, world travel, and absolutely no boundaries.”

Her sympathy only deepened. “No wonder you both dare fate for kicks. What about your dad?”

“Unless he needed us for a photo op, we were pretty much invisible to him.” His father had been an egotistical ass. Filled with self-importance. It had chapped his hide that Zak and Gideon had started ZAG with Buck and a few grand they'd managed to scrape together as seed money.

He'd always had Gideon. His brother had been his real family. “His indifference would've been better. It was just Gideon and me.” And for a while, there was Jennifer, but he definitely wasn't going there.

“I'm sorry about your wife. That must've been so hard. At least there weren't children?”

Christ. Another fucking can of worms. “We were about to adopt. I stopped proceedings when Jen—” He hadn't wanted to do it. Jen's idea of family hadn't been that much different from his own. And her idea of
mothering had been to get nannies and continue her wild ride of life unimpeded. His lips moved in a grimace he couldn't control. He'd not only lost his wife the day Jennifer died. He'd lost a child as well. Nobody had known that.

“She wanted six, she always said. Six multiracial kids.”

Acadia frowned. “You didn't want to adopt, or you didn't want multiracial kids?”

“I didn't give a flying fuck
what
color my kid was, but I thought starting with one and seeing how that went made more sense.” He didn't mention that the subject of children had been dropped the year after they were married, or that he and Jen had had sex for the first time in six months a few months before she'd been killed. She'd been barely three months pregnant and had called him in flight on his way to Cape Town to tell him.

He'd felt a surge of joy mingled with a surge of disgust. Divorce was on the table. Her timing couldn't have been worse.

God
damn
these fucking numbers! He pressed his fist between his eyes in an attempt to block them.

In fact, he was pretty much done with the sharing-life-stories business, so he made a big deal of rubbing his forehead. “I'll just close my eyes for a bit and rest.”
And not let you drag my life story from me one painful oar stroke at a time.

TWELVE

T
hey arrived on the outskirts of Caracas at full dark. With his thanks, Zak paid the man most of Acadia's poker winnings, and the small boat disappeared into the gloom of the shadowy river.

“This isn't exactly civilization,” Acadia pointed out. It was a rural area with a few buildings and several shops lit against the night. Dozens of people milled about the streets. All of them stared. She moved closer to Zak's side.

“Close enough.” He dragged her into a nearby tobacconist and asked to use their phone. After a rapid-fire exchange, the skeletal man behind the counter handed him a rotary phone. Zak paid him with the rest of their money.

The tiny shop smelled strongly of tobacco and was filled with smoke from the three old men standing nearby, puffing at foul-smelling cigarettes as they watched her. Acadia leaned against the glass display counter and only half listened to Zak's conversation.

With his thanks, Zak slid the heavy black phone back across the counter, then took her hand, leading her
outside. “The concierge at the Gran Meliá Hotel knows Gideon and me; we've stayed there many times. She's sending a car.”

Acadia didn't miss the “she” and suddenly wondered if it wasn't just Zak's reputation alone that made everything within reach of a phone.

“How's Gideon?” The first question he'd asked the woman at the hotel.

Zak's jaw clenched, and she knew the answer before he said grimly, “Hasn't checked in yet.”

Twenty minutes later, the luxury sedan that had been sent to pick them up was met at the five-star Gran Meliá Hotel by a stunningly beautiful young woman whom Zak quickly introduced as Carina García-Ramírez. “Has my brother—?”

“Not yet, señor. I'm sorry.” Carina whisked them to the presidential suite. “I have tried to anticipate your needs, Señora Stark,” the concierge told her, ushering them into a luxurious suite decorated in golds and cream. Acadia didn't want to walk on the pristine, plush cream-colored carpet with her jungle-dirty boots, so she paused just inside the doorway to unlace them and place them side by dirty side near the door. Didn't seem to bother Zak any as he strolled in like he owned the place. For all she knew, he did.

It wasn't until she'd padded into the suite after the other two that she realized the woman had just called her “Mrs. Stark.” She got a fluttery feeling in her tummy, which was silly. It was just a form of address. An accident. Which Zak hadn't corrected.

Zak went immediately to the phone. He was calling his partner, she knew. Checking to see if Gideon had called, updating him on the situation.

Carina indicated the laden coffee table between two gold brocade sofas. “I took the liberty of ordering a light meal, Señor Stark, but should you require something more substantial, please let me know.” She smiled. “Your toiletries are in the bathroom,
señora
, and I have chosen some garments I thought you might require overnight. If you would like to give me an additional list of your requirements, I will make sure everything is brought to your suite by morning.”

“Thank you. That's—” Pretty freaking amazing. “Great.” The opulence—hell, the cleanliness—after where they'd been was stunning, disorienting, and surreal, to say the least. Acadia walked to the windows while Zak talked quietly on the phone.

The wall of ceiling-to-floor windows framed a spectacular view of the lights and high-rises of downtown Caracas and the dusty outline of the mountains in the distance. She watched the two talk, reflected in the windows. The concierge leaned in just a little. She liked Zak. Liked him a lot. She touched his arm. He shook his head.

Acadia dragged her gaze away. Jealousy was an emotion she'd never felt in her life. The fact that she felt it now was …
stupid
.

She glanced around. To the left, separated from the rest of the room by a waist-high sideboard, was a highly polished dark wood dining table that seated eight. To the
right, a living room area. The place was as big as a luxury apartment, a huge contrast to the squalid cell they'd shared just a few days ago. For that matter, it wasn't anything like anywhere she'd ever stayed; it was something out of a movie, not her version of real life.

The coffee table had been laid out with half a dozen covered serving dishes, several large pots of coffee, and a platter of artistically cut fresh fruit.

Zak turned to her with a tired smile when he heard her soft footfalls. “Yeah. Wherever he lands first,” he said into the phone. He held out his right hand, and Acadia slipped her fingers into his. Her heart swelled with cautious emotion, but she ruthlessly tamped it down.

Zak put the phone down. “Piñero made her ransom demand a week ago. Buck's been frantic. He hasn't heard anything since.” He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “No word from Gideon.”

“Because he's on his way.”

“From your lips …” His eyes refocused as he looked at her. He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Hungry?”

Acadia was starting to feel a little fuzzy around the edges. Exhaustion crept up on her in increments. The cessation of danger and drama and not knowing what scary-as-hell thing was going to happen next, the horrifying realization that Zak had died and then the total relief when he'd come back, had all combined to zap what energy she had left.

“I'd love a shower first. Then food.”

“Shower's through there.” Zak indicated a wide doorway into another room. “All the lotions and potions you need. If not, dial eight. Carina will take care of it.”

“Right, okay.” She didn't want to let go of his hand. She suddenly felt like a kindergartner on the first day of school. Right then, Zak was everything safe and secure.

And that was a problem.

She untangled her fingers. “Thanks.” She turned to go through the bedroom, but Zak snagged her elbow as she passed. She stumbled, and he wrapped his free arm around her waist. Hazel eyes scanned her face. God. She must look a mess. Her hair was all over the place; her face was probably filthy.

He used a gentle finger to push a strand of hair off her cheek and said very softly, “Thank you for saving my life.”

Her breast brushed his fingers, imprisoned in the cheap black sling across his chest. “You're welcome.”

“You don't have to be on guard anymore, okay?” Zak told her gently, as if he could read her mind. “I'll take care of you for a change.”

“Great.”

He tilted her chin up on his finger. “Acadia Gray, warrior woman? At a loss for words?”

She lifted her eyes slowly to meet his gaze. “Funny, huh?” Her chest felt shuddery and tight. It wasn't just the shocking realization of his wealth. Or that she stood on a carpet three inches thick, surrounded by the fragrant
aroma of freshly brewed Colombian coffee and the lush, civilized smell of hothouse flowers scattered about the room in cut crystal vases. Well, yes, it was all that. But more, it was the stunning realization that this Zakary Stark was as far away from Acadia Gray's lifestyle as Alpha Centauri from the sun.

“You're safe here. You can let down your guard,” he repeated.

Wrong. Her guard was up and unbreachable. Self-imposed, but way up there. She had no place in his world, and he'd be bored out of his mind in hers. “Wow,” Acadia said brightly, looking around at the expansive and exquisitely decorated suite. The original artwork, the gold brocade sofas, and the tasteful antique furnishings were all top of the line. “We've gone from the ridiculous to the sublime.”

“You'll want that shower,” he murmured, a smile in his voice, his gaze hot as he looked at her mouth.

She gave him a narrow-eyed look and saw him through a sparkling shimmer. “Now, that's just plain rude, Zakary Stark; you aren't any cleaner than I—”

She hadn't realized just how close he was until he hooked his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her around and against his bound arm.

A fluttery leap of anticipation made her tilt her face up to his. “Be careful of your sh—”

His hungry mouth silenced her. He didn't bother to warm up, or ask permission. His mouth was hot and demanding and impatient. The kiss was like dying of thirst all day and then sinking into a lake of cool, crisp
water and drinking her fill. The flutter became a tidal wave of need. Of greed.

To resist would be futile, and damn stupid. Who would she be fooling? Mature, well-reasoned intentions be damned. She wanted him in any way she could get him. Acadia wrapped her arms around Zak's neck, fisting her hands in his hair as he kissed her with single-minded intensity that bordered on a territorial imperative. Her tongue met his, voracious and just as needy as his own.

His hand went down her back, and he started tugging her shirt free of her pants as she matched him in intensity, tilting her head and going up on her toes to better reach his mouth. She wanted him so badly that it never occurred to her to say no. Or wait. Or—Her mind went blank.

The next thing she knew, the small of her back hit a solid surface. The supporting arm around her left for a second as he swept a huge arrangement of fresh flowers, and several useless gold boxes, off the sideboard to crash to the floor. She felt a splash of cold water on her socked foot as the vase and flowers scattered on the plush carpet. Then she was flat on her back, legs dangling on either side of the mahogany cabinet, Zak wedged between her thighs.