Promoted to Wife? (14 page)

It was Zac. The only person who'd been honest about what he wanted from her, who didn't lie and manipulate. A man who hadn't given up, who disoriented her with just one kiss, who made her forget the entire world when she was in his bed. Her own personal form of escapism.

Which was what she needed right now.

She returned the text, familiar eagerness heating her skin.

 

I'll be there.

 

Zac had just walked through to the living room when he heard the key in his front door, then the lock snick open.

The lights clicked off, plunging him into darkness.

He whirled. “Emily?”

The instant the figure moved from the door to the window, a dark silhouette against the full moon glimmering through his open window, he knew it was her.

Dressed in some sort of long coat?

“What are you wearing?”

She said nothing, just flicked on the small reading lamp. The soft light speared out, bathing her in gold from head to toe.

Zac's mouth went dry.

Her hair was piled up in a tousled mass, a few strands brushing her collar, one curling seductively over one eye. She was skillfully made up, her eyes wide and mysterious, her eyebrows shaped into a come-hither arch. And her mouth…

He swallowed, knowing he was staring but unable to look away. Her luscious Cupid's-bow mouth was painted a deep red, the full bottom lip in a slight pout that conjured up all sorts of erotic images.

He couldn't breathe.

She took one slow step forward, then another, hips swaying as her heels clicked on the polished floor. He glanced down. Red stilettos with a peek-a-boo toe. Long red and black ribbons that looped around her ankles, then tied in festive bows at the sides. He'd bought her those last week.

She paused a few feet away and his eyes went to her hands, to the belt she was slowly untying.

“What are you..?”

“Stop talking.”

As she plucked open the large buttons on her coat, her gaze
firmly on him, he could feel anticipation building, bubbling up to heat his blood, shred his breath.

She was stripping. For him.

Unable to move, much less think, he watched her peel away one lapel, revealing a black satin strap over one bare shoulder.

He finally tore his gaze up to meet her eyes, and what he saw crushed his lungs. Even after everything they'd done, touched, tasted, she still looked uncertain.

How could she not know how desirable she was?

Man, she could bring him to his knees with nothing more than a look from those intelligent eyes. She undid him, turning every bone in his body to mush.

With a sharp inhale, almost as if she was dragging in courage, she grasped both lapels and pulled the coat apart.

A groan rattled in his throat.

The black push-up bra firmly cupped her breasts, creating an erotic valley between. He looked his fill, spotting a tiny diamanté flower perched in the center, winking in the light. Then his gaze crept lower, to the black bikini knickers tied at her curvy hips with two jaunty bows. A thin silver chain looped low around her waist, ending in a string of tiny stars hanging just below her belly button.

A rocket surge of lust sped through his blood.

Her body was flawless. Every curve was designed to be touched, every dip a perfect place for his tongue. From the silky smoothness of her thighs to the pebbly roughness of her pink nipples, there was not a section of her skin he hadn't tasted. If there were any imperfections, he'd yet to see them.

Why did she always bring out the caveman in him?

“Emily…”

Her mouth wavered, fists still bunched on the coat, flashing him. “Zac?”

Control was way overrated.

He surged forward with a rough growl, grabbed her by the lapels and slammed his mouth down on hers.

He kissed her hard and deep, a kiss born of frustration, of
passion, of desperate need. He wanted her to know exactly how keyed up he was, how much he wanted her.

Her soft exclamation muffled against his lips as she pressed up against him, her breasts hot and eager. He knew she could feel his arousal, his groin hard as it pressed into her belly. Somehow they made it across the room, but the stairs proved too much and he stumbled, sprawling backward on the steps with Emily on top.

“Ah, what the hell,” he muttered as he pulled the coat from her shoulders, trapping her arms behind her. She grinned, all wicked and wanton, her hair tumbling over her shoulders.

He reared up to capture her lips and they tangled for long, sensuous moments, breath heaving, blood thumping.

Then the intercom buzzed.

“Zac…” She mumbled beneath his lips.

He pulled back and caught her soft earlobe between his teeth, grinning when she gasped.

Just as he went in for another kiss, the intercom jarred in his brain again.

He groaned. “If it's not someone bleeding from a major artery, I'm ignoring it.”

Her small burst of laughter shook her body, sliding her against him. The breath he sucked in was sharp and painful.

“Hurry up and tell them to go away,” she said, peeling away from him with a smile.

“Don't move.” He rose, stalked over to the door, and with eyes fixed firmly on her near-naked body reclining on his stairs, slammed his fist on the intercom. “What?”

“Hi, Zac.”

The woman's familiar purr cut through the air, dousing the moment like an Antarctic wind. With one sharp movement, Emily dragged the coat around her and stood.

Zac chewed back a curse. “What do you want, Haylee?”

“You never replied to my e-mails.”

Emily's eyebrows shot up, hands going to her hips. Her indignation would've been humorous if he weren't so irritated.

“We broke up, remember?” he said.

Her sigh echoed over the intercom. “Look, can I talk to you for a moment? It's important.”

Zac glanced back to Emily, but all she did was wave a hand, tie her belt, then walk into the kitchen.

His decision.

Emily watched from the darkened kitchen window as Haylee stalked up to the front door. She'd gone all out, dressed in a shiny leather miniskirt, thigh-high stiletto boots and a sheer blouse that left her naked underneath as she passed under the porch light. Her hair shone, the Cleopatra fringe adding sexy mystery to a striking face and dark makeup.

Gorgeous, confident and sexually aggressive.

Emily's insides cramped as she turned away.

She heard the door swing open, then Zac's curt, “What do you want, Haylee?”

There was a long pause, too long. Emily chewed on her lip.
Eavesdropping is a bad idea. Bad, bad.
Before she could convince herself, she quickly scooted back to the window, gently prying the venetian blinds apart.

Haylee had her hands on her hips, one hip thrust forward, chest out, her bold expression a mixture of smoldering and come-here. Emily swallowed. The woman knew how to command the moment, she'd give her that. But Zac…well, his entire crossed-arms posture just gave off waves of irritability, eyes firmly fixed on Haylee's face.

“I had to see you.”

Zac frowned. “What for?”

“Do I need a reason? We were good together, Zac.”

“I told you. You have to stop this.”

Haylee responded with a pout that looked artfully practiced for maximum effect. “Do you really want to make me say it, baby? Because I will.”

Zac sighed. “Haylee…”

“I know I can convince you to give us another chance. I want you, Zac. Right here, right now.” When she moved in, pressing up against his chest, a thin film of fury cleaved Emily in two, leaving
her breathless. Her nails dug into her palms yet she remained motionless, balanced on a knife edge.

Zac had hold of Haylee's wrists and was firmly pushing her away, his face marred by a deep frown.

“But I don't want you. Not now, not ever. Stop harassing me. Stop calling my office. Stop everything.”

Then he dragged his impersonal gaze down her body. Emily almost felt sorry for the woman. She recognized the lost-all-patience-and-was-done-being-polite look. And so did Haylee, judging by her shocked expression.

“You're turning me down?” she spat out, yanking her arms back. “How dare you? Where the hell do you get off? I can name at least a dozen guys who'd be willing—no,
thrilled
—with what I'm offering.”

Zac crossed his arms. “Then by all means, take them up on

Her eyes narrowed, darting past his shoulder. “It's someone else, isn't it? You've got someone else in there.”

“That's none of your business.”

When she surged forward, Zac's arm shot out to bar her way.

“Hey. Hey!” Haylee yelled into the house, straining against Zac's arm. “You do know you're only one skank in a long line? When Zac's finished with you, he'll just drop you for some other easy lay! Hey!” She squealed as Zac grabbed her shoulders, pivoted her, then gave her a small shove.

After a brief stumble she whirled, fury twisting her face into ugly lines. “Don't you touch me.”

“Leave. Now.”

With a foul curse and a rude gesture, Haylee spun away, then stalked down the path.

Wow. Emily pulled away from the window, then returned to the living room. Zac stood with his back resting on the closed door, concentration creasing his forehead.

“That was…” Emily began.

“Unfortunate.” He sighed and pushed off from the door, his hands going to his hips.

“Do you think she'll make trouble for you?”

“With the clients? I doubt it.” Zac shrugged. “But Josh…”

“You don't need Josh Kerans's business.”

“No. But he is an extremely influential man.”

“So are you.”

“Yeah, but…” They both knew what he meant. Rich, workaholic father, spoilt daughter. It wasn't hard to do the math.

“Well.” She took a breath. “If there are any problems, you can't argue with an eyewitness.”

He paused, an odd expression on his face. “You'd do that?”

“Yes.”

The look in his eyes blew any niggling worry from the water. And when he smiled, her heart melted.

“Come here.”

She went willingly, eagerly into his arms, met his lips with a sigh of satisfaction, letting his mouth and hands cleanse the moment.

She didn't want to think about anything she'd said or done these past twenty-four hours. Zac filled her senses, her mind and soon, her body. And right now, it was all she needed.

E
mily never thought Jimmy's old gambling contacts would've come in handy. But after a few calls and a few pointed tugs on the heartstrings, she had the most likely places Rafe Santos—aka “Joe”—would be, including a description from a former band member.

It was late Friday night, a night for revelry, dancing and shadowy assignations. After checking out five different nightclubs and two strip joints, she'd seen more than her share of excitement.

Last one. She glanced up at the familiar pink neon proclaiming Romeo's and sighed. This was one of the clubs where Jimmy's band had once played. Same indifferent young thing at the entrance, collecting her entry fee, same mirrored walls and ceilings. Same huge bouncer at the foot of the stairs. But this time, as she passed by, the man's eyes latched onto her barely contained breasts straining against the leather bustier, lingering on her until she reached the foot of the stairs. Knowing her butt encased in a short, tight denim skirt now commanded his attention, she forced down her distaste as she clicked up the neon
glass stairs in her red-and-black ribboned stilettos. The closer she got to the top, the more heavily the frantic dance music pulsed in her throat and belly. Her head began to throb with the beginnings of a headache.
Focus. You're here to bargain with a bookmaker, hopefully so he will drop his blackmail attempt.

Strobe lights, loud music and heat from dozens of sweaty dancers simultaneously hit the moment she paused at the top of the stairs. The place was cavernous as she remembered, with a split-level dance floor, a stage area and a massive bar that spanned the entire length of the room. And past the bar, in the shadows, a handful of circular lounges were cordoned off by waist-high smoky glass, a VIP area where special guests could observe the action yet still remain private.

And there Rafe Santos was.

She pulled her shoulders back, took a deep breath as a slick-looking guy in an expensive suit sidled up.

“Hey, babe, howsabout you and me—”

She didn't stick around to hear the rest of his suggestion. With her gaze firmly on her quarry, she made her way across the room, ignoring the looks, shrugging off a couple of propositions. She stared right at the group in the private booth, at the guy lounging on the comfy love seat, his arm around a stunning blonde.

As she approached, Santos flicked his gaze over her, then back to the guy standing with his back to Emily. He held up a finger, silencing his bodyguard, then returned to her, his eyes sidling up and down her body in all-male appreciation.

The guard turned with a frown. “This is a private booth,” he said, stepping forward. “You need to—”

“John.”

One word from his boss and he froze, a comical snapshot of menacing indignation. Santos went on smoothly. “You would send a pretty girl away without knowing why we've attracted her attention?”

The bouncer gave her the once-over with a bored look in his eyes. “You always attract women, Mr. Santos. This one isn't worth—”

“I think I'm perfectly capable of deciding who is worthy of my time, John.”

Now that she was here, with one of the city's most powerful bookies a few feet away, panic began to set in.
The man is a criminal. Just what are you going to do? Who do you think you are?

The guard's smug expression reflected all her unspoken doubts and fears as he edged aside, allowing her entry with only the tiniest of space. Her arm brushed his and she barely managed to stop herself from recoiling.

Confidence. You ooze confidence. This is just another role to play.
Emily shut everyone out and put all her focus on the man she'd come to bargain with.

He's not much older than me, was her first thought. Her second was he was an extremely good-looking man. With a smooth-shaven head and dark coffee skin spread over broad cheekbones, Rafe Santos was an exotic blend of Australia's multicultural heritage. Filipino, Pacific islander…possibly some Italian in those frankly compelling eyes. He was impeccably dressed in a deep navy suit and a silk tie, ankle casually crossed over one knee as he lounged back in the sofa and appraised her.

“Can I help you, Mrs. Catalano?” he asked smoothly, the rich, cultured voice flowing over her. It was a charismatic, built-to-seduce voice, one Emily could dispassionately acknowledge without succumbing to its charms. Beside him, one arm possessively around his shoulders, the blonde woman shot her a look of haughty distain. Emily ignored her.

“You knew I was coming?”

“An attractive woman is in my clubs asking for me and I make a point of finding out who she is.” His smile was all charming seduction. If she were any other woman, if he weren't a criminal who didn't exude barely leashed danger, it would've worked. “I knew your husband—”

“My ex-husband.”

His mouth thinned into a smile but his eyes cooled—a powerful man displeased at being corrected. Emily swallowed. “Jimmy was a regular,” he went on, taking a drag from his cigar.
“A little too erratic for my tastes, but still, good for business. Pity he died.”

“Yes.”

His eyes never left hers as he took another drag. “John, go and bring some more wine.”

“Yes, sir.”

“White, I think. Something from the Margaret River.” He uncrossed his legs and eased forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Join me for a drink. And sit.” He gestured to the sofa.

Ringed by two impassive bodyguards, she could do nothing but acquiesce. He smiled as Emily slowly sat on the sofa. “A good Australian wine is so much better than overpriced French champagne, wouldn't you agree?”

She nodded, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. As he studied her intently, she slid back into the lounge and crossed her legs. It eased her already-short skirt up even higher and spread Santos's grin a little wider.

“I need to ask you a favor,” she began.

“Ahh. A favor for a pretty girl. I like the sound of that.”

She swallowed down her apprehension. The way she worded her request was of the utmost importance. “Can we speak privately?”

He raised one eyebrow. “But we are.”

She glanced at the bodyguards, at the hostile blonde. “Not entirely.”

He paused, his teeth flashing in the shadows. “Intriguing. Helena.”

The blonde rose elegantly, then stalked out, followed by the guards, who repositioned themselves a few feet away, this time facing the club crowd.

With a silent prayer, she began. “I know you're a powerful man, Mr. Santos. An influential man. I respect that. And I thank you for your patience while I sorted out Jimmy's debts.”

“And I thank you for your prompt payment.” He eased back in the sofa, hitching his elbows along the back of the seat.

Emily nodded, nerves strung out like ragged ribbons on a breeze. “So I'm wondering…” She breathed out slowly, blinked,
then took a breath. “I'm
asking
you to withdraw your current request.”

His eyes narrowed through the thick plume of smoke coming from his lips. “Which is?”

She met his gaze unwaveringly. “That I pay you to stay silent about my relationship with Zac Prescott.”

He was still for a moment, picking her apart with ruthless efficiency.

“I see.”

He took another slow drag from his cigar, blew, then watched the smoke hover gently in the thick air. Emily felt her heartbeat emphasize every dragging second, thump-thumping hard in her chest and drowning out the heavy music.

“And what did you bring to bargain with?”

His eyes slid over her face, breasts, then her legs with disturbing familiarity. She forced herself to remain still, forcing down the surge of disgust as his mysterious gaze finally reached her feet. His wolfish grin spread, spearing ice into her veins. What
had
she brought, except herself?

Suddenly Santos's focus snapped up and into the crowded club. “I think we have a visitor.”

Emily turned and stared past the wall of guards to the approaching figure.

What on earth was Zac doing here?

“Nice to see you again, Mr. Prescott.” Santos smiled, then nodded at the bodyguards to let him pass. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

Zac's glacial eyes grazed over Emily, taking in her skimpy attire and expanse of leg in silence, before he returned to Santos. “I came for Emily.”

Emily blinked. “You were following me?”

“I got an anonymous call.”

She frowned, glancing back at the now-silent Santos as he studied his cigar tip.

When he finally met her eyes, his cold expression revealed nothing. She was the first to glance away.

“Emily.” Zac's firm command brooked no refusal yet she remained seated, glaring at him.

Santos sighed. “If you two are going to fight, could you please take it elsewhere?”

“No.” Emily spun back to him, desperately trying to ignore the overwhelming presence an angry, six-foot-two Zac made. “I came here to talk with you about…what I'd mentioned before,” she added cryptically. Then she looked up at Zac. “Go home, Zac. Please.”

“Only if you're coming with me.”

“This doesn't concern you.”

“I think it does.”

“How do you know?”

“He's right,” Santos drawled. “If I was blackmailing you to keep silent about your affair, then he has a right to know.”

“What the—?” With a growl Zac surged forward, but a beefy hand clamped down on his shoulder. Emily shot to her feet the exact moment he whirled, ready to do battle, but Santos's sharp, “Enough!” froze everyone in their tracks.

“Miss Reynolds. You and Mr. Prescott may go now.”

“But what about—”

His expression blanked, those dark eyes icing over, and Emily's pulse jumped in alarm. “I am not concerned with how you paid your debt, Miss Reynolds, just that it was paid. Blackmail is not my style. It's a very messy business with no guaranteed return, not to mention dangerous to my health. I like my life too much.” He nodded, his small smile doing nothing to assuage her nerves. “I thank you for bringing this issue to my attention. Rest assured you will not be getting any visits from Mr. Mayer again. Understood?”

Emily nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“Let's go,” Zac murmured, firmly taking her wrist.

She rose shakily, relief flooding her limbs, but before she could escape, Santos's hand was on hers.

She whirled, wide-eyed, as she met his eyes.

“If you ever get bored with playing it safe…” He caressed her knuckles, smile widening as Emily felt the blush rise up.

Zac's hand tightened around hers, a deep warning rumbling in his throat. Santos flicked a glance at Zac, shrugged, then let her go, his chuckle quickly swallowed by the music.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Zac hissed, taking her elbow as they exited the club into the warm night.

She wrenched back and ground to a halt. “I was thinking I could get him to change his mind.”

“Dressed like that?” He bit off a curse, dragged a hand through his hair. “It was dangerous and stupid, Emily. What if something had happened to you? What if—”

“Nothing did.”

“But what if it
had?
You were being blackmailed. Why didn't you come to me with this?”

“Because
I
needed to fix it. Jimmy was my mistake, okay? My lapse in judgment, my stupid decision.”

“And you're damned lucky it worked out the way it did. Bloody hell, Emily, just what were you prepared to do?”

They glared at each other, teetering on a thin tightrope. The awful truth lay in his furious gaze, laced with worry and concern. It squeezed the fight right out of her.

She took a step back. “I… I don't know. I just thought—”

“Don't do that again.” He gripped her arms, tight. “Don't put yourself in danger and don't—” The gravity of the situation they'd just left crushed Zac under its weight, her confusion tangling his words. What the hell was he trying to say?

You're mine.

His expression must have given him away, because her eyes suddenly widened, a spark of lust rending the air. With a thick, frustrated growl he captured her mouth with his.

Emily's surprise quickly melted into need as her body instantly responded, lips automatically parting, her breath hitching as she grabbed his shoulders and kissed him back.

It was an angry kiss, one born of frustration and worry and desperate desire. And she matched it, letting all her tension go in this frantic meeting of breathless gasps and hot mouths.

When he finally yanked back, his heaving chest matched hers.

“No secret is worth that, Emily. Do you hear me?” He tunneled
his hand in his hair, glaring out into the night. “This was about us. Not just you, not just me. At least give me the courtesy of telling me before you jump in to try and fix something.”

He clamped his mouth shut as a bunch of revelers approached, moving aside as they stumbled and laughed by. Staring at their backs as they made their way into the club, he said curtly, “Where are you parked?”

“Around the corner.”

He led the way, walking the short distance in cool silence.

When they finally reached her car, Emily fished for the keys in her tiny handbag, face warm, feeling utterly stupid in light of Zac's argument.

He was right. What had she been thinking? She'd gone there full of bravado, ready to bargain, but what could she have done if Santos had demanded something more?

She blinked, furiously dashing away half-formed tears.

“Emily.” She jumped when Zac placed a hand on her arm, yet summoned enough courage to meet his gaze.

“Is there anything else I should know?”

I think I love you and I'm scared. Every relationship I've ever been in gets ruined. I don't want to lose you when I leave Valhalla.
All those doubts and more jostled for position, but instead she said slowly, “You should go to your brother's wedding.”