Scandals Of The Rich. Lynn Raye Harris

accompanied by vision loss. Definitely not a good idea when flying a fighter jet at thirty thousand feet.”

      He sounded so nonchalant about it, but she knew how much it must hurt him. “I’m sorry.”

      His eyes gleamed as he looked at her. “Me, too. I loved flying.”

      “I don’t like to fly,” she said. “I find it scary.”

      He grinned, and it warmed her. “That’s because you don’t understand how it works. By that, I mean the noises the plane makes, the process of flight—not to mention the fact you aren’t in control. It’s some unseen person up there, holding your life in his or her hands. But it’s all very basic, I assure you.”

      “I know it’s mostly safe,” she said. “But you’re right. I haven’t flown much, and the sounds and bumps and lack of control scare me.”

      She’d longed for a sedative on the long flight from Sicily, but she hadn’t dared take one because of the baby.

      His laugh made a little tendril of flame lick through her. “A fighter jet is so much more intense. The engines scream, the thrust is incredible and the only thing keeping you from blacking out is the G suit.”

      Lia blinked. “What is a G suit?”

      “An antigravity suit,” he said. “It has sensors that tell it when to inflate. It fits tight around the abdomen and legs in order to prevent the blood draining from the brain during quick acceleration.”

      Lia shivered. “That sounds frightening.”

      He shrugged. “Blacking out would be frightening. The suit not so much. You get used to it.”

      “You miss flying, don’t you?”

      He nodded. “Every damn day.”

      “Then I’m sorry you can’t do it anymore.”

      “Me, too.” He put his head back on the seat and closed his eyes. She wanted to reach out and touch him, wanted to run her fingers along his jaw and into his hair. But she didn’t.

      She couldn’t breach that barrier, no matter how much she wanted to. She didn’t know what she really meant by such a gesture, what she expected. And she couldn’t bear it if he turned away from her. If he rejected her.

      Lia clasped her hands in her lap and turned to look at the White House as they glided by on Constitution Avenue, heading toward the Lincoln Memorial and the bridge across the Potomac. The monuments were brightly lit, glowing white in the night. Traffic wasn’t heavy and they moved swiftly past the sites, across the bridge and toward Zach’s house in Virginia.

      Lia racked her brain for something to say, something basic and innocuous. No matter what he’d said about the photographer, she was certain he’d had trouble with the intrusiveness of the flash.

      But she didn’t feel she could push the subject. He’d already shared something with her when he’d told her why he could no longer fly, and how much he missed it. He had not said those things during his speech. He’d said them to her, privately, and she knew it bothered him a great deal.

      She was still trying to think of something to say when Zach’s phone rang. He opened his eyes and drew it from his pocket, answering only once he’d looked at the display. He spent the next fifteen minutes discussing his schedule with someone, and then the car was sliding between the gates and pulling up in front of the house.

      Zach helped her out of the car and they passed inside as a uniformed maid opened the door. It was dark and quiet inside. The maid disappeared once Zach told her they needed nothing else this evening.

      The grand staircase loomed before them, subtly lit with wall sconces that went up to the landing. Zach took Lia’s elbow and guided her up the stairs. His touch was like a brand, sizzling into her, and her breath shortened as all her attention seemed to focus on that one spot. She didn’t want to feel this heat, this curl of excitement and fear that rolled in her belly, but she couldn’t seem to help it.

      The way he’d touched her earlier, kissed her—

      Lia swallowed. She shouldn’t want him to do it again, and yet a part of her did. A lonely, traitorous part of her. She wanted him to need her, wanted him to share his loneliness with her.

      He escorted her to the room she’d been shown to earlier. But he didn’t push her against the wall the way he had in the museum. His hand fell away from her elbow and he took a step back.

      Disappointment swirled in her belly, left her feeling hot and achy and empty. After that blazing kiss in the art museum, she’d expected something far different. And after his speech tonight, she’d wanted something far different. That was the Zach she wanted to know—the one who hid his feelings beneath a veneer of coldness, who’d watched six marines die and who would never fly again, though he loved it.

      That was the Zach he buried deep, the one he’d let out in Palermo. The one she wanted again.

      “You did well tonight,” he said. Still so cool, so indifferent.

      Lia dropped her gaze as another emotion flared to life inside her. Confusion. Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he was just very good at being what the situation required. War hero. Senator’s son. Fiery lover. “Thank you.”

      “Good night, Lia.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. The touch was light, almost imperceptible. His hands were in his pockets.

      She blinked up at him. “Good night, Zach.”

      He didn’t make a move to leave so she opened her door and went inside her room because she thought that was what he wanted her to do. Then she turned and pressed her ear against the door, straining to hear him as he walked away. Her heart pounded in her chest.

      What if he didn’t go? What if he knocked on her door instead? What if she opened it and he took her in his arms and said he needed her?

      What would she do?

      Maybe she should open the door. Just yank it open and confront him. Ask him why he’d kissed her like that earlier. Why he’d mentioned altering the arrangement and then acted like it never happened.

      Her fingers tightened on the knob. She would do it. She would jerk it open. She would demand an answer and she wouldn’t fear rejection—

      Footsteps moved away down the hall. A door opened and closed.

      Lia wanted to cry out in frustration. She’d waited too long.

      The moment was gone.

       CHAPTER EIGHT

      IT WAS STILL DARK when Lia woke. She lay in bed, uncertain for the first few moments where she was. And then she remembered. She was in Zach’s house, in a guest room. She reached for her phone to check the time—2:00 a.m.

      Lia yawned and pressed the button to open her mail. Four new messages popped into her inbox, but only one caught her attention.

      From: Rosa Corretti

      To: Lia Corretti

      Subject: Hi

      Lia’s pulse thrummed as she clicked on the message. She read through it quickly, and then went back to the beginning to make sure she’d read it right the first time. Rosa was actually writing to her. There wasn’t a snarky word or single insult in the entire missive. In fact, there was a word Lia had never expected to see: Sorry.

      Rosa was sorry for snapping at her after Carmela’s outburst. Not only that, but her half sister said she’d been thinking about many things and that she realized how rotten it must have been for Lia to live with Teresa and Salvatore once her father remarried and had a new family.

      Rosa wouldn’t know that Lia had actually been sent away long before Benito remarried. Why would she? Until just now, Lia was