Scandals Of The Rich. Lynn Raye Harris

would answer her, most definitely, but she wasn’t about to get her hopes up for what their relationship could be. She’d spent her entire life mostly forgotten, and she wasn’t planning to stick her neck out now. She didn’t really know Rosa, but she knew what kind of woman Carmela was. Hopefully her daughter was nothing like her, but Lia intended to proceed with caution.

      She got out of bed and slipped on her robe. Even thinking about Carmela had the power to make her feel badly about herself. When she remembered the way Zach had left her at her door tonight, the feeling intensified. It had taken her some time, but she’d figured out what he’d been doing at the museum when he’d kissed her.

      He’d been getting her under control after she’d broken out of the box he’d put her in for the night. She’d dared to show temper, and he’d managed to smooth it over and make her forget for a while. He’d tugged her into the corner he wanted her in and tied her up neatly with a bow.

      She’d sat there like a good girl, smiling and applauding and worrying over him. It infuriated her to remember how compliant she’d been, and all because he’d pressed her against that wall and made her remember what it had been like between them.

      Heat crawled up her spine, settled between her legs and in her core. In spite of it all, her body still wanted his. It angered her to be so out of control of her own reactions, to feel so needy around a man who clearly didn’t need her.

      Lia went to the French doors and pulled them open, hoping the night air would help to cool her down.

      A mistake, because it was summer in Virginia and the night air wasn’t precisely cool. Oh, it was far cooler than it had been in the heat of the day, but it was still quite warm.

      There was a breeze, however. Lia stepped outside and walked barefooted across the stone terrace to the railing. The strong scent of lavender rose from the pots set along the wall. She ran her fingers over the blooms, brought them to her nose. It made her think of home.

      If she could add lemon to the mix, she’d be transported to Sicily. Except that Sicily didn’t quite feel like home any longer, she had to admit. Since the moment she’d fallen into Zach’s arms at the wedding, she’d felt a restlessness that hadn’t gone away. Sicily had seemed too small to contain her, too lonely.

      But coming to the States was no better. She was still alone.

      She could hear the river gurgling over boulders in the distance. The moon was full, its pale light picking out trees and grass and the foaming water where it rolled over rocks.

      It was peaceful. Quiet, other than the river and the sound of a distant—very distant—dog barking. She leaned against the railing and tried to empty her mind of everything but sleep.

      It was difficult, considering her body was on another time zone. Not only that, but she also had a lot on her mind. She’d fled Sicily because she’d been scared of what her family would do, but she’d never considered what Zach would do. Or what her life would become once she was with him.

      Was it only yesterday that she’d stood in a hotel and told him their arrangement would be in name only? And now here she was, aching for his touch, and simply because he’d kissed her tonight with enough heat to incinerate her will.

      She was weak and she despised herself for it. She didn’t fit in, not anywhere, and she wanted to. Zach had held out the promise of belonging on that night in Palermo—and she’d leaped on it, not realizing it had been a Pandora’s box of endless heartache and trouble.

      There was a noise and a crash from somewhere behind her. Lia jumped and spun around to see where it had come from. It seemed to be from farther down the terrace, from another room. Her heart was in her throat as she stood frozen, undecided whether to run into her room and close the door or go see what had happened. What if it were Zach? What if he needed her?

      But then a door burst open and a man rushed through and Lia gasped. He was naked, except for a pair of dark boxer shorts. He went over to the railing and leaned on it, gulping in air. He dropped his head in his hands. His skin glistened in the night, as if he’d just gotten out of a sauna.

      The moonlight illuminated the shiny round scar tissue of the bullet wound in the man’s side. Zach.

      As if it could be anyone else. Her heart went out to him.

      “Is everything okay?” she asked softly.

      He spun toward her, his body alert with tension. Briefly, she wondered if she should run. And then she shook herself. No, she would not run.

      Zach wasn’t dangerous, no matter that he’d told her he was in Palermo.

      “You’re okay, Zach,” she said, moving cautiously, uncertain if he was still caught in the grips of a dream or an episode like the one in Palermo. “It’s me. It’s Lia.”

      He scraped a hand through his hair. “I know who it is,” he said, his voice hoarse in the night. The tension in him seemed to subside, though she knew it was still right beneath the surface. “What are you doing outside in the middle of the night?” he demanded.

      She ignored his tone. “I could ask the same of you.”

      He turned toward the railing again, leaned on it. It was such a subtle maneuver, but it warmed her because it meant, on some level, at least, that he trusted her. After what he’d been through in the war, she didn’t take that lightly.

      “I had a dream,” he said. The words were clipped and tired.

      Lia stepped closer, until she could have touched him if she reached out. She didn’t reach out. “And it was not a good one,” she said softly.

      He shook his head. Once. Curtly. “No.”

      “Do you often dream of the war?”

      He swung to look at her. “Who said I was dreaming of the war?”

      She thought of the wild look in his eyes when he’d first looked at her, at the way he’d seemed to be somewhere else instead of here, and knew she was right. Just like that night in Palermo, though he had been wide awake then.

      “Is it the same as what happened when I first met you? Or different?”

      He didn’t say anything at first. He simply stared at her. The moonlight limned his body, delineating the hard planes and shadows of muscle. She had an overwhelming urge to touch him, but she clenched her hands tightly at her sides instead.

      She would not reach for him and have him push her away. She’d done that too many times in her life, when she’d reached out to family and been shunned instead.

      “You don’t quit, do you?” he asked.

      “You can deny it if you like,” she said. “But I think we both know the truth.”

      “Fine.” He blew out a breath. “It’s different than Palermo. When I dream, it’s much worse.”

      “Do you want to talk about it?”

      He laughed suddenly. A broken, rusty sound. “God, no. And you don’t want to hear it, Lia. You’d run screaming back to Sicily if you did. But thanks for trying.”

      Lia bristled at his presumption. “I’m tougher than I look.”

      He shook his head. “You only think you are. Forget it, kitten.”

      Kitten. She didn’t know whether to be insulted or warmed by that endearment. “The photographer did bother you.”

      “Yes.”

      There was a warning in his tone. But she couldn’t leave it, not now.

      “Why do you do these things if you’re worried about your reaction?”

      He growled. “Because I have no choice, Lia. I’m a Scott, and Scotts do their duty. And you’d better get used to it because soon you’ll be one of us.”

      It suddenly made her angry. Why should people do things