On the way to the theater Zach’s limo got caught in traffic beside a flower stall, so Zach whipped out and bought two dozen roses from the elderly flower seller. The perfect buds were so bright in the sunlight they blazed like flames, but they burned no brighter than the towering emotion in his heart.
Inside the limo, their scent was so overpowering he set them aside. When the driver braked, Zach leaned forward, staring at the sea of vehicles surrounding them, cursing vividly when a truck cut in front of them.
Damn it. He sat back against soft leather and forced himself to try to relax. But he couldn’t. He was out of control, which he hated. He was impatient to see Summer, to take her in his arms and beg her to love him. To ask her to make a life with him.
He could walk iron without breaking a sweat. So what was so terrifying about baring his soul and asking the woman he loved to marry him?
When his cell phone rang, Zach answered it automatically.
“You bastard!”
“Hello, Thurman.”
Zach hadn’t heard the other man’s voice in years. Funny, that he recognized the cold, dead tone instantly.
“You think you’re so smart, that you know everything, but you don’t. You’re a gambler. I’d bet money Summer hasn’t told you what she did in New Orleans…”
The hair at the back his nape rose. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Why don’t you ask Summer?”
Thurman laughed nastily and hung up.
When Zach jumped out of the limo at the theater with a conflicted heart, a dozen reporters leaped toward him, hammering him about Summer as their flashes blinded him.
His expression turned to stone as he stormed past them into the auditorium, slamming the door on their idiotic clamor.
Zach was remembering how vulnerable Summer had looked every time she’d tried to talk to him about the past. What hadn’t she told him? What did Thurman know that Zach didn’t?
He knew exactly where Summer’s dressing room was since she’d given him a personal tour last weekend, so he wasted no time on his way through the crowded corridors. Backstage was like a maze, but he didn’t stop, not even when actors, who were milling about, tried to greet him.
He wondered why everyone was on break. Maybe this meant Summer would be free to talk to him. He wouldn’t have to wait.
When he found the door with her name on it, it was closed. He banged on it impatiently.
What he wanted was beautiful golden Summer with her long-lashed eyes to open the door and blush charmingly when she saw him. He wanted to take her in his arms and then set a time for a private talk. This time he would listen to whatever she had to tell him. Then he would tell her how much he loved her and ask her to be his wife.
What he got was Hugh Jones and a photographer.
The reporter didn’t miss a beat when he saw the chance for a shot of the two men together.
When the flash went off twice, Zach turned on his heel. No way could he face the press when he felt so conflicted privately. Then Summer was behind him, her voice nervous and high-pitched.
Instead of smiling, her blue eyes were wide with panic and guilt. “Zach, what are you doing here?”
Logically, he knew he shouldn’t have interrupted her on such short notice, but he wasn’t feeling logical.
“Making a damn fool of myself. Again.”
“Zach, no… Wait! Listen!”
She’d gone pale, and her hand shook as it tugged at his sleeve. He felt sorry for her, so he let her pull him into the dressing room beside hers and listened impatiently as she whispered to the young actress inside it. “Can we please talk here for a few minutes?”
“Sure. Anytime.” Moving like a dancer, the girl, who was thin as a rail, got up languidly, picked up the magazine she’d been flipping through and left in a swirl of silken yellow skirts as she winked at Zach.
“We were just doing an interview for Dangerous Man. That’s all. My agent called me less than an hour ago or I would have told you… I had to do it. Because I signed a contract saying I would. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”
“I understand. I was on the phone.” With Thurman, he thought, frowning.
“No, you don’t understand. I can see that. You look furious…”
“I said I believe you’re doing an interview, and I do. But before the press is through with this story, nobody else will. I can’t help wondering if this will always be the way we have to live-with the press playing up your nonexistent relationships with other men and making me look the fool.”
He knew he wasn’t being totally honest. He felt too raw to be completely open with her. He’d come here to propose, and then Thurman had called and stirred up all his old doubts about her.
“Zach, I want you in my life. I do… What are you doing here a day early?”
He shouldn’t have surprised her like this. He felt vulnerable, as if his heart was on his sleeve, and suddenly he didn’t want her to know about all the plans he’d made. Now wasn’t the time to ask her about New Orleans or to propose.
“It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.”
“I wish you’d stay.”
“Well, I’m not sure I want idiots second-guessing every stage of our relationship when I feel…” He stopped, torn.
“When you feel…what?”
“Nothing.”
“Zach, what’s wrong?”
“Maybe I’m not in the mood to share you with everyone in the known universe. So, I’d better go, so you can finish the damn interview. The entire crew and cast is waiting on you, right?”
She swallowed. “Talk to me, Zach. Please talk to me.”
Her eyes were so earnest maybe he would have, if a red-faced Paolo hadn’t burst into the room, shattering the moment.
“Sorry to interrupt, but Sandy said you were in here. You did say fifteen minutes. How much longer is this damn interview going to take?”
“Sorry. We haven’t started yet.”
“Why the hell not?”
“It’s my fault, but I’m going,” Zach said.
“No!” she cried, grabbing him.
Paolo shot him a look of disgust before he turned and left.
“I’m beginning to realize how demanding I am,” Zach said. “You see, I’m the kind of guy who expects his wife to put him first sometimes…like now, even when I know it’s a very bad time for you.”
“Your wife… Did you say your wife?”
“I came over here because I had something very personal to say to you… Something very important, to me at least. Now I see that you have a lot more to deal with than my concerns.”
“Zach, did you come over here to ask me to marry you? Because I will.”
He didn’t want to ask her now, like this. He was beginning to think he shouldn’t ask her at all. Instead of answering her, he said, “On the way over here I got a phone call. From Thurman.”
“Thurman?” She went very white.
“He told me to ask you about New Orleans. He insinuated that you’ve been keeping something important from me. Is that true?”
“Oh, Zach…” Her eyes misted with guilt-stricken anguish. Her hands were shaking. “I…I tried to tell you in Louisiana. I want to talk about it. Truly I do, but not now. I have rehearsals, the interview…and you’re too upset.”
“It doesn’t matter,” he said.
