Zack is suddenly standing a few feet behind Barakov. I never heard him approach. His shoulders are drawn up, his hands fisted, every muscle taut. His eyes lock on mine. The undisguised need in them momentarily takes my breath away. He is feeling the effects of my unguarded power, getting another glimpse of my true self. I wonder how long he’s been standing there.
“Go back to the party, Doctor. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” Even as I say the words, I start reining the power in, bringing up the walls, locking down what I look upon as both a gift and a curse.
Barakov prepares to take his leave with a questioning glance to me. He’s aware that we had a conversation and that he revealed more than he intended. As did I. Hopefully the revelation about Evan will get lost in an alcoholic haze. Before the last bit of my ability to exert influence is contained, I take pity on him. “Don’t worry about what we’ve talked about. Chalk it up to the scotch. You’ll have more than you should tonight. In fact, it looks like you could use a refill.”
After a quick glance at his empty glass, he heads for the bar.
“You should go back to the party, too,” I tell Zack.
I expect him to follow my suggestion. He was exposed, after all.
Instead Zack loosens his bow tie and unfastens the top button of his shirt as he watches Barakov go. “I take it Barakov didn’t confess?”
Zack’s question seems straightforward enough and yet . . . I try to remember the last time someone was able to exhibit such control around me. Zack alluded to having had special training earlier. Am I seeing the results of that? He doesn’t appear to be struggling with the effects of exposure and yet he got a good dose of my power —more than in his kitchen, where I let loose a fragment of the magic. But then I look close. The way he’s looking at me, the tenseness in his posture, belies his offhand return to a business-as-usual manner.
I tuck an errant strand of hair back behind my ear, affect a sense of calm I’m not really feeling. “He doesn’t know anything about the disappearances. We need to look elsewhere. Within Green Leaf maybe.”
“Are you sure?”
I was sure I’d read Barakov right. It’s what’s going on with Zack that I’m unsure of. There’s a knot the size of a fist in my stomach. “Yes. I’m sure Barakov told me the truth.”
He shoves his hands inside his pockets, then leans against the wall. The mask of indifference falls away. “Just out of curiosity, how long a separation are we talking about? Weeks? Months? Years?” The pose he’s striking is casual. The turn our conversation is taking isn’t.
“Minutes, like last time, at your house. By the time you finished showering, things were . . . back to normal.”
Zack straightens. He strolls over to where I’m standing, closing the gap between us. “I’m a good actor, Emma. In fact, you may be the only lie detector I haven’t been able to best.”
“I’m not trying to read you, Zack.”
He holds up a hand. “I know. If you were, you’d realize things have never been normal between us. I can pretend. I can keep my distance and my word. But you should know the attraction isn’t going away. It’s building and that has nothing to do with your mojo.”
My mojo may be under wraps, but the air between us is as charged as it was that night in his kitchen.
His gaze is unwavering. We’re venturing into dangerous and confusing territory. The time has come. A decision has to be made. It was good between us in Charleston, better than good. We worked well together as partners both in bed and out. What I doubt is what’s happening here and now—whether we can keep things in what I’d come to think of as the
Friendship.
Sex.
Not love. Never love.
Seconds pass. I can’t bring myself to look away. To speak or move. A myriad of images, all depicting possible tragic endings, flit through my mind. Including the one Demeter so cleverly and callously placed there. The blood. Zack’s head in her hand.
I’ve waited too long. Zack turns and starts to walk away. He’s a man of his word. And I realize that despite the pull, the temptation, he’s managed to find the strength to keep it. He’s not going to push. He’s going to walk away. No one’s walked away. Ever. What if Zack is somehow different? What if we could make this work?
“Wait!”
He turns back to face me. “You don’t want me to go back to the party?”
I shake my head.
“It’s your move, Emma.”
I know this is the moment that will change everything between us—a moment I
He moves us effortlessly, the way he did that night in his kitchen. The wall is suddenly at my back. My mouth opens in surprise and his tongue slips inside. The kiss is demanding, urgent. Full of pent-up promises, of things left unsaid and desires denied. I lift my hand to his chest and grab hold of his shirt. I don’t want it to stop. I can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing into me. I push back, eliciting a moan that I vow will be the first of many I coax from Zachary Armstrong tonight.
Zack whispers, “That was some move.”
My skin is heated. My body burns with desire.
Footsteps. An embarrassed “Excuse me.”
With a low groan in my ear, Zack pulls reluctantly away from me. “Yes?”
It’s one of the men who had previously been working the door. “I . . . I’m interrupting.”
Zack waves a hand. “Can we help you?”
I turn away, using the moment to smooth the desire from my expression and the wrinkles from my dress as the embarrassed party worker says, “The auction’s about to start. I’m rounding up guests.”
“Thanks, we’ll be right in.”
He leaves us with another mumbled apology for the interruption and heads quickly toward another couple standing a few feet away. It startles me because I hadn’t noticed them before. They must have come out while I was busy with Barakov. But their eyes are on me. They saw it all, felt the pull of my power. They don’t even look away while being shepherded toward the door.
Zack watches them watch us. When they’ve disappeared inside, he says, “Well, that was awkward.”
I’m still breathless with the implication of what I almost let happen between Zack and me. I was as caught up in the moment as he was. I get a sudden chill—I can fool myself into thinking a fling with Zack would mean nothing, but Demeter? She who feels every emotion I try so hard to hide would know better.
The sound of applause spills into the entry. We pass through the double doors of the Crown Room just in time to hear Green Leaf’s founder, Alan Pierce, make his introductions. I refocus my thoughts, ignore the fact that Zack’s arm is around my shoulders, and watch.
Alan Pierce is younger than I expected. His tuxedo is well tailored, traditional. He thanks the guests and talks briefly about the company’s mission. He speaks with the passion of a man who believes in what he is doing, and his delivery is smooth and polished. Alan ends by publicly recognizing the members of the board of directors who are present.
First, he points out Dr. Alexander Barakov and Dr. Barbara Pierce. His parents.
Zack leans down and whispers, “There’s an interesting connection.”
“Yes, it is.”
He moves on, introducing Taylor Cummings. The former soap opera actress is lapping up the applause. In fact, I get the distinct impression that’s why she came. Cummings gave up a not so promising career a couple of years ago to marry Southern California construction magnate Jack Reynolds. I remember some talk a few years ago about her having a drinking problem. Tonight, not only is Cummings quite tipsy, she’s quite conspicuously alone.
The final introduction is of Gordon Jacobs. I recognize the name and the connection. I tug on Zack’s sleeve to get his attention. “Jacobs is a partner at the same firm as Evan. What if Polk and Wagner is involved with
