Loe raamatut: «Project: Runaway Bride»

Two

Three months earlier...

His intercom buzzed.

“Mr. McCormack, Juliet Zaccaro is here to see you.”

Reid’s fingers paused over the keyboard in midstroke. He tried to tell himself that the clenching of his gut and the flush of heat that washed over him were nothing more than surprise. Her visit was unscheduled and completely unexpected after all.

Pressing the return button on his multiline phone, he cleared his throat and said, “Thank you, Paula. Send her in.”

Saving the document he’d been working on, he shuffled some papers off to the side of his desk, then turned his attention to the door as soon as the knob turned and it began to open.

As it had from the first time he’d met her, the sight of Juliet Zaccaro slammed him dead center. Like a race car hitting the wall at a hundred and sixty miles per hour.

She was classically, amazingly beautiful. Flawless skin covered every inch of her strong but smooth features. Her eyes were robin’s-egg blue, surrounded by long, dark lashes. And her honey-blond hair, which he suspected would fall well past her shoulders, was always swept up in a neat twist or bun or other type of regal style.

It was enough to make him want to take it down, run his fingers through the silken strands and then strip her of her perfectly tailored, dignified pantsuit, or blouse and skirt, or whatever other prim and proper outfit she might be wearing.

They’d never been anything but professional and courteous with each other, but since the moment they’d met, his fantasies had been ripe with images of having her naked and writhing beneath him. He wanted to crack through her ladylike demeanor to find the not-so-ladylike woman underneath. The one who would wrap her arms and legs around him like a vise, begging him to take her harder, faster, deeper. The one who would rake her nails down his back and scream his name when he sent her hurtling over the edge into bliss.

A wave of heat assailed him, and he prayed she wouldn’t notice his intense reaction to her presence as he rose to meet her. Staying behind his desk—flimsy protection though it was—he waited for her to cross the room before offering his hand. Not the first time they’d shaken hands. Not the first time he’d touched her.

Keep it professional, McCormack.

But as his large fingers engulfed her much smaller ones, as rough, tanned skin surrounded pale and delicate, he wanted to tug her closer, hold on a bit longer, stroke his thumb back and forth along the dip of her palm.

She’d been to his office a handful of times now, and he remembered what she’d been wearing each and every one of them. Today, it was a simple lavender dress with a scoop neckline and narrow belt of the same fabric at her waist. Matching lavender pumps and a few simple pieces of gold jewelry completed the look.

There was an air of Audrey Hepburn or Jackie O to her, something that normally held no appeal to him. Didn’t he usually go for flashier women? The kind who knew the score, who were well aware of their sexuality and used it to their advantage. The kind who didn’t mind a hot, steamy, short-lived affair.

Juliet Zaccaro, as far as he could tell, did not fall into that category.

Why, then, did he seem so preoccupied with her? He’d agreed to help her the first time she’d walked into his office, despite the fact that it was in direct opposition and a clear conflict of interest to another case he’d already been working on for her sister Lily. And from that point on, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his head.

He’d called her with updates when he didn’t really have any new information to impart and was supposed to be avoiding contact because of her sister’s circumstances and the work he was actually focusing on for Lily. He’d met with her in his office—sometimes at her request, other times at his—when there was no real need.

Now here she was again, showing up without warning, for no official reason that he was aware of. Juliet’s request that he find her missing sister was moot now that Lily had returned from Los Angeles and come clean with her family about the reason she’d disappeared for several weeks to begin with. He was still working on Lily’s case—accusations that an employee from a rival clothing company had stolen her designs—but even though Juliet was part owner in Zaccaro Fashions, the investigation didn’t really require direct contact with her.

But that didn’t stop him from being oddly glad to see her again. His heart was pumping as though he’d just hopped off the treadmill after an hour-long workout, but he felt the way he used to as a kid when he got exactly the toy he wanted from the bottom of his cereal box, even though there were six different possibilities.

Clearing his throat, he gestured for Juliet to take a seat, then returned to his own. “Ms. Zaccaro. It’s nice to see you again, though I wasn’t aware we still had any outstanding business.”

Although he thought of her as Juliet in his head, he was always careful to address her as Ms. Zaccaro, keeping things as professional as possible between them, as well as giving himself the necessary reminder that she was—or had been, anyway—a client and that she was engaged to another man.

She smiled shakily and gave a small sniff. Which was when he noticed the trace of red rimming her eyes and the slight pallor of her skin beneath a light layer of makeup.

His own eyes narrowed. Was she in trouble? Was something going on again that she needed his help with?

Part of him wanted to groan—the last thing he needed was a legitimate reason to spend more time with her—while another part was almost hoping for the worst.

Licking her glossed lips, she said, “I just wanted to drop by and give you a check for the work you did on my case.”

He had the decency to flush at that. He hadn’t done any work for her. If anything, he’d fed her bad information and given her the runaround for almost a month. Only because he’d been trying to protect the confidentiality of the case he’d already been working on for her sister, but still. He didn’t deserve payment for that.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he told her roughly. In fact, he owed her the retainer she’d left with him back, and made a mental note to see that it was returned.

“Of course I do.” Her words were resolute, but her tone was still shaky. “I hired you to do a job and you did it. To the best of your ability, at any rate,” she added with a gentle half smile.

“I lied to you and wasted your time,” he said—more sharply than he’d intended out of disgust with himself.

“Only because you were already working for Lily, trying to help her save our company. If it hadn’t been for you ‘pretending’ to look for her, I probably would have taken off and tried to find her myself. And we both know I had no idea which direction she’d even gone, so I would have been running in circles, likely getting into more trouble than I imagined she was in. What you did was noble, and pretty much your only option, given the circumstances.”

He made an impolite, noncommittal noise, his mouth turning down at the sides. That wasn’t his opinion of the situation at all, and having her describe it in such a positive, almost heroic light only made him feel like that much more of a heel.

Ignoring him, Juliet went on. “And you’re still helping us, which I think shows you how much confidence we have in your ability. But those abilities don’t come cheap, and I knew that when I approached you.”

Unsnapping the small clutch purse on her lap, she pulled out a check and leaned forward to slide it across the desk toward him.

Because he suspected no amount of argument would sway her, and tearing it up in front of her would be a ruder gesture than even he was comfortable expressing in mixed company, he reached for the check with no intention of ever cashing the damn thing.

That was when he noticed the bruises. Just a few small, light discolorations dotting the inside of her forearm.

Anyone else would probably have dismissed them entirely. People bumped into things all the time, ended up with bruises of an unknown origin.

But he’d seen too much in his thirty-nine years, was unfortunately all too familiar with the signs of someone putting his hands on another person. Domestic abuse, a down-and-dirty street fight, or simply self-defense practice, there was a difference between I bumped into the armoire and somebody grabbed me by the arm with enough force to leave five perfectly formed fingertip-shaped marks on my skin.

His jaw clenched with fury at the thought of anyone—anyone—grabbing her in anger. He also hated the thought of anyone other than himself grabbing her in passion, but that was not how she’d gotten those bruises. Not there. Not in that pattern.

His first instinct was to reach out and grab her arm for a closer look. Which was about the worst idea ever. The last thing a person who was already sporting bruises from an aggressor needed was to have some other jerk manhandle her soon after.

So he settled for biting down on his rear molars so tightly they threatened to grind into dust and taking the check she was still holding out to him. Slowly, carefully, while contemplating his next best move.

“Thank you,” he murmured, setting the check aside before bringing his hands back to clasp them in front of him. If he kept them together and didn’t let go, there was less of a chance he’d end up reaching for her after all.

“Let me ask you something, Ms. Zaccaro,” he said, amazed at how calm and composed he sounded when he felt anything but.

“Of course. And call me Juliet, please.”

He didn’t, but went ahead with what he wanted to know most. “Who put his hands on you?”

He was good at reading faces, body language, all those nearly imperceptible ticks and fidgets that people didn’t realize they were making, but that were remarkably telling. Juliet’s reaction flashed like a neon sign.

She froze, her eyes widening a fraction as she held her breath. An action he identified by the lack of rise and fall to her chest.

After a minute, the silence so thick he’d have needed a machete to cut through it, she licked her lips and offered a nervous laugh.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Sure you do. Those are fingerprints.” He pointed to her arms, which were now pulled tight to her body. “Somebody grabbed you with enough force to leave bruises. Pretty big ones, which makes me think it was most likely a man. Your fiancé, perhaps?”

Just saying the word made his stomach knot. The urge to throttle the bastard wasn’t far behind.

“So unless you’re taking Krav Maga classes at the gym or got into a nasty spat with one of your sisters over the last bolt of vermillion charmeuse in your stockroom, I’d be willing to bet somebody’s pushing you around.”

Juliet’s eyes filled with tears, and the need to punish whoever had done this to her turned into full-blown bloodlust. His fists clenched, knuckles going white. It took every ounce of restraint he possessed to remain perfectly still. To not stand up, round the desk and pull her into his arms. To not march down to the artillery room and suit up with as much weaponry as he could carry.

He swallowed hard. Took a deep breath and held it to the count of ten, then twenty, before letting it out again.

“Tell me what’s going on, Juliet,” he said, keeping his voice low, level, and reassuring. “Please.”

It was the please that did it, he could tell. Despite the moisture gathering at her lashes, she’d been holding on, holding back, determined not to admit anything aloud, especially not to a near stranger.

But on a ragged inhalation of breath, the dam broke. Twin trails of tears rolled down her cheeks and her bottom lip trembled as she started to brokenly confide in him.

“It was Paul,” she admitted. “I don’t know why he’s acting like this. He’s always been so kind and considerate. But the closer it gets to the wedding, the more...”

Volatile?

“...impatient he seems to be. The tiniest thing can set him off. And whenever we discuss the future—our careers or where we’ll live—he gets so angry.”

Still maintaining a Herculean grasp on his control, Reid asked, “Why?”

She sniffed, straightened a little in her chair, a hint of color returning to her cheeks.

“He wants me to move back to Connecticut once we’re married,” she answered. “But he knows my life is here now, in New York. To be close to my sisters and the business without having to commute. From the very beginning, he was fine with that—or I thought he was, anyway. He didn’t even ask me to marry him until after I’d moved down here to work, and Zaccaro Fashions was up and running. He said he was proud of me, wanted my handbag designs to be successful. And that he could work anywhere. He’s a lawyer,” she said as an aside. “I assumed that meant he would take a job at a New York law firm and move to the city, too.”

She took a deep breath, the moisture starting to dry on her face, but leaving faint streaks through the foundation of her makeup.

“Then he was offered a partnership at the firm he’s with now, and everything changed. He still wants me to be his wife, but he wants me to be a proper attorney’s wife. A trophy wife, I think—moving back to Connecticut to be with him, at his beck and call, giving up my work with Zaccaro Fashions to host dinner parties and attend charity events that will help further his career...”

Typical. Reid had never even met this guy, but he knew a selfish bastard when he heard about one.

“So why don’t you break things off?” he suggested, hoping he didn’t sound as hopeful as he felt.

Her shoulders slumped slightly and her gaze dropped to her lap. “I keep thinking...it’s just a phase. That he’s stressed because of his promotion. Or that maybe he’s more nervous about the wedding than he lets on.”

Lifting her blue eyes to meet his, she said, “He’s never been like this before. I’ve known him for years, even before we started dating, and he’s always been extremely considerate. What if he’s just going through a rough patch, or dealing with something I don’t understand?”

Reid clamped his teeth together so hard, he was afraid they might chip. “That’s no excuse for putting your hands on a person,” he bit out. “I don’t care how angry you get or what the hell else is going on in your miserable, messed-up life.”

She shook her head just like every other woman he’d ever met who put up with more from her significant other than she deserved.

“He didn’t mean to hurt me. Not really. We were fighting and things got a little out of hand. But the minute he realized what he was doing, he stopped. I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

Speech number three from the Battered Woman’s Handbook. And it led directly to a life of misery and abuse, and often death—either the male’s or the female’s, sometimes both. But try telling that to a woman in love, one who wanted to believe the best of her future husband.

So just like every third party who’d ever tried to steer an abused woman in the right direction, he said, “You don’t know that. If it happened once, chances are it will happen again.” After a short pause, he added, “Would you like me to talk to him?”

Kick his ass. Break his hand so he could never touch Juliet or any other person again.

“No,” she responded quickly, shaking her head and sitting back in her seat. “No, no. I don’t want you to do that. It was a mistake, that’s all. With the wedding right around the corner, and the added pressure from our families to make it all work, everyone’s nervous and emotions are running high. Everything will be fine.”

She nodded, as though determined to believe her own words, even if she had to talk herself into it. Reid knew better, but also knew there was little point in arguing with her.

Pursing his lips, he waited until the red-tinged haze of anger faded from his vision. If he couldn’t convince her to kick the bastard to the curb or let him track the man down and beat him to a bloody pulp, then the best he could do was offer his support. Let her know he was there for her, without judgment—none that he wouldn’t tamp down and keep to himself, at any rate—in case she needed him.

Whether as someone to talk to or as personal protection once she realized her fiancé was more Mr. Hyde than Dr. Jekyll, he figured he was well qualified. She’d already confided in him, breaking down enough that he suspected she hadn’t mentioned Paul’s violent behavior to anyone else, including her sisters.

But he’d be even better at the personal-protection part. He was well trained and had access to a multitude of weaponry. Glancing again at the purplish bruises on her soft, pale flesh, Reid knew he would have no problem utilizing all of them. And calling in reinforcements, if he needed to.

“Where are you going from here?” he asked, catching her off guard with the sudden change of subject.

She startled slightly, giving a little sniff and swiping a knuckle delicately under each eye before licking her lips and answering, “Home.”

Reid’s eyes narrowed to snakelike slits. “Will the fiancé be there?”

Juliet looked even more surprised by that question. Or maybe it was simply a reaction to the barely banked fury Reid knew was still clear on his face.

“No,” she replied softly. “He’s on his way back to Connecticut.”

“Tell you what. Just to be safe, let me take you home.” Without waiting for a response, he pushed back his chair and stood.

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary,” she insisted, hopping to her own feet.

Rounding the desk, he took her elbow—gently, but firmly. “Please. I’ll feel better knowing you got home safely.”

She seemed to consider that for a moment, then on a gentle exhalation of breath, she nodded.

Opening the door, he let her pass before pulling it closed behind them. As a safety precaution, he kept his office locked whenever he was away. He trusted his staff, but there was a lot of sensitive material inside, and it was better to be safe than sorry.

“Hey, Paula,” he addressed his personal secretary as they passed her desk. “Cover for me for a few hours, would you, please? I’m going to see Ms. Zaccaro home.”

If Paula found that at all odd, she didn’t show it. Her expression remained friendly but neutral as she gave a sharp nod. “Yes, sir.”

With a hand resting lightly at the small of her back, Reid led Juliet down the hall to the elevator. Neither of them spoke a word as the car carried them silently down to the ground level.

“Did you bring a car?” he asked as they crossed the lobby, their footsteps—especially the click-click-click of her sharp heels—echoed in the cathedral-like space.

She shook her head briskly. “Cab.”

Applying gentle pressure to her spine, he steered her slightly to the left, toward the entrance to the underground garage. “We’ll take mine.”

Then he looked at his watch and realized it was nearly lunchtime. Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone while he was out...and finagle a bit more time with Juliet while he was at it.

“How would you feel about grabbing a bite to eat?” he asked as they reached a sleek, onyx-black Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren. He opened the passenger’s-side door for her and added, “My treat.”

* * *

Juliet couldn’t remember the last time she’d had Chinese carryout. There had been a time when she and her sisters had ordered in more often than anything else. Back when they’d been thick as thieves, working 24/7 to get Zaccaro Fashions off the ground. And that was after Lily had already done more than her fair share of the legwork on her own.

Once the three of them had come together, though—Lily doing the clothing line, Zoe shoes and Juliet handbags—they’d been like a bunch of sorority girls. Staying up late, walking around in pajamas all day and eating little better than rats in a restaurant Dumpster.

It was the most fun she’d ever had.

Zaccaro Fashions was much more successful now. Still not world renowned or a household name, but they were getting there. More business meant more responsibility, though, and less time for the three sisters to spend being the Three Musketeers. Or the Three Stoogettes, as they’d often joked.

Now they all tended to drift along on their own, working privately until one of their design meetings, when they compared notes and concocted future plans. Not to mention the personal lives that seemed to separate them rather than bringing them closer.

Lily had Nigel, and split her time between New York and Los Angeles, where the American branch of his family’s company was located. She was even planning a trip to England to meet Nigel’s parents.

Juliet had been planning her own wedding for what seemed like forever. So long, in fact, that she now understood why so many couples chose to elope. With trips back and forth to Connecticut, her mother’s and soon-to-be mother-in-law’s constant input and the constant feeling that she needed to have her nose buried in copies of Modern Bride magazine, she was surprised her sisters hadn’t disowned her already.

And Zoe was off just...being Zoe. She loved working for Zaccaro Fashions. Came up with some of the sexiest shoe designs anyone had ever seen. They weren’t always practical, but they sold well to people who weren’t always practical, either. But she spent just as much time out on the town, hitting clubs, maintaining her reputation as the wild child that she’d become.