Finding Zoe (Atlantic Divide) (2 page)

There was a long silence, just the sound of her labored breathing.

“You didn’t try very hard.”

“You sold your house and left. It was empty. I checked myself. There was no furniture. There was a ‘sold’ sign.” He couldn’t hold back the accusation as he felt the bitterness rise up, threatening to consume him.

She pushed her sodden, dark red hair out of her face and lay motionless with her eyes closed, her chest heaving.

“Mac. It was eleven years ago. What are you doing here now?” She sounded weary.

“You moved.” He couldn’t help the sullenness in his voice. She had catapulted him back to being a young man again.

“Yes. Yes, we moved. My mother died, we moved. We sold the big house, kept this one. I went to university.” She sat up abruptly, impatience and annoyance vibrating from her. Her huge green-gold eyes met his and whipped his breath away. He wondered if he clutched his chest and started to wheeze if she would do anything to help him. From the cold, distant look in her eyes, he couldn’t imagine her calling for an ambulance. She would more than likely shove him in the pond and leave him to drown.

“What did you want?” She lifted a sleek, wine-colored eyebrow and gazed back at him, cool and superior despite her dripping wet state.

How the hell she managed to make him feel awkward, he had no idea, but the woman had always been able to make him feel emotions he never had with others.

“I always wondered what had happened to you. I was curious.”

“So…what? You came all the way from America? Just to check on me? After eleven years?” It quite pleased him she at least remembered how long it had been.

He became distracted by the sight of her soaking wet yellow T-shirt. Transparent, it hugged her body, clung to her curves. He could see the outline of her bra and thought what a shame she was wearing one. She never used to.

He glanced down at her slender feet with pretty pink polish on her nails. A familiar warmth spread down his belly into his groin as he remembered kissing those toes. Distracted by the ever-widening puddle surrounding her, he allowed his gaze to track farther up. Her saturated white pedal pushers clung, see-through and obscenely well, to her legs, her thighs, her hips, and if he wasn’t mistaken, he could see her…

“Mac!”

Guiltily, his eyes shot up to hers. Held.

Fascinated, he remembered vividly the tiny dark flecks and the darker hazel ring that surrounded the light green of her eyes. She stared at him. Her left eyebrow slowly lifted again, distant and haughty. He had no idea what to say to her. He’d never truly imagined seeing her again.

“You’ve not changed.” Stupid cliché and he wanted to kick himself. She didn’t look impressed, either, as she sighed, shook her head, pushed her sopping hair back from her face, and puffed out a disgusted breath.

“You have. You’re bigger.” He wasn’t sure if she meant it as a compliment or an insult, but as she scrambled to her feet, gathering her waist-length red hair in one hand, he waited. She twisted it, squeezed out a torrent of water, and made him smile. She looked irritated now, but at least it was better than cool disinterest.

“Honestly, Mac. I have no idea what possessed you to come here. It’s very nice to see you, but really, I’m sure you have a heroic act to perform. Makeup and wardrobe will be waiting.” She rolled her eyes in disgust and started to stride back up the jetty toward the house.

“Mum!” She froze.

Curious, Mac turned, squinting through the bright reflection of sunlight at the rowboat approaching across the water. Disappointed, he realized she probably did have a life; a husband, kids.

The boat was a distance away yet, but he could make out a couple of figures. A man and a boy. Surprised, he peered harder, certain the adult was Zoe’s father. Older, more round-shouldered than he remembered, with a shock of white hair reflecting the sunlight, but he was sure it was him.

“Mum!”

There was a kid in the boat with two dogs, and he yelled and waved frantically.

“Oh my God.” Mac heard her anxious whisper from behind him. His gaze never left the small boat. Curiosity had morphed, uncomfortably, into a horrible premonition as he stared across the pond at the strangely familiar stance of the kid in the boat. A tingling sensation crawled up his neck into his hairline.

His heart rate quickened; his breath came in short pants. He squinted as the rowboat approached. The kid’s face came into focus, so familiar. The features almost as recognizable as his own. No, perhaps more like his younger sister’s. In fact, the kid was the spitting image of his sister, Bill, at his age.

Fucking hell. Knees like water, Mac wondered what they all would think if he simply sank onto the dock.

The boat pulled alongside Zoe on the jetty, and the skinny kid launched himself onto the boards, his eyes pinned to his mother’s soaking wet, motionless figure, the dogs close on his heels. Mac’s heart thundered as nausea rolled through his stomach. He didn’t seem to be able to stop gulping in air.

“Granddad caught trout. We’re having trout tonight.”

His mother remained silent; her face was pale and strained as she stood frozen while the water dripped ceaselessly around her feet.

“Why are you wet? Mum?”

The kid’s head tilted to one side, and then he turned. His mouth dropped open; his huge black eyes goggled.

“Bloody hell.” A huge smile spread across the kid’s face, white teeth gleaming in contrast to his bronzed skin. “It’s Cormack Blunt!”

She’d changed into dry clothes, but her hair still hung in a wet hank down her back, soaking through her top. She scrubbed at it briefly with a towel, knowing it was going to fuzz all over if she continued. Not a good look. Not that anyone cared right now, least of all her.

Ryan chattered incessantly, excited by the fact he had one of the top ten movie stars in the world sitting at his kitchen table with him, drinking his mother’s coffee. And in the way of children, he wasn’t interested in why he was there; it hadn’t seemed to occur to him to ask why an action hero would be there. He just wanted to know what film he was making, what character he was playing. Utterly oblivious to his mother’s quandary, Ryan dominated.

Mac had remained quiet for so long she thought he was going to ignore her son. Then he started to talk, his deep, slow, southern American accent soothed the jittering nerves in her stomach. His voice had always made her melt, but she was just grateful he was calm. It could be so much worse. Closing her eyes briefly, she allowed herself a sigh of relief. Thank God he was calm.

As her eyelids fluttered open, she gave a thankful glance in his direction and almost fell into the seething black fury of his eyes. As a dark shiver of fear shot down her spine, she knew, beyond a doubt, what a great actor he was.

Heat scorched her face as she tried not to look directly at the action hero who had once been her lover. Changed beyond all recognition, the sweet boy of her memories had grown into a brooding, lethal man.

She glanced at her father, who sat in his armchair in the corner of the kitchen. Silent. Watching. He’d barely said a word, and his face was stoic, but he must be as shocked as she was. She’d always known he loved Mac like a son. Her parents had taken him in that summer, embraced him into their small family unit, until the day she’d come home from London. Emory had hardly ever spoken about him since. He’d certainly never forgiven him.

Desperate to make sure Mac’s smoldering anger didn’t touch either her father or her son, she attempted to make conversation.

“So…what brings you here, Mac?” She pushed a plate of cake toward him, left over from the day before. It was a little stale, but at least it was an offering. With one long finger, he deliberately pushed it back toward her, his smile tight as he shook his head.

“I was in the area.”

Her heart rapped painfully against her ribs. God, he’d changed.

Eleven years had carved an attractive boy into a devastatingly handsome man. It was just as well he’d left her when he had. She probably wouldn’t have survived the breakup later down the line.

His agent had been right. He’d needed to leave her behind. He would never have amounted to this with her in tow.

He was enormous; he filled her kitchen. He’d been tall and had wide shoulders when he was younger, but he’d been so skinny his bones had jutted out across his shoulders and down his spine, but now he’d filled out. Really filled out.

With the kind of action movies he starred in, it was obvious he’d had to work out, put on weight, and develop muscles. Muscles like she’d never seen before. Not up close. Muscles which, despite everything, made her mouth water. Certainly eleven years ago there’d been no evidence of those rippling under his smooth, golden skin. Eleven years ago when she’d worshipped his body anyway. But now, there was no comparison.

As her pulse rate started to ratchet up, she couldn’t help running her gaze across his perfect shape. The body she had admired from a distance over the years and watched on the big screen as it developed, as he matured. The muscles across his shoulders and neck stood out, his biceps bulged, and she couldn’t imagine even being able to wrap both her hands around one of his arms. Even his wrists were thick and muscular.

She swallowed hard.

As he picked up his coffee cup, lifted it, her eyes were drawn to the movement of his massive chest. His muscles flexed, rippled under the tight black T-shirt designed to emphasize every last curve and indent of his body. Her gaze lifted to the smooth bronze skin of his throat as he swallowed the coffee, and her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. She looked quickly away and picked up her own coffee cup, irritated with herself when she allowed it to rattle on the saucer.

It was a big mistake to let her imagination take her places it wasn’t wanted. From the fierce look in his eyes, it certainly wasn’t wanted there.

She’d thought to wait until Ryan ran out of steam, but somehow she knew it wasn’t going to happen. Hero worship didn’t run out of steam; it just kept chugging on. She should know.

She wiped her damp palms on her cool, khaki linen trousers and stood.

“Ryan. Go upstairs and get changed out of your fishing gear.”

“Aw, Mum.”

She pinned him with her no-argument stare, witnessed him hesitate. Surprised at this, his first sign of rebellion, she lifted one eyebrow and almost smiled when he sighed dramatically and stood, scraping his chair back. Well, he certainly had more of his father in him than just his handsome looks.

“You can come back down when you’ve showered and changed. Don’t forget to brush your teeth.” It should give her a little time. Not long, though.

Ryan slumped, his shoulders rounded, his long arms lolloping as he dragged his oversize feet out of the room, scraping them heavily across the tiled floor in protest. Definitely more like his father than she’d realized. Certainly he could turn on the drama.

She followed, watched him up the stairs, and then came back into the kitchen to sit in the chair opposite Mac. Time to face the music.

“He’s mine.” Mac’s voice was flat, furious.

“Yes.”

Her father sat in the corner, silent, supportive.

“We need DNA tests.”

Her mind faltered.

“Why?”

He stared at her as though she was stupid.

“So I have proof when the press gets ahold of this.”

Panic hit her, rocketing through her veins. She jumped up, overturned her chair in her haste as she stared, horrified, into his deadly serious black eyes.

“You can’t tell the press. You’ll ruin all our lives.”

His slow blink warned her. His solid jaw flexed as he gritted his teeth, and she tracked the movement of his muscular neck as he swallowed.

“But you don’t think you’ve ruined my life? By giving birth to my son and not telling me for almost eleven years. With no intention of telling me, ever.” His voice was deep and powerful. It resonated around her kitchen, filled the room. He stood, slow and controlled, and towered over her, burning her with his furious obsidian eyes.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her father move to get out of his chair, but she held up her hand to halt him.

She raised her chin, squared her shoulders, and pulled herself up to her full five feet eight-inch height. If he thought to scare her with his sheer magnificence, he was in for a big surprise. He didn’t scare her. He never had. Not physically, but he was so much of a threat on so many other levels.

“How dare you!” Stabbing a shaky finger at him, she stepped closer. “How dare you come into my house and raise your voice at me and make demands about
my
son.” Her voice quavered, but she put herself in his path and ground her teeth as she continued. “I came to London.” Unable to restrain herself, she prodded him in the chest and watched with some satisfaction as his eyes widened with surprise. “Eleven years ago I came, and you refused to see me. You sent your agent.” His eyebrows twitched down as his eyes narrowed at her. “You were married within a month.”

She closed the gap between them, toe-to-toe, nose-to-nose as he bowed his head to glare down at her. “When do you suppose was the right time to tell you?” She was surprised to see him lean back as his eyebrows shot up and his mouth tightened. She crossed her arms over her chest and shot her hip forward. Aggression may not be the way forward, but attitude would help. “On your honeymoon?”

They stared at each other and the silence stretched out between them. She sucked her breath in through her teeth, about to start another tirade to help her clear him out of her house and possibly their lives.

“Mum?” Ryan was in the doorway, his face anxious and puzzled. Her knees turned to water as her heart shot into her mouth, rendering her speechless. Mac casually picked up her chair, automatically slid it under her as her legs gave way. Tremors ran through her as she conjured up a weak smile for her little boy.

“Hey. Come here.” Her voice was a little high-pitched, and he was slow to move, but he came, wrapped his arms around her briefly, and then pulled away. As his familiar black eyes searched hers, she knew he’d heard. Every word.