Nothing Like Love (16 page)

He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“She’s just so damn beautiful. The kind of beautiful that makes ordinary women feel . . . well, ordinary.”

“You must be joking. Simone, you’re—”

She held up a hand. “Stop right there. I’m not fishing for compliments, I’m just stating a fact. I’m perfectly happy with the way I look, but I don’t have love-at-first-sight beauty. I have once-you-get-to-know-me beauty. Be honest, Zach. When you first met me, did you think, ‘My God, that’s a beautiful woman?’”

He grinned. “Actually, I thought you were a scruffy college intern from a local drama department . . . with gorgeous eyes.”

“There, see? And the thing is, I’ve never really wanted love-at-first-sight beauty. At least not since I was old enough to know better. Because if you’re beautiful like that, it kind of becomes your job. It’s what everyone notices about you, and it’s hard not to be defined by it. When you’re a mere mortal, on the other hand, you get to define yourself.”

“I never thought about it like that. But, Simone—”

“No compliments.”

“You honestly won’t let me tell you that you’re beautiful?”

“Nope.”

“What an odd woman you are.”

“I know. Let’s talk about something else. What about this man your mom is marrying? Do you know him?”

Zach stretched his arms along the back of the stone seat. “Glen? Yeah, I’ve known him for years. He taught me horseback riding and falconry when I was a kid. He’s a great guy. My mum’s lucky to be marrying him.” He sighed. “But he’s not my father.”

They were both quiet for a minute, looking off toward Galway Bay. The rain shower stopped and the sun came out, glistening on the droplets that clung to each blade of grass.

“I was only twelve when he died,” Zach said after a while. “I sometimes wonder if I’d think about him differently if we’d suffered through my adolescence together. Maybe I wouldn’t idealize him as much.” He looked at her. “I know you’re not the idealistic type, but what about your parents? Did you ever idealize them?”

She shook her head. “I love them, but I don’t idealize them. Not even my mom, although I admired her more than anyone in the world. And my dad—” She stopped.

Zach looked at her quizzically. “What about your dad? After the way he took care of your mum, I’d think you might idealize him.”

Simone looked down for a moment. If she told Zach a secret she’d never told anyone, would it help him gain perspective about his own parents?

“I love my father with all my heart,” she said finally. “But no, I don’t idealize him. During the time my mother was sick, he . . . he had an affair.”

Zach stared at her. “Oh, Simone. I’m so sorry. Did your mother know?”

She shook her head. “No one did but me. And I never confronted my dad about it, so he doesn’t know I know, either. I was mad at him at first. I even hated him. But the way he was with my mom . . . God, he loved her so much. That never changed. I realized eventually that he was just weak. You know? It almost killed him to watch my mother go through her illness, knowing he was going to lose her. I think he needed an escape to survive an unbearable situation. The affair was just his way of . . . I don’t know, blowing off steam.”

She rose to her feet, crossed the space between them, and sat down next to Zach. “So you see, you can love someone without idealizing them. Your mom has flaws. Your dad had flaws, too, even if you don’t know what they were.” She smiled at him. “Even Isabelle has flaws.”

When she’d sat down, she’d been careful to leave some space between them. But now Zach reached out and took one of her hands in both of his.

“So that’s why you’re single.”

She tried to ignore the waves of pleasure his touch set off in her body. “What do you mean?”

“That night we stayed with Henry, you said you weren’t looking for a soul mate because you didn’t want him to watch you deteriorate. But that’s not really it, is it? You’re afraid he wouldn’t stay to watch. You’re afraid that when you’re at your most vulnerable, he’ll betray you. And so you’ll never give anyone the opportunity.”

Well, at least she didn’t have to worry about those waves of pleasure anymore.

She jerked her hand away and got to her feet. “I didn’t tell you about my dad so you could use it against me. I just wanted you to realize that you can see people for who they really are and still care about them.”

Zach rose to his feet, too. “I’m sorry. Don’t be angry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Isabelle, for example, is a self-centered narcissist who’s been jerking you around for years. If you choose to continue caring about her after coming to terms with that, then fine. But at least open your eyes to who she really is.”

The instant the words were out of her mouth she knew she’d gone too far.

For a moment he just stared at her. Then:

“I know you think I idealize everyone, and maybe I do. But you condemn everyone. You don’t even know Isabelle, and you . . .” He shook his head. “You think you’re being realistic, but that’s not it. You’re just protecting yourself. If you decide everyone’s an asshole, then no one can ever disappoint you.”

“That’s not true,” she said, her voice trembling. “I don’t think everyone’s an asshole. But even if I am protecting myself, what about you? You’ve forgotten one side benefit of your hopeless love for a married woman. It keeps you from having to deal with an actual relationship. You could never handle the reality of that, and this way you don’t have to. And that’s why
you’re
still single.”

Then she turned on her heel just like Isabelle had and walked away.

Two women pissed off at him. Maybe he should pick a fight with his mother and make it a trifecta.

A part of him wanted to believe that jealousy was behind what Simone had said about Isabelle, and maybe it was. But he knew she also believed it was true. If there was one thing he could count on when it came to Simone, it was that she would always tell the truth.

Most people would say anything except what they really meant. Simone was the opposite. She might not say everything she was thinking or feeling, but what she did say, she meant.

But that didn’t mean she was right. And she wasn’t right about Isabelle.

Or him.

Isabelle might not be as straightforward as Simone was, but she was in a tough position. She was in an unhappy marriage, and while Zach had been trying to get her to leave for years, he knew it wasn’t that easy. She and Nigel had two children together, and—

He’d been looking down toward the castle, and now he caught a glimpse of the woman in question. Isabelle was in the rose garden, walking the gravel paths with her head bowed.

Zach felt a pang of guilt. He was the selfish one, not Isabelle. His old friend had come to him in a time of need, and she’d had every right to be upset when the news about Glen and his mother had distracted him from their conversation . . . especially since he’d already been distracted by Simone. Isabelle had accused him of not caring about her before she’d walked away.

Between his friend’s sudden appearance, his confusion about Simone, and the news about his mother, he’d needed a few minutes to get his head together before going after Isabelle. Then Simone had showed up, bringing her unique mixture of warm comfort and abrasive honesty . . . and reminding him of how damn attracted he was to her.

And then he’d bollixed things up with her, too.

One thing at a time. Before he could mend fences with Simone, he needed to talk to Isabelle.

He’d reached the walkway outside the rose garden when he heard her voice. He thought she was with someone until he realized she was talking to Nigel on her cell phone.

“Because you neglect me. Yes, I said neglect. Well, what do you call it? All those functions you send me to alone . . . Yes, of course I understand the demands of your career. I’ve understood the demands of your career through the birth of two children, and I . . . Well, then, what?” A short pause. “That’s not fair. At least Zach actually listens to me when I talk to him. Why can’t you be more like that? Why do I have to fly to Ireland to get you to pay attention to me?” Another pause. “Of course I want things to work between us. Don’t you think I want my marriage to be a success? But you take me for granted, and I—”

There was more—at least ten minutes more. Zach sat down on one of the stone benches outside the garden and listened.

Isabelle didn’t want to leave her husband. Maybe she loved him, maybe she didn’t. But she would never divorce him.

Had he always known this? On some level, he must have. But he might never have faced the truth if he hadn’t heard the words from Isabelle’s own mouth.

Lord, what fools we mortals be.

He’d known Isabelle for half his life. Simone had known her for a few hours. And yet Simone had intuited something that he’d been willfully blind to for years.

He was angry with Isabelle and angry with himself . . . and he was angry at Simone for being right.

All at once he got up from the bench. He’d had enough of women for a while. What he needed to do was take a long horseback ride and then spend the night drinking whiskey at the local pub.

He was about to walk away when the garden gate opened and Isabelle came out.

She turned pale, and her hands went to her cheeks. For a moment she just stared at him. Then:

“You heard my conversation. Oh, Zach, I’m so sorry. Dearest, sweetest Zach, I don’t know how I—”

They’d done this scene before. Only this time, he didn’t have the stomach for it.

He held up a hand. “It’s okay,” he said. “I understand.”

He wasn’t sure exactly what he was claiming to understand. The hundreds of hysterical, heartbroken phone calls over the years? The times she’d come to him in emotional turmoil, clinging to him for comfort? Or the way she’d allowed him to believe that somehow, in spite of everything, the two of them would eventually end up together?

“But, Zach—”

“You should go,” he said.

“Go? What do you mean?”

“I mean you should go back to London.”

She bit her lip. “You’re angry with me. But, Zach, Nigel and I . . .”

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I think you should go back to London and work it out with him.”

“You do?”

He nodded. “I do. And I think the two of us shouldn’t talk for awhile.”

She clasped her hands to her breast. “You
are
angry. Oh, Zach.” Suddenly her eyes narrowed. “It’s because of her, isn’t it? That American girl.”

“No,” he said—and he realized it was true. Simone might have opened his eyes to some things, but he was the one who had changed. “It’s not because of her. It’s because of me. I don’t want the same things anymore.”

Isabelle’s eyes filled with tears. “You mean you don’t want
me
anymore.”

That was true, too . . . but he didn’t need to say it. “I just think it’s time for both of us to move on.”

A glistening tear slid down her cheek. “But I don’t want to move on. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t lose me, Isabelle. Not as a friend. Figure things out with Nigel, and maybe we can talk again in a few months. But I can’t be available to you in the same way I used to be. It’s not good for either of us.”

“But—”

“Have a safe trip,” he said. “I wish you and Nigel the very best.”

He kissed her on the cheek and walked away, heading for the stables.

A long ride and a night at the pub, he told himself. That’s what he needed.

And no Isabelle, no Julia, and no Simone.

C
HAPTER
S
IXTEEN

W
hen Simone got back to the castle, she went straight up to her room, kicked off her shoes, and crawled into her king-size bed. She’d expected to lie there for a while feeling pissed off, but as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was out.

She slept so deeply and so soundly that when she woke up several hours later, she had absolutely no idea where she was.

She blinked up at the high ceilings, and then she turned her head to get the setting sun right in her eyes.

When she turned her head in the other direction she saw crown molding, an antique armoire, and elegant rose-patterned wallpaper.

She sat up in bed. She was in a castle in Ireland, and she’d slept the whole day away.

She’d meant to stay up until bedtime and then crash, hoping to get on Ireland time.

So much for that plan.

She yawned, stretched, and threw off the covers. She went to the window seat in the turret room and curled up among the velvet cushions, looking out at the green vista, burnished in the golden rays of the setting sun.

It was so perfectly beautiful, so romantic, so . . .

A horse and rider came into view, cantering along the drive. The man sat tall in the saddle, the picture of masculine power and grace, and as they came closer, she realized the rider was Zach.

She stared until he was out of sight. Then she pulled out her cell phone and called Kate.

“I’m in the wrong story,” she said when her friend answered.

“What?”

“I said I’m in the wrong story. In fact, I’m in your story.”

“
My
story?”

“Yep.” She rested her chin on her hand as she gazed out the window. A dozen swans were gliding gracefully across the lake.

“Okay, explain,” said Kate.

“It’s a gothic romance, complete with a castle and a guy on horseback galloping past my turret window.”

“You have a turret?”

“I told you it was your story. You belong here, Kate. It’s beautiful and romantic, just like you.”

“That’s very sweet of you, Simone, but I’m in the middle of my own story . . . and it’s nothing like I ever pictured for myself.” She paused. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know how when something turns out exactly the way you thought it would, there’s a little bit of a letdown? That’s because it makes it seem like our imaginations are actually bigger than reality . . . which is a little depressing. But reality is bigger than our imagination. It’s not what we plan or expect. It takes us out of our comfort zone and forces us to change.”

“I’m tired of being taken out of my comfort zone,” Simone grumbled. “I acted onstage, I got on a plane, and now I’m sitting in a castle watching Zach Hammond gallop by on a white horse. Did I mention it was a white horse?”

“Nope. And you didn’t mention that the rider was Zach, either.” Pause. “So, how are things with him?”

Simone sighed. “Horrible, actually. Remember that mysterious phone call he took during Jessica’s rehearsal dinner? Well, she showed up here. At the airport.”

“The phone call?”

“In the flesh. And she’s gorgeous.”

“Are they . . .”

“No. She’s married. But he’s been carrying a torch for years.” She sighed again. “There’s no way I can compete with that.”

“You’re not competing with anyone. You’re just you, and he’s just him, and—”

“And nothing. Plus we had a fight.”

“You did? That’s great!”

“Excuse me?”

“If you’re fighting, it means you’re getting under each other’s skin.”

Simone lay down on the window seat, scattering cushions on the floor. “He’s under my skin, all right. But I’m not under his. Not with Isabelle around.”

“Oh, screw Isabelle.”

“I’m sure he wishes he could.”

“This isn’t about Isabelle. She’s just a distraction. You’re the heroine of this story, Simone.”

“I’m too short to be the heroine. And too cynical.”

“You’re not really cynical. You just think you are.”

“That’s something noncynical people say to their cynical friends. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but—”

“You could never disappoint me. You’re my best friend, and I love you.”

Simone squeezed her eyes shut to keep from crying. “I wish you were here with me.”

“Me, too. But you’re going to be fine. I promise.”

After she hung up she realized she was starving. It was eight o’clock, which meant dinner was being served in the formal dining room downstairs . . . or she could order room service and hide from Zach, Isabelle, and humanity in general while eating in her pajamas.

It was tempting, but she wouldn’t be a coward. She’d wear something nice and eat in the dining room.

She took a shower in her palatial bathroom, put on a light blue linen dress, and went downstairs.

There was no sign of Zach or Isabelle, but most of the company had arrived while she was sleeping. Dinner was fun—not to mention delicious—but when Simone, feeling jazzed and up for more, suggested going into town to find a pub, her colleagues voted for an early night.

“We’ve got a tech rehearsal tomorrow,” Norbert reminded her.

“I know. But I had a nap before you guys got here and I’m not ready for bed yet.”

Louise grinned at her. “Well, we are. Good night, sweetie.”

After the others had gone upstairs to their rooms, Simone decided to explore the castle for a while. She found suits of armor in a long hallway, a gorgeous leather-scented library, and even a ballroom.

She stood in the doorway and tried to imagine herself wearing a gown and whirling in the arms of a handsome prince.

Nope. Not her story. Kate or Isabelle, on the other hand—

“So what do you think of this room? I thought it would be perfect for weddings . . . if we get any wedding business.”

She turned to see Julia standing behind her. “Are you kidding? Of course you’ll get wedding business. Who wouldn’t want to get married here?”

Julia smiled. “Well, I hope so. How was your dinner?”

“Delicious. Your chef is a genius.” She hesitated. “I noticed that Zach and Isabelle weren’t there. Did they go out, or—”

“Isabelle’s gone.”

Simone stared at her. “Gone? Gone where?”

“Back home, I assume. She packed up and left this afternoon.”

“She did?”

Julia smiled. “Yes, she did.”

“Oh.” Simone tried to digest this news, wondering what, exactly, it meant. She knew Zach hadn’t gone with her, since she’d seen him on horseback just before dinner. “Where is Zach?”

“He went into town to meet some old friends.”

“Oh,” Simone said again.

“They’ll be at their favorite pub until late if you want to join him.”

She thought about it. Zach was probably still mad at her, and she was definitely still mad at him, but—“Well, I was hoping to check out an Irish pub tonight.”

“Perfect, then.”

Why did she really want to go? Was it to experience an Irish pub, or was she hoping to see Zach?

She hadn’t entirely forgiven him for what he’d said that day, and she didn’t think he’d forgiven her yet, either. Isabelle was gone, and Simone didn’t know what had happened or how Zach was feeling about it. Maybe he blamed her. With both their emotions running high, it might be a mistake for them to see each other tonight.

Of course, if the pub was crowded, they might not run into each other at all. And if they did, she could follow his lead. If he chose to ignore her, she would ignore him right back.

The market town of Ennis was only ten minutes away. One of the castle employees drove her there, telling her to call him for a ride back whenever she was ready.

Whereas New York is laid out like a grid, Ennis appeared to be laid out to cause maximum confusion. Narrow cobblestone streets twisted through a warren of seventeenth-, eighteenth-, and nineteenth-century buildings, and that, combined with cars on the wrong side of the road, made Simone very glad she wasn’t driving herself.

They crossed a stone bridge, went down an impossibly narrow lane, and there was the pub. Simone waved at the driver as he pulled away, and then she stood on the sidewalk outside the building. The music of drum and fiddle and other instruments spilled out the open door.

It sounded incredible. It was actually hard not to attempt a jig as she stood there listening. She wanted to dance and sing and—

“Hello there, miss. Were you waiting for me?”

The guy who’d spoken was young and cute. He looked to be about twenty-five, tall and red-haired and sporting an ancient denim jacket and a crooked grin. His eyes took her in from head to toe, and his grin got wider.

Not sure how to dress for an Irish pub, she’d opted to go with sexy-comfortable. She was wearing a white cotton T-shirt, a black leather miniskirt, and black combat boots. Judging from the expression on this guy’s face, the outfit was a success.

“I’m hoping to meet a friend here,” she said. “But you could take me inside if you want.”

He studied her appraisingly. “Canadian?”

“American.”

“Have you been to Ennis before?”

“Nope. It’s my first trip to Ireland.”

He held out his arm and she took it. “I’ll escort you inside if you let me buy you a beer. Someone should give you a proper welcome to our country.”

The pub was large and full of people, and since she didn’t spot Zach in her initial scan, she was glad she had someone to guide her through the crowd to the bar and order her a Guinness.

During a break between songs she learned that the man’s name was Sean, and she got introduced to a few of his friends—Didi, Stephen, Frank, and Lisa. Once the music started again, peoples’ attention went to the musicians, and Simone leaned back against the bar and nursed her beer as she watched some of the fastest fiddling she’d ever seen.

She’d just decided that with or without Zach Hammond she was going to have a great time in Ireland when she felt a tingling at the back of her neck. She turned her head and there he was, sitting at a table across the room and looking straight at her.

It was warm in the pub, but a cool rush swept over her body.

She wasn’t sure how long they stared at each other before Zach got up from his table and came over.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this was a private pub. Did I need an invitation?”

His eyes narrowed, too, and for a moment they just glared at each other.

The standoff was interrupted by Sean, who came back with a second beer for her.

“Well, if it isn’t the famous Zachary Hammond,” he said, holding out his hand.

Zach didn’t take it. He looked at Sean for a moment before turning back to Simone.

“Who the hell is this?”

It was obvious he’d been drinking, but he wasn’t drunk enough to justify such uncharacteristic rudeness.

“I’m almost certain that’s none of your business.”

Sean moved in a little closer and put his arm around Simone’s shoulders. “Is this guy bothering you?”

“As a matter of fact, he is. But it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine with me,” Sean said. “He might be a big shot in London, but we’re not in London now.”

Zach stepped in closer, his blue eyes intense. He and Sean were about the same height but Zach looked a lot more dangerous right now.

“You need to back off, mate.”

Sean’s arm tightened around her shoulders. “Yeah? Why don’t we let the lady decide?”

Time for her to weigh in. “The lady ordered a Guinness, not a shot of testosterone with a caveman chaser. Maybe you should both back off.”

But it was too late. Zach and Sean were locked in some kind of male showdown, and since it didn’t seem to matter if she was there or not, she shrugged away from Sean’s grasp and set her beer on the bar.

“You boys have fun,” she said.

A minute later she was outside, breathing in the cool, fresh air and fishing around in her purse for her cell phone.

But before she could make a call, Zach was there.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He was wearing jeans and a rugby shirt and his jaw was rough with stubble. His blue eyes glittered with restless masculine energy, and she was torn between being pissed off and turned on.

“What am I doing at the moment, or in general?”

He closed the distance between them and gripped her upper arms. “Showing up at a pub dressed like this?” He looked down at her body before meeting her eyes again. “Are you looking for trouble?”

His touch made her heart pound but she couldn’t let him know that. She shook him off and took a step back. “What kind of sexist crap is that? I can wear whatever the hell I want.”

His jaw muscles tightened. “One of the things I liked about you was that you don’t play games. But I guess I was wrong.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You got dressed up in black leather and came down here to pick up a stranger. What do you call that?”

“I call it having fun.” She glared up at him. “I dressed in leather because I felt like it. And I didn’t pick up that guy; he picked me up. Not that we were doing anything but having a beer and listening to music. But even if I was having sex with him right there in the bar, you wouldn’t have any right to—”

He gripped her arms again. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t talk about having sex with anyone who isn’t me.”

Then he pulled her against him and kissed her.

It was different from the first time they’d kissed. Zach was wild and raw, all his smooth edges gone. Before she knew what was happening, he’d pushed her into the alley beside the pub and backed her up against a brick wall.

His mouth was hard and demanding and his hands were everywhere—in her hair, framing her face, on her shoulders, on her breasts.

He’d made her come on the plane, but this was the first time he’d touched her breasts. He was rough, palming her and then pinching her nipples until she cried out.

He dragged his mouth from hers. “Did I hurt you?”

“Yes. Don’t stop.”

His eyes burned into hers. “I’m not going to. I’m not stopping for phone calls, jilted brides, or earthquakes.” He moved his hands down to her hips and pulled her against him. “Come upstairs with me.”