Wrecked (27 page)

Running his tongue over his teeth, he tore the mailer open.

And then he damn near choked.

Abby . . .

Minutes ticked away as he stared at the pictures.

It was Abby. Ten portraits in all. Some in color, others in black and white. Some were close-ups, some were full-body shots. Some of them had that soft focus thing going on while others were so clear and sharp, he almost believed he could reach out and touch her.

Stroke the soft shoulder bared by the green silk shirt she wore. A shirt that looked pretty damn familiar.

That was the first picture.

The second was her profile as she stared at the camera.

In the third one, she was looking away. She looked . . . ethereal. The black-and-white image had a soft, almost blurred look to it and she looked like something just not of this world.

The fourth one showed her fingers working down the buttons . . . another black and white, with the shadow and light playing across her skin. It almost made his heart stop, just from how beautiful and raw the image was.

And then blood started to pulse in his head as he realized something.

Zane had taken these.

He knew his brother’s work. Nobody could take a picture quite the way Zane could.

His hands were shaking as he turned to the next one. Her left breast was bared, revealing the lotus blossom he’d painted on her skin. Abby was staring at the camera through her hair and there was a faint blush on her cheeks . . . and the glint in her eyes almost laid him low.

Abby . . .

That look.

Swearing, he laid them down for a minute and stormed over to the bar. He needed a drink. Needed to think—

He made it two feet before he was back over there, staring at the picture again. He had to find her. Had to see her. The sadness in her eyes. The pain . . . and unless he was mistaken, there was something else.

His hands were shaking as he flipped to the next one. She wasn’t looking at the camera this time. Her shirt was open completely, but hanging so that all he could see was a bare strip of flesh.

In the seventh, she had let the shirt fall back to catch in the crook of her elbows. The shot was beautiful. It was erotic. And he was pretty damned certain this was as aroused as he’d ever been without actually having her
there
, with him. But if he didn’t find her soon, he thought he might start to just whimper like a baby.

The eighth one had her head hanging low with the shirt dangling from her fingers, while her other hand covered her face and she was half hidden from the camera. Another black-and-white.

The ninth one was another close-up, but of her back, with her looking over her shoulder, all those wild, crazy curls spilling down her back.

He had a feeling the tenth one might just make him either die from a heart attack or come in his jeans like a teenaged boy. He didn’t know. Passing a hand over his face, he sucked in a breath and tried to reach for some modicum of control. It didn’t seem to want to come and he didn’t know if he could keep it together.

And it didn’t matter.

He had to see that picture.

Then he was going to get Zane on the damned phone and rip his head off, even if he had to reach through the phone lines to do it.

That decision made, he flipped to the photo, eyes closed. Once he thought had himself ready, he opened his eyes . . .

And just stared.

It wasn’t the erotically beautiful image he had been expecting.

Zane had a way of capturing emotions with his camera. It was his gift. Something he’d been able to do even from the time he’d been a kid.

And the image he’d captured on film was the image of a woman in love.

She was sitting down, still wearing the shirt, with one knee drawn up. The look on her face was . . . her eyes stared into the camera lens, and although Zach
knew
she wasn’t looking at him, he felt like she was. He felt like she was finally seeing him clear down to his soul.

And she was just fine with what she saw. Fine with it, hell. She wanted it. Needed it.

He blinked hard and then looked back at the picture again, trying to make sure he wasn’t seeing something that wasn’t there.

But it was.

He was almost certain he was seeing the same damn thing in her eyes that he felt every damn time he looked at her. Every damn time he thought of her.

Swallowing the knot in his throat, he gathered up the pictures and then laid them carefully on the coffee table. When he pulled out his phone to call Zach, he tried to figure out what to say, how to convince him to talk. The words weren’t coming, though.

Damn it.

He’d just have to fly blind on this.

The phone didn’t even make it through one ring before Zane answered.

“Don’t kill me, Zach,” Zane said. “She wanted the damn pictures and it wasn’t like I could let somebody else do what she was wanting.”

Zach pressed the heel of his hand against his eye. He could handle, barely, the thought of Zane seeing Abby naked. She was like a little sister to him and Zach knew that. He could handle it . . .
barely
. As long as he didn’t think about it. “Just tell me where in the hell she is,” he said quietly. “I need to talk to her.”

Zane was quiet a minute. “You’re not calling me to rip my head off?”

“No. But I’d rather not think about it. The photo fairy took those as far as I’m concerned. A female photo fairy.”

“Okay. She’s a talented fairy, though, right?”

“Very. They are amazing. Now where in the hell is Abby?”

Zane blew out a breath. “I don’t know. But before you rip my head off, she had a message. She left here yesterday and I haven’t seen her since, but I did talk to her. She said she’d find you today. So . . . make yourself findable.”

* * *

As Marin cut through the Phoenix traffic, Abigale
pulled out the battered journal and flipped through it. She needed to do more of the stuff in it, she decided.
Hang it in a public place . . .
she smiled a little and decided she’d find a way to string it up at Steel Ink and have people draw in it there.

She flipped to another page and almost winced at what she saw there.

Spill coffee
 . . .

Eyeing the cold coffee in the console, she caught her lip between her teeth and reached for it.

“What are you—
Abigale
!”

She snatched up a napkin from their fast-food lunch and dabbed at the coffee trickling down the pages. “I’m following instructions,” she said softly.

“You’ve lost your mind!” Marin shot her a look. “You just spilled coffee on a book.”

“The book told me to,” Abigale said soberly. Then she flipped it around and displayed the messy result. “Look.”

Marin kept her gaze locked on the highway. “That book has got to be the craziest thing on God’s green earth. What in the world are you doing with it?”

“It’s the journal Zach gave me,” she said softly. “I made myself a new plan with it, you know.
Stop worrying so much
 . . .
flip off photographers . . .
”

“And have a torrid affair.” Marin pursed her lips. “All of this happened because of the damn book.”

“All of this happened because it’s supposed to.” Abigale gingerly turned the pages, studying more of the instructions. She still needed to mail it to herself, and all sorts of crazy shit. She’d been so focused on the plan, and then on Zach, that she hadn’t been paying as much attention to the rest of it. “It happened because Zach’s been the one all along. And I never saw it.”

“You just weren’t ready to, sweetheart. And he never let you see it on his end.” Marin reached over and caught her hand, squeezed gently. “It’s happening now. Take it and grab it and don’t let go.”

A fist seized her heart and Abigale closed her eyes. “I don’t plan on it. I just . . . hell. What if I’m reading this wrong? What if you all are off base?”

“We’re not.” Marin chuckled. “Trust me. We’re not.”

Abigale blew out a breath. “Man, I hope not.” She plucked her shirt from her chest and eyed the new tattoo on her chest. It was covered by the dressing, angry and red and not at all the sexy little surprise she’d hoped to present him with, but he’d get the sentiment, she knew.

“He has an
A
on his chest,” she whispered.

“I know.” Marin glanced over her. “We’ve only had a hundred get-togethers a year, Abby. I see him without his shirt all the time. I asked him once what he was going to say when you finally noticed.”

Abigale arched a brow, waited.

“He told me that you never did notice all that much about him, so it wasn’t an issue.”

Abigale winced. “That’s not . . . completely true.” She’d noticed plenty about Zach. When she let herself look. She just hadn’t always let herself look. And now she couldn’t
not
look. “Marin, this is insane.”

“No. It’s completely sane, and it’s completely right. What’s insane is that it took you this long to notice. Any idea what you’re going to say to him?”

Abigale focused on the clock. “No. And the way traffic is going, I’ve got a while to figure it out.”

Time enough. Too long. Not long enough. Closing her eyes, she started to try to puzzle her way through everything that had to be said between them.

Chapter Twenty-two

Make yourself findable
.

That was what Zane had said.

Zach had spent half the day at home, but Abby hadn’t shown up.

It was Tuesday. Tuesdays were a workday.

So maybe he should do the smart thing and get his ass to the office.

Of course, the
last
thing he wanted to do was
work
.

Still, he stomped through the back door of Steel Ink, up to the front, and watched as the employees scattered. All but Javi. Javi looked at him with a sidelong glance. “You look pissed.”

Zach didn’t respond to that. There wasn’t any point. “Has Abby called?”

“Nope.” He shrugged and said, “But if she does, I’ll make sure you get the call, boss. Promise.”

Zach grunted. As he turned around, he saw Keelie standing in the doorway to the hall. She held his gaze and he wanted to just push around her, but she had her tall, skinny frame planted there and unless he physically moved her, she wasn’t going to budge. He could tell that from the look in her eyes.

“What?” he bit off.

“Have you been able to talk to her?”

Baring his teeth at her in a mockery of a smile, he replied, “No. She’s avoided my calls and me ever since Sunday. Happy?”

“No.” Keelie looked away and took a deep breath. “I’ve tried to call her a few times, but she’s not answering the phone. Is she okay? Has anybody talked to her?”

He debated on whether or not he should just avoid answering that to make her feel bad. Part of him wanted to make her feel bad, part of him figured she deserved it. But the bigger part of him felt guilty for thinking that way. He didn’t need to feel
more
guilty on top of everything else. When he could
think
without being pissed, worried, scared, he figured maybe Keelie hadn’t really meant any harm and maybe they could get past this. Maybe.

“Oh, she’s talking to
people
,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets and staring at her lowered head. “She’s just not talking to
me
. She’s talking to Marin. She’s talking to Zane. But she won’t talk to
me
.”

“Zane . . .” Her lashes flickered.

Okay. Now he was ready to get mad at her again, all because of that look in her eyes. He didn’t want his brother feeling gutted the way he did. “Yeah. Zane. Do me a favor, Keelie. Leave him alone.”

“Leave him alone?” Something flashed in her gaze.

“He’s got a thing for you.” Zach crossed his arms over his chest. “Now he’s hurting. He’ll get over it, but since you don’t give a fuck about him, don’t keep acting like there might be something there when there’s not.”

Keelie opened her mouth, then closed it, shaking her head like she wasn’t following the conversation. “What . . . you . . . damn it, Zach, I don’t know what in the hell you’re getting at here, but Zane and I are friends. I’m allowed to be
friends
with him.”

“Yeah.” He shook his head. “Friends. That’s why he sounded like I’d sucker punched him when I told him what happened. He’s interested in you. You don’t feel the same and that’s fine. Look . . .” He blew out a breath and said, “I’m not ready to talk to you yet, but I might be. Later. Just don’t mess around with my brother, okay?”

She gaped at him and, unwilling to stand there any longer, he nudged her aside and headed to his office. He couldn’t remember if he had any appointments scheduled that day or not. He didn’t want to
be
there. He needed to be out looking for Abby, but Zane had said she’d find him.

So he had to be
findable
.

The only place he ever was on Tuesdays was at his shop.

So he’d stay at his shop.

Until it was time to go. Shit.
Then
what did he do? Go home? Go to her place?

Swearing, he pushed through the door and slammed it shut. He headed for the desk but he hadn’t been there any more than a minute before he found himself remembering that day. Forty-eight fucking hours ago. How could life go straight to hell in forty-eight hours?

Groaning, he closed his hands around his skull and tried to shove those thoughts out of his head. Tried and failed. Rubbing the heel of his hand over his chest, he bent over his desk and decided he’d deal with work. Work would keep him occupied for a little.

* * *

“His car is here.”

Swiping her hands down the sides of the slim-fitting skirt of her dress, Abigale nodded.

“You need to breathe a little before you puke, honey.” Marin poked her in the shoulder. “You look almost as rough as you used to before a press conference with she-who-shall-not-be-named.”

“Blanche.” She slid Marin a glance and said, “It’s Blanche. I mean . . . I know you all know it and I know we were kids when we started that name, but it’s past time we stopped. She’s not the boogeyman.” She grimaced and said, “She’s not Voldemort. She’s just a shallow, selfish woman who never cared about anybody but herself. She called earlier, you know.”

Marin laid a hand on her arm. Abigale smiled over at her. “It’s fine. That . . . well. It needed to be done. Ages ago. I told her not to call again. I don’t know if she’ll listen, but it’s done.”

“And when she calls back?” Marin asked doubtfully.

“Then I decide then. But I’m done ignoring or hiding from her.” She blew out a breath and stared at the shop.

Marin squeezed her hand. “Are you going to go in the back?”

She nodded.

And just sat there.

“Well.” Marin drew the word out slowly, studying the back of the building with pensive eyes. “I could be wrong here, but I
think
the best approach would be actually getting out of the car.”

“I’m scared.”

Marin reached over and caught her hand. “I can tell.” Then she turned her head and pinned Abigale with a level stare. “But this is the absolute last thing you need to be scared of. I know you don’t know what’s waiting for you inside there, honey, but I do. It’s somebody who’s loved you for your entire life . . . now go get him.”

* * *

Bills paid.

That ate up an hour.

Supplies ordered.

That ate up another hour.

He sketched out a couple of designs for a client who lived over at the army base. That took up forty-two minutes. The client was still debating out in the shop. Zach wished he’d make up his mind, because if he wanted the work, doing the tattoo would take up the next couple of hours and then he could go home.

But now, with his mind empty and his hands free, he found himself bent over his sketchbook and the image taking place wasn’t anything he could ever put on anybody.

It was Abby.

The way she’d been in that last portrait. Her gaze locked on him, eyes dark and full of love. Need. Like she was staring into the very soul of him.

The curve of her lip. The line of her jaw.

Her hair, the way it glinted in the light . . . even though it was just a pencil sketch, he could see the dark, rich auburn and his hands itched to feel the softness of it again.

The door opened and he kept his gaze on the portrait. “Did the guy decide on which design he wanted?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t ask.”

Dropping the pencil, he lifted his head.

Abby stood in the door, her head cocked to the side, arms folded over her chest. It was a dangerous pose, because in that dress, her breasts looked like . . . whoa. Yeah. He thought that summed it up pretty much.

As a matter of fact, the entire package was just
whoa
. She was wearing one of those pinup girl–styled dresses again: a formfitting black sheath that fit her form oh so nicely, all the way down to her knees. Against the black, her skin glowed like ivory and he was about ready to fall down and worship her.

She had on a pair of red heels . . . fuck. Red heels. Had he ever seen her in a pair of red heels?

He didn’t know, but now it was his life’s ambition to see her in
just
those heels . . . and nothing else. Assuming she wasn’t going to kick his ass to the curb. If she tried, his life’s ambition was going to be getting her to forgive him. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t wanted Keelie to kiss him. It had happened and . . .

Focus, Zach
. He dragged a hand over his face and swallowed the knot in his throat. “Abby.”

And his voice cracked.

This was going to go just
fantastic
. Clearing his throat, he pushed back from the desk, although he thought it might be wise to keep his distance for a minute, especially judging by the glint in her eyes.

“Ah . . . I’ve been trying to call,” he said softly, eyeing her nervously as she came inside. He dodged a look at her hands. No sharp objects. No wooden bats. That was good . . . right? Very few people understood just how hot her temper burned. Zach was one of them and he respected that temper of hers.

Abby lifted a brow. “Yes,” she murmured. “About fifty times. I noticed.” A smirk curved her lips and he swallowed back a groan as he realized she wasn’t just wearing a pair of red
fuck me
shoes. She’d slicked that pretty mouth of hers down with the same shade of red.

Abby rarely wore makeup anymore, but she’d gone all out tonight, it seemed. He wasn’t quite certain he understood the reasoning. Jamming his hands into his pockets, he stared at her for a minute, trying to read the look on her face but he couldn’t.

The glint in her eyes had him confused.

She looked pissed. Very pissed. But then he thought about the pictures . . . shit, if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d just painted that tattoo on her, he’d almost think she’d done those
before
the mess with Keelie.

But that wasn’t the case. He knew it.

“Saturday night wasn’t what it looked like,” he said, forcing the words out in a rush. “Keelie was the one behind that and I was pulling away even as she did it. I know it didn’t look like that but I don’t have any feelings for Keelie. I—”

He stopped, clamping those words shut behind his teeth just in time. Abby arched a brow, that smirking little smile on her lips. She turned away and sauntered over to the door and despite his best intentions, his gaze zoomed down to lock on her ass. That dress . . . damn it, it ought to be illegal when the woman had a body like Abby’s.

The door clicked shut and he jerked his head up just in time to see her lock it.

“You what?” Abby said quietly, turning around to face him.

He stared at her.

She leaned back against the door and waited.

“I just wanted you to know that it wasn’t what it looked like. I swear.”

“Oh . . . I believe you.” She waited a beat and then pushed off the door, swaying her way across the floor to him. Each click of her heels seemed to make his heart race even harder and he was almost certain the damn thing was going to leap right out of his chest by the time she reached him. She laid a hand against his chest and murmured, “I believe you . . . about Keelie. But Zach, there’s something you’re not being honest about and I think it’s time we just get this out in the open.”

* * *

A storm fired in his eyes.

Abigale watched it play out as her heart raced and her hands went all damp and sweaty again. Fear and terror, frustration and desire, they all tangled inside her and beneath it all was a love that all but stole her breath away.

All this time, Zach had been right here.

And part of her realized she’d
known
. Some part of her had
known
. But she hadn’t wanted to look at that because it scared her. If it fell apart, if it didn’t last, so many
ifs
 . . . if she lost Zach . . .

He was her everything and losing him would rip the soul out of her.

But she couldn’t hide from this anymore. She couldn’t, and she didn’t want to.

As he continued to stare at her, she fisted her hand in his shirt, thought about the tattoo she’d seen so many times before, but had never really
noticed
. Thought about the tattoo she had on her chest—the one that still itched and hurt, healing already under the dressing she wore.

“Anything to say, Zach?” she whispered, looking up into his eyes.

His lashes flickered and for a second, she thought he was going to make this easy, but all he did was reach up and cup her cheek. “I’m not really sure what you’re talking about, Abby.” He stroked his thumb over her lower lip.

She sighed, swaying closer so she could rest her head against his chest.

Okay, then.

It’s somebody who’s loved you your entire life . . .

Breathing in the sexy, warm scent that was Zach, she steadied herself again. She had to go through with this, because she had to know. That was all there was to it. Mentally squaring her shoulders, she lifted her head and stared up at him.

He wasn’t wearing a t-shirt for once. It was a black button-down, the tails hanging out, the sleeves rolled up. Holding his gaze, she reached for the buttons and watched his eyes as she slid the first button free.

The blue of his eyes darkened to near black and his chest rose on a harsh, unsteady breath as she moved onto the second button. “Abby . . .”

“Did you get anything from Zane today?” she asked softly.