Chapter Eight
Daisy placed a hand on Zan’s tense shoulder. A muscle jumped in his jaw, and he held his body tight as if he were about to jetpack to the moon.
“Trust me,” she murmured. They had two minutes before the challenge started. She should be practicing shaving the balloons, but every time one popped, Zan flinched. She squeezed his shoulder and smiled in relief when he sat down. She kept her hand on his shoulder for reassurance and ran through the routine in her mind. So, she may have popped more than four, but in her defense, balloons were slippery suckers.
She refused to give in to the nerves holding her stomach hostage. No darting off to the bathroom for her. Zan would probably bolt, but it was more than the challenge that kept her here. She sensed his unease when he’d read the challenge and said no. The unease was still pouring out of him, but what kept her here was that he trusted her. It felt nicer than it should.
Not caring about anything else except Zan, she leaned in and kissed his tense jaw. “Trust me.” He didn’t flinch like he used to when she touched him.
He nodded once.
Sally called for the contestants. In two minutes, Daisy would present Zan’s shaved face. She took a deep breath and swirled her finger in the basin of warm water next to her, which she’d set up while Zan did his statue impersonation in the chair. She picked up the old-school shaving brush, dipped it into the basin of water, then shook off the excess. She then opened a container, inhaling the scent of whiskey and pine. She worked the brush into the shaving foam and concentrated on soaping where dark gold stubble bristled his face. Like an artist, she traced his jawline from left to right, swept the brush over sharp cheekbones, dotted under his nose, down his neck. She stilled when his grip strengthened on the chair, and his knuckles turned gray.
Now for the tricky part.
She picked up the blade and tried for a reassuring smile, but her lips were numb. Zan’s eyes locked on hers. She took the blade, angled it as instructed, and pulled the knife down the left side of his face, starting where sideburns would be if he’d had any. The only sound over the beating of her heart was a scrape of the blade against stubble. She repeated on the other side, leaning in close, her breasts pushing against him. As usual, her nipples wanted to party and perked into life.
She sucked back a breath, hoping he wouldn’t notice, but one look in his amused eyes that went from her face to her chest and a teasing smile gave her away. Now was not the time to be getting turned on by the man’s hard and sculpted body or the sexy, knowing grin on his face.
“Behave.” She leaned in and murmured.
“Not my nipples trying to drill a hole,” he said while she rinsed the blade.
She leaned forward again, holding the razor under his chin, then followed the contour of his neck in a long stroke then brushed his nipple which hardened on cue. “Isn’t it?”
She smiled at his smirk. Only a few places were covered in soap. The scar on his neck and the soap mustache. He stiffened when she lined the razor up and pulled down toward the scar, she then rinsed the blade and positioned it a fraction over the silver line on his neck, wiping the cream from the scar.
I wonder if I can catch him unguarded.
“Got an apology for me?”
His eyes narrowed. “Nope. Got one for me?”
She sighed loudly. “I have nothing to apologize for.”
Because he was sitting, it was difficult to maneuver the blade into the soap above his lip.
“One minute left,” Sally called.
Only one solution came to her. Without waiting for consent, she straddled him so her butt nestled in his lap. One hand gripped his shoulder.
“Hold still.” She concentrated on scraping the soap off his face.
“Got to remember this position later,” he murmured. One hand splayed in a possessive move on her hip.
She swished the blade in the water, brought it back to under his nose, leaned forward, and whispered, “Don’t move,” as she wriggled in his lap, positioning herself on top of his monster erection. The grip on her hip intensified, but he didn’t move when she scraped the last of the foam from his face. She gave one last wriggle, stood, then grabbed a damp, hot towel from a heating box and proceeded to wipe away any trace of soap before she pressed a hot towel against his gorgeous face.
Sally counted down from ten seconds. At five seconds, Daisy removed the towel from his face. She stepped back admiring her handiwork. Unable to stop herself, she dragged a finger along his cheek to chin.
Not bad. Not bad at all.
“Thank you for giving me a raging boner in public.” He grabbed the towel from her and dropped it on his lap.
“I’ll find a way to pay you back later.” Her gaze dropped to the towel then back to his face. “Giddy up.”
A beautiful, sexy, smile lit his face.
Breath clogged in her throat.
Damn, it would be easy to fall into him.
And she couldn’t. She wasn’t burying her sister for something she didn’t do. She’d never admit she didn’t have the money, so she was here until he gave her the apology she needed.
“You okay?”
She jumped when Zan’s voice infiltrated her thoughts.
She drew a hand over her hair. “Fine.”
“I’m starting to figure you out.”
Her spine straightened, her head snapped back, and she advanced. “You wish.”
“When you’re tired, you rub your temple. When you smile, your whole body gets in on the act, and like now when you’re thinking your eyebrows draw inward and you mash your lips together.” He brushed the hair from her face. “You make lists because you’re afraid to live and you plan for every outcome. And I think you run away when faced with a problem.”
Her mouth hung open. She wasn’t going near any of those points that required analysis because her heart was doing a crazy dance.
“I make lists because if I don’t then I can’t manage the fallout, and I’m always—”
“What? There to catch the fall.”
Not going there.
“And I don’t run away from problems.”
She eased out a tight breath when Sally approached with the barber who’d taught the class.
“We’re up next.” She tugged on the hem of her T-shirt. The delicious scent of Zan wafted over her like a dream.
Why does the man smell so good all the time?
“Interesting technique of getting the foam from the top lip.” The barber nodded. “Not sure it can be used in a commercial capacity, but I applaud your ingenuity.”
Daisy blushed. Sally’s knowing face moved between her and Zan. The barber inspected Zan’s face, nodded, then continued down the line. Her stomach rumbled into gear. Now the nerves had disappeared, she was starving.
“I’m famished.” She rubbed her cuffed wrist. It had been strange being separated from him. She’d grown used to him always being by her side. His hand brushing hers sometimes on purpose, sometimes she’d look down, surprised that her fingers were trapped in his when she hadn’t noticed she’d captured his hand. Their fingers were now entwined. Had she laced her fingers with his, or had he?
She turned to find his always-intense gaze locked on her. Her pulse raced, and her body was hyper-aware of his proximity.
Damn.
That fluttery feeling of awareness rippled through her. She checked out her feet, which were now fascinating. Wrong family. Right man.
“Gone all quiet on me, beautiful.”
She wiped a hand across her face and faked a smile. “Tired.”
“Are you still hungry?”
She shook her head, the thought of food now made her want to gag.
He stared at her with his eyebrows drawn, and his eyes narrow before he pulled the cuffs from his pocket and clipped them together.
Sally dinged a spoon against a glass, and the murmur of voices dropped.
“We have a winner. Not without controversy. Please congratulate Daisy and Zan.”
“That’s us,” Daisy whispered her free hand to her throat. “We won.”
Without thinking, she spun and hugged him, one arm around his waist, her cheek pressed against hard pectoral muscle.
He stilled, then hauled her closer.
“We won.” She laughed and blushed at the applause and well-wishes from fellow contestants.
Five minutes later, people had dispersed.
“I want to check out the beach.”
“I’d rather look at the resort, see how we can incorporate it into our business portfolio.”
“Do you ever take time off?” She waved a hand at him. “You’re so sure you’ll have the better proposal for Levi.”
The man took arrogant to another level.
“Don’t see the point in taking time off.” His eyes captured hers. “And yes, I’m that confident that Levi’s resorts will be under the Gillard chain of hotels.”
She stared out at the whispering waves calling her name, willing her heart rate to steady.
“Want to take the cuffs off?” He arched a brow.
“Not going to happen.” She went to fold her arms but screamed in silent frustration when she couldn’t.
“Why don’t we spend a couple of hours checking out the resort, then we’ll sit on the beach. I can grab a newspaper.”
She mulled it over.
“Seems fair.” She half laughed. “Wait, did we compromise on something?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You agreed with me.”
With that, she did laugh.
They walked around the resort, Daisy lost in her own thoughts of what she’d do when they won the bid. They must have made a silent pact because neither spoke. When Zan stopped to look at something, she tried to figure out what it was he was inspecting. She did the same, although she threw in a couple of stops, for the hell of it and he sighed as if he knew what she was doing. She didn’t know what she was doing, but they needed this resort. As soon as they had secured the bid they’d have a team on the ground.
“Are you that confident you’ll win?” she asked.
“Of course, I never lose.” He cut her with one of his devastating smiles.
Well, he was going to lose this one.
“Poppy didn’t steal anything from you or your brother.” She pushed the words out of a tight throat.
Eyes that had been filled with emotion were now empty. “She did, and when you apologize this will be over.” He held up his hand, indicating the cuffs.
“Back at ya.”
They’d come full circle to the beach. Daisy sat, and Zan followed. “Soon this will be a fading memory,” Daisy said, drawing circles in the white sand.
“Yeah.” He stared out to sea at something she couldn’t see.
“Are you looking forward to getting back home?”
Virgil’s sleek sable body would glide around her legs. She’d pick him up and cuddle him, then he’d ignore her for two days, gift her a stolen sock, and all would be back to normal.
Home seemed such a long way away.
He shrugged. “My travel schedule keeps me busy. It’s rare I’m in L.A., I work abroad so much.”
She couldn’t imagine traveling as much as he did and not hanging out with her sisters and catching up on crazy housewives, long phone conversations with her mom, still cruising, unable to face coming home. Yoga with Helen.
She hoped one day she had a marriage like her parents, who’d kissed each other every morning, her dad getting up early to make her mom a cup of tea. Her mom leaving notes and love hearts in his pockets so he’d find them at work.
She hugged her knees to her chest, swallowing over the lump in her throat.
“Aren’t you ever lonely?”
He turned his head. “Lonely?” It looked like he was searching for something to compare the word to which seemed foreign to him. “Never.”
She stared out at a yacht gliding through the water, a couple drinking champagne on the deck. “Well, I love that the barista at Starbucks knows what I want when she sees me in the line. Or Hank the UPS guy always puts my packages under cover, or that Chloe at Von’s always remembers my name and asks after Virgil.”
The warmth of friendship, colleagues, and neighbors wrapped around her like a warm hug.
He visibly shuddered as if she’d thrown polluted water on him. “I couldn’t imagine anything worse. People I don’t know in my business.” He turned to her. “The cut and thrust of the boardroom with a different CEO, until you’ve hammered out a plan that will make your hotel chain bigger—now that’s what drives me.”
She stiffened. “Well, I want more in my life than coming home to an empty house, knowing I’d made more money I didn’t need. That sounds awful.”
He smiled. “It sounds like perfection.”
“Really? I think it sounds lonely and sad. I couldn’t imagine your life.” Her tone sharp.
“I couldn’t imagine yours.” His sharper.
They were Jupiter and Venus glaring at each other across the solar system.
“This argument is done.” She pulled on the cuffs and swore under her breath. “I hate these things.”
His eyes flashed. “I bet if these were off you’d be running. I see that’s your thing. You don’t stay and talk shit out.”
The muscles tensed in her jaw, and she fought to keep her breathing even. She turned to him. “It is not my thing. We’re never going to agree on this. Ergo nothing to talk out. This is done.”
“We’re not done.” His eyes flashed and a vein pulsed in his jaw.
“If I could cut—” She slammed her mouth shut.
Damn, she’d nearly spilled the beans.
His head turned so fast he must have whiplash. “If you could cut what?”
“If I could cut and run without handing anything to you I would.”
She sucked back unexpected hot tears that clogged her throat.
Oh, exactly what I need.
“Funny, I thought you were going to say something else.”
“What else is there to say?” She wiped her face. Those stupid tears threatened to make an operatic style entrance, and the last thing she wanted to do was cry in front of Zan Gillard.
“Not yet. We’re not done yet.”
She blinked. Did she hear him wrong? “What? Why?”
“I said not yet,” he barked.
I don’t even know what to do with this.
She sat down as far away as the cuffs would allow.
A wind started to pick up, tossing whitecaps. She shivered and dug her feet into the sand, searching for warmth.
Zan slid over, one arm around her shoulder; he pulled her to him. His warmth melted into her body. They sat there until the sun slid into the sky and the moon started to rise. Her head landed on his shoulder. It felt right.
Four little words crept into her head: wrong family, right man.