S. Harper - Cursed

Zack straightens. He strolls over to where I’m standing, closing the gap between us. “I’m a good actor, Emma. In fact, you may be the only lie detector I haven’t been able to best.”

“I’m not trying to read you, Zack.”

He holds up a hand. “I know. If you were, you’d realize things have never been normal between us. I can pretend. I can keep my distance and my word. But you should know the attraction isn’t going away. It’s building and that has nothing to do with your mojo.”

My mojo may be under wraps, but the air between us is as charged as it was that night in his kitchen.

His gaze is unwavering. We’re venturing into dangerous and confusing territory. The time has come. A decision has to be made. It was good between us in Charleston, better than good. We worked well together as partners both in bed and out. What I doubt is what’s happening here and now—whether we can keep things in what I’d come to think of as the safe zone .

Friendship.

Sex.

Not love. Never love.

Seconds pass. I can’t bring myself to look away. To speak or move. A myriad of images, all depicting possible tragic endings, flit through my mind. Including the one Demeter so cleverly and callously placed there. The blood. Zack’s head in her hand.

I’ve waited too long. Zack turns and starts to walk away. He’s a man of his word. And I realize that despite the pull, the temptation, he’s managed to find the strength to keep it. He’s not going to push. He’s going to walk away. No one’s walked away. Ever. What if Zack is somehow different? What if we could make this work?

“Wait!”

He turns back to face me. “You don’t want me to go back to the party?”

I shake my head.

“It’s your move, Emma.”

I know this is the moment that will change everything between us—a moment I want to happen. I push all my fears and doubts aside and rush into Zack’s arms. One arm encircles my waist, the other the back of my neck as his lips cover mine.

He moves us effortlessly, the way he did that night in his kitchen. The wall is suddenly at my back. My mouth opens in surprise and his tongue slips inside. The kiss is demanding, urgent. Full of pent-up promises, of things left unsaid and desires denied. I lift my hand to his chest and grab hold of his shirt. I don’t want it to stop. I can feel the hardness of his arousal pressing into me. I push back, eliciting a moan that I vow will be the first of many I coax from Zachary Armstrong tonight.

Zack whispers, “That was some move.”

My skin is heated. My body burns with desire.

Footsteps. An embarrassed “Excuse me.”

With a low groan in my ear, Zack pulls reluctantly away from me. “Yes?”

It’s one of the men who had previously been working the door. “I . . . I’m interrupting.”

Zack waves a hand. “Can we help you?”

I turn away, using the moment to smooth the desire from my expression and the wrinkles from my dress as the embarrassed party worker says, “The auction’s about to start. I’m rounding up guests.”

“Thanks, we’ll be right in.”

He leaves us with another mumbled apology for the interruption and heads quickly toward another couple standing a few feet away. It startles me because I hadn’t noticed them before. They must have come out while I was busy with Barakov. But their eyes are on me. They saw it all, felt the pull of my power. They don’t even look away while being shepherded toward the door.

Zack watches them watch us. When they’ve disappeared inside, he says, “Well, that was awkward.”

I’m still breathless with the implication of what I almost let happen between Zack and me. I was as caught up in the moment as he was. I get a sudden chill—I can fool myself into thinking a fling with Zack would mean nothing, but Demeter? She who feels every emotion I try so hard to hide would know better.

The sound of applause spills into the entry. We pass through the double doors of the Crown Room just in time to hear Green Leaf’s founder, Alan Pierce, make his introductions. I refocus my thoughts, ignore the fact that Zack’s arm is around my shoulders, and watch.

Alan Pierce is younger than I expected. His tuxedo is well tailored, traditional. He thanks the guests and talks briefly about the company’s mission. He speaks with the passion of a man who believes in what he is doing, and his delivery is smooth and polished. Alan ends by publicly recognizing the members of the board of directors who are present.

First, he points out Dr. Alexander Barakov and Dr. Barbara Pierce. His parents.

Zack leans down and whispers, “There’s an interesting connection.”

“Yes, it is.”

He moves on, introducing Taylor Cummings. The former soap opera actress is lapping up the applause. In fact, I get the distinct impression that’s why she came. Cummings gave up a not so promising career a couple of years ago to marry Southern California construction magnate Jack Reynolds. I remember some talk a few years ago about her having a drinking problem. Tonight, not only is Cummings quite tipsy, she’s quite conspicuously alone.

The final introduction is of Gordon Jacobs. I recognize the name and the connection. I tug on Zack’s sleeve to get his attention. “Jacobs is a partner at the same firm as Evan. What if Polk and Wagner is involved with whatever is going on at Green Leaf and Evan stumbled upon it?”

“There’s one sure way you can find out,” Zack says. “Can you do it?”

Each use of my powers ensures Demeter’s disapproval and places me further from the possibility of forgiveness. But we’re at a dead end. Lives are at stake, one of them Evan’s.

“Yes, I can do it.”

Although an auctioneer is managing the bidding process, Alan Pierce is reading the item descriptions. The one currently up for bid is being “modeled” by an attractive young woman. It’s a colorful tote bag made from brightly colored recycled candy wrappers.

“Should I take Taylor Cummings or Barbara Pierce?” Zack asks.

I look around. Drs. Pierce and Barakov are nowhere to be seen. “I think Pierce and Barakov left.” Was he uneasy over the conversation we had? Perhaps he was afraid of running into me again.

Zack checks his watch. “Taylor Cummings it is,” he says. “Let’s meet back at the car in thirty minutes?”

I nod.

Zack grabs two glasses of champagne from a passing tray, then heads off. I see Jacobs making a beeline for the bar and follow. The man is in his mid to late fifties, overweight, red-faced. He orders a scotch, neat. I do the same. The smell coming off him confirms this scotch is not his first.

“It’s a little warm in here.” I fan myself, then offer him my hand. “Emma Monroe.”

“Gordon Jacobs. How are you connected to Green Leaf?”

“I’m not, really.” Michael Dexter’s piece is about to be introduced and Alan has called him to the stage. I gesture toward Dexter. “I’m a guest of the artist.”

Jacobs’ eyes drift to the front of the room. The bidding has started. “Boyfriend?”

“God, no. Michael’s gay. I was just going to step out for a breath of fresh air. Care to join me?” I offer him a smile filled with promise. He predictably takes the bait.

We go out the front door, circle around the side of the hotel, past some of the quaint shops that are closed, and then onto the ocean veranda. The entire time, Jacobs talks about himself, his illustrious career, and his passion for golf and deep-sea fishing. I feign fascination. Despite the leisurely pace, by the time we get there, Jacobs is out of breath. Thankfully, the veranda is empty. This time, I make doubly sure. The large open space ensures that I won’t make the same mistake and miss another couple half-hidden by shrubbery.