Jane Porter - Lazaro's Revenge

She gripped the doorknob, hating him, hating his reasonable tone. “I’ve been in the country before.”

“Then you know how confusing it gets to walk without landmarks, without roads, without any sign of human life.”

“Your ranch can’t be that remote.”

His eyebrows merely lifted.

“I’m sure there’s something out there,” she insisted.

“Sheep. Cows. Deer—”

“Not very frightening.”

“Jaguars, pumas, cougars.”

Zoe swallowed hard. “You’re lying.”

“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“All you’ve done is lie to me,” she flung back at him, turning to face him, hand still tight on the iron doorknob.

“I haven’t lied to you yet—”

“At the airport you asked me if I was Zoe Collingsworth—”

“And you said yes.” A humongous brown moth flit from the front porch light into the hall. Lazaro moved toward Zoe and gently but firmly closed the door. “I asked you for your baggage tag and you gave it to me. You came with me, Zoe. Happily. Willingly. Immediately.”

Tears of shock and shame filled her eyes. “You let me think you worked for Dante!”

“And I do.”

Zoe fell back, leaned against the closed door. She pressed her palms to the surface. “You what?”

“I work for your brother-in-law. I work for Dante Galván.”

She couldn’t have heard him right. Something had to be wrong with her head or her ears. “What can you possibly do for him?”

“Everything.”

Lazaro’s lips had twisted and his cynical smile filled her with fresh horror. She closed her eyes and pressed a fist between her eyebrows, pressing at the throbbing in her head. This was crazy. Worse than crazy. “Please explain what you mean by everything,” she choked, unable to look at him. “Are you some kind of Boy Friday?”

“Hardly. I’m the president of Galván Enterprises.”

Her head jerked up, eyes opening. “But Dante’s the president.”

“Dante is the chief executive officer. I run day-today operations.”

“Since when?”

“Since two years ago.”

“But—”

“Enough. I don’t want to discuss this anymore, not with you swaying on your feet. You’re tired, you need to bathe, eat, relax. Believe me, we’ll have plenty of time to talk later.”

He turned away but she didn’t follow. “How much time?” she called after him.

He stopped walking, slowly faced her. “What?”

“You said we’d have plenty of time to talk later. I want to know how much time it is. How long do you intend to keep me here?”

“Depends. It could be a week, could be two, but if I were you, I’d plan on two.”

She opened her mouth to protest but he’d already turned the corner and disappeared down another hallway into a different part of the house.

Zoe followed much more slowly, passing through a darkened bedroom into a large luxurious bathroom. It was the most sumptuous bath she’d ever seen. The floor, walls, bath—even the shower stall itself—were covered in a gorgeous red marble. The sink and bathtub were made of gold, the tub was oversize, at least big enough for two people, and already filled with water.

Lazaro left her to undress, but Zoe couldn’t.

She sank to the edge of the tub, sat on the wide surround and stared at the steamy water. Pools of scented oil floated on the water surface. He’d put something in there, something that smelled rich, comforting.

She couldn’t reconcile anything he’d told her.

Minutes passed and still she didn’t move, couldn’t move.

A knock sounded on the outside of the bathroom door. She didn’t answer and the knob turned, the door slowly opened.

“Are you all right?” Lazaro’s voice came from the shadows outside the door.

What a question! Was she all right?

No, she wasn’t all right, she was anything but all right. Her father was dying. Her sister was on bedrest with a difficult pregnancy. She’d been proposed to by an old family friend who was more old than friend. All right? No, Zoe concluded silently, savagely, she was most definitely not all right.

Lazaro stepped inside the bath and looked at her. She hadn’t moved, he saw, and he gave his head a small imperceptible shake. He felt sympathy for her and it was the last emotion he wanted to feel.

Moving toward her, he crouched down in front of her. “You’re getting yourself all worked up. Nothing bad is going to happen to you. Nothing bad will happen to Daisy, either. I promise.”

Her mouth quivered. Her eyes searched his, her lashes damp, matted. “How can I trust you?”

“I don’t know.” He fought the urge to touch her, fought the desire to reach out and cup her cheek. Her skin looked so soft, so tender. Like her heart, he thought, she was soft. She shouldn’t have ever been exposed to a man like him.

This was Dante’s doing.

In Dante’s determination to protect Daisy, he’d exposed Zoe, rendered her vulnerable.

Lazaro felt a tightness in his chest, anger and revulsion. He’d felt this same anger and revulsion nearly all his life. The dirty, barefoot street kid outside the store window looking in. To want something and be denied, not just once, but your entire life…

He, the outcast, the untouchable, had climbed the social ladder but he hadn’t forgotten and he hadn’t forgiven. If anything, the rage burned hotter, brighter, and he was more determined than ever to take what was rightfully his. To seize life—opportunity—and shake it by the throat.

Yet looking at young Zoe Collingsworth he realized all over again how ruthless he’d become, how hard and cruel.

He saw her hands balled in her lap. She was pressing her nails into her palms, the bare nails digging deep, breaking the skin.

“Give me your hand,” he said quietly.

She shook her head.

“Give me your hand,” he repeated.

He could see the fear in her eyes, as well as the uncertainty. She didn’t know what to expect, didn’t know what he wanted with her. Truthfully, he wasn’t entirely sure, either. Sex, maybe. But there was something else, something he couldn’t define but powerful, intoxicating. He was drawn to her. Which would only worsen Dante’s situation.

He waited for her hand and slowly she slipped her palm onto his. His fingers wrapped around hers, his hand holding hers firmly, securely.

“You are safe with me, Zoe. My fight is not with you. Trust me on this.”

Every time he touched her, it happened, she thought wildly. Heat, energy, pleasure. His touch was unlike any touch she’d ever known. There was something in his skin, something warmer, stronger, more real.

Zoe stared at his hand, felt the heat and the ripple of delicious sensation surge through her, hand to heart, heart to belly, belly to legs.

Her heart slowed, her body felt liquid, bones melting, even as her senses became quivery and alert.

“Daisy’s everything to me,” she said, mesmerized by the back of his hand, with the burnished-gold skin and the wide strong bones of his wrist. “She practically raised me. She gave up college for me—”

Suddenly he leaned forward, his dark head blocking light and she knew he was going to kiss her. It was as though she’d known from the very first moment she’d met him that this would happen, that this kiss was destined to happen.

His mouth brushed hers. It was a fleeting kiss, a kiss so light her heart ached and tears pricked the backs of her eyes all over again. She could feel his breath against her cheek, smell the sweetness and subtle spice of his cologne. He was big and strong and dark, and yet he smelled of light, sunshine, like meadow grass and flowers after an early summer rain.

His lips barely grazed hers a second time. His mouth slid over her lips to the corner of her mouth. “I will try my best to protect your sister from this, too.”