Maisey Yates - Scandals Of The Rich - A Façade to Shatter

Zach didn’t bother to waste time with any further pleasantries. “If that’s all, I have things to attend to,” he said in clipped tones.

“Of course,” his father said. “We’ll be in touch.”

Zach ended the call and sat at his desk for several minutes. He’d never once had a meaningful conversation with his father. It bothered him. Instead of telling the older man what kind of hell he’d been through in the war, and how it really made him feel to be treated like a returning hero, he smiled and shook hands and did his duty and kept it buried deep inside.

Because that’s what a Scott did.

The gardener rolled a wheelbarrow full of something across the lawn outside. Zach watched his progress. The man stopped by a winding bed of roses and began clipping stems, pruning and shaping the bushes. He was whistling.

Two days ago, Zach had been going about his life as always, attending events, making speeches and feeling empty inside. It was the life he knew, the life he expected.

Now, oddly enough, he felt like those bushes, like someone had taken shears to him and begun to shape him into something else. They were cutting out the dead bits, tossing them on the scrap heap and leaving holes.

He felt itchy inside, jumpy. He stood abruptly, to do what he didn’t know, but then Lia moved across his vision and he stopped in midmotion. She was strolling down the wide lawn in the early morning sunshine, her long hair streaming down her back, her lush form clad in leggings and a loose top.

He watched her move, watched the grace and beauty of her limbs, and felt a hard knot form in his gut. She went over to the gardener and started to talk. After a moment, the man nodded vigorously and Lia picked up a set of pruning shears. Zach watched in fascination as she began to cut branches and toss them on the pile.

He suddenly wanted to be near her. He wanted to watch her eyes flash and chin lift, and he wanted to tug her into his arms and kiss her until she melted against him the way she had last night in the art gallery.

“YOU DON’T NEED to do that.”

Lia looked up from the rosebush she’d been pruning to find Zach watching her. She hadn’t heard him approach. He stood there, so big and dark and handsome that her heart skipped a beat in response.

He was wearing faded jeans and a navy T-shirt, and his hands were shoved in his pockets. He looked … delicious. And somehow weary, too.

Lia frowned. Larry the gardener had moved farther down the row. He was whistling and cutting, whistling and cutting. If he knew Zach had arrived, he didn’t show it. Except that he moved even farther away, presumably out of earshot, and she knew he was aware of his boss’s presence, after all.

Lia focused on Zach again. “I know that,” she said. “I want to.”

Zach’s gaze dropped. “You don’t have any gloves. What if you scratch yourself?”

Lia glanced down at her bare hands holding the pruning shears. “I’m careful. Besides, I’m not in a race.”

She thought he might argue with her, but instead he asked, “Did you work in your grandparents’ garden?”

She lopped off a spent bloom and set the shears down to carefully extract it from the bush. “Yes. I enjoy growing things. I’m pretty good at it, too.”

“I don’t doubt that. But you shouldn’t be out here. It’s hot, and you’re pregnant.”

As if in response to his reminder about the heat, a trickle of moisture slid between her breasts. “It’s hot in Sicily, too. And the doctor said I should get some exercise. It’s not good to sit indoors and do nothing.”

“I have a gym, and a perfectly good treadmill. You can walk on it.”

“I want to be outside, Zach. I want to be in the garden.”

He frowned. “All right, fine. But not more than half an hour at a time, and not after nine in the morning or before five at night.”

Lia blinked at him. “Why, thank you, your majesty,” she said. “How very generous of you.”

“Lia.” Zach reached for her hand, took it gently in his. Instantly, a rush of sensation flooded her. She would have pulled free—except that she liked the feeling. “I’m not trying to be difficult. But you aren’t used to the heat here. It’s oppressively muggy in the summer, and it’ll get to you before you realize it. Besides, we have a busy schedule and I don’t want you to exhaust yourself.”

Lia reached for another bloom with her free hand, only this time she was rattled from his touch and she grasped it too low on the stem. A sharp thorn punctured her thumb and she cried out. Zach swore softly and grabbed her hand. Now, he held both her hands between his.

Blood welled in a bright round bubble on the fleshy pad of her thumb.

“It’s fine,” she said, trying to pull her hand away.

Zach’s grip tightened. “You’re coming inside and washing it.”

Lia sighed. She knew she wasn’t going to win this battle. Besides, it was kind of nice that he was concerned. She shook herself mentally. There was no sense reading more into his concern than there was.

“Fine.”

She called to Larry, who waved and smiled after she explained why she had to go. Then she followed Zach up to the house. He led her into the kitchen and slid on the taps. When the water was hot, he poured soap in her hand and made her wash.

“It’s a rosebush, Zach, not a used hypodermic needle.”

“Better safe than sorry,” was all he said.

She finished washing, and then frowned while Zach put a dab of antibiotic ointment on her thumb and covered it with a Band-Aid.

When she looked up at him, his dark eyes were intent on her, his brows drawn down as he studied her. Her heart skipped the way it always did. Angrily, she tamped down on the rising tide of want within her.

“Did you eat breakfast yet?”

“I had a cup of tea and some toast,” she said a touch breathlessly.

Zach frowned. “That’s not good enough,” he muttered, turning away from her and grabbing a pan off the hanging rack. “You need protein.”

Lia crossed her arms, bemused suddenly. “Are you planning to cook for me?”

He glanced up at her, still scowling. And then he grinned and she had to catch her breath at the transformation of his features. “I can, actually. I had to learn when I entered the service. The air force frowns on hired help in the bachelor officers’ quarters.”

A man from a rich family who’d grown up with chefs and servants suddenly having to cook for himself? What an adjustment that must have been.

“Allora,” she said. “It’s a wonder you didn’t starve.”

He winked. “I’m a quick learner.”

He retrieved eggs and cheese from the refrigerator. The housekeeper came in, took one look at the pan and him and shrugged. She retrieved whatever thing she’d come for—Lia didn’t pay attention—and was gone again.

Lia didn’t actually think she could eat anything else right now, but she was too fascinated to stop him from cracking the eggs and whipping them.

“So why did you join the air force? Couldn’t you have learned to fly planes anyway?”

His back was to her. She wasn’t sure what was on his face just then, but he stiffened slightly, the fork ceasing to swirl the eggs for half a second before he started again. She berated herself for injecting a note of discord into the conversation when it had seemed to be going so well.

“I wouldn’t have been able to fly fighter jets, no. I could have bought one, I suppose. The older ones come up for sale sometimes—but it’s not quite the same. Besides, I wanted to serve my country.”

“A noble cause.”

He shrugged. “Yes.” Then he stopped again, his broad shoulders tight. A moment later, he turned to her. His expression was troubled. “No, that’s not why I did it,” he said softly. “I joined the military because I wanted to get away from life as Zachariah J. Scott IV. I didn’t want the career at Scott Pharmaceuticals, the governorship of a state, the senate run and then maybe the presidency. Those are my father’s dreams, not mine. I wanted to do something that mattered.”