Chapter 20
20
Zara had slipped between the bedsheets when her cell phone rang. She recognized the ringtone. It was Saint. “Hello.”
“Hello, Zara. You won’t have to worry about Samantha confronting you about me again.”
A part of her wondered what he’d said to Samantha. Then another part didn’t want to know. He was a problem solver. It was his problem and he’d handled it. “Thanks.”
“And just so you know, I also talked with my mom.”
She raised a brow. “Your mom?”
“Yes. I figured Samantha had gotten some of her ideas and assumptions from her.”
Zara released a deep sigh. “You did say on more than one occasion that your mother wanted grandkids, and she was sending single women your way. I can understand her wanting you to be involved with someone in a more serious way, Saint. Like everyone else, she knows I’m only in town temporarily.”
“Like I told her again tonight. The choice of the woman I want to be involved with is not hers to make. It’s mine.” He paused a moment and then asked, “We’re still on for lunch tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, we’re still on.”
“I have a meeting at ten, but it should be over around noon. You pick the place and I’ll meet you there.”
“Umm, what about Andrew’s?” she suggested. “I heard it’s getting good reviews.”
Andrew’s recently opened in the cove. Andrew Bertelli had been born and raised in Catalina Cove. Like others, he left for college and never returned. For the past ten years he’d received numerous awards and recognition as a top chef in New York. Thanks to a Reid Lacroix low-interest loan, Andrew had purchased an unoccupied warehouse near the shipping district and transformed it into an impressive two-story Italian restaurant. It opened last month and was getting a steady stream of satisfied customers.
“Then Andrew’s it is,” he said. “I ate there with Vaughn and Reid when it first opened. The food was excellent. You won’t be disappointed.”
“I know I won’t be.”
“I have another idea, too. How about dinner at my place on Sunday?” he asked.
“At your place?”
“Yes.”
She’d never been to his home before. Had never assumed she would get an invitation. “Dinner at your place on Sunday sounds great.”
“By the way, how did packing go today?”
“I didn’t do any today. Since I’d packed two days straight, I decided to take a day off to paint. I was leaving Ms. Fanny’s art supply store when I ran into Samantha.”
There was no need to tell him that her encounter with the woman had ruined her entire day, and she hadn’t felt like painting after that. “Instead of painting, I relaxed in one of the chaise lounges and read a book. As usual, the view of the bay was spectacular, and it felt good to just relax and read.”
“Did you read anything interesting?”
“Not unless you’re into romance novels.”
The sound of his chuckle made her breath catch. She wondered how long it would last, her total awareness of him whether he was near or far, seen or unseen, naked or clothed. Even the sound of his voice over the phone stirred desire within her.
“Unfortunately, I’m not,” he said.
She was tempted to tell him regardless of whether he was into them, he could definitely be a romance hero in any novel that she’d ever read. “I can’t wait to see your home on Sunday, Saint.”
“Nothing fancy. I bought it for all the land that came with it. Five acres. The location works for me since it’s halfway between town and my parents’ home.”
“It’s on the bayou, right?” she asked.
“Not right on the bayou but close enough.”
“So, what will we be having for dinner on Sunday, Saint?”
“I haven’t decided. What would you like?”
“Umm, surprise me,” she said in an amused tone.
“Okay, I can do that.”
They talked a little while longer about various topics. She told him she’d gotten a call from Vaughn to say they’d arrived in the Maldives and that he and Sierra were having a wonderful time.
“I’m glad to hear that. He hasn’t called into the office, which means he’s giving his wife all of his attention.”
“And that’s the way it should be. I’m sure he knows he left the place in capable hands,” Zara said.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I’d better let you turn in. It’s almost midnight.”
She couldn’t believe they had talked on the phone that long. “It is, isn’t it. I hadn’t realized it had gotten so late.”
“Good night, Zara. Pleasant dreams, and I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow.”
“Good night, Saint.”
After ending the call, Zara realized that it was the first time she and Saint had engaged in a telephone conversation that lasted more than five minutes. And she had enjoyed it.
Saint peeked over the top of his menu and asked, “See anything you like?”
Zara smiled. “Yes, plenty. But I think I’m going to get the lasagna. I’ve heard from Donna Elloran how good it is. What about you?”
“I think I’ll have the chicken and mushroom ravioli.” He placed his menu on the table. “I heard it was good as well.”
He took a sip of wine and looked at Zara. She had arrived at Andrew’s before him, and the moment he’d walked in and scanned the restaurant, he’d seen her. As usual, she looked beautiful. The way she had styled her hair emphasized her high cheekbones, fine straight nose and what he thought were kissable, well-shaped lips.
Her beauty held a sensuality that drew him to her like a powerful magnet. Regardless of whether he wanted it to or not. Mia had been pretty as well, but there was something about Zara’s beauty that he couldn’t define. It was more than surface beauty. Since getting to know her he’d gotten to know her inner beauty, too.
He was glad she had been satisfied with his handling of the Samantha Groover issue and hadn’t asked any questions about it. He wasn’t sure what foolishness his mother had led Samantha to believe, but she had honestly assumed the only competition she would face in her pursuit of him was from Mia, whom his mother felt he was still carrying a torch for.
Samantha even admitted to confronting Kristen Hunt and Robin Dyer. Now he knew why those women had backed off. Not that he had a problem with that. However, he had a problem with Samantha assuming she had any dibs on him at all. He had told her in no uncertain terms that she didn’t, and that she owed those women an apology for making them feel that she did. He told her that he wasn’t interested in her, and the only woman he was interested in dating was Zara. At the end he felt she’d gotten the message loud and clear.
To be honest, he still wasn’t sure his mother had gotten that same message. Although she’d been appalled that Samantha had confronted Zara and those other women about staying away from him, she was still concerned he would be deeply hurt when Zara left town. She had a feeling the relationship meant more to him than it did to her. Again, he had stressed to his mother that the woman he chose to share his life, no matter how long or short the period of time that would be, was his decision to make and not hers.
He blinked, noticing Zara’s lips were moving. “Excuse me? What did you say?”
She smiled—that smile to him was bewitching, beguiling. Simply adorable.
“I said that I had company while packing today.”
“You did?” he asked, reaching for one of the slices of focaccia from the basket the waitress had placed on the table.
“Yes. Donna dropped by. She was excited because they found out their baby is going to be a girl. That’s what they were hoping for, a little sister for Ike.”
He smiled. “I’m happy for them.”
“So am I, and I could have bottled her excitement. They already have a name picked out but won’t be sharing it with anyone until the baby is born.” She tilted her head and said, “And speaking of names, how did you become an Evans instead of just an Evan?”
She wasn’t the first person to ask him that. “Evans was my mother’s maiden name and she wanted me to have it.”
“Makes sense, but I like you as Saint.”
“I think most people do. My paternal grandmother began calling me that. She claimed I was such a good baby. Besides, it was the last five letters of my last name. The nickname stuck. Did you ever have a nickname?”
She shook her head. “Nope. I was named after my great-great-great-grandmother, Princess Zara. My parents took great honor in that and even called me Princess Zara at times.”
After chewing his piece of focaccia and washing it down with another sip of wine, he said, “I recall studying about the kidnapped African princess in school. As you know, Catalina Cove’s history was a required subject.”
“Yes, I do recall that. Of course, I’d grown up hearing about Princess Zara long before I went to school. Trust me when I say my parents had convinced me I was special.” She chuckled as she dipped a piece of focaccia in garlic oil before taking a bite.
Saint watched the tantalizing movement of her mouth. When she licked a drop of oil from her lips with the tip of her tongue, he felt a hardness press against his zipper and twisted in his seat. “According to the story,” he said, “Princess Zara Musa was a beautiful African princess on a ship sailing to the Caribbean. LaFitte captured the ship, decided he wanted the princess for himself, kidnapped her and brought her to his home here in Catalina Cove. He married her and built her one of the most magnificent houses in the cove, which he named Zara’s Haven. Together they had six children, of which you and Vaughn are descendants.”
A huge smile lit up her face. “Yes, but it was only proven last year that he’d married Princess Zara. For years, some claimed she was just one of his many mistresses. I’m glad Sierra and Vaughn found the authentic marriage license.”
At that moment the waitress came to take their order. After she walked off, Saint leaned back in his chair and said, “Princess.” He thought of saying Angel, the name she’d used when they’d first met, but now he thought she looked more like a princess than an angel. “I like that name for you.”
“Why? Because of Princess Zara?”
“No, because I see you as a princess.”
She tilted her head. “I don’t think I act like a princess. At least all through my life I’ve tried not to. My parents were snobs, and I know and accept that. However, the one thing Vaughn and I agreed never to do was to think we were better than anyone else.”
The last thing Saint wanted was for her to think calling her Princess was somehow negative. In his mind it was all positive. “To me, a princess is kind, and you are that, Zara. I watch how you interact with people. You’re friendly and remember most by name when you see them again. The majority of those living in the cove are aware you were born a Miller. One of those wealthy Millers. However, you don’t let that define who you are. Neither does Vaughn. That’s why the two of you are so likable.”
He took another sip of wine. He meant that. Even his mother attested to that. Although she’d never spent time with Zara, Irene Toussaint knew others who had, like Juanita Beckett, the town seamstress, and Ms. Fanny, who owned the art supply store. They all thought the world of Zara. Still, he knew his mother’s main concern was not wanting him to get hurt again by love.
“Also,” he continued, “being a princess to me means you’re passionate about a lot of things, your work with fashion as well as your charity work.” When she lifted a brow, he said, “Before I met you as Vaughn’s sister, he used to tell me that you regularly donate a large part of your profits to various charities. He was proud of you and although I didn’t know you at the time, so was I.”
She shrugged. “Vaughn can’t talk because he does the same thing.”
“Regardless, I think it’s commendable.” Then in a lowered voice he said, “Another thing I know you’re passionate about is making love to me. Whenever we’re together I feel your passion, Zara. All the way to my bones.”
There was no way he could express that he more than felt it. Whether he’d wanted to or not, he’d become addicted. Even now as they were talking, heat was curling his insides, threatening his control. It made him want to lean over the table and kiss her.
He understood why she’d kissed him that night when they were dancing in front of everyone. Desire had consumed her to the point primal instincts had kicked in. It had for him, too. He’d been able to control it. She had not. They sat there staring at each other in silence. He could feel the heat building, stoking that passion he’d been talking about.
“Would the two of you like some more wine?”
The waitress’s words snapped them out of their reverie. Breaking eye contact with Zara, he looked at the waitress, smiled and said, “Not for me.”
Zara said, “None for me, either. Thanks.”
When she walked off, Zara asked, “How long do you think this will last, Saint?”
He knew what she was asking about. All that sexual chemistry between them that seemed to be growing stronger with every passing day. “What makes you think it will end?” he asked.
Saint could tell his response surprised her. “Of course it will end. Remember, you and I reached the conclusion that nothing lasts forever,” was her response.
Yes, they had said that many times, especially when it came to love. Neither of them believed in happy endings. Nothing about that had changed. Or had it?
He pushed the thought from his mind. There were times when he was with Zara that he couldn’t think straight. Like now. All he wanted to do was suggest they skip lunch and go somewhere, preferably to the cottage, and make love for the rest of the day, all night and all day tomorrow...and the next.
What was crazy about the idea was that if he were to suggest it, she’d probably be right there with him. This affair between them would end when she left, but the intense sexual chemistry that made it feel like they were the only two people in the universe would not.
“Do you need me to bring anything on Sunday?” she broke into his thoughts to ask.
He smiled. “Just yourself. I’ll have everything else covered.” He doubted she knew just how much he meant that. But then, from the way she was looking at him, maybe she did.
“You haven’t given me your address.”
“You don’t need it. I’m picking you up and taking you back home.” But then maybe he could convince her to stay at his place the entire night. The thought of her sleeping in his bed had desire pulsing deep within him. After their lunch date he would return to work knowing he would not see her again until Sunday. For some reason that day seemed so far away.
That made him ask, “What are you plans for tomorrow?”
A dreamy smile spread across her face. “I plan to sleep late and start that new painting whenever I do wake up.”
“What are you painting now?” he asked.
The waitress arrived with their food before she could give him an answer.