Chapter 13
He got disgustingly and debilitatingly drunk. He had been tempted to turn around several times while on his way to his place. Just for the hell of it, he had wanted to turn around, storm her door, and demand his right to be seen with her.
The urging had been so strong that he had actually stopped the motorcycle and pulled off to the side of the road, the motor idling.
But then pride and common sense had kicked in.
No matter his feelings, he had never forced his way into a woman's life before, and he was damned if he was going to start now.
So he went straight home, grabbed the bottle of aged scotch, and tried to drown himself in it. He had not done something so stupid since he was in college and had gotten drunk on a dare. Like back then when he was younger, he was paying for it in spades.
He had fallen into bed with his clothes on and still wearing his boots, and woke up with the sun spearing straight through his skull, the pain so intense it had him whimpering.
And someone or something was ramming a log through his front door.
Or was it gunshots? His bleary eyes shot open and had him wincing at the pain.
The nausea was churning in his stomach, and he felt as weak as a newborn baby.
Groping for the edge of the bed and praying for a quick and painless death, he managed to swing his legs carefully, with concise movements, off the bed, just as the door to his bedroom burst open.
"I've been knocking-" His sister skidded to a halt and stared at him. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You're making enough noise to wake the dead." He clamped his hands on his head, not sure he was grateful to find out it was still attached to his neck.
"Wait! Are you drunk?"
"Stop shouting, would you?" His voice came out as a croak. "And do me an enormous favor and get the coffee going."
"Zane-"
"For the love of God, if I'm really your brother, please go and get some coffee started."
She left, and he could hear her pottering in the kitchen. His bladder was exploding. Inching off the bed, he cautiously made his way to the bathroom. A glance at the mirror had him staring in shock. His eyes were bloodshot, and his hair looked as if someone had taken an electric prod to his balls.
Even though the inside of the trailer was cool, there was sweat dampening his forehead and his armpits. He had managed to take off his jacket, but that was all.
Swearing ripely, he dragged off his clothes and stepped into the shower stall. Turning the knob until the water was as cold as he could stand, he stepped under the spray.
His eyes flew open when the glass door was yanked open.
"Naked here."
"You have nothing I haven't seen before, unless you've grown an extra pair of testicles. Here." Taking his hand, she slapped the steaming cup of coffee into it, and he whimpered in relief. "I'll be in the bedroom when you come out. The place is a stinking mess."
"I don't want you tidying up," he called after her, and had to wince as the raised tone sent off another round of pain in his temple.
"We can't always get what we want," Zoe called back.
Sighing, he took a large swallow of the brew before dunking his head under the spray. The coffee, seeping heat into his tortured stomach, and the cold, bracing water were doing a decent job of making him feel as if he were not about to die.
Tossing back the rest, he turned off the spray and stepped out, grabbing two towels. Remembering that his sister was still in his bedroom, he wrapped one around his waist instead of walking into the bedroom stark naked. The other one he used to rub the water from his hair.
"I made you breakfast," she announced as soon as he came into the bedroom.
A scan of the room showed him that she had also changed the sheets and pillowcases, and picked up some clothes he had left on the floor.
"Since when did you become Polly Homemaker?"
"Since my brother is a slob. A drunken slob." She pointed to the tray. "Toast and homemade marmalade brought over from the manor. Mom and Dad are expecting you for supper."
"I'm not hungry." Turning away, he went to yank out drawers. Plucking out a pair of ancient sweats and an old Harvard sweatshirt, he marched into the bathroom to get dressed before coming back out.
Deciding that he felt halfway decent, he sat down and took the tray. Reaching for the cup of coffee, he took a drink and closed his eyes. "Thanks."
"You were gone Friday night and almost all day Saturday," she noted as she picked up the towels he had thrown on the floor.
He arched a brow at her. "Checking up on me? Don't you have anything better to do with your time?" He eyed her chic powder blue pantsuit. "And what's that get-up for?"
"Church and then tea with some of the wives." She came to sit next to him. "The fall benefit."
"Oh." He nibbled on the toast without much appetite.
"What's going on?"
"Nothing at the moment."
"Zane." She sighed. "You were drunk."
"As far as I know, that's not a crime."
"You've been with her."
He didn't want to talk about Kara. Even the bottle of scotch he had imbibed had not managed to erase her completely from his thoughts. Dreams of her, of the hours they had spent together, had chased him. And then he remembered that she wanted nothing to do with him outside the bedroom.
"Leave it alone!" he snapped.
Leaning back, she crossed her legs and simply stared at him. Her cool and confident beauty struck him all of a sudden. Her hair was styled into an elegant chignon at the nape of her neck, and she had diamonds around her throat and lobes. Zoe had never known an ounce of low self-esteem in her life.
"You know how stubborn and persistent I can be," she reminded him calmly.
Sighing, he polished off the toast and coffee and put away the tray.
"I was with Kara," he muttered, and lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "It's over."
"What?" She stared at him with a frown.
"You heard me." Lunging to his feet, he started pacing.
He had downed four painkillers he had found inside the bathroom cabinet, and it was taking the edge off.
"She wants nothing to do with me other than the physical.
" He whirled to face her. "That should have been fine by me, except it's not.
" He raked his fingers through his disheveled hair. "It's not."
She stared at him and felt the usual protectiveness rearing up.
"I see." She waited for him to say more.
With a sigh, he sat back down and stretched his feet out. "She changed her appearance," he murmured thoughtfully.
"How?"
He looked at her then and realized that he had not been fair to Kara. She had been sheltered all her life, and her parents had been very influential in her life. They had molded the child, and when that child became an adult, the mother had continued the job. She didn't stand a chance.
Her one act of defiance had not changed anything.
Yes, she had gone ahead and bought new clothes and dumped the idiot of a fiancé.
But one horrible word from her mother had set her right back where she started.
And he had gone right ahead, expecting her to jump into the deep end by going out in public with him.
Leaning back, he closed his eyes in regret. "Bloody hell! I'm such an idiot."
"Normally I would have agreed with you." She studied his face. "Oh, good God! You're in love with her."
"Yeah. Head over heels and irrevocably in love with her. It's driving me out of my mind."
"Oh, darling!" She reached out a hand to touch his. "I'm so happy for you."
"Don't start popping the champagne yet," he muttered. "I still have obstacles to cross."
He told her about the mother's visit and the way she behaved.
"Oh, that poor girl! Can you imagine how humiliated she was? And after all that effort to get out from under her mother's thumb." Her expression turned fierce, sending amusement coursing through him. "You need to do something."
"Oh, I intend to." His expression was grim. "Starting with the mother and then probably working my way up to that asshole she was engaged to. Then I intend to stake my claim. No one is ever going to make her feel less than anymore."
Laughing in delight, Zoe leaned over to hug him. "There's the brother I know and love. Go get 'em, tiger."
*****
Unaware of what was in store for her, Kara dragged herself out of bed, where she had spent a sleepless night with the scent of him all around her, and spent the morning tidying up.
Keeping her mind blank, she put on Chopin and let the soothing sounds seep into her as she went around straightening her room and changing sheets.
It didn't make a bit of difference. She could still smell him.
Several times during the night, she had found herself reaching for him, only to find the space empty. He had left his clothing behind. Giving in to the yearning, she slept in his soiled T-shirt.
And she hated her mother for making her less than a woman, one who wasn't free to choose or free to love who she wanted. He had mentioned taking her out, and immediately she had heard her mother's voice inside her head.
"Are you out of your mind? He has tattoos. He runs around with gangsters. How can you think about shaming your father (God rest his soul!)? How can you even think about shaming us like that? He's not respectable enough and you know it."
But she knew different. She had seen a side of him that had melted her. He was caring and sweet and protective. Most men would have up and run away after that scene with her mother, but he had stayed and taken care of her. And she had been foolish enough to let him go.
She thought she had grown some confidence and was able to stand up to her mother, stand up for herself, but the bottom line was, she was still the same shriveled-up little girl who did as she was told.
Blinking back the tears, she decided that the best thing to do was to go to that little church she had discovered. She needed something to give her some peace. With that in mind, she finished up, took a shower, and selected a suitable outfit.