Accidental Fiancee

“It’s wonderful to meet you, Olivia,” Mimi said with a smile. “I guess your leg isn’t too badly hurt?”

Olivia was confused at first, then realized what Mimi meant. She shook her head, embarrassed. “There’s nothing wrong. I just—” She felt ridiculous. “High heels and lawns don’t mix well.”

“I see.” Mimi’s smile widened and she eyed Zack. “How gallant! We seem to have a regular Sir Walter Ralegh in the family.”

Olivia noted Zack’s tan deepen in a flush of unease. With a grunt of what had to be displeasure, he thrust an arm toward the redheaded woman who’d seated herself on the sofa next to the dozing toddler. “This is Susan, Jake’s wife.”

The redhead nodded and smiled. “It’s nice to meet you in person, Olivia. Mimi and I went into Portland the week before last and saw the movie.” She cast Zack a sly look. “That’s a taboo subject around here, but we loved it. Don’t you think Angela Cassio was perfect as you?”

Olivia was embarrassed to be repeatedly compared with Hollywood’s latest hot property. “I haven’t seen the movie. It’s somewhat of a—” she bit her lip, trying to come up with phrasing less harsh than her father’s “—a sore point at our house. Daddy was going to sue until he found out Aaron Scott was playing him, and Shellie Shipley was to be my mother—Daddy’s loved Ms. Shipley ever since she played that spunky, blue-collar worker in that factory strike movie. He’d never been a fan of Aaron Scott’s TV cop show—too wild and disrespectful but Mr. Scott is handsome so daddy decided to defer to the movie with benevolent tolerance…” She realized her anxiety was making her babble and she cut herself off, murmuring, “Anyway, I haven’t seen it.” Desperately wanting to change the subject, she faced the gray-haired man. “And this is your father, Zachary?”

The older man had gone back to rattling the toy over the infant’s head. At Olivia’s remark, he looked up, his silver eyebrows knitting.

A backdrop of discordant jazz seemed strangely apropos in the conversational rift. Finally, Zack spoke. “Olivia Nordstrom, meet George Merit, our father.”

George nodded at her but said nothing, so Olivia merely smiled and nodded back, wondering at the antagonism she sensed between George Merit and his middle son—and evidently anybody he carried into a room. The elder Merit seemed annoyed at her. Of course, he might simply have strong political views that didn’t agree with the senator’s. She’d run up against that mind-set often enough that it didn’t bother her any longer.

“The baby is Benjamin,” Zack went on. “Ben’s the newest Merit, compliments of Susan and Jake.”

“And the sweetheart sleeping on the sofa?” Olivia asked, kneeling to caress Ben’s downy head.

“Kyle is our big boy.” Susan smoothed the child’s hair and glanced at Jake with what Olivia could only describe as adoration. Jake winked at his wife, and even Olivia felt the sensual promise in the act. She swallowed hard and stood, swaying slightly.

She felt light-headed, which wasn’t surprising since she hadn’t had time to eat all day. Readjusting her handbag strap she returned to Zack’s side, certain he wanted to get the press release written. She gave him an “I’m ready whenever you are” look. “We probably should get to work, don’t you think?”

“Right.” He glanced around at those gathered. “If you’ll excuse us, Liv and I have a press release to compose.”

“Really?” Mimi asked. “About what?”

“About our amicable breakup,” Zack said without smiling.

“Oh?” Susan asked. “That’s too bad. I’m sorry to hear you’re not going to try to work things out.”

Zack stared at Susan, his expression so shocked she might as well have announced that Olivia was pregnant with his child.

After a second, Susan burst out laughing. “Lighten up. I was kidding.”

His eyebrows furrowed for an instant before his features returned to some semblance of normal. Even so, Olivia could see irritation in the set of his jaw and the flare of his nostrils.

All of a sudden, he had two noses. How bizarre! She blinked to clear her vision, but it didn’t help. Now he had two mouths and two sets of narrowed eyes. She shook her head and tried to refocus, but it only got worse. This time both of Zack’s heads spun and the motion made her sick to her stomach.

She felt hot all over—no, cold—no, clammy. Raising ponderously heavy hands to her temples, she rubbed. Her fingers were icy. “Zack…” she whispered, “I don’t…”

The world went black.

CHAPTER THREE

“YOU did what?” Zack couldn’t believe Marc was serious.

“I called Olivia’s father and told him she would be here for at least a week.”

Stunned, Zack stared at his younger brother. “Why in hell would you do that?”

“She fainted, Zack.” Marc clasped his brother on the shoulder. “Being a big celebrity, you may think seeing women faint at your feet is an everyday event, but it’s not.” He removed his hand, his grin rueful. “I’m a doctor. I went to school to know these things. That woman has worked herself nearly to death. She needs rest and nourishment. I suspect she’s anemic. In a week or two I can get her back to normal.”

“Can’t she get rest and nourishment in California?”

“Apparently she can’t, and I don’t intend to send her back to the people who ran her down.” Marc eyed his brother. “What’s your problem with having her here, anyway?”

Zack wasn’t sure what his problem was, but he sure had one. “I don’t know, she’s…” He frowned, shaking his head. “She’s…” He had no idea why he didn’t want her there. It just seemed like every time she fell into his life, trouble tumbled in with her.

“She’s what—beautiful and intelligent?” Marc chuckled. “Yeah, I can see where that might get on a man’s nerves.”

Unamused, Zack stared at his brother. “That doesn’t bother me,” he said, knowing that wasn’t totally true. He had no problem with her good looks, or her brains, for that matter. So what if she was a magna cum whatever from Yale? Who cared if, according to something he’d read, she was a financial wizard—with soul-stirring eyes and kiss-me lips? Big deal if he was a hotheaded dare-devil with only one real talent—the ability to drive anything, from a speedboat to an airplane.

He experienced a stab of distress. Who was he kidding? Maybe his talent had garnered him a degree of fame and money over the years, but she was way out of his league. He’d never even graduated from high school, much of his education collected in the School of Hard Knocks.

Usually his lack of formal education didn’t bother him, since he’d done fairly well for himself—the captain of his own ship, so to speak. But Liv Nordstrom was the admiral of a fleet. Around her he felt like a slab of granite—with an absurd case of the hots for a brainy princess who’d taken it upon herself to protect him from her daddy’s bright-boy bulldozer. He didn’t like the feeling.

He exhaled wearily. “And letting her stay here was okay with the senator?”

Marc eyed heaven. “He hated it. But I asked him if he’d rather have his daughter check into a hospital out there, where the press could find out how overworked she was—which I said I’d make sure they did. I hinted the bad publicity would damage his presidential bid. He’d be compared with the slimy Simon Legree character from Uncle Tom’s Cabin. What right-thinking citizen would elect a jerk who’d allow his daughter to slave away to the brink of physical collapse? I told him if he really wanted that, I’d bundle her onto the first plane west. But as her attending physician, my recommendation was that she convalesce on Merit Island for at least a week.”

“You blackmailed the senator.” Zack felt like a volcano on the verge of erupting. He didn’t need this!

“Absolutely. I’m not partial to having perfectly fine human beings worked to death—no matter how noble the cause. And for my money, a presidential campaign is not that noble.”

Zack had to agree. Though he hated to admit it, Olivia was a whisper of her former self. She hardly weighed a thing, and he should know. He’d spent the majority of their acquaintanceship carrying her around. He peered at the hallway floor, barely noticing the polished wood or the long Persian rug runner. “What did Liv say about it?”

Marc’s laugh brought Zack’s attention to his face. “I thought I’d let you break the news, since you’re such a good friend.”

Zack knew why Marc hadn’t told Olivia. It was obvious she’d been working hard to help get her father elected, too hard, not eating or sleeping. Nobody could really blame the senator for her condition. He couldn’t stand over her with a whip making sure she ate. So, telling Olivia she’d have to take a week off would be a job suitable for only the strongest of men—or the most suicidal. Zack scowled at Marc. “Coward.”

“Hey, I blackmailed a senator. Do I have to do everything?” Marc shrugged, his expression going serious. “Besides, Mimi’s not feeling well. Her morning sickness comes at all hours, and it’s my job to hold a cool cloth on the back of her neck while she’s, er, indisposed.”

“I’d suggest you get to it, Daddy.” Zack indicated Olivia’s room. “One last thing, though. Did you remove all sharp objects she might get the urge to throw?”

Marc clapped his brother’s arms in a comradely gesture. “You jump out of airplanes, Bro. What can a delicate thing like Olivia do to you? Especially in her weakened condition?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Zack groused. “I hope you keep a stash of plasma in your office.”

Marc turned to go, his chuckle echoing along the hall. “See you in the morning, Lionheart. By the way, Mimi took her some soup earlier.” He glanced back and winked. “I figure you deserve a heads-up about the spoon.”

Without responding, Zack shifted to glower at Olivia’s door. It seemed as though the Fates were conspiring to keep him continually butted up against—er—running into—rather—in close contact— “Damn!” With a determined gnashing of teeth, he headed for her room. The deed was done. She was staying. She might not like it, but there it was.

He rapped on her door, deciding if she didn’t answer that would be fine with—

“Yes?”

“Hellfire,” he muttered, then called out, “Liv, it’s Zack.”

“Come in.”

He closed his eyes. Why couldn’t she be indecent or indisposed or whatever it was women shouted from behind closed doors when they wanted the guy to go jump? He inhaled, deciding he might as well get it over.

The crystal knob turned easily and the door accommodated his slightest touch, swinging open without a squawk. She appeared before him, small and pale in the big antique four-poster with its airy lace canopy. She wore a pale pink negligee—no, it probably wasn’t called that, since it was more sweet than sexy. He couldn’t see through it and it covered her all the way to her throat. “Hello,” he said, then flinched. He didn’t sound happy. He worked on upgrading his attitude.

She’d been smiling when the door opened, but her features grew serious. “What’s the matter?” She pushed a strand of dark hair behind her ear, appearing anxious. “Do I look that bad?”

He indicated a spindly chair that had been pulled up beside her bed. “Mind if I sit?” He wondered why he’d asked that. Did he plan to stay and chat? Not on any conscious level, he didn’t.

She glanced at the chair and nodded. “Sure. I was wondering if I’d ever see you again. Everybody else has been by to see how I’m doing—even the baby. Little Ben was more or less asleep, but it was sweet of Susan to suggest he was worried about me.” She smiled. “Everybody’s been generous and caring.” She fluffed the nightgown’s ruffled neckline. “Susan loaned me this. She’d bought it for her mother’s birthday.” Olivia shook her head, seeming overwhelmed. “That’s awfully nice. I feel—unworthy of all the fuss.”

Zack sat down. The chair creaked and wobbled, but he’d committed himself to sitting, so he sat, hoping the thing wouldn’t fall into a pile of antique splinters. He leaned forward to the squeaky accompaniment of straining old wood, and rested his forearms on his thighs. “Marc called your father,” he said, seeing no reason to put it off.

She blinked, obviously startled. “Oh?”

Zack nodded. “He told the senator not to expect you back for a week. He said you’ll be staying here to relax—and eat. Doctor’s orders.”

Olivia stared for a long moment, not moving. Zack wasn’t sure she was breathing.

“Liv?” he prodded.

She swallowed, making solemn eye contact. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“We insist,” he assured her, working to sound like he’d had anything to say in the matter. Marc’s diagnosis committed her to staying, whether she cared to or not. Besides, Zack didn’t like the idea of her passing out at the wheel of her car and careening into a building. He could deal with a week of feeling like a slab of granite. He’d been through worse.

“What did Daddy say?” she asked, her voice fragile.

Zack pursed his lips, choosing to leave out the blackmail part. “He said it was fine.”

Olivia continued to stare. Zack thought he saw her swallow again. Just when he was about to call Marc to come and check on what kind of mental collapse was taking place, her eyes began to shimmer. She blinked and a tear skittered down her cheek.

Taken off guard, he sat back. “My Lord! Are you ill?”

She slouched heavily against the pillows that were propped behind her. With a shaky hand, she wiped away the tear. For a long moment she didn’t speak or move. She merely stared straight ahead as more tears spilled down her cheeks.

Zack debated whether to take her hand to comfort her or fetch Marc and his medical bag. After a long, baffling minute, Olivia shook her head as though rousing herself from some kind of stupor. Swiping at the moisture on her cheeks, she glanced his way, her pretty lips curving in a tremulous smile. “It seems you’re forever saving my life, Zack,” she whispered.

Olivia threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. Enough sleeping and eating. She wasn’t an invalid; she was a perfectly healthy twenty-four-year-old woman! After three days and nights of bed rest, with nothing to do but lie there taking Marc’s medicine and eating huge amounts of food, she was mightily sick of herself. She felt like a slug-a-bed, which was the derogatory label her daddy gave anybody who lazed around in the sack after five in the morning.

Luckily Susan and Mimi had anticipated the possibility that one day Olivia would join the land of the living, and had left some clothes. Padding barefoot to the window, she smiled at the bright, sunny day, then went to stand before the closet to scan a rack of dresses, skirts and blouses. Funny, when she thought back she realized she hadn’t seen Susan or Mimi in a dress or skirt since she’d been there. Still, they’d deduced she would prefer them. She smiled self-consciously. Was she that predictably conservative?

After a refreshing shower, she slipped into some silky undies they’d left for her. Pristine new. She had a feeling the women had gone shopping on the mainland, just for her. Once again feeling unworthy, she chose a light khaki cotton two-piece with a contrasting band of red at the rounded neck and hem. The waistband was elastic with a drawstring tie. It fit nicely. Not too snug; not too baggy. She hoped Susan and Mimi hadn’t bought these dresses, too. Surely not. Underwear she could understand, but not dresses.

She spied a pair of thong sandals and slid her feet into them. They felt strange, flat and flimsy. But she wasn’t up to wearing heels; her legs were still wobbly. She blessed the Merit women for their thoughtfulness, and vowed she’d get used to the leather strap between her toes.

A knock at her door made her turn. “Come in.”

She was startled to see Zack, since he hadn’t been by since that first night. He appeared every bit as startled to find her up and dressed.

She grinned at his expression. He had great eyes. Such a striking emerald color. Right now they were charmingly wide. “Good afternoon, Zachary,” she said, feeling suddenly very, very well. He looked fresh and cool in beige chinos and a plaid shirt of muted blues and greens. Why did the sight of this gorgeous hunk, whose discomfort at being around her was painfully obvious, make her light up inside? “You’re exactly the man I wanted to see.”

She thought she saw the tiniest flinch before he held up a small spiral notebook and pen. “I thought you’d want us to get going on that press release.”

She frowned, having completely forgotten about the reason she’d come to the island. With a contemplative nod, she walked toward him. Her last step was a mistake, since something went terribly wrong with her thong or her sapped leg muscles or the cushy carpet. She pitched forward, thudding into Zachary, face first.

“Oof!”

Olivia heard the guttural sound, but wasn’t sure if it had issued up from her throat or Zachary’s. Both of them had every right to cry out, since both had the breath knocked out of them—Zachary’s was due to her head-butt in his stomach, hers to his instinctive grab for her.

She did a little instinctive grabbing herself, and when the haze cleared from her brain, they were clasped together, her nose pressed in the V in his shirt. His mellow aftershave and the warmth of his skin registered strongly.

“If you’re too weak to stand up, you should get back into bed.”

She canted her head back to look at his face, unsettled by his coolly patronizing remark. “I’m not the hothouse pansy you think I am. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Most people who are perfectly fine can stand alone.”

Her feelings bruised, she blurted, “I’m just not used to my sex.”

“No?” He peered at her and she watched the slow sweep of his long lashes as his gaze narrowed. “I’d think you would be by now.”

What was that look? Skepticism. Wry humor? “After I walk in them a while, I’ll be okay. I’m just not used to such casual shoes.”

His lips twitched strangely, but only for the briefest instant. “Oh, shoes,” he said. “You’re not used to your shoes.”

She frowned. “Right. Is that funny?”

He shook his head and released her—almost. Running his hands up her arms, he stepped back as though making sure she wouldn’t fall on her face before he let her go. “You said you weren’t used to your sex.” He pursed his lips and cleared his throat. She had the horrible sensation he was stifling a chuckle.

She bit her lower lip, wondering if that would help staunch the blush creeping up her throat. “I didn’t,” she cried, rejecting the horrible notion. “I didn’t—did I?”

He let go of her and broke eye contact, stooping to retrieve the notepad and pen. “Forget it,” he said, sticking the items into his pocket. When he faced her, his features were entirely serious. “Why don’t I come back after you’ve had some time to practice walking in sandals, then we can get on with the press release.”

Irked by the taunt, she faced him solemnly. “Must you make cracks about everything I do?”

“You can’t walk on grass in heels and you can’t walk at all in anything else. What exactly do you do, besides fall down?”

That remark cut deep. To keep from showing him how much it hurt, she spun away. “I’m starved. But don’t fret, I bet I’ll find the kitchen without a wheelchair and a wilderness guide.” She stormed toward the door. “Thanks anyway.”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re a real prince,” Zack muttered to himself as he sat alone on the loggia. “She’s just out of her sick bed. She’s wobbly, and she stumbles into you and you act like she demanded that you scrub her back! She’s not looking for a fling. She’s not even flirting. She only wants to be your friend, but you cut her off at every turn. Why?” The trouble was, he’d met a lot of women who—well—who’d found him an enjoyable temporary diversion over the years. Until recently, that had been fine—beautiful women throwing themselves at him was every young man’s fantasy.

But these women invariably dropped him to run off and marry some solid citizen. Zack was weary of being Mr. Last Fling. At this stage of his life, he wanted something more substantial. It had been good to reconnect with his brothers and get to know their families. He hadn’t made progress with his dad, yet, but there was time.

Time.

He closed his eyes. Right now, he had nothing but time, and he was bored. Dinner was still an hour away. Marc was hard at work in the medical clinic and Mimi was in Portland chairing some “Save the Planet” meeting. Susan and Jake were overseeing work at the mine, their babies strapped to their backs. And George was taking his afternoon siesta.

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