Not Quite Perfect (Oakland Hills Book 3) (13 page)

Mom had invited him to the wedding.

He’d said yes.

It was all very strange.

Something he’d said during dinner was bothering her, and she’d decided to ask him about it in private. Not here at the house where her psychic mother would pick up on it and interfere. Afterward, in her car, when she drove him to the BART station.

He’d kicked off his loafers. She wondered if he’d noticed that snazzy green-and-white striped sock of his had gotten wet in a puddle of dishwater, or if he was having too much fun laughing at Mark’s story about founding a software company when he was a teenager and hiding his millions from them for years.

Ha-ha.

“Are you okay?” Bev asked quietly.

April shoved her hands into her pockets. “Fine.” She felt Bev’s gaze but didn’t look at her.

“Thanks for cleaning up Merry’s spit-up,” Bev said. “Liam said it got all over the wall.”

“It was impressive,” April said. “If she’d been face-down, she would’ve blasted to the moon.”

The humor in Bev’s voice evaporated. “I wonder if I should take her to the doctor.”

“No, I don’t think it was bad or anything,” April said. “I looked it up online. Pretty common. She drank too much, too fast.”

“You googled it?” Bev asked.

“Yeah. Turning on the image search was a mistake, though,” April said. “It
was
pretty amazing. I was tempted to upload a picture myself.”

They laughed. Zack turned at the sound, saw them, then looked at his watch. The water was off, the dishes were put away, he seemed ready to leave.

“Do you need a ride to BART?” April asked him. “I heard you were going to call a cab.”

“Yeah, that would be great. Are you headed that way?”

April realized that he didn’t know she lived at home. “I will be as soon as you get your shoes on,” she said. “Let’s hit the road, shall we?”

Trixie looked sad to see Zack go—but at least she didn’t suggest he move into Liam’s childhood bedroom, as she had with Bev years earlier—and the others seemed to like him, too, shaking his hand at the door and laughing like old friends.

Finally, Zack and April were in the car heading downhill through the narrow, wooded streets to the more urban, flatter neighborhoods below.

“I hope you realize you don’t have to go to Rose and Mark’s wedding,” she said, braking as the car accelerated on the steep decline.

“Would you rather I didn’t?”

“Why would I care?”

“I don’t know,” Zack said. “You brought it up.”

She took a sharp turn too fast, making him grab the dash. “Sorry.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you slowed down a little,” he said.

Because she did want to talk, she took her foot off the gas. They were still up in the hills, where the roads were narrow and winding, crowded with parked cars and driveways for the closely built homes.

“Thanks,” he said, rubbing his temple. “I shouldn’t have drunk so much. Your future sister-in-law makes a killer martini.”

“And Mom’s proud of her wine collection. She pushes it on everyone.”

“Nobody pushed. I took it all willingly.”

“Sounds kinky,” she said. Then clenched her teeth. “Sorry. Forget I said that.”

He chuckled softly. “Okay.”

What was his deal? Why did she care? She was exhausted— she could be home in bed right now instead of hauling his khaki-clad ass across Oakland—but she was too curious.

She took a breath and dove in. “During dinner, after they asked you to come to the wedding, you said something that got me wondering.”

He reached forward and adjusted the defroster knob. “Oh?”

“Have—have you been married before? The way you were talking, I got the impression that—”

“Yes,” he said. “I was married before.”

She felt guilty for prying, but also kind of proud of herself for getting it right. “I thought so. I’m sorry, I don’t know why, but I’ve had that impression for the longest time. None of my friends have gotten divorced—yet, because there’s one couple I know who never should’ve made the leap—”

“She died,” Zack said. “Not divorce. Cancer.”

Oh my God
. After a pause to recover her voice, she said, “I’m so sorry. I am such an idiot.” She stopped at the corner and looked at him. “Really, I’m so sorry.”

Questions she wouldn’t ask aloud ran through her mind:
 
How old was she? How could she die so young?
She’d lost her own father to cancer, but he’d been past middle age.

“It’s okay.” He was smiling a little, as if in apology.
 

“Was it—when did—” She shook her head. “Never mind. You don’t have to talk about it.”

“It was melanoma. Four years ago,” he said. “It’s all right. I wish I’d mentioned it earlier. I just didn’t think of it. It was common knowledge back in New York. Even with my clients.”

“How did they know?”

“Well… most of my work is word-of-mouth. After Meg died—her name was Meg—her father put the word out that I could use a hand getting my consulting business off the ground. So the work I had those first few years was pretty much his doing. He was a lawyer, knew a lot of people.” Zack said. “So, you could say I got where I am today because of pity.”

“Don’t say that,” she said. “They hired you because they thought you’d do a good job.”

“How could they? I was way too young,” he said. “I knew my father-in-law was behind it. But I made a name for myself eventually. For instance, Bev and Liam hired me without knowing my sob story—I sought them out personally when I saw the Annabelle Tucker publicity machine kick into gear. I’d had some garment experience in Manhattan, so…”

Annabelle Tucker was a teen pop star who recently had—thanks to Bev, her former teacher and babysitter—agreed to wear Fite clothes in prominent and evocative ways, resuscitating the brand and company in the process.
 

April reluctantly resumed driving. “I bet pity wasn’t as much of a factor as you think. Maybe it got you the interview, but not the job.”

“It’s all right, I don’t mind. It made them feel good. I was doing a public service.”

“How old are you?” she asked.

“Thirty-two.”

She bit back a sigh. Only five years older than she was, and he’d already been married, widowed, and founded a consulting business. “I just moved back home with my mother. After I drop you off at BART, I’m going right back to sleep in the same bed I had when I was twelve years old.”

His teeth flashed. “Really?”

“You think that’s funny?”

“I think it’s cute.” His smile vanished. “Sorry. That sounded patronizing.”

It should have, but she felt something tingly and sweet. “I’m used to it. It’s because I look twelve.”

He cleared his throat. “Not twelve. Young, but definitely not twelve.”

“How old?”

“I’m afraid to say. You seem unhappy already.”

“Tell me. How old?”

He grinned again. “Nineteen.”

“At least I can vote,” she said.

His voice fell. “That’s not all you can do.”

Was he
flirting
? “Excuse me?”

“I’m a man. Your family got me drunk. This is what happens.”

She zipped out into traffic. “Huh. Who knew?”

“When you’re older, maybe you’ll like it,” he said. “Looking young.”

They’d reached the busier, more urban part of North Oakland. She changed lanes to dodge a bus but had to brake for two women holding ice cream cones, who were crossing College Avenue against the red. “I like it fine right now. I’m very positive about how I look. Very, very positive.”

“That’s good.”

They drove in silence for a few minutes. “We’re almost there,” she said. “Is your place in San Francisco far from the station?”

“Just a block or two from the Embarcadero.”

“I know that area well,” she said. “Liam used to live near there.”

“Exactly near there, in fact.”

“Exactly?”

“Precisely. In every way.”

“Hold on. You’re renting Liam’s condo?”

“It was his idea,” he said. “They hadn’t put it on the market yet.”

Since she’d lived there herself for months, she suddenly had a vivid picture of Zack there in his suit, his khakis, his boxers, and then nothing at all.

When she had to stop at the intersection, she peeked at him and wondered how accurate her imagination was.

Mmm.

Damn that imagination. It was always getting her into trouble. “We’d better hurry,” she said. “The last train isn’t as late as it should be. You’d think they wanted us to drive everywhere.”

He looked at his phone. “I should be fine. It’s just up here, right?”

For a man who’d started a family and lost everything, he seemed so calm, capable, normal. She tried to imagine how Liam or Mark would behave if they lost Bev or Rose, and failed.

Humbled by her own small life, she pulled over in front of the florist’s shop below the stairs up to the station. The cloudless night was cold, and she suppressed a shiver. “Here you are.”

“I just realized,” he said, turning to her. “If you live with your mother, you didn’t have to go out. Why’d you offer me a ride?”

“Just being my usual selfish, obnoxious self,” she said. “I wanted to pry into your personal life.”

“Now you’re the one who’s being too hard on herself.” The streetlights flickered across his face. His hair was mussed, his eyes slightly unfocused.

“And I felt like I should scare you away from coming to the family wedding,” she said.

“Why?”

“To save you from my crazy family, I suppose.”

“I like your family,” he said. “A lot.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he said. His low voice seemed lower in the dark, small car.

Her heart started beating faster. She had to remind herself he was just being polite. “Well, that’s nice of you.” She shifted her gaze to a double-parked taxi across the street.

She waited for him to open the door, to say good night, to leave.

He didn’t move. “I like you, too,” he said.

The air squeezed out of her lungs. She opened her mouth to suck in a breath but made the mistake of turning toward him at the same time, which moved her face near his.

He had beautiful eyes, dark as a twilight sky. Knowing the shadow of melancholy came from a profound loss intrigued her, softened her toward him.

He wasn’t like other guys she’d known. What would it be like…

His gaze flickered to her mouth. She could hear the raggedness of his breath as she drifted closer, drawn to the desire she read in his face.

He wasn’t going to do anything. He wanted her, but he would need her to make the first move.

It was wrong. It wasn’t part of her plan. It was a mistake.

Oh, hell. Since when had she been any good at following the rules?

She put her hand on his cheek and closed the gap between them.

Chapter 11

W
HEN
HE
FELT
HER
LIPS
press against his, Zack suffered a moment of full-body paralysis. Arms to chest to toes, he turned to granite. Even his lips were numb, useless.

For a moment.

She’d kissed him. She was still kissing him. Her hand was warm and soft against his cheek, and she smelled like the spiced molasses cake they’d had for dessert.

His blood heated, shattering the icy prison that had captured him; he tilted his head to deepen the kiss and felt her fingernails dig into his jaw.

The evidence of her desire drove him to lick the seam of her lips and move his tongue between her teeth, where everything was as hot and wet as his favorite dreams about her.

A soft, high-pitched sigh escaped her throat. While his tongue slid against hers, he found her face with his hands and held her in place. He wasn’t thinking about anything, he wanted her and he was having her. Her curls felt as springy as he’d imagined, her skin silkier, her kiss sweeter.

So many years he’d wanted to feel this way. Life rushed into him. His nerves shuddered with a sudden, electrifying current.

She moaned. Her hands moved over his body to his shoulders, down his chest, then up to the back of his neck, where she caressed him, opening her mouth wider for him, giving him everything.

She was more than a fantasy. He could hear and taste and feel her. She was real. How could he have lived so long without this? Instinctively he thrust his tongue deeper into her mouth, moving his hand over her chest to her stomach. He lifted her shirt and found her breast, then cupped it, rubbed his palm against the silky fabric of her bra until he felt her nipple harden.

A bus roared past them. Just past April’s cheek, he glimpsed a trio of men walking past the car window with a pizza box and a case of beer.

What the hell was he doing?

He went still. Heart pounding in his ears, blood racing through his veins, his attention narrowed to the feel of her mouth under his lips and her breast under his right palm.

You can’t do this.

The effort of not moving made him tremble.

What would be the harm? She was obviously interested, a consenting adult, the most attractive girl he’d met in a string of long, lonely years…

No. He’d just had dinner with her family. One brother was his current client, the other (if Zack behaved himself) a future one. Connections like Mark Johnson didn’t come around often. He wanted to break into high tech. She was their baby sister. He saw how they looked at her, watched over her.

 
And he was feeling her up in the goddamn front seat of a late-model economy car on a busy street.

Exhaling loudly, he yanked her shirt down and pulled away. The space between them grew wider, colder. “I can’t believe I did that. I’m so sorry.”

She stared, touching her mouth.

“I shouldn’t have drunk so much. I hope you understand—it’s not you, it’s—I never get involved with anyone at work. Never. I just—I’m sorry.” He leaned back in his seat. He could still hear his heart pounding in his ears.

She’d given him a little friendly peck and he’d mauled her. She’d probably felt sorry for the poor guy who’d lost his wife, and then he’d thanked her by shoving his tongue down her throat.