The Singles Table (Marriage Game #3)(43)

He checked the door again for Zara. He’d moved too fast in the alley, assumed too much. Hopefully, they could go back to being . . . what? Friends? He didn’t want to kiss his friends. He didn’t fantasize about them in the shower at home until his blood ran hot and the water ran cold.

About to walk away, he spotted Zara by the cloakroom having a heated discussion with a zombie bride who was checking coats. His breath caught when the bride stepped to the side, giving him a glimpse of Zara in a curve-hugging red dress that left her back bare but for the crisscross of thin red straps. She looked beautiful, sexy, and the sight of her made his pulse kick up a notch.

Shut it down. He put the brakes on the runaway train of lust. They’d agreed what happened in the alley was a mistake. With the international expansion so close he could almost taste it, Zara was a distraction that he couldn’t afford. Even this deal to find him a match was time he would never recover. And for what? Someone to accompany him to business dinners or to occasionally warm his bed at night? He didn’t need a partner, and she deserved someone who shared her energy and passion, someone as vibrant and alive, someone who could be there for her in the way he could never be.

Steeling himself against temptation, he made his way to the cloakroom, only to take a step back when Zara scowled.

“Is something wrong?”

“I look—”

“Beautiful.”

“Ridiculous.” She fisted the skirt of her red dress, tightening it around her curves in a way that made his mouth water.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was a zombie costume party?” she demanded. “I wouldn’t have come dressed like this.”

He drew her away from the zombie bride, who had a line of customers waiting to check their coats. “I thought you were here for professional reasons. It didn’t even occur to me that you would want to dress up.”

“This is me we’re talking about.” She pressed a hand to her chest between her breasts, drawing Jay’s attention to an area that was best not thought about in public. “I never pass up an opportunity to dress up. Never. And zombies? Are you kidding me? I have everything I need at home. I was a zombie for the Christmas party at my second law firm. I had rotting-flesh patches, teeth hanging out of my mouth, shredded clothes . . . I was going to bring a spare leg from the morgue, but Parvati said she’d get into trouble.”

“Indeed.” He didn’t want to ask why the morgue had a spare leg or why they didn’t come in pairs.

“I would have killed it tonight, Jay.” Her hands found her hips. “Killed it. No one does zombies like me . . .”

He held up his hands, palms forward. “My bad.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Now what am I going to do?”

“Work with what you’ve got?” He couldn’t imagine anyone who wouldn’t be interested in hearing her pitch when just the sight of her took his breath away. And after seeing her in court, unorthodox though her methods were, he would be happy to give his wholehearted recommendation as to her professional skill.

She lifted her skirt, studying the hem of her dress. “Good idea. Do you have a pair of scissors?”

He stared at her, aghast. “You don’t need to destroy your clothes.”

She gave him a soothing pat, every press of her palm sending a zing of heat through his chest. “Zombies don’t dress in nice clothes. I’ll need to tear up my dress. Oh, and I’ll break off one of my heels to get the zombie lurch. I can shred my stockings, muss my hair, a little makeup . . .” Her face brightened. “I’ll let you get back to work. The next time you see me, I’ll look amazing.”

She looked amazing now, blazing as hot and wild as a forest fire. It seemed almost criminal that she would hide all that beauty under zombie rags and makeup.

He caught Elias checking her out and his eyes narrowed. Maybe a zombie costume wasn’t such a bad idea after all.



* * *



? ? ?

    Zombie fever had swept through the party. Jay couldn’t tell the good zombies from the bad—or maybe that was a tribute to the acting skills of the guests. He’d set up a perimeter fence around the buffet table, forcing the zombies to stand in a civilized line for their food instead of mobbing the table in a feeding frenzy. He’d stepped on so much fake blood he was certain his leather shoes would never be the same. Zara had been missing for well over an hour, and he couldn’t spot her in the crowd.

“Party’s getting out of hand,” Elias said. “You want me to shut things down?”

“We can handle them. I’ve got a line of cabs standing by outside. First sign of trouble, and we’ll start hustling people out the door.”

“You want me to start with that one?” He pointed to a woman wrapped in bloodstained rags, a crown of skewered meat on her tangled hair, eyes dark circles in a mottled gray face. Balanced on a table, she cheered on the zombie doing shooters at the bar.

Relief flooded through his veins. Even if he hadn’t recognized her face, he would have known Zara from the energy that pulsed around her. “No. I’ll deal with her.”

“Jay!” Zara lurched toward him when he reached her table. “How did you know it was me?”

“Your shoe.”

She lifted her foot to look at her heel and lost her balance. He was there to catch her fall. Arms wrapped around her, he lowered her to the ground, her soft, curvy body, wrapped in nothing more than a tablecloth, sliding against his chest.