A Facade to Shatter(44)

The event was in a gorgeous mansion in Georgetown. After leaving the car with the valet, Zach escorted her into the gathering, his hand firmly on the small of her back. Lia’s stomach vibrated with butterflies. Last night, she’d simply been the woman on his arm at an event. Tonight, she was his fiancée, and the media would take a more pointed interest in her now.

She’d seen the papers in his office, and read the stories about all-American hero Zach Scott and the mystery woman he was suddenly engaged to marry. Of course there was speculation as to why. That didn’t surprise her at all.

The story basically went that Zach had traveled to Palermo for a wedding, met the groom’s cousin and had a whirlwind romance. They also speculated that she and Zach had conducted this affair over the phone and through email until they simply couldn’t stand to be separated any longer.

It was a lovely hypothesis, though laughably far from the truth.

Zach, however, seemed determined to play his role to the hilt once they entered the party. He was the besotted fiancé. He stayed by her side, fetched her drinks, kept a hand on her arm or her waist or her shoulder. Lia took a sip of her nonalcoholic cocktail and tried to calm the racing of her heart.

Zach’s touch was driving her insane.

She could hardly remember half the people she met, or half the conversations she had. Her entire focus was on Zach’s hand, on his warm, large presence beside her. On the butterflies that hadn’t abated. Oh, no, they kept swirling, higher and faster, each time Zach touched her.

It was all she could do not to climb up his frame in front of everyone and kiss him senseless.

Her senses were on red alert, and her body was primed for him. Only him.

It irritated her, but she couldn’t stop it. She watched him as he spoke with a gray-haired woman, watched the curve of his mouth when he laughed, the sparkle in his eyes and the long, lean fingers of his hand—the one she could see—as he held his drink.

Lia closed her eyes, tried to blot out the visual of that hand tracing a sensual path over her body. It didn’t work, especially since she knew precisely how it would feel.

His arm went around her and she shuddered. “Darling, are you all right?”

Lia looked up at him, into those dark beautiful eyes that seemed full of concern for her. It was an act, she told herself. An act.

Her heart didn’t care. It turned over inside her chest—and then it cracked wide-open, filling with feelings she didn’t want.

“I—” She swallowed and licked her suddenly dry lips. “I need to freshen up,” she blurted.

Without waiting for his reply, she turned and made her way blindly through the crowd until she found an exit. It didn’t take her down a hall toward the restrooms, as she’d hoped, but spilled out onto a covered patio that gave way to a manicured garden with a tall hedge. Lia walked right down the path and between the hedges before she realized it was actually a maze.

Her heart beat hard as she breathed in the clean air, hoping to calm down before she went back inside and faced all those people—and Zach—again.

What was the matter with her? Why had she come unglued like that?

Because she was Lia Corretti, that’s why. Lost little girl looking for love, for a home, for someone who needed her. She’d been staring at Zach, letting her mind wander, letting her fantasies get the best of her.

And she’d realized, boom, that she felt far more than she should be feeling. That she’d let herself fantasize him right into her heart.

How could you love someone you hardly knew? How could your heart make such a catastrophic mistake?

She hadn’t seen it coming. How could she? Of course, she’d thought about him for the past month, thought about their blissful nights together and the way everything between them felt so right—but that was lust, not love.

When did love enter the equation?

When he’d made her an omelet and told her he wanted to do something meaningful with his life? Or earlier, when he’d pulled her against his hard body in Palermo and told her she was beautiful?

“Lia.”

She turned at the sound of his voice, her heart thrumming, her skin flushing hot. She didn’t want him here, and yet she did. He moved toward her, so tall, dark and gorgeous that he made her want to weep inside.

How had she let this happen? Panic flooded her as he approached.

But then she had a thought. Maybe—just maybe—it wasn’t love, after all. Maybe it was simply a deep infatuation. Yes, she could certainly be infatuated with him. That was far less pitiful than falling in love with a man who was only marrying you because you were pregnant.