Come Hell or High Desire (2 page)

Chapter Two

Zack had his blood pressure under control by the time he pulled up to the service
entrance of Skinny Dipping, a frou frou home furnishings boutique where Ann had recently
scored the part-time job of her dreams. Or so she’d claimed. He hadn’t been here yet,
but he’d been curious about it, not only because Ann talked it up like it was God’s
gift to women, but also because a moniker like that conjured good mojo.

He cut the engine and stepped into the spill of sunshine, industrial sounds from the
front of the mall reassuring him that his construction crew was still on the job.
On a Sunday. Early. Hopefully wrapping things up because the amusement park addition
was scheduled to open in two days. Two more days of burning the candle on both ends,
and he’d give them all fat bonuses.

Skinny Dipping’s plain steel door looked no different from any of the others along
the back of the mall, except this one was propped open. He knocked and peered inside.
Finding no one, he zigzagged through stacks of boxes toward a door that presumably
led to the showroom.

While the back room blazed with ugly fluorescent lighting, the store itself was like
the backdrop for a chick flick, glowing with strategically placed lamps, wall lanterns,
and lights that dripped crystals.

Getting no response to repeated calls, he continued deeper into the store. Silly,
sparkling things—paperweights?—sat on fat wood candlesticks any self-respecting Boy
Scout could carve. Chunky necklaces draped over stilettos designed to give men fits
flirted near fuzzy blankets that wouldn’t keep anyone warm. More crystal things, tiny
pots that reeked, painted and beat-up furniture, candles, all kinds of smelly stuff,
and a ridiculous assortment of gaudy accessories provided a sensory smorgasbord which
made him, honest to God, lightheaded.

The place is an epic fire hazard.

Ann’s motive for working here
had
to be educational since she didn’t need the money. She wanted to enroll in NDSU’s
interior design program but was conflicted about walking away from her father’s business.
Zack had told her she could do both, but so far she hadn’t made any moves.

Though with a baby coming, who knew when that would happen—
or if.

He frowned, reaching for a flimsy blue scarf on impulse. He ran his fingers down the
sheer length, turned a corner, and almost collided with a pair of legs on a ladder.

His eyes traveled from the three-inch heeled sandals with ribbons that wound up delicate
ankles, inch by satiny inch, until—
Jesus
—what had to be almost three and a half feet later his eyes feasted on an ass in white
denim that actually made his business twitch in his Jockeys.

“Hey there, be with you in a sec.” Her voice was like caramel. The kind you suck on.
And her scent, warm vanilla. He twisted the scarf between his fists.
Say something.
The woman went up on her toes to arrange a feather boa on a shelf and damned if those
Daisy Dukes didn’t raise several tantalizing centimeters, exposing the generous swell
of her buttocks.

And no tan line. He stifled a groan.

She started down the ladder, and he rubbed a hand over his heart and backed up. He
hadn’t had such a visceral response to a woman since…
ever?

“Thanks for waiting. You here for the daybed pickup?” she asked.

“Yes.
No.
Ah, sorry. That’s not why I’m here.”
Tongue-tied even?
The woman stood with one brow raised, arms crossed under her small breasts, the billowy-type
shirt thing doing nothing to conceal the flare of her hips.

Hips just begging for…

He shut his eyes on a slow blink, forcing himself to focus on his purpose. His face
heated before he set the scarf on a table and extended his hand. “I’m Zack Goldman.
I work with Ann at Samuel’s Construction.”

The woman looked at his hand, hesitating. Yeah, his hands were rough, but they were
clean. Maybe she was a germophobe or something.

A second later, though, she placed her hand in his, and the jolt must have been mutual.
Her eyes widened. Weren’t they an unusual gray-brown? The color he’d imagine on a
she-wolf.

Purpose. Ann. Baby.
“The back door was open. Ann told me she’d be here early one of these mornings to
help out, but I couldn’t remember when,” he said.

“Ann was scheduled to be here by six to help with yesterday’s freight, but she hasn’t
arrived yet. Have you tried her at home? I figured she’d slept in. I’m Sloane Swift,
by the way.”

Flamboyant clothing and enough noisy arm bangles to accessorize a band of gypsies…
Her name matched the package. Large, darkly-lashed eyes anchored an oval face above
cheekbones sculpted by a master. And all that soft, smooth skin…

Was frowning.

He looked down at their joined hands, let go, and shoved his own in his pockets. “Ann’s
not answering her phone.”

Sloane was about to say something when a tiny blonde whizzed around the corner. “Hey,
boss.” The woman’s eyes moved from Sloane to Zack, her smile warming a hundred degrees.
“Hey handsome, don’t let me chase you away. I’m Tori Daily—the manager.”

“Zack Goldman. I work with Ann.”

A brief disturbance crossed her features before she pinned the smile back in place.
“So
you’re
Zack. Ann told me you’re donating a kidney to a friend’s wife. When are you doing
that?”

Sloane raised her eyebrows, and his face warmed again. “They hope to do the transplant
shortly after Twyla has the baby. Anyway—”

“I hadn’t heard the woman was pregnant. That’s cool. I’m sure Ann will keep us posted.”
Tori turned back to Sloane. “Where is she anyway? She was pumped to see the new stuff.”

“She’s not here yet.” Sloane gazed steadily at Zack.

Don’t be afraid of women with balls or brains. You don’t want no box of rocks.
John had been down on his knees trowling concrete with Zack’s crew of eight when
he’d shared that bit of counsel so long ago.

Why Zack should think of it now—with Sloane—he didn’t want to dwell on.

He shifted his weight, then realized how weak that made him look. He could really
do without all the unbidden Johnisms today.

“That’s not like her. She sick?” Tori asked.

Ann was usually conscientious to a fault. So where was she? That cryptic note was
making him more bent by the minute. “I’m sure there’s a reasonable excuse.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Tori studied her nails.

She’s lying.

Either she knew where Ann was, or she sucked at reassuring people. Maybe both. Zack’s
phone chirped to signal an incoming text from his CFO.
Benji’s irate. Be here in 20 or better.

Now what? Once he was done with Timothy Benjamin’s mall amusement park and the subs
were paid, he was never going to work with a scumbag like him again. He frowned at
Sloane. “Sorry for the trouble. I’m sure Ann will feel terrible about being late.”

“We’ll be fine. But maybe you should stop by her place and scope things out? She could
be ill or something.”

It was the
or something
he didn’t care to think about. But since he needed to deal with Benjamin, and his
office wasn’t far from Ann’s, he might as well check in. “Yeah, I’ll stop by her place
in an hour or so.”

“Be sure to have her call us so we know everything’s okay. And hey, the transplant
thing’s pretty neat.”

Her eyes smiled, making something warm pass through his chest. He nodded and made
his way outside, itching to run for miles. He couldn’t decide who frustrated him more—Benjamin
for making his crew hate their jobs, himself for not only being in the dark about
Ann’s mystery man but also his gut-level response to Sloane—or John—for making him
care about it all in the first place.

Chapter Three

Sloane continued to look at the back door for several moments after Zack’s departure,
not sure what to think. Tori wrestled a box off a dolly and drew a box cutter across
the packing tape. “Quite the eye candy, eh?”

Sloane rubbed her hands on her bare arms. “Silky black hair, stormy green eyes, and
five o’clock shadow. Tall, built, and moody. In a word? Yummy.”

Tori smirked. “Yeah, he seems like the whole package. Besides being gorgeous and obviously
altruistic, he’s successful. Samuel’s Construction is one of the largest contractors
in the upper Midwest, and while Ann’s father could have had any number of front runners
succeed him in the business, Zack’s been the man running the show these last few years
even before John died. Thing is, Ann says women fawn all over him, but he doesn’t
even seem to notice. I bet he’s gay.”

“He’s not gay.”

“I have several male friends who you’d never think—”

“So do I. The hetero vibe was in full force, Tori. Your loss if you missed it.”

Tori paused in the act of lifting an ivory reproduction of
Nymph and Satyr Carousing
. “We’ve been friends for fifteen years, and I’ve never seen you so instantly gaga
over a guy.” She pointed the carved model at Sloane. “I’d hate to see you disappointed
if he’s not in your market.”

Sloane eased the satyr out of her manager’s grasp.
Definitely time to change the topic.
“Speaking of men, when will Teddy be in town? You guys have been dating for a month
now, and I still haven’t met him. I think you’re making him up.”

She relaxed when Tori took the bait and launched into a diatribe about her busy, out
of town boyfriend. Sloane set
Nymph and Satyr
on a velvet-covered pedestal and drifted from box to box, unloading freight, barely
noticing the beautiful objects that normally gave her so much pleasure.

Truth was, she was unnerved by her response to Zack Goldman. Sure, the man was a looker
and—wow, obviously unselfish—but even more than that…

He’d sent her energy
. And she hadn’t even touched anything metallic. Her nerve endings were still sparking
like they were having an orgy. That unexpected encounter of his energy was all…beach
heat, rolling waves, and oil-slicked bodies sliding together in a dim cabana.

It had felt delicious.

Carnal.

That unsettled her more than anything.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d physically touched someone who didn’t require
her to envision her energy shield—that unfortunate but necessary layer of protection
that prevented people from short-circuiting her equanimity. No one could see it, but
Lordy, she could feel it. Especially if she was too late to initiate it.

So what the heck had happened with Zack? That encounter left her…
hungry
. And wasn’t that interesting?

Crap.
What was she thinking? He was one apple she wasn’t biting. If he’d instigated that
kind of reaction in her, she couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—do that to him. Anyone who glided that effortlessly through her barriers always ended
up burned. Her gift was largely uncontrollable.

A curse.

And a source of danger to anyone who got too close.

The cascading trickle of water in the fountain broke her reflection, and she looked
up to find herself snared in one of Tori’s scowls. The
I know there’s something going on and I’m going to hound you until it’s on the table
kind of stare that had Sloane’s heart revving. Tori was one of a handful of people
who knew about her object reading burden—that whacked liability her mother referred
to as a “gift.”

Unlike shielding herself from people’s energies, which she struggled to manage, Sloane
had become quite masterful at silencing this other ability. But because Tori knew
what she was capable of—touching metallic objects to infer information about their
history via latent energy fields—Sloane let her guard down more easily around her.
Except for times like now when it made her feel…over-exposed. Because, wow, it was
really creepy when you thought about it.

She forced a smile and moved to arrange a pile of pillows to give her hands something
to do. “When Teddy’s back in town, I’ll have you guys over for supper.”

“Knock it off. I saw you shake Zack’s hand. You read something when you touched him,
didn’t you?”

“You know I don’t like it when you bring that up.”

Tori leaned forward. “I
knew
it.”

Sloane’s hands started to sweat. She wanted away. From this conversation. From this
despicable affliction that required so much effort to ignore. She marched through
the storeroom and out the back door. The air clung to her skin, heavy and damp as
only late summer knew best. Did this classify as pouting?

Lord, she hated pouters.

“Sloane?”

She turned to find Tori’s head peeking around the steel door.

“Your lip’s dragging. Pick it up and—” Tori burst into laughter. Sloane looked back
at the parking lot to see her part-time employee Carmen Miller sauntering up to them
in a straining-at-the-seams leopard print dress, wheeling an enormous purple suitcase.

“
Whew.
So hot out here I about left my ass on the leather car seat. Shake a leg, girlies.
I wanna see the loot.”

Sloane closed her eyes, breathed deep, and concentrated on the beat of her heart,
using the rhythm to summon the energy required to raise her protection shield before
she put an arm around Tori to follow the wide-hipped redhead inside. Carmen leaned
the suitcase against the wall, grabbed a handful of Kleenexes, and stuffed them into
her pillowy cleavage before opening the staff refrigerator.

Sloane gestured to the luggage. “Mind me asking what you plan to do with the mobile
unit, Carm?”

Carmen rubbed a pop can against her cheek. “I might as well face reality. No way am
I gonna be able to pass up a lot of this new stuff. And I don’t trust Miss Salad Shooter
over there to not poach my digs until I can get it all home. Hence, the carry-on.”

“
Carry-on?
More like semi-truck trailer. And a fugly one at that.” Tori wrinkled her nose at
the beat up baggage.

“You’re just sorry you didn’t think of it yourself, short stuff. So where’s Annie?
Bet that twit’s already on the floor, huh? She was happy as a hooker on sailor’s payday
to see what was comin’ in.”

Sloane took a water bottle from the fridge. “She isn’t here yet. She’s not answering
her cell or home numbers either.”

“Really? I busted my rump to get here early so she wouldn’t get all the good stuff
first. That girl likes to shop more than I do. I hope her big doin’ last night went
all right.”

Sloane frowned. “What was she going to do?”

“Wouldn’t say. She blushed pinker than a sunburned tittie, though, which means it
had to be about a
man
.”

Tori began to pace. “I don’t like this.”

Sloane didn’t either. “Oh, stop it. I’m sure she’s fine. You girls head out onto the
floor and get as much unloaded as you can. I’ll help as soon as I have this paperwork
in order. I want the store to look less like a war zone by the time Mr. Benjamin stops
in later.”

Sloane plopped into her desk chair, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, and reached
for a clipboard. “Oh, and Tori? Speaking of Mr. Benjamin, can you pull the new numbered
Swarovski rhino? He wants to add it to his collection, which is excellent, since he
has all but committed to sponsoring Project Broken Wings. Anything at the store he
wants, he gets. Okay?”

Not getting a response, she set the clipboard down and swiveled in her seat to find
her manager staring at her. “Tori?”

“Oh, God.”

Sloane’s neck tingled. “What happened to the rhino?”

“I, Ann, we… Ah,
crap
. Ann wanted to see how the Swarovski would look in her curio when it was all lit
up. So, I told her you wouldn’t mind if she took it out on loan, to see if it would
fit in with her…other…pretty things.” Tori twisted her fingers in her skirt. “But,
you do mind, don’t you?”

Sloane tried not to panic. Really, it wasn’t a big deal. Or it wouldn’t be, if so
much wasn’t riding on maintaining a relationship with Timothy Benjamin. She’d have
to start looking for sponsors all over again if he wouldn’t sponsor Project Broken
Wings—the suicide support alliance that she’d dreamt of founding not long after her
sister Megan’s tragic death.

She rubbed a hand on her stomach. “So you’re sure Ann has it at home?”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Sloane. I didn’t know Benjamin wanted it.”

“No, of course you didn’t.” She chewed on her lip and looked at her watch. It wasn’t
even eight o’clock yet. Benjamin most likely wouldn’t be here before the store opened
at noon. Then again, it wouldn’t be out of character for him to come earlier and demand
a private showing.

Tori plucked at her skirt. “Call Ann. Even if she’s not home, Zack said he was going
to stop at her place in about an hour. By the time you grab a latte, he’ll probably
be there. Ann told me he has a key. Might as well give it a try.”

“I’ll call, but how about you go?”

“I can’t, two college summer school students are interviewing me for a class project
at nine.”

“Right, do you think Carmen would go?”

“Naw. She hasn’t seen the crystal yet. Why does it matter who— Oh. Zack.”

“Zip it. There’s no oh, Zack.” Sloane pretended to dig into her paperwork. After a
few long seconds, Tori slipped out the door, and Sloane picked up the phone.

Four minutes later, she sat with her head in her hands. Ann hadn’t answered either
number.

The day was rapidly deteriorating. Her choices? Face the beefcake who made her body
remember she was a freak, or show up empty-handed to the man with the money and connections
to make her dream come true. A dream that could help heal so many other families affected
by suicide.

A dream that straddled the fence with a secret that would never release her.

A secret Tori didn’t even know.

It had taken two years to get a bite from a sponsor. She
had
to stay in good graces with Benjamin. He would deny her the money to start her suicide
support foundation if she couldn’t produce the rhino. It was exactly the sort of control
game he enjoyed. So she’d either have to get used to crap like that, or start all
over.

Her legs felt wobbly as she stood. She grabbed her purse and walked to the back door,
praying for a low-consequence encounter with Zack. And knowing somehow it wouldn’t
be.