then he assaulted her mouth more precisely, more urgently, taking everything she had to give him and demanding yet more. Her arms went around his neck, and then her body was arching into his, her hips pressing ever closer to that hardness at the core of him.
He cupped her ass with both hands, pulled her tightly to him, so tightly there could be no doubt what he wanted from her. He flexed his hips, pressing his hardness into her, finding that precise spot that made her gasp and moan.
He could make her come this way. He would make her come this way. He needed to hear her pleasure, needed to be the one to make her feel it.
Dimly, the click of heels against tile registered in his brain. The sound was coming closer, closer. With a frustrated groan, Zach broke away from the sweet taste of Lia. She looked up at him, blinking dazedly, her eyes slightly unfocused and distant, her lips moist and shiny. By degrees, her features changed, set, hardened into a cool mask.
“I’m sorry,” he said right before the heels clicked to a stop in front of the alcove. Except he didn’t know what he was sorry for.
“Mr. Scott?”
Zach closed his eyes for a brief moment. Then he turned to greet the socialite who stood there. “Yes, Mrs. Cunningham?”
Elizabeth Cunningham’s gaze darted past him to Lia, then back again. He didn’t miss the tightening of Elizabeth’s mouth, or the disapproving gleam in her eye. It pissed him off. Royally. Elizabeth Cunningham was thirty years younger than her husband, and much too judgmental for one who’d reached the pinnacle of society by marrying into it.
Zach reached for Lia’s hand, pulled her to his side. Claimed her. He thought she might move away from him, but she didn’t. She seemed to grasp the importance of appearances, after all.
“It’s time for your speech,” the other woman said, her gaze settling on his face once more.
Zach made a show of looking at his watch. “Ah, yes, so it is. I lose track of time when I’m with my lovely fiancée, I’m afraid.”
Elizabeth’s eyes widened. They darted to Lia. To Lia’s credit, she didn’t flinch or give away by look or gesture that she was anything other than what he’d said she was.
“Come, darling,” he told her, tucking her hand into his arm and leading her back toward the gathered crowd. Another speech, another event to tick off his social calendar.
Afterward, he would take Lia home … and then he’d finish what he’d started here tonight.
Lia was shell-shocked. She sat through the rest of the evening in a daze. Her mouth still tingled where Zach had kissed her. Her body throbbed with tension and need. She’d been so furious with him, so convinced she would never, ever be susceptible to his charms again.
She’d been wrong. Woefully, pitifully wrong.
She was still the same lonely girl she’d always been, the same girl looking for acceptance and affection. She despised herself for that weakness, despised Zach for taking advantage of it. She took a sip of her water and let her gaze slide over the crowd before turning back to Zach.
He stood at a podium close to their table, talking about his father, about the war, about the night he was shot down over enemy territory. He said the words, but she wasn’t convinced he felt any of them.
He was detached. Cold. The crowd was not. They sat rapt. And Lia couldn’t help herself. She was rapt with them. She learned about how his plane took a hit and he’d had to bail out. How he’d broken his leg in the landing, and how he’d had to drag himself to shelter before the enemy found him.
Then she listened to him talk about the six marines who’d been sent in to extract him after several days. They had all died trying to save him. He was the only survivor. It sent a chill down her spine and raised the hairs on the back of her neck.
He’d suffered much, she thought. So much that she couldn’t even begin to understand. She wanted to go to him, wanted to wrap her arms around him and lower his head to her shoulder. And then she just wanted to hold him tight and listen to him breathe.
Toward the end of his speech, a photographer started to take photos. His flash snapped again and again. Zach seemed to stiffen slightly, but he kept talking, kept the crowd in the grip of his oratory. The photographer moved in closer. No one seemed to think anything of it, but Lia remembered that night in Palermo and her palms started to sweat.
Zach gripped the sides of the podium, his knuckles white. The flash went off again and again and she didn’t miss the way he flinched in reaction. It was so subtle as to seem a natural tic, but something told Lia it was not. Then he seemed to stumble over his thoughts, repeating something he’d just said. Panic rose up in Lia’s chest, gripped her by the throat.
She couldn’t watch him lose his way like he had in Palermo. She couldn’t let him suffer that kind of public meltdown. She didn’t know that he would, but she couldn’t get past the memory of the way she’d met him, plastered against that wall with his eyes tight shut and the flashing and booming of lights and bass all around.
She didn’t have to look at this crowd any longer to know it would be disastrous if he did.
Right now, everyone seemed to be paying attention to Zach. She didn’t quite know what to do, or how to deflect their attention—and then she did. She coughed. Loudly. After a moment, Zach’s gaze slid in her direction. She kept coughing, and then she reached for the water, took a swallow as if she were having trouble. Zach’s attention was firmly on her now. He darted his eyes over the crowd, but they inevitably came back to her.
She coughed again, sipped more water. The photographer seemed satisfied enough with his photos thus far that he lowered his camera and melted toward the back of the crowd.
Lia stopped coughing. A few minutes later, Zach wound up his speech. The room erupted in applause. Lia breathed deeply, relieved. Though, perhaps Zach had been in control the whole time. Perhaps he’d never needed her intervention, lame though it was.
She watched him walk toward her. People stopped him, talked to him, making his progress back to her side take quite a long time. But then he was there, and she was gazing up at him, searching his face for signs of stress.
There were none.
He gazed over her head, his attention caught by something. Just for a moment, his mouth tightened. The flash went off again and Lia whirled toward the source.
“Come, darling,” Zach said, holding out his hand. “Let’s get you home.”
Several of the Washington elite slid sideways glances at them, but Lia didn’t care. She gave Zach a big smile and put her hand in his. He helped her from her chair and then they were moving toward the exit. They were waylaid a few more times, but soon they were on the street and Lia sucked in a relieved breath. They were facing the National Mall and the street was far quieter here since it fronted the museums instead of busy Constitution Avenue.
Raoul pulled up in the Mercedes on cue. Zach didn’t wait for him to come around and open the door. He yanked it open and motioned Lia inside. Then he joined her and they were speeding off into the night. Zach leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. His palms were steepled together in his lap.
She found herself wanting to trace a finger along the hard line of his jaw.
