taps. When the water was hot, he poured soap in her hand and made her wash.
“It’s a rosebush, Zach, not a used hypodermic needle.”
“Better safe than sorry,” was all he said.
She finished washing, and then frowned while Zach put a dab of antibiotic ointment on her thumb and covered it with a Band-Aid.
When she looked up at him, his dark eyes were intent on her, his brows drawn down as he studied her. Her heart skipped the way it always did. Angrily, she tamped down on the rising tide of want within her.
“Did you eat breakfast yet?”
“I had a cup of tea and some toast,” she said a touch breathlessly.
Zach frowned. “That’s not good enough,” he muttered, turning away from her and grabbing a pan off the hanging rack. “You need protein.”
Lia crossed her arms, bemused suddenly. “Are you planning to cook for me?”
He glanced up at her, still scowling. And then he grinned and she had to catch her breath at the transformation of his features. “I can, actually. I had to learn when I entered the service. The air force frowns on hired help in the bachelor officers’ quarters.”
A man from a rich family who’d grown up with chefs and servants suddenly having to cook for himself? What an adjustment that must have been.
“Allora,” she said. “It’s a wonder you didn’t starve.”
He winked. “I’m a quick learner.”
He retrieved eggs and cheese from the refrigerator. The housekeeper came in, took one look at the pan and him and shrugged. She retrieved whatever thing she’d come for—Lia didn’t pay attention—and was gone again.
Lia didn’t actually think she could eat anything else right now, but she was too fascinated to stop him from cracking the eggs and whipping them.
“So why did you join the air force? Couldn’t you have learned to fly planes anyway?”
His back was to her. She wasn’t sure what was on his face just then, but he stiffened slightly, the fork ceasing to swirl the eggs for half a second before he started again. She berated herself for injecting a note of discord into the conversation when it had seemed to be going so well.
“I wouldn’t have been able to fly fighter jets, no. I could have bought one, I suppose. The older ones come up for sale sometimes—but it’s not quite the same. Besides, I wanted to serve my country.”
“A noble cause.”
He shrugged. “Yes.” Then he stopped again, his broad shoulders tight. A moment later, he turned to her. His expression was troubled. “No, that’s not why I did it,” he said softly. “I joined the military because I wanted to get away from life as Zachariah J. Scott IV. I didn’t want the career at Scott Pharmaceuticals, the governorship of a state, the senate run and then maybe the presidency. Those are my father’s dreams, not mine. I wanted to do something that mattered.”
Lia’s heart felt as if it had stopped beating. Dear God, he was sharing something with her. Something important. She didn’t want to screw it up.
“You seem to have done that,” she said. She thought of the medal in her room and knew he’d gotten it for good reasons. But why had he thrown it away?
He sighed, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But here I am, and all that my time in the military did for me was set me up for even greater success if I were to follow the path my father wants.”
“I think those things matter, too, Zach. It takes a lot of sacrifice to serve your country in any manner, don’t you think?”
He glanced at her. “You’re right, of course. Still …”
“It’s not the path you want to take,” she said when he didn’t finish the sentence.
He slid the pan onto the stove and added a pat of butter. Then he turned on the burner. “No, I don’t.”
“What do you want, then?”
He looked at her for a long minute. “I want to fly. But I don’t get to do that anymore, no matter that I want to.” The butter started to sizzle. Zach poured in the eggs and swirled them in the pan.
“Surely there’s something else,” she said softly.
His gaze was sharp. “I want to help people returning from the war. It’s not easy to go back to your life after you’ve been through hell.”
Lia swallowed. He was talking from experience. And it suddenly made something clear. “Which is why you speak at these fundraisers.”
“Yeah.”
Yet he wasn’t comfortable doing it. That much she knew from watching the effect on him last night. Oh, he was good at it—but it took a toll on him each and every time. “That’s a good thing, then. I’m sure it makes a difference.”
He shrugged. “It helps fund programs to return vets to a normal life. It also keeps the public aware of the need.”
The eggs set in the pan, and Zach added the cheese. Soon, he was sliding the omelet onto a plate and carrying it to the kitchen island. He turned to look at her expectantly.
“Coming?”
How could she say no? She was ridiculously touched that he’d made her an omelet, and ridiculously touched that he’d shared something private with her. She walked over to the island and hopped onto the bar stool. Zach retrieved a fork and napkin, poured her a glass of juice and sat across from her, chin on his hand as he watched her take the first bite.
The omelet was good, creamy and buttery, with just the right amount of cheese. But it was hard to eat it when he was watching her. She could feel her face growing hot as she slid a bite between her lips.
“You have to stop staring at me,” she finally said when her heart was thrumming and her face was so hot that he surely must see the pink suffusing her skin.
“I want to make sure you eat it all.”
“I won’t be able to if you don’t stop watching me.”
He sighed. “Fine.” He sat back on the bar stool and turned to look out the window. “Better?”
“Yes. Grazie.”
Though she hadn’t thought she was hungry, the omelet was good enough that she took another bite. Lia glanced up at Zach, and her heart pinched in that funny way it did whenever she realized how very attractive he was. And how little she really knew him.
“Thank you,” she said after a minute. “It’s very good.”
“Hard to mess up an omelet,” he said. “But I’m glad you like it.”
“I could,” she said. “Mess up an omelet, that is.”
He
