The Marine's Embrace. Beth Andrews
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times as her brain worked, things clicking into place.
C. J. Bartasavich, of the extremely wealthy Bartasavich family of Houston, had succeeded. He and Ivy were now married and living in his Houston penthouse, raising their infant son together. C. J. Bartasavich, whose brother Kane owned a bar right here in Shady Grove. Another brother, Oakes, had spent a weekend at Bradford House just this past Christmas while in town for Kane’s wedding to local ER nurse Charlotte Ellison.
But she now remembered that there was another brother, the youngest, who hadn’t attended that wedding, who’d been unable to come due to being injured in Iraq while serving in the marines.
Her gaze flew to the man watching her silently. A brother who’d lost his arm and his leg. A brother named...Zach.
“You’re a Bartasavich.”
His response to her blurted statement? The slightest wrinkling of his brow. No denial. No affirmation.
The man sure knew how to do the whole not-all-that-tall-but-still-dark-and-very-silent thing. She envied him—at least the last part. Silence made her nervous. Made her feel as if she had to do her best to fill it. As if she’d said or done something wrong to cause it.
“I mean, you’re not a murderer.”
She winced. Wished the words back, but if there was one thing she knew for sure, it was that all the wishing in the world couldn’t turn back time. Couldn’t erase your mistakes.
“I’m sorry,” she continued. “I...I have a wild imagination. My mom says I have a tendency of letting it get the best of me.” Before she could make this entire scene worse, she took his room key from her pocket and held it out to him along with his credit card and driver’s license. “I hope you find your stay with us enjoyable. If there’s anything you need, please don’t hesitate to contact me or anyone on staff.”
Not her usual happy welcome-to-Bradford-House spiel, but right now, she didn’t want to be polite—she just wanted to send him on his way and forget this entire humiliating episode ever happened.
She wanted to get back to her life. To waiting for Shane.
Whom, she realized with a jolt, she’d rarely thought about since the man in front of her walked into the yard.
Zach took the items and she quickly pulled her hand back before their fingers had a chance to brush. “Thanks.”
Touching her necklace, reminding herself of her ultimate goal, she sidled past him to the door and opened it.
“Oh,” she said to the very beautiful, very pregnant, very young woman who stood on the other side, her hand raised as though she’d just been about to knock.
She was stunning, her short cap of dark glossy hair accentuating her long neck and high cheekbones, her full mouth slicked red, her eyes a dark green. She wore black leggings, high-heeled black ankle boots and a knit light gray sweater that molded to her breasts and bulging belly. Her dangling silver earrings swayed as she tipped her head and raked her gaze over Fay before giving Fay a tight, mean smile, like a cat about to pounce.
Unease prickled Fay’s scalp. Had her wanting to take a step back—but Zach was there, behind her, close enough to sense. To touch if she moved more than a few inches.
“Hello,” she said, using her most professional, warmly welcoming innkeeper tone. “May I help you?”
“That depends,” the younger woman said, her low, husky tone a soft purr. She set her hand on her bulging belly, a small, plain diamond ring winking on her ring finger. The move should have been maternal. But somehow it came across as less protective and more arrogant. As if she’d done something singular and spectacular that no other woman in the history of the world had ever accomplished. “Are you Fay?”
“Yes,” Fay said slowly, wondering at her own hesitancy.
“Then you can definitely help me. You can help me,” she repeated, her eyes gleaming with what could only be described as malice, “by not screwing my fiancé anymore.”
ZACH RAISED HIS EYEBROWS. Glanced at Fay—who, for all her blushing earlier, had gone completely white.
It was like he’d walked onto the set of one of Abuelita’s stories, the Mexican soap operas she watched religiously every afternoon. The ones he might have caught a glimpse of once or twice while recovering from his injuries at his mother’s house. Enough of a glance to know they were filled with beautiful people and intrigue, and pregnancies, infidelities and secrets reigned supreme.
Enough to recognize the lead-up to a hair-pulling, face-slapping catfight when he had a front-row seat. Looked like more fun on TV.
Fay shook her head, her hair swishing against her shoulders, the sweet scent of her shampoo releasing into the air. “You have the wrong idea,” she rushed out, eager, it seemed, to state her case. “I’m not...” She gestured between herself and Zach. “We’re not having an affair. We just met.”
Upgraded from the front row to smack-dab in the middle, Zach thought.
“Not me,” he said, but if Fay’s frown was anything to go by, she wasn’t getting it. “I’m not her fiancé. I’m not in the habit of proposing to teenagers. Or getting them pregnant.”
That would be following a little too closely in his old man’s footsteps.
The brunette’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I’m twenty-one.”
Zach smirked. “Not even if you showed me a birth certificate.”
She crossed her arms. “I’m almost twenty-one.”
Right. Like his younger sister, Daphne, had been almost twenty-one when he’d found out she’d been bar hopping as a college sophomore.
Nineteen and a half wasn’t almost twenty-one no matter how you did the math.
“Who...who is your fiancé?” Fay asked the brunette, her voice unsteady. Her expression made it clear she was not only lost in this little unfolding drama, floundering for a way back to somewhere safe, but that she was out of her element, too. Uncomfortable with confrontation.
Unable to stand up for herself.
The brunette snorted out a laugh. “What’s the matter? Are you screwing so many engaged men you can’t keep track?”
“I’m not...sleeping with any man. With any engaged man,” she added, her voice getting stronger.
“You’re a liar.” The brunette raised her chin. “And a slut.” She edged forward and Fay shrank back. “I know he was here last night. Don’t bother denying it. He admitted the whole thing. How you called him, begging him to come over. How you threw yourself at him. Well, I’m here to tell you that Shane is mine.”
At the name, Fay’s head snapped back and she seemed to crumple into herself. “You’re not... Shane’s not your...he’s not getting married.”
Zach’s eyebrows rose. A new twist to this drama. But one thing was clear. Shane—whoever he was—was a lying, cheating bastard.
“This ring,” the brunette said, holding her hand up to show off what had to be the smallest diamond in history, “and the fact that I’m carrying his baby, say otherwise. You need to stay away from him.”
“No,” Fay repeated louder. “You’re lying.”
The brunette rolled her eyes. “Yes, because I don’t have anything better to do than track down my fiancé’s ex-wives and pretend to be engaged.”
Zach ducked his head to hide his grimace. Mystery solved. Shane was Fay’s ex-husband. And she didn’t want to let him go.
“I’m Shane’s wife,” Fay said, and Zach was surprised to hear a bit of steel in her voice. “His