It Had To Be You Read online

  Even now, he sat at the head of the dining room table slouched in his chair, his chin propped on his open palm, his elbow on the padded arm of the chair. He hadn’t even attempted to eat the steak and lobster his chef Kim had prepared. No one seemed to mind. He had to admit he hadn’t seen his mother this happy since Paige’s marriage to Shane.

  There had been a few tense moments when Shane and Paige arrived earlier that afternoon. Paige had shaken her head at him, hugged him, and murmured words of comfort.

  Shane had simply said, “You look as bad as Rio said. Good thing, too.”

  The man was as hard as Zach remembered—unless he was looking at or holding Paige—but as Zach had told Trent, whatever they did to him, he couldn’t feel any worse.

  Trent. My big brother. Zach might have rejected the arm and the offer of help if he hadn’t seen the happy tears in their mother’s eyes. He’d simply reached for her. She’d come, clutching both men to her, murmuring over and over, “My sons. My sons.”

  His mother sat to his immediate right, Paige next to her. Trent sat to his left. When Dominique pulled out a camera, it was all he could do not to ask her to put it away.

  “Oh, Dominique, thank you,” his mother said, pulling Zach and Trent to either side of her.

  “You know I wouldn’t forget.” Dominique lifted her Nikon. “You can add them to the other pictures. Smile, Zach. This is a momentous occasion.”

  He’d tried to smile for his mother. He understood how important this was to her. Earlier Dominique had pulled him to one side and explained that his mother didn’t want anyone outside the family to know Trent was hers. She didn’t want Paige or Zach hurt by cruel gossip.

  Zach felt his temper spike again as it did then. She’d sacrificed so much for her family. His father had been a hard, unforgiving man. He wouldn’t have let her forget. Yet she’d stayed with him even after her parents died, leaving her a wealthy woman in her own right. She’d stayed for Zach and Paige.

  He straightened. “Dominique, if you’ll trust the housekeeper with your camera, I’d like one of my whole family. That includes you.”

  She flashed him a smile and came to her feet. “I have a tripod and timer in my bag.”

  Trent swallowed, cleared his throat. “Dominique is pretty laid-back unless it comes to her cameras. She doesn’t let anyone else handle them.”

  “She’s famous for her photography,” his mother said. “Where should we stand?”

  “By the open terrace door,” Dominique said, setting up the equipment. “Trent, you on one side of your mother. Zach, on the other, with Paige beside you. Shane beside Paige. I’ll stand beside Trent. Ready.” Dominique hurried to Trent’s side. “On the count of three. One. Two. Smile. Three.”

  The flash went off.

  Zach tried to move, and couldn’t. Standing in the doorway was Laurel, looking beautiful and weary. He started for her.

  Laurel held out her arms to keep Zach from touching her, but he kept walking. He crushed her to him, his body trembling—or was that hers? Her eyes closed as memories and need and, yes, love, washed over her.

  “My heart,” he murmured, his mouth pressed against her hair.

  Tears she’d promised not to shed filled her eyes, then rolled down her cheeks. “You lied to me,” she murmured, hearing the anger, the betrayal in her voice.

  Lifting his head, he took her face in his hands and stared down at her. “I’m paying the price. Nothing has been the same for me since the night you walked away from me. But most of all, seeing the tears in your eyes, the disillusionment, is worse than anything I’ve ever gone through. I’d give anything to go back and make this right. Each tear in your eyes is like a dagger in my heart.”

  She felt more tears slide down her face. She pressed her lips tighter together. If she tried to speak, she’d start bawling.

  “Please don’t cry, honey. Please.” He kissed her forehead. “Somehow I’ll fix this. I promise.”

  Out of the corner of her eyes she saw two women pass her. Laurel abruptly stepped back. She’d seen them when she came in but, as usual, when Zach touched her, everything else faded. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.” She turned to leave.

  “No!” The cry of distress as much as the hand on her wrist kept her from taking another step. “No,” Zach repeated.

  Her gaze went to his and stayed.

  “If you leave, I’m not sure I can go through another night knowing you’re lost to me. I can’t.”

  Indecision held her still. The tortured soul standing before her wasn’t the same self-assured, decisive man she’d met in Mexico or dealt with in the studio. He was in pain and openly showing it.

  “Hello, Laurel. I’m Joann Albright, Zach’s mother. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  Laurel jumped and turned to see a striking woman with Zach’s eyes. Automatically, she took the hand offered. “Mrs. Albright.”

  “I’m Paige Elliott, his sister, and this is my husband, Shane,” the woman beside her said, extending her hand.

  Ingrained politeness made Laurel shake hands with Zach’s sister and her husband. She noticed that another couple kept walking.

  With one hand still holding hers, Zach caught the arm of the man leaving. “This is—”

  “A friend,” the man finished. “Trent Masters. This is my wife, Dominique.”

  More handshakes. Laurel felt a bit disoriented. “I didn’t mean to disturb your dinner.”

  “You didn’t,” Mrs. Albright said. “Perhaps you can get Zach to eat. I’ll ask his chef to bring you both fresh plates when I’m on my way out.”

  “In the meantime, we have to be going or we’ll be late to the theater,” Dominique said.

  “Good-bye,” Mrs. Albright said, briefly hugging Laurel, then smiling at her. “I’ve waited a long time to meet you. Thank you.”

  A lump lodged in Laurel’s throat.

  Paige stepped forward and gently touched her arm. “He was lost without you.”

  Laurel snuck a peek at Zach. He looked as miserable as she felt. “Served you right,” she said, then clamped her hand over her mouth.

  Laughter filled the room. She flushed with embarrassment and looked away from Zach, but not before she saw the slight tilt of his mouth upward.

  “You’ll do,” Shane said.

  “She certainly will. Let’s get out of here,” Trent said, reaching for the door and urging everyone from the room.

  “Wait,” Zach called. “You’re all coming back to spend the night, aren’t you?” Before tonight his mother, Paige, and then Shane had always stayed with him when they were in town.

  His mother blinked rapidly and reached for Trent and Paige’s hand. “Yes.”

  “But not until late,” Trent said meaningfully. “We’ll call.”

  Zach understood the subtle message. They’d give him his privacy and time to talk. Somehow Trent had gotten her there. He just might make it as a big brother after all. “Thanks. See you all later,” he told them and then turned to Laurel. He wasn’t letting go of her until she listened and forgave him.

  “Good-bye,” Laurel said, still looking a bit weary and dazed. He wasn’t sure what she had expected or how Trent had gotten her here; he was just grateful he had.

  “Come on, let’s go outside.” Not waiting for her to answer, Zach walked onto the terrace with Laurel’s hand still in his. It felt so good just to hold her, smell her sweet scent. He took the winding brick path leading to the plunge pool. With each step he realized the area with palm tress, dense ferns, and flowering shrubs reminded him of Playa del Carmen. He just hoped Laurel would remember the love and not the deception.

  He stopped at the slate edge of the pool. Water gently glided over the curved edge and flowed into the curved receptacle. His hand flexed, felt hers tremble. In Mexico they’d made love in the pool and on the beach.

  He lifted her chin with his fingers. His heart clenched painfully in his chest. Her eyes were closed, but tears still seeped from beneath her lids. “Baby, no
, please.” Gathering her in his arms, he kissed her forehead, her cheek. “I never meant to hurt you.”

  “You did.”

  He flinched at the pain in her voice. “I know, and saying I’m sorry isn’t enough. But I’d like to explain.” When she didn’t say anything, he picked her up, felt her tense, and sat with her on one of the lounge chairs facing the wild tangle of trees and bushes that dropped over the side of the steep hill at the back of his house.

  He refused to think this would be the last time he’d hold her. “The first time I heard your music was shortly after my father’s death. I was still grieving, still dealing with him calling my music useless noise.”

  She jerked up to stare at him. “He did what?”

  “Called it useless noise.” Repeating the words didn’t hurt as much as it once had because they had gotten her to look at and talk to him. “He favored classical music.”

  “Is—is that why you wanted to produce my album?”

  She deserved honesty. “Partly. But your music touched something in me, helped me deal with my grief at his loss. The night I first heard you, I immediately downloaded every one of your CDs. Unless I working on a project, that’s the only music I play.”

  She stared at him. He couldn’t tell if she believed him or not.

  “I want to show you something.” Setting her on her feet, he took her hand and went back inside to his office, to his home recording studio, and left her standing in the door of his bedroom while he hit the remote control. Her music flowed out from the built-in speakers.

  She frowned, shaking her head when he stood before her. “But you’re known for hard-hitting rap.”

  “It doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy and appreciate other music.”

  Her chin lowered, then lifted. “I never thought of myself as being a snob or being prejudiced, but it seems I am.”

  “You love what you love,” Zach said gently. “I’ve always enjoyed music, from the simplistic tinkling of a wind chime to the intricate classics of Chopin or Beethoven to stirring gospel.” He leaned over to whisper. “I cried when Mahalia Jackson sang ‘Trouble of the World’ in Imitation of Life.”

  “So did I.” A slight smile touched her lips.

  “Come on, let’s go downstairs to the dining room.” Lacing his fingers with hers, he started back down the black spiral staircase. “We can eat and I can try to explain.”

  “I’m not hungry,” she said.

  He stopped, studied the dark smudges beneath her eyes, and tugged her down to sit on the stairs. “Remember when I told you that me being in Mexico was a willful, petulant act of self-indulgence?”

  She nodded, and he continued. “I was angry that you’d turned me down without even talking with me or my agent. I was even angrier that you believed all those lies about my reputation with women and used that as a reason not to work with me. I followed you to make you change your mind, confident and cocky that I could.” His thumb stroked across the top of their clasped hands. “I shaved my beard so if you had seen any recent photos of me, you wouldn’t recognize me.”

  Her hand reached toward his clean-shaven face. “I never paid that much attention to the pictures of you. I’m trying to imagine with you a beard.”

  He kissed their joined hands. “The beard stays off. This is the face that captured your attention. I’m not taking any chances. In any case, I told myself that it would be to your benefit so I didn’t have to worry about not telling you or Paige the entire truth.”

  He stared at her, let his fingertips graze her cheek. “Then I saw you and knew I was in trouble. Despite what you might have heard, I have never been involved with a recording artist I was producing.”

  “What about the ones you weren’t producing?”

  “I really wish you hadn’t asked me that,” he told her, then continued, “before I met you, I hadn’t been with a woman in over a year.”

  She glanced away and tugged her hand. His hold tightened.

  “I have never gone to such lengths to acquire a client, never cooked for any one of them, never had one spend the night in my bed, never watched one sleep for the sheer pleasure it gave me, never been so scared that I might not see her again.”

  She stopped tugging and stared at him. “You do have a gift for words.”

  “I don’t want to lose you. I know this is my fault.” He kissed her hand. “Peterson rightly thinks you’re a fabulous recording artist and doesn’t want to lose you. The grapevine says you want out of your contract.” His hand trembled in hers. “It’s a given that he will let you go in the hope that when you’re ready to play again—which will be soon—you’ll sign with Arial again. You can then go home to Nashville.”

  “You want me to leave you?”

  Never. It will shatter me. “What’s best for you is more important than what I want,” he told her quietly. “If I’m lucky, one day you’ll believe that.”

  A smile he thought he’d never see again spread across her face. “I already do.”

  He jerked her to him, his mouth finding hers. His tongue plunged into her mouth, dancing with hers, tasting her sweetness. Her rounded, perfect breasts pushed against his chest, the firm peaks nudging him. He held heaven in his arms. Finally, he had to come up for air.

  “You’ll never be sorry for trusting me.”

  “I better not be.” Her face grew serious. “I understand about you wanting to make the album for your father. This will be the first one I’ve done since I lost my own father.” She briefly closed her eyes. “I didn’t get to spend as much time with him as I should have because of practicing and touring.”

  “I saw your father in an interview once. He was proud of both of his daughters,” Zach said. “I remember him saying that he was blessed to share his talented daughters with the rest of the world.”

  She smiled slightly. “I remember the interview. He was a great father.”

  “Remember the good times you had and be thankful,” Zach said. “You were one of the lucky ones.”

  She nodded. “Thanks for the reminder. And now you need to make a phone call.”

  Lines raced across his brow. “What are you talking about?”

  “You are not signing an exclusive contract with my record label so they’ll let me out of my contract.”

  Surprise widened his eyes. “How did you know?”

  “Let’s say someone who loves you told me.” She came to her feet. This time she was tugging his hand. “I’m starving all of a sudden. I can’t imagine you not having a fabulous chef. Let’s go see what your mother had him prepare.”

  “Not so fast.” He held both of her arms. “You have a phone call to make yourself.”

  Her eyes hardened. “I’ll stop my lawyer from trying to buy out my contract, but this might be my last album for Arial Records in any case. I used to think they cared about me and my music, but all Peterson and the executives care about is money.”

  “To give Peterson his due, he does appreciate you and your talent, but he was afraid if he let you out of your contract he’d set a precedent that might cause problems with other artists later on,” he told her.

  “We’ll see,” she said, her voice noncommittal.

  He shook his head. “How could I have forgotten you could be stubborn?” He kissed her on the lips and pulled her into his arms again. “Just as long as you don’t forget I care about you. I was afraid I’d never hold you again.”

  “I was angry.”

  “And hurt. No more lies.” He lifted his head and blew out a breath.

  “What is it?” she asked, worry in her eyes.

  “I’ve never been involved with a woman I’m producing,” he said slowly. “It’s unethical.”

  She studied him a long time, slid her arms around his neck, and nipped his lower lip. He groaned. “Are you telling me you’re putting yourself off limits until the album is done?” she asked.

  His hands bracketed her small waist. He could remember all too well what she’d done in Mexico on the ATV jung
le tour when he’d tried to resist her. “Laurel, you’re going to kill me.”

  “Not yet.” She started down the stairs, her hips gently swinging.

  Zach was caught between a grin and another groan, then started down the stairs after her. His teasing Laurel was back.

  Eleven

  The chef had prepared steak and lobster. Zach and Laurel took their plates out onto the terrace to eat. A full moon shone overhead. “I want to know everything about you.”

  She forked in a bite of lobster and swallowed before answering. “You probably already know more about me than most people.”

  His hand briefly touched hers. “You haven’t given that many interviews. I read a music teacher visited your kindergarten class and introduced you to the violin and you didn’t want to give it up.”

  Laurel laughed at the memory and sipped her wine. “Mr. Baskin. Ms. Smith, my kindergarten teacher, was noted for her bell choir. Mr. Baskin was the new music teacher and wanted to introduce all the children to other types of music, so he brought the violin to demonstrate. It fascinated me the way the bow created the sounds, the way he seemed to draw music from the strings when all the sounds I managed were horrible. I was sure there was some trick to it and I was determined to find out.”

  He shook his head. “Stubborn. I never would have guessed it by looking at you.”

  “Determined.” Laurel cut her rare steak. “On the way home from school, I begged my father to take me by the music store. The moment the man at the store showed me how to hold the instrument, helped me draw a note that didn’t screech and hurt my ears, I knew I wanted to play the violin.”

  “You did, with passion and fire.” He stared at her for the pure pleasure it brought him. “You’ve played all over the world.”

  “All except the Teatro La Fenice.” She sat back in her seat. “Only a few people know it’s my Holy Grail.”

  “Thank you for trusting me.”

  “One day I’ll play there,” she told him.

  “You said you’d been to Venice,” Zach said. “I thought you were already scheduled.”