Accidental Fiancee

After a refreshing shower, she slipped into some silky undies they’d left for her. Pristine new. She had a feeling the women had gone shopping on the mainland, just for her. Once again feeling unworthy, she chose a light khaki cotton two-piece with a contrasting band of red at the rounded neck and hem. The waistband was elastic with a drawstring tie. It fit nicely. Not too snug; not too baggy. She hoped Susan and Mimi hadn’t bought these dresses, too. Surely not. Underwear she could understand, but not dresses.

She spied a pair of thong sandals and slid her feet into them. They felt strange, flat and flimsy. But she wasn’t up to wearing heels; her legs were still wobbly. She blessed the Merit women for their thoughtfulness, and vowed she’d get used to the leather strap between her toes.

A knock at her door made her turn. “Come in.”

She was startled to see Zack, since he hadn’t been by since that first night. He appeared every bit as startled to find her up and dressed.

She grinned at his expression. He had great eyes. Such a striking emerald color. Right now they were charmingly wide. “Good afternoon, Zachary,” she said, feeling suddenly very, very well. He looked fresh and cool in beige chinos and a plaid shirt of muted blues and greens. Why did the sight of this gorgeous hunk, whose discomfort at being around her was painfully obvious, make her light up inside? “You’re exactly the man I wanted to see.”

She thought she saw the tiniest flinch before he held up a small spiral notebook and pen. “I thought you’d want us to get going on that press release.”

She frowned, having completely forgotten about the reason she’d come to the island. With a contemplative nod, she walked toward him. Her last step was a mistake, since something went terribly wrong with her thong or her sapped leg muscles or the cushy carpet. She pitched forward, thudding into Zachary, face first.

“Oof!”

Olivia heard the guttural sound, but wasn’t sure if it had issued up from her throat or Zachary’s. Both of them had every right to cry out, since both had the breath knocked out of them—Zachary’s was due to her head-butt in his stomach, hers to his instinctive grab for her.

She did a little instinctive grabbing herself, and when the haze cleared from her brain, they were clasped together, her nose pressed in the V in his shirt. His mellow aftershave and the warmth of his skin registered strongly.

“If you’re too weak to stand up, you should get back into bed.”

She canted her head back to look at his face, unsettled by his coolly patronizing remark. “I’m not the hothouse pansy you think I am. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Most people who are perfectly fine can stand alone.”

Her feelings bruised, she blurted, “I’m just not used to my sex.”

“No?” He peered at her and she watched the slow sweep of his long lashes as his gaze narrowed. “I’d think you would be by now.”

What was that look? Skepticism. Wry humor? “After I walk in them a while, I’ll be okay. I’m just not used to such casual shoes.”

His lips twitched strangely, but only for the briefest instant. “Oh, shoes,” he said. “You’re not used to your shoes.”

She frowned. “Right. Is that funny?”

He shook his head and released her—almost. Running his hands up her arms, he stepped back as though making sure she wouldn’t fall on her face before he let her go. “You said you weren’t used to your sex.” He pursed his lips and cleared his throat. She had the horrible sensation he was stifling a chuckle.

She bit her lower lip, wondering if that would help staunch the blush creeping up her throat. “I didn’t,” she cried, rejecting the horrible notion. “I didn’t—did I?”

He let go of her and broke eye contact, stooping to retrieve the notepad and pen. “Forget it,” he said, sticking the items into his pocket. When he faced her, his features were entirely serious. “Why don’t I come back after you’ve had some time to practice walking in sandals, then we can get on with the press release.”

Irked by the taunt, she faced him solemnly. “Must you make cracks about everything I do?”

“You can’t walk on grass in heels and you can’t walk at all in anything else. What exactly do you do, besides fall down?”

That remark cut deep. To keep from showing him how much it hurt, she spun away. “I’m starved. But don’t fret, I bet I’ll find the kitchen without a wheelchair and a wilderness guide.” She stormed toward the door. “Thanks anyway.”

He didn’t answer.

“You’re a real prince,” Zack muttered to himself as he sat alone on the loggia. “She’s just out of her sick bed. She’s wobbly, and she stumbles into you and you act like she demanded that you scrub her back! She’s not looking for a fling. She’s not even flirting. She only wants to be your friend, but you cut her off at every turn. Why?” The trouble was, he’d met a lot of women who—well—who’d found him an enjoyable temporary diversion over the years. Until recently, that had been fine—beautiful women throwing themselves at him was every young man’s fantasy.

But these women invariably dropped him to run off and marry some solid citizen. Zack was weary of being Mr. Last Fling. At this stage of his life, he wanted something more substantial. It had been good to reconnect with his brothers and get to know their families. He hadn’t made progress with his dad, yet, but there was time.

Time.

He closed his eyes. Right now, he had nothing but time, and he was bored. Dinner was still an hour away. Marc was hard at work in the medical clinic and Mimi was in Portland chairing some “Save the Planet” meeting. Susan and Jake were overseeing work at the mine, their babies strapped to their backs. And George was taking his afternoon siesta.