Getting Lucky

Chapter 13

ALONE IN THE KITCHEN, LILY CHOPPED, DICED, AND minced everything that wasn't nailed down. Restlessness burned through her veins and along her skin like a fast-spreading rash. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to get the session with Zach in the upstairs hallway out of her mind.

Whoever would have guessed that a guy so hard-edged aggressive could kiss with such devastating subtleness and restraint? At least at first he had. But then he'd really got cooking, and…

Heat suffused her. She stared blindly across the kitchen as she relived those too few moments, her knife suspended over the potatoes she was currently reducing to uniform cubes. Again she experienced the hunger with which he'd kissed her, recalled the hard length of him wedged solidly between her thighs, remembered the friction and heat she'd felt as he'd rocked and ground against her, generally driving her insane.

The knife slipped from her fingers with a clatter. Startled, she jerked back to reality, and reached for a napkin to blot the perspiration that dotted her forehead, her cleavage, her upper lip. What was it about that man?

A different president had been in office the last time she'd had sex, and she'd never been the sort of woman to tumble into bed with a guy simply because she liked the cut of his jeans. Even if he was a great kisser.

So she was safe. It was a case of momentary lust, that was all. Refuse to give into it, and it would pass.

Only…

What if that wasn't all? A small moan escaped her. It hardly seemed credible, but she had an awful feeling she was starting to harbor feelings for Zach. Genuine, caring feelings.

She tried to push the thought aside, for the very idea scared her silly. She couldn't care for him. Not only had she not known him long enough, but to care— stop thinking the word, darn it !—would threaten her lifelong dream to settle down in one place and open her own restaurant. The last thing she wanted was to fall for some soldier whose very profession was synonymous with moving. She'd had a bellyful of that lifestyle already.

Besides, you had to really know a person in order to care for him, and she didn't have a clue who the real Zachariah Taylor was. Was he the guy who could be totally rude and crude and talk to her as if she were some no-account bimbo? The devil who'd kissed her like his soul was on the brink of damnation and she was his salvation—or more realistically, like he was determined to pull her into the Dark Side with him? Or was he the man who'd stopped for a second at the bottom of the stairs to make sure she was all right?

Maybe he was all three. Right this moment, though, it was the man who'd kissed her senseless who, quite frankly, kept drawing her thoughts off track. Oh, Lord, that mouth. That hot and talented mouth—

Holy smokes, enough already! Yanking off her apron, she found some containers, scraped the various mounds of vegetables into them, and put everything into the fridge. She had to get out of here. Get her mind on something else. Now .

Moments later, after a quick detour to her room for her purse, she knocked on Jessica's door. It was obvious the other woman was surprised to see her standing there, but Jessica had gracious behavior down to a fine art, and she quickly masked her reaction.

"Well, hi," she said and stepped back from the door. "Please. Come in."

Lily waved away the invitation. "I don't mean to intrude on your private time. I just wanted to bring you this"—she extended the lipstick she'd promised earlier—"and ask directions to a decent grocery store. I was doing some meal planning and realized I'm going to need a few supplies. Especially the fresh stuff like veggies and fruit, and milk and eggs."

Jessica grasped her arm and tugged her over the threshold. "Come in," she repeated. "Let me just put on some shoes, and I'll drive you into Eastsound."

"Oh, you don't have to—" But Lily cut off her protest as she followed Jessica into a cozily furnished suite. No sense in working overtime to sabotage herself; Jessica's help would be much appreciated. "That is—if you're sure it's not too big a bother?"

"Not at all. I wouldn't mind getting out for a while, myself." She peered uncertainly down at the lipstick in her hand. "I'll just go brush my teeth and apply a little of this, and then we can take off. Make yourself comfortable; I'll be right back."

She left the room, and Lily gazed around curiously, happy for the opportunity to get a closer look at the touches that gave the room its welcoming warmth. She was admiring two small quilts that hung over the navy velvet couch and one that was draped over the back of an antique rocking chair when Jessica returned wearing shoes and lipstick, and carrying a small purse in her hand. Lily gave her a quick smile, then went back to studying the craftsmanship in the wail quilts. "Are these your work?"

"Yes."

"My God, Jessica, they're fabulous. These are what you called your little hobby? I'm surprised you're not selling them professionally."

Jessica joined her in front of the exquisitely crafted blue, sand, and bronze-toned pair. Her expression was skeptical as she gazed at them. "You really think they're good enough to sell?"

"Yes! My goodness, I've seen quilts that aren't half this nice selling for hundreds of dollars. Do you have any others?"

Jessica emitted a sound that in a less mannerly woman might have been considered a snort and walked over to an old leather and brass humpbacked trunk. She opened it and removed its top tray to reveal the stack of quilts within, an eclectic conglomeration of patterns, colors, and sizes.

Lily sank to her knees on the hardwood floor in front of the trunk. Reaching in, she pulled out several quilts and examined them avidly. "Wow." She tore her gaze away long enough to look up at their creator. "I feel like I'm in the yuppy version of Santa's workshop."

Jessica's cheeks turned pink with pleasure. "You really like them that much?" At Lily's enthusiastic nod, she asked, "You want one?"

"Are you crazy? You can't just give these away!"

"Sure I can. You gave me a lipstick."

"Yeah, worth fifteen bucks. This"—her hands hovered over the rich terra cotta, black, and clay colored primitive-style quilt that was her favorite—" this has to be worth hundreds of dollars. Maybe even tens of hundreds."

Jessica grinned. "Boy, you're good for my ego."

"Yeah? Well, as long as I'm doing such a bang-up job, I gotta tell ya, you look really great in that lipstick." Then Lily laughed. "Okay, that's actually a stroke for my ego, since I called it right when I said the color would be perfect for you. But still. You've got pretty lips—you should showcase them all the time."

"Oh, my." Jessica laughed too, and pulled the quilt Lily had admired out of the stack and thrust it at her. "Here, you take this. I think you overestimate its worth, but even if you haven't, just hearing somebody say that something about me is pretty is worth—how did you put it?—tens of hundreds of dollars."

Lily hugged the quilt to her breast. "I passed up your first offer, but I only do my martyr act once. Don't even try to get this back now." She studied Jessica curiously as the other woman closed up the trunk and they let themselves out of the suite. "I imagine your husband must tell you you're pretty."

"Oh, well, sure, but… you know." She shrugged and looked uncomfortable. "Isn't it almost a rule that he has to say so? I think it's in the Official Husband's Handbook, or something."

"I wouldn't know about that; I've never been married. And I obviously don't know your husband well enough to form an ironclad opinion, but just offhand, he doesn't strike me as the type of guy to say stuff he doesn't mean." Lily realized that something about this conversational tack was making Jessica feel awkward, though, so she changed the subject. "Let's go drop this off in my room, and then we can hit the grocers. Are there any clothing stores where we're going? I could sure use something warmer than what I brought with me. If we hadn't left California in such a hurry, I might've taken a minute to realize the weather up here was bound to be colder than I'm used to."

She'd also left home without a lot of cash, so they hit the ATM machine first thing when they got to the small, picturesque town of Eastsound. Then, deciding to save the grocery shopping until last to avoid having to leave unrefrigerated food in the car, they dashed through the drizzle to the nearest clothing boutique.

Jessica watched Lily in baffled wonder as the other woman selected two warm sweaters and a lightweight rain jacket in about seven minutes flat, and some of her enjoyment in this unexpected shopping trip drained away. "Well, that's certainly demoralizing."

Lily paused on her way to the cash register to look back at her. "What is?"

"The way every woman in the world except me seems to be born knowing these things." At Lily's raised eyebrows, Jess waved a hand to indicate the garments the little blonde was about to purchase. "Everything you chose is perfect for you, and you didn't even have to think about it. How did you know exactly what to buy?"

Lily shrugged. "I figured out a long time ago what works best with my coloring and body type, and I just stick within the range I came up with."

"See what I mean? I wouldn't even have a clue what my range is."

Lily simply looked at her for a moment, then asked, "Who decorated your apartment at the house, Jessica?"

It seemed like an abrupt and odd switch in the conversation, but rather than let on Jessica politely admitted, "I did."

"And do you select all the fabrics for your quilts?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then you're certainly capable of learning what your range is. You have exquisite taste."

Jessica stared at her for a moment in arrested amazement; she had never considered that the one had anything to do with the other. Then she blinked, and reality once again reared its ugly head. "But that's entirely different."

"No, it's not. You've created a comfortable environment to live in. This is simply a matter of expanding that comfort and style to include the things you wear, the makeup you choose, and the way you style your hair. You figure out both your good and your not so good points and shoot for ways to accentuate the first and disguise the second."

Jessica's mind went utterly blank, leaving her incapable of coming up with even a hint of what her points were, good or bad.

But Lily didn't get impatient with her the way Cassidy always did when she wasn't quick enough on the fashion uptake. She simply said, "Let me give you an example. I'm busty and way too hippy, but my waist is nice and little, so the dilemma is how to accentuate the waist without bringing attention to the hips. My compromise is no-fuss clothing. I stay away from busy patterns and ruffles and puffs and the like. I tend toward straight, long lines with accessories that hint at my curves. And I love heels, partly because I'm short and they make my legs look longer and give me more height, and partly just because they're so darn pretty." She smiled unrepentantly and shrugged.

Jessica began to get a glimmer of what the other woman was talking about when she truly examined Lily for the first time and realized the petite blonde's figure wasn't perfect. She simply knew how to give the impression that it was.

"Also my complexion is mostly olive," Lily continued. "That gives me the option of wearing a variety of colors. But I've learned to steer clear of the brighter oranges and the yellower greens, because they make my skin look sallow." She fingered her necklace. "I adore jewelry, and you can probably tell I'm not your basic outdoorsy kind of woman. I rarely wear rings, though, because I do have a career that can be very messy, especially on the hands, and I lean toward jeans for both work and everyday use, because I can press them to make them look a little dressier, but they're still a practical garment that can take a lot of abuse." Lily steered Jess over to the three-way mirror in the corner of the shop and gently turned her to see her own reflection. "Now you try it."

Jess studied herself for a minute, men blew out a breath. "I'm an indoor-outdoor woman," she said softly. "I spend most of my time inside, but I also like to tramp the cliffs. I don't have a career, or even a job, but like Cassidy, I volunteer on a number of charitable committees that call for dressier day wear and some evening apparel." Then she faltered. Saying what she did was easier than assessing her pluses and minuses—especially when she felt she had more minuses.

"You have a delicate bone structure," Lily prompted.

Jess met her gaze in the mirror. "That's a very diplomatic way of putting it. I'm skinny :"

"Yeah? I'd love to hear you ask the nine out of ten American women who constantly struggle with their weight how sorry they feel for you because you think you're too slender."

"Easy for you to say," Jess snapped, and it didn't even occur to her to be appalled by her abrupt lack of manners. "You're stacked."

' 'Boobs , you're talking about?" Lily made a rude noise. "Please. You can buy those anywhere. Every lingerie department from Victoria's Secret to Walmart offers some form or another of padded, water-filled, or gel-filled bras. You can always beef up that area, but trust me on this, you cannot subtract excess curves to get the kind of slinky little hips that you've got. Neither can those of us who are more height challenged add inches to get those long legs. So quit your whining."

Jessica laughed in surprised gratification and studied herself more closely. "Okay, I have"—she cleared her throat—"delicate bone structure. And long legs and slender hips."

"And pretty lips."

"Yes, and pretty lips that look good in this shade of lipstick." Beginning to see she did possess pluses, she gained confidence. "I have nice skin, but…" She plucked at her sweater. "This color is all wrong for me, isn't it?"

"Too pastel," Lily agreed. "It washes you out. And a style less bulky would be more flattering. Something like these." She led Jess over to a stack of chenille sweaters that zipped up the front and had a different type of stitching through the midsection that lent a hint of a waistline. "Yep, I bet these would look good on you. What color grabs your fancy?"

Jessica reached for a rich golden brown, but then dropped her hand to her side, figuring it'd probably make her look like a big brown wren. But Lily pulled it out of the stack.

"I think most of us tend to be drawn to the colors that look good on us," she said. "Not always, of course, but more often than not." She held the sweater up to Jessica. "Look, you have excellent instincts. This brings out the highlights in your hair and makes your skin look really creamy. Try it on."

By the time they finished shopping that afternoon, Jessica found herself the proud owner of two new sweaters, new makeup, and even a new pair of shoes. She'd tried to protest the latter, citing the practicality of her current pair of casual oxfords.

But Lily had merely looked at her with raised eyebrows and demanded, "Practical for what, plowing the lower forty? I'm not suggesting you toss them away, Jess, just save them for tramping the cliffs. Meanwhile, buy yourself these darling ballerina flats for the less athletic moments. Heck, if you're looking for practicality, slip-ons have that in spades. Think about it: For someone who likes to go barefoot in her own apartment, this style is much easier to kick off and slide back into. Not to mention how good pretty can be for your health. It relieves stress. I can testify that seeing you wear something other than those big old clodhoppers has dropped my stress level considerably."

So Jess laughed and bought them, secretly delighted. She knew her new purchases and a few quick lessons in applying makeup wouldn't magically transform her into a beauty. And it certainly wouldn't address her worries concerning her marriage. But for nearly the first time in her life, she felt stylish. Not just passable or neat, but genuinely stylish. And that made her feel attractive. It was as if a light had come on, as if the secrets that other women took for granted had finally decided to reveal themselves to her, too. And even knowing that sooner or later Lily would go back to California, Jess felt confident she was actually learning the skills to continue making choices that would highlight her assets.

There was a surprising amount of power in that.

It was getting late when Zach heard the knock, and he swore softly into the phone. "Someone's at my door."

"Then I'll let you go," Rocket promptly replied.

"And don't worry; I'll start looking into the background of Beaumont's family right away."

"You're the man, Miglionni. Something is sure as hell fishy here, and if anyone's got the juice to dig me up a motive, it's you." They settled on a time for him to call back for the results, and Zach hung up just as another knock sounded at his door.

"I'm coming, already," he growled, and strode over to yank it open. "Hold your damn hors—" At the sight of the woman on the other side of the door, the words dammed up in his throat.

Because the last person he expected—or wanted—to see was Lily.

And the last place he wanted to see her was in his bedroom.

But there she stood, all five and a third feet of her in her crazy sky-high heels, looking like sin incarnate and smelling like heaven. He didn't want to let her in, and he opened his mouth to make an excuse—any excuse—so he could shut the door in her face and safely keep her on the other side. But before a single word left his lips, she sashayed right past him into his room. The next thing he knew, she was crossing within a foot of his bed and bringing with her every damn memory he'd struggled all day long to suppress.

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "Well, hey, c'mon in," he said with carefully understated irony. "Make yourself right at home."

She turned to him. "I've been thinking."

"Ah. I thought I smelled something burning."

She gave him a look that was surprisingly repressive for a woman who was anything but repressed. "Very funny. You need a minute to get all your blonde jokes out of your system, or do you wanna hear what I have to say?"

He could use a minute, all right, but not to assemble his arsenal of jokes. The woman scrambled his brain. He'd been raised to be polite to women, yet every time he turned around he found himself acting rude as hell toward this one.

Still… did he want to hear what she had to say? No . He didn't want to have to deal with her, period. Then again, she looked as if she were about two seconds away from walking over and taking a poke at him with one of those competent little fingers of hers, and he really didn't think he could handle her touching him right now. He didn't trust what he'd do if she laid hands on him—and wasn't that a hell of a thing for a trained warrior to have to admit? Yet it was nothing short of the truth. It was all he could do just to squelch the fantasy that raced through his mind of the various ways he could keep those capable hands busy. So he gave her a brisk, impersonal nod and said, "My apologies. What have you been thinking?"

"That somebody really ought to call the police about the kidnapping."

That actually took his mind off wondering what it would be like to lay her down on the bed just a few steps behind her.

At last. Someone who showed a little common sense. He gave her a wholly approving look that for once didn't have a thing to do with her sex appeal. "You and me both, sweetheart."

"You agree?"

"Hell, yes. You heard me arguing this morning wi— No, I guess that was before you came downstairs." He rolled his shoulders. "Anyway, I had this very argument with Mrs. Beaumont. Christ, Lily, I'm a soldier—I believe in the system. But not only did Mrs. B. threaten to kick my butt out of here if I called in the feds over her objections, she said she'd deny Glynnie and David were even kidnapped!"

Lily looked properly horrified, and he was filled with a sudden comradely warmth toward her. He took a few steps closer.

"That's just plain foolish!" she said indignantly.

"Amen to that." He couldn't believe he hadn't realized before how intelligent she was.

"So what do we do?"

"We proceed cautiously. We've got five days to work on her, and Rocket—" At her furrowed brow, he cut himself off to say, "You remember my friend John Miglionni who stopped by the house?" He got a flash of Rocket laughing himself silly on the phone a few minutes ago after he'd started to tell Zach he'd discovered Lily was exactly who she'd claimed to be, and Zach'd had to admit he'd already found that out for himself. Then, recalling his behavior when he'd introduced them back in Laguna Beach, not to mention the way he and John had double-teamed her, he braced himself for an acid response.

But she merely nodded. "Of course. Mr. Sensitivity. You call him Rocket?"

"Yeah, it's his Marine handle. He's a private detective now, and he's checking out the reliability of the local FBI." He patted her shoulder with companionable bonhomie as he explained the reason for John's inquiries.

Big mistake. She was soft and warm beneath his fingers, and it took an effort to remove his hand. He rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to eradicate the feel of her and groped for the hail-brothers-well-met emotions of a moment ago. He cleared his throat. "Don't, uh, worry about it, okay? One way or the other—hopefully with the feds' help, but even without it—I will see to it that everything works out all right."

Lily stared up into his eyes, and blinked when she saw their normal gray watchfulness all warmly avuncular as he gazed back down at her. She didn't get this guy—she didn't get him at all.

Oh, not the trust-me-I-can-take-care-of-everything attitude—that struck her as pretty typical of the Zach she'd come to know. But earlier today he'd kissed her like she was the hottest woman in the known universe— and now he was patting her like a decrepit old dog? Good Lord. And to think she'd hesitated to come to his room for fear he'd jump to the wrong conclusion. Talk about worrying over nothing.

And how immature was it to be a little bent out of shape that the need had been removed? Heck, it wasn't as if she wanted to pick up where they'd left off. She stared at the pale scar that bisected his upper lip. Did she?

No, of course she didn't. But really, was she the only one who remembered the way they'd been all over each other just a few short hours ago?

Impulsively, she reached out and touched his chest. "Zach," she said… then realized she didn't have the first idea where to go from there.

Before she could decide, Zach's hand whipped out to grip hers. He jerked it away from the soft red material covering those hard, muscular planes. 'You don't want to be doing that," he growled. "Or maybe you do. Either way, be damn careful what signals you send out, Lily, because I'm not in the mood to be teased."

His eyes, when hers snapped up to meet them, were no longer the least bit avuncular. They were molten and intense, and seemed to see right down to her skin.

And suddenly she didn't have a doubt in the world that he remembered every single thing about that encounter.