Too Close for Comfort Page 10

  Iona stepped back as he held the teenager for less than a second before depositing her back on ice-pick heels. ‘Feliz cumpleaños, Maricruz.’

  She did a twirl, making the fanciful tiers of white lace shimmer. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘You look great,’ Zane replied. ‘All grown up.’

  She grinned, her face flushed with excitement and the blush of pleasure. ‘Maybe now you’ll stop treating me like a niña.’

  The flirtatious sparkle in her glorious brown eyes was unmistakeable and Iona wondered if Zane knew his fifteen-year-old cousin had a crush on him. Was that the reason he looked so uncomfortable?

  ‘Maricruz, I want to introduce you to my date, Iona.’ Reaching behind, he grabbed her wrist and dragged her forward, tucking her against his side.

  ‘Oh, hello.’ Maricruz looked stunned for a moment—and not particularly pleased to see her.

  ‘It looks like a wonderful party,’ Iona said, grateful for the weight of Zane’s arm round her shoulders.

  ‘Thanks,’ the girl said a little sulkily, then beamed another winning smile at Zane. ‘Will you dance with me, Zane? Later, there are going to be some more waltzes.’

  ‘Sure, if we’re still here,’ he said.

  ‘You will?’ The sulkiness disappeared as quickly as it had come—and Iona felt a little sorry for the girl, guessing she hadn’t heard Zane’s qualification.

  ‘Yeah.’

  She sent Iona an impish grin that suddenly made the beautiful young woman look like an excited child. ‘I love your dress. Where did you get it? It’s so funky.’

  Iona felt the tension in her stomach ease at the girl’s open expression. ‘From a little shop in Edinburgh.’

  ‘What’s your accent? It’s way cool?’

  ‘Scottish.’

  ‘Awesome, like Braveheart.’

  Iona grinned back. At last, an American who knew a little about her homeland—even if it was based on Hollywood folklore. ‘Uh-huh. Among other things.’

  ‘Do the men really wear skirts there?’

  ‘Kilts,’ she corrected. ‘And yes, sometimes, although usually only for special occasions. They can be a bit draughty.’

  Zane tightened his arm round her shoulders. ‘Enough with the questions. Iona’s from Scotland, not the moon.’

  ‘If you think I’m bad, wait till you introduce her to the family. Forget questions, it’s going to be the Mexican Inquisition.’ Maricruz sent Iona a conspiratorial smile. ‘Zane never brings dates to family events.’

  The startling announcement had the bees buzzing back to life in Iona’s stomach.

  ‘You are gonna be the hot topic of conversation for months,’ the girl added.

  ‘We need to go get some food,’ Zane cut in. ‘We’ll see you later, Maricruz,’ he said, deliberately steering them away from the inquisitive teen.

  ‘I’ll save the next waltz for you,’ she called after Zane before being swallowed up again into the gaggle of teenage girls preening by the pool.

  ‘That’s not true, is it?’ Iona whispered above the music from the Mariachi band. She’d just started to feel a tiny bit more relaxed about coming, and now this?

  Taking her hand, Zane led her around the edge of the dancers towards a long table laden with food. He passed her a china plate and a cloth napkin. ‘Let’s grab some food before it goes—and then get out of here.’

  ‘I’m serious, Zane. I’m not really the first date who’s ever met your family, am I?’ she asked, holding the plate limply as he proceeded to heap it with food from the tureens.

  ‘Ignore Maricruz—she’s teasing you.’

  ‘That’s not an answer,’ she countered.

  He sent her a deliberately sexy smile, and her heartbeat skipped into her throat. ‘I don’t bring dates because I don’t usually come to these things if I can avoid them.’

  ‘Why would you want to avoid them?’ she asked, the panic replaced by confusion. Maybe the party was a little overwhelming, for a stranger. But he wasn’t a stranger, he was part of this family and, from what she’d seen so far, everyone seemed very warm and welcoming.

  He scooped up a generous helping of a fragrant rice and chicken dish. ‘Because I usually have a lot of other stuff I’d rather be doing, like tonight,’ he said, those striking blue eyes promising all sorts of heady excitement later in the evening.

  The heat that was never far from the surface flared to life. ‘I see.’

  He chuckled, the sound rich and confidently male. Then leaned close, and let his lips linger over the sensitive spot below her ear. ‘Now stop asking dumb questions and eat your arroz con pollo so we can get out of here.’

  As it turned out, getting away from Zane’s family was easier said than done. Before the two of them had managed to finish the delicious banquet leftovers, they had already been accosted by a parade of his relatives.

  The succession of tias and tios, primos and primas ranging in age from teens to pensionable age whose names and places in the Montoya family tree Iona would need a wall chart to keep straight soon began to blur into one. But two things became obvious very quickly—every one of them was overjoyed to see Zane at the party, and Zane was a lot less than overjoyed to be there.

  After close to twenty minutes of non-stop introductions, Iona was exhausted from all the attention they’d received—but also enthralled by Zane’s close-knit and affectionate family, and his place within it. Why was he so tense and uncommunicative with people that obviously loved and cared for him?

  Both questions she planned to ask him, the minute they managed to escape from their latest interrogator—his statuesque Tia Carmen, who if Iona’s memory was correct was married to Zane’s uncle, Carlos.

  When Carmen finally paused for a breath, Zane grasped Iona’s hand and butted in. ‘We need to go, Carmen. I’ll see you around.’

  Carmen’s mouth opened, as if she wanted to say more, but Zane was already dragging Iona away.

  ‘Shouldn’t we stay a little longer? We’ve been here less than an hour,’ Iona asked above the swelling music as the smooth strains of a waltz began and couples flooded past them onto the dance floor.

  He paused, quirked an amused eyebrow. ‘Hell, no. I think we’ve handled enough of the Mexican Inquisition for one night, don’t you?’

  ‘It wasn’t that bad. They’ve all been very sweet and very polite.’

  He gave a harsh laugh. ‘You call Roberto’s interrogation about where your family come from polite?’

  ‘I didn’t mind. He obviously cares about you—they all do.’

  He cupped her elbows, drew her towards him. ‘Will you stop being so damn earnest? It just makes me want you more.’

  She frowned at the deliberate evasion. ‘I’m serious. It’s nice to have people care about you that much. Why wouldn’t it be?’ How many times as a child had she gone to bed at night, wishing that her own mother could have given that much of a damn about her?

  The thought of all those unanswered prayers made her a little sad, even a little annoyed that Zane seemed determined to shun the family he had.

  He kissed her nose, gave a rough chuckle and then whispered against her ear. ‘Maybe because my life is none of their damn business.’

  He rubbed her arms, then took her hand in his. ‘We’ve only got a small window of opportunity. Let’s go.’

  But as they headed for the deck Iona noticed Maricruz, standing by the edge of the dance floor, watching them leave, her hands clasped in front of her and a defeated expression on her face.

  ‘No, wait, Zane.’ She yanked on his hand to stop him. ‘Maricruz’s waltz, you promised. And I think she’s waiting for you.’

  Raking his hand through his hair, he looked over her shoulder and swore softly, obviously spotting the girl—and her anxious expression.

  ‘It’s her special day—you must.’

  His gaze locked on hers and she could see that he was fighting a losing battle with his conscience. ‘Fine, I’ll do it,’ he said at last. Then grip
ped her upper arms. ‘But wait for me here, and don’t move a damn muscle. I’ll be back in ten minutes. Twenty tops? And then we’re leaving.’

  ‘Yes, Zane, although not moving a muscle may give me a cramp,’ she teased, stupidly touched that he’d opted not to break the promise he’d made to his cousin, however reluctantly.

  ‘Ha ha.’ Cupping her cheeks, he planted a hot, firm kiss on her lips—her insides churned with a potent mix of heat and embarrassment. ‘Stay put,’ he said, the command in his voice unequivocal. ‘Or there will be trouble.’

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ she chirped as he left.

  She wrapped her arms round her waist, her lips lifting as she saw him stop in front of Maricruz. The girl dropped into a low curtsy in her ballgown, her forlorn expression turning to one of unadulterated glee. The girl laughed, her joy painfully transparent as he led her onto the dance floor and her Court of Honour cheered.

  Iona sighed as she watched them together. Zane in his white shirt and dark trousers looked tall and impossibly dashing despite the fact that he was the only man on the floor not wearing a tuxedo. Perhaps it was his height—at six feet two or three he had several inches on the legion of teenagers dancing with their dates. Or maybe it was the tanned, chiselled features shadowed with stubble marking him out as a man and not a boy. Or maybe it was simply the effortless way he glided across the floor, his steps perfectly matched to Maricruz as he led the beaming girl in a series of perfectly executed twirls and dips. But as the romantic music swirled around her Iona realised it was more than Zane’s height or his looks or his dance skills that made him stand out so much: it was that aura of tension and distance that he wore like a cloak.

  No wonder Maricruz had a major crush on him. Iona could just imagine herself at that age. There was an air of danger about Zane, that lurked just beneath the surface of that lazy charm.

  ‘Hello, I’m Juana.’

  Iona jerked her gaze off Zane and his dance partner at the softly spoken interruption, to find a pair of astute coffee-coloured eyes studying her. ‘I’m one of Zane and Maricruz’s primos segundos. A second cousin,’ she clarified. ‘You’re Zane’s novia?’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, my name’s Iona. Iona McCabe,’ Iona replied politely, and offered her hand in greeting, even though she figured novia was a bit of an exaggeration—but she could hardly tell a girl who didn’t look much older than Maricruz that she wasn’t Zane’s girlfriend, she was simply his casual-sex fling. ‘Nice to meet you.’

  The girl grinned, then turned her gaze back to the dance floor. She held a palm to her chest and sighed. ‘Zane’s so awesome. What’s it like dating him? Is it really cool?’

  So Juana was another of Zane’s fan club.

  ‘It’s…’ Iona stumbled—cool didn’t quite cover what they’d done on their one date. ‘Yes, it’s pretty cool.’ And way hot.

  ‘I’m so glad he came, Maricruz would have been heartbroken if Zane didn’t show.’ The girl gazed at her. ‘So thanks for letting him.’

  ‘You’re welcome,’ Iona mumbled, confused. ‘Although it didn’t have much to do with me.’

  The girl smiled and shrugged. ‘It’s still nice that you’re not as stuck up as the rest of them.’

  ‘The rest of who?’

  ‘We think Zane only dates spoilt stuck-up women who don’t want him to mix with his family.’ The contempt in the girl’s voice spoke volumes. ‘Not that you’re one of those. You seem really nice,’ Juana added, her eyes widening as she realised she might have insulted Iona.

  ‘What makes you think those are the only women he dates?’ Iona asked, more curious than insulted. Juana was turning out to be a font of all knowledge.

  ‘Because of his father.’

  ‘What about his father?’ Iona asked, realising he’d never mentioned the man.

  ‘He was a rich pinche gringo.’ Iona had no idea what pinche meant but, from Juana’s hiss of disapproval, she didn’t think it was complimentary. ‘Not that any of us know who his father is. No one’s allowed to talk about it. Abuelo gets mad at anyone who even mentions Zane is half-Anglo—you won’t say anything, will you?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ Iona murmured, her mind spinning. It wasn’t that much of a stretch to guess that Zane might be mixed race, not with those pure blue eyes. But why, when the Montoya family seemed to have embraced multiculturalism—at least half of the guests at the party were ‘Anglo’ as Juana put it—was his parentage considered such a scandalous secret?

  But as she opened her mouth to quiz the girl, Juana hummed with pleasure. ‘Oh, look, Maria has cut in on Maricruz. That’s so sweet.’

  Iona shifted her gaze and her thoughts back to Zane and his dance partner, to see his hands resting on the waist of a statuesque vision in scarlet. All the air rushed out of her lungs.

  Sweet wasn’t the word she’d use. The woman oozed a stylish and classic sex appeal. Lush dark-chocolate hair tumbled down her back in a cascade of corkscrew curls, her hourglass figure spotlighted in a stunning red dress that hugged impressive curves but somehow managed to look demure rather than revealing.

  Maria? Who was she?

  But as she watched them together Iona knew exactly who she was. She had to be a past, possibly even a present lover—the familiarity and affection between them apparent in their co-ordinated dance moves, and the way Zane looked at her with none of the chill he reserved for members of his family.

  So that was the real reason why he hadn’t wanted to come tonight.

  As Juana continued to wax lyrical in hushed tones about how sweet they looked together, the sick sensation of betrayal gripped Iona’s stomach like a boa constrictor—and her vision dimmed. Why couldn’t he have told her that this woman would be here? And why had he insisted on bringing her along?

  A red haze began to descend over her eyes.

  Was this why he didn’t bring dates to family events? Because he knew she would be here? And yet he hadn’t thought to spare Iona that humiliation.

  Okay, maybe they were only a casual fling, and they hadn’t mentioned exclusivity, but she’d simply assumed that was a given.

  The waltz finished and both Zane and the bombshell turned towards the band and clapped politely. Then Iona watched, the boa in her stomach rising up to constrict around her chest as the woman leaned up on tiptoe, placed a hand on his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. The love in his gaze was clear and unequivocal even from this distance, the two of them appearing to be in their own private little world as the other guests milled around them. And the boa squirmed and writhed, turning into something more than sickening, more than humiliating.

  ‘Excuse me, Juana,’ Iona murmured before threading her way through the crowd at the edges of the dance floor.

  She should just go home, forget about him. They had no investment in each other. Just because she’d spent the last three days thinking about him, and the night they’d spent together. This was casual. Less than casual really. And clearly his relationship with Maria was not. She shouldn’t care if he had a hundred former girlfriends, a thousand that he cared about more than he cared about her.

  But somehow her feet kept moving forward, the boa rising up her throat. And she justified the confrontation she could feel racing towards her.

  She couldn’t go home. She was stranded here without a car. He’d introduced her to his family as his date. Didn’t he know how humiliating this was for her? To have him pawing another woman, while she was expected to stand on the sidelines and watch?

  She reached them just as the goddess threw back her head and laughed at something Zane said to her in Spanish.

  His eyes met Iona’s, the blue depths full of humour and not a trace of guilt or remorse.

  No, he didn’t know, she realised. Or he simply didn’t care. Because her thoughts, her feelings, her pride were of no importance to him.

  ‘Hey, Iona,’ he said, but she could hear the tension in his voice.

  ‘Could you take me home, please?’ she said. ‘No
w.’

  ‘Is there a problem?’ he replied, the flash of guilt replaced with confusion. Did he really think so little of her that he couldn’t guess what the problem was?

  ‘I’d like to go home and I need you to drive me there,’ she said through gritted teeth, determined not to raise her voice. ‘Or take me to the nearest bus station.’

  ‘Why would I drive you to a bus station?’ he said, sounding annoyed now too. ‘We’ve got plans for tonight, remember?’

  The red haze went purple. How could he mention that here? In front of his other woman? It insulted them both. ‘Not any more we haven’t.’ Her voice rose despite her best intentions. ‘I’m leaving and if you don’t want to take me, I’ll find someone who does.’

  ‘Think again.’ His fingers closed around her upper arm. ‘You came with me, which means you’re leaving with me.’

  She struggled against the iron grip. ‘I’ll do what I damn well please.’

  ‘Zane, let her go, you’re making a scene,’ the goddess remarked, her voice calm but her warm chocolate eyes alight with interest.

  Zane let her go, but ground out, ‘I’m not the one making the scene—she is.’

  Iona’s chest puffed up with indignation, but before she could give it to him with both barrels the goddess intervened again. ‘Iona, it’s a pleasure to meet you.’

  The snake coiled, but she refused to let it strike. She mustn’t lash out at this woman. It wasn’t her fault. It was Zane. He was the one who had brought her here under false pretences.

  ‘Look, Maria, I’m sure you’re a very nice person.’ The venom she didn’t want to admit to dripped from her tongue. ‘Zane certainly seems to think so. And it’s not your fault that he brought me along and then made us both look like fools.’ She shot her best squinty-eyed look at Zane to telegraph her anger. ‘But I’m not in the market for a threesome.’

  The woman’s eyebrows launched towards that glorious tumble of curls.

  ‘And I’m sure you’re not either,’ Iona continued, diligently ignoring Zane’s muffled oath and the shocked laugh that choked out of the woman’s lips. ‘Unfortunately, though, I’m stranded until he gives me a lift. But as soon as I get to the nearest bus station, he’s all yours.’