Too Close for Comfort Page 11

  Iona swivelled her head at the hissed exclamation from Zane, whose temper seemed to have dissolved in shock. ‘Iona, you’ve got this all wrong.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she whispered furiously, finally noticing the absence of music, and the sea of watchful faces currently fixed on their little tableau. The sound of muffled laughter rippled through the crowd, making her mortification complete. ‘What?’ She glared at Zane, who simply thrust a hand through his hair and swore again.

  ‘Actually, Iona, it probably is my fault,’ the goddess announced as the laughter finally began to die down. ‘As I’m Zane’s mother.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  She gaped at the goddess. She had to be going deaf, or blind, or both. She simply could not have heard that correctly. This woman looked gorgeous, and glamorous, and not a day over forty. She’d never asked Zane how old he was but he had to be at least thirty? Didn’t he?

  ‘Maria Montoya, Iona.’ The goddess held out an expertly manicured hand. ‘Zane’s mother.’ She let out another little laugh, her expression friendly and giving, as if she were willing Iona to share the joke. ‘And believe me, it really is a pleasure to meet you. My son has always needed a woman with the courage to stand up to him.’

  Iona stared at the offered hand, sick waves of nausea hitting the rice and chicken and salsa she’d consumed. ‘But that’s…That’s not possible,’ she mumbled, the words barely discernible through the chainsaw buzzing in her eardrums. ‘It’s not. You’re too young.’

  ‘I wish that were true. But I’m flattered you think so.’

  The woman’s humour and the kindness in her gaze made the churning increase. Iona covered her mouth. What had she done? What had she said? How could she have insulted Zane’s mother that way? In front of his whole family? This wasn’t humiliating—it was practically certifiable.

  ‘I’m so, so sorry,’ she said, then turned and darted through the crowd, who parted before her like the Red Sea—or, rather, like people trying to avoid a certifiable nutjob.

  ‘Iona, wait up!’

  She accelerated, staggering past the Red Sea of amused, or astonished or simply stunned faces. These were people he and his mother knew, people who loved and respected him—even if he didn’t seem to share the sentiment—and she’d just made that situation even worse.

  She raced round the side of The huge house, having to push past those people who hadn’t witnessed the freak show she’d put on in the garden, eventually making it to the front lawn and stumbling down the stone steps. The driveway wound through the fields of dark vines plump with grapes, but she headed down it, her panicked mind deciding she would walk all the way back to Pacific Grove rather than ask Zane for a lift again.

  She got as far as the last car, when footsteps pounded on the gravel behind her and strong fingers grasped her arm.

  ‘Damn it, where are you going?’ he said, hauling her round to face him.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, desperate to hold back the tears, but unable to look him in the face. ‘I’ll be fine. It won’t take me long to make it to the road and I can hitch-hike from there.’

  ‘No way are you hitch-hiking anywhere. And it’s three miles to the road. And dark.’

  ‘Please, I’ll be fine, if you’ll just please, please, please, tell your mother how sorry I am.’

  He probably hated her now. And who could blame him? She’d made a laughing stock of them both.

  ‘My mother is tickled pink you think she’s in her thirties when she hit the big five-oh a couple of months ago.’

  ‘Your mother is fifty!’ What was one more shock in so many? ‘But how old are…?’

  ‘I’m thirty-four. She was sixteen when she had me.’ She could hear the sting in his tone—as if he’d been asked the question a thousand times and was tired of answering it.

  ‘Okay.’ Although it wasn’t. ‘That explains my mistake, but it still doesn’t make what I said any less mortifying.’

  ‘Iona, this is dumb. You’re overreacting.’

  ‘I said the word threesome to your mother!’ she yelped. ‘It’s horrific. Inexcusable. I made a terrible scene in front of your whole family.’

  He tucked a knuckle beneath her chin, forced her gaze to his, but the concern she saw made her stomach hurt.

  He probably pitied her now. And who wouldn’t? Why had she said those things? Why had she even cared that much? Why did she always make such an idiot of herself where men were concerned?

  ‘Iona,’ he said, his patience almost as painful as the pity she thought she saw. ‘Nuclear war is horrific. The famine in Africa is inexcusable. This is neither one. You made a mistake, that’s all. And my family is Latino—and full to bursting with drama queens. As scenes go, this doesn’t even register a two-point-five on the Richter scale of family drama.’

  She heard the distance in his tone, and while his observation made her feel a little better about the biggest faux pas in human history, she didn’t understand it. She’d just humiliated him in front of them. How could he not be mad as hell about that? Did their good opinion really mean so little to him?

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘ZANE, IS IONA okay?”

  Iona’s stomach revolted at the sight of the goddess—his mother—hurrying towards them down the driveway.

  ‘Yeah,’ Zane said bluntly. ‘But we’re leaving. We’ve both had about as much as we can take for one night.’

  Iona saw his mother flinch a little at the hostile statement and her stomach heaved. He shouldn’t talk to his mother like that.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ his mother soothed, looking genuinely apologetic, which only made Iona feel worse. ‘I’m frequently mistaken for Zane’s sister, but this is the first time I’ve ever been mistaken for his lover.’

  ‘Please don’t apologise to me.’ Iona closed her eyes, not sure she could bear this woman’s kindness now, after the hideous way she’d behaved. ‘You didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘Of course, if Zane had had the good sense to introduce me to you when you both arrived this would never have happened.’ Maria rounded on her son. ‘And don’t think I didn’t see you trying to leave early.’

  ‘I didn’t much want to come in the first place,’ he protested. ‘So don’t blame me for this, Maria.’

  Iona listened to the conversation in a trance, so mortified she figured the safest option was to keep her mouth shut.

  ‘Zane, isn’t it past time for you to let the anger go?’ his mother asked, cradling his cheek.

  He jerked his head back ‘We have to go,’ he said, and Iona saw the shadow of hurt in his mother’s eyes.

  ‘Zane, please…’

  ‘I’ll give you a call during the week sometime.’ He cut off her plea, then placed a quick kiss on her cheek, but the gesture was more guarded than giving.

  His mother nodded, her sadness and confusion making Iona’s chest ache. Why was he being so cruel? It wasn’t his mother’s fault that she’d made an idiot of herself—and the woman had a point: why hadn’t he made any effort to introduce them?

  ‘Adios, Iona,’ Maria said. ‘I will see you again, I hope.’

  Iona watched her walk back towards the party, the lingering magnolia of her scent adding a sultry glamour to the earthy perfume of the vines.

  ‘Your mum seems like a really nice person. It must have been great having her around as a kid,’ Iona murmured, the wistful observation popping out unguarded. ‘You shouldn’t have been angry with her. It wasn’t her fault.’

  ‘I know that,’ he murmured, giving a tired sigh before guiding her to his convertible. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  His dark hair shined black in the evening light as he opened the passenger door, those spectacular features cast into shadow by the glow of lantern light from the hacienda. But Iona could still see the unhappiness in his face, and felt the sharp stab of compassion. His mother, it seemed, wasn’t the only one hurting.

  She climbed in, wanting to ask him what had caused the dis
tance between him and his mother, because she had the distinct feeling it had very little to do with her meltdown on the dance floor, but stopped herself. She’d done enough damage for one night.

  He settled in the seat beside her, but as he switched on the ignition there was one question she couldn’t resist asking.

  ‘Why didn’t you introduce us when we arrived?’

  He slung his arm across her seat as he backed the car down the driveway. Finding a place to turn round, he executed a perfect three-point turn before finally replying. ‘No particular reason. I just didn’t spot her until she joined me on the dance floor.’

  He was lying, she knew it, but was afraid to call him on it. Had he maybe regretted bringing a virtual stranger to the party once they’d arrived?

  As they powered down the driveway the rows of vines cast lengthening shadows on the tarmac as full dark fell.

  She sank into the car’s bucket seat, the leather scent a pleasant accompaniment to the freshening wind, and studied his profile. He really was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. And so many things about him fascinated her.

  Now she’d met his family—and especially his mother—he only fascinated her more. She wondered about him, what it had been like for him growing up. He was clearly close to his mother. When they had been dancing together in the lantern light, it had been obvious how close they were. But where did all the tension come from? Maybe it had something to do with his father? The pinche gringo Juana had talked about so disrespectfully. What had this man done that meant that no one in his family was even permitted to talk about him? That couldn’t be healthy surely? And was that where the distance between Zane and them came from?

  All questions she had no right to ask him. But she simply couldn’t resist satisfying a little of her curiosity.

  ‘Why do you call your mum by her given name?’

  He didn’t answer for a long time, and she wondered if he had heard her, but then he shrugged. ‘I used to call her Mom when I was a little kid. But as I got older, it got easier not to.’

  ‘Why?’ she asked, only more intrigued by the nonexplanation.

  How the hell had they gotten onto this topic?

  Zane glanced across the stick shift at the sleepy question. Iona’s wide brown eyes blinked owlishly. She looked exhausted.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to tell you,’ he said, hoping to stall her until she fell asleep.

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’ll make me sound like a jerk.’ Which was exactly what he had been as a teenager. Selfish and volatile and immature. But there was another reason too, which he had no intention of sharing.

  ‘How so?’

  He huffed out what he hoped sounded like a relaxed laugh. ‘All right, if you really need to know. At high school, she was much younger than the other moms, and well…’ he rapped his thumb against the wheel ‘…built.’ He stiffened at the description, and the memory of the wolf whistles and the catcalls she’d endured whenever she’d come into George Wallace Memorial High. ‘She got a lot of attention. I’d lose my temper, get into trouble and I couldn’t tell her why, because I didn’t want her to know what they said about her.’

  He pumped his foot on the gas remembering the constant fights, the swollen knuckles and black eyes and split lips, and the endless journeys to the principal’s office, where he’d be forced to sit, sometimes for hours, refusing to defend or apologise for his actions. The impotent anger had boiled inside him for years—at the injustices his mother had suffered, simply because she was young and beautiful and had been forced into a life she had never wanted. But deep down there had been another anger, much blacker and more damaging, that seething, pointless self-loathing that he’d been unable to control then and didn’t want to acknowledge now.

  ‘Pretty damn dumb when you think about it with the benefit of maturity,’ he said. ‘If I’d been less proud and less stupid I would have ignored what they said.’

  ‘You were protecting her in the only way you knew how,’ Iona said, her voice thick with sleep. ‘That’s not proud or stupid. It’s very gallant.’

  Zane shrugged, the pleasure at her support making him feel uneasy—and exposed. ‘Not exactly, because then I started calling her by her given name, so the other kids would think she was my older sister instead of my mom.’

  Iona sighed gently. He looked across the console as the car eased to a stop at the end of the vineyard’s driveway.

  ‘So in answer to your question,’ he continued, ‘that’s how I came to call her Maria, and now I’m a grown man it seems kind of dumb to call her Mom again.’

  He couldn’t make out Iona’s expression in the low light, but she looked straight back at him.

  ‘It’s astonishing, isn’t it, how cruel other kids can be, if there’s something a bit different about your family set-up?’ she murmured and he detected a note of wistfulness that made him realise she knew how it felt. ‘We’re all such horrid little conformists when we’re young.’

  His shoulders relaxed at the lack of censure. ‘Yeah, I guess. But it must have been tougher for you when your mom left?’ he asked, keen to steer the conversation away from himself.

  ‘Aye, well, it wasn’t great.’ He felt the pinch in his chest at the weariness in the words. ‘But we got over it.’ She snuggled into the seat and yawned. ‘I guess the hardest part is the not knowing why. When you’re ten you’re just egocentric enough to naturally assume it has to be your fault.’

  He took his hand off the stick, the need to comfort her surprising, but he went with it. She sounded so hopeless. He squeezed her knee. ‘But you know it wasn’t, right?’

  Was that why she had fallen victim to Demarest so easily? And why she’d jumped to the conclusion this evening that Maria was one of his lovers? Because of some seed planted years ago in her childhood? Being unwanted was a bitch. It could play hell with your self-esteem; he ought to know. He figured he should probably say something reassuring…But then the scent of her, fresh and sultry, drifted across the car, and his gut tightened.

  Better not go there. He wanted her and all this serious talk was casting a spell over the evening, making them both reveal more than they probably should.

  ‘I’m sorry I made things so uncomfortable between you and your family,’ she said around another jaw-breaking yawn.

  Uncomfortable? His heart-rate did a quick skip at the perceptive comment. ‘I’m the one who should be sorry,’ he said, careful to keep his voice light. ‘I had no business dragging you along.’

  ‘I liked your family, especially your mother.’

  He heard it then, the slight censure in her tone—and realised that she had noticed more than his uncomfortable relationship with Maria.

  He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to relax, and forget about it. Her observations, her opinion didn’t matter, their fling wasn’t serious—and she’d never have to meet his family again. He’d make sure of it.

  ‘Do you mind if I have a nap?’ she said, her voice groggy with fatigue. ‘It’s been an eventful night.’

  ‘Sure, go ahead. It’ll take about an hour to get back.’

  He checked on her a few moments later as they hit Highway One. Curled in the seat, she’d drifted off into a sound sleep.

  He’d forgotten to mention that they were headed back to his place and not hers. But he figured she’d find out soon enough. And he’d deal with any fall-out then. He wasn’t going to push anything tonight, he could see how tired she was, but he didn’t want her out of his sight for too long either. She’d been through the wringer at Maricruz’s party. And that was mostly his fault. He should have introduced her to Maria, instead of running scared.

  But as the car sped down the coast highway it occurred to him that, however casual their fling was supposed to be, something had changed tonight. Something about Iona pulled at him. Her honesty, her vulnerability, that prickly demeanor she used to hide her insecurities. It reminded him of the kid he’d once been a little too forcefully.


  He stretched his neck from side to side as the muscles cramped. He felt protective of Iona—which probably wasn’t a good thing. Because whenever he’d got protective in the past, it had generally been a disaster.

  He shifted in his seat, the dull ache in his back reminding him of the two wounds that had signalled his exit from the LAPD five years before. He switched on the car’s radio, let the pain and confusion from that time in his life slowly drift away on the seductive bass riff of the old soul song.

  He was over-thinking. The only reason things had got heavy tonight was because he’d taken her somewhere he didn’t feel comfortable.

  And while he might feel protective of Iona, he didn’t have to feel that way. She was a grown woman, who could take care of herself. She’d certainly proved that tonight. A wry smile lifted his lips at the intoxicating memory of her pale skin flushed crimson with fury as she stalked across the dance floor to confront him while he danced with his mother.

  He pressed his foot onto the gas pedal, in a hurry to get home. This was still a casual fling—and he could prove it, because when they got back to his place he wasn’t going to pounce on her like a starving man.

  ‘Hey, precios, we’re here. You want me to carry you in?’

  Iona moved her head and caught the strong scent of sea air as the question drifted through the fog of sleep. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘Guess I’ll carry you, then. Hold on.’

  Her lids fluttered open as her stomach became weightless and she found herself being boosted into Zane’s arms. The night air closed around them and she held on to his neck to stop herself from falling. The sound of surf and the cry of a nocturnal seagull had her squinting at the huge wood and glass structure that rose up out of a sand dune. ‘Where are we?’

  ‘My place. Figured it would be easier to stay here tonight.’

  ‘But I…’ she began, knowing she should probably object, but it felt good to be held.

  ‘But nothing,’ he said. ‘You were exhausted. My place was closer.’