Love Grows in Alaska (The Washington Triplets) (14 page)

“So, you aren’t mad?” Damn, Nate, I wish I could kick his ass for what he’s done to me.

“No.” he shakes his head. Closing the gap between us, he pulls me into his chest. “I like you wearing my clothes and it would only prove to Bill that you belong to me. Although, I’m fairly certain, you wouldn’t hop over the railing into his arms. I like to think I’m kind of a catch,” he jokes and I giggle, easing up a little.

Looking up into his eyes, I place my hands on his cheeks. “More than just a catch,” I say and he bats his eyelashes like a flirty girl.

“Good, I’m glad you think so.” His voice serious again and he twists my wet hair between his fingers, tilting my head up. My heartbeat stills until his lips claim mine again and I join him in a slow rhythmic dance of tongues that we’ve mastered over the last twenty-four hours. Breaking away from him, I groan because I want more, need more. “Dinner is coming up,” he tells me and links our fingers together, escorting me into the house again.

Circling around the island, Zach goes back to the pots, steam pouring out when he opens the lid. “What are we having?” I ask, crossing my legs, twisting around to face him on the bar stool.

“Fish?” he asks, with clenched teeth. “Salmon. I know you’ve probably had your fill, but I just caught some last weekend—”

“Salmon sounds great,” I interrupt his rambling and his lips turn up at the corners before he goes back to his pots. “So, you had said you wanted to talk?” I ask prematurely, because it’s been nagging me since he brought it back up. Trying to wheel back any fears that my insecurity would trigger, I need to know if he’s holding some secret from me.

“Well, hold on about five minutes, everything will be ready and we’ll talk,” he tells me, grabbing a platter and disappearing back out the doors.

The minute he leaves, I throw my head in my hands. Deep breaths in and out, reminding me of my mantra that I am worthy of something better, that I am a catch of my own. Murmuring to myself, I don’t hear him come in until the platter of delicious grilled salmon lands on the countertop and his hand touches my back.

“What? Are you feeling okay?” His voice panicked, I reign in that worry. Picking up my head, I smile.

“I’m okay,” I lie and I can see he knows from his boring eyes.

“Marisa,” he sighs and I release a breath.

“Um … I’m worried about what you want to talk about.” Confessing is so hard, but a slow, easy going smile crosses his lips.

“Nothing about us, just me.” He pulls away and grabs the platter before pulling out two plates from the cabinets. My heart slows back down to a normal pace and confidence that one day I won’t doubt a man’s intentions with me begins to grow.

He sits us at the table with two plates of salmon, boiled and broccoli. Staring down at it, my stomach grumbles from the delicious smell and appearance. “Tell that stomach not to get too excited. I’m positive the salmon is good, but can’t say much about the other stuff.” He leans back with his glass of wine waiting for me to take a bite.

Forking a small piece of salmon, I bring it up to my lips and slide it off into my mouth. It’s moist and flavorful with a citrusy pepper mix that explodes off my tongue. Wiping my mouth with my napkin, “It’s so good, Zach.” I compliment him and his shoulders fall in relief before he scoots closer to the table, picking up his own fork.

We eat in silence for a few minutes. Zach’s right, the salmon is off the charts, but the potatoes are a bit hard and the broccoli a little soft, but the salmon more than makes up for what the side dishes lack. Thoughts of Zach grilling and me preparing the side dishes in the kitchen float to the surface before I can chastise myself for moving too far ahead. “So, what did you want to talk about?” I hesitantly ask, not sure I even want to know.

He pushes back in his seat again, taking his wine glass and chugging the remainder of it down his throat. His eyes search mine and I try to stay steady and not show the terrifying thoughts eating me alive inside. “Do you ever wonder what I do?” he asks and I cock my head because I have, but thought he would explain eventually. If this is what he has to talk about, I can breathe easy because I don’t care what he does for a living.

“I’ve wondered why you are always at the hotel, but also a tour guide and then I saw you in Anchorage all dressed up in a suit.” I take my own glass and sit back a little, except I’m not nearly done with the salmon.

“I used to live in Connecticut. I moved up here five years ago.”

“Okay,” I shrug because he’s going backward instead of forward.

“I owned my own company, flipping houses. You know, buy cheap, fix them up and then sell for a profit.” He stares out the window for a second, shame pouring off of him. “It bankrupted. I failed.” His words leave his lips with venom and disappointment all mixed together.

“The housing market went through a bad stage around that time. I’m sure—”

“No Marisa, it was me, I take the blame for its failure. Sure the economy might have had something to do with it, but I took risks I shouldn’t have.” He shakes his head and closes his eyes. I want to leave my spot and curl up in his lap to assure him it’s okay, because his defeated slumping body is too much to digest.

“So then you moved up here?” I ask to detour the conversation to a positive place, but when his eyes find mine again, they’re still torn.

“Yeah. My family has been coming up to King’s Gate for years and it was the first place I wanted to come to escape from it all.”

“It’s a beautiful area, Zach, I can see why,” I add and he shakes his head.

“It was until three months ago. I was a tour guide, owning my own plane to take the true survivalists back and forth to remote areas. Then things changed and people started demanding more from me. More than I want to give.” His whole face is sunken and it tears me up seeing him so solemn. I wish I could grab his shoulders and shake him to reveal the smiling and carefree Zach back in my presence.

“What changed?” I think he actually was waiting for me to ask the question.

“Ned Reckle passed away three months ago.” His chest rises and falls before he grabs the wine bottle, refilling both of our glasses.

“What does that have to do with you?” Clearly I can’t figure out why the owner of King’s Gate Resort and half the town has anything to do with Zach Greer’s occupation.

“My mom’s name is Leslie Reckle Greer,” he divulges and all the dots start to line up, slowing connecting.

“Oh.”

“Yeah … oh.” He nods his head slowly and focuses on anything but me. “Good ole Uncle Ned left a will and guess who is the proud owner of half of the businesses in King’s Gate, including the resort?” He points to himself and anyone would notice he doesn’t want the responsibility, or the weight of a town, on his shoulders.

“So, you were in Anchorage for—”

“The will reading,” he divulges and places his napkin on the table.

“Your cousin in the restaurant at the resort—”

“She’s looking to me to save it, to keep it in the family.” He stands up and grabs a bottle of beer from the fridge, foregoing his glass of wine.

“The receptionist the night of Libby and Camden—”

“Yep, I’m the go-to person until I can figure my way out.” He sits back down and looks me straight in the eye, fear filling them. But there’s something else, maybe a small glint of yearning for the opportunity. “And I want out. I like my life. I like guiding tours and meeting new people, flying them back and forth. The last thing I want is to take down not only a company, but an entire god damn town.” His voice rises the more he expresses himself. Although I should be listening, I can’t help but think how jealous I am that he can be so open with me on his anxiety with new challenges. He could have easily disguised this until he had no choice but to clue me in. He trusts me with this information and maybe hopes I lead him to some decision.

“How do you have any time?” I ask.

“I don’t. That’s why I had to leave you the other morning. Because that dipshit Camden came back and they called me to handle it. My uncle was such a micromanager that the staff won’t even pee before asking me. I begged Bree, my cousin, to take over today, so I could spend time with you.”

“Why wouldn’t he leave the company to his own daughter?”

An empty, hollow laugh escapes him. “Because he’s old fashioned. You know, old school, where a woman can’t do what a man can.” The one side of his lips turn up and his eyebrows raise up and down. “As his only nephew, I’m the lucky one.”

“So you don’t want the company at all?” I clarify, because this is something I’ve only read in books. Being handed down a successful business at such a young age, I can’t even fathom.

His eyes flit to mine before casting down at the plate. “It comes with stipulations.” He picks at something on the red placemat before his vision focuses in on me. “Plus, I ran a company into the ground once, who’s to say I won’t do it again?” My heart swells at warp speed that this man is so outspoken with his trepidations. Not being able to deny myself any longer, I stand up and round the table, straddling his lap.

My fingers play with his hair and he tilts his head back, clearly enjoying my hands on him. “What are the stipulations?” I ask.

A slow breath releases from his mouth. “That everything stays exactly the same.” His voice is so annoyed, signaling it’s been a form of stress for him.

“Oh.” I bite the corner of my lip, unsure what advice I could possibly give him. The most my dad ever gave me was my mom’s jewelry, because who would want that when your mistress is moving in?

“Anyway, let’s talk about something else. I’ll figure something out and you’re only here for the week and I don’t want to spoil it with my whining.” His head bolts up and the tormented blue eyes are replaced with appreciation and I hope to hell they are because of me being here. “I just didn’t want you thinking I’m one of those guys that dates more than one girl, or that when I disappear, I’m doing anything shady.”

“Do you have any alternatives to what you want to do?” I ask him and his hands grip my hips, moving me back and forth on top of the bulge straining in his jeans.

“I know what I want to do right now.” His seductive tone brings a pool of warmth between my legs and my fingers begin to reach down to free him when I realize he’s distracting me. Just like I did upstairs with my left over baggage from Nate.

“Talk to me,” I change the course and he huffs a big breath.

“I don’t want to talk.” He straightens out in the chair and begins kissing my neck. “Have I told you how hot you are?” Changing the subject, I welcome his hands to pull the neckline of my t-shirt and his moist lips on my collarbone. This time, it’s my head rearing backward in pleasure due to Zach’s masterful art of distraction.

His hands change course, playing with the hem of the shirt and goose bumps run rapid when his fingertips float over my bare stomach. Inching further, my pulse quickens in expectation of his hands on my breasts. Then something snaps in me and I push his hands down. “No, no way, Zach Greer.” I lift off him and he tries to pull me back by gripping the t-shirt, but I’m able to wiggle free. Sitting back down in my own seat, I point a finger to him. “You stay there.” Then I point it at myself. “I stay here.”

Shaking his head, he smiles over at me. “Payback?”

“Yep,” I answer, nodding my head. “Fear?”

“Rearing its ugly head,” he confirms. “If I fail, it’s not a handful of young employees that can bounce back. It’s a whole town that the Reckle family built and employs. It’s a lot, ya know?” His hands wash down his face before his apprehensive eyes reach mine. “I ran away from Connecticut like a spineless wimp, but it turned out to be the best thing for me. I love King’s Gate, no pressure, no responsibility except for myself. If I do this, it all changes; I’ll no longer have my life.”

“That’s not true, you ran a successful business, Zach. It was the economy. So many people felt that hit, not only you. It wasn’t just your ownership decisions; it was out of your control.” I want to reassure him because everything I know about him confirms he’s a good guy and a smart one to get where he is now. “That doubt needs to leave, like right now.”

“Feisty … I like it,” he jokes, but I try to conceal my amusement. “All right, my doubt will vanish when yours does,” he fires back at me, resting his elbows on the table and I shake my head at his antics.

“It’s hard, I can’t turn it off,” I admit and he holds out his hand for me to come back over. Ignoring the fight in me, I willingly go to him, because he’s comforting and safe.

Once I’m securely in his lap, with my legs hanging over the edge, he wraps those strong arms around my waist and tugs a little tighter to pull me in. He focuses on me with soft eyes. “I know some asshole hurt you and words can leave scars deeper than a knife, because they’ll always circle back around. But, and please listen to me when I tell you that your ex-boyfriend did this due to his own insecurity. By putting you down, he was trying to boost himself up.”

I place my head down in shame that a man I just met a few days ago is giving me advice that should have dawned on me a long time ago. He takes his finger and rests it under my chin, bringing my face up to meet his. “Marisa, I wish you could see what I do when I look at you. My body responds instantly the minute I imagine your beautiful face. When you walk into a room, I have to shift my stance to keep from embarrassing myself. Then, just when I think I can’t take anymore, you speak and that angelic, intelligent voice wraps you up in a perfect package that I feel came to King’s Gate just for me to unwrap. I know it’s only been a few days, but I’m not sure I can let you go—”

He doesn’t have to finish because my heart just overfilled for this man beside me. I crash my lips to his and he doesn’t stop me. Instead, his hand fists my hair in the back of my head and deepens it further. An electric current travels through my blood at max speed when his tongue demands the attention of mine. All of the sexuality we have matched with the emotional connection we are beginning to form turns the kiss into a heated chaos of hands gripping clothing, teeth knocking, unable to be satisfied with even a millimeter of space between us.