His damn head was exploding. He’d taken her on the sideboard—like a damn animal—without an ounce of restraint. So what if she’d had an orgasm? So what if she’d had twenty? He’d used her in the worst way possible, because his need for her had consumed him. He’d proved that he had the same sick flaw as his father, and she was acting as if it didn’t matter.
And now she wanted to talk about Nate and Tess and his mother. Was she nuts? Couldn’t she see what he was? What he had always been? Didn’t she know he could never be Nate’s brother, Brandon’s uncle, because he didn’t deserve to be? He didn’t even deserve to be his mother’s son. Any more than he deserved Iona.
She watched him now, those almond eyes wide with conviction. And the realisation that keeping her meant risking doing that to her again—made him want to punch his fist through a wall.
He thrust a hand through his hair, his fingers trembling, and heard the plaintive whine of the dog from outside the door.
He had to get out of here. ‘I should take C.D. for her run,’ he said, keeping his tone neutral, and plunging his hands into his pockets to stop from hauling Iona close and taking her again.
He didn’t even have the right to ask her now if they could make this relationship more, not after what he’d done, the way he’d treated her. He had to find a way to make that up to her. To show her he could control himself. That she could trust him to be careful.
But with his nerves shot and his stomach raw, he couldn’t think straight. He needed time to cool down, to figure a way to work this out.
‘I won’t be long,’ he added, making it clear he didn’t want company. Not this time.
He saw the shadow of hurt in her eyes, and felt the answering tug in his chest, but thanked God when she nodded. ‘Okay.’
He opened the door and the dog bounded in. ‘Hey, Cooks,’ he said, trying to sound pleased to see the dog as she jumped onto him.
Iona gave the dog’s head a rub. C.D. lapped up the attention, as always, but then Iona stepped back, and he saw the single tear slip down her cheek. It pierced his heart as she swiped it away.
‘I won’t be long,’ he said, pretending not to notice her distress. He couldn’t deal with this now.
Damn, he might even have gotten her pregnant, he thought, the panic returning. What the hell did he do about that?
She nodded, the wobble in her bottom lip crucifying him. ‘All right.’
He placed a gentle kiss on her lips, felt the tiny tremor and hated himself even more.
He’d make it up to her. Tonight. And he’d fix this. Because he had to. Whatever he was, whatever he deserved, he couldn’t let her go too.
He returned half an hour later, his suit pants ruined from walking in the surf, but with a course of action figured out that just might work. He’d never had to beg before. But this time, he figured it was the only option.
The house was eerily silent as he followed C.D. into the kitchen. The dog whimpered, as if something was wrong. And then he saw the lasagne dish standing on the sideboard and the note propped against it written in Iona’s neat, precise script—and realised what it was.
You’re a good man, Zane. Go ask your mum, she’ll tell you. And don’t forget to take care of yourself and that silly dog.
Iona x
The devastation came first, but the anger soon followed. How could she have left him, without even giving him a chance to make am
ends?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘OPEN THE DAMN door!’ Zane rammed his fist against the hardwood door of the pretty little colonial, having already rung the doorbell twice.
Iona had to be here; this was his last hope. He’d driven to Pacific Grove first to check in with Mrs Mendoza and her other neighbours. Then he’d called Nate. Maybe Iona and Tess had only just met, but Tess had always been a meddler, so it was possible she’d offered Iona a place to stay.
But he’d drawn a blank there too. Nate had been adamant. ‘There’s no one staying with us, I swear. But who is she? Is there a problem, cos you sound kind of weird, man.’
He’d made some dumb excuse and ended the call. There wasn’t a problem. Or there wouldn’t be as soon as he’d tracked Iona down.
He rang the bell again and the hall light came on.
‘Hold your horses.’
The locks clicked and his mother appeared in the doorway. Her usually perfect hair was pinned up in tight curls as she wrapped her robe around her waist. He felt the shimmer of guilt at having got her out of bed.