Page 12 of Breaking the Ice
“You are gorgeous and amazing, Kiki,” I tell my friend. She has never had the self-confidence she should. She’s got no idea how beautiful she really is. And smart. “Don’t you dare let any man make you feel like you’re less than that. Also, you have no idea where Dan is going to end up.”
“Uh-huh.” She’s clearly placating me because she changes the subject. “What are you up to?”
“I’m cleaning the cottage out back. We’ve rented it to one of Troy’s brothers for a couple months.”
“Which brother?” She sounds intrigued.
“Zach.” I nearly spit his name.
She starts laughing. “The hottie billionaire? Poor you!”
“I loathe him,” I remind her.
“I think the lady doth protest too much.”
“Are you quoting Shakespeare at me or something?” I ask my bookish friend. Kiki was the nerd in the jock-nerd couple of her and Dan back in high school.
“All I’m saying is that the guy’s a smoke show.”
“I have to go,” I tell her. “The hottie billionaire, as you call him, is outside washing the windows and he missed a spot.”
“Wait, what?!”
“I’ll fill you in later.” I put my phone down and stride out the front door—something I regret doing as soon as I walk around to the side of the house. Zach is standing there in a very wet T-shirt. It’s so clingy he might as well not be wearing anything at all. My mouth responds by going as dry as the Sahara.
Zach looks up at me and stops scrubbing the window. “Can I help you?” He sounds vaguely angry, which I like. I’d hate to think he was out here enjoying himself.
I nearly tell him to put his sweater back on, but suddenly I can’t seem to talk. The only sound I’m capable of is, “Gah …”
“Excuse me?” He looks concerned.
“Grrrr …” I utter while praying a bolt of lightning will zap through the sky and strike me down.
Zach puts his sponge back into the bucket before walking toward me. “Are you okay?” His caring tone is nearly my undoing.
“Um … yeah … agggg …”
As soon as he’s in front of me, he reaches over and touches the side of my mouth to wipe away a trickle of moisture. So much for dry mouth, I’m positively drooling over the guy. The only way to regain my dignity is to succumb to a major cardiac event. Unsure how to go about that, I roll my eyes skyward in a desperate bid the Almighty will take pity on me.
Zach suddenly reaches out and grabs my arms. “Are you having a seizure?”
I only see two options for myself. I could probably come up with more if the blood could get to my brain and allow me to think, but it can’t seem to make the journey.
The first thing I can do is to tell Zach my body is betraying my common sense and that I think he’s a hunka hunka burning love. Luckily, a tiny voice inside my brain stops me from doing this.
That’s why I go with the second option—which is to fake a faint and hope Zach catches me before I hit the ground and hurt myself for real. Being that his hands are already on my arms, I’m hoping his reflexes will be up to the task.
On a wing and a prayer, I collapse with the grace of a lead ballon in triple gravity. Zach’s arms wrap around me fiercely and I nearly swoon for real as he pulls me close to his heart. “Ellie, I’m here. I have you.”
I want to yell at him to let me go, but as I’m mid pretend swoon, I can’t. Zach picks me up—in his arms!—and carries me inside the cottage. I crack my eyelids a fraction to see where he’s taking me only to hear him say, “Oh, good, you’re awake!” He takes me to the sofa but instead of putting me down, he sits with me still on his lap. It’s pure torture.
“You can put me down,” I croak.
He doesn’t. Instead, he demands, “Are you okay? Should I take you to the hospital?”
The thought of showing up at Maple Falls Memorial fills me with dread and I shiver in response. I cannot afford to fake a stroke. My health insurance deductible is so high I’d have to really be dying to make it worth the amount of money I’d have to fork over for whatever tests they’d run.
Inhaling deeply, I tell him, “I’m good. I just haven’t eaten today.” I don’t mention the three-egg omelet with toast and hash browns I consumed at the diner only three hours ago. Oh, and that piece of blackberry pie. A la mode.