He wondered why everyone was on break. Maybe this meant Summer would be free to talk to him. He wouldn’t have to wait.

When he found the door with her name on it, it was closed. He banged on it impatiently.

What he wanted was beautiful golden Summer with her long-lashed eyes to open the door and blush charmingly when she saw him. He wanted to take her in his arms and then set a time for a private talk. This time he would listen to whatever she had to tell him. Then he would tell her how much he loved her and ask her to be his wife.

What he got was Hugh Jones and a photographer.

The reporter didn’t miss a beat when he saw the chance for a shot of the two men together.

When the flash went off twice, Zach turned on his heel. No way could he face the press when he felt so conflicted privately. Then Summer was behind him, her voice nervous and high-pitched.

Instead of smiling, her blue eyes were wide with panic and guilt. “Zach, what are you doing here?”

Logically, he knew he shouldn’t have interrupted her on such short notice, but he wasn’t feeling logical.

“Making a damn fool of myself. Again.”

“Zach, no… Wait! Listen!”

She’d gone pale, and her hand shook as it tugged at his sleeve. He felt sorry for her, so he let her pull him into the dressing room beside hers and listened impatiently as she whispered to the young actress inside it. “Can we please talk here for a few minutes?”

“Sure. Anytime.” Moving like a dancer, the girl, who was thin as a rail, got up languidly, picked up the magazine she’d been flipping through and left in a swirl of silken yellow skirts as she winked at Zach.

“We were just doing an interview for Dangerous Man. That’s all. My agent called me less than an hour ago or I would have told you… I had to do it. Because I signed a contract saying I would. I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”

“I understand. I was on the phone.” With Thurman, he thought, frowning.

“No, you don’t understand. I can see that. You look furious…”

“I said I believe you’re doing an interview, and I do. But before the press is through with this story, nobody else will. I can’t help wondering if this will always be the way we have to live-with the press playing up your nonexistent relationships with other men and making me look the fool.”

He knew he wasn’t being totally honest. He felt too raw to be completely open with her. He’d come here to propose, and then Thurman had called and stirred up all his old doubts about her.

“Zach, I want you in my life. I do… What are you doing here a day early?”

He shouldn’t have surprised her like this. He felt vulnerable, as if his heart was on his sleeve, and suddenly he didn’t want her to know about all the plans he’d made. Now wasn’t the time to ask her about New Orleans or to propose.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m leaving.”

“I wish you’d stay.”

“Well, I’m not sure I want idiots second-guessing every stage of our relationship when I feel…” He stopped, torn.

“When you feel…what?”

“Nothing.”

“Zach, what’s wrong?”

“Maybe I’m not in the mood to share you with everyone in the known universe. So, I’d better go, so you can finish the damn interview. The entire crew and cast is waiting on you, right?”

She swallowed. “Talk to me, Zach. Please talk to me.”

Her eyes were so earnest maybe he would have, if a red-faced Paolo hadn’t burst into the room, shattering the moment.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Sandy said you were in here. You did say fifteen minutes. How much longer is this damn interview going to take?”

“Sorry. We haven’t started yet.”

“Why the hell not?”

“It’s my fault, but I’m going,” Zach said.

“No!” she cried, grabbing him.

Paolo shot him a look of disgust before he turned and left.

“I’m beginning to realize how demanding I am,” Zach said. “You see, I’m the kind of guy who expects his wife to put him first sometimes…like now, even when I know it’s a very bad time for you.”

“Your wife… Did you say your wife?”

“I came over here because I had something very personal to say to you… Something very important, to me at least. Now I see that you have a lot more to deal with than my concerns.”

“Zach, did you come over here to ask me to marry you? Because I will.”

He didn’t want to ask her now, like this. He was beginning to think he shouldn’t ask her at all. Instead of answering her, he said, “On the way over here I got a phone call. From Thurman.”

“Thurman?” She went very white.

“He told me to ask you about New Orleans. He insinuated that you’ve been keeping something important from me. Is that true?”

“Oh, Zach…” Her eyes misted with guilt-stricken anguish. Her hands were shaking. “I…I tried to tell you in Louisiana. I want to talk about it. Truly I do, but not now. I have rehearsals, the interview…and you’re too upset.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said.

He saw now that he’d been a stupid, emotional fool to be in such a rush to marry her. They both had huge, time-consuming careers; their past had haunted them for years; the press wouldn’t leave them alone. Was there room for love and marriage with so many distractions, responsibilities and conflicts?

“Maybe neither of us has time for a marriage,” he said.

“That’s not fair. This is just a very bad time for me. What if I happened to drop in on you, when you were in the middle of a negotiation and forty people were waiting on your decision?”

“That’s the point, isn’t it? I’ve just realized there’s not room in a marriage for two huge egos and two big careers…along with everything else that’s between us. I don’t like goodbyes, Summer, so I’ll just make a quick exit.”

“You’re not telling me everything,” she said, grabbing his arm to keep him in the room.

“I could say the same thing to you, couldn’t I, sweetheart?”

The last thing he saw was her ashen face as she staggered backward, knocking a wig stand over as she sank down onto her friend’s couch. Her big blue eyes glimmered with unshed tears, and she looked white and shaken. It tore him up to realize he’d hurt her again.

But maybe there had always been too much between them for a relationship to ever work. Maybe he’d let their chemistry blind him. Had he been rushing into marriage because he hadn’t wanted to stop to think about the realities?

On his way out of the theater, he pitched the perfect red roses in the first stinking trash barrel he saw. Then he stepped through the throng of reporters and into the hushed silence of his luxurious limo.

“Take me to LaGuardia Airport,” he said.

Eleven

Summer Wallace Dumps Billionaire For Movie Star.

Summer felt sick to her stomach as she sat up straighter in her bed to turn the page of the newspaper.

She’d tried to phone Zach, but he wouldn’t take her calls. She had to tell him about their lost little girl even if the timing was awful and the news killed whatever remaining tenderness he felt for her.

“When will the thirty-one-year-old actress make up her mind…”

There was an awful picture of Zach and Hugh together. Two more shots showed Zach entering the theater with roses, and there was one of him looking furious as he dumped the gorgeous bouquet on his way out.

Why did the headlines always have to mention her age and remind her that her biological clock was ticking? Why did every headline have to remind her that Zach would never marry her? That she would never have his darling black-haired children.

She felt a rivulet of perspiration trickle down her back. Then a hot sensation of dizziness flooded her. Cupping her hands over her mouth, she lurched to her feet and ran to her toilet where she was violently ill.

When she was able to lift her head, she opened the window and gulped in mouthfuls of sweet, fresh air. Then she put the toilet lid down and sat, holding her head in her hands.

The episode of nausea was the third she’d had this week. Since her stomach was often queasy during rehearsals and she’d been so busy, she hadn’t really thought about it. Until now.

“Oh, no,” she whispered as comprehension dawned.

Slowly she arose and stared critically at the reflection of her white face in the mirror.

She was pregnant. Since she’d been pregnant before, she should have recognized the signs. Her breasts were swollen, and her period was late. She had the oddest cravings at the strangest times. Like that other night when she had to have a corn dog and a tomato and a pickle and nothing else would do. She felt lethargic, different.

Great timing. Just like last time.

Zach had left her. And she hadn’t even told him about their little girl yet. He wouldn’t be happy to learn the truth about their past, nor would he be overjoyed that they were going to have another child.

Then there was the not-insignificant detail that she was starring in a play that was going to open in less than three weeks. One where her character was not pregnant and the director and cast were on the verge of a collective nervous breakdown if things didn’t start coming together soon.


* * *

Zach had been swimming laps in his pool behind Thibodeaux House for an hour, so it was time to get out.

He wanted to forget Summer, to go on with his life. So, he’d ignored her calls; ignored the pain he felt at her loss.

He would get through this. He would. Not that it would be easy.

As he toweled off, he heard furious shouts and scuffling out front.

At first he thought it was the press and paid no attention. They’d been stalking him all week, ever since they’d caught him with Jones the day of the interview. Then he recognized the hateful voice.

“Let me through, damn it,” Thurman Wallace yelled at Zach’s security team. “I’ve got something to say to Torr, and I won’t go until I say it.”