How the senator’s daughter could have told the press they were engaged was too deranged for words. The one time he’d been in the senator’s home, he’d been invited for dinner as a “thank-you” for his parachute rescue of their daughter. The whole evening the senator and Mrs. Nordstrom had been extremely cool. He could tell by the look in their eyes that Olivia, their beautiful Yale educated daughter, was off limits to the likes of him—with his reckless lifestyle, racing boats for a living and jumping out of planes for relaxation.
Zack could see by their attitudes they felt he had nothing to recommend him. He had no Ivy League education. For that matter he had practically no formal education at all. Plus, he was sadly lacking in the necessary dancing school manners for acceptance in uptight, conservative circles of their ilk. Oh, he was good enough to save their precious daughter’s life now and then, but that was the extent of any relationship he would ever have with her.
Since the ridiculous movie’s release last month, he’d grown sick and tired of being unable to go anywhere unmolested by paparazzi or squealing females. As for Olivia Nordstrom’s announcement that they were engaged? Clearly the stress of her father’s precampaign campaigning, plus the added strain brought on by the movie’s popularity, had caused her to suffer some kind of bizarre breakdown.
He’d been traveling home from a speedboat race when the story broke. Stunned, he’d read about his own engagement on the flight. Then, in the wee hours, when he got home, a couple hundred voice mail messages waited for him, demanding that he confirm or deny. The continual ringing of his phone all night had been the final straw. He was sick of the movie and sick of being linked to the pretty, if a bit too polished and prim, senator’s daughter. He wanted his life back, but he had a feeling until this movie stupidity—and now the engagement craziness—died down he wouldn’t have any peace.
Slipping out of his high-rise condo at dawn, he’d escaped Los Angeles and made a beeline for Merit Island, off Maine’s coast, and its Fort Knox type security.
Though angry with Olivia Nordstrom, he didn’t hold grudges and hoped she eventually made a full recovery from her mental collapse. Soon enough the next summer blockbuster, whatever it might be, would draw attention away from the unauthorized movie depicting his rebel lifestyle and the parachute rescue. That day couldn’t come too soon for him.
Zack could see that both Mimi and Susan were disappointed to hear the movie’s love story was fiction. What romantics his brothers had married. Working to amend the mood of the group, he grinned. “The real Miss Nordstrom is a little tightly wound for my taste,” he said. “I like my women—”
“Please don’t say loose,” Jake broke in. “I’ll pay you not to say loose.”
“Okay, Bro, I’ll take that bribe in the form of food. I’m starved.” He chuckled, though it was difficult. At long last, his father had joined the circle and was trudging up to front and center.
“How dare you invade our home like some kind of mercenary commando, Zachary?” he bellowed. “I suppose it’s typical of you. As always—completely self-centered and thoughtless.”
George Merit’s cutting rebuke brought with it a wave of anguish, evoking memories of their bitter battles. Zack faced the old man. Though his smile felt stiff, he held onto it, determined to make this visit work. He’d promised himself again and again on the trip over that he wouldn’t fight with his father. Zack was well aware that he’d been disinherited, and years ago he’d accepted it. He didn’t want anything from his family but a little time.
Moving up beside his father, he flung an arm about the older man’s shoulders, surprised at how insubstantial he seemed. Zack was three inches taller, at six-five, and outweighed George by fifty pounds of muscle. Odd, he’d always thought of his father an immovable mountain. “It’s good to see you, too, Dad,” he said, realizing with a jolt that he actually meant it. “What’s for dinner?”
Olivia had never expected to see Zachary Merit again after the evening he’d visited her parents’ home. The very next day she’d been swept up in the political whirl of her father’s quest for his party’s presidential candidacy. But this was an emergency. Last week she’d done a stupid thing, and she wanted to apologize in person. Plus, she and Zachary needed to come up with something to tell the press so they would quit dogging her to the edge of insanity. Judging by her half-witted statement, she’d stepped—rather leaped—over the edge, at least once.
Frustrated by the tight security that surrounded Merit Island, Olivia ran a hand over her eyes. The outboard and driver she’d hired to take her to Zachary’s family home had been stopped by no less than two cabin cruisers, now looming over them like vultures. A dozen warrior-types glared down at her.
“Look, sir,” she shouted over the roar of engines, trying to keep the tension out of her voice, “Please tell Zachary Merit that Olivia Nordstrom needs to speak with him in person. It’s urgent.”
The head scowler spoke into a handheld mike. She couldn’t hear the response, but crossed her fingers, hoping against hope. Zachary must be furious with her for what the papers were saying. She was furious with herself, and mortified that the reporter had taken her sarcastic remark as gospel. But she’d had it up to her eyeballs with stupid questions. That dratted movie and her father’s breakneck electioneering pace clearly had gotten to her.
One of the few times in her cloistered life she’d broken out of her Little Miss America mold to do something different, exhilarating, liberating, she would surely have died if not for Zachary Merit’s heroism. And how did she repay him? After one too many nosy newshounds demanded “the truth” about their relationship, she’d shot back that they were engaged.
The humiliating exchange rang in her head so vividly she couldn’t keep from running it over and over, like a videotape her traitorous brain was forcing her to memorize in every painful detail.
The journalist, if he could be called that, was a greasy-haired scandalmonger with two nose rings who sold celebrity dirt to the highest bidder. He always wore a baseball cap with Papo emblazoned on the brim, so that’s how she referred to him in her recurring murder fantasies.
As usual, he’d been front and center in the crowd, shouting out his questions, interrupting, demanding responses, driving her batty.
“How close is the new film to what actually happened when you were rescued in that parachute accident by Zack Merit?” he’d yelled.
Ignoring him hadn’t worked, so she’d decided she’d better address his questions and get it over. “In some ways it’s quite accurate,” she said calmly. “It was a very dramatic rescue.”
“In the film, a romance develops between Olivia and Zack. I take it that film was accurate in that respect, too?”
“No—that’s pure Hollywood fiction.” She’d wanted to shout, How many times do I have to deny it? Leave me alone about Zack Merit. Yes, he’s handsome, and yes, I’m a female and I was tempted, but he never even looked at me funny. I’m not the type to attract a man like Zachary Merit. She’d managed to hold on to her smile, but with difficulty.
“Are you sure you want to go on record that it’s total fiction?” he’d prodded with a leer. “The director insists he researched the rescue very thoroughly—and the people who saw you together said there was definite chemistry between you two. Do you deny that?”
Whatever they might have seen was purely one-sided, her mind screamed. Zachary Merit was kind, charming and his smile would melt steel, but he was not interested! “Er—why—no, there—”
“Why the hesitancy, Miss Nordstrom?” he’d baited. “Why not admit it? Something’s brewing between the senator’s princess and the king of wild abandon?” He poked his recorder’s microphone in her face, but when she only stared, he pulled it back to speak into it. “Be up-front, Miss Nordstrom. The likelihood of a romance between you