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She glowered at him through smoke.
Jason said, “I still think the best idea would be to hide her away somewhere like the ranch.”
“Forget it.” Zach told himself he wasn’t interested.
“Could give you a chance to be alone with her,” Trisha taunted. “At the ranch. Just like Kat.”
Zach’s fingers tightened around his Coors and Jason, his mouth set and grim, held up a hand. “Time for a truce, you two. Get ahold of yourself Zach. You know who the enemy is here.”
Yeah, Zach knew. But he didn’t like it. Jason was still suggesting that he convince Adria to leave Portland and go to the ranch with him.
The trouble was, Zach was beginning to agree.
17
From the outside, the Orion Hotel looked the same as it had years ago when Zach, determined to lose his virginity, had crossed the threshold. Inside, things had changed. The main lobby had been remodeled. Glass tables and floral couches were positioned away from the desk and spiky-leaved palms seemed to grow out of the terra-cotta floor.
Ignoring a sense of déjà vu that made his skin crawl, Zach walked straight to the desk where two clerks—a man and a woman in their early twenties—were manning the night shift. “Would you ring Ms. Nash’s room?” Zach asked. “Tell her she has a guest in the lobby.” The two exchanged glances and the woman checked her watch.
“Is she expecting you?”
“No.”
“It’s late—”
“She won’t mind.”
Polished fingernails flew over the keyboard of her computer. “Let me see if she’s asked not to be disturbed…” She studied the monitor, gave a little shrug, and lifted the phone receiver to her ear. “What’s your name?”
“Zachary Danvers.”
“She knows you?”
“Yeah.”
“It’ll be just a minute.”
“I’ll wait in the bar.”
As the telephone jangled for the third time, Adria reached blindly for it and glanced at the clock. Twelve-thirty. She’d been asleep for less than an hour, but the clouds of slumber had been heavy and hard to part. Fumbling for the receiver with one hand, she pushed her bangs out of her eyes with the other. “Hello?”
“Ms. Nash, this is Laurie at the front desk. I’m sorry to disturb you, but you have a visitor. Mr. Danvers is here to see you.”
“Who?”
“Zachary Danvers.”
“Zach?” The fog cleared from her mind as the apologetic clerk conveyed Zach’s message. Her heart skipped a tiny little beat before she realized that he’d been called in by the troops. It was time to circle the Danvers family wagons as Adria had threatened to go to the press. She wondered how he’d try to convince her to take a hike.
She threw on a pair of jeans and a bulky sweater. Unable to control the wild black curls, she clipped a barrette over her hair at the base of her neck and grabbed her purse.
“Ready for round three,” she told herself as she thought of Polidori and Nelson Danvers and the damned dead rat wearing her locket! Suddenly she’d become popular. Too popular. And too many people knew where she lived. It was time to move to cheaper, more private quarters.
She saw Zach the minute she entered the bar. Despite the soft lights and the dark interior, she noticed him at a table in the corner.
His jean-clad legs were stretched out in front of him and he rested on the small of his back. His blue work shirt was pushed high on his forearms and he was watching the door with hawklike eyes that followed her as she made her way to the table.
She’d forgotten how formidable he was: the cruel set of his mouth, the thick black brows, his face—all sharp angles and planes—and eyes that seemed to see through any facade.
