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  JUST ONE NIGHT

  Kathryn Shay

  Praise for Just One Night

  “A touching story about goals, emotional insecurity and the ability to grow and change unfolds in the remarkable and realistic page-turner. Ms. Shay has once again gifted us with a beautiful love story filled with hope, healing and the pursuit of happiness.” Rendezvous Magazine

  “With an irresistible blend of warmth and sizzle, award–winning Kathryn Shay sets our hearts aglow with a wonderfully tender emotion readers won’t want to miss.” Romantic Times Reviews

  “Once again, Kathryn Shay gets to the heart of relationships and the meaning of family. She skillfully brings her characters to life, making for a very satisfying, emotionally moving story. This is one of those rare authors who can weave fiction from the fabric of real life—her stories will tug at your heartstrings.” The Literary Times

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Praise for Just One Night

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  About The Author

  Be My Babies

  CHAPTER ONE

  The building that housed Sloan Associates in downtown Lansing, Massachusetts, was as intimidating and apparently as impenetrable as Zachary Sloan, its owner—and Annie Montgomery’s ex-husband.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Sloan is at a meeting.” The receptionist, a fortyish woman of formidable height, peered down at Annie. “And he doesn’t see anyone without an appointment.”

  Oh, fine, I’ll just make an appointment to give him the worst news of his life—that he’s going to be a father.

  Keeping the sarcastic retort to herself, Annie sighed and pushed her hair out of her eyes. The dragon lady had a right to look at her askance. Annie knew she was a mess. She’d been sick twice already and it was only ten o’clock in the morning. She’d come right from the doctor’s office to Zach’s, fearing that if she gave herself the time, she’d lose her nerve.

  Just as her mother had done. Consequently, Annie had never known her own father. There had been tension between Sonya Montgomery and Annie for years because of it.

  So now, determined not to repeat Sonya’s mistake, Annie stood bedraggled and bewildered in Zach’s office, shakier than she’d ever been in her life. Meanwhile, the receptionist was eyeing her clothes—a loose calf-length navy-blue dress with a dropped waist. She’d thrown an old white sweater over it, and slipped into the nearest shoes— a pair of well-worn sneakers. She hadn’t managed any jewelry—not even a watch.

  Early refugee, Zach had affectionately called the way she dressed. Annie shopped at consignment stores, and Zach had teased her about her preferences—until he’d become the rising young executive. Then his silent disapproval and subtle hints had led her to designer labels for company events and evenings out. When she left Zach, Annie had packed up all those clothes and donated them to the Salvation Army. Their opposite taste in fashion was only one of a myriad of differences between them.

  As another wave of nausea hit Annie, she grabbed on to the edge of the desk.

  “Are you all right?” At least the receptionist’s voice held some sympathy.

  Annie nodded. “I’ll be leaving in a minute.”

  “Would you like to make an appointment to see Mr. Sloan?”

  Annie shook her head. Making an appointment to tell Zach of his impending fatherhood would be humiliating. Maybe she’d try to call him at home. Or maybe she should leave a message for him to call her. Despite how she’d hurt him four weeks ago, he’d at least return her call, wouldn’t he?

  “Can I leave him a message?”

  The woman looked doubtful.

  She probably thinks I’m another one of his conquests.

  You are, honey.

  The thought made her sicker. She breathed deeply and tried to smile but her stomach felt as if it was on rinse cycle.

  Quickly, Annie scrawled a short note to Zach, thanked the clearly confused receptionist and headed for the elevator. But the thought of going up or down just then made her seek sanctuary in a corner of the large sitting area that faced the elevator. Exhausted, she sank onto an overstuffed couch and lay her head back on the thick cushions.

  Everything about this office complex was rich and plush. Appointed in polished brass, marble and glass, it suited the man Architectural Digest had called “a young Frank Lloyd Wright,” when Zach had designed the Pierce Museum. Built six years ago, amid critical speculation that the design was too radical, the museum had been his first real triumph. She could still see his blue eyes glimmering with pleasure at the plans. It’s the best thing I’ve ever done, Annie. It’s going to get me everything I want.

  Which was, of course, everything Annie didn’t want.

  Following the memory came the image of Zach’s taut face four weeks ago when he strode to the perimeter of the museum—then surrounded by ambulances, fire trucks and police cars. The emergency teams were there to rescue the fifty people who’d been at a fund-raising dinner when the staircase—the building’s most striking feature—had collapsed. Annie had arrived on the scene as part of the Red Cross Disaster Relief and Rescue Unit. Her heart had skidded to a halt at her first glimpse of Zach in five years…

  “Annie? What are you doing here?”

  “I work for the Red Cross.”

  “I didn’t know.” He held up rolled blueprints. “I was told to bring the plans. Where are the engineers?”

  Annie pointed to where the city engineers, the builder, Martin Mann, and the original structural engineer, Les Corrigan, had gathered to figure out a way to shore up the staircase so the rescue could begin. Zach joined them and had spent the next couple of hours directing the efforts to install rebars—the steel reinforcing beams that would hold up the rest of the staircase.

  Annie closed her eyes, trying to block out the sights and sounds of the disaster.

  “We got one of them out, Annie,” a fireman had shouted. “He needs the ambulance.” Two firemen whisked a stretcher past her. On it a young man lay unconscious, his limbs at awkward angles, bright red blood oozing from a gash on his arm. Annie scooped up a clipboard and a walkie-talkie and said, “Unit one. Pull in. Immediate departure.”

  Next came a woman. Her once-styled hair was matted with blood. Already her face had swollen black and blue and her arms hung down like a rag doll’s. Her long evening gown was ripped up the side and covered with blood. Annie’s stomach had lurched at the sight, but she’d immediately quelled the response and crossed to the stretcher with blankets.

  Then a burly policeman and his partner wheeled out an older man. The victim’s once-pristine shirt was red with blood. He was moaning. Annie wished she could shut out the sound…

  All the horror of that evening had led Annie to do the stupidest thing she’d done in years. In fact, her foolish actions that night had landed her here, sick, sitting in Zach’s waiting area a month later…

  Zach had stayed the whole night, serving food, gathering medical supplies and even assisting with the rescue. Thirty-three people had escaped unhurt physically, although all had been traumatized by being inside the building as the staircase collapsed. Ten had minor cuts and bruises, treated at the site. Six people had been severely injured and taken to the hospital. One woman had been killed.

  When the rescue operation was finally over at 4:00 a.m., Annie had considered going home with her co-workers and leaving Zach alon
e.

  But remembering the boy she’d married when she was nineteen, and the man she’d loved for years after that, despite their differences, she simply couldn’t abandon him to his fears.

  Instead, she said, “Come on, Zach. It won’t help to stay. You can give me a ride home.”

  His bleak eyes riveted on her face. “If you’re sure there’s nothing else I can do.”

  They headed toward the cars parked along a blacktop that abutted the museum. At the perimeter of the parking lot, the media had kept vigil through the night. Like vultures, several reporters swooped down on them.

  A man with a name tag that read J. Gumby shoved a microphone at Zach. “You’re Zachary Sloan, aren’t you?”

  Lights from a camera shone in their faces. Annie raised her hand to shield her eyes; Zach did the same.

  Questions came at them like rapid-fire bullets. “What did you find out about the building? Whose fault was the collapse? Will the gallery owners sue? Do you think the dead woman’s family will come after you? Are you fearful of losing your business?”

  Zach shouldered their way through the crowd, shaking his head silently as the reporters pelted him with questions. Deftly he maneuvered Annie and himself into his car. “Let’s get out of here,” he said as the engine roared to life and they sped away. About a block from the museum, he pulled over in the parking lot of an all-night convenience store. He shut off the engine and leaned back against the leather seat. His hair, the exact color and texture of fine-grain sand, was peppered with dirt, and grime still covered his cheeks. He looked exhausted and vulnerable.

  “I hadn’t thought about...it never entered my mind...about lawsuits...the legal ramifications of this.”

  “I’m sorry,” Annie said, needing to comfort him. “Maybe you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

  “Why?” The question lacked challenge, a fact that confirmed how overwrought he was. She herself was stricken by the death of the woman and the injuries of several other people. And Annie was a pro at this. It was all new to the man beside her who was clearly suffering.

  “It’s called rescuer’s trauma. In any disaster-relief work, the volunteers, as well as trained personnel, are stunned and horrified like you are. Many seek therapy after what they’ve seen and dealt with. It’s like war veterans who experience post-traumatic stress syndrome.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’ve had my share of visits to the staff shrink. As a matter of fact, the stress is one of the reasons I’m leaving this branch of social work at the end of the month.” She watched as his gaze drifted out the car window. Then he turned his head and looked at her.

  “I can’t stop thinking that the collapse of the staircase could be my fault.”

  Annie considered that for a minute. “I don’t understand why,” she finally said. “You were always so careful with safety features. Your boss at Belton’s used to harangue you all the time about being overcautious.”

  “But maybe I wasn’t this time.”

  “You were vigilant with these plans, Zach. Particularly because they were so innovative. I was there. I remember.”

  “With the plans maybe. But I’m afraid I blew it during the construction.”

  “Why?”

  “Annie, you don’t want to hear this. It has to do with us.”

  “How?”

  Zach let out an exasperated breath. “Okay, just don’t think I’m laying any guilt on you. I take full responsibility for our breakup.”

  “What does the building have to do with us?”

  “I was a wreck when our marriage fell apart. I supervised the construction of that museum in the blackest mood I’ve ever had. Sometimes I hurt so much I couldn’t think straight.”

  She hadn’t known that, and the knowledge gripped her heart. She thought about how the Pierce Museum’s design had been both lauded and criticized. She remembered Zach’s assurance to his detractors that if erected properly, the building would be safe. She’d lost touch with the construction, of course, since the museum went up as their marriage ended. But she remembered some things well.

  Zach’s scrupulous attention to safety regulations.

  Zach’s consultations with the best engineers—at his own cost—about the structure’s stability.

  Zach’s refusal to bow to the pressure to cut even the smallest corner.

  “The disaster isn’t your fault,” she said implacably.

  “Thanks for believing in me,” he told her. “And for being here.”

  “Zach, why don’t you come home with me for a while? I think you could use some company.”

  She’d repeated those words until he agreed. At her house, he’d gone into the living room as she fixed them something to eat. She wanted to do something—anything—to forget the death and destruction they had just witnessed.

  When she came to the doorway from the kitchen, he was on the couch, staring blindly at the unlit fireplace. Her heart constricted at his hunched shoulders and bowed head. “Zach? Are you all right?”

  He coughed to clear his throat. “I’m fine.”

  “Zach.”

  He sat perfectly still, hands fisted on his knees, his face averted.

  She crossed to the couch and knelt in front of him. “You’re crying.” At that moment, all she wanted in the world was to take away his pain.

  ‘‘I’m sorry...I just can’t…”

  “No, no, never be sorry for crying.” Without thinking through what she was doing, she brushed her lips over his wet cheeks, once, twice, several times. “Look at me.”

  Opening his eyes, he stared at her.

  “I know how hard it is to stop thinking about the tragedy,” she said. Very slowly, her arms went around him. She drew him close. “Sometimes it feels as if the images will never go away.”

  Burying his face in her breasts, he said, “Annie, oh, God, Annie.”

  “Shh…”

  His arms banded around her waist.

  He pulled her tight against his chest. “Annie…”

  “Don’t say anything.”

  He looked up at her.

  Bombarded by the memories of bruised and broken bodies, Annie was overwhelmed by a need to drive them from her mind to affirm that she and Zach were all right. She forgot about the pain they’d caused each other; she forgot that she’d been contemplating marrying someone else. All she thought about was comforting Zach and herself. All she felt was an acute and driving need for him. Her mouth on his cheek, her hands running up his back, tangling with the hair at his nape, she said, “Zach, we’re not hurt. Let’s concentrate on that. Let’s celebrate that.”

  “Oh, God, Annie, I need you so much…”

  That was why she’d done it, she thought, looking around the reception area, trying to make sense of what had happened that night. She’d done it for them both. But she’d been surprised at the physical explosion that had occurred between them after so long…

  Their first kiss in more than five years had been both ravenous and reverent. Her body reacted with a jolt to the press of his lips on hers, the familiar taste and texture of him. He sipped at her mouth, then devoured her, bathed her lips with his tongue and sucked greedily. They’d shed their clothes quickly. His hands caressed her stomach, her hips, gently at first. Then they clutched at her, grasped her almost roughly.

  Her hands, too, sought the much-missed feel of his muscles, the sinewed strength of his arms, his legs, his chest.

  When she found herself on her back, his lips made their way to one of his favorite spots on her body, the little patch of freckles on her chest, then he’d kissed his way to a mole on the outer curve of her right breast. The caress of his lips sent a rush of moisture between her legs, making her shiver. He moved a hand there.

  His mouth came back to hers and brushed across it. His voice was hoarse when he whispered, “Oh, Annie, you still respond to me so fast, so strongly. I’ve never forgotten it.”

  “Neither have I.”

  “I haven’t forg
otten anything.”

  “Show me.” Without any inhibition, she arched beneath him. “Come inside me.”

  His eyes were blue fire.

  Never releasing her gaze, he guided himself to her and poised himself at her opening. Then he linked both hands with hers, establishing the familiar connection they shared every time they’d made love in the past. She felt her eyes fill, and saw moisture glisten in his. He entered her with a sure, possessive stroke. “Annie, love, nothing in my whole life has ever felt like this.”

  A sense of volcanic peace, he’d once poetically described it…

  Just then the elevator doors opened. Several men stepped off. Jolted back to the present, Annie stood. The abrupt action caused the world to spin and she clutched the arm of the couch. Through hazy eyes, she caught sight of shoulders she’d recognize anywhere. Clothed in navy wool, they were big and broad and she had the absurd urge to curl into them and cry.

  “Zach,” Annie called out.

  Zach pivoted and stared at her. In shock. Oh, just wait.

  “Annie?” He walked toward her. Inches away, he stopped.

  And right before her eyes, he withdrew. He folded his arms over his chest, and his blue eyes turned from curious to hostile. His jaw hardened. Annie had always hated his ability to retreat from her so completely, a technique he’d perfected as a young boy. Though she didn’t blame him this time. She’d kicked him out of her life a second time four weeks ago and it had hurt him as much as it had hurt her. Only a masochist would welcome another shot at that kind of pain.

  “What can I do for you?” His tone was cool and purposely distant.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  He scanned her rumpled dress and messy hair, his eyebrows forming a V. “Are you all right?”

  She shook her head. Some of his reserve melted. She could see it in the softening around his eyes. He always was good when the chips were down.

  “Come on back to my office,” he said. Stepping away, he allowed her to pass. He raised his arm as if to touch her shoulder, then changed his mind.