A Scandal So Sweet

“Damn you for this,” he muttered. “You’re not the only one who can’t forget.”

Even if she hadn’t felt his powerful arousal against her, his blazing eyes betrayed his potent need. Then his gaze hardened with determination, and she watched breathlessly as he lowered his mouth to hers.

“I shouldn’t do this,” he whispered fiercely, bending her backward, molding her even more tightly to the hard contours of his body. “God help me, I know what you are, what you did.”

“You did things too …” He’d hurt her terribly. Yet she wanted him, ached for him.

“But I can’t stop myself,” he muttered. “But then I never could where you were concerned.”

Dear Reader,

When you’re an author, occasionally you write a story that grips you more profoundly than some of your others. A Scandal So Sweet is such a book.

When I read, I enjoy escaping to worlds of grand passion and enduring romance. Maybe that’s why I’ve written so many stories of reunited lovers.

We all have those people in our lives we never forget. My lovers in A Scandal So Sweet have never succeeded in forgetting one another. Torn apart by scandal and betrayal in their youth, they become driven people who are both immensely successful in their careers, but their lives feel incomplete until they meet again.

Their passion reignites in an instant, and despite all the reasons they should remain apart, they find themselves irresistibly attracted to the love that is most dangerous for them.

Ann

ANN MAJOR lives in Texas with her husband of many years and is the mother of three grown children. She has a master’s degree from Texas A&M at Kingsville, Texas, and is a former English teacher. She is a founding board member of the Romance Writers of America and a frequent speaker at writers’ groups.

Ann loves to write—she considers her ability to do so a gift. Her hobbies include hiking in the mountains, sailing, ocean kayaking, traveling and playing the piano. But most of all, she enjoys her family. Visit her website at www.annmajor.com.

A Scandal

So Sweet

Ann Major

A special thank-you to Stacy Boyd, my editor,

for her patience and brilliance.

A special thank-you to Nicole, a fan who sent me

an e-mail encouraging me while writing this book.

And a thank-you to Ted.

Prologue

Houston, Texas

A man’s life could change in a heartbeat.

Seven days ago Zach Torr had been in the Bahamas, elated to be closing the biggest deal of his career. Then he’d received an emergency call about his uncle.

The one person who’d held Zach’s back these past fifteen years was gone.

Now, still dressed in the suit he’d worn to give his uncle’s eulogy, Zach stood on the same narrow girder from which his uncle had fallen. He stared fearlessly down at his contractors, bulldozers, generators, cranes and men, big tough men, who appeared smaller than ants in their yellow hard hats sixty-five stories below.

Zach was a tall man with thick black hair and wide shoulders; a man his competitors swore was as ruthless as the fiercest jungle predator. The women he’d left behind agreed, saying he’d walked out on them without ever looking back.

Normally, his eyes were colder than black ice. Today they felt moist and stung. How had Uncle Zachery felt when he’d stood here for the last time?

A shudder went through Zach. Men who walked iron were no less afraid of heights than other men.

The chill breeze buffeting him whipped his tie against his face, almost causing him to step backward. He froze, caught his balance … hissed in a breath. A sneeze or a slip—was that how it had happened? Up here the smallest mistake could be fatal.

Had Uncle Zachery jumped? Been startled by a bird? Been pushed? Suffered a heart attack? Or simply fallen as the foreman had said? Zach would never know for sure.

As Uncle Zachery’s sole heir, Zach had endured several tough interviews with the police.

The newspaper coverage had been more critical of him than usual because he’d stayed in the Bahamas to close the deal before coming home.

He hated the invasion of the limelight, hated being written about by idiots who went for the jugular with or without the facts.

Because the fact was, for Zach, the world had gone dark after that phone call.

When he’d been nineteen and in trouble with the law for something he hadn’t done, Uncle Zachery had come back to Louisiana from the Middle East, where he’d been building a city for a sheik. Uncle Zachery had saved him. If not for his uncle, Zach would still be serving hard time.

Houston-bred, Zach had been cast out of town by his beautiful stepmother after his father’s death. Her reason—she’d wanted everything. His father had naively assumed she’d be generous with his sixteen-year-old son and had left her his entire fortune.

If it hadn’t been for Nick Landry, a rough Louisiana shrimper who’d found Zach in a gutter after he’d been beaten by his stepmother’s goons, Zach might not have survived. Nick had taken Zach to his shack in Bonne Terre, Louisiana, where Zach had spent three years.

It was in Bonne Terre where he’d met the girl he’d given his heart and soul to. It was in Bonne Terre where he’d been charged with statutory rape. And it was in Bonne Terre where the girl he’d loved had stood silently by while he was tried and condemned.

Fortunately, that’s when Uncle Zachery had returned. He’d discovered his sister-in-law’s perfidy, tracked Zach to Louisiana, gone up against the town of Bonne Terre and won. He’d brought Zach back to Houston, educated him and put him to work. With his powerful uncle behind him, Zach had become one of the richest men in America.

His cell phone vibrated. He strode off the girder and to the lift, taking the call as he descended.

To his surprise it was Nick Landry.

“Zach, I feel bad about your uncle, yes. I be calling you to offer my condolences. I read about you in the papers. I be as proud as a papa of your accomplishments, yes.”

So many people had called this past week, but this call meant everything. For years, Zach had avoided Nick and anything to do with Bonne Terre, Louisiana, but the warmth in Nick’s rough voice cheered him.

“It’s good to hear from you.”

“I’ve missed you, yes. And maybe you miss me a little, too? I don’t go out in the boat so often now. I tell people it be because the fishin’ ain’t so good like it used to be, but maybe it’s just me and my boat, we’re gettin’ old.”

Zach’s eyes burned as he remembered the dark brown waters of the bayou and how he’d loved to watch the herons skim low late in the evening as the mist came up from the swamp.

“I’ve missed you, too, yes,” he said softly. “I didn’t know how much—until I heard your voice. It takes me back.”

Not all his memories of Bonne Terre were bad.

“So why don’t you come to Bonne Terre and see this old man before he falls off his shrimp boat and the crabs eat him?”

“I will.”

“We’ll go shrimpin’ just like old times.”

After some quick goodbyes, Zach hung up, feeling better than he had in a week.

Maybe it was time to go back to Bonne Terre.

Then he thought about the Louisiana girl he’d once loved—blonde, blue-eyed, beautiful Summer, with the sweet, innocent face and the big dreams. The girl who’d torn out his heart.

She lived in New York now, a Broadway actress. Unlike him, she was the press’s darling. Her pictures were everywhere.

Did she ever come home … to Bonne Terre?

Maybe it was time he found out.

One

Eight Months Later

Bonne Terre, Louisiana

Zach Torr was back in town, stirring up trouble for her, and because he was, a tumult of dark emotions consumed her.

Summer Wallace parked her rental car in front of Gram’s rambling, two-story home. Sighing because she dreaded the thought of tangling with her grandmother and her brother over Zach, she took her time gathering her bag, her purse and her briefcase. Then she saw the loose pages of her script on the floorboard and the slim white Bible she kept with her always. Picking them up, she jammed them into her briefcase.

When she finally slammed the door and headed toward the house she saw Silas, Gram’s black-and-white cat, napping in the warm shade beneath the crape myrtle.

“You lazy old thing.”

A gentle wind swayed in the dogwood and jasmine, carrying with it the steamy, aromatic scent of the pine forest that fringed her grandmother’s property. Not that Summer was in the mood to enjoy the lush, verdant, late-August beauty of her childhood home. No, she was walking through the sweltering heat toward a sure argument with Gram. About Zach, of all people.

Fifteen years ago, when she’d run away after her mother’s death, she’d felt sure he was out of her life forever.

Then Gram had called a week ago.

It had been late, and Summer had been dead on her feet from workshopping an important new play.

“You’ll never guess who’s making a big splash here in Bonne Terre, buying up property to develop into a casino,” Gram had said in a sly tone.

Gram had a habit of calling late and dropping her little bombs in a seemingly innocent way, so, wary, Summer had sunk into her favorite chair and curled up to await the explosion.

“And who do you think bought the old Thibodeaux place and hired your brother Tuck as his pool boy and all-around gopher?” her grandmother had asked.

Tuck had a job? This should have been good news. Gram had been worried about him after his latest run-in with Sheriff Arcenaux. But somehow Summer had known the news wouldn’t be good.

“Okay! Who?”

“Zach Torr.”

Summer had frozen. Her brother, who had poor judgment in nearly every area of his life, could not work for Zach, who couldn’t possibly have her family’s best interests at heart. Not after what had happened. Not when their names would be forever linked in the eyes of the media and, therefore, the world.

She’d become too famous and he too rich, and their tragic youthful love affair was too juicy. And every time the story was rehashed, it always surprised her how much it still hurt, even though she was seen as the innocent victim and he the villain.

From time to time, she’d read about how hard and cold he was now. She’d never forget the story about how ruthlessly he’d taken revenge on his stepmother.

Any new connection between Zach and her family was a disaster in the making.

“You’re not the only former resident of Bonne Terre who’s famous, you know.”

Summer’s breath had caught in her throat as she’d struggled to take the news in.

“Zach’s a billionaire now.”

Summer had already known that, of course. Everybody knew that.

“Even so, he’s not too busy to stop by to play Hearts with an old lady when he’s in town … or to tell me how Tuck’s doing on the job.”

Zach had been taking the time to play cards with Gram? To personally report on Tuck, his pool boy? This was bad.

“Gram, he’s just trying to get to me.”

“Maybe this isn’t about you. You two were finished fifteen years ago.”

Yes, it had been fifteen years. But it was about her. She was sure of it.

Summer had tried to make Gram understand why Tuck had to quit his job, but Gram, who’d been exasperated by all the stunts Tuck had pulled ever since high school, had refused to hear anything against Zach, whom she now saw as her knight in shining armor. Then she’d punched Summer’s guilt button.

“You never come home, and Zach’s visits are fun. He’s awful good with Tuck. Why, the other night he and Nick took Tuck shrimping.”

“A billionaire in a shrimp boat?”

“Yes, well he did buy Nick a brand-new boat, and his men are remodeling Nick’s shack. And you should see Zach. He’s lean and fit and more handsome than ever.”

Lean and fit. Rich and handsome. She’d seen his photos in the press and knew just how handsome he was. Oh, why couldn’t he be the no-good homeless person her stepfather had predicted he’d be?

“Rich as he is—an old lady like me with a beautiful, unmarried granddaughter can’t help wondering why a catch like him is still single.”

“Gram! We have a history. An unsavory, scandalous history that I’m sure he wants to forget as much as I do! Not that that’s possible when there are always reporters around who love nothing better than to rehash the dirt in celebrities’ lives. Don’t you see, I can’t afford to have anything to do with him.”

“No, your stations in life have changed. You’re both enormously successful. Your career would threaten most men, but it wouldn’t threaten Zach. Whatever happened to letting bygones be bygones?”

“Not possible! He hates me!” And with good reason.

“Well, he’s never said a word about that scandal or against you. You wouldn’t be so dead set against him, either—if you saw him. The townspeople have changed their narrow minds about him. Well, everybody except Thurman.”

Thurman was Summer’s impossible stepfather.

There was no arguing with Gram. So here Summer was—home in Bonne Terre—to remove Tuck from his job and, by doing so, remove Zach from their lives. She didn’t want to confront Zach, and maybe, if she could get through to Tuck and Gram, she wouldn’t have to. All it had ever taken for Summer to remember the secrets and heartbreak of her past, and the man who’d caused them, was to visit Gram.

Nothing ever changed in Bonne Terre.

Here, under the ancient cypress trees that edged the bayou, as she listened to a chorus of late-summer cicadas and endured the stifling heat, the wounds to her soul felt as fresh and raw as they had fifteen years ago.

Unlike Tuck, Summer had been an ambitious teen, one who’d decided that if she couldn’t have Zach Torr, she had to forget him and follow her dreams. That’s what had been best for everybody.

She’d worked hard in her acting career to get where she was, to prove herself. She was independent. Famous, even. And she was happy. Very happy. So happy she’d braved coming back to Bonne Terre for the first time in two years.

Summer pushed the screen door open and let it bang behind her.

“I’m home!”

Upstairs she heard a stampede of footsteps. “Gram, she’s here!”

Yanking earbuds from his ears, Tuck slid down the banister with the exuberance of an overgrown kid. She was about to cry out in fear that he’d slam into the newel post and kill himself, but he hopped off in the nick of time, landing on his feet as deftly as a cat.

“Come here and give me a hug, stranger,” she whispered.

Looking sheepish, with his long hair falling over his eyes and his baseball cap on backward, Tuck shyly obliged. But then he pulled away quickly.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were even taller,” she said.”

“No, you’re shorter.”

“Am not!” she cried.

“God, this place is quiet without you here to fight with.”

“I do have a career.”

“It must be nice,” he muttered. “My famous sister.”

“I’m doing what I love, and it’s great,” she said much too enthusiastically. “Just great. I’m here to try to teach you about ambition.”

“I got a job. Didn’t Gram tell you?”

Gram walked into the room and took Summer into her arms before Summer could reply.

“I was wondering what it would take to get my Babygirl home.”

“Don’t you dare call me that!” Summer smiled, fondly remembering how she used to be embarrassed by the nickname when she was a teenager.

“Set your bag down and then go sit out on the screened porch. Tuck, you join her. I’ll bring you something you can’t get in that big city of yours, Babygirl—a glass of my delicious, mint-flavored tea.”

Summer sighed. “Gram, I don’t want you wearing yourself out waiting on us. Tuck, we’re going to help her, you hear?”

Tuck, who was lazy by nature, frowned, but since he adored his big sister, he didn’t argue. He trailed behind them into the kitchen where he leaned against a wall and watched them do everything.

“At least you’re going to carry the tray,” Summer ordered as she placed the last tea cup on it.

Tuck grabbed a chocolate-chip cookie instead.

Then the phone rang and he shrugged helplessly before disappearing to answer it.

As Summer took the tray out to the porch and set it on the table, she sank into her favorite rocker, finally taking the time to appreciate the deep solitude of the trees that wrapped around Gram’s big old house. In New York or L.A., Summer’s phones rang constantly with calls from her agent, producers and directors … and, especially of late, reporters.

She was A-list now, sought after by directors on both coasts. She’d worked hard and was living her dream.

She had it all.

Or so she’d believed. Then her costar and sometimes lover, Edward, had walked out on her. The night their hit play closed, he’d declared to the entire cast that he was through with her. That had been a month ago. Ever since, nosy reporters had been hounding her for the full story, which she still didn’t want to share. That night, back in her apartment after the wrap party, she’d tried to tell herself that Edward’s departure hadn’t made her painfully aware of how empty her personal life had become.

No well-known Broadway actress was ever alone, especially when she was under contract for a major Hollywood film. Even when she was between shows and movies, she couldn’t walk out of her apartment without some stranger trying to take her picture or get her autograph. She was always multitasking—juggling workshops, PR events, rehearsals and script readings. Who had time for a personal life?

She was thirty-one. Forty, that age that was the death knell to actresses, didn’t seem quite so far away anymore. And Gram, being old-fashioned and Southern, constantly reminded Summer about her biological clock. Lately, Gram had started emailing pictures of all Summer’s childhood girlfriends’ children and gushing about how cute they were.

“Where would I be without you and Tuck? Mark my words, you’ll be sorry if you end up old and alone.”

Gram’s longings were part of the reason Summer had let Hugh Jones, the hottest young actor on the west coast, rush her into a new relationship not two weeks after Edward had jilted her so publicly. Had she actually felt a little desperate at realizing how alone she was?

Not wanting to think about her personal life a moment longer, Summer picked up her glass and drank some of her iced tea.

Where was Gram? And what was taking Tuck so long on the phone?

Was he talking to Zach?

She took another sip of tea.

Reporters constantly asked her if she was in love with Hugh. But unfortunately for her, it wasn’t Hugh who came to mind at the mention of the word love. No, for her, love and Zach would always be tangled together like an impossible knot. Her chest tightened. She’d only felt that exquisitely painful rush of excitement once.

She never wanted to feel it again.

She’d been sixteen, and he nineteen, when their romance had ended in unbearable heartbreak. For a brief moment she allowed herself to remember New Orleans and the terrible, secret loss she’d suffered there, a loss that had shattered her youthful illusions forever, a loss that had taught her some mistakes could never be made right.

Zach was the reason why she almost never came home. Bonne Terre was a small, gossipy Cajun town. If she hadn’t forgotten her past, the town wouldn’t have forgotten it, either. Even if the town’s citizens didn’t ask her about him, she always felt him everywhere when she was home. She had too many painful memories and … secrets.

Here on this very porch he had kissed her that first time.

Just as she was remembering how her mouth had felt scorched after he’d brushed his lips against hers, her grandmother’s low, gravelly whisper interrupted her thoughts.

“You’re not the only person who loves to sit in that chair.”

The sly, mischievous note in her grandmother’s tone sent a frisson of alarm through Summer.

“Oh.” She didn’t turn and smile because her cheeks were still burning.

“Zach always sits there.”

Summer stiffened.

“I can’t believe you allow him to come over, much less allow him to sit in my chair. What if someone tips off the press about his visits to see my grandmother and this causes another nasty story to be published about us? And why is he developing in Bonne Terre anyway? In all these years he’s never once come back, until now.”

“When his uncle died back in the fall he came to visit Nick. When he saw the land prices, he started talking to people. He already has a casino in Vegas. One thing led to another. The city fathers decided to court him….”

When Summer noticed the ice cubes in her glass tinkling, she set the glass down with a harsh clink.

”Careful, dear, that’s your mama’s best crystal.” They paused, as they both reflected on the sweetness of Anna, Summer’s dear, departed mother, whom they would miss forever. “Zach’s bought up all that land across from our place.”

“I still can’t believe that with his history, with so many in this town set against him, Zach would come back here.”

“He says it’s time to set the record straight. He’s certainly winning the town over.”

How exactly did he intend to set the record straight? Summer thought of the one secret she’d kept from him and trembled. “He’s made a fortune in Houston. Isn’t that vindication enough? Why would he care what the people here think of him?”

“They nearly sent him to prison.”

Because of me, Summer thought with genuine regret.

“Old wounds run deep sometimes … and need healin’. He’s got everybody around here excited. His casino’s going to be a fancy riverboat.”

“Gambling? It’s a vicious, addictive sport.”

“Gaming will bring jobs…. And jobs will buy a lot of forgiveness. Bonne Terre’s fallen on really hard times of late.”

“Gram, you sound brainwashed. It makes me wonder how often Zach comes by.”

“Well, he dropped by the first time because he wanted to see if I’d sell this place to him.”

Summer would watch the swamp freeze over before she let that happen.

“Zach’s been by about once a week ever since. We have coffee and cookies. Chocolate chip are his favorite.”

Summer took great pains to center her glass in its condensation ring on the coaster. “I hope you didn’t tell Zach you might sell or that I was coming to see you about all this.”

Her grandmother hesitated. “I’m afraid I might have told him he could make me an offer. And … You know how I can never resist bragging about you. I’ve shown him my scrap-books.”

Summer frowned. “I can’t imagine I’m his favorite subject.”

“Well, like I said, he’s always ever-so polite. He’s been especially interested in your romance with Hugh.” Gram smiled. “Asked me whom I thought was more fun—Hugh or himself?

I said Hugh was a rich movie star, who probably wouldn’t waste his time on an old lady. I told Zach he had nothing to worry about.”

Summer squeezed her eyes shut and counted to ten.