Chapter 3 The Seductive Ghosts of Bellmare

Zane leaned in further, his lips merely a hairs breadth away from mine. My lips parted open, but I quickly shut them back.

"You should step back," I said, voice shaking. "Now."

"Why?" he whispered. His minty breath fanned my face. "Am I making you nervous, Miss Ibe?"

I met his gaze. "No. You're making me nauseous."

He laughed under his breath. "Was your tongue always this sharp?"

"Back off, Zane."

"Speaking of tongues..." he said, his eyes darting downwards to my lips. "Why don't you let yours caress mine?"

He was clearly seducing me, and the worst part was that I wanted to give in. Oh, to be loved and touched by this man. I tried to banish those thoughts. Remember how he left you years ago. And now he's engaged to someone else.

I tried pushing him off me. He held my hand firmly and pushed me back to the wall.

"Wrong move," he growled softly. "You can't escape."

My chest heaved, rage and heat twining in my throat. Angry words bubbled at the back of my throat, but the words couldn't come out of my mouth.

"Tell me what you want, Amara," he said, voice like silk over fire. His lips were a whisper from mine. I could feel the tension in his body, the restraint, the raw, maddening awareness. He dragged a finger down my cheek. "To be touched? Or to be remembered?"

I stared at him. "Neither. I just want you gone."

"You don't mean that," he said, leaning in just a fraction closer.

"I do," I lied.

His breath fanned my lips. His nose grazed mine. I felt every inch of my body coil, traitorous and trembling. Then, just when I thought he might close the distance... he smirked and stepped back.

"You're right," he said. "Strictly professional."

My legs wobbled under me as he walked back to his desk like nothing had happened.

I hated him.

I hated him so much.

I hated that I still wanted to kiss him.

Zane now stood by the window, overlooking the city view, suit molded perfectly to his frame. He wore black on black with no tie. He never cared what anyone thought. Not about his dressing, not about his tastes, not about him. He looked good; I hated that he still did. He commanded the room, the kind of presence that was to be helming empires, not haunting my present and past.

He didn't turn around when he asked, "If, as you claim, you know me so well, how do you think my wedding should be?"

"I do not know you so well," I countered. "I never claimed so."

"You're going back and forth with your statements." He tsk-ed. "That's not so professional."

"You are being cruel."

He coolly lifted a brow. "Cruel?" he echoed.

"Yes," I said, trying to make my voice stable. I fear I failed. "Cruel. Pretending as if you don't know me... what's the point? I thought we would both mature enough to handle our next reunion."

Zane was silent for a moment. I felt the air in the room shift. His eyes darkened even more. Then he slowly advanced towards me. "My fiancée, Sera, was so bent on hiring you. I thought you would be the most composed, professional wedding planner ever. I thought highly of you, but meeting you, I am a bit disappointed. You are highly emotional and rash, Ms. Ibe. I wasn't looking for a robotic wedding planner, but you're crossing boundaries."

Oh, so I was the one crossing boundaries? He really wanted to spin this around on me and make me seem like the volatile, rash one? After he nearly kissed me?

I tamed down my anger and grit out, "That was not my intent-"

He was merely inches away from me now. He lifted my chin with his finger, making sure our eyes met. "I'd assume you knew me in the past," he interrupted, his face dangerously close to mine. "Perhaps I knew you also. Pardon me for not remembering, because my memory fails me. However, I do not appreciate mixing emotion and sentiment into a business deal. If you can't handle the job, I'm sure we'll find someone more-"

"I can handle it."

Zane's brow lifted. "I only value professionalism."

'Professionalism.' That word was grating. "Of course."

"I won't take anything less."

"Deal."

He observed me for a while. I looked right back at him, my face a mask of indifference. Inside, my belly churned. Why was he seductive one minute and cold the next? What did he mean by "my memory fails me"? Did he really have amnesia? Am I that forgettable? Granted, I had ditched my braids for Vietnamese bone straight wigs and had forsaken the girly tones of my teens to more womanly tones of my twenties. I'd also added a bit of weight. Yet I could still be easily recognizable. I didn't change much.

Zane walked up to the head of the table and sat down. His posture was relaxed, like he wasn't just reunited with the girl who healed and then hurt him. I didn't sit. Not immediately. Instead, I hovered by the table, fingers grazing the edge if the folder Mr. Wade had left for me to sign. My heart was thudding like it was trying to beat its way out of my chest.

I decided to focus on my job. My shaky fingers flipped through the journal. I was still very aware of Zane's presence, but I tried to ignore it. There was a vision board, venue bookings, the bride's preferences which were minimal and clinical. It seemed cold and dry. Nothing suggested warmth or excitement.

"Your fiancée," I said. "She doesn't seem too... involved."

"She trusts me to handle the details."

To plan the wedding with your ex-fiancée? I wanted to ask.

"What's your vision for this wedding?" I asked instead. "Traditional? Contemporary? Destination... though I assume that this venue is non-negotiable?"

He looked at me. "This venue has always been her dream."

My dream. It was my dream.

"Hmm," I replied. I turned a page. "And the date?"

"Six weeks from now."

"Six weeks? That's short notice."

"You said you can handle anything."

I bristled. "I can."

"Then handle it," he said evenly. He nodded to the contract. "Aren't you going to sign it?"

I signed the contract with fingers I no longer trusted.

He stood. "Anything you need, request it through Mr. Wade. My fiancée, Sera prefers not to be disturbed."

What about you?, I thought, but I said, "Of course."

Zane offered his hand in mock politeness. I rose and put my fingers in his. They felt the same. I knew those fingers, memorized every inch of them. I could imagine them on my skin, loving, caressing, before our love story turned into ashes.

It was too much. I tried removing my fingers from his grasp, but Zane held on even tighter. His grip didn't hurt, but it was firm enough to hold my fingers in place until he wanted to release them. He stared me down, and I looked him back in the eye.

Finally, he let go of my fingers. "It was nice to finally meet you, Miss Ibe. I hope we get along."

I didn't reply.

He walked to the door and was about to open it. He wouldn't just walk out like this. I had to say something.

"Zane," I said quietly.