Run to Me

by Lauren Nichols

  Erin heard the low hum of Mac’s burgundy Cherokee arriving, then the crunch of gravel as the vehicle came to a stop at the end of the driveway beside the house. Memories of his kiss a full week ago and their tension-laced Sunday-evening ice cream party made her pulse race and her blood warm. He’d been great that night with Christie, teasing and joking. But the attraction he’d tried to hide when their gazes collided was easy to see.

  With each passing day the chemistry between them was becoming a near-tangible thing, and while she gloried in the knowledge that she could find a man sexually attractive again, this was the wrong time, and Mac was the wrong man.

  She was drying her hands on a tea towel when he walked inside.

  His brisk bootfalls quickly softened when he realized the only sound in the house was the low murmur of the all-news station. “Where’s Amos?”

  Erin slid the towel back through the refrigerator’s long handle. “Tucked in for the night.”

  “Already? It’s barely eight o’clock.”

  “He didn’t nap after PT, then after supper he and Christie played Lucky Ducks and Candy Land until they were both worn out. She crashed about a half hour after he did.” Erin studied his rugged features as he hung his black Stetson on a peg by the door, then braced a hand on a maple chair and tugged off his boots. “You look tired, too,” she said. He also looked sexy and earthy and far too appealing with his hair falling over his brow and his strong jaw shaded.

  “It’s been a long day. I’ll perk up after I grab a shower.” It had been cool when he left early this morning to do the quarterly inventory, which was why Erin had driven Amos to PT again. Now he shrugged off the flannel shirt he wore open over his white T-shirt.

  He glanced at her. “You’ve been up since 6 a.m., too. Why don’t you look tired?”

  She grinned. “Probably because women are a lot more resilient than men are. Are you hungry? I can warm the chicken and dumplings we had for supper.”

  Mac arched a brow as he carried his shirt past her on his way up the stairs. “Chicken and dumplings? You made gravy?”

  “Chocolate cake, too—a low fat recipe. It was better than handling the mutiny that was brewing. Your granddad said he was tired of eating like a rabbit, and he wanted some decent food tonight.”

  Mac halted midway up the stairs, his brow lining. “Was he rude to you?”

  “Not at all,” she said, smiling. “He grumbled a bit, but it was good-natured grumbling. He likes me. He wouldn’t be rude.”

  “Imagine that,” Mac returned, smiling back. “A man actually liking someone like you, who’s so hard to take.”

  A shiver ran through her because she recognized the compliment. “Imagine that.”

  He stared at her for another long beat, unreadable thoughts flickering through his dark gaze. Then he slowly descended the steps, reached to his right for the switch beside the staircase, and flooded the dusky kitchen with light. He started up the stairs again. “Back in a minute.”

  Erin stepped into the stairwell. “Mac? You didn’t say if you wanted me to heat supper.”

  “Thanks, but I grabbed a sandwich earlier. The chocolate cake sounds good, though.” He teased from the top of the steps, “I’ve been eating like a rabbit for the past two weeks, too.”

  Erin rolled her eyes. “You’re not that deprived. I found a candy bar wrapper in the pocket of your jeans when I did the laundry this morning.”

  Her only answer was a long, low chuckle as he disappeared into the hallway.

  Erin went to the cupboard to pull out a plate, her heart too warm, too happy and beating too rapidly. They’d become friends, not just allies in Amos’s health care. That was a good thing. Wasn’t it?

  When Mac returned ten minutes later wearing clean jeans and a black polo shirt, his hair was wet and combed straight back, showing to full advantage his high cheekbones, deep-brown eyes and tanned good looks.

  Erin poured a mug of coffee for him and carried it and a huge slice of cake to the table. He smelled soapy and fresh, without a hint of the musky aftershave he sometimes wore, probably because he hadn’t touched a razor to his jaw.

  “Looks great,” he said, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. He glanced up at her. “Aren’t you having any?”

  “No, it’s getting late. I should get Christie settled for the night.”

  “Will she be okay on the couch for another few minutes? I didn’t get a chance to call Vicki today, and I’d like to hear about Amos’s session.”

  “I’m sorry. Sure.” But as Erin sat, Mac rose, poured her a cup of coffee and cut a thin slice of cake for her.

  “Oh, I shouldn’t,” she protested. “I’ve already had some.”

  “Come on,” he urged, grabbing a napkin from the holder on the counter. “Keep me company for a few minutes.” He put it all down in front of her. “I haven’t heard a human voice in the past twelve hours.”

  She sent him a skeptical look. “Martin and the boys didn’t help you? And there wasn’t one customer in the store from nine to five while you were counting soup cans?”

  Chuckling, he dropped back into his chair. “Okay, except for Martin, the kids and a few shoppers, I haven’t heard a human voice.” He handed her the creamer. “How about it?”

  Erin shook her head in defeat. A thought whispered through her that there might come a time when she wished she’d practiced saying no to him. But right now she was enjoying his company. He was so different from the grim, brusque man who’d greeted her when she arrived two weeks ago, and she wanted his friendship. She’d never had that kind of relationship with a man.

  “All right,” she said, picking up her fork. “I’ll eat the cake. As for your granddad’s session, it went great. His therapist is wonderful with him.” Erin gave him a detailed description of all the exercises the therapist had Amos do, as well as the teasing banter that was becoming second nature between him and Vicki.

  “Vicki told him he was doing so well that pretty soon the only thing he’d need his cane for was fighting off the ladies. He got so red I was afraid he was going to have another stroke.”

  “Lord, that’s all we’d need. Actually, he does have a lady friend—for almost two years, now. Sophie Cassleback. You’d like her.”

  Erin put her mug down in surprise. “You’re kidding. He’s never mentioned her. As far as I know, they haven’t even spoken on the phone since I’ve been here.”

  “That’s Amos’s doing. After the stroke he backed away, big-time.”

  “And she let him? After two years together?”

  Mac gathered his dishes, setting his fork and mug on his plate. “She didn’t have much choice. For a while she dropped by anyway with soups and vitamin drinks—Sophie’s into herbs. But the stubborn jackass did everything but show her the door.”

  “How awful for both of them. She has to know why, though. He doesn’t want to look weak in front of her.”

  “She understands that. But there’s only so much of that people can take—even Sophie, and she has the patience of a saint. I saw her at the store earlier this week and we talked about the situation. I think she’s close to either giving up or taking a broom to him.”

  Erin laughed softly, stacking her empty cup, fork and spoon on her plate, too. “Maybe we should let her.”

  “Maybe we should,” he agreed, dark eyes twinkling.

  The mini grandfather clock in the living room bonged nine times. Startled that time had flown by so quickly, Erin pushed back her chair and grabbed her dishes. She needed to get Christie into bed.

  Mac stood at the same time.

  And instantly their lighthearted conversation came to an end.

  Only inches apart, their wary gazes locked, chemistry swirled, and Erin shivered at the knowledge she saw in Mac’s eyes. She suspected the same thing was reflected in hers. They knew full well that much of their talk was only that—words and stories to distract them from what they really wanted to do. Touch. It had worked fine…until now.

  M
ac returned his mug and plate to the table, then he took Erin’s and did the same.

  Her heart beat triple time. Reluctantly she tried to back away. “Mac—”

  “Shh,” he whispered, threading his fingertips through the wispy tendrils at her temples, taking her right hand with his left. “It’s okay.”

  What was okay about it? They were headed for trouble. And why wasn’t she pulling her hand away as he gently coaxed her closer to him?

  Their bodies melded together, fitting too well for their pairing to be a simple accident of nature. It was as though fate had made a decision, and they were powerless to stop it. Still, Erin tried.

  “This isn’t a good idea,” she murmured as his warm hands stroked her back, then slid to her hips and bumped her even closer.

  But his rugged face kept drifting nearer, his hooded gaze locked on hers. “Maybe,” he whispered, “but it’s not a bad one.” He nipped at the corner of her mouth. “The only bad idea is putting this off any longer.”

  Then he was covering her mouth with his own, first tentatively seeking a response, then deepening the kiss and hungrily taking what he wanted when she gave herself over to it. His arms tightened around her and his kiss gained new depth as his tongue plumbed her mouth and mated with hers, then thrust sleekly again, claiming her, seducing her, making her quiver with a need that had been building since the day they’d met.

  Erin inhaled deeply, and that quivering pooled in her belly as a new, tantalizing scent invaded her nostrils. There was that musky smell she’d missed, not from aftershave, but from him. Pheromones? she wondered in that part of her mind that still clung to clear thought. Was that it?

  The second kiss became a third, the third became a fourth, and soon she was spinning mindlessly out of control.

  Mac slid a hand to her bottom, pressing her to his arousal, shaping her to him as they began the dance. Coarse denim stroked thin cotton sheeting; hormones sang to the slow bumping rhythm that preceded lovemaking.

  He slid his hand up between them, burrowed under her knit top to the elastic band of her bra. Erin shivered as his hand cupped her through cotton and lace, and his tongue continued that clever, plunging preview of what was to come.

  Then suddenly she was filling her hands with him, too, relishing the feel of his sturdy shoulders and strong, tapering back. She slid her hands into his back pockets. It had been so long since she’d been free to experience this part of life, this part of loving a man. With Mac there would be equality—equal touching and pleasing. Loving him would be a banquet for the senses. With Charles—

  Erin sprang away as Charles’s defiant face and chilling vow shot into her mind, reminding her that she wasn’t free to feel any of those things. She would never be free. Her mortified gaze flashed to Mac’s as he blinked in confusion.

  “Terri, what’s—”

  “I…I can’t.” She swallowed and backed away, then flushed as she pulled her top back down and smoothed her hair. It was no longer in a sedate bun at the nape of her neck.

  Mac closed the short distance between them. “You’re afraid Christie or Amos will wake up.”

  Actually, that hadn’t even entered her mind! Would it have, in time?

  “And you’re right,” he said, keeping his voice low, not waiting for her answer. “We shouldn’t have started this here. Let’s get Christie into bed first.”

  Erin started to object, but Mac touched the tip of his index finger to her puffy lips…stroked them softly…delved inside to touch the tip of her tongue.

  “Amos sleeps like a log,” he murmured, apparently believing that to be her next concern. “He’ll be fine alone for a half hour. If he does wake up, there’s an intercom beside his bed, and one in my room at the house. We’ll hear him.”

  Erin eased his finger away, her mind finally clearing, though her body continued to throb. He had it all figured out, right down to the amount of time they’d need to satisfy each other. Moving away from him again, she searched her hair for her hairpins, then twisted and pinned her tangled strands into a knot again. “I’m sorry, Mac. This isn’t going to happen.”

  It took a long second for her words to sink in. Then he said, “All right. Can you tell me why?”

  “I just—a lot of reasons.”

  He was entitled to an explanation, but she couldn’t tell him Charles would kill her if she ever let another man touch her. I’ll know if you betray me, Erin. I have many friends…and they have many friends. You belong to me. You will always belong to me.

  It was ridiculous to imagine that he had a network of people who reported to him, but what if it was true? He was a powerful man. He even had a contact on the Chicago police force, the way he’d learned that she’d taken Christie to a safe house.

  She met the confusion in Mac’s eyes again. How could she tell him anything about her life with Charles and keep his respect? More to the point, how could she tell him anything, period? Her attraction to him went beyond anything she’d ever felt for a man, but he was still very much a stranger to her. She’d only known him for two weeks, and it took longer than that to establish trust. Christie had to be her first priority. One innocent word to the wrong person could turn their lives into a living hell.

  “Terri, if you’re afraid of getting pregnant, I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

  Another thing she hadn’t considered.

  Frustration lined Mac’s face when she remained silent, and grave thoughts moved through his eyes. Presently, something seemed to dawn on him. “You’re married, aren’t you? You said Christie’s father was no longer with you, but you were only speaking in physical terms. You’re still legally tied to him.”

  “No,” she replied quietly, “I’m divorced. I have been for over a year.”

  “Then why?” Mac persisted. “And don’t tell me you don’t want to sleep with me. You were as into it as I was.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks.

  “Terri, this isn’t about a gold band and forever. It’s about two people who like each other spending a little time together. That’s all. I’m not looking for more than that, and I suspect you aren’t, either.”

  Faintly hurt by what he’d said, Erin glanced away. “I know it wouldn’t have been about a gold band and forever.” Even if she wanted it that way, which she didn’t. She had to move on. But when she did, she didn’t want to leave with regrets, and that could happen if they made love.

  “And that’s part of the problem,” she continued, hoping the reason she was about to give would satisfy him, because it was a valid one. “I don’t want to be a convenience. I’m too handy, living in your house, taking care of your grandfather…”

  He stared, insulted. “I don’t think of you that way.”

  “Maybe not. But I’ll be leaving in a few weeks, and I…I need for my values to be intact when I go. Making love is a serious step for me. I don’t sleep around. There hasn’t been anyone in my life since I left my—” She couldn’t bring herself to call Charles her husband. It sullied the word. “Since my divorce.”

  Mac stilled, digesting what she’d said. Then he blew out a ragged breath. His mind got the message, but his body wasn’t in an understanding mood. What the hell had just happened here? A minute ago they were clawing at each other like animals in a cave. Now they were talking about values.

  In the silence, the ticking of the grandfather clock on Amos’s wall was almost deafening. He looked at her again, so beautiful, so apologetic and lost.

  But values were important to him, too, and when the sick heat in his belly finally went away, maybe he’d even respect her decision. Maybe. “I’ll carry Christie down to the house,” he said, heading for the living room.

  “I really am sorry,” she murmured. “It wasn’t fair of me to let it go that far.”

  He paused in the doorway. “Don’t worry about it. I should have backed off when you hedged the first time. And you were right—it wasn’t a good idea.” Then he repeated, “I’ll get Christie,” because there didn’t
seem to be anything else to say.

  Thin moonlight spangled the water as Mac crouched on the bank of the pond, listening to the distant yip and howl of the coyotes and the incessant ringing of the crickets. He’d tucked Christie into bed and left before their stilted conversation could get any more uncomfortable than it was. She’d said thank you for carrying Christie to the house; he’d said you’re welcome. She’d said good-night, see you in the morning; he’d said the same.

  Not even close to the way he’d envisioned their evening ending.

  Feeling around in the darkness for a flat stone, he sent it skipping over the water’s surface to join the others he’d tossed. One by one he watched the lights go out in his home. He missed his own bed tonight. More than that, he missed the woman who now slept in it. He’d been thinking optimistically earlier when he’d thought his need for her would fade. His nerves were shot and his stomach was a rock.

  The reason she’d given him was solid. She had principles, and he liked that. But she’d also said there were a lot of reasons, and that made him wonder what the others were. It also made him remember how little he knew about her. Whenever they talked, they discussed food, the weather, Amos’s PT sessions or something Christie had said or done that day. She never offered information about her past, other than mentioning that her mother was deceased and her father was “somewhere.”

  Mac swore quietly as his mind filled with suspicions he should never have put aside. Doubts that he and his hormones had been happy to gloss over as Terri slid smoothly into their lives.

  He winged another skipper over the pond.

  He knew nothing about the woman who was caring for his grandfather. He had no idea where she’d grown up, where she’d lived or what she’d done in the years since she’d finished school. He didn’t know if she’d attended college, why she’d left her husband, or if Fletcher was her married or maiden name. He didn’t even know how old she was, though if he had to guess, he’d put her in her very early thirties.