by Heidi Rice
She shouldn’t want his sympathy. His support. His opinion didn’t matter. But his words, so forceful, so full of fury on her behalf, made the knot of shame lodged inside her for so long release. And the brutalised child she’d once been was so grateful, the tears clogged her throat.
‘Come here,’ he murmured as he laid her head against his chest. His open palm caressed her hair, rubbed her back. ‘Don’t cry, darlin’. He doesn’t deserve a single one of your tears.’
They stood together for a long time as she held on to him, breathing in the comforting scent of clean cotton and sea air and listening to the soft rhythmic crash of the surf on the shore and the sure, solid beat of his heart.
She had the sudden urge to tell him the rest, to tell him all of it. The real horror of what had happened six years ago. But she clenched her teeth and stifled the childish urge to confide more. She’d told him too much already.
Just because he hadn’t judged her. Just because he’d been sweet and sympathetic and surprisingly supportive. Just because he was a kinder man than she’d ever thought possible, didn’t mean he could ever be the man for her. This didn’t change a thing between them.
He lifted her chin. ‘You okay now?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Good.’ He took her hand in his and squeezed hard. ‘So how does a chocolate sundae with hot fudge sauce sound?’
‘Wonderful,’ she said as she squeezed back and willed herself not to care that he’d changed the subject.
But however hard she tried, she couldn’t forget how good it had felt to have him hold her when she’d needed it most.
Great going, pal. You just shot yourself in the foot.
Sure, he didn’t feel responsible any more, or guilty, or fascinated. After what she’d told him. After the way she’d stood so bravely in his arms, stifling her tears, what he felt was involved. And it bothered him. A lot.
As they rounded the rocks and set out across the public beach towards his favourite ice-cream stand Mac tried to concentrate on chocolate sundaes and hot fudge sauce and licking them off Juno’s naked breasts.
He refused to dwell on all the conflicting emotions currently churning in his gut and making his heart lurch into his throat.
He only had one thing to offer her. And that was two weeks of no-strings sex.
So there’d be no more heart-to-hearts, no more delving into her past, no more trying to figure out her psyche. That had been a dumb idea.
From now on he’d be keeping a choke-hold on his curiosity and keeping things strictly sexual—with chocolate sauce on top.
Chapter Twelve
JUNO’S hormones did their usual happy dance as she slipped her sunglasses off her nose and watched Mac stroll across the pool terrace. Returning from his regular morning jog, he looked damp and delicious, his T-shirt and shorts moulded to that mouth-watering physique like a second skin.
Juno swallowed down the boulder of lust lodged in her throat as he walked towards her. After eight days as Mac’s house guest, she’d begun to crave that tanned, muscular body and the amazing things it could do to her with an intensity she wasn’t sure was entirely healthy.
The last week had been an exhilarating voyage of sexual discovery. Mac wasn’t just a skilled lover. He was a master. And she’d been an eager student, lapping up every new experience like a woman who had been dying of thirst.
But he hadn’t just proved to be an excellent host in the bedroom. Instead of disappearing for most of the day to do whatever movie stars did, he’d hardly left her side. They’d lounged by the pool, checked out the local art galleries, had quiet meals on the terrace and frolicked in the sea like a couple of kids—nearly drowning each other the day before when he decided to teach her how to surf—as well as making love every chance they got.
That moment of connection on the beach their first day had never been repeated, and she knew she should be grateful for that. Keeping things simple and living every moment to the hilt made sense. She couldn’t afford to get involved any more than he could.
Mac lived in a fantasy world, in which beautiful people did beautiful things in impossibly beautiful places. She didn’t; she lived in the real world. And once this fabulous voyage came to its inevitable conclusion, she wanted to be able to go back to it without a single regret. She could only do that if she didn’t complicate things—or start wishing for things she couldn’t possibly have. But it was proving harder and harder as each day passed to keep everything in perspective.
He picked up her glass of lemonade from the arm of her sun lounger. ‘So what’s Miss Juno been up to?’
‘I’ve been chatting to Daisy,’ she said, trying not to obsess over the way his Adam’s apple glistened in the sun as he took a thirsty swallow of the icy drink. ‘Ronan’s cutting his first tooth and she and Connor were up half the night with him.’
He paused before putting the glass down with a click.
‘That’s tough.’ He braced his hands on the sun-lounger, leant over and kissed her, leaving the bittersweet taste of lemonade and longing on her lips. ‘You want to join me in the shower?’
He’d avoided the subject, as he always did whenever she mentioned Connor and his family. She tried not to let it upset her. ‘I’ve already had a shower.’
‘So have another,’ he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. ‘I’ll scrub your back.’
More than sunlight warmed her cheeks as she recalled how inventive he’d been yesterday morning when she’d taken him up on a similar offer.
‘I better not,’ she said with considerable reluctance while her hormones did the hula. ‘Daisy’s ringing me back in a minute. I wouldn’t want to get sidetracked.’
‘Oh, wouldn’t you, now?’ he murmured. His teeth nipped her bottom lip. ‘That’s a crying shame. Because I’m definitely in the mood…’ he paused deliberately ‘…to get sidetracked.’
‘You’re always in the mood,’ she replied saucily as she gave him a playful shove and acknowledged the delicious spark that always accompanied their banter.
Mac hadn’t just opened up a whole new world of sexual discovery for her in the past week. He’d also shown her how to flirt. Teasing and tantalising her until she couldn’t resist doing it back. And like his lovemaking, the more she flirted with him, the more addictive it became.
He tapped his finger on her nose. ‘Only where you’re concerned, darlin’,’ he said as he straightened. The endearment had a familiar band tightening across her chest.
She chewed on her bottom lip. She still hadn’t quite cured her bad habit of taking his casual compliments to heart. The man was a born charmer and she mustn’t forget that.
‘How would you feel about doing a read-through on a script with me in a bit?’ he asked, stretching his neck from side to side. ‘I need to start taking character notes before we go into rehearsal next week and, as you’re the main reason I haven’t, I figure you owe me.’
She shot upright on the lounger, excited at the prospect. He’d talked about his work last night over their meal when she’d badgered him about it, but when she’d asked if they could watch one of his movies together, he’d refused—giving the strange excuse that seeing himself on screen made him self-conscious. She’d tried not to take the obvious lie to heart.
‘You want me to read a script with you? I’d love to.’
‘Don’t get too excited,’ he said, an indulgent smile curving his lips. ‘You’ll probably be bored to death after about ten minutes.’
‘No, I won’t,’ she replied and she knew she wouldn’t be. From the little he’d said last night she knew he was passionate about his work. Watching him start to create his next character would be fascinating.
‘All right, then,’ he said. ‘But don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
She clasped her arms round her bare legs and watched him walk away. The loud ringing of the phone on the poolside table interrupted her perusal of his very nice butt in the damp jogging shorts.
Mac stopped by the pho
ne, reached to pick it up, then paused and pulled his hand back. He looked over his shoulder. ‘You want to grab that?’ he asked. ‘If it’s for me, tell them I’ll ring them back.’
She leapt up as he strolled into the house. ‘Mac, wait.’
He paused at the doorway, raised an eyebrow.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, the insistent ringing shattering the mid-morning silence—as well as her peace of mind.
It would be Daisy on the line, which was why Mac hadn’t taken the call. She was sure of it.
‘Would you wait a minute?’ she said. ‘I need to talk to you about something. It’s important.’
He leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms over his chest, looking mildly amused. ‘As always, you have my undivided attention,’ he said, his voice rough with innuendo.
Scooping up the handset, Juno interrupted Daisy’s greeting. ‘Could I call you tomorrow, Daze? Mac and I are in the middle of breakfast.’ She quashed the twinge of guilt at the white lie as her friend said her goodbyes.
Placing the handset back in its cradle, she blew out a careful breath. She was overstepping the mark, she knew that, but she couldn’t pretend any more that Mac’s attitude to Daisy and Connor wasn’t a problem.
Why had he behaved the way he had towards them at the wedding? Why was he so determined to have absolutely nothing to do with them even now? And why couldn’t he see how much he was missing?
Okay, so their fling was only temporary, and she knew she had to tread carefully, but he’d asked about her past—so, surely, she was entitled to be curious about his. And didn’t she at least owe it to her friends to try and get Mac to stop rejecting them?
Mac gave a half-laugh. ‘So what was so urgent?’ he said. ‘After the way you lied to your friend, I’m hopeful it has something to do with showers and getting naked.’
He sounded so confident, so self-assured, but could that really be the case? When he wouldn’t even pick up the phone to Daisy?
‘Daisy’s not only my friend,’ she said. ‘She’s also your sister-in-law.’
He tensed. ‘I know that.’
‘Do you?’
He straightened away from the doorframe. ‘Where are you going with this? Because you’ve lost me.’
She dragged in a deep breath, squared her shoulders. ‘Why won’t you talk about them?’
He laughed, the sound hollow. ‘I haven’t a problem talking about them.’
She clasped her hands together. When Daisy had told her he and Connor had had a tough childhood, she’d been careful not to ask about it, because it had been none of her business then.
But it felt like her business now.
‘I know you and Connor were separated as children,’ she ventured.
His brow furrowed.
‘And that you spent years in foster care as a result.’ She soldiered on, finding it impossible to gauge his reaction. He’d looked surprised for a moment and then his face had gone carefully blank. ‘But I don’t understand why that would make you treat Connor so harshly. Why it would make you behave as if you don’t have a brother when you do.’
I can’t talk about this.
The panic burned a hole in Mac’s gut but he kept the turmoil of emotions off his face. ‘You don’t have to understand.’
Her big soulful eyes widened at the obvious dismissal. He ignored the stab of guilt. But as he turned to go she rushed forward and placed her hand on his arm.
‘Mac, don’t. Please don’t just walk away.’
He glanced at her fingers. Seemed she wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. ‘What is it you want?’ he asked. But he had a bad feeling he already knew.
‘The way you’re treating Daisy and Connor. It isn’t like you. You’re not cold or unfeeling. I know you’re not. I just want to know why.’
The complete faith in her voice made the burning sensation worse. He should have seen this coming.
Ever since she’d told him about her past, ever since he’d known about that bastard who’d as good as raped her, he’d felt the debt between them but he’d ignored it to get what he wanted. Watching her blossom in his arms, watching her lose her inhibitions had been irresistible.
So he’d rescheduled meetings, skipped interviews, turned off his cell phone and ignored the pile of scripts on his desk he was supposed to be reading to gorge himself on her.
And now here was the reckoning. She was calling in the debt, expecting him to bare his soul in return.
‘You don’t know me, Juno. You just think you do.’
‘What are you trying to say? That you’re somehow a bad person? I don’t believe that.’
He shook his head. He could walk away now. He probably should. But letting her believe he was a better man than he really was wouldn’t do either of them any good.
‘You want to know why Connor and I can never be brothers? It’s because of what I came from. And what’s in me,’ he said, feeling as dirty as the sweat drying on his skin. ‘Our da was a violent alcoholic.’ As soon as he’d said the words he could see the fleshy face, the mottled skin that had struck terror into him as a child. ‘He had a particular belt he liked to use when he was really drunk. It had a nice fat buckle.’ He formed his fingers into a square. ‘About this big.’ He kept his gaze steady on hers as he lowered his hands.
She hadn’t flinched yet, but she would.
‘And every time he went after Connor with that belt, you want to know what I did?’
Juno struggled not to recoil at the bitter cynicism in his voice, or the gruesome picture he’d painted. When Daisy had said tough she hadn’t realised it had been that tough.
‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing. That’s what I did. I did nothing,’ he said, his eyes dark with memory. ‘I’d hear the sickening thud as that buckle cut right to the bone. And I’d do absolutely nothing. Because all I cared about was that it wasn’t me on the end of that thing.’
‘But what could you have done? You were only a child!’
‘There’s only three years separates us.’ Emotion thickened his accent into a deep brogue. ‘And I’ve not got a mark on me. Not one. While I’m sure Connor has plenty.’
‘What about the scar on your arm? How did you get that?’ she pointed out, her voice faltering. Why was he punishing himself like this? Surely the villain here had been his father, not a frightened little boy so traumatised by the violence he’d been too scared to fight back.
He clasped a hand over his bicep, rubbed the old wound. ‘All right, I’ll grant you. That last night wasn’t too pretty.’ He shrugged, as if what must have been a terrible injury had no significance whatsoever.
Tears pooled in her eyes, slipped over her lids.
‘Hey, don’t be doing that now.’ He caught a tear on his thumb, looking appalled. ‘I didn’t tell you so you’d feel sorry for me.’
‘But what you’ve told me is terrible.’
‘No, it’s not. Not any more. I learned to live with it a long time ago,’ he said.
Had he? She doubted that. She scrubbed away her tears. It was obvious he didn’t want her sympathy. But her heart still ached for the little boy he’d been.
He gripped her shoulders, peered into her face. ‘I don’t think I’m a bad person.’ He tucked his finger under her chin. ‘But I am selfish. I look out for number one. And I always have. That’s who I am. I’m not interested in playing happy families. With Connor or anyone else.’
He ran his thumb across her bottom lip, the blue of his irises deepening. ‘So don’t go mistaking me for someone I’m not, darlin’. Because you’ll only get hurt.’
Juno studied Mac through the glass as he walked down the hallway towards the bedroom, and realised her careful step-by-step plan had just taken a wild reckless leap into the unknown without her seeing it coming.
Mac Brody wasn’t shallow or self-centered. He wasn’t his father, and he wasn’t to blame for what his father had done to Connor. Whatever he might want to bel
ieve.
But who was he really?
And why couldn’t she shake the terrifying feeling that Mac needed her and that she needed him, despite his thinly veiled warning not to get involved?
Daisy had told her she had to start trusting her own judgement. But what if her judgment was wrong? What if Mac wasn’t the man she’d begun to believe he was, but just another foolish figment of her overactive imagination? And how much of her heart would she have to risk to find out?
Chapter Thirteen
‘THAT was my agent.’ Mac dumped his mobile next to his plate. ‘The studio is insisting I go to the premiere of Death Game tonight.’
Juno looked up from the delicious lunch of seared tuna she’d been busy pushing around her plate for the last five minutes. She put down her fork and bit back a sigh. She couldn’t really ignore the evidence any longer. Ever since yesterday, after Mac had given her that fleeting glimpse into the horrors of his childhood, he’d been restless and tense—and really rather rude.
They’d begun the script-reading yesterday afternoon and she’d been enjoying it immensely, but when she’d probed about how he created his characters he’d called a halt to it without an explanation. And when they’d made love this morning, he hadn’t held her afterwards as he usually did, but had disappeared into his office until lunch. So far he’d taken two calls while they’d been sitting out on the terrace and had hardly said a word to her.
She missed the easy camaraderie between them—and his surly behaviour wasn’t doing a great deal to get her own cartwheeling emotions under control—but she was trying not to let him get to her, because she had a pretty good idea what the problem was. He regretted what he’d told her. He knew as well as she did that it had deepened things between them and he was probably as confused about it as she was.
If only she knew a little bit more about relationships—and men—this would all be so much easier. But so far the only new thing she’d figured out about Mac was that he was a master of avoidance.
