She was also curious. And that was a problem all on its own, at least for him.
She shifted in her sleep, turning over, and then stretched and opened her eyes. “Hi, there,” she murmured, blinking. “So…that wasn’t all a very lovely dream, huh?”
“Not a dream,” he said, sliding down to scoop her up against him, burying his nose in her hair. “Not by a long shot.”
“Well, that’s good.” Her words were muffled against his chest. “Because I’ve never been able to rerun a dream.”
He laughed, and she untangled herself to look up at him. God, her eyes were so gorgeous. It was more than the rich dark brown color, it was what he could see in them—pleasure and drowsiness and surprise.
“Are you hungry?” she said suddenly, sitting up, heedless of the sheet. “Because I’m starving all of a sudden. Apparently, you give me an appetite.”
“You give me an appetite, too,” he whispered, and leaned forward to circle one soft, flushed nipple with his tongue.
“Someone will find us eventually, I suppose,” she murmured, closing her eyes as he teased the nipple to life. “Starved, near death, but incredibly satisfied.”
“I guess I could let you eat if you promise to let me bring you back to bed later,” he said, pulling himself away from her body with effort. The taste of her skin was the only thing he could focus on at the moment—that, and the awful knowledge that he was digging himself in deeper with every word, every kiss.
He hadn’t been this drawn to a woman in years. And he certainly hadn’t been this reckless, either.
You have a job to finish, he told himself. As if that were the real reason he wasn’t hightailing it out of her house right now, truck tires screeching on the pavement as he gunned down the street.
Maybe it would work out between them, he thought as he pulled on his jeans and followed her into the kitchen, where she stared into the fridge with interest, muttering to herself about the packages of deli meat in the drawer. Maybe she wouldn’t care if he admitted to her why he didn’t want her taking, and publishing, photos of him.
Maybe pigs would fly. He grimaced, an image of his mother’s face flashing before him at the remembered words.
But it was very tempting to hope that maybe, just once, he wasn’t going to fuck up his life completely.
Six
“Hold still, buddy!”
The blond two-year-old in question gave Mackenzie a look of supreme condescension and ducked behind his mother’s sofa again.
“I’m so sorry,” Ellen Mather said. She was bright red and wringing her hands like the heroine of a Victorian novel. “He usually loves getting his picture taken! I just had no idea…”
At a gleeful giggle from behind the couch, she cringed and spread her hands in surrender.
Mackenzie turned off her camera and motioned toward the kitchen, just down the hallway from the bright, spacious living room where she had set up her equipment. Ellen followed her, but not without a glance back in the direction of her mischievous toddler.
“Give him a minute,” Mackenzie said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “It could be the novelty. He’s used to having Mommy or Daddy behind the camera, but not some strange lady with lights and backdrops and all kinds of funny equipment.”
“If you think so,” Ellen said doubtfully, hovering at the counter, where she had set out iced tea and muffins, both of which Mackenzie had already indulged in.
She stared out the wide bay window at the backyard, which was probably four times the size of her whole property, house included. A wooden play set was already in place on the manicured lawn, although little Jamie Mather probably wouldn’t be able to use it for another year or so.
In her mind, it was going to be at least that long before she could convince the toddler to sit for a portrait that wouldn’t make his mother cry, pack up her things, and get across the bridge and home, where Leo would be waiting.
Her home, of course. It wasn’t as if he’d moved in, although just days after that first unbelievable afternoon it almost felt as if he had. She’d never met someone she’d felt such an immediate connection to, even if so much of him was still a mystery.
Even if he was nothing like the kind of man she’d always thought she wanted.
They were beginning to behave like an old married couple already, she thought, aware that a satisfied little grin was beginning to form. When she came home from appointments with clients, he was there waiting, hammer or hacksaw in hand, sweaty and usually shirtless, ready to kiss her. And then kiss her some more.
And the days when she had no scheduled outside appointments were even better.
Yesterday, for instance. They’d spent most of the morning in bed, for one thing, but then she’d pulled out a kitchen drawer in search of a teaspoon, and the whole thing had fallen on her bare foot. After Leo had done his best to kiss it and make it better, he’d tackled the rotted track and repaired it. That had led to a discussion of the fact that the cabinets needed repainting, which had detoured into a conversation about the color—which had been a kind of faded hospital mint green—and before she knew it, Leo had talked her into an earthy red, which she had to admit looked wonderful against the butcher-block counters.
Especially since he’d taken off for the home center and come back ready to wield a roller.
The shed had taken a backseat, of course, but she didn’t care. He was taking as much of an interest in her little cottage as she was, and what was even more surprising was how bold, and how creative, he was. In her mind, kitchens were supposed to be white. Clean, simple. She’d never imagined cabinets the color of a ripe tomato could look so right. So gorgeous, in fact, especially with a deep yellow on the walls. Standing in the tiny kitchen this morning, she’d felt like she’d been plunged into the heart of a ruby.
But then, he’d already questioned her idea for the storage she wanted in the studio, too, and his solution was…well, better. More creative, a little different, and much cooler than what she’d pictured. It was startling, actually, to realize that she was pretty rigid about the way things were “supposed” to be. Leo was affecting her in ways she hadn’t anticipated, none of them bad.
Even if she was still curious about his past. If he was rigid about anything, it was his tendency to clam up whenever she asked a personal question that dug deeper than his favorite movies or what kind of food he liked.
She dragged herself away from her thoughts when Ellen set a fresh glass of sweet iced tea, garnished with a very pretty sprig of mint, on the table in front of her and sat down.
“It’s too quiet in there,” she said, her warm brown eyes troubled. “Maybe I should check on Jamie.”
As if she’d said the magic words, tiny feet thudded down the polished wood floor in the hall and a moment later a blond head was looking up at Mackenzie from the safety of his mother’s side. The child’s round blue eyes were serious.
“Pitcher?” he said dubiously.
“Picture,” she agreed, restraining a laugh of relief.
Ellen sighed and stood up to take the child’s hand. “There’s a cookie in this for you, buddy,” she said in a stage whisper.
Catching the toddler’s amazed smile, Mackenzie said, “Keep saying that. The Christmas card will be priceless.”
She grinned at him as she picked up her camera. If the kid cooperated, she was one step closer to home—and Leo.
Leo set down a dripping paintbrush and reached for his bottle of water. He’d discovered that morning that Mackenzie’s tiny kitchen pantry was a mess—the shelves uneven and some partly rotted, the shelf paper peeling and stained.
Somehow, between running to the home center to buy lumber and paint, and cutting and installing the new shelves, he’d never gotten around to working on the shed today.
Of course, the longer he took finishing the shed job, the longer they would be together. Neither of them had mentioned the future, that big gray area that existed just beyond the moment he showed her the completed
studio. Part of him didn’t doubt for a moment that Mackenzie considered this weird rhythm they’d fallen into the beginning of a relationship, but a bigger part of him—the smart part, he reminded himself—believed that if he confided all the things she wanted to know about him, she would say good-bye without a second glance.
He sank onto the stool at the counter, guzzling the cold water and wiping his brow with the back of one hand. Installing air-conditioning would be high on his list of priorities if the house were his.
But it wasn’t. And every day, as she unpacked yet another cardboard box and continued the process of making the cottage her home, he doubted just a little bit more that it would ever be a place she’d want to share with him permanently.
Mackenzie was smart, and funny, and warm, and deliciously sexy, but she also viewed the world out of her own unique lens. In Mackenzie’s world—a world which wasn’t at all unlike that of lots of women like her—things had a place, a time, a proper function. She’d raised her eyebrows in disbelief when he suggested that the miniature hall closet could double as a bookcase if he took down the door and installed shelves. He’d convinced her it would take better advantage of the space, in the end, but it had taken a good fifteen minutes of discussion.
It was a stupid little thing, nothing earthshaking, but every time he found himself looking at that quirky collection of snow globes, his heart sank a little further. That was the life she was looking for, when it came down to it. Perfect, encapsulated, pretty. Everything, and everybody, in its place. What was more, she was willing and able to work for it, honestly and as hard as she had to.
He was willing to bet his left arm that she’d never envisioned an ex-rocker and recovering alcoholic in her picture-postcard fantasies of her life.
The water bottle drained, he stood up and tossed it in the recycling bin beside the back door, stretching. The pantry looked good. Bright white, clean. Mackenzie would love it, he hoped. And if she didn’t…Well, he could paint it again, build different shelves.
And that would give him another day of not working on the studio, which meant another day before he had to face the future. Denial, he thought wryly, was working just fine for him at the moment.
He looked up at the sound of her car in the driveway and a moment later she was pushing open the screen door, hands full of white plastic bags.
“Hey there, Mr. Carpenter,” she said, giving him a teasing smile. Her hair was twisted up behind her head with some kind of clip, and her loose white blouse was untucked and wrinkled. “You look like you could use a good meal.”
“I certainly wouldn’t say no.”
“Well, you’re in luck.” She set down the bags on the table, rustling plastic as she removed the take-out containers. “After toddler-wrestling most of the afternoon, I didn’t feel up to cooking, so I stopped at The Lobster Pot and got dinner.” She looked stricken suddenly, and faced him with wide eyes. “Tell me you’re not allergic to seafood.”
He laughed, taking a Styrofoam container from her and opening the lid to peek inside. Crab cakes. Awesome. “Not at all. You better tell me more about this toddler-wrestling, though. Sounds dangerous, and possibly sticky.”
She was rummaging in a drawer for silverware, and turned around to make a face at him. “My afternoon was spent with a photo-shy two-year-old. I’m thinking of charging his mother double.”
“Hey, you were two once,” he said, sitting down next to her after he’d made room at the table. The air was thick with the aroma of fresh seafood and garlic, spices, the tang of Caesar dressing on two leafy green salads. “I bet you weren’t always a model of good behavior.”
She considered that as she bit into a fat crab cake, and tilted her head when she smiled at him. The curve of her lips was a wicked temptation. “Well, there are definitely times when it pays to be bad.”
He nearly choked on his food, and stood up to get another bottle of water from the fridge. The conversation had taken a wrong turn, and it wasn’t one he wanted to follow, not now. There was bad in Mackenzie’s world, and then there wasbad .
“Are you okay?” she said, scrambling out of her chair and laying a hand on his back.
“Fine.” He kissed her forehead, then her nose, and finally her mouth, lingering as he tasted her. Her arms snaked around his waist, her soft breasts pressed against him, and he had to resist the urge to slide everything, food and all, off the table and take her right there.
Before it was too late. Before it was over.
“Hey,” she said when he finally broke the kiss. “I forgot—I bought wine, too. Let me get it.”
Fuck.He sat down as she withdrew a bottle of chenin blanc from a brown paper bag. “Crap,” she muttered, opening a drawer beneath the counter. “I forgot this meant I’d have to find my corkscrew.”
He focused on his food, squirting lemon juice over his crab cakes. What the hell was he going to say? And why hadn’t he thought about it before now? People who were dating were known to have a few drinks. So were people who were just sleeping together, or whatever it was he and Mackenzie were doing.
“Leo? You sure you didn’t swallow your tongue?”
She was teasing, but he could see the question in her eyes when he glanced at her.
“Yeah.” Oh, good. Monosyllabic answers were sure to convince her everything was fine.
“Triumph!” she cried a moment later, holding up a corkscrew and carrying it and the bottle to the table. “You want to do the honors while I dig up some glasses?”
Here’s your chance, he told himself. “Just one glass, babe,” he said, keeping his tone light.
“You don’t like wine.” Her shoulders slumped. “I should have asked. I can run out and get some beer, if you like. And I think I have some vodka in the cupboard…”
She was rummaging again, her back turned, and he closed his eyes in defeat. “No, it’s not that.”Just say it, you coward. You had to in AA meetings. Can’t forget that. “I’m…I don’t drink, Mackenzie. Not…ever.”
There was a moment of electric silence, weighted with all the things he hadn’t said, and she didn’t turn around to face him immediately. When she did, her expression was carefully neutral, compassionate.
God, she had no idea how much he didn’t deserve that.
“I didn’t know,” she said softly. She bit her bottom lip. “Obviously. I’m sorry.”
Now she was apologizing. He didn’t think it was possible to feel any worse. “It’s my fault. I should have said something.”
“Why?” She sat down and reached for his hand across the table, her slender fingers a whisper against his skin. “It’s not like telling someone your name. It’s not required. I just wish I hadn’t made you feel uncomfortable.”
If only she understood. He was uncomfortable because she was. He’d put her in a bad position, and when she finally insisted on hearing everything else he’d carefully left unsaid, it was going to be downright awkward.
Hell, “awkward” didn’t even begin to cover it.
“You didn’t,” he reassured her. “It’s my issue.” Then, because he wanted to feel her against him and because he definitely didn’t want to talk about it anymore, he reached over and grabbed her up, hauling her onto his lap for a long, deep kiss.
She returned it, brushing her palms over his skull, wriggling until her breasts were crushed against him, warm and giving, and he was glad. Because while kissing her accomplished both of the things he’d wanted, it also meant that he could avoid the questions in those deep brown eyes of hers for a little while longer.
Seven
If Mackenzie had thought Leo was gorgeous in his jeans and sweaty T-shirts, she should have considered what he would look like in a well-cut suit.
Strange that the gray pin-striped affair looked so absolutely perfect on him, and all she wanted to do was rip it off his body.
“Stop staring,” he said, running a finger around the inside of his stiff collar. “I feel weird enough as it is. I haven’t worn this in
a while.” He’d shaved, although a dark shadow of stubble was already present along his jaw, and he’d taken out his silver stud. She kind of missed it.
“You should wear a suit all the time,” she said, tilting her head as she examined the elegant cut of the jacket’s shoulders. “You look…well, beautiful.”
He lifted an eyebrow and stepped closer. He smelled of soap and cool water, and faintly of pine, but the clothes couldn’t mask the heat of his body. Ignoring the trembling thrill of lust in her belly wasn’t going to be easy. She eyed the hallway which led to the bedroom, where the bed was still unmade, waiting patiently for them. They had at least thirty minutes before they had to leave for the wedding, after all…
“Do you want to go now, beat the traffic?” Leo said, fumbling with his tie, which already looked fine.
“Stop that, you’re going to ruin it,” she said, smacking his hands away and smoothing the front of his jacket. “And what traffic? We have plenty of time.”
“Okay.” He dropped onto the sofa, his eyes far away, his shoulders rigid with tension.
She bit her bottom lip as she sat down beside him. Maybe this had been a mistake. Bree was a friend, and even though Mackenzie was technically working at this wedding, Bree had been bugging her for at least two months to bring a date.
“You’re my friend,” she’d said. “I want good pictures, but I want you to be able to enjoy the day, too. You should at least have a little fun.”
And nothing had sounded like it fit the bill as much as bringing Leo along. To thank him for all the extra work he’d done in the cottage, to make sure he had an afternoon off with nothing but celebration and good food to enjoy. And, okay, to simply be with him, instead of at a wedding by herself, wielding her camera and trying to remember exactly what you were supposed to do during the Electric Slide.
But Leo hadn’t been thrilled when she’d broached the subject. Actually, “not thrilled” was an understatement of nearly epic proportions.
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