by P. J. Mellor
He watched her flounce toward the beach house without a backward glance, then kicked a nearby boulder.
“Ow!” He hopped on one foot and watched her stiff back as she climbed the steps.
How did things go so wrong, so fast?
McCall regretted her impetuous words the moment they left her mouth and even more after walking the rest of the way home alone.
She walked into the immaculate kitchen and opened the refrigerator door. Nothing appealed to her. Dragging out a half-empty bottle of wine, she trudged listlessly to the rack of glasses and took one down. Tonight she didn’t notice the quality of the crystal or admire the deep burgundy of the wine.
She looked down at the more-than-half-full bottle. Tonight, she would get drunk. Drown her sorrows, so to speak. She glanced over at the closed sliding door. No one would know the difference, anyway.
The bottle was cool against her lips when she turned it up and swallowed way more wine than she’d intended. Coughing and gasping for breath, she staggered to the sink and set the bottle on the granite counter. Leaning over the sink, she prayed she wouldn’t lose her dinner along with the slug of wine. While she was at it, she also prayed for a future with Alex.
Couldn’t hurt.
When she finished the bottle and Alex had yet to appear, she decided she could take a hint and went to pack. She could always spend possibly her last day of freedom doing her laundry.
Trying not to have a major pity party, she trudged up the stairs and dragged her suitcase from the closet. Alex never had helped her clean the bedroom like he’d promised. And what a pit it was! Clothing strewn all over, the result of lust and the furious coupling that followed.
She plucked a pair of her panties from the ceiling fan and threw them into the suitcase.
One of her best bras hung drunkenly from the floor lamp in the corner. Tears filled her eyes when she remembered how Alex had been overcome with lust at seeing her sitting in the chair, reading, in her undies.
She folded the bra and tucked it neatly into the pocket of her suitcase. “Good thing I didn’t take him up on his proposal,” she muttered. “It would’ve been the shortest marriage in history.”
The tears had her searching for a box of tissues. Lifting her underwear and skirt from the spot she’d flung them on her first day, she was hit by the pungent aroma of overripe fruit. Her skirt was firmly stuck to something brown, shriveled and sticky. “Oh, ick.” She peeled off the vile thing, and then folded her skirt, soiled side in, and tossed it in her suitcase.
“What in the world…?” Her skirt had been covering a basket of decaying fruit—and something else bizarre as well. What appeared to be a condom was tied in a neat little bow around a tacky statuette of an overendowed topless woman in a G-string. Her tiny chubby feet were taped to a card. In a bold scrawl were the words Happy Birthday, you dog. I expect you to use all of this during your vacation. Call me when you get back to town. Jack.
Use what? She cautiously peeked into the basket to find the fruit was resting on a bed of wrapped condoms. What may have once been a flower lei encircled the basket.
“Hmm.” She shrugged. “Wonder who they were for?” She glanced back at the decayed fruit. “And how long they’ve been here.” Seeing the condoms brought thoughts of Alex and how much she missed him. Blinking back fresh tears, she gathered her toiletries from the bathroom and zipped them into the side pocket of her suitcase.
Did she dare spend the night alone in the bed she’d shared with Alex? A glance at the clock made the decision for her. It would be well into the morning by the time she got back to Houston. She didn’t want to risk driving alone at night in her piece-of-junk car. It would be safer to leave bright and early the next morning.
She cleaned the kitchen thoroughly again, keeping an ear open for the sound of Alex’s step on the deck. It didn’t come.
With a heavy heart, she climbed the stairs and into the big cold bed to wait for dawn.
Derek rolled to his side and looked out over the Gulf. In the gray light of day, the whitecaps of the waves were barely visible. After a restless night, he’d come out here to his deck to wait until a reasonable hour to go to Mac.
Leaving her last night had been the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he knew they both needed space. Space to figure out what was important. Space to realize they belonged together.
He suspected she felt ill-matched, with her jaded past. He considered it proof of the strength of his love that her participation in the world’s oldest profession didn’t matter to him. As long as he was her last customer.
He opened his eyes to glance at the thin gold watch strapped to his wrist and realized he must have dozed off at some point. After brushing his teeth, he jogged down the beach, anxious to hold and kiss Mac again.
His steps slowed. He needed to tell her who he really was—should have done that long ago. It was stupid to withhold his identity. By the time he’d been with her fifteen minutes, he’d known she could be trusted.
Decisions made, he increased his pace. He also wanted to learn everything there was to know about his future wife.
McCall let herself into her little house and threw her keys onto the scarred coffee table while she sorted through her mail.
Walking toward the back of the shotgun-style house toward her bedroom, she stripped, leaving a trail of clothing. Her almost painfully neat home looked barren to her now. Barren.
She covered her abdomen with her hand. She’d told Alex the truth, but a tiny part of her hoped she was wrong. She’d give anything to be pregnant with Alex’s baby. She’d always have a part of him to love.
Shoving those morose thoughts away, she fell back on her serviceable corded bedspread and vowed to buy something frilly and feminine. Sensual. Assuming she was still a free woman when the next white sale rolled around.
Tears burned her eyes at the thought of Alex never seeing her home.
Above her, the ceiling fan lazily stirred a breeze to waft over her nudity. Her nipples puckered at the coolness, causing a fresh spate of tears.
Some wild woman she’d turned out to be.
“Mac!” Tired of knocking, Derek let himself into the quiet beach house. He ran to the bottom of the stairs. “Mac?” Taking the stairs two at a time, he didn’t realize how much he wanted to find her sound asleep on the big bed until he saw it was neatly made. A quick check of the bathroom confirmed it.
She was gone.
Shaking fingers brought up Jack’s home number on his cell-phone screen. He hesitated only a second before pressing the CALL button.
His friend answered on the second ring.
“Jack! It’s Derek. I need some info, buddy.”
“Shoot. Hey, what did you think of my gift?”
“I loved it.” More than he could know. “I need her name and address.”
“Whose name?”
“The hooker.”
“What hooker?”
“Jack, don’t toy with me, buddy! I don’t have time. I fell in love with the hooker you gave me for my birthday and I have to find her but I don’t even know her full name! I—”
“Whoa!” Jack’s voice boomed over the tiny phone. “Back it up a minute. While I would love to take the credit for it, I don’t have that kind of imagination. I didn’t buy you a hooker for your birthday. Who is she?”
I didn’t buy you a hooker for your birthday. Jack’s words echoed in Derek’s head, causing a terrible ache to build in his temples. He sank to the edge of the bed, his knees suddenly weak. “That’s what I’d like to know,” he said in a quiet voice.
“You’re kidding, right? Didn’t you see the fruit basket I left on the dresser up in my room?”
Derek looked up at the basket of rotting fruit. “Yeah, it was great. Thanks, man.”
“Well? Did you use all of them?”
“The fruit?”
Jack’s laugh echoed over the miles. “No, you moron! I tucked about three boxes’ worth of condoms in that basket. Didn’t you
look under the fruit? And did you check out the rack on that doll?”
Memories of Mac, standing in the shower, water dripping from her magnificent breasts, filled his mind. “Yes,” he said. “They were spectacular.”
“Well? You said you met a woman. I’m not looking for locker-room gossip, but just answer one question. Did—”
“Hold on a minute, Jack, I have another call.” He switched over. “Summers.”
A few minutes later he clicked back to Jack. “Jack? Sorry about that. It was my legal counsel. The court date of the fund-raiser from hell has been moved up to tomorrow. Seems the judge’s wife is pregnant and he wants to take some time off. I’ll call you when I get back in town. Bye.”
The judge’s wife was pregnant. With all his heart, he wished he’d impregnated Mac during their brief time together. Right now it seemed to be the only way she’d come back to him.
Jack walked into the steak house a few minutes after the hostess had seated Derek. “Hey, big guy,” Derek said. Jack’s smile was infectious while he heartily pumped Derek’s hand and slapped his back. Derek smiled back at his good friend and cardiologist and reclaimed his seat in the plush, red leather booth.
“Well, you look tan, but I can’t say you look rested,” Jack said as soon as the waitress placed their drinks in front of them and left. “I’m not a shrink, but you know I’m available if you want to get anything off your chest.” He took a sip of his drink. “So, who’s the woman?”
Derek shook his head, horrified at what felt suspiciously like tears burning the backs of his eyelids. “I haven’t a clue,” he said in a thick voice.
“Wow. We all knew—well, hoped—you’d fall again. But, damn, you look like this has really cut you off at the knees. You say she’s a hooker?”
Derek shrugged, wanting to howl his frustration. “How the hell should I know? She could be anyone! Who did you rent your house to this past week?”
“No one. Wait, my brother-in-law had a key. Maybe he gave it to someone.”
“But you said you wanted me to pick up my present before the next renter got there.”
Jack nodded, his Irish setter-red hair standing on end. “That’s right. But mostly I just wanted you to get out of your slump and get laid. Renters were secondary. They were due there tomorrow, but as things turned out, they canceled. You could have stayed and made whoopee with your mystery woman for another week.” He grinned over the rim of his glass. “Welcome back to the land of the living, my friend.” Jack sighed at Derek’s scowl and reached into his pocket. He punched a number and put his tiny cell phone to his ear. “Tuck? It’s Jack. Say, did you let anyone use my beach house this past week?” Jack’s gaze met Derek’s hopeful one and he nodded. “You did? Who was it? What? That’s bullshit! We’re family!” His eyes narrowed. “You’re not fucking around on my sister, are you?” He relaxed back against the booth. “So who was it?” He sighed. “Yeah, I understand. Yeah. Right. Bye.”
“Well?” Derek leaned forward, praying for a break.
Jack shook his head and took another drink. “Sorry. Client confidentiality. His hands are tied.”
“Can he give his client a message?”
Jack pulled out his phone again and hit REDIAL. “What’s the message?”
“Ask him if his client’s name was Mac.”
Jack greeted Tucker a second time without even saying hello. “Was your client’s name, by chance, Mac?” He put his hand over the receiver and asked Derek, “And this Mac is a girl, right?” He grinned when Derek threw his napkin at him.
“Tell Tucker to tell Mac that I meant everything I said and to call me.” Derek rattled off the number to his private line and cell phone, which Jack dutifully repeated.
Jack slipped the phone back into his pocket and leaned forward. “So what exactly did you tell her?”
“Exactly?”
Jack nodded. “Yes, exactly.”
“Okay,” Derek said, feeling suddenly optimistic. Mac would call. “I took her hands, like this, and said”—he grabbed Jack’s hands in a bone crushing clench to prevent his withdrawal—“I love you. I can’t live like this. I’m not ashamed of our love. I want to marry you.”
Their waitress dropped their fresh drinks along with her tray with a resounding crash. She stood, eyes wide, mouth open, then turned and ran toward the back room.
Jack glared at Derek, who laughed uproariously, and threw some bills on the table. “Thanks a lot, Derek, old boy. Now you’ve ruined my favorite hangout.”
McCall ran her sweaty hand over her drab gray skirt and nodded at her attorney that she was as ready as she’d ever be to face her accusers. If she was exonerated, she would buy a complete new wardrobe.
“Remember,” Tucker told her, his hand on her arm to guide her through the throng of reporters, “answer only direct questions and only then with a yes or no. If even one tiny word of their question is not true, then it’s false. Got it?”
She nodded and he held open the courtroom door for her. “I heard the big man himself, Derek Summers, is going to grace us with his presence this morning,” he told her. “I subpoenaed him, but thought for sure he’d find a way to wiggle out of it.”
“Maybe if I talked to him, told him my side of it, he’d drop the charges?”
Tucker gave a humorless bark of laughter. “Yeah, right! Derek Summers is the Ice Man—what do you think? I’m your lawyer and I’m telling you to steer clear of him.”
Gritting her teeth, McCall drew a calming breath and wished for about the zillionth time that Alex were here to give her his strength and love.
And there he was.
He was talking to an older man who sat behind a long, rectangular table, but she only had eyes for him. He looked beautiful. Even more handsome in the tailored gray suit, pale blue shirt and red tie than when he wore shorts and a T-shirt.
While he spoke, he looked around the courtroom and straightened his tie. She knew the moment he spotted her. His hand froze at the knot of his tie. His gaze met hers and the other inhabitants of the courtroom faded away.
She smiled and rushed toward him. Behind her, Tucker called her name, but she maintained eye contact with her beloved Alex and kept walking.
The older man at the table grabbed Alex’s arm, but he shook him off, his gaze never leaving her.
Finally she was within touching distance. Why wasn’t he embracing her? It didn’t matter who initiated the hug. What mattered was that he’d come for her. Together, they could get over anything. Endure anything. She reached for him, only to have his hands stop her with a firm grip on her shoulders.
“Alex? I—”
“Who are you?” he asked in a cold voice.
“It’s me, Mac.” At his continued hard stare, she laughed. Okay, she’d play along. She held out her hand. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced. I’m McCall Lindsey.”
He released her shoulders to clasp her hand, a muscle ticking in his jaw. “Derek Alexander Summers. Of the Summers Group.”
His last sentence was barely audible over the roar in her ears. Tears burned her eyes as she looked at his beautiful face, set in a grim mask, through a gray haze.
Everything went black.
10
McCall applied another liberal coating of sunscreen and leaned back in the deck chair with a sigh. She’d thought coming back to the scene of the crime, the beach house, would be cathartic. Instead, it had opened up her emotional wounds to bleed all over again.
The criminal charges had been dropped when McCall’s immediate supervisor was revealed as the real culprit. Unfortunately, Alex—Derek—didn’t seem to notice. How on earth could he have accused her of being a prostitute? Thoughts of their time together flashed through her mind and she had to admit it might not have been much of a stretch.
Some wild woman she’d been.
But the lies hurt the most. She’d hidden her identity at her lawyer’s advice. Alex—Derek—hadn’t trusted her enough to tell the truth about himself.
She groped for another tissue and wiped her leaky eyes. Good thing she hadn’t accepted his silly proposal.
A jogger made his way down the beach and she wished for the millionth time it was Alex, coming to beg her forgiveness and sweep her off her feet.
It was hard not to admire the lean fitness of his tanned body, the long, even stride of his legs as he closed the distance, then ran past her section of beach without a sideways glance.
She slumped back and closed her eyes, hoping the soothing sound of the surf and the warmth of the sun would ease the icy ache in her heart.
Coming back to Pleasure Beach was a waste of time. But when Tucker’s brother-in-law had offered the house to her for the weekend, free of charge, she’d grabbed at it like a drowning woman.
Maybe it wasn’t a mistake. Maybe she needed time to heal. Maybe she needed closure.
Derek’s stride ate up the distance from his beach house. His muscles tightened painfully with each yard closer to Jack’s house. He’d run by there every day since the trial ended. He snorted. What did he expect, that Mac would be sunning herself on the deck, just waiting for him to get his head on straight and come back to her? How pathetic was that?
Clenching his jaw in determination, he focused on the large seaside boulder in the distance and refused to glance over at Jack’s place.
The charges against Mac, being false, were dropped. He heard she’d even been offered her job back with Sunshine International. He also heard she’d refused.
Hank thought they would face a lawsuit from Ms. Lindsey. Didn’t happen. In fact, it was as though she’d dropped off the face of the earth.
After licking his wounds for a while, Derek had headed to the modest house McCall rented in the Heights. Empty. The next-door neighbor told him Mac was in the process of relocating and had put everything in storage. No, she hadn’t left a forwarding address.
What good was amassing a fortune if you couldn’t use it to find one small woman? His best people were on it, but so far had turned up nothing. Nada.
