“Pointing out the obvious was mean?” he went on. “Someone had to tell her the truth—the man’s only after her for her money.”
Temper rolled through her like the approach of a thunderstorm. Complete with forked lightning and the threat of flooding. She shoved Joe’s rock-hard abs with both palms, knocking him off balance a couple of steps until his butt hit the sink. Then she moved in close and grabbed two fistfuls of his long-sleeved charcoal Henley, which currently emphasized the electric blue of his eyes—not that she was noticing—and got in his face.
“Your sister is beautiful, funny, kind hearted, and as smart as hell, and you think the only reason Aaron—who is completely head over heels in love with her, by the way—wants to marry her is to get his hands on money she doesn’t even have?”
“Yep.”
“You really can’t find anything good to say about the man?”
“Nope.”
Oh, for Pete’s sake. Mac thunked her head on Joe’s chest, once, twice. Pretended the subtle scent of his soap and the spicy-warm male smell that’d permeated his shirt didn’t make her want to take a bite out of one taut pec muscle.
“What about the fact he coaches a primary school cricket team and outfitted some of the kids who couldn’t afford their uniforms from his own pocket?”
Joe made a derogatory sound in the back of his throat. “So now you’re on board the bus driver’s drink-the-Kool-Aid train?”
Mac rapped her knuckles against his chest. “That doesn’t make one lick of sense.”
One moment she was pressed up against Joe; the next, he’d grabbed her around the waist, swept her off her feet, and reversed their positions so it was her bottom pushed into the hard sink edge.
“Neither does this.”
He cupped her face in his big hands, surprisingly gentle considering the heat in his eyes, and lowered his mouth to hers. Nothing gentle about his kiss, though. Mac inhaled sharply as his lips crushed hers, her stomach plummeting into free fall as his tongue gained entry and danced alongside hers. He tasted of warm hops and lazy days in the sunshine…days spent at the beach, where you prayed the boy you were crushing on would just plant one on you already. Her head spun as he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs and gently pulled on her bottom lip with his teeth. She whimpered, grabbing his wrists and holding on, trying not to lose herself as anger was replaced with raw passion.
He tore his lips away from her mouth, only to blaze a trail of hot kisses down her throat.
“You’re trying to distract me.” And he was doing a damn fine job since what were they arguing about again?
“I’m distracting us both. Trying to figure it out.” His hand shifted to her leg, and he ran his fingers up the smooth skin of her thigh and under her dress.
“What out? I mean figure what?”
He pulled aside the edge of her panties and slid a finger through her slick folds.
“Ohhhh.”
“God, you’re wet for me already,” he muttered and stroked her again. “This is what I’m trying to figure out.”
Joe’s fingers stroked and teased until she was panting, pleading with incoherent little sounds. He spun her around to face the wall above the sink, a mirror there revealing her flushed cheeks and bright eyes, her lips reddened from his kisses. He slid her panties down to her knees and shoved her dress up to her waist, exposing her completely. She braced herself with one hand on the sink, and with the other reached behind her to his erection straining against his jeans.
“Please,” she said, fumbling to find his zipper.
“This is feckin’ insane what you do to me.” He brushed her fingers out of the way and unzipped himself.
She heard the rustle of clothing, saw his reflection twist away from her briefly to retrieve his wallet, which after removing a condom, he tossed onto the floor. Foil tore, and moments later his hand gripped her left hip, tilting her forward. He nudged her entrance, his fist bumping her bottom as he guided himself inside her, one swift thrust to fill her completely.
Mac clapped a hand to her mouth to prevent a sound escaping. Her knees quivered, even as Joe steadied her by wrapping his big body around her and sliding a hand down her stomach to find her pulsing core. He circled her clit, sending waves of pleasure to surround his hard intrusion into her body as he began to move. Slow, even strokes at first, the delicious friction almost unbearable as he stretched her to capacity with such deep penetration.
“You’ll come for me like this,” he ground out into her ear. “Watching me pleasure you.”
His words weren’t a question but an order. His finger moved faster, driving her toward the edge. The woman in the mirror panted, her breasts heaving, eyes glassy with wild abandon as the man behind her moved inside her faster, harder, cords standing out in his throat as he slammed into her again and again. Her vision blurred as the orgasm ripped her apart in shuddering waves, and she couldn’t prevent the soft wail of his name escaping her mouth. Joe held her upright with one arm around her middle as he thrust into her a few more times then went rigid, his release a harsh growl against her shoulder blades.
Seconds then moments ticked by, the only sounds in the small, tiled room their uneven breaths and the whirr of the extractor fan. Joe’s arm slid from around her middle and he pulled away. Mac continued to grip the edges of the sink, her gaze locked on the drip-drip-drip of a leaky faucet, her womb still quaking with mini aftershocks. His clothing rustled again, and she heard the sound of toilet tissue being ripped from the holder. The reality of angry sex in a restroom. Something she’d never experienced until now.
Scalding heat spilled into her cheeks as she turned her back on him, hauled up her panties, and smoothed down her dress. The toilet flushed.
“MacKenna?”
She couldn’t look at him. Not without giving away her confusion and silly, girlish vulnerabilities. “You’d better go back out. I won’t be long.”
“Jaysus, MacKenna, I…”
In the mirror she caught a glimpse of him shaking his head then bending to retrieve his wallet. When he rose to his full height, his mouth was once again a straight slash across his handsome face. He walked to the door and unlocked it. His shoulders hunched for a moment then braced back to their usual strong width.
“A bleedin’ fool, that’s what I am.”
Then he left, closing the door gently behind him.
Five minutes later—thankfully, no one pounded on the door while Mac attempted to regain her composure—she left the restroom. She couldn’t hide her puffy lips, but she’d done her best with cold water and paper towels to try to disguise the I’ve just had sex rosy glow on her face. With Kerry and Aaron still likely upset, they probably wouldn’t notice how long Mac and Joe had been gone anyway.
But Joe sat alone in the booth, the table cleared of their lunch dishes and wiped clean. His expression was unreadable as she crossed to him, forcing the wobble out of her step and steel into her spine. He handed over her purse and coat as she drew alongside.
“They were gone when I came out,” he said simply.
Mac slipped into her coat and buttoned it to the neck. “Have you tried calling her?”
“I’ll give her a bit to calm down first. But I’ll drive you back to the shop.”
Be alone with him to listen to the fear coiling sickly through her belly? That he’d steamrolled her inhibitions and caused her to lose control in a way she never had before? That it was hard to pretend that this was just uncomplicated sex when this urgency, this uncontrollable need pulsed between them?
Or maybe that was just her.
“I’d rather walk,” she said.
Joe stood, and Mac retreated a few steps backward, even though there was no chance of them bumping body parts again. He was too big, too sexy, had a too-catastrophic effect on all her senses for her to allow him to get any closer when parts of her still felt hot and tight and demanding more.
“I understand. I need a breath of air, too.”
“Well, you�
��ll get plenty of fresh air on the ferry. It’s pretty gusty out there. Hope you don’t get seasick.” Dear God, was that her super-chipper voice? Shut up, Mac. Shut up now.
“When will I see you again?”
“I don’t know.” She backed up another two steps, her butt knocking into a chair and sending it screeching across the floor. “I can’t think when I’m looking at you.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw then he scrunched his lips. “It’s mutual.”
Mac couldn’t think of a single thing more to say, so she left him standing there before she succumbed to the pull of his tractor-beam blue eyes drawing her back into his orbit.
Chapter 11
Joe must be a sucker for punishment, because three days later, he stood on Mac’s doorstep again, ringing her bell. Either that, or he was in far deeper than he liked to admit. He’d spent three days wandering restlessly around the tiny cottage after he’d finished at the clinic, picking up his phone to send her a message every once in a while, only to toss it on his sofa in disgust. Replaying the sounds of her laughter in his head, recalling the feel of her silky hair, the taste of her mouth that made his heart begin to pound. He’d rescheduled his next morning’s appointments—Mr. Douglas’s three-month check up could wait until after lunch—and had boarded the last ferry of the day.
Footsteps sounded from the other side of the door, and the outside lights came on. With a smile he hoped was charming rather than needy, he dredged up his overused “just happened to be in the neighborhood” patter. The door swung inward to reveal Mac winding a knitted scarf around her throat, already bundled up in a thick padded jacket.
Is she going out on a date? The thought exploded into Joe’s head, and he froze, drinking in the sight of her tight blue jeans and tousled ponytail, the dangling silver earrings in her ears, while simultaneously analyzing what he knew of women’s clothing preferences when heading out on a hot date. He had nothing.
“Joe!”
Her lovely face creased into a smile, but her eyes were wary as they scanned him standing there with a bottle of wine in one hand and a chocolate box in the other. He’d spotted a couple of gold wrappers in her trash last time he was here and figured an extra bribe wouldn’t go amiss.
“Guess I should’ve sent you a text,” he said. “You’ve got plans.”
Mac’s mouth twisted. “Obligatory dinner with my mum.”
Dinner with her mother. Oh, thank the baby Jaysus. “I’m familiar with the obligatory dinner. Roast beef and a thorough grilling about your life?”
“Roast chicken, but yeah, there’ll be some grilling.” She slanted another glance at him, slipping her hands into her jacket pockets. “You could come, if you’d like. If you can handle two hours of inappropriate interrogation.” Then she gave a self-deprecating laugh. “Or, if you’re sane, you can opt to stay here and watch the sports channel with Reid upstairs until I get back.”
“You want me to hang around?” he asked. “You’re not mad?”
“About you acting like a jackass to your sister?” She cocked her head. “Yeah, I’m still a little steamed. But I guess you could hang around and drink wine and eat chocolate in bed with me later on.”
“For a reward like that, I can handle a few inappropriate questions,” Joe said.
“You’re sure?”
Hope colored her voice, and something inside him warmed.
“If I can handle Betsy Taylor at her worst, I can handle your mother.” He cleared his throat because maybe they were overdue for a little vulnerability. “And I’d like to meet her.” And he was curious to find out everything he could about Mac and what made her the woman she was.
Fifteen minutes later they arrived at Mac’s mother’s house, Joe having offered to drive while Mac sent her mother a text to let her know about the extra guest.
Cheryl Jones’s face lit up like that of a kid on Christmas morning when she spotted Joe standing behind her daughter.
“You’re the friend Mac mentioned?”
She tucked a lock of blond hair the same shade as her daughter’s but shot with fine strands of silver behind her ear.
Joe stepped forward and draped an arm around Mac’s shoulders. “Mac’s being coy. I’m Joe Whelan, her boyfriend.”
“Her boyfriend.” Cheryl’s smile grew even wider. “Come on in. I’m sure we’ve got a lot to talk about over dinner.”
Mac elbowed him in the ribs before she followed her mother into the hallway. They stripped off their jackets and scarves.
“You’re not my boyfriend.”
She handed him her jacket to hang up, which he did without complaint. And because he was a good boyfriend, he held out his hand for her scarf, which she also passed to him.
“I am. Unless you want to reintroduce me to your mum as your hot, studly lover.”
“I really don’t like you,” she muttered as he followed her through to the dining room.
“Your mother does.”
He pasted on his most disarming smile and approached Cheryl, who was peeling the foil off a wine bottle.
“Can I help with that, Mrs. Jones?” And maybe he thickened his accent just a little.
“Oh, it’s Cheryl, please.” She beamed and passed him the bottle and a corkscrew.
He flicked a glance to Mac who slid into one of the dining chairs at the table, which was already laden with the roast chicken and all the trimmings. Dimples had appeared in her cheeks, and her lips were pressed tight together. She rolled her eyes at him and mouthed, suck-up.
“This is a nice wine, Cheryl.” He uncorked the bottle and poured a measure into each of the three glasses. “We’re spoiled to be drinkin’ it.”
“I had been saving it for a special occasion.” She fussed around with the folded napkins beside each plate. “Hoping that Andrew might pop the question. But, alas, it wasn’t to be.” Cheryl took a seat at the head of the table, leaving Joe to sit opposite Mac. “Still, this is a special occasion, too.”
He didn’t miss the glance Cheryl slid toward her daughter as he handed Mac a wineglass. Neither did he miss the subtle drawing back of Mac’s delicate shoulders, the absent dimples a clear indicator that her upbeat mood of a few moments ago had vanished. The dead giveaway, though, was Mac draining half her wine in one go.
“What happened with Andrew?” she asked. “I thought you two were getting on well.”
“Oh, we were,” Cheryl said, offering Joe a platter. “Chicken? There’re a couple of legs on there.”
“I’m a breast man, myself,” he said.
Either ignoring the corny boyfriend joke or just intent on her mother, Mac leaned forward. “Andrew’s a nice guy, Mum. Don’t tell me you broke it off with him.”
Joe dumped a leg and a chunk of breast meat onto his plate, went to pass the platter across the table, decided his arm muscles would give out before Mac was ready to take it, and set it down again.
“He wasn’t ready for commitment,” Cheryl said.
“Neither are you.”
“That’s not true. Roast spuds and kumara, Joe?”
“Sure.” Joe took the second platter off Mac’s mum and loaded up his plate. With enough food to stuff in his mouth to keep it full, he wouldn’t be invited to contribute to this conversation. That was his plan anyway.
Mac propped an elbow on the table and pulled down the index finger of one hand with the index finger of the other. “Kevin,” she said.
“Was more interested in being a grandpa. All I could see in our future was trips with his grandkids to that dreadful indoor kids’ playground. You know, the one with all the high-pitched squealing and a guy dressed up as a giant rodent.”
Mac ticked down her second finger. “Robert. He moved in with you after three months of dating then moved right back out again two weeks later.”
“Difference of opinion regarding personal hygiene. I told you that, sweetie. Peas, Joe?” Cheryl asked.
“Why not?” Half the serving dishes were now down Joe’s end of the table.
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He scooped a spoonful of peas onto to his plate. Behind Mac, there were a dozen framed photos arranged on the wall, three of which jumped out immediately at him as wedding portraits. The first was a black and white photo of a very young Cheryl with long, straight blond hair and a stiff-looking white wedding dress, posed with an equally young pale-blue-tux-wearing man. They were smiling into each other’s eyes, filled to the brim with teenage hopefulness—or so it would seem.
The second portrait was of an older Cheryl, this time in a less flamboyant wedding gown but with a teased ’80s hairdo that would’ve made Van Halen jealous. The groom’s arms were wrapped possessively around her like a boa constrictor, but by the bride’s huge grin, she didn’t seem to mind.
In the last portrait, Cheryl wore a simple summery dress in pale yellow, her hand linked with that of a tall sandy-brown haired man. He had sun-creased hazel eyes and a kind smile that suggested he’d happily give you the shirt off his back should you need one. That must be Dennis, Mac’s dad. His daughter was the spitting image of him.
“Andrew made me happy,” Cheryl said. “But so does a bubble bath and a good book. And a few moments of happiness can set up the false expectation that the relationship will survive reality. We couldn’t make it past the first real-life hurdle without crumbling.” She pulled a face then fixed a bright smile on her mouth. “This isn’t a conversation to have in front of your new boyfriend, is it? Now, pass Joe the gravy, and tell me how you two met.”
Mac dropped her elbow off the table and blew out a sigh. Fine lines etched either side of her mouth as she lifted the gravy jug and handed it to him. Their eyes met, and in hers Joe saw tired resignation. Was that resignation there for her mother’s love life? Or was it for her own? Was he her boyfriend, her lover, or whatever—or was he just some guy who made her happy? Temporarily happy, like a bubble bath and a good book. Wine and a box of chocolates.
Then her gaze sharpened on his, warmth spilling through the clear green irises, and the dimples returned.
“Joe’s the resident doctor on Oban. He was checking me for gonorrhoea. We hit it off during the pelvic exam after he said my cervix was a very pretty shade of pink.”
Saying I Do (Stewart Island Series Book 8) Page 14
