Saying I Do (Stewart Island Series Book 8)

by Tracey Alvarez

  Joe’s mouth quirked up, and he stepped forward, cupping her cheek. He pressed his forehead to hers then kissed her—a quick but lingering brush of his lips before he left her alone with a tingly mouth and the smell of pine-scented cleaning products.

  MacKenna snuggled under the covers of Joe’s bed, the hiss of crashing waves and the steady rain a soothing backdrop to the thud of her heartbeat. The rain tinkling on the roof had woken her a few minutes ago. She reached out and found Joe’s side still empty, so she rolled over and checked her phone. Just past midnight.

  There came a rumble of a car engine from outside. Joe was back.

  She leaped out of bed—dressed only in a tee shirt she’d stolen from his drawer because it smelled of him, and she’d needed that—and ran for the back door. She flung it open in time to see him climb from the car. Rain pelted down, plastering his shirt to his hunched shoulders, but he made no move to hurry inside. Mac’s heart ached as she watched him trudge toward the cottage. It ached more that, at other times when Joe had spent hours caring for someone else late at night, he’d returned to a cold, empty house.

  Not tonight, he wouldn’t.

  “You didn’t have to get up.” He found a smile for her. “You’ll catch your death, darlin’.”

  Mac’s heart gave a little flip-flop. That they had an inside joke—more than one, in fact—made everything so much…realer. She stepped outside and flung her arms around him, launching herself into his arms, though the man was probably too tired to lift fifty-something kilos of clinging woman. Yet he did with a soft laugh. He burrowed his face into her neck and held on. Mac kissed what she could reach of him, his wet shirt soaking through to her breasts, which reacted predictably to the cold.

  “You’ll keep me warm,” she murmured. “Or maybe I’ll keep you warm. Come inside. You must be exhausted.”

  “I’m bone tired,” he admitted, carrying her into the house. “I’ve been keeping Betsy and her friends company these past couple of hours after the official stuff was completed. We had a whiskey in Mary’s memory. She was one of theirs.”

  Something other than simple tiredness caused the lingering note of sadness in Joe’s voice, and it made Mac’s insides tremble. She didn’t know how to ease the sadness he must feel as a doctor losing a patient, but she knew how to be there for him as his friend. As something more than his friend—as a woman who loved him.

  “Set me down,” she said quietly as they reached his room, the nightstand lamp casting their shadows onto the walls. “Mary was one of theirs, but you’re mine. And I want to take care of you.”

  He lowered her to the floor, and she stretched up to brush her mouth along the rough stubble prickling his jaw. Then she unbuttoned his shirt and peeled the wet fabric away from his shoulders, kissing the smooth, damp skin beneath. She finished removing his shirt and took his hand, guiding him to sit on the bed edge. She pulled off his shoes and socks then tackled his belt. He stood so she could work his pants down his legs, the damp fabric clinging to his thigh muscles.

  “Sit,” she ordered.

  She retrieved a fluffy bath towel from the bathroom and climbed on the bed behind him. She rubbed the towel over his broad back and shoulders in long, soothing strokes. Then she wrapped her arms and the towel around him, rubbing the ends over his chest and stomach. He inhaled sharply as her hands replaced the towel. His skin was already starting to warm up, and she reveled in the texture of it under her fingertips—the hard indentations of muscle, the sprinkling of hair on his lower stomach, the small birthmark on his hipbone that had become so familiar yet still so mysteriously exciting to her.

  Mac tossed the towel aside and patted the sheet. “Lie down.”

  “And then roll over like a good dog?” He gave a rough chuckle but did as she asked, easing down on the mattress with a groan.

  She switched off the lamp. “Only if you’re so bone tired that you want to go to sleep right now.”

  “Said I was tired, not unconscious.” His hand skimmed up her bare thigh and hooked around her tee shirt, dragging it up her body.

  Mac helped him pull the shirt over her head, and then she straddled him. While she was completely naked, he still wore his boxer shorts and sported an impressively awake erection. She snuggled down onto him and kissed him, dancing her tongue along his and catching the faintest taste of whiskey. She resisted the need to rush and took her time, exploring the contours of his mouth, the soft, firm expanse of his lips.

  His hands stroked slowly up and down her naked back, finally settling on her bottom, pulling her firmly against him, so she could feel every inch of his need. She shivered with the deep ache to have him inside her. Tonight wasn’t about her pleasure, though, but his. Tonight she wanted to take that beautiful, kind, hurting soul of his and let it lose itself in hers. If only for a short time.

  Mac wriggled down his body, stripping off his boxer shorts as she went. She took him in hand, then into her mouth, hoping that with each stroke of her tongue he’d know how much he meant to her. His fingers wove into her hair, his gasps growing faster until he gently pulled her head back.

  “Need to be inside you.”

  Mac grabbed protection from his nightstand and readied him with hands that shook with her own need. She guided him home, sinking down onto his hard length with a whimper. He claimed her body, thrilled her mind, touched her soul. She linked their fingers together, bearing down on his strength as she eased up onto her knees then sank down again. Mac began to move in a faster rhythm, their breaths building into a crescendo of gasps and sighs. Delicious friction built between them, the pleasure rising peak to higher peak, making her internal muscles clench tighter around him until she shattered, crying out his name. She sagged against him, and he released her hands, gripping her hips as he thrust upward into her, his harsh growl of release pressed against her throat.

  “I love you,” she said.

  His heartbeat punched against her cheek while his arms kept her pinned close to him. He didn’t say anything, just kissed her forehead and continued to breathe like a racehorse. After a few more minutes, he eased her off his body and disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, he pulled the covers over them both and spooned himself around her.

  “Sleep now,” he said.

  His warm breath puffed against her shoulder. His big hand cupped her breast.

  Blood beat sluggishly through Mac’s veins, her body in shut-down mode but her mind continuing to gnaw over Joe’s silence after she’d told him she loved him.

  Joe woke to the sound of the sea and Mac breathing in the pale dawn light. He didn’t open his eyes, just cast out his other senses to check she really was still in his bed.

  Yes, he was curled on his side, facing her in the one quarter of available mattress space.

  And yes, there was a hand resting on his chest that every now and then would give a little twitch and make him jump.

  He eased his eyes open. Mac lay in her favorite starfish sprawl, her hair a wild tangle spreading from her pillow onto his. A small smile curved her lips, and he wondered if she was dreaming of him. Wondered if he’d momentarily banished her bad dreams the way she’d banished his last night.

  If she still planned to catch the morning ferry back to the mainland.

  Joe glanced at her small suitcase sitting open on the floor. A few items of clothing spilled out of it, including the flowery bath bag stuffed to the brim with brushes and makeup and all the paraphernalia women took with them on a trip. Because that’s all this was to Mac. A weekend trip to her cousin’s wedding with a sleepover at her boyfriend’s for convenience. His mouth tightened, and he placed Mac’s hand back down onto the sheet. Nothing had changed since they’d gotten back from Vegas, and he was a fool to have expected otherwise.

  He’d given her space, thought he could deal with the weekend commute from the mainland to Stewart Island, but his gut ached—his bloody heart ached—knowing she’d be gone on the morning ferry and he wouldn’t see or touch her again for da
ys.

  Last night at the wedding, he’d planned to raise the subject with her of finding a replacement doctor for Oban and shifting back to Invercargill. If that was the only way they could be together, so be it. Then with Mary’s untimely death—he suspected a massive heart attack, but the coroner would confirm Joe’s diagnosis—the initial burst of enthusiasm for the idea popped like a soap bubble.

  Oban was home, and the people there needed him, depended on him. More than that, he’d come to need and depend on them. He was the guy who reassured the hypochondriac their stomachache wasn’t cancer, the one who listened to both medical and often personal issues in and out of his practice, and the man who on occasion delivered a baby who just couldn’t wait to reach the mainland hospital. He was the guy who often didn’t have to buy his own beer at the pub, the recipient of grateful containers of home baking, and an integral part of the strong friendships among his peers.

  But still, he’d give it all up in an instant if he thought Mac would have him permanently in her life. Joe eased out of bed and hauled on a pair of shorts. The woman couldn’t even unpack a few of her clothes in the dresser drawer he’d unsubtly emptied of his things.

  Mac stirred, mumbling his name.

  “Go back to sleep for a few,” he said. “I'm making you breakfast.”

  “Ferry leaves at nine. Need to get up soon.”

  “I know, darlin’. I’ll have you ready by then.”

  Joe left the room, stomach in knots. He’d make sure he got her to the ferry on time, and then? Then he’d walk through the wind and rain and mud up to his eyeballs on the Rakiura Track to try to forget the woman he loved was leaving him. Again.

  Chapter 21

  The last thing Mac needed after dealing with two bridezillas in one afternoon was to come home to find Reid, Kaitlyn, and Holly in her living room.

  “Welcome to your intervention,” said her cousin, cozied up at the end of Mac’s couch.

  She didn’t need to ask who’d called Holly over from Oban for this hostile takeover of her living room; it was written on Reid’s I’m worried about you face.

  “Sorry-not-sorry,” said Laura beside Mac. “But you really need this.”

  Laura, who, come to think of it, had been awfully helpful in ensuring Mac got away from the boutique at five on the dot. Mac continued into the room, dumping her handbag on the island counter and ignoring the stares following her as she poured herself a glass of water. From the fridge she heard the wine calling but, nope, she needed a clear head. Not that her head had been anywhere near clear in the past three weeks since she’d last seen Joe.

  “Why do I need the four of you ganging up on me?” She carried the glass to an armchair. A conveniently placed armchair that faced her three ex-friends and former cousin. Now they just needed to crank up the bright lights and bring out the waterboarding equipment.

  Laura sat on the couch beside Reid, shooting him a you tell her glance.

  “Because you’ve been an absolute bitch to work for these past three weeks,” Reid said.

  “You refuse to talk to your friends about anything non-work-related,” Kaitlyn said from the second couch.

  “I hear you crying in your room most nights,” Laura said gently. “And your entire wardrobe at home now consists of sweats and one of Joe’s tee shirts, which, by the way, needs to be laundered every once in a while.”

  “Not to mention, you’re breaking Joe’s fucking heart and your own by making excuses not to see him,” Holly said.

  Their accusations peppered like buckshot and stung like hell because they were all true. “I’m not making excuses. There was the Johnson-Bell wedding the week after yours I had to go to. Then, the weekend after, I wanted to spend time with Dad by going to his Saturday morning Thai cooking class so he didn’t have to go alone. And last weekend I had a shitload of paperwork to catch up on. I can’t go gallivanting off every weekend to be with Joe—my work’s here, my home’s here, I have a life here.”

  “And you have the love of your life in Oban.” Holly folded her arms. “A man who loves you back and who’s as miserable without you as you are without him.”

  “I’m not miserable,” Mac said.

  “Yes, you are,” said the four of them together in perfect unison.

  “Okay, yes, I am,” she agreed. “But as I said, my work’s here, my home is here, and you guys are here—bar Holly.”

  “It’s a twenty-minute drive to the ferry and a one-hour crossing to Oban,” said Kaitlyn. “Or a forty-minute flight. Take your pick. We’re still close enough to kick your ass when necessary.”

  “And, FYI,” said Laura with widened eyes and raised eyebrows, “you’ve spent the last eighteen months mentoring me with clients and day-to-day stuff. Totally competent manager here. You don’t need to be in the boutique five days a week.”

  “They do have a little thing called the Internet in Oban,” Reid added. “E-mail is also popular and very versatile for those running an empire while not living on the mainland.”

  “More importantly, home is where your heart is.” Holly shuffled forward to the edge of the couch and leaned with her elbows on her knees. “Where is your heart, sweets?”

  “With Joe.”

  Always with Joe. Every waking hour, the hollow gap in Mac’s chest expanded since her heart was across the turbulent stretch of Foveaux Strait with a certain amazing doctor. Texts and e-mails and video chats weren’t enough, and in the past week, they’d become more scarce because missing him, wanting him, loving him hurt so much more when she got a brief glimpse of his face or heard the lilting tone of his voice.

  “What’s really holding you back?” Reid propped his bare feet up on the coffee table. “I know it’s not the same between you and Joe as it was with you and Richard. Joe gets you, and he’s all in, completely invested. Why are you still running?”

  “Because if I stop, after a while, I might realize I’ve made a mistake. That what Joe and I have isn’t enough, isn’t meant to last.” The bottom of her stomach dropped into her shoes. “Or he might realize the same.”

  And walk away from her, this time for good. Under all the bullshit, that’s what she was most scared of. That she wasn’t worth the fight. Yet, Joe had already proven that Mac was worth fighting for. He hadn’t given up on her, even when she’d found the most tender spot in his psyche and ground her stiletto heel into it as she’d fled their wedding in Vegas.

  The five of them remained silent for a few moments until Kaitlyn cleared her throat.

  “Look,” she said. “As a divorced woman, I’m probably not the best person to tell you everything’ll work out like it does in fairy tales, but the thing with fairy tales is you never see the effort that goes into a happily ever after. You don’t see Cinderella throwing her glass slipper at Prince Charming’s head because he looked at a lady in waiting the wrong way, or Beauty and her Beast sitting in marriage counseling because Beauty is ignoring their sex life and reading until the wee hours. Real life fairy tales take both of you working your asses off to make a relationship last. Are you prepared to do that work, or are you gonna sit back and be miserable, whining about how this once-in-a-lifetime love is gonna end before he’s even proposed?”

  Mac’s gaze skipped between her friends. Suck it up, she ordered herself. Time to come clean. “Actually, we were going to elope in Vegas, but I kinda freaked out and left him at the altar.”

  Four mouths dropped open.

  Reid’s eyes narrowed on her. “I knew you and Joe must’ve had a huge fight for you to come home a day early, but shit, Mac. The guy showed up here to make sure you were okay. That isn’t someone who’ll take the easy way out when the going gets tough.”

  “Joe forgave you for running out on him?” Holly shook her head. “Of course, he forgave you; he’s that kind of man.”

  “Are you still engaged, then?” Kaitlyn asked.

  “I don’t know,” Mac said. “We didn’t really talk about it after Hol’s wedding with everything that went
on, but the ring he gave me is in his nightstand. I saw it when he went to grab a—it’s still there.” Her cheeks grew even hotter. Yeah, she’d spotted the wink of diamonds in the nightstand drawer next to the condom box, but he hadn’t mentioned it, and she was too scared to ask.

  “Before we open the wine chilling in the fridge, the result of this intervention is clear.” Holly stood up. “You either relinquish some control here in Invers and sort your shit out with Joe. Or”—Holly pointed a gun-shaped finger at Mac—“you stay here dressed in your smelly clothes and rejoin the cobweb club with Reid, Laura, and Kaitlyn.”

  The ‘cobweb club’ being a jokey name the four of them used to call themselves since their lack of regular sex threatened to dry out their private parts and leave them cobwebby from disuse. Now she had a sucky choice to make, but the answer was so obvious it would’ve been embarrassing, if she hadn’t already figured it out days ago. She’d been too scared, too proud to admit what she needed to do.

  “Have I told you I really, really don’t like any of you lot?” Mac said.

  Reid’s grin spread from ear to ear. “Many times. Guess none of us will get an invite to your wedding.”

  Butterflies fluttered in Mac’s belly, and she took a long sip of water, which settled them right down. Because love trumped fear if that love was strong enough, big enough. And maybe Mac was only five foot three-and-a-smidge and couldn’t bench-press half her bodyweight if her life depended on it, but the most important muscle in her body was growing stronger by the day.

  Her heart had been exercising, strengthening her trust, hope, and courage like a champion bodybuilder.

  So she smiled at her friends. “If I play my cards right, you may be getting an invitation sooner than you think.”

  Joe was writing out a script of antibiotics for Trent Hopper’s sinus infection, his last patient of the day, when a knock sounded on his door. He excused himself and set down his pen. Maggie stood on the other side, her eyes dancing with amusement.