Rekindled

by Maisey Yates

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “Not the way you mean. But that’s half of the problem. I didn’t show up at my parents’ house with black eye and horror stories about Daniel’s temper. That, I think, would have made me justified in my parents’ eyes. But… it was a lot more difficult to try and explain the way he was. The subtle ways he made me feel like I was beneath him. Like I wasn’t smart enough to do anything. To get anything right.”

  Mac frowned. “What did he do?”

  “It’s… it’s hard to sum up eight years of that kind of thing. It’s like waves on a rock, you know? It just wears you down over time. The best example I have is that I spent weeks working on organizing this dinner party for him and his colleagues. Everything seemed to go fine and I was so happy because he seemed happy with it. So when everyone left I was shocked when he… he just turned around and asked me how I could be so careless with everything. He said it’s not like I had to do any actual work for it. I didn’t have to cook or clean, so why was everything done so poorly? The menu I picked was haphazard, the decorations were awful. And worst of all, I looked like I’d just rolled out of bed. He was always telling me I’d let myself go. That I was looking my age. Asking if I had put on a few pounds. That last time, that last dinner party, was my breaking point, and I don’t think you can possibly understand it unless you realize that it was like that all the time.”

  She looked back up at Mac, who was silent, his eyes trained on her. Emotion, nerves, knotted together in a tight ball in her chest. She’d never told anyone. She’d never spoken the whole story out loud. Never acknowledged how bad it had made her feel. She looked for judgment there, for blame, and she didn’t see it. She took a breath and continued.

  “I didn’t realize that was what he was doing, of course. I like to think if I had I wouldn’t have stayed for so long. But that night, the night of the dinner party, when I was standing there feeling like the biggest failure in the world because my husband thought that my choice of a shrimp cocktail was cliché, I realized what he’d turned me into. I was a bitch in high school, but at least I liked myself. At least I was excited to get up in the morning and be me. By that point in my marriage I was struggling every day to be the woman he expected me to be. Not the woman I was. I didn’t even know who I was, because I went from being an immature teenager to being Daniel Carter’s trophy wife, and there was no transition period. No in-between.”

  “And you left.”

  “I waited to do that until I had seen a lawyer and gotten together all the legal papers that needed to be gathered. Then I had someone serve him at work when I was safely at a hotel.”

  “Did you really think he might hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “Not physically. But I was afraid that I might not be strong enough if he got a chance to talk to me. A chance to dig his hooks back in. I got this amazing gift, this moment of clarity, and I didn’t want to go back to how I’d been thinking before. To this simpering, ridiculous woman who did whatever Daniel wanted because I was trying to be his version of perfect.”

  “And the divorce is final now?”

  “Yes. It went quickly because the pre-nup was so straightforward.”

  “And you knew that by being the one to serve papers you wouldn’t get a penny.”

  “I didn’t care.”

  “What about now?” he asked.

  “What? Now that I have to clean your house for a living? Okay, I care a little more, but I’d still rather be here and not have to deal with all that. I know for a fact that money doesn’t matter all that much when you feel like absolute garbage all the time.”

  Mac shook his head. “If I ever meet that guy in a dark alley… Hell, if I meet him in a brightly lit street, I’m going to cave his face in.”

  A promise of violence shouldn’t have made her feel quite so warm and fuzzy inside, but it did. Maybe because no one had ever stood up for her with such vehemence. Or at all. Her parents had been of the opinion that she should simply accept the dynamic of her marriage and not be so sensitive. Even her lawyer had seemed to quietly find her stupid, throwing away all that money over a few insults every now and again.

  No one had seemed to think she was worth more. No one had told her to take a stand, to take back her self-esteem. No one seemed to find her self-esteem all that important.

  Except Mac, who really shouldn’t have any reason to want to see her happy. Mac, who she’d insulted and belittled in high school. Mac, who knew what it was like to face real hardship in life.

  He was the one who seemed to think she was worth more than a place on Daniel Carter’s trophy shelf.

  “You have no idea how much I appreciate that,” she said, blinking back sudden and unexpected tears. She didn’t know why she was feeling so emotional. She’d learned years ago to keep her emotions trapped beneath the surface. To let things look like they’d rolled right off even when they’d sunk down deep.

  “You’re an easy woman to please.”

  “Maybe I am,” she said. “No one’s ever really tried to please me, so the theory has rarely been tested.”

  “Then the people in your life really are idiots.”

  Something changed in his eyes, a heat sparking in the depths, and she felt an answering spark in her stomach, warming her, making her feel restless and needy and bringing up feelings she hadn’t had in a very long time.

  She and her husband had never had the most intensely passionate relationship, but in the beginning, she’d wanted him. She’d enjoyed sex with him. Not so much as time had gone on.

  Desire, when one’s husband was an ass, was hard to come by. There was resentment. There was a lot of lying back and taking one for the marital team. But there wasn’t a lot of take-me-now happening, that was for sure.

  But she felt a little of that now. With Mac.

  She stood up, reaching across the table and grabbing her plate, then taking his. “Are you done with the… uh… pie… filling?”

  “Sure,” he said, putting his fork in the baking dish.

  “Great, I’ll just uh… wash up and then I’ll head back to my room for that dinner that I saved for last.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “Me?” The word came out overly shrill. “Pfft. I’m fine.” She dumped the dishes into the sink and rinsed them quickly, then opened the dishwasher and started loading it.

  “You don’t seem fine.”

  “I’m just hungry. I want dinner.”

  “You can eat dinner here. You don’t have to do the dishes first.”

  “No. I’ll eat back in my… in my house.” After talking about Daniel, she was just feeling stripped emotionally, which was likely where the heat was coming from. From a place of neediness and vulnerability that she didn’t normally let herself feel.

  She’d taken care to shore herself up in preparation for the divorce, and somehow, Mac and her sudden willingness—need, even—to confide in him, was breaking down all kinds of barriers that she relied on.

  Mac stood and made his way from the dining area into the kitchen. He never took his eyes off of hers, his focus intense. “I know what I said about enjoying your situation, and that it’s a huge part of why you’ve been avoiding me.”

  Not as huge as he might think.

  “But I didn’t understand what you’d been through. Honestly, that high school stuff doesn’t matter anymore. Clearly we’re different people now.”

  “Yeah.” Her mouth was dry. She blamed Mac, Mac and all his untamed masculinity and muscles and things she’d been completely immune to for far too long.

  Oh, geez. Why was she having a sudden sexual reawakening? She did not need this. Not now, not with the man who was currently paying her to work for him.

  And he thought it was because he’d insulted her by saying he was enjoying her fall from grace a little bit. Oddly,
she wasn’t that insulted by that. Because she’d been a bitch in high school, and it wasn’t like he’d had a front-row seat to everything she’d been through in the past few years.

  Even with reason to be, he’d never been as awful to her as her ex-husband had been.

  But it was fine with her if he wanted to think that was all her discomfort was about. Way less awkward than “I’m fixated on how your butt looks in those jeans.”

  Mac stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell his aftershave. Nothing like the kind of cologne her husband and his associates had worn. None of that pretentious musk that was probably supposed to mimic male hormones or something.

  Mac clearly didn’t need to manufacture testosterone. He exuded it, and she responded. He smelled like leather and spice. And just Mac, which was sexier than any of the other things.

  He paused, his eyes dropping to her lips, and her stomach went on a free fall down to her toes.

  He leaned in, and she almost choked on her breath. He extended his hand, his thumb brushing the corner of her mouth and sliding beneath her lower lip.

  “You had a little apple,” he said, drawing his hand back and dropping it back down to his side.

  “Oh,” she said, feeling a rush of stupid, inexplicable disappointment. “Thanks.”

  “You sure you don’t want to wait to do the dishes?”

  “No,” she said. “No, I’m fine.”

  He nodded. “Great. I’m tired, I’m going to head upstairs. Pancakes for breakfast?”

  “Sure,” she said.

  “Great. See you in the morning.”

  “Yeah,” she said, her voice hollow in her ears. “See you in the morning.”

  She watched him walk away and heard his footfalls on the stairs. When she was sure he was gone, she turned around and pressed her overheated forehead to the cool granite countertop.

  “Stupid, Lucy,” she muttered. “Really stupid.”

  Because for a second there, she’d really thought Mac might kiss her. And for a second, she’d really wanted him to.

  She straightened, pushed the start button on the dishwasher, then picked up her plate of tepid pot roast. She would eat it back in her little house. If that wouldn’t remind her of her place in life, of what she really didn’t need to crave, of the fact that Mac was essentially her boss, nothing would.

  And all of that should remind her that she didn’t want Mac Denton to kiss her.

  Chapter Five

  Lucy made the pancakes and vacated as quickly as possible, using another trip to the grocery store as an excuse.

  She really wasn’t in the mood to deal with Mac and his effect on her hormones again. Not so soon. Not after she’d very nearly terminally embarrassed herself the night before. What if she’d leaned in? Oh, it didn’t even bear thinking about.

  She could picture herself letting her eyes flutter closed, parting her lips so she looked a little like a goldfish sucking water and then tilting her head and… ugh!

  She could also nicely picture Mac’s eyes going wide with horror as he backed away as quickly as possible.

  Mentally calling herself a myriad of foul names, Lucy put the car in park and got out, heading into the grocery store for the second time in a week. She’d spent more time in the grocery store recently than she had in her entire life before coming to work for Mac. She minded it less than she’d thought she might.

  Before walking in, she spotted Sarah Larsen walking down the sidewalk, a reusable shopping bag slung over her arm. Sarah still looked very much like she had in high school: hair parted down the middle with barrettes keeping the front off of her face, a sweater with buttons done all the way up to her throat and a skirt that went at least to mid-calf.

  “Sarah!” Lucy called out to her and started to walk in her direction. Sarah stopped and held her bag up against her chest. Sarah always had a way of looking like a frightened rabbit. Or maybe that look was reserved for Lucy. She couldn’t really remember, but she imagined that she hadn’t been all that wonderful to Sarah back in high school.

  “Hi, Lucy,” Sarah said. “Did you… did you have any luck with the pie?”

  “Not the crust. I followed the recipe but it was really chewy. I was wondering if you had any tips for that?”

  Sarah blinked wide brown eyes. “Uh… yeah. You need to make sure you use cold water. Refrigerate it if you need to. And don’t touch it too much. It’s not like making bread. You need it sort of barely pressed together.”

  Lucy grimaced. “Oh, geez. I kneaded it. A lot. I really was thinking bread.”

  “That’s your problem then.”

  “I’m sort of relieved to hear it. That’s at least an identifiable problem.” Lucy blew out a breath. “What other desserts do you like to make? Is there anything easy? I’m feeling in over my head here.”

  “You basically can’t mess up a simple chocolate cake. Especially if you just do it in a square pan and don’t bother with layers.”

  “Great! What do you I need for that?” Sarah’s expression was getting increasingly confused. “Sorry. You’re probably busy.”

  Sarah shook her head. “Not really. I was just going in to pick up a few things for my dinner tonight.”

  “Am I bothering you?”

  “No. Why?”

  “You look… scared.”

  “I’m surprised you’re talking to me. Not just because you’re Lucy Ryan, but because not very many people just make conversation with me.”

  “Oh, well, if you don’t mind, I’d like to make some conversation with you while we shop,” Lucy said. She was suddenly very conscious of the fact that Mac was the only person she had to talk to. And most especially with how she felt at the moment, that just wouldn’t do. “I’m sort of new in town, Sarah.”

  “You grew up here,” Sarah said.

  “A version of me did. But now I’m different. And the new me is new here. I need a friend.”

  Sarah smiled—sort of timidly, like most of her other actions, but it was genuine. “I can always use another friend.”

  ***

  Lucy had premade his lunch. Clever girl. She was avoiding him very smoothly today, and he was pretty sure he knew why. That little moment of tension between them in the kitchen had sizzled. There had been no way she hadn’t felt it.

  And he, idiot that he was, rather than just telling her she’d had apple pie filling on her face, had wiped it away with his thumb. As an excuse to touch her. To find out if she was as warm and soft as he thought she might be.

  She was, dammit. And he’d had to fight the urge not to lick the apple off of his finger just to see if he could get a hint of her flavor beneath it.

  And then he’d really had to fight the urge to lean in and kiss her. She was vulnerable. She was working for him. Her ex-husband was an asshole. And he wasn’t going to follow suit and take advantage of her when he had a weird amount of control in her life.

  The fact was, Lucy needed the job he paid her for. Very few other people would hire an unskilled housekeeper and give her room and board. He was doing it, though. And it wasn’t really out of pity, because that made it sound like Lucy was incompetent, and she wasn’t. For someone who’d never cooked before, she was actually pretty good. And the thing was, he was certain that whatever Lucy tried to do, she could get good at.

  But she didn’t know that. He could see it. And it ate at him. It was all her ex-husband’s fault. That guy deserved a sharp uppercut to the jaw.

  And then some.

  Mac sighed and pulled his cap off when he walked into the house. His kitchen smelled good, which meant Lucy was already working on dinner. On what would be a successful dinner, if the smell was anything to go by.

  He followed the smell and paused in the doorway of the kitchen. Lucy was bending down in front of the o
ven, pulling something out. He couldn’t help but stand there and watch for a second. All of Lucy’s clothes were too nice for her to do this sort of work in. It made her seem like his personal June Cleaver. Vacuuming in pearls and heels. Pulling a cake out of the oven in a pencil skirt that hugged her perfect, rounded butt.

  His mouth dried. She was so sexy. She had always been beautiful, but the years had only improved her. She was a woman now, and it very much appealed to the man in him. That her husband had dared to say she looked old or heavy gave him fantasies of a different kind. Violent fantasies.

  Any real man would recognize that Lucy had the kind of curves some women paid to get. And that age had only refined the beauty in her face, given more definition to her features. High, exquisite cheekbones that made her look even more sophisticated.

  But right now all that mattered was her ass, since it was directly in his line of sight and he was enjoying it so damn much.

  “What exactly is that?” he asked.

  Lucy shrieked and straightened, setting a cake on the counter and tugging off her oven mitts. “Don’t sneak up on me like that when I’m pulling hot things out of the oven! Better yet, don’t sneak up on me like that ever.”

  “Sorry, not my intention. What kind of cake?”

  “Chocolate,” she said. “And I’m going to make chocolate frosting next.”

  “And you know how?”

  “Sarah Larsen told me. And she assured me that I couldn’t screw it up.”

  “Sarah Larsen? The Sarah Larsen from school who now teaches kindergarten?”

  “Yes, that one.”

  “I didn’t know you knew her.”

  “I didn’t. Not really. Not before. But I saw her in the grocery store yesterday, and again today, and we hit it off.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. Really. When she stopped being afraid of me.”

  He laughed and walked to the opposite side of the counter to Lucy, resting his forearms on it and leaning in. “Well, you were a bit scary in high school.”