Fiancee for Hire (Front and Center)

by Tawna Fenske

  What the hell had he done?

  He’d almost gotten her killed. Christ. The person who meant more to him than anyone else in the world had nearly lost her life because of him.

  Again.

  How could he have been so stupid? How could he have let his guard down like that? It wouldn’t happen again. He’d make sure of that. He’d get her back on a plane tonight if he could, or tomorrow morning at the latest. He’d never see her again, that much was obvious, but at least she’d be safe from terrorists and arms dealers and double-crossing undercover agents.

  And from me.

  It was after midnight when he got back to the house. He made his way up the walk praying to every deity he could imagine that his mother would be asleep. Praying Kelli wouldn’t be there to greet him. Praying he could be completely alone to kick himself over and over until he—

  “Hello, Mac.”

  Mac closed his eyes and shook his head. “God hates me.”

  “Good to see you, too, big brother.”

  Grant’s voice was cheerful as always, but there was an edge to it. It might have been Mac’s imagination. It also might have been the fact that he was lurking in the shadows, his back against the side of the house like he was lying in wait for prey.

  That would be me, Mac thought grimly.

  “What are you doing here, Grant? And why the fuck are you standing outside in the dark?”

  “Waiting for you. Gotta say, your reflexes are going to shit. I could have double-tapped you between the eyes the second you got out of the car if I were a criminal thug instead of your loving brother.”

  “I’m not in the mood.”

  Grant pushed away from the house stretching under the porch light, as he studied Mac with an unsettling intensity. “Want to tell me what happened?”

  “Zapata double-crossed me,” he said. “Hank and Griz and—”

  “I know all about that,” Grant said, waving a dismissive hand. “Carlo told me about it when he got back from the hospital. I meant what happened with Kelli.”

  “Kelli?”

  “Jesus, Mac.” Grant shook his head, looking disgusted. “Your fake fiancée? The woman who loves you for real and who you love back if only you pulled your head out of your ass for ten minutes?”

  “Oh. That Kelli.”

  Grant folded his arms over his chest. “You’re a dick.”

  “Thank you. Can I please enter my own home now?”

  “No.”

  Mac stared at his brother, trying to remember the last time Grant had stood up to him. He was pretty sure his kid brother had still been in diapers and the incident had involved a dispute about a plastic army figure. It wasn’t that Grant was a pushover or a wimp. He just preferred to choose his battles.

  Mac sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Why is this your battle?” he asked tiredly.

  “Because you’re being a dumbass. I saw how you looked at her and how she looked at you.”

  “With terror?”

  “Exactly!”

  Mac shook his head. “And I should chase after that because?”

  “Because she’s scared to death of commitment, but there’s something else that scares her more.”

  “My insane family?”

  Grant ignored him. “The fear that you’ll leave her. Congratulations, that’s what you just did.”

  Mac sighed. “Why are you busting my chops on this?”

  “Because you’re afraid, too.”

  “I just tracked down a notorious arms dealer and shoved him over a cliff to his own death. What the hell would I be afraid of?”

  Grant’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch. “You got Zapata?”

  Mac nodded, too tired to speak.

  “Good. That’s half your fear, anyway.”

  “What is?”

  “The fear of not being able to protect the people you love. You saved Kelli. From the bad guys, anyway. Just not from yourself.”

  “Since when did you become Sigmund Fucking Freud?”

  “Since I watched my big brother screw up the best thing that ever happened to him,” Grant barked. “I love you, but you’re being an idiot.”

  Mac raked his fingers through his hair again and fought the urge to kick something. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “You love her. You know you do, and she loves you, too. Now go find her.”

  “Find her?” Mac asked, a sense of alarm jolting through him. “She’s gone? Where is she?”

  Grant shook his head. “You’re such a dumbass sometimes.”

  “What?”

  “You know her. Better than you know yourself, it looks like. You can figure out where she went. The question is, do you have the balls to go to her?”

  “You’re starting to piss me off with this shrink act.”

  “Good. It’s about goddamn time you showed a little emotion.”

  Grant stared him down for a moment, arms folded over his chest. Mac stared back, trying not to let his brother’s words get to him. At last Grant turned and opened the front door. He stepped inside, casting one last look over his shoulder.

  Mac hesitated, part of him wanting to follow. To just go upstairs, crawl into bed, and pretend the whole goddamn thing never happened. No fake engagement, no sex games, no confessions or expectations.

  No sunny laughter or whispered conversations or bright turquoise eyes looking straight into your soul.

  “Fuck you,” Mac said, as much to himself as to his brother.

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Mac shook his head. Then he pushed past his brother and stalked into the house.

  His fists were still clenched when he got to the master bedroom, and he made a conscious effort to uncurl his fingers.

  Her suitcases were packed and piled up beside the door. He scanned the room, looking for any trace of her. On the dresser, he spotted a large manila envelope. He walked over and picked it up, expecting a letter from her telling him what an asshole he was. How he’d let her down, betrayed her trust, proven himself unworthy and unreliable.

  She’d be right.

  But the envelope wasn’t addressed to him. It bore her name, in handwriting that looked a lot like his brother’s. Pushing aside the voice that told him he shouldn’t be snooping, he opened the flap on the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of notebook paper. More jagged handwriting he recognized as Grant’s. He frowned down at the page and began to read.

  Kelli,

  Thought you might like to keep some of these. If my brother ever pulls his head out of his ass, maybe they’ll come in handy.

  Love you (but only like a sister, so don’t get creeped out),

  Grant

  Mac frowned and set the paper aside. He reached back into the envelope, and pulled out a handful of five-by-seven photos. It took him a moment to register what he was seeing.

  Kelli on the beach laughing up at the sky.

  Kelli twirling in the sand, curls spilling into the sunshine around her.

  Kelli with a perfect, white seashell in the palm of her hand and a sparkle of sunlight in her eyes.

  Kelli up close with a look of love so intense, Mac felt his lungs seize.

  He flipped to the next photo and stared.

  It was a picture of the two of them, faces touching, eyes locked together, lips so close he could swear he felt her breath against his cheek. Mac’s hand was on her face, and Kelli looked at him with that same spellbound expression in the other photo.

  But it was the look on his own face that slayed him.

  Love. Admiration. Lust. Adoration.

  All of it wrapped up in one simple, stupid, love-struck smile. He’d never seen himself look at anyone that way before.

  You’ll never see it again, either. Not ever. Not with anyone else.

  His hands began to shake, and Mac set the photos down. He swallowed hard, at a loss for what to do next. Something else caught his eye on the dresser. He reached out and picked it up.

  “The ring,”
he said aloud, turning it over in his hand. The diamond sparkled, and the rose gold seemed warm to his touch.

  She’d taken it off. He couldn’t blame her. He’d abandoned her, just walked away like a total jackass. In one fell swoop, he’d hit her with the two things she feared most: falling in love, and being abandoned.

  Congratulations, asshole.

  Mac curled his fingers around the ring, clenching hard enough to feel the stone biting into his palm. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the look on her face in that photo. The look on his own face. The kind of love that didn’t hit people upside the head every day.

  He opened his eyes again and shook his head. There were no guarantees. No certainty he could keep her safe or that he wouldn’t screw up again. No assurance she’d always be safe from danger.

  He looked at the photo again, at the look of love on her face. On his.

  Maybe there was one guarantee…

  He turned and stormed out of the room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  There was something peaceful about lopping off testicles at three in the morning.

  Kelli finished tying off the spermatic cord of a mangy-looking tabby and peeled off her surgical gloves. Her heart felt heavy, but at least her hands were busy.

  “Your days of being a ladies’ man are over,” she informed the unconscious feline. “You may find yourself developing an overwhelming interest in handbags and cooking shows.”

  She moved to the sink and scrubbed her hands, then dried them carefully on a paper towel. Her thoughts drifted back to that warehouse. Back to the moment she’d said the words she could never take back, not ever.

  I love you.

  How fucking stupid could she be?

  They’d both promised not to fall. That emotion would never come between them, no matter what. Mac had held up his end of the bargain. He’d been a man of honor, a man of his word.

  She was the one who’d changed.

  Okay, so she’d screwed up. She’d fallen in love against her better judgment. It would go away, wouldn’t it? Surely there was a pill she could take or a few therapy sessions or something. Love was basically a disease, so there had to be a cure for it.

  “Never again,” Kelli ordered herself as she pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

  She turned back to the operating table where another feline was stretched out unconscious, his marble sack awaiting her ministrations.

  “At least that’s one thing I can still do right.”

  She sighed and picked up her scalpel.

  The clinic door banged open. She jerked her head up, expecting one of the three bodyguards who’d insisted on stationing themselves outside, guns in hand. But it wasn’t a bodyguard standing in the lobby with disheveled hair and wild eyes and hands balled into fists at his side.

  “Mac,” she said, dropping the scalpel. It barely missed her foot, and she cursed her own clumsiness. While she was at it, she cursed Mac, too. She cursed his stupid good looks and his idiotic sense of honor and his ridiculously beautiful eyes and the fact that just staring at him now made her fall for him all over again.

  She looked away, her eyes on the floor, on her scalpel.

  “Kelli, look at me. Please.”

  She took a shaky breath.

  You can do this.

  She pasted on a cheerful expression. “I’ve got three more neuters and six spays to go. If you’re going to be here, you’ll need to scrub in.”

  “Scrub in?”

  “Sink’s over there. Gloves are right beside it. Could you grab that scalpel first and stick it in the autoclave?”

  Mac blinked at her, then nodded once and followed her orders. Gathering her wits, Kelli moved to the second operating table and assessed a skinny black cat who was missing half his left ear. She got busy plucking the fur around his junk, grateful her hands were steady despite Mac’s unsettling presence.

  He stepped into place beside her, his warmth unsettling her even more. She focused on her work, tugging out the fur in soft little clumps. She reached for the antiseptic and began to swab, trying to keep her breathing even.

  “I’ve been thinking—” Mac began.

  “Could you hand me that fresh scalpel over there?”

  Mac shook his head. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

  “It’s fine, Mac,” she chirped. “Everything’s fine. Scalpel? Careful not to touch anything when you unwrap it.”

  He frowned and reached for the tool. He peeled back the wrapping, making sure his fingers didn’t contact the sterile blade. His hand brushed hers as he handed her the scalpel, and Kelli fought the urge to cry.

  Mac cleared his throat and tried again. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking—” He stopped, shook his head, and tried again. “I’ve always been thinking. That’s really the problem, isn’t it?”

  “What is?”

  “I’ve only been thinking, not doing any actual feeling for a really long time. Not until you showed up.”

  Kelli could feel the lump forming in her throat, and she held the scalpel poised above the cat’s scrotum, waiting. For what, she couldn’t say. Mac fell silent, either gathering his thoughts or completely finished with what he’d come to say. She dared a glance at him and felt her heart dissolve into a big, stupid puddle.

  No! Control this. Stop it now.

  She took a breath and made the incision.

  “Oh, Jesus,” Mac groaned. “Okay, wait—I need to tell you some things.” His voice was rushed and a little shaky, but Kelli kept her eyes on her work.

  Mac began to pace.

  “My first kiss was a girl named Sadie when I was in the second grade, and we held hands afterward on the school bus,” he said. “I love cherry popsicles but hate the grape ones. I’ve never owned a dog because I can’t bear the thought of having it die someday. I am deathly afraid of snakes, even though I try to pretend I’m not. I sometimes miss the military, but I love working for myself and I desperately want my parents to be proud of me. The last time I cried was six years ago at a buddy’s funeral. I am hopelessly turned on by smart, competent women, even when they’re cutting off a cat’s testicles while I do my damnedest to profess my love.”

  Kelli looked up, startled. “That’s how you profess your love? By telling me about popsicles and snakes?”

  Mac nodded and raked his hands through his hair. “I’m new at this. I’m trying to let you in and be vulnerable and open and all that other shit I’m not very good it.” He swallowed, and Kelli looked back down at the cat. She slipped out the testicles and began tugging to break up the ligaments.

  “Holy shit!” Mac gasped. “Look, I want to get better at it. I’m just scared, okay? I’m scared of feeling. I’m scared of not feeling. I’m a big, fucking chicken.”

  Kelli focused on her figure-eight technique with the hemostat, tying off the spermatic cord like she’d done a thousand times before. “You killed Zapata, didn’t you?”

  He was quiet a moment, and Kelli kept her eyes on her work.

  “Yes.”

  “How can a man who faces down terrorists without blinking be so terrified of his own goddamn emotions?”

  “I blinked,” he said. “At least twice. And after I shot him and threw his body off a cliff, I went back to his house.”

  “You what?”

  Mac reached into his pocket, the rubber gloves making his hands look blue and alien. “Your necklace,” he said, drawing it out of his pocket. “I knew how much it meant to you and I wanted to get it back.”

  Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back and grabbed her scalpel.

  “Christ,” Mac hissed as she sliced off the testicles.

  She set them aside and felt Mac move behind her. Her breath caught in her throat as he fastened the necklace in place.

  “I’ll never be good at the emotional stuff,” he said. “I’m going to screw it up—lots of times—and I’m probably going to be a jackass to you on more than one occasion. But I want to try to
do better. I want to learn.”

  Kelli let the spermatic cord retract back into the incision, amazed how steady her hands were in spite of everything. “Why?”

  “Because I love you.” His voice cracked on the you, and he tried again, more forcefully. “I love you. I didn’t realize it because I’ve never been in love before. Not once. And I know I freaked out and handled it badly, but I want to make it up to you.”

  Kelli set down the scalpel but kept her eyes on the table, digesting his words. “You love me,” she said, looking up at him. “How do you know?”

  “Because the thought of losing you makes me want to rip out my own testicles with a sharp object.” He grimaced. “So to speak.”

  “So to speak.”

  “I don’t know how it happened, and I’ll admit it’s scaring the shit out of me—more than watching you cut the nuts off that cat—but I can deal with that. With all of it. Because I love you and want to be with you.”

  He dropped to one knee, and Kelli gasped. He started to reach for her hand, then stopped, frowning at it. He turned his palm up, displaying the beautiful diamond ring that had graced her hand just a few hours ago.

  “I’m guessing those gloves are sterile, and I’m not sure this ring would fit over them anyway,” he said. “But I want you to have it. The ring and the promise that goes with it. I will always be there for you. I’ll always watch over you. But most of all, I’ll always love you.”

  He stayed there on the floor, eyes fixed on hers as her heart pounded in her ears. She swallowed, watching him kneel there, feeling his words sink into her soul as the ring lay heavy on his gloved palm. Her hands were shaking now, and she wasn’t sure whether to reach for the ring or for him or for her scalpel.

  He stood up, his expression endearingly unsure. He reached out, and for a moment she thought he was going to cop a feel. Instead, he tugged the edge of the breast pocket on her scrubs and dropped the ring inside. He pressed his hand over it, holding it in place over her heart. Over her boob, too, but mostly over her heart.

  Kelli swallowed again not sure what to say, but knowing she couldn’t hold back the tears much longer. She nodded stupidly, not trusting her own voice.