But even after only a few days of this routine Mac was starting to look better.
‘What are you trying to say to me?’ the other woman asked stiffly.
‘What I’m saying is that, for the moment at least, you need to choose between your desire for revenge and your son’s care. If you choose the latter then I suggest you ease up on the venom for a bit.’
The phone was slammed down.
‘Well...’ She grimaced at the receiver before setting it back in place. ‘That went well.’
* * *
Mac stomped across the fields. What on earth had possessed him to kiss Jo? From the first moment he’d clapped eyes on her he’d sensed that she’d be dynamite, that given half a chance she’d blow his life apart.
He clenched his hands to fists. That couldn’t happen from a single kiss.
Except it hadn’t been a single kiss but a full-on necking session that had hurtled him back to his teenage years, when he’d first discovered girls and sex. Kissing Jo had shaken him to his absolute foundations.
Bandit barked and spun in a circle—first one way and then the other. ‘Okay, okay,’ he grumbled, moving towards the sand dunes. ‘Go for a swim, then.’
Bandit didn’t need any further encouragement. Mac settled at the same spot where he and Jo had sat yesterday and raked both hands back through his hair. Okay, so those kisses had rocked his foundations, but they hadn’t toppled them. As long as he didn’t kiss her again he’d be fine.
He gave a low laugh. Kiss her again? The look she’d flung at him before she’d flounced into the house had told him she’d squash him like a bug if he so much as tried. Man, how he’d like to take up that challenge—to make her sheath her claws, to stroke her until she purred and—
He swore. She made him want all the things he’d turned his back on—all the things he couldn’t have.
Bandit, damp and sandy, raced up the beach to fling himself at Mac, leaping onto his lap and covering his face in sloppy dog kisses. The show of affection took Mac off guard, but he put his arms around the dog and held him close. It was a warm body, and at that moment Mac found he needed a warm body.
Eventually the dog settled beside him.
‘So you’ve decided to love someone else, huh?’ Mac scratched Bandit’s back and the dog groaned his pleasure. ‘You should’ve chosen Jo, you know? She’s a much better proposition.’
How would she take it when she realised the dog had chosen him as his new owner? He suspected some part of her had already realised, but...
He folded his arms across his knees and rested his chin on them. She’d take it as more proof that she wasn’t good enough, that she’d been overlooked once again.
He lifted his head and glared at the glorious breakers rolling in. Why on earth couldn’t she see how gorgeous she was? She’d mentioned something about her grandmother and great-aunt having a challenging relationship. Did that extend to her as well? Did they make her feel she hadn’t measured up? A scowl lowered through him. Or had some jerk made her doubt her own loveliness?
So what if she wasn’t one of those little stick figures who paraded around in tiny dresses and squealed that a carrot stick would make them gain weight? It was no fun cooking for those women. It would be fun to cook for Jo, though.
If he still cooked.
He blew out a breath. If he’d met Jo before all this had happened...
But he hadn’t.
He clenched a handful of sand in his fist before releasing it. He couldn’t imagine going through his entire life believing he was completely unattractive to the opposite sex.
He’d been lucky. Until the accident. Now he could definitely relate. No woman would look twice at him—
He froze.
Jo had. In fact Jo had kissed him with so much unbridled hunger and joy that... Well, it meant he’d been mistaken. There was at least one beautiful woman who found him desirable enough to kiss. He scowled. Even if she had discounted the possibility of something deeper and more permanent with him.
You discounted it first.
He swallowed. He’d kissed her and she’d given him an unexpected gift. She’d made him realise that other people might see beyond his scars too.
Which was a moot point if he never left this place. But if he ever did manage to pay off his debts? Well, it would matter then. Either way, it had lightened something inside him.
Could he make her realise she was beautiful too?
How? Not by kissing her, that was for sure. That would lead to too much trouble and too much heartbreak. Until he could guarantee Ethan would be looked after for the rest of his life Mac wasn’t free to offer any woman his heart.
But it didn’t stop him from liking the way she looked. He loved her height, her stature, and the way she held herself. She was strong and powerful—a force to be reckoned with. And she’d fitted into his arms as if she’d been designed to be there.
He turned to Bandit. ‘How can I prove to her that she’s gorgeous?’
Bandit merely rolled onto his back, presenting his belly for a rub. Mac stared. ‘Bandit! You’re not a boy dog!’ He ran his hand over the fur of Bandit’s tummy. ‘You’re a girl dog.’
He ran both hands gently over Bandit’s tummy and started to laugh.
‘You’re a girl dog who I think is expecting puppies.’
CHAPTER SIX
MAC FOUND JO in the kitchen and opened his mouth to give her the news about Bandit, eager to get things on an easy footing between them again and hoping this latest news would push the memory of their kiss—kisses—to the nether regions of their minds, where it would never see the light of day again.
Jo beat him to the punch, though. ‘You had a phone call,’ she said, without preamble.
She didn’t smile, and his nape and his top lip both prickled with sudden perspiration. There was only one person who called the house phone. Russ and his friends had his mobile number, though they usually resorted to email.
‘Mrs Devlin,’ she said—unnecessarily, though she couldn’t know that.
‘How...?’ He swallowed. ‘How’s Ethan doing?’
‘She didn’t say.’
A weight settled across his shoulders. He pulled out the nearest chair and fell into it. ‘Did she want me to ring her back?’ Which was a ridiculous question. Of course she’d want him to return her call.
‘She didn’t say.’
He stared at her and she finally turned from where she was rinsing a few dishes and shrugged.
‘She hung up on me.’
He closed his eyes. He could imagine the conclusion Diana Devlin had come to upon hearing a woman’s voice at the end of his phone—especially a voice as rich and honeyed as Jo’s.
When he opened his eyes he found a glass of water sitting in front of him. He drained it.
‘She’s a cheery soul, isn’t she?’
‘Jo, she’s spent the last few months in fear for her son’s life and now she fears for his future. There isn’t much in her life to feel cheerful about.’
‘Garbage.’ She dried a plate. ‘Her son’s alive, isn’t he? That’s something to be grateful for. His recovery is coming along nicely, isn’t it? Another thing to be grateful for.’
‘He’ll bear the scars from this accident for the rest of his life.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake—we’re not going to have this argument again. Ethan’s mother will love him no matter what he looks like.’
She bent down to place the plate in a cupboard and Mac got an eyeful of the curve of her hips. His heart started to pound. Jo had the kind of hips that could make a man salivate. He dragged his gaze to the glass he twirled between his fingers. He lifted it to his lips and managed to find another drop or two, but they did nothing to ease the thirst coursing through him.
&nb
sp; Jo turned around. He kept his gaze on the glass.
‘All I can say,’ she said, ‘is that I wouldn’t want her in my sick room.’
Slowly he lifted his head to stare at her. She squeezed out the dishcloth and wiped down the table, not meeting his eyes. As far as he could tell the table was perfectly clean as it was, but he lifted both the glass and his arms out of her way and did his best not to draw the scent of her into his lungs.
‘She’s his mum. She’ll be his best source of support...’ He trailed off. He hadn’t thought about it before. Not in that context. Ethan was doing okay, wasn’t he?
For the first time he wished he hadn’t so comprehensively cut himself off from his colleagues on the show.
He rose. ‘I’ll...um...’ For heaven’s sake—he didn’t have to justify his every movement to her.
Turning on his heel, he strode out of the kitchen and headed upstairs. Seizing his mobile from the desk he punched in Mrs Devlin’s number. As he waited for her to answer he glanced at the curtains. He moved to close them, to shut out the day, and then stopped. He didn’t have the heart for it. What difference would a bit of sunlight make? Even if Mrs Devlin cared, she’d never have to know.
‘Malcolm,’ she said, obviously having checked her caller ID before answering. She never called him Mac. She never said hello. She just said Malcolm.
‘How are you, Mrs Devlin?’
She didn’t answer him. She usually made some sarcastic comment—How did he think she was, sitting at her son’s sick bed day in day out?
While he welcomed the silence he forced himself to push on. ‘I understand you rang earlier?’
He waited for her to demand to know who Jo was and what she was doing in his house. He could imagine her sarcasm when he told her Jo was his temporary housekeeper. It would be something along the lines of It’s nice for some.
‘I wanted to tell you that this quarter’s bills have come in.’
He closed his eyes. This lot would just about clean him out. To receive a much-needed portion of his advance he had to get something substantial to his publisher. Soon. That would cover the next quarter’s costs. After that... He swallowed. If necessary he’d sell the car, his Sydney apartment. And then this house.
And if Ethan’s treatment needed to continue after that... He rested his forehead against the glass sliding door, welcoming its coolness against his skin. They’d better hope this cookbook did well. Really well.
‘Malcolm?’
It hit him that her voice lacked its usual stridence, though it could by no means be considered friendly.
‘Please send the bills to my lawyer. I’ll take care of them.’ His heart pounded. ‘How’s Ethan?’
‘He’s doing as well as can be expected.’
It was her standard line whenever he asked. And he always asked. He didn’t ask her to send his best to the younger man. She’d made it clear that Ethan wanted nothing to do with him.
‘How...?’ She cleared her throat. ‘How are you?’
He nearly dropped the phone. He coughed and swallowed back his automatic reply—fine. That would seem a mockery, considering Ethan’s condition. ‘I...I’m working hard at wrestling this cookbook into shape.’ She knew he meant all its profits to go to Ethan.
‘Right. Goodbye, Malcolm.’
‘Uh...goodbye.’
He stared at the phone. Normally she hung up without so much as a by-your-leave. What on earth was going on?
He threw the phone back to the desk and dragged a hand through his hair. Was everything really okay with Ethan? Had he suffered some setback? He paced across the room. Could Diana have said something to Jo? Who knew? Maybe they’d had a moment of woman-to-woman bonding. Maybe—
‘She’s a cheery soul, isn’t she?’
Hell.
He clattered back down the stairs. Jo wasn’t in the kitchen. She wasn’t in the living or dining rooms either, but as he walked through the house he couldn’t help noticing how light and airy it all seemed. The curtains were pulled back and sunlight poured in at freshly cleaned windows. The heavy wooden furniture gleamed, the rugs were plush underfoot, and plump scatter cushions invited him to recline on the sofa. Not that he spent any time in this part of the house any more.
Why not?
He ground his teeth together. His life consisted of eat, sleep and work. It didn’t leave room for loafing on the sofa in front of the television.
He pushed out to the veranda and strode halfway down the steps to survey the view in front of him. But there was no sign of a tall, lush woman striding down that field of native grass, or along the beach with Bandit. Maybe she was pegging laundry on the line. He turned back.
‘Are you looking for me?’
He started at the voice to his left and found Jo on her knees, pulling weeds from a garden bed. He was pretty sure that wasn’t part of her job description.
He nodded towards the few spindly rose bushes. ‘I’m not sure you need to worry about those.’
‘I want to.’
Whatever... He planted his legs. ‘What did you say to Mrs Devlin?’
‘Ah.’ She went back to digging. ‘I told her to wake up to herself.’
He choked. ‘You what?’ He dropped to the bottom step, head in hands. ‘Hell, Jo, the poor woman has been worried half out of her wits and—’
‘I said it in a nice way.’
He lifted his head.
‘I didn’t say the actual words, Wake up to yourself.’
That had been her message, though.
‘She had a big go at me for being here. I didn’t like her insinuation, so I set her straight.’
He opened his mouth. After a moment he shut it again. He deserved everything Diana threw at him, but Jo didn’t. She’d had every right to defend herself, to demand respect.
‘When she started mouthing off that you didn’t deserve the luxury of a housekeeper I...’ She shrugged.
‘You what?’
‘I told her you were working so hard you were in danger of falling ill. And I made it clear that if that happened you wouldn’t be able to earn. And that, therefore, her cash cow would dry up.’
‘Tell me you put it nicer than that?’
‘I expect I did.’ She dusted off her hands and rested back on her heels. ‘Like you, she’s been focussing on all the wrong things.’
His mouth dried. What else had Jo said to the poor woman?
‘I told her she needed to choose between her desire for revenge on you and what was best for her son.’
He clenched his jaw so hard he thought he might crack a tooth. ‘I wish you’d kept your mouth shut.’
She rose and planted her hands on her hips, towering over him. Her chest rose and fell, her eyes flashed, but even when she was angry her voice washed over him like a balm.
‘She’s turned you into her whipping boy. What’s worse is that you’ve let her.’
He shot to his feet. ‘I owe that family!’
‘Codswallop!’ She glared. ‘Next you’re going to tell me you’re responsible for the national debt and world hunger.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘What did you do that was so bad, huh? You yelled at an apprentice. Even if it hadn’t been scripted, we’ve all been hauled over the coals by our bosses before. In the view of things that you’re taking one could equally accuse Ethan of being a spineless little ninny. I mean he’s the clumsy clod who dropped a tray of cold food into hot oil.’
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
‘I’m yelling at you now, but if you trip up the stairs in a huff and sprain an ankle is that going to be my fault? I don’t think so, buster.’
‘That’s different. We’re equals!’ he hollered back. ‘On set I had seniority, and that boy—’
‘Oh, and that’s another thing that’s getting up my nose. You keep referring to Ethan as a boy—but he’s nineteen years old. He’s a man. He has the right to vote and he has the right to choose what kind of work he wants to do. He chose to work with you. He wanted to be a part of your team. You wanted your show to be a success, and you’ve been blaming your ambition for the accident. You forget that Ethan wanted the show to be a success too—why else was he there?—but you don’t take his ambition into account.’
His mind whirled at her words, but he lifted his chin and set his shoulders. None of that made a scrap of difference.
‘No,’ she carried on, ‘you won’t take any of that into account, will you? It’s much easier to carry on the way you have been.’
Something inside him snapped. ‘Easier!’ He started to shake with the force of his anger. ‘Tell me how any of this is easy?’ he yelled. ‘Every day—every single day—I have to fight the urge to go driving in my glorious car, resist the impulse to go down to the beach and relish the feel of salt water against my skin, turn my back on the desire to race into the kitchen and try out a new recipe that’s exploded into my mind!’
With each named temptation he flung his arm out as he paced up and down in front of the garden bed.
‘I chain myself to my computer all day to write a book I should be qualified and competent to write. But instead I find myself battling with it as if it’s an enemy that’s determined to bring me down. So will you kindly tell me how any of that is easy?’
She moved to stand in front of him. She stood on a slightly higher piece of ground than he did so she was almost eye to eye with him.
‘It’s easier than facing the consequences of the accident.’
Ice crept across his scalp.
‘It’s easier than attempting to rebuild your life.’
He didn’t have a life, and for as long as Ethan remained in hospital he didn’t deserve a life.
She gave a mirthless laugh, as if she’d read that thought in his face. ‘You really feel that responsible for Ethan?’
Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set Page 9
