by Debra Webb
She stripped the bait from her hook, wrapped the line around her pole and set it aside. Studying her closely, Mac followed suit. He tried, she’d give him that.
Free stood and patted her thigh. “Come on, Oscar.” She reached for the Frisbee in the picnic basket, then tossed it down the wide trail that weaved alongside the shallower water upstream.
Oscar barked furiously and darted after the bright orange disk. Free clapped and cheered when he came running back with it. She and Mac walked side by side for some distance without speaking, the silence broken only by Oscar’s barking and Free’s praise of his retrieving skills.
“Here.” She thrust the Frisbee at Mac. “My tossing arm is tired.” It was a lie, but she wanted Mac in on the fun, too.
He stared at the Frisbee as if it were a foreign object. “Okay,” he said slowly.
In the khaki shirt and faded blue jeans Mac appeared at home in these surroundings, but Free knew he was far from comfortable. Mac tossed the Frisbee and Oscar bounded after it, then proudly pranced back with it in his mouth to be praised. Over and over Mac repeated the process. Free watched the slow, subtle metamorphosis. First his posture changed and Mac relaxed in near imperceptible degrees. The grim lines on his face dissolved. Then he even smiled. Free’s heart beat a little faster.
Vivid snatches of memory flashed in her mind. Mac holding her in his arms in the rain, the sultry, jazzy throb of music urging their bodies into a natural rhythm. His body moving against hers. His mouth finding hers, his hands seeming to be everywhere at once. Free closed her eyes and allowed the sensations to envelop her. The heat, the need, the absolute madness.
She snapped her eyes open. Thank God she’d had the good sense to stop. Good sense, hell! More likely it had been her innate sense of self-preservation that had kept her from going further. What would have happened if—No! They had stopped and that’s what mattered.
As much as her traitorous body wanted to, Free just couldn’t help Mac that way. Reaching out to him beyond the bounds of friendship would be a mistake. A costly mistake. She had to learn to protect herself—to say no.
She hadn’t learned to do that very well yet. But she was determined to teach herself.
“I’m starved,” she announced before Mac could toss the Frisbee again. “Let’s head back and have lunch.”
Mac flashed her an uncharacteristically charming smile. “Sounds good. I’m starved too.”
Free didn’t look at Mac as they leisurely walked back to where the picnic basket and blanker waited. That smile he’d flashed her had stolen her breath and left her lightheaded.
How could a mere smile from the man wreak such havoc with her senses?
She spread the blanket and forbade herself to think about white-hot kisses and hard, rigid muscle a moment longer.
“Chicken?” Sitting cross-legged, Mac examined the contents of the picnic basket. “I love cold fried chicken. I’m beginning to think you really are psychic,” he said without looking up. A groan of pleasure rumbled from him. Free shivered at the sound. “And apple pie,” he said, elated.
“And potato salad, green peas, and rolls,” Free told him as she swatted his hands away from the food. She quickly spread their lunch and serving utensils out on the blanket and set the basket aside.
Mac poured iced tea from the Thermos into the two glasses. “With all this I may not make it to the pie,” he teased, his eyes glittering in a way that made Free a little nervous. But just as quickly as the smile had appeared, a frown replaced it. Mac glanced at the woods and then back the way they had come. “Where’s Oscar?”
Puzzled, Free studied his concerned expression. “He’s probably exploring in the woods.” She filled a delicate bone china plate for Mac. She always used her best. Life was much too short to save anything for a special occasion. Every day should be special. “Oscar always shows up in time to gobble up the leftovers.”
“Oh.” He still didn’t look convinced.
Free set her plate containing much smaller portions aside. “Mac, haven’t you ever owned a dog?”
The question brought him up short. He stared, startled. “No.”
“Not even as a child?”
He shook his head before biting into a drumstick. Free rearranged the food on her plate with her fork. “I thought all little boys had dogs at one time or another,” she prodded. Of course, she also thought that all little boys had been fishing at least once.
Mac swallowed. When he spoke he didn’t meet her eyes. “We moved around a lot. Dad worked long hours. We didn’t have time for the distraction.”
What kind of father considered a family pet a distraction? “What about your mother? She didn’t—”
“She died when I was five,” he said quickly, cutting Free off. Mac dropped the drumstick onto his plate, then crumpled his linen napkin in his hand. Finally he lifted a carefully masked gaze to Free. “I barely remember her.”
“I’m sorry.” The words came out automatically, a rushed whisper.
He shrugged, his attention captured once more by his plate. “It’s difficult to miss someone you never really knew.”
Free didn’t believe Mac for a minute. She had very vivid memories from when she was five. He just didn’t want to remember; it obviously hurt too much. “Your father never remarried?”
“No. He was busy with building McFerrin Enterprises.”
Mac focused on eating, but his movements were strained with tension. He didn’t want to talk about himself, Free knew, but she wanted—needed—to know more.
“So who took care of you?”
He stilled, slowly lifted his head and met her inquiring gaze with defiance in his own. “I took care of myself.”
Free choked out an odd sound that she prayed would pass for a laugh. “But you were only five years old!”
“Not for long,” he said bluntly.
Free absorbed the impact of that statement. During the silence that followed, she forced herself to at least attempt to eat. The tension grew heavier by the moment, but she felt reluctant to cross the imaginary line Mac had drawn. He didn’t want to answer any more questions. Free scolded herself for pushing. This was supposed to be a fun day, not an inquisition. She couldn’t let her curiosity ruin the day for Mac.
“What about you?”
The coldness in his tone more than the words jerked Free’s gaze to his. “What about me?”
“I suppose you always had a dog and a white picket fence to go with it.”
Free flinched at the harsh tone. “Most of the time I had some sort of pet, a dog or cat. I had a bird once.” She watched his expression grow more distant. “But there was never a white picket fence.”
“What about your mother?” He threw her own words back at her. “She didn’t provide for you?”
“She died.” Free let go a heavy breath. “I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen.”
His face changed instantly; warmth and curiosity claiming his features, but no sympathy. “Father?” he asked more softly.
Free found the lack of sympathy she normally encountered when people learned about her past a bit unusual, but oddly comforting. Of all people, he would definitely understand. “I never knew my father,” she finally told him. Before he could say anything, she quickly added, “Have you and your father always been close?”
Mac thought for a long while before he answered. “Close might be too personal a description. I started going to his office after school when I was ten, could do better freehand drafting by the time I was twelve than most of the architects who worked for him.” He shrugged. “We’ve worked together ever since, until two years ago anyway.”
“What happened? Did he get sick?”
His gaze wandered somewhere past his shoulder. “No, nothing like that. He just got bored. I’d been running the company for a while and he no longer felt” he searched a moment for the right word “challenged. So he took off to redesign devastated cities around the globe with one of his semi-retired colleagues.�
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Free had a sudden vision of Mac thirty years in the future. Bored with the business he had built his life around, he would travel the world in search of an unobtainable sense of fulfillment. But that wasn’t fair. She didn’t know his father. Another realization dawned on her with vivid clarity. “Is that why you’re here, Mac, because you’re bored with the day-to-day routine at the corporate office? Surely you have people who could have set up your new offices and projects here in Huntsville without your personal attention.”
Free knew she had hit the nail on the head when she saw the flicker of surprised panic in his eyes. He didn’t like anyone recognizing what he didn’t want to admit himself.
“I am a hands-on CEO,” he offered by way of explanation. “Nothing unusual about that.”
Free smiled and shook her head ruefully. “Scorpions have no sense of balance in their lives. They always need the final word.”
“Who says I’m a Scorpio?” he protested, frustrated at being examined so closely.
“When’s your birthday?”
Mac shifted and sighed impatiently. “I don’t believe in that nonsense.”
“Just answer the question.”
“November nineteenth.”
“I knew it!” Free smiled triumphantly. “And I’ll just bet the party gets bigger every year. Scorpios don’t do anything halfway.”
That remote look returned. “I don’t bother with birthday parties,” he said flatly.
“You’re kidding, right? I mean, it’s not against your religion or something, is it?” All signs of certainty had vanished from her voice. Heat crept up her neck and across her cheeks at the possibility that she had committed a major social blunder.
“Why waste the energy on a party? My father has one of his assistants pick up whatever I want. On my last birthday he gave me complete control of McFerrin Enterprises. I never needed parties, I always got whatever I wanted.” He pushed his plate away. Free wondered if the subject matter had caused his sudden loss of appetite. “I don’t have time for parties.” He plowed his fingers through his long hair and continued to stare at anything but her. A muscled flexed rhythmically in his handsome jaw. “I must have been out of my mind for agreeing to this little outing.”
Images of a lonely little boy flooded Free’s mind. No wonder Mac concentrated so intently on the future…he only had half a past. Nothing worth remembering. His life had always been about working and shaping the future. His memories would all be alike—work and more work. Sadness filled her and threatened to overflow. She blinked furiously to keep the tears at bay. Tears for a lonely little boy who had grown up into an even lonelier man.
Free pushed her plate aside. Sitting on her knees, she inched closer to him. “Mac.” She swallowed her uncertainty. “I want you to close your eyes.”
He jerked his attention back to her then and eyed her suspiciously. “We’re not going to play that game again, are we?”
She smiled, remembering that day in the Bower Street house. “For a minute.” He looked away, impatience marring his chiseled features. She simply wiggled closer, putting herself in his space now. “Now, close your eyes,” she commanded. “And there’s only one rule in this game. Whatever you say has to be the truth.”
Mac exhaled and reluctantly faced her. When that blue gaze collided with hers, Free shuddered at the intensity of the feeling that shot through her. She quickly composed herself and waited for him to obey. What seemed a lifetime later, he closed his eyes.
“It’s two years in the future, and you’re on vacation—”
“I don’t have time for vacations,” he cut in.
Free blew out a breath of frustration. “It’s two years in the future, Mac, and I’m telling you that you’re on vacation.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, for all the good it would do her with his eyes closed. “Now, where would you go on vacation?”
He absently rubbed his forehead with the tips of two fingers as he thought. The moment stretched into half a minute. “Aspen, The skiing is good there.”
“So skiing is one of your hobbies?”
His eyes snapped open. “I don’t have any hobbies.”
“Keep your eyes closed!” Free frowned at him and he relented. “If you like to ski, then it’s a hobby.”
“Whatever you say.”
Free shot a look heavenward. God, the man was hopeless. “Okay.” She shifted to keep her legs from going to sleep. “Now it’s five years down the line, and you’re married.”
He flinched. “Marriage isn’t in my five-year plan.”
“Take it easy, McFerrin. Remember, this is a game and I make the rules. It’s five years from now and you’re happily married.”
“Fine. I’m married.” Mac scowled, then a startled expression stole over his features.
Free realized by the look on his face that it must have been a real shock to imagine himself with a wife. “Can you see her?” Mac nodded and scowled again. She hoped that scowl was no indication of how he pictured his future wife.
“Mac, the wife you would pick surely can’t be that bad.”
His eyes still closed, he laughed. “You have no idea.”
Free sighed. ‘”Okay. Your wife is about to give birth to your first child, a son.” She wet her dry lips. The thought of Mac’s child parched her throat. She shook herself. “Can you imagine that picture?”
Mac didn’t answer. He sat absolutely still as if in deep concentration. Good, she decided, that’s what she wanted him to do—to think. To see something more.
“Can you imagine holding your son in your arms? Does he look like you or your wife? A family is what you’ve always needed. Someone to make real memories with.” Her breath hitched. She didn’t want to think of Mac with someone else. The realization slammed into her with tremendous force. No! This was his future, not hers. She didn’t factor into any part of his life. “Describe what you see,” she managed without wavering.
He snapped his eyes open and glared at Free. “I don’t like this game,” he growled.
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Mac.” Free passed a hand over his face, the feel of his skin making her fingertips tingle. “Close your eyes.”
With a mighty sigh, he complied.
“Now, picture yourself with the family.” She watched his expression slowly relax. “Good,” she encouraged. “Now, tell me what you see.”
His lips slid into a smile. “Hair,” he murmured, then opened his eyes, reached out and wrapped a long strand of Free’s around his fingers. “Your hair is amazing.”
Free bit down on her lower lip to stop its trembling. “I’m glad you like it, but” she moistened her lips again and shivered when his fingers stroked her hair “you’re changing the subject.”
His lips parted but he didn’t speak. Instead, he leaned forward and tasted her mouth, then murmured, “Am I?” His mouth took hers completely as his fingers threaded more deeply into her hair.
He kissed her slowly, thoroughly. And Free wanted nothing more than for this one kiss to go on forever. Her heart butted wildly against her ribs as if trying to escape its confines. Her mind screamed out to her for her to put a stop to the kiss, but her body refused to respond.
Cradling her head with both hands, Mac pulled her up and against him. From knees to chests their bodies molded together, soft valleys and mounds to hard ridges and lean planes. Her arms twined around his neck and a deep sigh of satisfaction echoed inside her. He responded with his own groan of need. His hand slid down her back to support her at the same time he began to lean her down onto the blanket. The picnic basket halted their downward descent. With one wide sweep of his left arm, Mac cleared the way.
Desire sang through her veins. Liquid fire surged downward to pool at her center. Reacting on pure instinct, Free arched against the muscled thigh resting between hers. Mac lost control then. His kiss grew frenzied, his tongue thrust deeply into her mouth. Harder and harder he kissed her, while rhythmically grinding his hips into hers.
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br /> Mac squeezed her breast and then flicked her nipple with his thumb. Free cried out when his hot, hungry mouth started in that direction, leaving a trail of kiss-dampened skin.
“No,” Free moaned on a ragged breath. She drew his face up so she could look into his eyes. “If you do that I’ll loose my mind.” Her nipples strained for his attention, rasping against the cotton of her blouse. She searched his eyes, trying to see beyond the haze of passion to the man beneath. “I still don’t have any protection,” she managed between gasping breaths. “We have to stop. It would be a mistake.”
The fire blazed in his eyes and his firm grip on her body tightened. Mac shook his head, his breath as ragged as hers. “No way,” he growled. “I want you too much.”
Anticipation thrilled through her at the sound of raw need on his voice. Mac bent his head and Free’s greedy mouth rushed to meet his. His tongue thrust inside. He kneed her thighs further apart and pressed his hard erection against her. Even the clothing they still wore couldn’t disguise the heat and need emanating from both their bodies.
His mouth started that downward trek once more. This time she squeezed her eyes shut and threw her head back, giving him complete access. She arched her shoulders and back, her breasts straining towards his touch. At last his steamy tongue slipped beneath the fabric of her blouse, sweeping over the rise of her breast. Free speared her fingers into his hair and guided him lower.
When his mouth latched onto her nipple, she moaned her approval. Mac’s hands became frantic, his mouth demanding. And then, suddenly, he stilled.
Panting for oxygen to feed her burning lungs, Free whimpered a week protest when his mouth left her breast. She forced her eyes open to find Mac staring over his right shoulder. Her gaze moved beyond his dark, tousled hair and upward to find what had captured his attention at such a pivotal moment.
Free’s heart thudded to a near standstill when her gaze traced the long, black barrel of the shotgun nuzzled against her would-be lover’s back. A shriek that came out sounding like a wounded, high-pitched hiccup escaped her lips.
“Git up, boy,” a rusty voice bellowed.
