by Diane Saxon
“It’s a school night, don’t be too late.” She placed her hand on the top of Coke’s head as he sat by her side, scratched his ear, and the dog groaned in satisfaction. Mac knew the feeling.
“Aw, Mum, come with us.”
“Yeah, come with us, Zoe. We won’t be late,” he cajoled.
“But my dad…”
“Call him; tell him we’ll bring him some pizza home when we’re done.”
She hesitated, bit her lip, and had his eyes center on her mouth.
“C’mon, Mum, chill!”
Her face broke into a wide smile, her eyes twinkled, and Mac felt his heart rate escalate unexpectedly as he realized he didn’t just want to put his hands on her; he wanted the whole deal. Hands, lips, teeth, flesh. He almost choked as he battened down his surging desire for her.
“I have the animals.” Her argument was weak, and he knew she was being swayed.
“We’ll eat outside, the dogs can sit with us. You can leave the windows down on the Jeep for the other animals.” He didn’t think he’d left her anywhere else to go as her eyes flickered to his and away again.
“Okay.”
“Cool!” Ryan punched the air and ran to the cars with Coke and Ice on his heels.
Mac turned to Zoe, gazed into her upturned face, raised a hand, unable to resist sliding a finger over her alabaster skin, and quickly withdrew it to grab her hand and yank her toward the cars as a group of kids and mums came toward them.
“Let’s go.”
Chapter 7
Six o’clock on a Sunday morning was no hardship for Mac as he watched the smooth flight of the heron cruise its usual path across the early morning clear blue sky. Best time of the day. Actors and early mornings went hand in hand.
He smiled into his coffee cup as he caught sight of Zoe trying to make her way through the lines of cables, dodging makeup artists, camera crew, actors, extras, all the while trying to keep hold of Ryan, who seemed to be intent on bouncing all over the place. Coke and Ice loped along behind, the kid’s constant companions.
Flustered, Zoe looked up; her rare green eyes met his, and his heart did a slow roll over in his chest as a wide grin appeared when she caught sight of him.
Despite his best efforts, he hadn’t managed to get his hands on her again, but he was still hopeful. He’d been busy on indoor shoots for the last few days and filming hadn’t gone too well. Long, hard days had started to take their toll on cast and crew. He’d been quite happy—he enjoyed his work on the whole—but it was outdoor scenes today, and they wanted him to ride a horse.
He hated goddamned horses. He’d lived his life on a ranch until he was nineteen and started to get bit parts in the movies. He still went back frequently, lived on the ranch with his brothers, and loved the freedom of being there, the anonymity. He simply avoided horses. Dumb as dirt in his opinion. Cattle were worse, always stood on your feet until you shoved them off.
Flynn was going to put him through some stunt shit; he bet his life on it. He wasn’t simply going to ask him to get on the horse’s back. No, he’d want him to do a cartwheel or stand on one leg while the horse cantered across Shropshire.
The early morning sun glanced off her hair as Zoe stopped to speak to Flynn and pat the goddamned, ugly black stallion. It nudged her with its nose, and she willingly scratched its ears and let it lean in and nuzzle her. Mac’s blood stirred. He’d never been jealous of a horse before, but he wished she would scratch him like that.
A slow smile spread across his face. She had. But he wanted her to do it again, maybe harder this time, with more desperation. Like the desperation that wound through him like a raging river.
“I’m not so keen on horses.” Ryan stepped up beside him; the kid’s American accent was coming along fine.
“Really?” He tried to sound interested, but it was difficult to pull his attention away from her gleaming red hair.
“They’re stupid.” The kid’s voice jerked him out of his reverie and guilt climbed through him as he met his son’s eyes. And smiled.
“’Course they’re stupid. I thought you liked animals.” He scrubbed the top of Ryan’s head and felt a shudder charge through him as the kid crossed his arms over his skinny chest in a perfect mini-Mac imitation. Jesus Christ, it was him twenty-one years ago.
The kid hadn’t attracted much attention yet; only Flynn had gotten a load of him, and Flynn would never open his mouth. Just wait until they all started to notice. It wouldn’t be long until it reached the ears and eyes of the press. It surprised him none of the school mums had contacted the press yet. Perhaps they had. They didn’t always come out in full force; sometimes they lurked unsuspectingly, taking photos and gathering evidence before they hit the front pages.
Perhaps he should warn Zoe. He puffed out a breath and scanned the surrounding area, noted the interest the kid was already generating, the sideways glances, the flickers of surprise. Oh yeah. Time was almost up, and he needed to decide what he was going to tell the press. He needed to speak to Zoe first. If he could ever get her alone.
Distracted, he realized Ryan had spoken again.
“Huh?”
“I do like them. I like dogs best. I thought I might join the police force. Be a dog handler. I thought it would be cool.” Ryan slid onto the director’s chair, wriggled his butt to the back of the seat, and smiled up at Mac. The gaps showed where a couple of teeth had fallen out the previous week and his tongue poked through. He swung his skinny legs as they dangled from the chair, and his oversize feet twitched in a rhythm of their own.
“Yeah.” Mac hunkered down next to him so they were nose to nose. He was unable to stop himself studying the kid’s face. Of his entire family, only he and Bill had inherited the strong Native American gene, and it amazed him it had been passed on through Zoe to his own son.
He was starting to have quite an affection for the kid. Not just because he knew he belonged to him genetically but because the boy was cute, intelligent, and quick-witted. Well, hell, maybe it was the genes.
Mac smiled to himself as he rubbed his chest and wondered if he should have his heart checked out. He’d been suffering a lot from aches there lately. Perhaps he’d eaten too much crap food.
“Hey.”
He looked up as Zoe approached, the low morning sun behind her making her hair glow like a halo around her head. She looked a little shy. A nice ball of lust started to bounce around in the pit of his stomach. It was definitely time to put his hands back on her. He rose, let his body stretch to its full height so he towered above her, and took pleasure in the flicker of uncertainty as he reached out and took hold of her hips, jerking her body up against his.
Careful not to make her run, he skimmed his lips light and brief across hers and let her go.
“Hi.”
The kid watched from the director’s chair, his dark eyes piercing and interested.
“I hear you’re going to fall off a horse today.”
It pleased him her voice was weak, but as he started to smile, what she said sunk in.
“They never told me I was going to fall off. Where the f…” He paused and looked at Ryan. Perhaps it wasn’t a word he needed to hear coming out of the kid’s mouth. “Flynn. Where’s Flynn?”
“Over there.” She flicked her hand, and he could have sworn she’d gotten over the kiss and was enjoying his discomfort. “Flynn was saying the stallion is a Dutch Warmblood, seventeen-three hands. He’s big.”
He gave her a sharp look; her grin spread wide, her white teeth glinted, feral. The ball of lust he’d tried to tether heated up and spread, broke free, and rushed to his groin. He could eat her.
He grumbled just to watch her smile widen. “I hate goddamned horses.”
She shuffled Ryan over, squeezed into the chair next to him and, in a move so natural, snuggled him in tight. He liked the look of his woman with their son. It warmed him. Surprised at the surge of an entirely different emotion choking him, he felt tempted to rub his chest again
, but Zoe was watching him.
“I know you do. You invited us to come along; I didn’t realize we were going to have the pleasure of watching you wrestle a horse.”
Evil. The woman was pure evil, but he felt himself smile in response. She remembered his dislike of horses, and despite her pretense, he was pretty sure she remembered a lot more.
*
She’d felt a little awkward seeing him at first. The way he looked at her made her think he was going to eat her alive.
She shifted her body to a more comfortable position so she could keep an eye on Mac. She was so confused.
He’d kissed her. Right in front of everyone, including her own son. It had probably looked brief and respectful enough, but he’d allowed his thumbs to press into her hips, and his groin had bumped against hers, just enough to let her know he wanted her again.
She leaned back and enjoyed someone bringing her a cup of coffee and Ryan a can of cola. It wasn’t the best thing to give an already overexcited child, but it was in his hand before she’d had time to object.
It felt like hours later they were still watching, and no filming had taken place. Someone had erected a white sun canopy over them, and the cool Shropshire air took the heat out of the day.
Mac stripped his top off, held out his arms, and was sprayed with sun oil. She sucked in her bottom lip and sighed as she traced the line of drizzle running down his body in rivulets to gather on the white paper toweling makeup had efficiently tucked around his waistline to avoid the oil soaking into his trousers.
Swallowing slowly, she tried to look away, but a little of the oil had gathered in his navel and had her fascinated. She followed the line of it back up his body; a leisurely trail led to the source, where it pooled in his neck just below his Adam’s apple. Her mouth turned to dust.
His slow, sexy grin had her eyes tracking farther up his face until they met his, and nothing about the fresh breeze could douse the heat raging through her body as he seared her with a look that told her exactly what he wanted.
Flustered, she shot a quick glance at her son.
Ryan was starting to fidget. He’d already run round and pestered half the cast and crew, and now he was starting to whine a little. Just as well as she needed a distraction.
“Mum, when’s Dad going to do something? He’s been stood there doing nothing for ages now.”
As far as she was concerned, Mac could stand there doing nothing all day. He looked fine to her.
“I don’t know, Ryan. Why don’t you come and sit down?” She patted the seat beside her, flapped a hand to calm her burning cheeks, and determinedly kept her eyes off the action hero.
“I’m bored.”
Her eyes rolled to the back of her head.
“It won’t be long. I’m sure. Look, Mac’s almost ready, and they’re bringing the stallion out.” Blowing a cooling breath down the front of her T-shirt, she looked anywhere but at the half-naked man.
“Mum.”
She narrowed her eyes and held up a finger to stop the onslaught of whining as Ryan opened his mouth to complain again.
“Look.” She pointed.
As his head whipped around to look at the field, she took advantage and pulled him down next to her, settling him in close as movement started and the crew’s interest focused on the action. She had no need of binoculars this time; the activity was up close and personal.
Mac, bronze body slicked and glowing, hauled himself expertly on top of the stallion, wheeled him around in a circle, waited for the go-ahead from the director, and started the chase. Moments later his M60 machine gun blazed away as he raced in hot pursuit of three bad guys in a small tank. They churned up the farmer’s field in their desperation to escape the vigilante on horseback.
The thunder of hooves and tank vibrated through her body, making her heart race in rhythm and her throat tighten. She’d had no idea Mac was so adept at horse riding. He’d always claimed he didn’t like horses, but he sat as relaxed and comfortable as a rodeo rider. Damn the man, he probably had been as a kid. He’d lived on a ranch, and from the reports in the newspapers, he still used his family home as a retreat when he wanted some privacy. He was a cowboy. A cowboy disguised as an action hero.
Ryan watched enthralled for the entire eight minutes and forty-three seconds it took for the scene to be filmed and for the following hour and a half as they set it up again. This time, as he slid to the ground to sit at her feet, he never opened his mouth to moan once, simply to gape.
Fascinated, Zoe leaned forward, amazed at Mac’s participation with the whole process. She’d never realized how much involvement the entire crew had and the discussions which took place between actors and director to improve the scene. She didn’t quite see how they could make it more compelling; she’d been amazed by the speed of the whole thing, but they seemed determined to improve on it.
Their determination paid off, and the second shoot looked far more dangerous. Mac steered the stallion closer to the tank, dropping the reins and using his knees to direct the horse as he hip-fired his M60 in one hand and an additional gun in the other.
At the very moment the director called “Cut”, the black horse stumbled, his legs folding underneath him. Zoe’s heart leaped as she shot up from her chair at the same time as Mac flung himself free of the falling horse and staggered forward with the powerful impetus of the speed of the chase. His legs had no option but to run wildly for a few paces before he could get himself under control.
His knees skimmed the ground before he leaped up again and grabbed the horse’s reins to stop it from bolting as it gained its feet. The stallion bucked and threw his head, eyes wild and terrified, while Mac soothed him.
Zoe moved toward them, slow and cautious, aware the horse shouldn’t be spooked any more than it already was. Realizing Mac was fine, her next instinct was to check the stallion. As she approached, she could hear Mac’s low tones as he murmured to the frantic horse, his hand running soothingly down the length of its neck as his deep voice almost cooed in its ear. So much for not liking horses. A bit like jumping from dizzying heights. The man declared he didn’t like doing it just to be contrary.
The trainer stepped in close and checked the stallion’s legs as Mac held his head still.
“Is he okay?” She automatically flicked her hair over her shoulder, out of the way.
“I’m fine.”
She closed her eyes briefly, gave a tight smile.
“I meant the horse.”
“Sure you did.” Mac gave a wide grin.
“He seems okay.” The trainer looked at them both, a puzzled expression on his face. “I don’t know what happened.” He walked the stallion forward a few paces, round in a small circle. There was no sign of any problem.
Mac patted the horse’s neck and blew out a relieved breath.
“I thought he’d gone lame on me. Must have just lost his footing.”
“You were probably too heavy for him. He wanted to get you off his back and give himself a breather.” Flynn’s approach was silent, as always, until he chose to speak, making her smile at his sour expression.
“What in hell’s name…? Oh my God, Mr. Blunt, you’re bleeding to death.” Pierre shoved his way through the gathering crowd and was on his knees in front of Mac before anyone could reply. Mac simply rolled his eyes.
“Oh, heavens. What have you done? You’ve ripped your leg in two. How are we going to cover this up? It’ll affect the filming. It’ll ruin continuity.”
“Let me see.” The director stepped in, lifted Pierre bodily out of the way, and Zoe got a glimpse of the injury. From Mac’s left knee down, blood soaked into his pale trousers, spreading slowly outward from a wide rip in the material, revealing a deep gash in his leg.
“Shit, Dad, that’s got to hurt.”
Utter silence followed Ryan’s announcement as every eye in the crowd turned to study him. He was too fascinated following the gush of blood down Mac’s leg to notice, but Mac exchanged a look
with her and a small smile tugged at his lips as he shrugged and reached forward to scrub Ryan’s head.
“Watch your language, son.”
The director kneeled down, took a closer look at the gash.
“I think you need stitches, Cormack. You’ll need to go to the hospital.”
“I don’t need stitches.”
“Yeah, you do.”
Mac’s head came up and he looked her straight in the eye.
“Zoe can do it.”
Her breath stuttered out of her as everyone turned to her.
“I can’t stitch you up. I’m a vet.”
Pierre hustled over with a chair and pushed it under Mac’s legs until he sat, making the chair protest loudly under his weight.
Mac’s eyes had never left hers.
“Sure you can. I’m not going to a hospital.”
Zoe automatically kneeled in front of him, elevating his leg by propping it on her knees to slow the rush of blood. He sat back, and she felt the full weight of his leg pushing her downward.
“Could you get another chair, Pierre, please?”
As Pierre pushed the chair under his leg, Mac sucked air in through his teeth, and she watched as the pain seemed to hit him and his tanned skin turned a shade of gray.
“Christ, do you have to make such a fuss of him?” Flynn, having disappeared for a moment, was suddenly there by her side, his brows pulled low over his bright eyes. He glared at the crowd. “Back off. Go get yourselves coffee.”
The crew scattered with the exception of Pierre, who took a moment longer to flap around until Flynn drew a Bowie knife from the strap on his leg. Pierre’s mouth went slack and a high-pitched squeal burst from him before he dashed away.
Zoe placed her hand on Ryan’s shoulder to stop him leaning in as Flynn competently slashed the bottom of Mac’s trouser leg away and then tipped his head to one side to have a look at the wound while Mac remained silent and pale.
Flynn opened a first-aid box and snapped on a pair of disposable latex gloves. Zoe studied him for a moment. The man was a ghost; she hadn’t even noticed him disappear, but he suddenly had all the equipment needed for a field dressing.
