by Diane Saxon
“You don’t need stitches, it’s not deep.” He squirted antiseptic wash over the wound until the fluid ran down Mac’s leg; with fast, capable movements, he swiped a sterile cloth around it. “Goddamned actors and goddamned film crews.” He muttered to himself as he efficiently dried the wound with another sterile cloth, slapped on steri-strips, and covered it all with a dry dressing. As he wound a bandage around Mac’s leg, he glanced up. “’Course, you know Pierre will want you to have plastic surgery so you don’t ruin his fucking continuity.” His lips twitched as Mac’s laughter rumbled out.
“Jesus, Flynn, they’re not going to want a white bandage on my leg for the next scene. I’m supposed to be naked. They were going to show my legs.”
Unfair though it seemed under the circumstances, she couldn’t help the sudden surge of lust as that vision shot into her head.
“Yeah?” Flynn disposed of all the bloodied dressings into a sterile bag, picked up a needle, and stuck it in Mac’s arm. “Tetanus. They’ll have to shoot around your leg, concentrate on some other naked body part.” He swabbed the injection site, pushed the needle into a sharps box, rolled the gloves off, and stood, grinning. “You’re good to go.” He sheathed his knife and crossed his arms over his chest.
The director was the only one who had waited, and Zoe caught his quiet, thoughtful expression as he studied her son before he announced, “It’s a wrap.”
Mac got to his feet, no longer pale, and she thought she saw the same look in his eyes he’d had when he’d completed the tower stunt. Wild and reckless.
Flynn made a move, and Mac grabbed the man in a headlock, scrubbed his hair with his knuckles, laughing as the smaller guy wriggled to break free. Dragging him up, Mac planted a solid kiss on his forehead before springing him free.
“I love you, man.”
Flynn shot a neat little punch, managed to get past the taut muscles of Mac’s stomach, making his breath whoosh out. Mac barely curled his body, but the power had been there in Flynn’s fist.
“Fucking actor. You love everyone.”
Mac’s laughter rolled out as he turned his wolf-like grin on Ryan.
“Sure I do.”
He grabbed Ryan, flipped him over his shoulder, making Zoe’s breath stutter in her throat as he deliberately twirled him around accompanied by the delighted screeches from her son. Then Mac promptly threw him, arms and legs flailing, at Flynn, who deftly hoisted him up again.
“Go get the kid some lunch, I wanna kiss his mama for a minute. We’ll be right there.”
Lust sparked off him as he turned toward her, grin still in place, and she tried not to be thrilled by the keen look in his eye, but her stomach flip-flopped as he hauled her in close and plastered his mouth against hers.
Powerless to resist and unable to think of a single reason why she should, she sank into the kiss, returning the passion tenfold. Unable to think, she let her senses control her response, allowing them to spin wildly out of control.
“Whoa…” He pulled back to look at her. Drugged by the taste of him, she gave him a wide grin and hauled his face back down to hers for another assault on his lips.
“Zoe…God, God…stop.” He blew out a breath and held her away from him, almost at arm’s length, and the whirling, spinning sensation calmed, shuddered to a full stop. Her face burned as she glanced quickly around, realizing with relief the crew had all made for the food-laden trestle table.
Mac dropped his hands from her arms and stared at her while he lifted those hands back to his face and rubbed them against his day-old growth. She heard the stubble rasp, and the heat that had shot through her system so swiftly pooled to simmer like molten liquid.
The black eyes looking back at her weren’t as calm and controlled as she thought they would be. They burned with primitive desire and made her simmer start to boil again.
She stepped away. She’d made a mistake if she thought she could keep this thing under control. Miscalculated the depth of her want for this man. Maybe she needed to take a small step back before she made a fool of herself over him.
“Perhaps we should get something to eat.”
He laid a casual arm around her waist, tucked her close against his side as her arm came around him, and he guided her toward the food.
“I could eat you. Right now. If there weren’t sixty-odd people here, I most definitely would.” He rubbed his lips against her ear as he murmured low and intoxicating. “If we were alone, we could make love out on the grass beneath the sun, like we used to. Remember?” He nipped her ear and smiled as she jerked her head up.
“Yes.” She dropped her arm from his waist, gave a quick jab of her elbow to his steel stomach. “But it was a long time ago, and I’ve grown up since then.”
* * * *
Her father was waiting when they arrived home with Mac in tow. Emory eyed him long and hard before he turned his disapproval upon his daughter.
“You’ll want coffee before you go and see to the Fitzgeralds’ mare. She’s in our stables. I wasn’t happy when I saw her earlier today. She’s not in labor yet, but there’s something not right, and knowing them, they’d leave her all night without checking.”
He handed her a mug of black coffee, and Mac felt the first twinge of discomfort as the old man ignored him and turned to Ryan.
“You’ll get yourself to bed double-quick. It’s later than it ought to be, and you have school in the morning.” The subtle rebuke didn’t go unnoticed.
“Granddad, I want to tell you—”
“You can tell me when you’ve changed, Ryan. I’ll come and read to you while your mother sees to the mare.”
“But Dad—”
“Will be going now.”
Mac lifted his eyebrows and met the old boy’s hard stare. Nodding, Mac lifted a conciliatory hand and tried to back out the door, only to come up against Zoe as she placed her black coffee in his outstretched hand.
“Mac can come with me. I might need some help.”
He hated horses. She knew he hated horses; she’d just watched him flinging himself all over one, racing hell-for-leather across the fields. Stupid horse. He’d become an actor just so he didn’t have to work on the ranch he’d virtually grown up on. He knew what to do with animals; it had been ingrained in him while he was still a child. It didn’t mean he had to like it.
Then again, if it gave him a few extra minutes with the redhead, he was willing to risk it.
“Sure, lead the way.”
*
“Mac, for God’s sake hold her head still. Call yourself a superhero?”
Mac grabbed the mare’s head, using his knowledge and strength to hold her still while Zoe grunted at the other end. He rolled his eyes as he automatically soothed the mare and wondered whether Zoe would ever understand.
“I’m not a superhero. I’m an action hero. It’s different.”
“Well…” she mumbled. He heard a soft sucking sound as she withdrew her blood-and mucus-laden arm from the mare’s vagina. He imagined he’d just turned an unattractive shade of green as black spots appeared behind his eyelids. It would not look good on screen. He held his breath so he didn’t faint.
“What’s the difference between the two?”
He blew air out again in disgust.
“Action heroes don’t wear their underpants on the outside of their clothing.”
She laughed. The mare moved uncomfortably. He sucked in a panicked breath and hoped Zoe wasn’t going to leave him alone with the horse.
“You can let go now.”
He stepped back and watched, fascinated as a small head emerged from the rear end of the horse. Jesus Christ, she was giving birth right in front of him. He hadn’t witnessed a horse giving birth in around fifteen years, and he’d forgotten the feeling of elation at the wonder of it.
He felt the grin spread across his face, and the black spots miraculously lifted as the mare’s sides expanded to give an almighty push. The foal fell away with a watery splat to the hay-cove
red floor. He felt his heart leap with joy at the sheer sight of the newborn. He wanted to laugh as tears rolled down his cheeks, and Zoe stared at him in fascination.
“Mac, you’re crying.”
“I know. I’m allowed.”
She removed her coveralls and gloves and started to scrub her hands under the cold water tap in the corner of the stables, all the time casting puzzled looks his way, shaking her head as though she couldn’t believe a full-grown man could cry over a newborn.
He grinned and shook his head in awe as the mare turned to nudge her baby and clean it. His chest expanded with pride. He felt personally responsible for the birth of the foal as he wiped the tears from his cheek. “I’m an actor. We’re allowed emotions.”
Zoe laughed again. A lovely, carefree sound.
“You’re amazing.” The foal staggered to its feet, wobbled precariously, lost its back legs for a moment, and then straightened. Half his attention on the foal, half listening to her, he twitched his eyebrows.
“What?”
He wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. His ears buzzed, his face ached with grinning, and adrenaline shot through his system in hot pursuit of his boiling blood.
He wanted her. Right there and then, he wanted her. He looked deep into her hazel-green eyes, saw the awareness just as intense, and thrilled at her surprised look as he yanked her toward him.
“Mac, I need to clean up.”
“Too late. Keep your hands to yourself. I’ll do all the work.”
Her gurgling laugh gave him all the permission he needed. As he lifted her bodily, she spread her arms, threw back her head, and chuckled. He took pleasure in biting her neck, turning her laughter into a heartfelt groan as he let her body slide against his, back to the floor.
“Zoe.” Breathless, he could barely force her name through his lips.
His fingers popped open the buttons on her baggy trousers and let them drop to the floor. Unable to wait, he simply wrenched the side of her frilly little panties, tore them off her, delighting in the sound of her small, shocked gasp and her wide, stunned eyes.
Her freezing hands found their way around his shoulders and gave him a moment’s pause as he sucked his breath in through his teeth. But her fingers curled around the back of his neck urging him closer.
“Ah, Jesus, Zoe. I need you.”
Too impatient to wait, he grabbed the condom he’d had burning a hole in the pocket of his pants and slipped it on while she struggled to kick the trousers from her feet. He heard her desperate whimper as her trousers got a stranglehold on her boots, but unable to contain himself, he simply picked her up, shoved her against the stable wall, parted her knees, and thrust hard inside her.
He held still; embedded in her hot, welcoming flesh, he listened to the helpless sound she made, and it almost drove him insane. Determined to linger, he stared into her strange, fascinating eyes, swallowed past the lump in his throat, and declared the one thing he had never said to any other woman since he’d lost her eleven years ago.
“Oh God, Zoe, I love you.”
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back to allow him access as his lips touched her soft, silken skin. Now he was where he wanted to be, he didn’t feel in such a rush.
“I know you do…” she murmured, making his heart trip as she trailed her fingertips across the back of his neck and around the shell of his ear. His lips smoothed over her creamy neck as waves of overwhelming tenderness threatened to devour him. “You’re an actor, you love everyone.”
His heart stuttered to a halt. His fingers froze.
As she opened her eyes to look at him, he closed his so she couldn’t see. Couldn’t see the screaming hurt she’d inflicted as she tore the soul out of him. Repeating the words Flynn had used earlier, she obviously had no idea, and he mourned the fact she believed he was so shallow. The truth of the matter was, he didn’t love everyone; he only loved her.
“Mac.” She touched his face, her voice a sweet invitation; he felt her frozen fingers run along his tightened jawline. “Please.” He moved, kept his eyes squeezed tight, tucked his head into her neck, and moved again. Pain seared his heart as lust burned his loins.
He surged inside her hard, gripping her backside with one large hand to pull her nearer, thrust repeatedly inside her, thrust deeper wanting to claim her, wanting her to know, to understand, to feel what he felt. His other hand grasped the back of her head, his mouth raced to claim hers, and still he pounded. Pounded with his eyes closed. His heart pumped like a jackhammer, thundering to escape the confines of his ribs. Her body quivered under his, and try as she might, he didn’t allow her to lift her entrapped legs. She was pinned—by him and by her own trousers, her thighs squeezed around his loins as he pushed inside harder, higher.
“Mac, oh yes. Yes.” She pulsated around him; hot, wet warmth encompassed him as shaking, panting, he emptied himself, heart and soul, inside her. And stopped.
Breath burned his lungs as he stood motionless, unable to meet her eyes. Hurt almost overwhelmed him, weakening his knees as he pulled away, turned his back to discreetly dispose of his condom and take a moment to compose himself. She’d laughed when he had cried over the foal; what the hell was she likely to say now if she saw the tears in his eyes?
Cold and heartless, she’d probably laugh again.
He listened as she adjusted her clothing and muttered under her breath something about freezing her backside off against the steel wall. Squeezing his eyes tight until he saw bright white lights flickering behind his eyelids, he concentrated on unlocking his jaw.
Ready, he plastered a massive grin on his face, turned and yanked her to him with the best devil-may-care attitude he could muster to give her a quick friendly kiss on the lips, and then he let her go.
It’s what made him a great actor. Quick-fire change of emotion and he was fine. His heart may be about to give out, but it was probably a medical problem rather than emotional.
“Didn’t you promise to feed me if I helped?” She hadn’t. It hadn’t been long since they had eaten on the shoot, but he needed some kind of normality.
She was silent as she looked at him; a small frown furrowed her brow; her eyes were puzzled for a split second, and then she smiled.
“Yeah, sure. Let’s go back to the house.” She glanced around the floor, picked up her ripped underwear, and stuffed it in her pocket. She checked on the mare and the foal and wandered out into the chill of the summer’s evening.
He caught up with her, took hold of her hand, and was tempted to tell her again he loved her. He swallowed the temptation, knowing it would be a mistake, and remained silent. There would be another opportunity. One where she would understand it wasn’t hormones speaking. It wasn’t purely about him wanting to get inside her. He needed her to understand he meant it; he wasn’t just a superficial, egotistical actor.
His eyes almost rolled to the back of his head as he acknowledged the thought he’d passed through his brain. Of course he was superficial and egotistical. He was an actor. But he still loved her, like he loved no other.
*
Her chest ached with holding in her emotions. He’d hurt her beyond words. Complicated matters with his declaration of love, which she knew darned well he didn’t mean. He probably repeated it to every woman he made love to, and over the years, it must have been a lot. But it had struck a chord in her. And it hurt. Tore her apart inside because all she had wanted to do was tell him she loved him back. Scream it from the rooftops.
Even if he did believe himself to be in love with her, his emotions were transient. He’d declared his love for her before and left her without a backward glance for fame and fortune and a woman twice her age.
But he’d seemed genuine. She’d felt it. As he’d hammered inside her, she’d felt his desperation, his need, and reveled in it, wanted it. Wanted more. She had almost convinced herself he meant it.
Furious for not stepping back like she’d promised herself, she rubbed her aching temples and
realized it was too late. She’d been swept along by the glamour of it all. The romance of being pursued by an actor too handsome for the good of womankind. It was too late to take stock when she already knew she was in love with him. But it was nothing to do with his fame and his glory. She was still in love with him. Had never fallen out of love with him.
Easy enough to convince herself she had moved on, she’d created a life for her and her son, but her heart gave a nasty little hitch as she admitted she’d never moved on from the moment he had dumped her. She’d never had a serious boyfriend, just a few scattered dates over the years, and it was all very well telling herself it was because she was trying to be a responsible mum concentrating on her son’s upbringing, but Mac had just blown the theory apart for her.
From the day he had employed his agent to dump her for him, she had never looked at another man in the same light. Never felt the same lust. Never been tempted to take the same fall.
It wasn’t fair on her. When most people broke up, it was over. Move on, find a new love, make a new life. But ever since that horrendous day, she had been exposed to a barrage of information about him too difficult to avoid.
At first, she’d avidly read the tabloids and gossip magazines, witnessed his brief marriage, his rapid breakup, all displayed in humiliating detail. Once Ryan was born, she had desperately tried to ignore anything relating to Mac, but over the years as his fame escalated, it had become impossible to ignore him. The fact her son resembled him so closely didn’t help.
Despite loving him, she knew she could never get involved with him again on the same level. She would let him go—again. She had no choice, and it ripped her heart to shreds.
Chapter 8
Warm summer sun flowed molten over her skin, soaking through to her bones as she tipped her face up to the sky to absorb more. She reclined on her elbows on the ancient, blue tartan rug and allowed her feet to dangle off the edge of the jetty, hissing through her teeth for a moment at the shock of icy water swirling around her feet.
