Mac placed his hands on the door above her head, pinning her in. “You know? That was plain mean. I’m never going to sleep now. I’ll be up all night with visions of… You have an evil streak, Jennifer Jones!”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.” He opened the door and stepped back. “And I swear, if you offer to let me spank you for punishment I’m going to totally lose it.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what possessed me.”
“Maybe unresolved sexual tension so thick I can taste it from the next room?”
“Yeah. Goodnight, Mac.” She left, closing the door quietly behind her.
“One, two, three…fuck it.” Mac yanked the door open. She was halfway down the hall. In two strides he was on her. He grabbed hold of her hand, yanked her toward him and backed her up against the wall, one hand around her waist, the other around her neck.
“Mac—”
He crushed his lips to hers in a breath-stealing kiss. He didn’t try to hide his arousal. He didn’t try to hold back. He was tired of holding back. He wanted to let go. He wanted her to let go.
Jennifer’s hands flew up and tangled in his hair.
Mac needed her to know what she did to him, how she affected him, to feel the power she had over him. He tilted his pelvis so his erection pressed against her soft stomach. It made her gasp. He took immediate advantage, boldly slipping his tongue inside, letting is curl around hers. She was delicious. Her mouth was warm, wet, and oh-so-amazingly-sweet.
As soon as he tasted her, he knew she had been right. He wanted her, all of her. There was no hesitancy, no doubt, no denial. It was about a need that was almost primal. He thought of himself as civilized and sensitive. But here he was, wanting to mark, possess, consume her. No. Holds. Barred. He pulled back abruptly.
Her hair was mussed. Her eyes were wide. Whether from arousal, fear or a combination of both, he didn’t know. In the dim light of the hallway, he could see her lips were red and full from his assault.
“You’re right,” Mac admitted, turning away from her.
Still panting she reached out to touch him. “About?”
He drew back. “I want to make you mine.”
Sadness filled her eyes.
He couldn’t help himself. His hand lifted and caressed her cheek. “If I were to be perfectly honest I would tell you I’ve thought of little else since I saw you in that elevator.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I’m probably no different than any other wanker you’ve ever dated, or slept with.” He took a fortifying breath before saying what needed to be said. “If you want me to move out, I will.”
“If I let you stay, are you going to attack me in the hallway again?”
He stepped back, breaking all contact.
“Mac?”
He looked her in the eye. “You didn’t push me away. You kissed me back. I wouldn’t have forced—”
Jennifer held up her hand. “I know. Now, it’s my turn to be honest. I needed that kiss. I wanted it, as much as you did. What I’m asking is, if you continue to live here, will it happen again?
“I don’t want to lie to you. Maybe. Probably. Not tonight, not tomorrow, but eventually. My kissing you again is a likely scenario.”
“You can stay.” She continued down the hall, into to her room “And, Mac?” She’d paused before closing the door.
“Yeah?”
“You are different.”
“Goodnight, Jennifer.”
“Goodnight.”
Chapter Eight
Sara woke. In those few seconds between consciousness and sleep an intense fear set in. Fear that it was all just a dream. She sat up in bed and slowly opened her eyes, first one and then the other. The morning sun streamed in through the window. Tiny particles of dust floated in the air. She climbed out of bed and walked over to finger the delicate fabric of the white lace curtains, establishing they were real. Then she turned and surveyed the room, her room, running her hand along the cheerful yellow wall until she reached the corner where her vanity stood.
A blue and yellow striped skirt had been placed around it. She sat on the matching tufted stool and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Sara picked up her hairbrush and ran it through her hair. Satisfied, she dressed quickly then turned her attention to making the bed. Expertly, she pulled up the light blue sheets and smoothed out the blue and yellow striped comforter. As she was meticulously positioning the white lace throw pillows onto the bed she heard a knock at her door.
“Morning, kiddo.”
She opened it. Mac was there.
“How did you sleep? How’s the foot?”
Sara’s eyes were drawn to an uninteresting spot on the floor.
“Ah. Not feeling chatty this morning? Well, I didn’t sleep so well myself, I’ve been up a while, but Jennifer’s still asleep. I was about to make some French toast. Unless you’d rather have oatmeal?”
She slowly raised her eyes to look at him.
“I’ve got an idea!” He clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. “How about you burp once if you want French toast, twice if you want oatmeal?”
Sara couldn’t help herself, a giggle bubbled out of her.
Mac extended his hand and she took it. “French toast it is. Come on, you can be my assistant. We’re going to start working on cooking lessons now. Your sister’s a horrid cook. I say we break you in early.”
Mac led her into the kitchen and lifted her onto the counter. “This is really easy. We’ll start with butter, the real stuff.” Mac dropped a hunk into the frying pan and lit the flame. He gathered some eggs from the fridge, then quickly scrambled them in a bowl.
“You do the dunking.” He handed her a slice of bread, before demonstrating with a second. “Like so.”
The two of them worked side by side in comfortable silence for several minutes. When the French toast was finished Mac dished it up and carried the plates to the table. He returned to the kitchen, lifted Sara off the counter, and handed her the napkins and cutlery. “Go finish setting the table. I’ll bring you a glass of milk.”
Sara followed his instructions without protest, carefully setting a fork, knife and napkin by each plate, before taking her seat.
Mac joined her. “Eat up!” He nodded at her plate and poured out a generous amount of syrup for himself.
Sara sat there, motionless.
Mac was about to take his first bite when he noticed. “I wasn’t making fun of you earlier, about not talking. The truth is I’m absolutely sure you have a really good reason for it. I’d like to understand, kiddo, I truly would.”
Using his own knife and fork, he cut her breakfast into little pieces, which he doused with syrup. “You’ll find I’m a pretty good listener. When you’re ready to talk, that is” He speared two of the sticky squares with her fork and lifted it to her mouth. “Come on, have a taste. It’s horrible for you, mostly sugar and carbohydrates. Well, there is some nutritional value. I did buy whole-grain bread and there’s protein in the eggs, right?”
Sara opened up and accepted the bite. She chewed for a moment, closing her eyes to savor the taste.
“You’ve never had French toast before?” Mac offered her the fork.
Sara snatched it from his grasp, then quickly filled her mouth with another bite.
“Slow down. You’re going to choke if you keep shoveling it in.”
She paused and looked up at him, her cheeks puffed out like a little chipmunk’s.
Mac tried not to laugh.
Sara sat her fork down and then, with great effort, she swallowed. The momentary silence was interrupted by the sound of the intercom buzzer.
“Excuse me.” Mac stood and answered the intercom. “Hello?”
“Mac? I know I’m a bit early, are you ready?”
“Not quite, I’ll buzz you in, come on up.” He looked at Sara. “Finish your breakfast. I’m going to be leaving shortly.” Mac walked back over to the table and reclaimed his chair. “I’ll only be
gone for a bit. I have a fencing date with a mate. What would you think about a picnic at the beach this afternoon? Think you and Jennifer would like that?”
She nodded.
“It’s a date!” He picked up his plate and was on his way to the sink, when someone knocked at the door. Mac made a quick detour to open it. “Come on in, Rick. I’ll wake Jennifer and get my gear. This is Sara by the way. Sara, this is Rick.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sara,” Rick said.
Sara looked down and said nothing.
Mac dropped off the dish before returning to her side. “It’s all right if you don’t want to talk,” he whispered, quietly. “But it would be nice if you could at least shake his hand. What do you think?”
Sara extended her hand and Rick accepted.
“Help yourself to some coffee. I won’t be but a minute.” He ruffled Sara’s hair. “Time to go wake up Sleeping Beauty.”
Mac knocked lightly on Jennifer’s door then waited a moment. When there was no response, he quietly entered. The room was softly lit. Jennifer was lying on her side on the far edge of the bed, her hair splayed out across her pillow, the sheet down around her waist. Her golden, sun-kissed skin in the glow of morning was radiant. Her expression was serene, peaceful.
Mac crouched down and studied her for a moment. She looked different in sleep. More open, less guarded. He crawled onto the bed, stretching out beside her, head on the pillow alongside hers. “Jennifer? Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
She rolled onto her back and stretched like a cat, lifting her arms over her head and extending her legs. Her eyes slowly fluttered open.
“Damn. I was really hoping I was going to have to wake you with a kiss, you know, like Prince Charming.”
Jennifer rolled back to face him and smiled. “I think Prince Charming was in Cinderella, not Sleeping Beauty.”
“You sure? He might have dated both of them. I heard he was a real player, that one.”
“I’m pretty sure Beauty ended up living happily-ever-after with Prince Phillip.”
“Wasn’t that after she dumped that Charming fellow?”
“It’s been a while since I’ve read the story.”
Mac reached up and smoothed down her hair. “You believe it’s possible, a happily-ever-after?”
“Absolutely. In fairy tales and Disney films.”
“Oh, how I love the smell of pessimism in the morning.” Mac placed his hand over his heart. “It gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling right here.”
“That’s probably heartburn. Living with me is giving you an ulcer.”
Mac sat up. “Anyone ever tell you, you can be a real downer?”
She tiredly rubbed her eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t sleep well. What time is it?”
“Eight thirty.” He hopped up. “I’ve given Sara breakfast. I’ve got to go. I have a fencing date—”
Jennifer leaned up on one elbow. “You’re going to help someone build a fence?”
“No. Fencing as in en garde.”
“Like a Musketeer?”
“More like Jean Luc Picard.”
“What’s the difference?”
“Picard is cool. He’s a starship captain and wears a traditional mask. The Musketeers wear foppish hats with feathers in them.”
“Foppish? Is that even a word.”
Mac smiled. “Yes. It means silly.”
“Great. Another roommate who’ll always beat me at scrabble.”
“If it’s any consolation, I suck at poker.”
“You do kind of wear your heart on your sleeve.”
Mac lifted his hand to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. I’ve got to run. Rick’s waiting. He’s taking me down to his club so I can check it out and embarrass him a bit.”
Jennifer tossed back the covers and climbed out of bed. “You’re so confident.” She slipped on her robe.
“Not about everything. Don’t let me fool you. There are plenty of things I find plain terrifying.”
“Like what? And, don’t say dishes.”
“As much as I’d love to spend a lazy morning in bed with you having a heart-to-heart…”
“I know, Rick’s waiting.”
“How about you pick me up around noon at the club? We can grab some sandwiches and go down to the beach for the afternoon.
“Sounds great!”
“I’ll leave the address on the kitchen table.” He opened the door. “I’m going to loan Sara some art supplies and ask her to draw something for me. Can you bring them, whatever she works on and a blanket as well?”
“Anything else?”
“Just you. And the kid of course.”
“We’re a package deal now.”
“That I know. I’ll see you at noon. We can finish the heart-to-heart tonight.”
“Sorry, I’ve got a date tonight. I promised Sara a night of The Princess Bride and pizza. You’re welcome to join in. I hear there’s sword fighting, adventure and romance.”
Mac leaned against the doorframe. “Is it a kissing movie?”
“There might be some kissing, in the movie. Are you in?”
“As you wish,” he said, bowing gallantly. “Until tonight.”
It was a few minutes before noon when Sara and Jennifer made their way up the long, narrow staircase leading to the fencing academy. The stairs and the walls were covered in a light gray marble. At the top of the landing was a large, heavy door made of solid wood. It stood slightly ajar. Jennifer pushed it open and entered the reception area. There was an old desk to the immediate left, which was for the moment unoccupied. Behind it was a rack with masks, foils and jackets. To her right stood an archway. Drifting through it was the sound of metal striking against metal, the occasional buzzing noise, and one very recognizable, “Bollocks!”
Jennifer took Sara’s hand and led her into the vast room. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the brightly colored flags with coats of arms hanging from the ceiling. The floor was wooden and highly polished. The walls, a dull gray cinderblock, were generously adorned with various swords and shields. If it hadn’t been for all the modern equipment, she might have felt like she’d stepped back in time.
Several of the fencers were standing on the sidelines, watching as two men continued their bout. Even with a mask on, Jennifer recognized Mac as one of them. He’d taken a hit as she’d entered, but he’d recovered quickly and was already back in position.
“That one was on target,” the young man standing off to the side said. “Four—One. Ready? Fence.”
Mac was standing sideways, his left foot facing his opponent, his right foot straight out, and his knees bent. He held the foil in his outstretched, gloved left hand. His right arm was held behind him, out of the way and at a ninety-degree angle. He was wearing what she knew was the traditional white pants and jacket. Only the jacket was covered with a silver vest that seemed to somehow be connected to a scoring machine.
“Who’s winning?” Jennifer whispered, quietly, to one of the bystanders.
“New guy, Mac. That’s the first valid touch anyone’s been able to get all morning. He’s amazing.”
Mac lunged forward, attacking his opponent with lightning speed.
“What’s happening?” she asked.
“He’s kicking Rick’s ass.” The man grinned.
Rick, however, appeared to have effectively blocked Mac’s attack.
“Retreat,” the man murmured.
Rick stepped back, once, twice. Mac followed, closing in.
“Parry, repost, parry, lunge.”
The sequence replayed. Jennifer couldn’t keep up. Both men’s movements became a blur. Mac was incredible. His agility, coordination and balance allowed him to block attack after attack. His timing was flawless. He patiently waited for just the right moment, and it came. He moved in aggressively.
“You thinking about joining?”
“Nah. We’re just here to pick up Mr. Amazing.”
In the blink of an eye it was over.
> “Beat attack. Well done!” the guy called out.
Rick was the first to remove his mask. His face was dripping with sweat. “Well, at least I got a touch in this time.” He wiped his brow.
Mac pulled off his own mask. His hair was wet from perspiration. “Your last feint threw me. Won’t happen again. What time is it, anyways?”
“Time to go. Besides, it looks like your ride’s here.” Rick nodded in Jennifer’s direction.
When Mac turned around, she gave him a little wave.
His heart was still pounding. He was practically bouncing on his toes from the workout. The adrenalin coursing through his body was giving him a giddy, almost intoxicating feeling.
“Did you catch any of my last bout?” he asked as he approached.
“You won!”
Mac wrapped his arm around her waist, and dipped her backward, like he had that first time. “Yes, I did.” He smiled, broadly. “I always win.”
“There’s that confidence. You’re dripping sweat on me, and people are staring.”
“Let them, they’re jealous. To the victor go the spoils.” Mac kissed her softly on the lips. It was slow and sensuous and left him wanting more.
“I’m spoils now?” she asked as he stood her back up.
“Nah!” Mac waved his hand. “I just felt like kissing someone. You happen to be the prettiest one in the room at the moment. But, give the kid a few more years and she’s going to be giving you a run for your money.”
Mac stepped back and looked appraisingly at them. “You both got your hair done.”
“I had an appointment at Jean-Claude’s. It was time for a trim. While I was there, I asked him to cut Sara’s hair, too. It looks much healthier now, don’t you think?” Jennifer ran her fingers through her sister’s freshly shampooed hair.
Mac looked down at Sara. Her bangs were now pulled back with a clip and he could clearly see her eyes. “Beautiful.”
Sara beamed.
“Nice to see you again, Sara. I’m Rick, by the way.” He offered his hand to Jennifer.
“Jennifer,” she said, returning his handshake.
“Listen, Mac, I’ve got to run. I’m on a mission to find a sitter for tonight. It’s our anniversary and the gal we had lined up canceled this morning. She’s come down with the flu. Same time next Saturday?”
Shelter from the Storm Page 8
