"Just one little bitty step?" she coaxed.
He shook his head, his teeth gleaming beneath the mustache. He followed her as she hopped from puddle to puddle. "You're ruining your shoes," he pointed out.
"They're only shoes," she dismissed grandly.
"How many glasses of wine did you have?"
"I'm not drunk," she said indignantly. "I'm just enjoying the weather. After all, this could be the last rain we have until fall."
"So you're going to absorb as much water as possible to see you through the coming drought?"
She had thrown open her coat and was skipping her way down the sidewalk, kicking up water with total disregard for her clothes. Watching her, Mac was reminded of a little girl playing hooky from school, delighted with the slightly illicit freedom. She spun giddily around a lamppost, her laughing face catching the light as she invited him to share her pleasure.
She gave a startled gasp when his arm caught her around the waist, lifting her off her feet and pulling her against the hard length of his body. One of her shoes slipped off and fell in the gutter to drift unnoticed and unmourned on the small river that rushed along the street.
She caught a brief glimpse of his eyes, darkly blue and glittering before his mouth crashed down on hers. Her soft moan was lost beneath the hungry pressure of his tongue. Mac's arm was a steel bar at her back, holding her against his frame. His other hand came up to cup the back of her head, tilting her face to allow his mouth better access.
Desire rose turbulently between them. Holly tilted her head back as his mouth moved gently against her throat, letting the rain fall like a warm benediction on her face. The light from the lamppost created a pool of watery brilliance that encapsulated them in a tiny, private world all their own.
The short beep of a car horn pulled them apart. Mac's eyes met hers as he let her slide slowly to her feet. Water plastered his hair to his head and sleeked his skin.
"I lost my shoes." Her voice was breathless.
He looked down at the one dark pump that lay forlornly on the sidewalk. "So you did. Where's the other one?"
"I think it went in the gutter. You're all wet."
"Who's idea was it to dance in the rain?" he asked mildly. He bent to pick up the discarded umbrella and hooked it over his arm. "I think it's a little late for this to do any good. Come on, I'll see if I can find a phone and call us a cab."
She let him lead her down the street, his arm a welcome weight on her shoulders. "I thought we were going for drinks."
"I don't think anybody's going to let us in. You don't have any shoes and we both look like drowned rats. Of course, we could always go back to my place for a drink."
She hesitated, caught between common sense and desire. Common sense won, but not without a battle. "I have to go to work tomorrow."
"Pity. I was really looking forward to showing you my collection of old bottle caps."
"I'd love to see them some other time," she murmured softly. The light conversation carried stronger, deeper meanings and her words were a promise.
His arm tightened around her shoulders. "I'll polish them up for you."
Chapter 5
The double date that had started on such a bad note yielded more than a romantic walk in the rain. Maryann did stop suggesting that Mac might be the next worse thing to Attila the Hun. Holly would have appreciated it more if she could have thought that it was because her roommate had discovered just how nice Mac was. Unfortunately, Maryann had simply found a new target. Mac was forgotten in the barrage of ammunition she now aimed against Ken.
He was a rude, overbearing, egotistical, smart-mouthed male chauvinist and "pig" was too nice a word to add to the end of the list. All Holly's attempts to find out just what Ken had done to deserve such a sweeping condemnation met with Maryann's unswerving assertion that he hadn't done anything; it was just obvious. And if Holly hadn't been so determined to like Mac's friend, she would be able to see for herself his true colors.
Holly gave up. At least she wasn't being forced to defend Mac. She wasn't going to replace that with defending his friend.
Besides, there were so many other things to think about. There was less than a month left to the end of the school year and she had to decide what to do with her summer. In the past she had taught in a summer program. This year she had tentatively planned to go to Europe. Her brother had told her that she could use his apartment as a base if she wanted to stay with him and launch her travels from there.
There was no question of leaving for Europe now, not as long as Mac was still in L.A. She had already written to James and told him that her plans had changed and she would be staying in the States. She frowned slightly. She hadn't heard from James in almost a month. Usually he wrote or called every two or three weeks. Still, if something was wrong, her father would have known, and he hadn't said anything when she talked to him the previous week.
Holly dabbed on an extra bit of perfume and gave her reflection a satisfied look. She was no Raquel Welch, but she didn't think Mac would have any complaints. The soft yellow dress was right out of the fifties. Strapless, with buttons down the front and a swirling skirt that fell to her knees, it was sexy but subtle, a salute to the feeling of spring that filled the air.
Tonight was going to be special. She could feel it in her bones. Mac had invited her to have dinner at his home and the wonderful tingle of excitement that ran down her spine had nothing to do with the thought of his home cooking.
They both knew it was only a matter of time before their relationship moved to a more intimate level. But not quite yet, not tonight. She didn't want to take that step yet. She wanted to savor the anticipation a while longer.
❧
Mac stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and then pulled them out again. Damn, he was nervous. Ridiculous. It wasn't as if he hadn't entertained a woman at his home before. Craig Claiborne didn't tremble when Mac walked by but he could turn out a pretty fair meal. Besides, he had everything organized. Nothing was going to go wrong, he thought as he waited in Holly's apartment for her to finish getting ready.
The phone rang and he glanced over at Holly. She was twisted at an impossible angle, trying to buckle her sandal. "Shall I get that?"
"Could you? I just found the buckle and if I let go now, I'll never get the strap through."
He smiled at her muffled words and moved toward the phone. "You could just wear tennis shoes."
"Not with a dress. It would look tacky."
He picked up the phone on the second ring. "Hello?"
There was a long pause on the other end and he could hear the static hum that identified it as a long-distance connection.
"Hello?" The voice was male, surprisingly clear and obviously uncertain. Mac felt his stomach muscles tense. "I may have a wrong number. Is this Holly Reynolds's home?"
"Yes. Here she is now."
He moved slightly away as Holly took the receiver, shrugging in answer to her questioning look. He didn't want to know who it was.
"James!" Holly's delighted exclamation gave him the answer he had feared. He turned away, afraid that his expression might give away his inner rage. Damn! Why now? Just when he had almost managed to forget the damned assignment.
He closed his ears to her end of the conversation. Tonight he didn't want to be an agent. He didn't want to think of his duty. All he wanted was to be an ordinary man having dinner with a woman he was falling in love with. He was going to have to drop this assignment. He'd tell Daniels that he couldn't handle it. Let Daniels assign someone else to do his dirty work. And then, of course, Mac would have to strangle the other man.
His hand was clenched and he forced himself to relax the fingers one by one, slipping them casually into his pocket as he turned to face Holly, automatically listening to her end of the conversation and sorting the words into potentially useful information.
The fact was that no matter how much he hated it, the job was going to get done, whether he did it or someone
else did it. And if someone was going to bring Holly's world crashing around her ears, he would rather be the one to do it. At least maybe he could shelter her from some of the pieces.
Holly hung up the phone and turned a beaming expression on Mac, unaware of his inner torment. "That was my brother, James. If I'd known it was him, I wouldn't have had you get the call. I had to answer a catechism of who you were and what you were doing here. Sometimes he acts as if I'm eight instead of twenty-eight." There was affectionate exasperation in her words.
"I guess it's always hard to let someone grow up," Mac murmured noncommittally.
"I suppose so."
"How are things going in Europe?" Good, Mackenzie. That's a nice casual question. Nothing there to make her suspect that you're out to get her brother.
"Pretty good. He likes his job and says the country is gorgeous." She picked up her purse. "I guess I'm ready to go. I hope James's call didn't mess anything up with your dinner."
Mac glanced at his watch, surprised to see that she had been on the phone for almost fifteen minutes. Funny how time flies when your guts are being twisted. He shook his head.
"No problem." At the moment he couldn't even remember what he had planned to cook, so it wasn't exactly a lie. He waited until they were in his car, headed toward his house, before he opened the conversation again.
"Your brother has been in Europe quite a while now, hasn't he?"
"It's almost a year now. He was home for a while in February."
"How does he like working outside the country?" Boy, I make myself sick. How can I sit here, pumping her for information that may help to send her own brother up the river? His fingers tightened on the steering wheel.
"James has spent a lot of time out of the country. I think he's almost more at home in Europe than he is in the States. He seems pretty happy. He isn't crazy about his boss." She frowned slightly. "Actually he sounded a little strained."
"Umm?" That's it. Sound nice and sympathetic. Offer her a friendly ear. Let her pour out all her worries to me. After all, I'm not going to tell anyone but the United States government.
"I had written to tell him that I wouldn't be spending the summer in Europe and he sounded almost relieved. He said it was probably just as well that I wasn't going to be coming over because he was going to be really busy and he wouldn't have much time to spend with me. He knows he doesn't have to entertain me."
"Maybe he just didn't want you to feel guilty about canceling the trip." Or maybe he had other things to do this summer, things that an inquisitive sister might get in the way of.
Mac pulled the car into the driveway and got out. That was enough business. He had done his duty and he wasn't going to think about it anymore tonight. Tonight was for the two of them. His job was not going to intrude.
Holly looked around curiously as he led her into the house. It was the first time she had been to Mac's home and she wondered what it would tell her about him. It was too dark to see much of the outside, just a vague outline of a one-story house in a quiet residential area.
The interior of the house was revealing. Pale gray with accents of rich russet created an atmosphere that radiated calm. The furnishings had been chosen for comfort: huge overstuffed chairs and a sofa, a plush carpet that looked thick enough to sleep on and a fireplace of brick and stone.
She turned suddenly, catching Mac's eyes, an unaccustomed hint of anxiety in their depths. He's really concerned about what I'll think, she realized in amazement. The unexpected vulnerability added warmth to her smile.
"It's beautiful. Not quite what I expected from a swinging bachelor, though. Where are the lights that dim automatically, the bearskin rug and the soft music that spills from invisible speakers?"
He reached out and flipped a switch and the lights dropped to a seductive level. Holly giggled softly. "What about the rug and the music?"
He turned the lights back up and shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, they were all out of bearskins and mood music when I dropped by Bachelor World."
"Bachelor World?"
"Sure. That's where all we swinging bachelors shop. You can get everything from the latest aphrodisiacs, guaranteed to turn your date into a raving nymphomaniac, to a plastic blow-up date for those nights when you'd rather not have to make conversation but you don't want to be alone."
"A blow-up date?" She giggled.
"Certainly. Something every man should have stashed in his closet. She's guaranteed to listen to stories even your best friend doesn't want to hear again. She never spills her wine, doesn't complain about the food and doesn't notice if you drip spaghetti sauce on your tie."
"Sounds like a real paragon. Doesn't she have any faults? I mean, I've got to know my competition."
He frowned. "Well, she doesn't like fireplaces; if she sits too close, her makeup melts. And if you drop your steak knife on her, she does tend to hit the ceiling."
"Right before she goes flat?"
He shook his head sadly. "I've lost more good dates that way."
The faint tension was banished by the silly conversation and Holly wondered why she had been concerned. Mac wasn't going to turn into a raving maniac just because he had her alone. It was going to be a wonderful evening with a nice dinner and a quiet glass of wine afterward. Maybe she would talk him into starting a fire in the fireplace. A perfect evening...
❧
Alas, the best-laid plans of mice and men, et cetera. The steak Mac had put in a spicy soy sauce marinade the night before might have been nicely flavored and tenderized if he had remembered to put the marinade in the pan with the steak. Instead, the steak lay in solitary splendor in the refrigerator and the marinade sat forlornly on the counter, waiting to be added to the steak.
"Don't worry about it. We'll just heat the marinade and serve it on the side." Holly gave him an encouraging smile. "I do that kind of thing all the time."
"The problem is that this cut isn't all that tender unless you marinate it."
"Who needs tender meat? I've often thought that one of the problems with today's youth is that they don't even have to worry about chewing their meat. Think how much better off we were in the days before tenderizers."
Mac smiled reluctantly. "I hadn't thought of it that way. As long as you promise not to sue me for any dental work that results from trying to get through this."
"I promise."
She leaned her elbows on the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the dining room, cradling a glass of wine between her palms. She would never have thought that Mac would fall to pieces over a minor kitchen disaster.
Mac turned on the water to boil for the rice while he prepared the fresh broccoli that would be lightly steamed. By the time he finished readying the broccoli, it was time for the rice to go in. He dumped the polished grains into the boiling water and put the lid on, making a mental note of the time so he would know when to start the meat.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Nope. I think everything is under control." He leaned against the counter opposite her and lifted his wineglass. "I probably should have just picked up some nice gourmet take-out food and served that."
"Why? Everything is going just fine. The marinade looks delicious."
"I think I wanted to show you how domesticated I can be," he admitted.
"I'm very impressed." Her wide mouth was held primly serious but the dimple in her cheek quivered slightly.
"I can tell."
"No, really." She protested her sincerity. "Of course, I would have been even more impressed if you had served me an avocado and pink tofu salad with grapefruit and goat cheese dressing."
"Sorry. I only make that on alternate Thursdays."
He reached across the breakfast bar and kissed the laughter from her mouth, tasting the warmth of her response, feeling it reach deep inside and melt away some long-held barrier he hadn't even known existed. He drew back and their eyes met.
The sparkling humor in her eyes faded, leaving them a g
entle brown. Her hand came up to touch one lean cheek, tracing the softness of his mustache.
"You have the most beautiful eyes," she murmured, almost to herself. "If I never saw you again, I could never forget your eyes."
He turned his head and pressed his mouth to her palm. "And I could never forget yours. There's so much joy. You're always looking forward to the next moment as if something exciting might happen."
"Something exciting might happen." He leaned toward her and her voice dropped.
"Like what?" he asked huskily.
"Like—" Angry hissing interrupted her, accompanied by a loud metallic rattle. Mac spun around and then reached the stove in one long stride, grabbing hold of the pot of rice and jerking it off the burner. White foam oozed down the sides of the pan as the lid subsided to a sullen mutter.
"Like the rice might boil over," Holly finished her sentence, though not quite as it had started out.
"I forgot to turn the heat down."
"That's okay. Just set it on a very low heat and it will be all right."
Shaken, he obeyed her instructions, turning the flame so low that it was in danger of going out. He grabbed his wine and took a fortifying swallow. "Well, at least nothing else can go wrong," he said lightly.
Mac put the still-damp broccoli into a saucepan and turned the heat on, carefully checking to make sure the flame was not too high before he turned on the broiler to preheat for the steak. He poured the forgotten marinade into a small saucepan and set it over a low flame. He got out plates and silverware and set them on the breakfast bar, giving in to Holly's insistence and letting her set the table.
Everything was under control as he carefully slid the un-marinated steak into the broiler, checking his watch again so that he would know just when to turn it. The rice simmered gently on a back burner and the marinade was starting to send out tantalizing scents of soy sauce and garlic.
"Is something burning?" Holly asked as she picked up the plates. Mac glanced at the stove but everything seemed all right.
MacKenzie's Lady Page 7
