MacKenzie's Lady

by Dallas Schulze

  "No, everything is fine."

  She shrugged and carried the plates into the dining room. A few moments later she was back. Her nose wrinkled slightly. "Mac, are you sure nothing's burning?"

  He took a deep cautious breath, inhaling the acrid scent of incipient disaster. He lifted the lid on the rice.

  "The rice is okay. The marinade is doing all right." He bent down to peer into the broiler. "The steak looks okay. That leaves—"

  "The broccoli," she finished for him.

  "But that's impossible. The heat is really low. There's no way it could burn... unless I forgot to put the water in it." His voice trailed off and he gave her a pleading look that made her want to tell him that that wasn't the case.

  He lifted the lid off the pot and stared down at the blackened bottom. The broccoli lay in olive-green misery, surrounded by the smoking steamer. "Dammit!" He snatched the pot off the stove and turned to drop it into the sink.

  Holly's cry of warning came just a moment too late. Steam rushed up as overheated metal contacted water. There was a loud, metallic ping and the bottom of the saucepan bowed upward, declaring silently that it had cooked its last meal. Mac stared at the ruined pot for a long moment, wondering what he had ever done to deserve such a fate.

  "The steak!"

  The words made him turn around, but not quickly. He was resigned to his fate now. Even before he saw the smoke pouring out of the broiler, he knew what had happened. He grabbed a box of salt out of the cupboard and pulled open the broiler, dumping the salt over the charred steak, dousing the flames that had been happily consuming the meat.

  Holly didn't say a word as he left the broiler pan and lifted the lid on the rice. He gave the pot a desultory stir. "The rice is stuck to the bottom of the pot," he announced without inflection. He turned to look at the saucepan that held the marinade as if expecting to find that it had erupted or boiled dry or given rise to the creature from the Black Lagoon. "The marinade is nice and hot."

  She didn't say a word, taking in the smoking steak, the warped pot, the mess on the stove where the rice had boiled over and then looking at his stunned expression. Her mouth twitched and then was still.

  "I'm really not all that hungry anyway. Why don't we just have a glass of wine and maybe some cheese and crackers or something?"

  He stirred the marinade. "Maybe I could make a salad."

  "I know a place that has great pizza and they'll deliver," she offered.

  He dropped the spoon onto the dirty stove and arched one eyebrow in her direction. "I get the feeling that you think I'm not safe in the kitchen."

  "Oh, no. I'm sure you're a terrific cook. It's just that tonight doesn't seem to be your night for making dinner."

  "Maybe you're right. It's a good thing I just bought ice cream for dessert. Otherwise, I'd probably have managed to ruin that, too."

  "Maybe we could pour the marinade over the ice cream," she suggested, earning herself a stern look.

  He pulled open the freezer to check on the one element of the meal that he could still depend on.

  "Well, at least the ice cream is still all right," he muttered forlornly.

  "See, the dinner isn't a total loss."

  Mac pulled his head out of the freezer and gave her an enraged glare. "Are you laughing?"

  She shook her head, biting hard on her inner lip. "Of course not. Why would I be laughing?"

  He slammed the freezer door shut and took a threatening step toward her, causing her to scoot off her stool and back a step away.

  "You are laughing! Do you know what I do to dates who laugh at me?"

  "I'm not laughing at you, Mac. I'm laughing with you," she offered unsteadily.

  "Do you see me laughing?"

  "I'm sorry." Holly backed another step as he advanced. "It's just that your face was so funny."

  "A polite date would have pretended not to notice that anything was wrong. She would have eaten the meal and never said a word."

  "Don't you think that maybe the steak might be a little too salty?" She backed out of the dining room, trying to keep one eye on Mac's advancing figure and another on the floor behind her. "Of course, maybe if we poured the ice cream over it, it would cut the saltiness a bit."

  "You are an ingrate. I slave over a hot stove to cook a meal for you and you complain about a little too much salt."

  "I'm sorry. You're quite right. Maybe you could feed it to your plastic blow-up lady. I'm sure she'd appreciate it much more than I do." She backed around the sofa. With his long legs, he could have caught her in an instant but he was allowing her to prolong the chase, enjoying the game as much as she was.

  "I think you need a thorough beating," he decided, rounding the sofa after her.

  "Oh, please don't beat me; I promise to be good. I won't make fun of your cooking anymore." Holly was laughing so hard she could hardly get the words out. She turned her head to see where she was going. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him lunge toward her. With a shriek she dodged the other way and scurried around the sofa.

  She faced him across the rust-colored back, her eyes bright, her face flushed and excited. There was something exhilarating about this mock chase scene. Adrenaline pumped through her veins, making her feel breathless and incredibly alert at the same time.

  "It'll go worse for you if you don't come along peaceably," he warned her.

  "You'll never take me alive, copper." She hurled the corny line at him and then gasped and darted around the sofa as he rounded the end of it. Now he stood behind the sofa and she stood in front of it, the fireplace at her back.

  "I always get my woman." The words were said in jest, but to hear him call her "his woman," even in play, sent an atavistic shiver down Holly's spine. Something deeply buried responded to the possessiveness in his voice.

  His eyes gleamed suddenly and that was all the warning she had as he put his hand on the back of the sofa and leaped over it, landing in front of her before she had time to do more than gasp. She turned to run and found herself firmly caught and held as his arms locked around her back.

  She raised accusing eyes to his face. "That was cheating!"

  "All's fair in love and war and chastising ungrateful dates."

  "I'm not ungrateful."

  "You sounded pretty ungrateful to me." He tugged her a little closer, enjoying the feel of her soft curves brushing the hard planes of his chest.

  "I honestly thought you were trying to make me laugh. I didn't think anyone could cause that many disasters accidentally."

  "That does it." Mac lifted her and tossed her lightly over his shoulder. "I'm going to have to resort to drastic measures."

  He strode out of the house and across the back lawn, ignoring her muffled pleas and apologies. The apologies lost much of their effect by being choked with laughter.

  He stopped next to the pool and shifted her so that she lay in his arms. Holly took one look at the water and threw her arms around his neck, clinging desperately to him.

  "I'm sorry, Mac. I didn't mean to laugh. I'll never laugh again. Honest."

  He let her dip slightly over the water and she shrieked and tightened her hold, a reaction that didn't displease him in the least.

  "Your apologies would be a lot more effective if you weren't laughing so hard while you're making them."

  Holly tried to swallow the laughter but couldn't. "It's hunger," she offered anxiously. "I always laugh when I'm hungry."

  Mac tilted his head to look down at her. In the soft darkness that blanketed the yard, she could just make out the gleam of his eyes. She tried to make her expression as innocent as possible, biting fiercely on her lip to hold in the laughter.

  "Hungry, huh?" He appeared to consider the idea and then nodded. "Okay, I'll buy that. I'll order a pizza and feed you." He turned and headed back to the house. "But don't think you're getting away scot-free. Sooner or later, you're going to have to pay a forfeit."

  Chapter 6

  An hour and a half later, Mac lifted
the empty pizza box from the floor between them and set it out of the way on a side table. Holly leaned back against the sofa and lifted her glass of wine and clinked it gently against Mac's. In front of them, the fire hissed and popped a soft accompaniment to their conversation.

  "I told you Dominic's had the greatest pizza in town."

  He nodded, stretching his legs out in front of him and pulling a pillow off the sofa to tuck behind his back. "It was a great pizza, all right."

  A comfortable silence settled between them. Holly couldn't remember the last time she had felt so utterly content with life. She wanted to freeze this moment in a time capsule so that she could take it out and look at it later.

  She looked around the restful room before letting her eyes settle on her host. He looked as relaxed as she felt. Thick dark lashes shielded his eyes. His long body looked completely free of tension.

  "I really like your house."

  "Thanks." His lashes lifted and his eyes skimmed the room. "Ken says it puts him to sleep the minute he walks in, but his place is decorated in modern eclectic in every color and style he can lay his hands on. I wanted something a little more solid-looking."

  "It suits you."

  His mustache quirked upward. "Solid and dull?"

  "No. Warm, stable, honest, straightforward."

  Mac seemed to wince. He lifted his glass and drained the wine from it in one swallow. "Honest. Straightforward. I don't think those are terms that apply to someone who tells lies for a living." There was an underlying bitterness in his voice that she had never heard before.

  "Sometimes you have to tell lies to do something good. I don't think it has any bearing on the kind of person you are. It's your job."

  His eyes pinned her, an oddly intent expression in them. "My job. Is that really how you think of it?"

  "Yes. I don't think you'd ever do something you thought was truly wrong. I trust you to do what's right, Mac."

  His mouth twisted. "You trust me," he murmured almost inaudibly. "I wish I had your confidence."

  Holly stared at him uncertainly. It was obvious that something was bothering him. Should she ask questions or just leave it alone? Maybe it was something he couldn't talk about. Before she came to a decision, he shook off the brooding atmosphere that had threatened to envelop them and smiled at her.

  His hand closed around her upper arm and tugged her closer. "I seem to recall that there's still that matter of finding a suitable punishment for you." She let him take her glass from her and set it next to his, her mouth relaxing into a coaxing smile.

  "I thought we were going to forget all that. You have to admit that it was pretty funny, Mac. Besides, I was weak from hunger and hardly responsible for my actions. And I did come up with Dominic's. You admitted it was a terrific pizza. That should make up for a lot."

  He shook his head, a decidedly predatory gleam in his eyes. "I'll give you a few points for the pizza but that wasn't enough to make up for the terrible blow to my ego. I told you I was going to have to teach you a lesson on how a good date behaves."

  "I have been a good date," she protested, hanging back against his hand. "How many of your dates would have helped you clean up the mess in the kitchen? Mac!" His name came out on a breathless shriek of surprise as he captured her hand, his free arm sweeping around her back as he pulled her onto his lap.

  Holly lay across his thighs, her back supported by the steel hardness of his arm. Her dress had twisted beneath her and she was vividly aware of the roughness of his jeans against her nylon-clad legs.

  Their eyes met and suddenly the playful mood was gone, replaced by something more dangerous. Holly licked her lips nervously, drawing his eyes to her mouth. She wasn't ready to take the next step yet, she reminded herself but the reminder seemed faint and far away.

  His head dipped slowly and her pulse fluttered at the look of hunger that darkened his eyes to midnight blue. The very air that surrounded them seemed to thicken and shimmer. The fire popped quietly but the sound was distant, unconnected to the world that Holly was floating toward.

  Her lashes dropped as his mouth found hers. It was like setting a torch to dry chaparral: instant combustion. An explosion of the senses that swept through her with irresistible force. The past weeks of gentle kisses and restrained caresses had left her with a deep hunger that matched his.

  Her fingers found their way into the thick darkness of his hair, curling around his skull, to hold him to her. Not that Mac showed any signs of leaving. His mouth slanted across hers, demanding and receiving access to the honeyed warmth of her. She could taste the tang of the wine on his tongue. Or was it on hers? It didn't matter. They twined together in ? ritual as old as time, seeking, probing, demanding.

  Mac's fingers skimmed across the front of her dress, hardly seeming to touch, yet the buttons that ran down the front fell open in his path. Holly moaned a protest as he drew away, her fingers sliding reluctantly from his silky hair. He shifted, easing her back onto the thick rug and leaning over her as he opened the dress, spreading it out on the gray carpet. It framed her body in a soft swirl of pale yellow.

  Mac groaned and her eyes fluttered open. In the firelight his features were more shadowed than revealed. The hard line of his jaw counterbalanced the soft flicker of his eyes as they skimmed over her. A gentle warmth flooded her cheeks, a warmth that had nothing to do with the fire.

  Mac groped desperately for his self-restraint as he 'ooked down at Holly. He hadn't intended to take things so far. What had started out as a game had rapidly escalated into something he couldn't control. It wouldn't be fair to go any further when she didn't know the full circumstances.

  Even as he told himself that, a groan that held a note of pain tore itself from his throat. He was lost. Some distant part of his mind shouted that it wasn't too late. He could still call a halt with no harm done, still stop things before they went any further. But the voice was muffled by the rapid beat of his pulse.

  Holly lay beneath him, her body flushed with firelight, her eyes languorous and wanting. As if from a distance, he watched his hand come out, touching the delicate thrust of her chin, trailing onto her throat. His fingers barely skimmed her breasts, feeling the flutter in her breathing as he brushed across the taut peaks. He let his thumb settle against her navel, his hand fanning out across her stomach.

  "Holly."

  Her name was ragged, half question, half plea. Her eyes opened slowly to meet the burning warmth of his gaze. With an effort his mouth twisted in a smile. "How do you expect me to keep my head when you wear something like this?" His hand brushed lightly across the tiny panties and lacy garter belt, trailing down to trace the line of one garter across her thigh to the top of her stocking.

  For a moment the mists parted and Holly saw clearly that this was her moment to choose. If she wanted him to stop, now was the time to tell him. Her eyes searched his face, seeing hunger and the iron control that held it in check. But she also saw need, a need that was not just physical.

  Mac moved away as she sat up slowly, holding his breath as her breast brushed against his arm, braced on the carpet beside them. She bent one leg in a graceful, feminine move and reached beneath it to unhook one lacy garter. Mac hardly dared to breathe as she unhooked the other garter and rolled the stocking down her slim leg in a gesture so sensual and alluring that his entire body tightened in response. The nylon was tossed carelessly toward the sofa.

  "It's much easier if someone else does it." The words were a throaty invitation. His eyes swept to her face for an instant, reading all the desire he had hardly dared to dream of, with just a flickering hint of uncertainty. This was not a woman who was accustomed to offering such blatantly sensual invitations. That Holly wanted him enough to do so added to his already inflamed senses.

  His fingers trembled slightly as he reached down and unhooked the delicate fabric, rolling the other stocking down the smooth length of her leg and tossing it toward its mate.

  Her fingers shook against his ches
t as she maneuvered first one button of his shirt and then another through buttonholes that seemed too small. He sat patiently until the last button surrendered and she was able to push the shirt off his shoulders. Her palms ran over his chest, her fingers curling into the thick mat of hair that covered its muscular strength. She brushed across a masculine nipple, lingering in response to his indrawn breath, her head lifting until she could see his face.

  Mac's patience melted and vanished beneath her delicate touch. With a groan he swept her back down onto the carpet, his broad chest crushing her breasts with controlled power. His mouth took hers with avid hunger.

  Mac's fingers moved rapidly, ridding himself of his jeans and stripping the last tantalizing bits of fabric from her willing body. Holly's hands were not still. She explored the rigid length of his spine, tracing each ripplii^j muscle that spanned his back.

  She gasped as he kicked his jeans away and his naked body came against hers. His hard arousal was a heated brand along her hip, a promise. His mouth left hers and brushed past her throat to find the silken weight of her breasts. Her nails dug into his shoulders as his lips closed around one swollen nipple and began a deep tugging motion that sank to her very core. Her hips arched in unconscious echo of that movement.

  His hand slid across her stomach, his fingers finding the silky dark curls that sheltered her femininity. His body jerked in response to the waiting warmth he found there. Mac's forehead felt feverish as he rested it between her breasts, fighting for some semblance of control.

  But if Mac was struggling to stem his passion, Holly was too far gone even to remember the meaning of the word "control." Her body was on fire. She felt as if she lay in the very midst of a bed of smoldering coals and it would take only the lightest of touches to make her burst into flame. The fire that burned beside them was nothing compared to the burning heat inside.

  Mac's chest heaved with the effort of thinking. His mind was filled with the sight and sound and scent of her. But there was something he needed to do, something he had to ask. He forced his spinning mind to vague coherency.