by Shirley Jump
Mack crossed to one of the windows, ran a finger along the edge, then turned back to her. “Yep, they are. Well, that just means you have to throw harder.” He reached out to Alex, tugged her over to one of the windows and gave her a pat on the shoulder. “Now throw that sucker. Like Sammy Sosa.”
She gaped at him. “Through the window? But it’s closed.”
“So? What better way to get rid of some of that frustration and get a start on the demo? Personally, I prefer a sledgehammer, but we can start with this.” He gestured between the plant in her hands and the window. “Go ahead. Do it.”
“But—”
“I may not know a lot about what happened here,” he said, his voice soft against her neck, tender with the friendship of years, “but I do know there’s a lot you’d like to erase. A whole lot of holes you’d like to punch in that past.” He squeezed her shoulder and met her gaze, knowing her so well, so very well. “Not to mention the holes you’d like to punch in Edward’s selfish face.”
She swiped at her face and nodded.
“Then start right now, Alex.”
Mack had gone insane. He expected her to throw a plant through the window?
On purpose?
She turned back to him, to tell him no, when her gaze caught on the empty rooms. Rooms that held the echoes of crying nights, missed chances, empty promises.
This house. This damn house.
She barely remembered these rooms, but they still tickled at the edges of so many other bad memories. A childhood no one should have had to live. A mother who had tried but failed, and a child who’d been too young to fix anything, even her own sandwich.
Then she thought of the past few days, of Edward, of how he’d lied and connived his way into her bed and her heart.
Bastard.
“Go ahead, Alex,” Mack urged. “You’ll feel better.”
“I hate this house,” Alex whispered, then she hefted the weight of the pot in both hands and swung forward, putting her entire body into the movement, letting go as she did. The heavy pot of geraniums went flying, hitting the glass at the same time Mack yanked her back, out of the shrapnel spray.
In an instant, it was over. A spray of glass and bright red petals littered the floor, a light summer breeze filtered in through the jagged open circle, and Alex had the beginning of landscaping. Sort of.
Lightness filled her chest, as refreshing as ice cream on a hot day, as swimming in the middle of August. But more than that, she felt oddly like she had accomplished something. Made a change. Erased a little of what had been here before.
She turned to Mack and started laughing. “That was insane.”
Mack just grinned. He moved toward the window, inspecting the damage. “Yep, I was right. Single pane. Not even insulated. You’d need to replace it, anyway, to have any kind of protection against the winter. Too bad I don’t have more plants.”
Reality inserted itself into the temporary reprieve she’d felt. Smashing windows wasn’t the most practical method of home improvement.
“That would only make for more work. I’ve got enough of that on my hands right now.” She sank back onto the bucket, dug in the cooler for a second soda and handed it to him. “What are you doing here? I thought you pronounced this place DOA.”
“I did. But once it became clear you were going to be stubborn about this, I took pity on you.” He grinned. “And I returned.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“So you really want to do this, huh?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. “The best way to erase a bad past—or, more specifically, my bad past decisions, is to start with taking out the carpet and knocking down the walls, if that makes sense.”
Mack considered her for a long time. “It makes perfect sense, Alex.”
For the first time since she’d walked through that front door, she felt like she had an ally. She wasn’t alone. Just like back when she’d first met Mack and her world had instantly expanded when he’d offered her half of his PB and J and a listening ear. And here he was, doing the same thing with a geranium. She smiled, then wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. “Thanks, Mack.”
He stiffened. How odd. Never before when she’d hugged Mack had he turned into a statue, like she had the plague.
“You’re, uh, welcome.”
Alex looked up at Mack. His features had become unreadable, his expression stony. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No.”
“Okay,” she said, then started to move out of the embrace, when he pulled her back, into his arms. His strength went around her, with warmth this time, her body curving perfectly into his, fitting as if she’d been made for him.
There was no coldness in this hug. Nothing strange. Except…
Heat grew in her gut. Her pulse began to race, and his arms didn’t feel comforting, but…
Sexy. Desirable. She found herself wondering what it would be like if he touched her in other ways.
Mack cleared his throat and stepped back, the strange tension between them broken, evaporated as if it had never existed. “Anytime you, uh, need some more geraniums, I’m your man.”
She worked a smile to her face, still trying to sort the jumble running through her. “I’ll keep that in mind. But first, I have a lot of interior work to do.”
Mack looked around the space, assessing it again, then turned back to her, reading her face as easily as the newspaper. “You know the best part about renovation?” He moved behind her, put his hands on her shoulders and spun her slowly around the room. With one hand, he pointed toward one section of the room after another. “You can forget what happened here, erase it entirely. Create your own vision. Close your eyes, Alex. See that vision. Imagine this house, not as it was, but as it can be. A new wall there. Some built-in shelves here.”
“This is crazy.”
“Try harder. Tell me, what’s on those shelves?”
She opened her eyes and shook her head at him. “There aren’t any shelves, Mack.”
He slid his palm over her lids, shutting her vision into darkness again. “Picture it, Alex. Try. What’s on the shelves?”
She sighed. Paused. For a long moment, nothing came to mind, nothing to erase the images of the tattered, ruined house that stood here now. Of a broken, interrupted childhood.
And then, the shadows gave way to light and a vision began to take shape. “Books,” she said. “And flowers. Fresh flowers.”
“Good. And on the windows?”
“White curtains.” She saw them, truly saw them, as if they were hanging there. The image took shape, then took flight from her lips. “Simple, plain, hanging to the floor. Nothing too fancy. Nothing to distract you from the view. Of…daffodils. Tulips. Rosebushes. All the landscaping outside, waiting to burst into spring color.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“It sounds like”—she opened her eyes and turned back to him—“like I’m rewriting history, in a way.”
“Exactly.” He brought her full circle to meet his gaze. “And creating a whole new future, too.”
“But what if…” She bit her lip. “What if I can’t? What if it’s too much for me to handle?”
“That’s where I come in,” he said and he smiled again. “I’m your renovation buddy.”
She laughed. “That’s what you’re calling yourself?”
Mack shifted, and the movement brought him closer to her, within inches. Sharp, heated awareness sparked along Alex’s nerve endings. He reached out and danced a fingertip along her jawline, the movement meant to be a tease, but awakening instead a fire inside her so strong, she nearly quivered with the sudden rush.
“Something like that,” he said, his voice low, dark.
Alex stood there, transfixed, her lips parted, waiting—for what, she didn’t know—but suddenly, the conversation about the house had ended and a conversation of a very different sort skated just beneath their words. “You’re planning on staying,” she as
ked, the words escaping on a breath as her gaze met Mack’s, his blue eyes as dark as an ocean at night, “for the long haul?”
“As long as it takes,” he said. His finger slid slowly along the curve of her jaw, then drifted away. Yet his touch seemed to still burn on her skin, the places he’d merely whispered against left seared. “If there’s one thing I’m known for, it’s getting the job done. And doing it right.”
Alex gulped. “We are talking about construction here, aren’t we?”
His smile curved upward, sparkled in his eyes. “Of course. Unless there’s something else you need me to do?”
The question hung in the air. With a few words, Alex could turn the tide of their relationship, upend the friendship and turn it into something—
Something very, very hot.
She knew Mack and knew, without a doubt, that he would be good in bed. She’d heard, after all, a hundred times over from the girlfriend of the week how amazing Mack was. How considerate. How talented in the bedroom.
But in the end, she’d undoubtedly be shuffled off to join the women who shared memories of Mack, and nothing more. In the process, she’d lose the very things she treasured most about him.
And probably, lose him. Not to mention her dignity, and her heart. Not a risk Alex wanted to take.
“No,” Alex said, stepping back to brush invisible dirt off her shorts and forcing herself back into work mode. “I don’t need anything else. Though I might want to hire a more talented landscaper.”
“What, you don’t like how I changed things?” he asked, referring to the geranium scattered across the front lawn.
“No, Mack. All you did was make more of a mess,” she said. Meaning everything else.
Chapter Five
Mack had one philosophy that had worked for him every day of his life.
Hard work would take care of any problem.
Apparently, that philosophy didn’t apply when it came to Alexandra Kenner.
Seeing Alex in those little denim shorts and hot-pink tank top, her body coated with a fine sheen of sweat, as she worked with everything from his sledgehammer to the reciprocating saw, had his mind running down some seriously physically frustrating paths. Not to mention that window of vulnerability she had opened today, which had nearly broken his heart and made him want to scoop her up, take her home and never let her go. That alone told him he needed to do something other than stand around and watch her.
So he worked more. Hit things harder. Drove home too many nails to count.
But none of it distanced him from thoughts of Alex. He could have built three Eiffel Towers and still had enough pent-up frustration left over for the Taj Mahal.
Alex paused in sweeping up the debris from the last wall they had knocked down. Earlier that day, Mack had ordered a Dumpster, and together the two of them had made at least five dozen trips out there. His arms ached; he could only imagine how Alex’s felt, but she’d kept up with him, refusing to slow down or take a break longer than a few minutes.
Mack had talked her into opening up the space between the living and dining rooms, giving the small house a wider, more modern layout. Already, the house had additional light, felt breezier, homier. She pressed the back of her hand against her forehead. “How do you do this work all day, Mack?”
“Easy. I’m the big, hulking man, remember?”
She laughed. “Seriously. I’m beat.”
“Want to call it a day?”
Alex looked around. “It doesn’t look like we got much done.”
“Are you kidding me? We knocked down two walls, stripped off the old plaster and lathe in the living room and dining room, hauled all that debris out to the Dumpster and took down the old light fixtures in both rooms. I’d say that’s a lot. You’re a workhorse.”
“Don’t let anyone ever say you don’t know how to flatter a girl.”
Mack did know how to flatter a girl. But when it came to Alex…
Well, she was different.
And when she inhaled, as she did just now, the slight movement doing the same thing to her as it did to everyone else—making her chest rise—her skin released the jasmine notes of her perfume, the raspberry scent of her shampoo. But to Mack, that ordinary act set off a cavalcade of fireworks in his gut.
His hand curled tighter around the two-by-four in his grip. Every lesson he’d learned in Man 101 flew out of his head. He thought of nothing but pressing her to the wall and trailing his mouth down the warm expanse of skin beneath her jaw, to the valley between her breasts, then lifting her shirt and teasing his tongue over every sweet inch of flesh until she cried out and he found a release from the agony of want—
And not having.
Because Alex was his friend, and had made it clear that was all she wanted from him. Friendship. If he started acting all “manly” with her, he knew he’d screw that up. But sometimes—
Sometimes he wanted to do exactly that.
“Do I have plaster dust on my nose or something?” Alex asked.
Mack realized he was staring at Alex. Way to go. He cleared his throat and tossed the timber onto the pile in the corner. Then he grabbed the broom from her. No way he could keep watching her hips sway around the room like that. “No, sorry. Guess I’m tired, too.”
“You? The big, hulking man, tired?” She gave him a teasing grin.
“Yeah. Exactly.” He started sweeping, stirring up a furious cloud of dust, avoiding Alex and the turmoil stirred up inside his body. That desire dust storm was a lot more volatile than any sawdust on the floor. He kept his back to her, concentrating every ounce of his attention on the sawdust and wood chips before him, but still seeing only Alex’s hips, ass, breasts—
God, he wanted her. He wanted everything about her. Her lips, her body, her mind. He’d never craved anything as much as he craved her. The broom’s bristles bent at a 45-degree angle with the force of his efforts, the dirt pile growing larger by the second. But still it wasn’t enough.
If he didn’t keep himself busy—and busy to the nth degree—he’d end up throwing Alex to the floor like a caveman and finally putting into action all those fantasies that had played in his mind for years.
A sure way to take their relationship to the next level. And also a big way to act like a jerk. Alex had just broken up with a total jerk. She needed his help. A shoulder to lean on. Not a Neanderthal.
He glanced over and saw Alex watching him. A slight, distracted smile danced across her features. His chest tightened and he paused for a moment, mesmerized. Alex’s tongue slipped out, flickered across her crimson lips, and Mack quit breathing.
“Maybe you should, uh, stop, Mack.”
“Stop what? Sweeping? But I’m nearly done.”
“Go home.” She stepped forward, her hand wrapping around his on the handle. Warm palm meeting his, the touch so soft, yet so strong. “It’s late. You’ve, umm…probably put in a full day on your own construction site, too. Yet here you are, still helping me.”
“I said I would.” He stared at Alex. What was up? All of a sudden she was kicking him out? When he was thirty seconds from being done with the cleanup?
“Yeah, but…”
Her hand still lay atop his, her grip secure, warm. He couldn’t help but imagine her hand on top of another piece of his anatomy. Definitely not the way to keep his thoughts out of caveman territory. “But what, Alex?”
Alex shifted one shoulder, whether to answer his question or to alleviate an itch, Mack didn’t know, and her tank top slipped, the strap sliding down her arm, exposing a slim white satin strap and a whole lot of bare skin. Mack reached out, slid a finger beneath the cotton and let his touch ride along her skin until the strap was back in place. “You, uh…”
“Oh. Thanks.”
She didn’t move. Neither did he.
“I should finish,” Mack said.
“Finish…what?”
“Finish what I started,” he said, knowing damn well that he had stopped talking about the floor
a long time ago. His touch lingered along her skin, rising with her every breath, heat on heat. Desire coiled tight inside him. He took a step forward, releasing his grip on the broom, leaving her to hold the wooden handle. His other hand slid down her bare arm, covering her warm, sweet skin with his palm, then drifting over to her waist to bring Alex to him, pressing her lithe body to his hard, hot one.
Alex’s mouth opened, her wide green eyes capturing his. “What are we doing?”
“Starting something,” Mack said.
“Starting what?”
In answer, Mack bent forward, closing the gap between them slowly, not sure he should do this, not sure at all that tipping the equation was wise. Before his lips could meet hers, a car alarm went off somewhere outside, blaring its insistent horn song to the neighborhood. Alex jerked back, breaking the contact, the tension, as quickly as a pin pricking a balloon.
And deflating the hope that had risen in Mack.
She spun away from him and went to work again with the broom, finishing where he had left off, bending over and scooping the debris into a plastic pan as she talked. “Ever since we’ve been kids, that’s all you’ve ever done is help me out, Mack. Maybe it’s better if you don’t do that this time.” Her voice trembled as she spoke. From nerves? From anger?
She’d picked up the conversation as if nothing had transpired. Clearly, Alex hadn’t felt what he had. And she wanted nothing more than business as usual.
“Alex, I don’t mind, really.”
“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the help,” she went on, barreling forward without hearing him, “but I don’t want you to kill yourself to bail me out. Again. I can’t keep expecting you to save me every time I get myself into a jam. And this one is a major jam, complete with a whole lot of emotional grapes.”
There was nothing left on the floor to clean, but Alex kept on sweeping and scooping. What the hell was up with her today?
Him.
That was what was up. She was pissed at him. He shouldn’t have tried to kiss her. He knew better, damn it.
Mack took both the broom and dustpan from her and put them against the workbench. “Hey, you’re done, Martha Stewart.”
