by Shirley Jump
It hadn’t. Instead it had increased the feeling of suffocation until he’d wanted to scream. To run away. To ditch the marriage, the job, all of it. If he hadn’t loved the kids so much, he would have walked away.
And then there was Renee.
Damn. There were still days when he looked at her, or caught her smiling, and his chest squeezed tight. And he remembered all over again why he’d fallen in love with her.
But those days were fewer and farther between. Instead, guilt filled the crevices left in his marriage. So he’d walked out last week, and started sucking down one beer after another, hoping one of these days the guilt would go away, and he’d find an answer. A way out that wouldn’t destroy them and destroy the dream.
But most of all, destroy the hope that he still saw in all their eyes. The hope that Tony—daddy, husband—would somehow save the day.
Mack got back to his house a little past midnight, after driving a passed-out Tony home. He’d helped Tony into the apartment, avoiding Renee’s disapproving gaze, who’d clearly assumed the two men had been out partying. Mack didn’t tell her he hadn’t even finished his own beer, that the only way he’d gotten Tony to stop drinking himself to death was by telling him they were leaving to pick up some of the other guys.
Then, when Tony fell asleep in the truck, Mack just brought him home, instead of back to Tony’s brother’s house, where his friend had been staying ever since his marriage had gone on the rocks. Again. For years, Mack had been making sure Tony got home. And it was getting tiring.
If this was what being married long-term was like, Mack wanted no part of it.
Mack dropped his keys into the dish by the door, then crossed to the living room. He stopped short when he noticed a light on, bathing the space in warmth. His gaze followed the path of amber, over the caramel leather sofa, then down a pair of long, lean, creamy legs—
Alex.
Mack took in a sharp breath. He moved a few steps forward, now eyeing the path past her legs, over her shorts, her torso, to her face, then to the flickering light from the TV dancing across her features.
She’d fallen asleep on his couch. His heart clenched, and he had to swallow twice before he could breathe again, because a feeling so foreign, so tender, so protective, rose in him. Tight and fierce, making him want to stop the world and hold this moment, hold her.
Forever.
Whoa. Where had that come from? He was used to desiring Alex. To being her friend. But this—this feeling of permanence, of wanting to preserve everything about this moment—was new.
He ran a hand over his face. He was tired, that was all.
She stirred and stretched, her body extending the length of the couch, slow and sexy, like a cat. Then she opened her eyes and a smile curved across her face. “Mack. You’re home.”
Home.
The word hit him hard, like suddenly being wrapped in a blanket that he hadn’t asked for but felt surprisingly warm. He lived in a house, yes, but a home?
Well, he hadn’t considered these walls, this dwelling, a home until…
Now.
“Yeah,” he said. He cleared his throat. “I, uh, tried to talk to Tony.”
“And?”
“And he was drunk.”
Alex’s face fell. “Did he say anything about him and Renee? About them getting back together?”
“He pretty much passed out in my truck. So I brought him home, instead of to his brother’s house, though I’m not sure I made the right choice. Renee gave me the evil eye. I think she blames me for contributing to Tony’s drunk and disorderly conduct, but he was already three sheets to the wind when I got to O’Malley’s.” Mack sank into the opposite armchair.
Alex sat up and ran a hand through her hair. Falling asleep had mussed the long brown locks, giving them a tousled, sexy look. The urge to reach out and run his fingers through those tresses nearly overpowered Mack. He splayed his palms along the arms of the chair and stayed where he was.
“I’ll talk to Renee. Put in a good word for you.”
“Don’t bother. In Renee’s opinion, I’m part of Tony’s bachelor posse. Thus, I’m part of the bad influence.” Mack grinned.
She laughed. “You are good at being a bad influence.” Then she pressed a hand to her stomach and sat back against the sofa. “Man, I don’t feel so well. I laid down because I was a little nauseous earlier. That’s the last time I order in Chinese for dinner.”
“You could cook.” Mack gestured to the right. “I have an entire kitchen at your disposal.”
She made a face at him. “And so could you, Betty Crocker. I’m just as exhausted as you at the end of the day. And just as untalented in the domestic department.”
He chuckled. “Point taken. I’ll stock up on pizza rolls and make sure all the take-out menus are front and center.”
Alex rolled her eyes. “Ugh. Don’t even mention those. Or that Egg Foo Yung will be Egg Foo Rerun.”
“Come on,” Mack said, rising and crossing to Alex. He put out his hands to her, and waited until she put her palms into his. He hauled her to her feet. She swayed a little with the force of the movement, nearly hitting him. Again, that protective measure swooped over him. “Time to go to bed.”
Alex paused a beat, her green eyes meeting his. Mack’s pulse tripled, everything else within him stilled. The urge to kiss her rose within him, as strong as a tidal force, but he kept it at bay. He knew already where kissing Alex got him.
Rejected.
Alex broke the tension with a laugh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were taking care of me.”
“Don’t get any ideas,” he said. “You know I’m not that kind of guy.”
“Of course.”
But then Mack bent down and swooped her up into his arms. She let out a protest that he ignored, while he carried her down the hall, to the third bedroom on the right, the one he’d set up for her, and didn’t release her until they reached the bed. She thought he’d just drop her on the bed, then walk away. Or do something silly, like hit her with a pillow, like in the old days when they’d been kids and Mack had stayed at her grandma’s because his parents had been fighting. Back then, sleepovers with Mack had been all about popcorn and pillow fights.
Instead, Mack’s arms stayed around Alex’s body—tight, secure, as firm as steel girders. He stilled, his blue eyes staring into hers. He drew in a breath, and she watched, fascinated, as his chest expanded, then dropped with the exhale. She reached up a palm, sliding against the lettering of his T-shirt, fingers dancing over CARPENTERS NAIL IT EVERY TIME. The hard planes of his chest filled her palm. All that strength, solidity. Man.
“Alex.”
Her name was a growl, and she knew. She knew.
Mack wanted her. And, damn it, right now, she wanted him, too. All that electricity she’d been searching for with Steve—and, hell, even with Edward, despite his stupid tie tack collection—it was here, right now, in this room, crackling between them, nearly hot enough to ignite her skin.
Suddenly desperate to have Mack, to touch not just him, but his skin, Alex roamed her palms up Mack’s back, her nausea gone, forgotten. She roamed her palms up, raising his T-shirt with the movement, then retracing her path down again, bare skin meeting bare skin. The sensation lighting a fire in Alex so bright, she swore she’d never felt this kind of desire for a man before.
“Oh, God, Alex,” he said again, her name now deep in his throat—the word almost tore out of him. Any traces of sleepiness faded away as desire coiled inside Alex, twisting tight in her pelvis, pooling warmth between her legs. She shifted against him, wanting more, and Mack gave it to her, leaning down and kissing her.
He captured her mouth, sliding his lips along hers with a fierce hunger, cupping her face with one hand. Then he stretched his length above her, giving Alex more access to the wide expanse of his back, his waist, the tease of skin above his jeans. She explored it all with her hands. He reached up above them, tangling his fingers in her hair
, holding her tight, closer still to him and, holy God, Alex nearly screamed with how good one kiss could be.
Mack slid his tongue into her mouth, tasting her, teasing her, and they danced together. She arched against him, her mouth wide, her heart hammering in her chest, a thunderous roar. Her breasts brushed against his chest, sending sparks of sensation rushing through the thin fabric of her shirt, racing along her veins.
Alex pulled away, meeting his dark, desire-filled gaze with her own. “I want…more.”
He grinned. “Anything you want, the answer is yes.” He ripped off his T-shirt, threw it to the side, then drew her on top of him.
Now her hands had free access to explore every inch of his chest, to touch everything she had fantasized about over the last few days. The muscles that had rippled mere inches away from her as he’d worked on her house and turned her on in ways she’d never thought a man with a hammer could. He let out a slight gasp when she slipped her palms over his nipples, then arched up and brought his mouth to hers again, a deeper kiss, his tongue probing the depths of her mouth, giving her a preview of sex. Between her legs, his erection hardened, as stiff as the beams that held up her house.
“I want more, too,” Mack murmured against her mouth.
Alex drew back, giving Mack room to slide his hands beneath her T-shirt. His wide, strong hands engulfed her breasts, covering the lace of her bra, but it wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. Alex jerked on the hem of her shirt and helped Mack pull it over her head, not caring where it went as long as it was gone. Then with a flick of his thumb and forefinger, the front clasp of her bra sprung apart, and her breasts were free from their lacy bondage, released to his touch.
“Beautiful,” he whispered. “Absolutely beautiful.”
She felt her face flush. “I’m glad to meet your expectations.”
“Oh, you do, Alex. More than you know.” Then he raised his head, starting with a trail of kisses that ran down her throat, into the valley above her chest, and then, yes, oh, yes, onto her breast, circling the nipple with lazy circles of his tongue before finally sucking the sensitive tip gently into his mouth. She nearly screamed as the sensations exploded within her.
She climaxed, the orgasm hitting her so hard, so fast, she swore she heard it ring in her head. Musical chimes. One time. Two. Three.
A good five seconds passed before Alex realized the chimes weren’t in her head, but rather coming from the door.
Mack pulled away and let out a curse. “Whoever that is, I’m going to kill him.”
“Damn. That was the doorbell. I thought…” She felt her face heat.
He grinned. “You thought I was that good?”
“Well, you weren’t bad.” She gave him a teasing smile.
The doorbell rang again, seeming twice as insistent. “Next time,” Mack promised, trailing a finger along her lips, “I’ll try even harder.” Then he swung off the bed, tugging on his T-shirt before crossing to the door. “I’ll be back. Very soon. Don’t move. At all.”
But as soon as the bedroom door shut behind Mack, and cool air swept over Alex with a dose of reality, she did indeed move. She rose, got dressed again and ran a hand through her hair.
What had she been thinking, getting sexually involved with Mack? He was her best friend. The one she relied on for everything from broken hearts to broken windows. Everyone knew what happened when you turned a friendship into a relationship—
The friendship got lost. It drowned in the aftermath. What if things didn’t work out? What if she and Mack broke up? And they would. She knew Mack’s pattern as well as she knew her own shoe size.
Get in, get out quicker. The only long-term relationship he’d ever had was with his dog. He didn’t want what she wanted, had made it clear a hundred times over that he and marriage, or anything smacking of commitment, were a bad idea. Not that Alex had a much better track record. The only truly serious relationship she’d been in had been with a man who was still married.
If she and Mack got involved, there was no if about it, they would break up. It was inevitable. And, what was worse, they would never be able to go back to where they had been before. And she would have lost the only person in the world who truly understood her.
Every relationship Alex had ever been in had imploded. She couldn’t let that happen between her and Mack. No matter how good the sex could be—
The friendship was far more important.
Chapter Twelve
“I’ve missed you, baby.”
The woman cleaving herself to Mack’s body like English ivy purred against his chest and roamed her hand up his chest. With nothing more than a word, he could have her in his bed, and have this aching need ignited by Alex answered.
The problem?
Alex had been the one to awaken his desire, and she was the only one he wanted to satisfy it. But doing that came with strings, and Mack wasn’t so good at strings.
“Deidre, what are you doing here?” Mack stepped back, disengaging himself from the blonde.
“I ran into Boomer at O’Malley’s and he said you were lonely tonight. So I just had to come over.” Deidre’s hand went lower, over the clasp of his jeans, to cup him. “So I could really come over.” She laughed, deep and throaty. “And I can see you are very glad to see me.”
She wasn’t the one who’d raised that erection, but he didn’t tell Deidre. Five seconds, that’s all it would take, to have Deidre naked and beneath him. And he’d be satisfied, without the complicated web that came attached to starting a sexual relationship with Alex.
Not to mention the complications of sleeping with your best friend. A best friend who’d made it clear she was looking for a guy to settle down with, to give her the whole picket fence life. Alex knew that he, of all people, was the last one on earth she should be looking at for that. Hadn’t he completely screwed up his own marriage? He could still hear the slam of the front door when Samantha had walked out.
He couldn’t bear to hear Alex do the same thing.
“Mack,” Deidre said again, now rubbing against him in a way that left no doubt about her thought process. “Come on.”
“Deidre, I—”
“Do I have to give you a visual to get you started?” A teasing smile took over Deidre’s face and the buxom blonde stepped back, then, with the flick of a button, opened her long black coat to reveal a sheer blue teddy. A couple of shoulder shrugs and the coat was on the floor, and Deidre was back up against Mack, a lot more naked than she had been just a second earlier. “Now, if that’s not a hint, I don’t know what is.”
“Oh, it’s a hint all right. I get the picture, Mack.”
He wheeled around to find Alex standing in the doorway, the hurt that filled her eyes as deep as his pool. Only darker, and far, far more permanent. Damn.
Mack jerked away from Deidre, who let out an expletive-laced protest. “Alex.”
But Alex was already gone. She’d disappeared down the hall. A bedroom door slammed.
Mack knew for sure it wasn’t the door to his room. Clearly, he didn’t have to sleep with Alex to screw up their friendship.
“Joe, let me have a chance.”
Joe Crenshaw, the wide, donut-loving managing editor of the City Times, didn’t even bother to look up from his desk. He just kept on typing into his computer, working on the next day’s issue, a cold cup of coffee beside him on one side, a half-empty package of Nicorette on the other. The rest of his desk was a mass of papers so jumbled, it would have sent an organizer into an apoplectic fit. “I don’t need another features reporter. They’re a dime a dozen. And I got a lot of dimes. Just look around you.”
“What if I could bring you something no one else has?” Alex had come in early this morning—leaving before Mack got up, leaving before she’d had to deal with what had happened last night—and after two hours of computer sleuthing, had finally found Willow Clark. Or at least where Willow was working. That was enough to go to Joe with her idea.
“As in, what?”
the editor asked. “A one-on-one with Whitey Bulger? An exclusive with Jimmy Hoffa’s murderer?”
“How about an interview with Willow Clark?” Alex needed to convince Joe this assignment was perfect. Needed to land the job.
Needed anything that would keep her busy and away from thoughts of Mack Douglas, a man she wanted as little to do with as possible, at least until the image of that Jessica Rabbit clone had gone away. Yeah, like the year 2029.
Joe drummed his fingers on his desk, thinking. “The most reclusive author to come along since Harper Lee and J. D. Salinger. Could be good.”
“Could be good? Come on, Joe. You’ve sent four reporters to do a profile on her and all they’ve come back with is, ‘Willow won’t talk.’”
“What makes you think you’ll be any better at it?”
Alex drew a tattered paperback out of her bag and slapped it onto Joe’s desk. “I read her book.”
“So did all the others.”
“I read it more than once. This was the book of my high school years. I know it better than anyone besides Willow.”
Joe picked up the book, flipped it over, read the back. “Was it one of those Are You There God? kind of things? You find out about sex in this thing or something?” He started flipping the pages. “Shit. There’s no sex in here. Why the hell would you read it more than once?”
The disdain in his voice would have put the entire Vogue editorial staff into a permanent cryogenic state. Alex held her ground. She’d land this assignment. There was no way she was going back to fashion. She’d been stuck in that department for three years, and if she had to write one more piece about bangles, she’d hang herself with the next faux-pearl necklace to land on her desk.
She was changing her life, by God. Changing her job. Changing her bad relationship patterns.
Okay, so she hadn’t done so well in that category. But she would change the job. Here and now.
Alex jerked the book out of his hands. “Because it’s good literature. As in well-written, strong characterization, compelling plot.”
