She’d gotten little glimpses here and there at the man behind the suit, so to speak, and every peek she got enticed her more. Now, seeing him standing in her hall, soaking wet with his T-shirt molded to the planes and valleys of his chest, enticed her in a whole other way.
“As soon as the storm ends,” Mac was saying, “I’ll fix that pole for you and reset the birdhouse where it was before.”
“I still can’t believe you ran out into the storm like that.”
Mac shrugged. “It was no big deal. Probably some leftover sense of duty from when I was in the Boy Scouts.”
“You. Were a Boy Scout.” It wasn’t even a question.
He laughed. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“I don’t know. You’re just so...” She grabbed one of the towels and pressed it into his hands. “Stubborn.”
He swiped at his hair, whisking away some of the water. “Some call that tenacious.”
She laughed at her own words being turned against her. “Strong willed.”
“I call that determined.” He smirked.
She took the second towel and raised it to wipe the water off his arms, but Mac turned it back into her hands and pressed it against her own damp body. “Bossy.”
“That one I’ll take.” He let his own towel tumble to the floor and picked up the other end of hers. “But sometimes someone needs another person to tell them what to do.”
“I don’t need anyone to tell me what to do.”
“Even when you are—” he took the corner of the towel and wiped her forehead, her cheeks, then slid it along the curve of her jaw “—soaking wet and run outside in the rain again anyways?”
“Even when.”
He lowered the towel from her jaw, rubbed the soft pebbly surface against her arms. A delicious rush of goose bumps chased after his touch. Her lips parted, and her breath caught.
“You are soaking wet.” His gaze locked on hers, his eyes dark, mysterious pools in the dim light of the hall.
“So are you.”
“Maybe—” a heartbeat passed “—maybe we should get out of these wet clothes before we catch cold.”
“There are, uh...” She had to struggle to string words together because she knew what saying them meant. What door they would open. Did she want that? She raised her gaze to his. Yes, oh, yes, she did. Very much. “Clothes upstairs. In the...bedroom.”
“That could get complicated,” Mac said, as if reading her mind.
“I know,” Savannah whispered. She knew and she didn’t care. She wanted complicated. She wanted Mac Barlow. She wanted to ease this fiery ache deep in her belly. She put out her hand, and when his slid into hers, she knew she’d made a choice.
Whether it was the right one or not, Savannah didn’t care. She would worry about that later. Much, much later.
* * *
The storm lashed against the house, rain pattering on the windows, dark clouds blotting the last of the sun from the sky. Mac hardly noticed. All he saw when he stood in the small bedroom at the top of the stairs was Savannah and the double bed behind her.
The air hushed in the room, anticipation charging the space between them. A small bedside light cast a soft amber glow over the room.
Savannah stood before him, her eyes wide, her lips parted, as if begging him to kiss her. He reached up both hands, cradled her face in his palms and brushed a tender kiss against her mouth. She leaned into him, and the kiss deepened.
He pulled back, his chest heaving. “We...we can stop. If you want. If you think—”
She shook her head. “I don’t want to stop.”
He hesitated only a second, then reached down, grasped the hem of her T-shirt and raised it over her head, breaking the kiss only long enough to slide the fabric between them. It fell to the floor with a soft plop. At the same time, Savannah reached for his shirt and tugged it off and over his head. He ran his fingers along the valleys of her shoulders, down her arms, then up her waist, lingering at the edges of her breasts, still hidden behind a simple white bra. He hooked one finger under each of the straps and slid them down, exposing the swells of her breasts.
Then he lowered his mouth, trailing kisses along her jaw, her neck, down the center of her chest. He shifted right, kissing the top of her breasts, while slowly peeling the satin cup away and following its path with his mouth. When he captured one nipple in his mouth, Savannah gasped and arched against him. She tangled her hands in his hair, anxious, needy, wanting.
He scooped her up and laid her on the bed, pausing only long enough to shed his jeans and boxers and kick them to the side. Savannah’s mouth curved into a sexy, slow smile when her gaze landed on his body. “Very nice,” she said.
“Oh, I disagree. I think it’s you who looks very nice. Very...” He leaned over, unbuttoned the clasp on her shorts and tugged them down when she raised her hips. “Very...” Exposing white lacy panties. “Very...” He slid a finger under one side, and pulled them over her hips and down her legs. “Very nice.”
The bedside lamp’s soft light kissed Savannah’s skin with gold. She lay there, one arm above her head, a half smile playing on her lips, looking like a goddess. He slid onto the bed beside her and trailed his hand along the smooth, tempting valleys of her belly. “You are the most incredible woman I have ever met.”
A blush filled her cheeks. He liked that. Liked that a simple compliment could leave her a little disconcerted. “I’m just an ordinary girl.”
“You are far from ordinary. You can drive a boat and run a company and build a roof. And you can keep me on my toes. That right there puts you in a class of your own.”
She laughed, then raised up on one elbow, draped an arm around his neck and drew him in for a kiss. “That should merit hazardous duty pay.”
“I’m not hazardous.”
She ran her hand down his back, finally circling around to the front to stroke his erection. He let out a low moan and nearly dissolved in her arms. “Everything about being with you is hazardous to me.”
He thought the same thing about being with her. It wasn’t just her hand on him. It was the way she looked at him, the desire in her eyes, as if there was no other man in the entire world Savannah wanted to be in bed with.
No, it was more. It was the connection between them. A connection formed that first day when she’d turned the tables on him, then cemented on the roof when he’d opened his heart to her. He needed that, craved that, craved her.
Her green eyes were wide and luminous. “I don’t want to stop, Mac.”
Still, he hesitated. This wasn’t just a casual fling anymore, but he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Either way, the last thing he wanted to do was hurt Savannah. “This could change things.”
“This will change things,” she said, then kissed his neck, her breath warm against his skin. “And I’m okay with that.”
By the time she kissed his neck again, he was a goner. He rolled over on to her, and returned those kisses, starting a long, slow, sweet journey from her lips to her belly. She arched against him, and when he slid his fingers inside her, she moaned his name and started stroking him in return. The storm raged outside, while inside the small white-and-blue bedroom, another kind of storm began to build.
Mac fumbled on the floor for his jeans, and tugged out his wallet. It took an interminable amount of time to find and then slip on a condom. When he returned to Savannah, she grabbed him and pulled him down to her, searing his mouth with a kiss that damned near took his breath away.
When he entered her a moment later, it was like filling the last piece in a puzzle. She fitted perfectly against him, matching his rhythm with her own body. He kissed her neck, her lips, everything he could reach, unable to have enough of her, even this close, this joined.
Then the storm took over between them, and sh
e began to gasp. His strokes sped up, and the rush began to build. She clutched at his back, calling out his name, and he exploded just seconds later, holding her tight for one, long breathless moment.
When he finally rolled to the side and pulled Savannah into the crook of his arm, Mac realized two things. One, that making love to Savannah Hillstrand had indeed complicated things. And two, that he was never going to be the same again. As much as he told himself in the afterglow that he was okay with that—
Mac wasn’t so sure he was.
* * *
Savannah lay in Mac’s arms and wondered if it would be rude to get up right now and run out of the room.
It wasn’t that the lovemaking had been terrible. It had, in fact, been earth-shatteringly, soul-satisfyingly amazing. It was the realization afterward that she had just gone to bed with the one man in the world she was supposed to keep at a distance. The one man who wanted to take away what mattered most to her. That she’d let a tender moment with some baby birds drive her to make a spontaneous decision made her realize she wasn’t thinking clearly at all.
She had said she was okay with how making love would change things. What she hadn’t realized was how much it would change the dynamic, and how much she would crave making love to Mac Barlow again—not five minutes after they’d finished.
That was dangerous. That was getting hooked on him, falling for him. Doing that would muddle her mind, confuse her decisions. She was supposed to be saving her father’s company, not falling for the corporate raider who wanted to dismantle it.
“I...I should go make us a snack,” she said, because saying, I have to get out of here before I make another foolish decision, sounded rude. Before Mac could agree or disagree, Savannah disentangled herself, grabbed a clean T-shirt out of the dresser drawer and headed downstairs.
There was almost nothing to eat in the fridge, and very little in the pantry. Her parents hadn’t stayed at the beach house in months, which meant no one had restocked the groceries. She found a box of crackers, a suspiciously old looking can of artichokes and a new jar of peanut butter, along with two water bottles in the bottom drawer of the refrigerator.
Savannah pulled a plate out of the kitchen cabinet. When she did, she saw a photo of her parents, tacked to the side of the refrigerator. Her dad, beaming that wide smile he’d always worn, one hand holding a fishing pole bearing his latest catch, the other arm draped over her mother’s shoulders. The two of them laughing at something silly her father had said. The picture had been taken at the end of April, only a month before the heart attack that eventually took his life.
She could see the trusting look in her father’s eyes, the one that seemed to say, I left it in your hands, kiddo, because I know you’ll take care of what I built.
That meant not sleeping with Mac Barlow. Not letting him into her heart, or into her life, any more than was necessary. What had she done? Oh God, what had she done?
“I was worried you were harvesting the wheat or growing the tomatoes yourself for a sandwich.”
Savannah turned at the sound of Mac’s voice. He stood there, in just a pair of dark blue plaid boxers slung low on his hips, looking like some kind of underwear model, and heaven help her, she wanted him all over again. Warmth spread through her body, sparked desire in her veins. This was wrong, so wrong. Why did she keep fantasizing about the man? Why couldn’t she seem to keep him at a distance and just concentrate on her job?
“I’ve been searching through the cabinets. There, uh, isn’t much to eat down here,” she said, holding up the crackers and peanut butter. “Sorry.”
“That’s okay. I wasn’t really that hungry.” Mac nodded toward the window. “Looks like the storm let up.”
The clearing skies provided the excuse she was looking for. A reason to leave and deal with what had happened in that bedroom later. Like in a month or a year or...never. “We should get back to town while there’s a break in the rain,” she said. “I have a lot of work to catch up on.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
An awkward silence filled the homey kitchen. Savannah handed Mac one of the water bottles, then replaced the crackers and peanut butter in the cabinet. “I’ll, uh, get dressed first.”
Because if they went into that bedroom again at the same time and got dressed together, she knew the limits of her willpower and knew it would only be a matter of seconds before she’d be all over him again. As it was, just standing in the same room with a bare-chested Mac made concentrating almost impossible.
She hurried up the stairs and then pulled on her clothes. As she was leaving the bedroom, Mac was coming up the stairs. “The space is all yours,” she said. “Don’t worry about cleaning up in there. I’ll do it next time I come here.”
And after she’d had enough time to process all of this, and after enough time had passed that she wouldn’t walk in that room and crave more of Mac Barlow.
He laid a hand on her arm. “Hey, are we okay?”
We? Did he think there was a we? Or was it just a slip of the tongue? And why did she keep looking for a bridge between them? “Of course. It’s all fine.”
“Everything about you says differently.”
“It’s just...uh...awkward afterwards, you know?” Awkward wasn’t even the word for it. “Now we have to be all professional in the office and get back to work saving Hillstrand Solar. Or...whatever happens.”
He tipped her chin until she was looking at him. “Do you think I’m still trying to buy the company?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I’m helping you, Savannah, like I promised. All of this is a...temporary lull in our regular lives.”
“That doesn’t answer the question, Mac.” As she said the words, she knew the answer already. He’d deftly avoided the truth and she had been a fool—a total fool—to fall for him. A temporary lull? The words stung.
“If the methods we’re trying to save the company don’t work out,” Mac said, his voice going all serious, all hints of we erased now. “Then, yes, I’ll make you a fair and equitable offer.”
The old Mac Barlow, the one she had met that first day, was back. The man she had seen tenderly lift the baby bird into the birdhouse had disappeared. Tears welled in Savannah’s eyes, but she willed them away. “Of course you would,” she said, her voice wavering a little. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Then she barreled past him and down the stairs before he could see the truth in her eyes.
* * *
Mac rode too fast down the still-wet roads, heedless of the slick pavement. All he wanted was distance. Distance between himself and that beach house. Distance between him and Savannah. And most of all, distance between him and the truth.
That for all his talk about wanting to help her, in the end he really wanted what he had come here for—a quick and easy acquisition that he could turn around as soon as the ink was dry.
He thought of the days he’d spent helping her on the beach house. It had been nice, really nice, seeing something come together. Building something. It reminded him of when he’d been a kid building tree forts with his brothers, setting up campsites in Boy Scouts, erecting towering piles of blocks in his living room.
Those days at the beach house had been a vacation from his reality, though. It wasn’t as if he was going to give up everything he had built and go into remodeling homes for a living. In the end, he was good at one thing—finding struggling companies, buying them up and turning them around for a profit.
But that didn’t ease his guilt about Savannah Hillstrand. He never should have slept with her. Even now, the image of her laying in that bed, one arm above her head, a warm, inviting smile on her lips, made him want to turn around and go right back to her. Instead, he gunned the engine, leaned into the curve and headed toward his father’s house.
He hadn’t listened to the voice mail on his
phone left there earlier by Colton. He already knew what it would say. His twenty-four hours were up and either the Barlows had learned about this new member of the family or they would find out when Colton showed up in town. No way was Mac going to let that happen.
He pulled into the driveway, shut off the engine, and cursed his timing. His mother’s car sat beside his father’s truck, so close their side mirrors almost touched. Damn.
Mac stowed the helmet, then headed up the stairs and into the house. As soon as the front door opened, his mother popped her head out of the kitchen. “Maxwell! I’m so glad you’re here. I’m just finishing up dinner, if you want something to eat.”
“I had some pizza earlier, Mama.”
She pouted. If there was a contest to show love with food, Della Barlow would win, hands down. “Okay, but if you change your mind, there’s a nice baked chicken with your name on it.”
“Thanks. Maybe I’ll grab some.” But he had no intentions of doing that, or staying long enough to share a meal with his parents. No way could he sit here through dinner and pretend everything was okay. Or sit across from his father and not read him the riot act. “Where’s Dad?”
“Out in his workshop. When you see him, tell him dinner will be done in a few minutes.”
“Will do.” Mac passed through the house, pausing to give his mother a kiss on the cheek, before heading out the back door and down to the converted shed his father used for storing his tools and whatever the project of the day was. Ever since Bobby had retired from the garage, he’d taken up woodworking, mostly making things such as jewelry boxes and a new mailbox.
His father sat on an old wooden stool in the shed, sanding the top of a small table. He looked up when Mac entered. “Mac. Didn’t expect to see you here.” Bobby’s face shifted from surprise to wariness.
Another storm was on its way and Bobby needed to deal with it—now—and before it showed up unannounced.
Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 Page 51
