The MacGregor Brides

by Nora Roberts

  she managed to free a hand and knock. Concern was slipping toward worry when the door opened.

  He was flushed and looked a little clammy. He'd had to move like the wind when Meg buzzed him. The footlong hot dog with the works that he'd smuggled in and been about to enjoy was now shoved into a file-cabinet drawer, along with his liter of Dr. Pepper. The handheld electronic game he'd borrowed from his granddaughter had gone in with it, and so had a generous slab of double-fudge-chocolate cake.

  Such things, he knew, didn't jibe with his image as a sick old man.

  "Julia." He didn't have to make his voice breathless and weak. Nerves did that for him. "So nice of you to come by to see me."

  "Mr. Murdoch." Instantly concerned, she dumped the box on his desk and took his hands. He looked feverish and shaky. "You should be home in bed."

  "Oh, I'm fine. Fine." He added a quick, wheezing cough, which he thought was inspired. "I'm taking it easy, honey. Time was, a damn stupid chest cold wouldn't have gotten me down like this."

  "I thought it was a head cold."

  Oh, hell, he thought. "It's gone into my chest. Let's sit down." She took his arm to lead him to a chair. For a moment, she was certain she smelled onions, but she dismissed the thought.

  Michael sighed heavily. "Tell me, how's my boy doing by you?"

  She had a few complaints, chief among them the fact that Cullum still questioned every one of her choices and demands. But she smiled. "The project's coming right along. Of course, I'd rather have you than anyone, handsome." He chuckled, squeezed her hand. A man couldn't ask for a more perfect daughter-in-law, he decided, if she'd been handpicked. And, of course, she had been. "Cullum's the best at what he does."

  "Well, he was certainly taught by the best."

  Michael grinned, waving away the compliment. "You're going to turn my head. Now, what have you brought me there in the box?"

  "Treasures. Oh, I'm so jazzed about this, Mr. Murdoch. I've been hunting doorknobs." His eyes lit. "Well, let's have a look."

  For twenty minutes, they played with her new toys, discussed and speculated on age and history, debated the choices of doors they would grace. Julia gleefully shifted labels, added more.

  "My bedroom door's a wonderful old oak Bible-style. One of the few original ones left in the place, after those peasants who owned it last got done. You saw how they painted the moldings."

  Michael nodded sadly. "A crime, a sin."

  "Did Cullum tell you they'd slapped linoleum down over the original pine floor in the kitchen?" She heated up just thinking about it. "It was in ragged shape, certainly, but it'll refinish. It'll be gorgeous." She waved a hand. "Anyway, don't you think this glass knob with the vertical carving would be perfect for the bedroom door?"

  "Absolutely."

  She flashed a smile. "I just love dealing with someone who agrees with me. Oh, Lord, look at the time. I've got to get home and change."

  "You going out tonight?" A little probing never hurt, he thought. "Do you have a new beau?"

  "No new beau, but I do have a dinner thing at seven-thirty."

  "Why don't you leave your knobs here, and I'll give Cullum the box? He'll see to it for you."

  "Terrific. I can't wait to see how they'll look." She leaned over to kiss his cheek. "And you take care of yourself, Mr. Murdoch. I want you dancing at my house-christening party."

  "I'll be there."

  He sat back as she went out, and grinned to himself. A little plot was working in his head. Cagily he rose slowly, pushed his door shut. Then he danced to the file cabinet and pulled out his early dinner. He'd eat while he talked to Daniel MacGregor and worked the kinks out of the latest plan.

  "Damn fussy, impatient, irritating woman," Cullum muttered as he aligned the glass knob in the door. Oh, she'd been clever to go to his father with her demands, because if she'd come to him instead, he'd have given her a piece of reality. What the hell was she thinking of, planning a party while the house was a construction zone?

  Probably thought it would be a lark, having crowds of her fancy friends wandering around on drop cloths, eating canapés and commenting on half-plastered ceilings.

  And she had to have her damn doorknobs on.

  He didn't mind working overtime. He didn't mind doing punch-out jobs himself—when it was time for punch-out jobs—but he did mind being maneuvered into a corner.

  He'd had no choice but to agree to take the box, go over to Julia's while she was out kicking up her heels and get the knobs on. Not with his father asking him to indulge one of their best clients, not when his father looked so tired and weak. I can go over and take care of it myself, Cullum, if you're busy.

  "Sure," Cullum said between his teeth. "Like I'd send him over here to work at nine o'clock at night so he could pass out cold on the floor."

  It was nearly eleven now, and he was almost done. His temper had risen steadily as he moved from door to door. It didn't matter that he found her idea of unique antique knobs throughout the house inspired. Her methods tipped the scales. She was, he thought again, a spoiled, arrogant, selfcentered female. Hadn't he always thought so? He'd been stupid to think that maybe there was something else there. The way she'd held that baby, the way she laughed with the men or brought in boxes of doughnuts, gallons of coffee, to offer them. She learned their names, and little personal details, and always found a moment or two to compliment a man on his work.

  Just politics, he thought now.

  He heard the front door open and smiled grimly. So the party girl was home, he thought. He hoped she'd had a high old time, because she was about to hear just what Cullum Murdoch thought of her.

  He'd reached the top of the stairs before he heard voices in the foyer. Julia's and a man's. It made him sneer. Brought one of her pretty boys home, he supposed and, indulging himself, moved quietly forward until he could see them.

  "Tod, I'm really tired. I've had a long day."

  "You wouldn't send me off without one drink."

  She sighed, tried not to be annoyed. She'd dated Tod on and off—mostly off—for six months. And she was ashamed to admit that his main qualifications were that he looked terrific in black tie and could schmooze his way cheerfully through even the most boring of social affairs.

  She supposed she owed him a drink for that alone.

  "All right." She removed her wrap, revealing the sleek black evening dress she wore beneath. "What would you like?"

  "What I'd really like…" He moved smoothly, slipping his arms around her waist, lowering his mouth to hers, before she could do more than register annoyance.

  She didn't protest or respond. She'd already discovered, to her mild disappointment, that kissing Tod did absolutely nothing to bump up her blood pressure or her pulse rate. It was pleasant enough, but so was a good book.

  "Tod, I'm tired."

  "So, I'll wake you up a little." His hands stroked up her back, where two thin straps crossed over flesh. "I've been wanting to. I've been wanting you, Julia."

  "I'm sorry. It's just not—"

  The irritation came now, and a few muffled alarm bells. He tightened his grip, and his mouth grew hard and demanding. She lifted her arms to push him gently away, then felt his hands cup her bottom and squeeze. Her push wasn't gentle anymore.

  "No."

  "Julia." Still smiling, he reached out to toy with her slim shoulder strap. "Let's stop playing games here." She set her teeth as his fingertip trailed down toward her breast. "Which part of no didn't you understand?" He stopped smiling. "Look, you've been stringing me along for months. I've been patient, but now I'm tired of waiting." Her eyes narrowed and sparked. "Oh, well, in that case, I should just lie back and let you have a go. How ridiculous of me to think that sex involves two interested people."

  "You know damn well you're interested. You're not going to tell me you wore that dress tonight to impress a bunch of Realtors." That snapped it. She turned, walked to the door and opened it. "No, I'm not. I wore it because I liked it. And the las
t I heard, a woman is free to dress as she chooses. Now, I'd advise you to leave before I do what I really want to do, which is punch your caps out."

  "You really are a cold and frigid bitch," he said as he walked past her.

  She slammed the door, then shut her eyes as her breath began to heave. "What a jerk."

  "And I thought he was such a nice guy."

  Her eyes popped open, and the temper in them only sharpened with embarrassment as she saw Cullum come down the stairs. "What the hell are you doing in my house?"

  "My job." When he realized his fist was still clenched—the fist he'd been ready to plow into Tod's poster-boy face—he loosened it. She'd handled herself like a champ, Cullum thought, and he admired her style even more now that he could see how shaken she was.

  "It is a killer dress," he said, hoping to soothe her.

  Her spine snapped straight. "Go to hell."

  "Hey." Gently he touched a hand to her arm before she could stalk past him. Concern deepened his voice and the color of his eyes.

  "Sorry, wrong angle. You ought to sit down, Jules. You're shaking."

  "I'm angry."

  "Don't blame you. He was a jerk, but you handled it."

  Humiliation warred with temper. "You got a real eyeful, didn't you, Murdoch?"

  "Look, I'm sorry to have been your audience for that little play, but it's your own fault."

  "Oh, is it?" Transferring her rage from Tod to Cullum was effortless. She jabbed a finger into his chest, hard enough to rock him back on his heels. "And I suppose any woman who makes herself look attractive is just asking for it. The minute she dabs on perfume, she's really saying, 'Take me, you wild man.'"

  "I'm not talking about the damn dress, I'm talking about the damn doorknobs."

  "Doorknobs." At her wit's end, she dragged her hands through her hair. "Have I lost my mind or have you?"

  "You're the one who had to have the doorknobs on tonight." Now, his eyes sparked with temper. "You're the one who came by the shop whining to my father about some ridiculous party you're having. Do you think I want to work until nearly midnight?" She pressed her fingers to her temples, unsurprised by the headache raging there, then held out her hands. "Wait. I did go by to see your father. I wanted to see how he was doing. I'd been antiquing. I took the knobs by so we could play with them together."

  "And so you could wheedle him into pushing work forward to accommodate your party."

  "What party?" She threw up her hands now. "I'm not having a party. How can I have a party when the house is in the middle of rehab? I don't know what…" She trailed off, then shut her eyes. "Oh, I get it. Look, I need some aspirin." Without waiting to see if he'd follow, she headed back into the kitchen, giving Cullum a very distracting view of bare back and slim hips. It was a killer dress, all right, he thought resentfully. It was murdering him.

  She found a bottle in the cupboard, poured a glass of water and downed three pills.

  "Okay, there was a misunderstanding. I took the knobs by, and I did say something about not being able to wait to see how they looked on the doors. I didn't mean I couldn't wait. You know what I mean."

  Frowning a bit, he nodded. "Okay."

  "And I did mention a party. I'm planning on christening the house with one. But not until New Year's Eve. I wasn't specific, I just said I wanted him well enough to dance at my party. He must have mixed it up."

  It wasn't like his father to confuse details. But then, Cullum admitted, his father hadn't been himself for a month. "Okay, I get it. Crossed wires, that's all."

  "I'm sorry you were dragged out here tonight."

  "Not that big a deal. I got some of the knobs on. You want to take a look?"

  She worked up a smile. "Sure."

  "How about that one?" He jerked his thumb toward the kitchen door, and had to smile when she made a little hum of pleasure.

  "Oh, it's perfect. I knew the enameled knobs were made for this door." She hurried closer to admire the delicately painted bluebells against white enamel. "I love little details like this. It's what makes a home special."

  "Yeah, I've got to admit it works." He was leaning over her shoulder to study the knob himself. Then she straightened, and they were suddenly face-to-face and eye-to-eye. Close, close enough for her to see that fascinating gold ring around his misty green irises. Close enough for her blood to heat and stir.

  Her heart bounced, hard and high. "I… appreciate you seeing to it."

  Her scent was clogging his brain. "Like I said. No big deal." He wanted that mouth—and a great deal more than that. He tried to remind himself how disgusted he'd been with the jerk Tod. But that mouth looked so soft, so generous. So very tempting. "I'd better get going."

  "Yeah." Her throat was heated and dry with lust. What the hell was wrong with her? The pressure built up in her chest as they stood there, not quite touching, but she couldn't seem to order herself to breathe. "I'll see you out."

  "I know the way."

  "Fine."

  They moved abruptly, and somehow their lips met, their mouths tangled. Heat speared upward and spread like wildfire as teeth scraped, tongues touched. His hard, rangy body pressed her lush curves against the door, her body strained forward to better mesh with his. His hands streaked up her sides, the heels pressing the sides of her breasts until her system screamed for full possession. Busily her fingers raked through his overlong gold-tipped hair.

  "This is crazy," she said breathlessly.

  "Insane." He fastened his mouth on her throat, desperate for the taste of flesh. She smelled, he thought, like hot, smoldering sin.

  "Cullum, we can't do this."

  "I know."

  She fisted a hand in his hair, dragging his head up until her mouth could fuse with his again. They plundered, each of them equally greedy, until, all but gasping for air, they broke apart.

  "This is not happening and it can't work." She had to brace herself against the door or simply slide bonelessly to the floor.

  "No way can it work." He wanted, wildly wanted, to get to the body under that silk.

  "This is just a temporary lapse."

  "Right." He had to take a step back, but he couldn't take his eyes off her face. "I really want you, Jules."

  "Oh, hell." She pressed a hand to her thundering heart. "We need to think about something else. Anything else." Why couldn't she breathe? "Listen, we don't even like each other, Cullum."

  "It's tough caring about that at the moment, but yes, okay." Her face was flushed, her eyes smoking. And, he realized with shock and embarrassment, his knees were shaking. "If we do what we're both thinking about doing right now, we'll really hate ourselves and each other in the morning. Of course, I feel obliged to point out it's a while yet till morning." She was grateful she could smile. "We'd better give this a wide pass. Chalk it up to stress and hormones and whatever." Watching him, she eased away from the door, giving him space to get by. "It'll probably go away."

  "We can hope." Cullum started to open the door. God knew he needed air and space. "What if it doesn't, Julia?"

  "I don't know."

  He studied her for another moment, wondered if she could possibly be as baffled and aroused as he. "Me either," he decided, and got out fast.

  Chapter 24

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  Julia found dozens of things to keep her occupied and out of Cullum's way for the next few weeks. Autumn had taken over New England, with its exceptional style. Trees roared with color, and as they passed their peak, the air took on a snap that hinted slyly of winter. She looked at properties, put in bids. She dropped by her cousin's office, visited with Laura and her aunt and uncle, had lunch with friends. She shopped, scouring the stores for Christmas presents, and for baby gifts. Her cousin Gwen was three months pregnant. The three-foot stuffed Saint Bernard was the perfect excuse to drop by the house she and Gwen and Laura had once shared. She found Gwen at home, poring over cookbooks.

  "What are you doing?"

  Gwen smiled he
lplessly, running a nervous hand through her reddish-gold cap of hair. "I really think it's time I learned to cook. At least a couple of standard meals."

  "Dr. Blade—Oops. Dr. Maguire." Julia plopped down at the kitchen table. "Why?"

  "Well, I'm going to have three months' maternity leave. I'll be home. I should—" she gestured vaguely "—do home things."

  "Does Branson care if you can whip up a meat loaf?"

  "No, of course not. I do. It's the oddest thing." She ran a hand over her still-flat belly. "I suppose it's part of the whole nesting process. In any case, I'm a surgeon, I'm a scientist, certainly I can figure out the basic formula for, say, meat loaf, and deliver an edible product." Resting her elbows on the table, she cupped her chin in her hands and grinned at the huge stuffed dog. "I like your new pet."

  "Me, too. I was thinking my upcoming niece or nephew would take good care of him."

  "That's so sweet, Julia. Did I tell you we're planning on doing an animal theme in the nursery?"

  "No more than ten or fifteen times. No need to ask how you're feeling," she added. "You look great."

  "I feel great. I've never been happier in my life—and I've had a very happy life."

  "The hospital work isn't too much?"

  "It's what I want. It fuels me, and satisfies me. You want some coffee? I'm off caffeine, but—"

  "No, I don't want anything."

  "How about you? How's the house going?"

  "Coming right along. My bedroom's finished, and it's fabulous. We've got a long way to go on the rest, but it's moving. They're working on the kitchen now."

  Gwen angled her head, studying Julia's face. "What is it?"

  "What's what?"

  "What's under it? You've got something on your mind, I can see it."

  "It's nothing." But she pushed away from the table to pace. "It's silly."

  "Not if it's bothering you."

  "It's not really bothering me. It's… surprising me." This was why she'd come, after all, Julia admitted, and dropped back down into the chair. "You know Cullum Murdoch."

  "Yes, of course. He's the son of Grandpa's old friend. Construction. They did some work on this place when we first bought it."

  "Right. Well, he's the head contractor on my job now. I don't get along with him. Personality clash, I suppose."

  "Then why is he working on your house?"

  "Long story, and not the point." Julia brushed it away with her fingers. "A couple of weeks ago we were alone in the house, and it was late, and…"

  "Oh." Gwen bit the inside of her lip. "I see."

  "No, you don't." Julia huffed out a breath. "It was just a sudden animal attraction—and we didn't follow through on it. We agreed it would be a mistake."

  "Because you don't get along."

  "That, and we've got this professional relationship. I adore his father. That's just one more thing. If Cullum and I ended up in bed to, well, sort of flush this out of our systems, let's say, I don't know how I'd face Mr. Murdoch."

  "As I remember Mr. Murdoch, he's a sensible man who loves his son. I can't imagine he'd be shocked that the two of you find each other attractive."

  "Finding someone attractive isn't a license to tear up the sheets with him." Julia blew out a breath. "Gwen, I really want to tear up the sheets with Cullum."

  "Is he a decent man?"

  "Decent? Well, yes, I suppose."