The MacGregor Brides

by Nora Roberts

  "What seemed right, for the moment, was to get some distance, and to talk to both of you. Don't worry about me, Mom." She laid a hand on Shelby's knee. "It wouldn't be seduction. If I get involved with Murdoch, it'll be with eyes wide open." The three of them talked for a while longer, and then, when Julia left to unpack and change, Shelby turned to her husband.

  "Alan, this is serious."

  "Hmm." He rose to refill his wife's glass.

  "Don't use that diplomatic hmm on me." She scowled up at him over the rim of her glass. "I'm not naive enough to believe Julia hasn't been involved with a man before. But none of them has ever mattered enough to worry her, or to have her come to us to talk about it." Sitting on the arm of her chair, Alan skimmed a finger along his wife's bangs. "Are you worried that she's in love, or in lust?"

  "Both." She sighed. Her little girl, she thought. Her baby. She hadn't had enough time to prepare. "I just think it might be wise if we knew a little more about him."

  "My father's known the Murdochs for years." Alan's mouth quirked as he brought his glass up to sip. "I imagine he's going to be very pleased with the situation."

  It only took Shelby an instant. She clamped a hand over Alan's. "You don't think he arranged this somehow?"

  "No." Alan leaned down, kissed his wife's scowling mouth until it softened, then added, "I'm absolutely sure he did."

  Chapter 26

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  Cullum brooded into his beer while the jukebox tinkled out a song of love gone sour. Didn't it always? he wondered. Nothing lasted forever—if it did, he'd be out of business. Dry rot set in, or age, or simple monotony. Buildings weren't all that much different from people, he mused. And some were high-maintenance.

  Julia MacGregor was definitely high-maintenance.

  It was a good thing he'd had a couple of days to kick back, cool off and come to his senses. Tangling with her was bound to cost a man, and personally, he was very careful when it came to investments of any kind.

  The woman wanted to negotiate sex, for God's sake. Draft out contingencies and clauses, with the bed as the bargaining table. Well, the hell with that, he decided, lifting the bottle to his lips. He figured, if a man and a woman were single, healthy and wanted each other, negotiations were over.

  So she could just find somebody else to do business with.

  Probably would, too, he thought as his lips curled into a snarl. A woman who looked like that, she wouldn't have any trouble finding a

  "business" partner.

  And what did he mean, she looked like that? he wondered, not even hearing his own sigh. She wasn't even really pretty, if you thought it through point by point. But somehow, when the package was put together, it slugged a man right between the eyes. She'd know that fact, she'd use it to her advantage. Well, it wasn't going to work on him. The impulse had passed all right, and he was back on track.

  One of the men sidled up to the bar to order a drink and slapped Cullum companionably on the back. "How's it going, boss?" Cullum's response was a grunt. He didn't know why he'd let the crew talk him into going for a beer after work. He wasn't in the mood to socialize. But then, he hadn't been in the mood to go home, either. The fact was, he didn't seem to be in any mood except foul.

  "Sure hope Miz MacGregor comes back soon." The trim carpenter pushed up the brim of the baseball cap he wore and grinned. "The boys miss seeing her walk through—especially when she's wearing one of those little skirts. I'm telling you, that woman stands on some classy stilts." Unaware of the red haze beginning to cloud his boss's vision, the carpenter leaned on the bar to sip his cold draft.

  "Smells good enough to eat, too."

  Because quite suddenly he wanted to smash the bottle over the edge of the bar and jab the jagged end toward this man's face, Cullum set the beer down very carefully. "You keep your mind on your work, Jamison, and off the client's legs."

  "Well, hell, Cullum…" Jamison began, then cleared his throat when he caught the smoldering violence in Cullum's eyes. "Sure, boss, just making conversation."

  Saying nothing, Cullum tossed some bills on the bar and rose. He walked out before he could do any damage to his crew. Jamison blew out a breath, then chuckled and called over to his friend. "Hey, Jo, looks like the boss's got his eye on Miz McG." Jo immediately moved over and sat himself down on the recently vacated seat to discuss the new information. It would have infuriated Cullum to know that his crew spent over an hour grinning and gossiping about him and Julia. It would have mortified him if he knew those grins and gossip were being spread like chain lighting among the subcontractors. By noon the next day, there wasn't a man or woman working on the MacGregor site who wasn't wondering what was going on with the boss and the client. The betting pool was inevitable.

  Cullum walked in as twenty dollars passed from one of the men to another. But Murdoch and Sons didn't hire the slow-witted.

  "Thanks for the loan, Mike." The man pocketed the bill with an easy smile. "Get it back to you on payday. Hey, boss, we're about ready to put the chair rail up here."

  "Then let's get to it."

  The dining room would be the most formal room in the house. The wainscoting, the intricately carved chair rail, the trio of tall, slim windows and the beautiful coffered ceiling deserved the best. He hoped Julia wouldn't put lady furniture in it. The room wanted big, heavy pieces—chairs with high backs, a table with some age and weight to it.

  She had the little sitting room upstairs and the back parlor for the fancy and the delicate. This room wanted strength.

  "Probably put pansies on the wall," he muttered, and, after he'd checked the first run of the rail, moved into the kitchen. Work there was progressing nicely. Eyes focused on details, Cullum didn't notice the sly looks and speculative grins sent his way. The linoleum had been stripped off, the pine beneath protected with drop cloths. Refinishing it would be one of the last steps. In preparation for cabinet installation, the walls had been painted. He had to approve the toasty yellow Julia had chosen. It was a warm, interesting shade, and would go well with the wood. The wall had been torn down, bringing the side porch into the room. Even now, the windows were being installed.

  It was going to be a good room, he decided, talking details with his men as he considered the space. His design was coming to life. Such things always gave Cullum a flash of satisfaction. But this time it was deeper, brighter. He told himself that if he felt more proprietary this time, it was only because he found the house so special.

  It had nothing to do with the owner.

  Still, he could picture himself coming into the completed kitchen early in the morning. There'd be pots of herbs under the south window. Good sun there, and he liked having his own fresh herbs when he cooked. He'd make coffee at the counter he was building himself. Grind the beans fresh. Then the room would smell of rosemary, coffee, and the flowers on the old oak table in the sitting area. He'd drink the first cup standing up, then take the second over to the wrought-iron table that belonged in the corner, just there. For family meals.

  Sunlight would be slipping into the room when Julia walked in, rumpled and sexy from sleep. She'd smile at him, come over to lean over his shoulder and rub her cheek against his. And steal his coffee.

  He was so caught up in the scene that when Julia walked in, rumpled and sexy from travel, he gaped at her. "What? Where?"

  "Who, why?" she finished, and laughed at him. "That must have been quite a side trip, Murdoch." She tucked her hands in the pockets of her cashmere blazer and surveyed the room. "Wow, progress. I'll have to take off for a couple of days regularly. It really hits you then. This is fabulous. I knew this paint would work. And, oh, the windows are going to be wonderful. Give you full points on that. I've just seen the side terrace doors. They're perfect. Just perfect."

  He could only be grateful she was talking so much. At the moment, he needed more than a minute to find his balance. He'd decided against her, hadn't he? So why was he viciously fighting the urge to grab her right
this second and kiss her until her bones rattled?

  He was staring at her as if she'd walked through the wall, Julia thought, and began to feel her pulse bump and jitter. She'd considered the matter of their relationship carefully while she was in Georgetown. All the requirements and details, all the demands and rules, had been carefully outlined in her mind.

  And now she couldn't think of any of them.

  "I guess I'll…" Stutter, if you keep looking at me that way, she thought. "Ah, take my stuff upstairs, then poke around and see what's up. The, um, the cabinets come in yet?"

  "Day after tomorrow."

  "Fine, good. Can't wait to see them. I'll just…" She waved a hand vaguely. "Go now." She turned, hurried out, then muffled a gasp when he took her arm and walked beside her. "I'll help you take your things up. We need to finalize some details on the guest suite."

  Not now, she decided. Definitely not now, when she couldn't put two rational thoughts together. "I don't want to interrupt your work. And I have some calls to make, and—"

  "Won't take long." His brow winged up when he saw the pile of luggage at the base of the steps. "You were only gone three days."

  "I knew I was going to shop, so I took extra bags." She grabbed one to keep her hands busy. "I'm more than half done with Christmas."

  "Good for you." Cullum started to heft the other two bags, shook his head at the weight and put his back into it. "Where do you want them, Santa?"

  "Just up in my room. I have to organize everything before I wrap. How's your father?"

  "He's a lot better, I think." Puzzled, Cullum looked down as half a dozen laborers edged into the foyer to watch him walk upstairs with Julia. "What? You guys finish the house while I wasn't looking?"

  That sent them scurrying. Cullum shrugged off the hoots of laughter that followed him up the stairs. "They've got to remember to keep windows open while they glue. Turns them into idiots."

  "Here, just dump them on the bed," Julia told him. And that way, the bed would be too crowded to be any sort of temptation to either of them. "I'm really anxious to see the—"

  The sentence ended against his mouth. He had her hauled against him, her hair fisted in his hand and her lips captured in a hard greedy kiss before she could take one full breath.

  Then breathing didn't seem so very important. The bag she'd carried fell out of her hand, hitting the floor with a thud.

  "We have to talk about this," she managed.

  "Shut up, Jules."

  "Okay, all right." With a broken moan, she ran her hands up his back, hooking them over his shoulders and straining to get closer. Something jabbed her hip, something poked hard into her thigh. "Ouch, damn."

  "Tool belt," he muttered, and eased his grip before he lacerated her. "Sorry."

  "It's all right." With an unsteady hand, she rubbed the slight pinch. "We have incredibly poor timing. Look, I don't know how much you've thought about this, but I've thought about it quite a bit. We need to discuss it."

  "I want you. That's my input into the discussion."

  With a shaky laugh, she sidestepped until the chest at the foot of her bed was between them. "I have a little more to say than that."

  "What a surprise. We knock off here at four-thirty. I'll come back at six. If you want, I'll bring dinner."

  "Dinner." Sensible, she decided. "Maybe we should go out."

  His green gaze stayed locked and heated on hers. "Some other time, Jules. I don't feel much like going through the mating dance of menus and waiters and small talk tonight."

  She nodded slowly. "So we'll eat in, but we will talk."

  Now he smiled, a slow, sensual curving of lips that sent small delicious chills up her spine. "Wanna bet?"

  "I'm serious, Murdoch."

  "So am I, MacGregor. Six o'clock," he repeated before he turned to the door.

  "Six-thirty," she said. It was arbitrary, she knew, but she needed to have some say in the matter. Understanding her perfectly, he shook his head. "Fine then." Then he lifted a brow. "Are you coming?"

  "Where?"

  "The guest suite, remember?"

  "Oh." Flustered, she brushed at her tousled hair. "I thought you'd just said that for the crew."

  "I say what I mean. Let's go look it over. The rough-in's been inspected and approved." She did her best to shift from potential lover to client. It irked her that he seemed much more graceful at the segue than she. "Okay. Then I'd like to go over the rest of the new work, if you have the time."

  He held the door open for her. "My time's your time. At least, until four-thirty." Her eyes narrowed on his face as she walked by him. "Why does that sound like a threat, Murdoch?" He smiled blandly. "I couldn't say. What it is, MacGregor, is fact."

  At four-forty-five, she watched the last truck—Cullum's naturally—pull out. Less than two hours, she thought, but this time she'd be ready. This time he wouldn't get her mind hazed over with sensation before she could speak it. They'd discuss the situation rationally, negotiate terms that both of them could live with.

  When the affair ended, as it undoubtedly would, both of them would walk away with minimum fuss and pain. They were, she'd already decided, much too much alike to mesh well. And the basic lust they were experiencing was entirely too strong and hot to burn for long. She didn't want to be hurt at the end of it, and she didn't want to hurt him. So they would set down rules, follow them. And enjoy each other while it lasted.

  Julia turned away from the window, wondering why she suddenly felt so depressed. Maybe it was because she'd been so close to Laura and Gwen, and both of them had tumbled into love so fast. With hardly a moment to think or plan or worry about rules. But this wasn't love. It was chemistry. And she remembered enough of that particular science to know that volatile experiments could blow up without careful planning and execution.

  And she wasn't going to end up getting singed.

  Still, there was no reason in the world not to drive him insane in the meantime. Nearly two hours, she mused. More than enough time to complete the indulgent female ritual of preparing for a lover.

  By the time she was finished, tough guy Cullum Murdoch would be putty in her hands.

  Chapter 27

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  She was going to melt like butter. He was going to see to it.

  Though it was tempting to use his key to irritate her, Cullum knocked on the door at six-thirty. He'd changed into a navy sweater and fresh jeans—no way was she going to think he'd fussed over tonight If she knew he was the least bit nervous, the least bit anxious, it would give her too much of an advantage.

  He liked the fact that Julia used her advantages, even respected her for it. But he wasn't willing to let her get a step ahead, or over him. He shifted the bag he carried from arm to arm, and was reconsidering using his key when she opened the door. She didn't look like she'd fussed much, either, which gave her no right to set his pulse rate soaring. She'd left her hair down, curling wildly, the way he liked it best. It tumbled over the shoulders of a sleek black cat suit that displayed her curves with mouthwatering accuracy. She'd draped some sort of silver belt fashioned out of big links loosely at her waist. Her feet were bare. She looked like some kind of high-class bohemian, with her chocolate-colored eyes thickly lashed and her generous mouth soft and naked.

  "You're prompt." Her unpainted lips curved slowly. "I like that in a man."

  "You're built." He smiled with the same lazy coolness. "I like that in a woman."

  "Aren't we lucky? Come on in." She closed the door behind him and ordered herself to ignore the jitters in her stomach. "So, what did you bring for dinner?"

  "Extra crispy." Her eyes lit with a quick, appreciative humor that had him grinning in response. "And a nice white Bordeaux that'll enhance, rather than overwhelm, those famous secret herbs and spices."

  "Who'd have thought we'd have similar taste in food? Let's take it upstairs." She inclined her head before he could get any ideas about rushing her. "My room's the only one in t
he house with the ambience for dining at the moment. Unless you'd rather sit on a couple of drywall-compound buckets and eat on a sawhorse?"

  "Your room's fine."

  "Go ahead up, I'll see if I can dig up a couple of wineglasses."

  "Everything we need's in here." He patted the bag. "Plastic and paper. No use dirtying up dishes while your kitchen's torn up."

  "Excellent point." And a considerate one, she noted as she turned to start up the steps. "The work's progressing smoothly."

  "Just takes planning. And a little luck."

  "I'm looking at a building downtown. It should make into six very nice two-bedroom apartments. With a little luck, and a lot of planning." She paused at the door to her room to glance back at him. "Do you think you and your father would be interested?"

  "If you don't need to get started on it until after the first of the year."

  "I haven't even bought it yet, so it'll be at least that long."

  She'd built a fire, both for warmth and for atmosphere. It crackled away behind an ornate brass screen. The mantel was crowded with candlesticks and candleholders of varying sizes and materials. She hadn't yet lit the tapers and votives. She had, however, lit a fat column of waxy white in the center of the little table in the sitting area.

  "Very nice." The room smelled seductive, and so did she. Cullum set the red-and-white bag on the table, wondering if that was her plan—to seduce him before he could gain the upper hand.

  It was going to be an interesting night.

  He took out the wine and a corkscrew, watching her as he opened the bottle. "Since we're being sociable I'll tell you that you're doing a hell of a job putting this house together. You move fast, but you don't rush. You put some thought into the pieces you pick up. You're making it classy, but it's still friendly. Not everyone could pull that off."

  She tried not to gape. It was a compliment designed to flatter a woman like her, one that touched on mind and style and heart. "Thanks, that means a lot to me. I grew up in a classy, friendly home."

  "You grew up in the White House," he reminded her, and offered her a plastic wineglass filled with straw-colored wine.

  "True enough, but I was thinking about our house in Georgetown. Still, my parents did what they could to make the White House a home."

  "Must have felt like a fishbowl."

  "Sometimes. Often it was surprisingly cozy and intimate. If I live there again, I'd work to give my family the same." His brows lifted. "Thinking of marrying some future president?"

  "No, I'm thinking of being some future president."

  She waited for him to choke on his wine, to laugh and to make a sarcastic comment. Instead, his eyes narrowed in speculation, and he nodded. "If you do half as well as your father, you'd be a good one."

  "You surprise me again."

  "Why? Do my knuckles drag the ground?"

  "I've thought they did a few times." She sat and opened the bag to sniff. "I'm ready if you are." This time he did laugh. "To eat," she specified mildly. "And to talk about the rest."

  "I don't mind a little dinner conversation."

  They divvied up chicken and french fries on paper plates. Cullum winced as she waterfalled salt onto both. "I know," she said with a chuckle. "It's disgusting. Gwen just closes her eyes when we eat together." She took a big, healthy bite of a drumstick and sighed with pleasure. "But it's so good. Things that are bad for each other always seem to be. Cullum, could we be very bad for each other?"

  "Could be. Life's a gamble."

  "Agreed. I like to gamble, but I always figure the odds and options—and I always know just how much I can afford to lose and stay comfortable before I play. So, we're attracted to each other for some possibly insane and contrary reason." He picked up his wine, enjoying her as much as he enjoyed the smooth, dry taste. "Agreed."

  "Speaking for myself, I don't take a lover just because I'm attracted. There has to be a little more foundation. Mutual respect, understanding, affection. I also prefer to go into a relationship with the agreement that if things don't work out, both parties will accept and step back. And the relationship has to be monogamous for the length of term. If either party finds that unsatisfactory, the relationship ends. No harm, no foul."

  Amused, Cullum grinned. "So if I decide I want a little variety—or you do—the contract is void."

  "Exactly. And no hard feelings. That cuts down on the temptation to lie and cheat I won't tolerate either in any area of my life, and certainly not in bed."

  "I don't lie." It was annoyance that flickered in his eyes this time. "And I don't cheat"

  "I didn't say you did," she returned evenly. "But people often do—and the excuse for it invariably comes down to sparing someone's feelings. I don't need, or want, my feelings spared."