by Nora Roberts
She walked to the bed this time, took an armload. “She didn’t bring my car back. And, because she didn’t want to bring my car back, as that would have entailed bringing herself back when she was having a good time in New York, she didn’t answer her phone.”
She turned after hanging up the load and turned to find him behind her with another. “Thanks. She also neglected to leave me the keys to hers, so I couldn’t have used it if I’d wanted to. By yesterday morning I was ready to do murder, but then I had a pep talk from Laurel—who takes no crap from anyone. I so admire that in her. After that, I had my mother’s car towed to this garage, this mechanic’s place.”
“That was brilliant. Appropriate consequences for inappropriate behavior.”
“That sounds so Dr. Maguire. Appropriate maybe, but it’s mean, too, especially since the guy knows Del and agreed to charge Linda for the towing and the storage.”
“I take it, since your car’s out front, she finally brought it back. She’d have been furious about hers being towed.”
“And then some. It was ugly. Very ugly, during which I learned even when you stand your ground, do what’s right, it hurts. A fist in the face, you could say,” she added with a small smile for him. “And skipping over the details, I ended by calling her a cab and locking her out of the house.”
“Good. She’ll think twice before pulling something like that again.”
“There’s that optimism. It’s so shiny. She never thinks twice, Carter. It’s going to take a lot more of the same before we’re done. It’s on me to do it. To keep doing it, and to keep taking that fist in the face without giving ground.”
“But you will.”
“I have to. Anyway, I decided to work off the upset by cleaning up my mess. I made a bigger one first, but with the goal of decluttering and restructuring. Which became symbolic for tossing out old habits and mind-sets. So . . .”
She broke off as she turned with another armload and caught sight of herself in the mirror. “Oh Jesus, Jesus, I look like I escaped from the institution for the terminally sloppy and unkempt. Couldn’t you have told me my hair looked like a couple of cats fought in it?”
“I like your hair.”
She raked her fingers through it. “You know, this is just one more world of irritating. I looked really good the night I came by your place. Those MAC girls know their stuff. Plus I sprang for La Perla, and I was wearing it. My credit card had a minor stroke, but now that we landed the Seaman job, it’ll recover nicely. Still, I—”
“You got the job?” He picked her off her feet, gave her a quick spin. “That’s—damn it.”
“Almost the reaction I might’ve expected.”
“I bought a bottle of champagne to celebrate with you when you got the job. I didn’t bring it with me.”
“You bought champagne to celebrate with me.” She could all but feel her pupils take the shape of hearts as she stared at him. “You’re the sweetest man.”
“We’ll celebrate tomorrow.”
“Event tomorrow night.”
“First chance then. Congratulations. This is major.”
“Majorly major, to be redundant about it. Event of the year, and it’s going to test all our skills, push us to develop new ones.”
“You must . . . What’s La Perla?”
Her smile spread slowly. “Ah, so two sisters and a mother haven’t taught you everything about the female. You still have a few things to learn, Professor. Go downstairs.”
“I don’t want to go downstairs.” He lowered his head to nibble at her lips. “I’ve missed you. Missed your face. Missed touching you. Look how we cleaned a spot off the bed. It looks just big enough.”
“Downstairs.” She pressed a finger at his chest, pushed him back. “I’ll tell you when to come back up. You’ll thank me.”
“Why don’t I just thank you now and—”
“Out.”
She gave him a shove.
He paced the studio, studied her photographs, poked at bridal magazines. He wondered what the term was for what was running around inside him, this intense joy and ragged impatience. Mackensie was upstairs, and that was wonderful. Mackensie was upstairs, and he wasn’t. That was making him crazy.
He wandered to the door to make sure it was locked, wondering if he should take up the wine. He didn’t want any, but she—
“Why don’t you come on up?”
Thank God, he thought, and left the wine where it was.
He saw from the shadows and flickering light that she’d lit candles. The faintest scent drifted through the air, alluringly. He should have brought the wine, he realized.
Then, when he stepped into the bedroom, his heart stopped.
In the shifting shadows, the golden light, in the drifting scent she lay on the bed, turned toward him, her head propped on her elbow. She’d done something to her hair, something sleek, and darkened her lips and eyes to exotic. And on her long, lovely body were wisps and whirls of tiny black lace.
“This,” she said, sweeping her free hand along her side, “is La Perla.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
She crooked a finger. “Why don’t you come over here and take a closer look.”
He walked to her. “You take my breath away.”
He sat, ran his hand over her side, cruising the curves. “You were wearing this the other night?”
“Mmm-hmmm.”
“If I’d known, you’d never have made it to the car.”
“Really? Why don’t you demonstrate what you’d have done, had you but known.”
He leaned down, touched his lips to hers for one shimmering moment. Then devoured. Instant need, wild and wicked urgency lashed him, whipping for speed. He swallowed her muffled gasp and demanded more.
Arousal, longing, love rampaged inside him, snarling into a desperate greed for her mouth under his, her body under his. The taste of her, just the first taste, sparked the fire in the blood.
While his mouth conquered, his hands plundered.
Her body exploded under his, arching, writhing as she dragged at his shirt. She pulled it up, nails scraping flesh in her rush, and over his head to heave it away. She rolled with him, her breath sobbing as they wrapped together, as they sought each other. Sought darker, deeper pleasure that slicked the skin, racked the heart.
Touch, taste, possess.
To be wanted like this, needed like this—to want and need in return—seemed impossible to her. It was like being burned alive, feeling every inch, to be aware of every inch of her body while it blazed. While he consumed.
He rolled her over on her back, jerked her hips up. And drove himself into her. She couldn’t find the breath to scream.
Stunned, staggered, helpless, she flailed for purchase, and her hands clutched the tangled sheets as she might a lifeline. His clamped over them, wrenched her arms over her head. He plunged into her, again, again. A hard, primal beat that propelled them both to the edge, and over.
When he collapsed on her, their hands remained clasped. While the candlelight flickered over the damp tangle of them, he turned his head. And gave her a kiss of exquisite tenderness.
She lay as she was, steeped in a kind of wonder.
“I was rough,” he murmured. “Did I—”
“You know what?” she interrupted, smiling in the flickering dark. “I’m going back to Nordstrom. I’m going to buy out their entire stock of La Perla. Whatever they’ve got in my size will be mine. I’m never wearing anything else.”
“While you’re out, maybe you could pick up some vitamins. A whole lot of vitamins. And minerals.”
She laughed, rolling to her side as he rolled to his, so they were nose to nose. “You have such quiet eyes. No one would ever know you’re an animal in bed.”
“You have this body that makes me want it. Are you cold?”
“Not now, possibly never again. Can you stay?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I owe you some scrambled eggs.”
EMMALINE STOOD WITH HER HANDS ON HER HIPS IN THE MIDDLE of the disaster now known as Mac’s bedroom. “I had no idea, no idea that you and Carter were such sex monkeys.”
“We are. But I have to cop to doing this all by myself.”
“Which begs the question: Why?”
“I’m organizing.”
“In this world, organizing generally means putting things in place.”
“Which will come. Do you want this purse? I never use this purse.”
Emma stepped around and through the hillocks of clothes and accessories to take the brown flap bag. “This color looks like dried poop. Maybe you don’t use it because it’s ugly.”
“It really is. I don’t know what I was thinking that day. Toss it in discard. That pile,” she added, gesturing.
Moving over, Emma dropped the bag. “You’re getting rid of these shoes.”
Mac glanced over as Emma examined one of the pair of sky-high lime green pumps. “They kill my feet. I get blisters every time I wear them.”
“They’re really great shoes.”
“I know, but I never wear them because of the blister element.” Mac shook her head at the gleam in Emma’s eyes. “They won’t fit you.”
“I know. It’s just not fair that Laurel and Parker wear the same size, and you and I are the odd men out. It’s injustice.” With the shoe still in hand, she turned a little circle. “How do you and Carter have sex in here?”
“We manage. Mostly I’ve been going over to his place just lately, but that’s really because when he sees this he wants to help. You can’t have a man involved in closet and dresser organizing. He started counting my shoes.”
“They never understand the shoes.”
“Speaking of which, put those back in the keep pile—over there. They’re too fabulous to toss. I’ll wear them when I’m going to sit down a lot.”
“Much better idea.”
“See, this he would never get. And he’d get that thoughtful furrow between his eyebrows.”
“So, other than thoughtful furrows, you two are doing good?”
“We’re doing great. Close to perfect. I don’t know why I got all twisted up and crazed about it. What about this shirt? It’s a lot like this shirt. I should get rid of one of them, but which?”
Emma studied the two black camp shirts. “They’re black. There’s no limit on black shirts. They’re wardrobe basics.”
“See. That’s why I asked you to come by.”
“You really need Parker in here, Mac. You said you started this on Thursday. Last Thursday.”
“Parker can’t come in here. She’d take one look, and her nervous system would implode. She’d be in a coma for months. I wouldn’t do that to her. And I ordered stuff. Shoe boxes, hangers, and this thing with all these hooks on it for hanging bags or belts. I think. I looked at closet organizers, but I found them confusing. Plus I’m tossing twenty-five percent. It was going to be fifty, but that was before I came to my senses.”
“But you’ve been at it for nearly a week.”
“I haven’t had that much time for it, between work and Carter, and my strange reluctance to come up here at all. But I’m going to stick with it tonight.”
“You’re not seeing Carter?”
“Parent-teacher deal at the academy. Besides, we don’t see each other every night.”
“Right. Only on the ones that end with Y. You look happy. He makes you happy.”
“He does. There was this little thing.”
“Oh-oh.”
“No, just a little thing. He said I might want to keep some things there. Some of my things.”
“Such as a change of clothes, a toothbrush. Mac.”
“I know. I
know. It’s logical, and it’s considerate. But I felt myself wanting to get twisted up and crazed. I didn’t, but I wanted to. And, I mean, look at my things. There are so many of them. If I start mixing them with his, how will I know where they are? And what if I leave something over there, then I need it here?”
“You do know you’re looking at this, trying to find the flaws, the barriers, the drop chutes. You know that, right?”
“Knowing I’m looking for them doesn’t mean they aren’t there. I’m just getting used to being with him—an official couple—and now he’s offering me closet space. I’m trying to deal with my own closet.”
“And doing a remarkable job of it.”
She studied the piles. “It’s a work in progress.”
“So are you. So’s your relationship with Carter. People and relationships never stop being a work in progress.”
“I know you’re right. It’s just . . . I want to get everything in place.” She blew out a breath as she scanned the piles. “I want to get my life organized and feel in control. Get some clarity. I want to know what I’m doing with that, the way I do with the work.”
“Do you love him?”
“How do people know that? I keep asking myself, and the answer keeps coming back yes. Yes, I do. But people fall in and out of love all the time. The falling-in part’s scary and exciting, but the falling-out is horrible. It’s all going really well right now, so I’d like to keep it that way.”
“Do you know how much I wish I was in love with a man who loved me?”
“I don’t think you’d be picking out your bridal bouquet.”
“You’re really wrong. If I had what you have right now? I wouldn’t be standing in the middle of chaos trying to organize my life. I’d be looking forward to making a life. If you—”
She broke off as she heard the door downstairs slam.
“Hey, Mac? You here?”
“What’s Jack doing here?” Emma wanted to know.
“Oh, I forgot. Upstairs!” she called out. “He was coming by to talk to Parker, so I told her to ask him to stop over. Confused by closet organizers, I figured why not consult an architect?”
“You want an architect—a man—
Jack—to organize your closet?”
“No, to give me a vision of what to use to organize it.”
Emma gave Mac a dubious look. “You’ve now entered Parker territory.”
“Maybe, but have you seen her closet? It’s like a layout in a magazine. It’s like what the Queen of England probably has. Without all the odd hats. Jack! Just the man I wanted to see.”
He stood in the doorway, tall, clad in jeans, work shirt, and boots—and very male. “I don’t want to come in there. You’re not supposed to touch anything at a crime scene.”
“The only crime here is that.” She pointed at her closet. “An empty closet with one stupid bar and shelf. You have to help me.”
“I told you we needed to design the closet when we altered the space.”
“I was in a hurry back then. Now I’m not. I know I need at least two bars, right—a lower one. And more shelves. Maybe some drawers.”
He glanced around. “You’re going to need a bigger boat.”
“I’m purging. Don’t start with me.”
He walked in, hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “Roomy.”
“Yes, which is part of the problem. All that room, I’ve felt obliged to fill it. You can make it better.”
“Sure I can make it better. A kit from Home Depot would make it better.”
“I’ve looked at them. I want something more . . . More.”
“Ought to line it in cedar while we’re at it. You’ve got enough room for some built-ins here. Run a short rod on the side, maybe some box shelves there. I don’t know. I’ll think about it. I know a guy who could knock it out for you.”
She beamed a smile at him. “See, I knew you’d know what to do with it.”
“Hauling all this stuff back in’s on you.”
“Goes without saying. While you’re here—”
“You’d like me to design your broom closet?”
“No, but thanks. Male point of view.”
“I’ve got that on me.”
“What does it mean when yo
u tell a woman she should leave some of her things at your place?”
“How did I get the concussion?”
“Typical,” Emma muttered.
“Hey, she asked.”
“It’s a woman you’re involved with exclusively. Intimately,” Mac explained.
“And now she wants to leave her strange female products in the bathroom. Then she needs a drawer. Before you know it she’s buying throw pillows for the bed, and your beer has to make room in the refrigerator for her diet drinks and low-fat yogurt. Then, wham, you’re going antiquing instead of watching the game on Sunday afternoon.”
“And that’s all it is?” Emma demanded. “Sure, she can roll around in the bed, tear up the sheets, but hell no, she can’t leave a toothbrush in
your bathroom. Or have a few inches of a drawer. That’s too pushy, that’s too much. Why not just leave the money on the dresser and call it what it is?”
“Whoa. That’s not what I—”
“Why should she be comfortable, why should she expect you to make any room in your life for her needs? God forbid she should infringe on your precious time, your sacred space. Pathetic,” she said. “Both of you.” And stormed out.
Jack stared at the empty doorway. “What was that? Why is she so pissed off at me?”
“It’s me. It started with me.”
“Next time warn me so I can dodge the ricochets. Is she . . . seeing someone who’s giving her trouble?”
“No. She’s not seeing anyone special. I am, and she’s frustrated because she thinks I don’t appreciate it—him—enough. She’s wrong. I do. But she’s right in that my thought process takes the same downward spiral you just outlined. And actually, she’s right. It is pathetic.”
“It’s not a downward spiral, necessarily. Maybe you want the yogurt or the antiquing. It depends.”
“On what?”
“Who’s leaving their stuff in your drawer. Got any beer?”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go have a beer. I’ll sketch something out. If you like it, I’ll have the guy I know come over and measure, knock it out.”
“That’s worth a beer.”
“So, you and Carter Maguire.”
“Me and Carter Maguire,” she said as they started down. “Is it weird?”
“Why would it be?”
“I don’t know. Maybe since we sort of knew each other in high school when I was going through my artistic free spirit phase and he was a nerd. And he was tutoring Del when I had my obligatory crush on Del.”
“You had a crush on Del?”
“Obligatory five-minute one,” she repeated as she got out the beer. “In fact, I think it only lasted three. Emma made the five.”
