Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set (13 page)

‘You’re just going to give in.’

There wasn’t an ounce of inflection in her voice and that was worse than her anger. Ten times worse.

She dotted her mouth with her
napkin, tossed it down beside her plate, and left.

It felt as if his heart had stopped beating.

CHAPTER TEN

M
AC
BARELY
SLEPT
, but he forced himself out of bed as the first rays of sun filtered over the horizon. He made himself dress and go straight into the master bedroom. He opened the curtains to let in the light. Shutting himself up in the dark, not caring about what he ate and not getting any exercise had been stupid things to do.

He had to stay healthy.

With
that thought he cracked open the glass sliding door. Air filtered in—cold but fresh.

Only then did he turn to his computer and switch it on. A hard brick settled in his stomach, but he ignored it to examine the lists of recipes he’d selected for the cookbook. At least a dozen of them were either not started or unfinished.

That meant a dozen recipes he’d have to make while barking instructions
for Jo to jot down. He pulled in a breath. That was twelve days’ work, if he made a recipe a day and wrote it up in the evening. Less if he did two recipes a day. On top of that there was the glossary of terms and techniques to write up, and serving suggestions to add to each recipe.

He created a table and a timeline. He printed off a shopping list for Jo. He would get to work on the first
recipe this afternoon. After that he’d talk Jo through the icing she’d need to make for her
macaron
tower. She could tackle that under his supervision tomorrow morning.

He rose, collecting the shopping list from the printer on his way to the door.

‘C’mon, Bandit.’

A morning and afternoon walk down to the beach each day, perhaps along it for a bit, would keep both man and dog healthy.
He set the shopping list on the kitchen table before letting himself out of the house. Quietly. It was still early.

The sun rose in spectacular munificence over the Pacific Ocean, creating a path of orange and gold. At the edges of the path the water darkened to mercury and lavender. The air stood still, and with the tide on the turn the waves broke on pristine sand in a hushed rhythmic lilt.

Mac halted on a sand dune to stare at it all. It should fill his soul with glory. It should fill him with the majesty of nature. It should...

He’d give it all up for a single night in Jo’s arms.

He dragged a hand down his face and tried to banish the thought. A single night wouldn’t be enough for her. It wouldn’t be enough for him either, but it would at least be something he could
hold onto in the bleak, monotonous months to come.

He rested his hands on his knees and pulled in a breath. Except he couldn’t do that to her. He laughed, although the sound held little mirth. More to the point, she wouldn’t let him do it to her.

Good.

The weight across his shoulders bowed him until he knelt in the sand with Bandit’s warm body pressed against him.

I can do
this. I can do this. I can do this.

He lifted his head. He
had
to do this.

Forcing his shoulders back, he lumbered to his feet and stumbled along the beach for ten minutes before turning and making his way back to the house.

The scent of frying bacon hit him the moment he opened the front door. He hesitated before heading for the kitchen. Leaning a shoulder against the doorframe,
he drank her in—the unconscious grace of her movements, the dark glossiness of her hair and the strength that radiated from her.

‘That smells good,’ he managed.

She didn’t turn from the stove. ‘Bacon always smells good.’

He could tell nothing of her mood or state of mind from either her posture or her tone of voice.

He rubbed his nape. ‘I didn’t think you were much of a breakfast
person.’ Mind you, she’d barely eaten any dinner last night.

‘I’m not usually, but I make an exception when I’m setting off on a car journey.’

She moved to butter the toast that had popped up in the toaster and that was when Mac saw the suitcases sitting by the doorway leading out to the laundry and the back door.

A chill crept across the flesh of his arms and his face, down his
back. ‘You’re leaving?’

‘I am.’

His heart pounded. ‘Today?’

‘That’s right.’

She finally turned. The dark circles under her eyes made him wince. She nodded at his shopping list.

‘So I’m afraid you’ll have to get your own groceries.’

A knife pierced through the very centre of him. She couldn’t leave! Just because they couldn’t be together in the way they wanted it didn’t
mean she had to go.

She set the toast on the table and then two plates laden with bacon, eggs and beans. She’d made enough for him too. Maybe she’d had the same thought—that he hadn’t eaten much at dinner last night either. It warmed some of the chill out of him, but not for long.

When she indicated he should do so, he sat. He stared at his plate. He forced himself to eat, but all the
while his mind whirled. Jo couldn’t leave. He needed her here. She—

She needs to eat. Wait until after she’s eaten.

Two rashers of bacon, a piece of toast and a fried egg later, he pushed his plate away. ‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

He waited until she’d finished before speaking again. ‘Why are you leaving?’

She took their plates to the sink. She wore a pair of jeans
that fitted her like a glove. Had she worn them deliberately to torment him? He gulped down his orange juice but it did nothing to quench the thirst rising through him.

She pushed a mug of coffee towards him, cradling another mug in her hands and leaning against the kitchen bench.

She took a sip before finally meeting his eyes. ‘I’m leaving, Mac, because I refuse to watch you sacrifice
yourself on the altar of guilt and misplaced responsibility.’

He swallowed back his panic. ‘I prefer to call it duty.’

‘You can call it what you like. Doesn’t change the fact it’s messed up.’

His head rocked back.

‘And I’m not going to support you in that delusion.’

Jo might not understand what drove him, but it didn’t mean she had to
leave
! ‘You haven’t learned how to
make the
macaron
tower yet.’

She shrugged. ‘I did that stupid vocational test of yours again last night.’

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, concentrated on breathing.

‘I considered each of the questions as honestly as I could and you know what? It came back with the perfect job. So thanks for the tip.’

How would he cope out here without her?

He forced
his eyes open. ‘What job?’ he croaked, a fist tightening about his chest.

‘Paramedic.’

Saving lives? Dealing with emergencies?

She’d saved Russ’s life, and probably Bandit’s. She’d forced Mac to turn his life around. Her practicality, her strength, her ability to respond quickly, it made her...
Perfect.
The single word rang a death knell through hopes he hadn’t realised he still
harboured. Impossible hopes.

Jo deserved to get on with her life.

Without him.

He just hadn’t known that letting her go would tear the heart from his chest.

‘The NSW Ambulance Service is recruiting soon, so I figured it’s time I got on with things.’

Mac found himself on his feet, moving towards her. He cupped her face. Her skin was warm and soft and alive against his hands.

‘Stay,’ he croaked. ‘Please. Just another week.’

In another week he’d find the strength to let her go, but please God don’t ask him to relinquish her today.
Please.

Her eyes melted to emerald for a moment before she blinked them back to a smoky sage. ‘If I stay we’ll become lovers,’ she whispered.

‘Sounds perfect to me.’

He ached to kiss her, but she planted a hand on his
chest and forced him back a step.

‘To you it probably does, but I’m not going to settle for second best. I will never come first with you, Mac. Ethan always will.’ She swallowed, her face pale. ‘I deserve to come first with the man I choose to share my life with.’

Her words forced him back another step. His heart burned. Ethan had to come first. He had to look after the other man until
he was back on his feet, and there was no telling how long that would take.

If he made a lot of money—millions of dollars—he could set up a trust fund to take care of Ethan, and then he’d be free to follow his heart.

If.

He stared down at his hands. Jo had no intention of waiting around to find out if he could manage that. He couldn’t say he blamed her.

She cleaned the kitchen.
He’d have told her not to bother except that would only mean she’d leave sooner. He took her bags out to The Beast and stowed them in the back. He rested his head against the doorframe before striding back into the kitchen.

‘What about Bandit?’

She lifted a hand to her temple and rubbed it, making him wonder if she had a roaring headache too. ‘I thought you wanted to keep her?’

He shook himself. ‘I mean what about the puppies?’

She seized a tea towel, shook it out and hung it on its rack. ‘When they’re ready to be weaned I’ll come and collect them. If there are any issues let me know. I’ve left my mobile number, my email address and my grandmother’s contact details beside the phone in the in the hall.’

She didn’t meet his eyes. Not once.

His heart started
to thump—hard. ‘Is that where you’ll be staying?’

She slung her handbag across her shoulder. ‘It’s my childhood home.’

He suddenly found it difficult to swallow. He stared at that handbag. She was really leaving?

‘Goodbye, Mac.’

He had to swallow the bellow that rose up inside him. They couldn’t end like this! There’d been so much promise and—

She reached out as if to
touch him, but her hand dropped short. ‘I really do wish you well. I hope...’

What did she hope?

‘I hope that you succeed.’

She spun on her heel then, and shot through the laundry and out of the back door. He lumbered after her, his limbs heavy and clumsy, as if they didn’t belong to him. She was so calm, so cool and untouchable. As if she didn’t care. She was tearing him to pieces.

A black knot of acid burned through the centre of him. ‘Is this really so easy for you?’ The words left him on a bellow. ‘Don’t you feel the slightest sting or throb? Don’t you—?’

‘Easy?’
She swung towards him, her face contorting. ‘Easy to walk away from dreams you let me believe were possible? Dreams that—?’

Her eyes filled and her pain rose up all around him.

‘Easy?’ She
lifted her hands as if to beat out her pain on his chest.

He wanted to wrap her in his arms and make her pain go away, soothe the desperation in her eyes and the despair that twisted her lips.

‘Jo...’ He swore.

‘Easy?’ She thumped her chest. ‘When you’ve broken something inside me that I’m afraid I’ll never be able to fix?’

His mouth dried. His stomach knotted. He wanted to
hide from the accusation in her eyes, from the anguish there—anguish
he’d
caused.

‘I’m sorry, Jo. I—’

She twisted her hands in the collar of his shirt and slammed her lips to his. The world tilted. She explored every last millimetre of his lips with a hunger that had the wind rushing in his ears, firing his every nerve-ending to life. She deepened the kiss as if her very life depended
on it, and everything he had reached towards her.

But she pushed him away.

‘I tried to play nice, Mac, and keep it civilised, but you made it impossible! I hope that kiss torments you every night for as long as you hole up out here.’

She needn’t fear. It would burn him through all eternity. As would the tears in her eyes and the pain that turned her lips white.

‘That’s it,
Mac. That’s us done.’

She slammed into her car, started up the motor and roared away.

He stared after her, her words ringing in his ears.
That’s us done.

Behind him Bandit set up a whine that became a howl.

Mac spun around. ‘You’re too late, you dumb dog. You should’ve told her you loved her while you had the chance.’

Mac picked up a rock and hurled it with all his might
at a fencepost. He kicked a tuft of grass, jarring his ankle when he connected a little too well with it. He yelled out his pain and frustration at the top of his lungs. But it didn’t help.

The end.
Finito.
This was as far as he and Jo would ever go. He stood there, arms at his sides, breathing hard. Jo was gone. The earth might as well spin off its axis for all the sense that made.

He waited for the sky to darken and a curtain to descend about him. It didn’t. The sun kept shining, the breeze continued to rustle a path through the native grass, and on the beach waves kept rushing up onto the sand.

His heart shrivelled to the size of a pea.

Jo was gone.

It was his fault.

And there was nothing he could do about it.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

M
AC
FINISHED
THE
cookbook in a fortnight rather than the projected month.

A morning walk, an afternoon walk and making sure he ate three square meals a day still left him with a lot of time on his hands. So he worked.

He didn’t sleep much.

He sent the manuscript off to his editor and then cleaned the house from top to bottom. Having neglected it completely
since Jo had left, that took him two full days.

On the third morning after finishing the cookbook, with nothing planned for the day, he stared at the omelette he’d made for breakfast and found he couldn’t manage so much as a bite. With a snarl, he grabbed his coffee and stormed out to the veranda.

Twiddling his thumbs like this was driving him crazy. When would he hear back from his
editor?

He collapsed to the step and ordered himself to admire the view.

‘See? Beautiful!’

His scowl only deepened. The view did nothing to ease the burn in his soul or the darkness threatening to tug him under. He’d kept himself busy for a reason. He’d missed Jo every second of every day and every night, but keeping busy had helped him to deal with it, to cope with it, to push
the pain to the boundaries of his mind.

He had to find something to do. He leapt up, intending to stride down to the beach for the second time in an hour. Bandit stood too. He stared at her and pursed his lips. If he went down there she’d want to come, and with her about to drop her puppies any day she should probably be taking it easy.

He glanced around wildly for something else to
do and his gaze landed on a rosebush. He nodded once. The garden needed wrestling into shape. He could wrestle while Bandit dozed in the sun.

He gathered some battered implements—a hoe, a trowel and secateurs—from the garage. He barely glanced at his car, even though he still made sure to turn the engine over twice a week. It reminded him too much of Jo.

Digging up weeds and pruning
rosebushes reminded him of Jo too. Everything reminded him of Jo. He wondered how she was getting along with her
macaron
tower.

One thing about being so hung up on Jo—it meant he had less time to brood about Ethan.

Jo’s voice sounded in his head.
You’re just going to give up...? Fight harder...

What else could he do? He’d make sure Ethan wanted for nothing.

Except a life.

He started reciting multiplication tables.

When lunchtime rolled around he ate cold omelette and a banana. He sat outside in the sun because the kitchen reminded him too much of Jo. So did the dining room.

‘I miss her
more
,’ he shot at Bandit, who moped nearby. She didn’t flick so much as a whisker.

Has life always been that easy for you?

Yep. Right up until the accident.
‘But don’t worry, Jo—it’s hell now.’

Which was unfair. Jo had only ever wanted his happiness.

Fight harder.

‘How?’ He shouted out the word at the top of his lungs, making Bandit start.

He apologised with a pat to her head. What did Jo mean? How could he fight any harder? He was fighting as hard as he could!

He paced the length of the garden bed. He was fighting as hard
as he could to make money.

That wasn’t what Jo had meant, though, was it?

He bent at the waist to rest his hands on his knees. He didn’t know how to fight for Ethan when the other man hated the very sight of him. How could he rouse the younger man from his apathy and depression if—?

Mac froze. The trowel fell from his fingers. Ethan hated the sight of him in the same way Mac had
loathed the idea of a housekeeper. Blackmail had been the only method that had worked on him. Blackmail and playing on his guilt about Russ.

He’d loathed the very idea of Jo, but her presence here had forced him to reassess how he was living, to question the bad habits he’d formed. He certainly hadn’t welcomed her with open arms, but she hadn’t gone running for the hills.

As he’d done
with Ethan.

No, she’d forced his inward gaze outwards. She’d reminded him that he needed food and exercise for his body, along with sunlight and fresh air. She’d forced him to recognise that he wasn’t betraying the task he’d set himself if he took the time to enjoy those things. She’d made him see that he needed those things if he was to accomplish that task.

She’d stormed in here and
turned his world upside down. He hadn’t enjoyed it. He’d resisted it. But it had been good for him.

It had brought him back to life.

Who did Ethan have to give him that kind of tough love?

His mother? Very slowly Mac shook his head. Diana was too caught up in her fear for her son and her anger at the world.

From the corner of his eye he saw Bandit polish off the rest of his
abandoned omelette. He didn’t bother scolding her. She’d put up with his growly grumpiness and no Jo for the last fortnight too. If omelette helped, then all power to her.

Mac drummed his fingers against his thighs for a moment, before pushing his shoulders back and reaching into his pocket for his mobile phone. He punched in the number for Ethan’s doctor.

* * *

Jo carefully sealed
the lid on the airtight container holding the most perfect dozen
macarons
she’d ever seen. She set them gently on a shelf at the very back of the pantry with the other six dozen
macarons
she’d spent the last few days baking. She had twice as many as she needed, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Each and every one of them was perfect.

All the less than perfect ones had been placed in her
grandmother’s biscuit tin, and even her grandmother’s enthusiasm for them had started to wane. After her grandmother’s birthday dinner tonight Jo would be glad if she never set eyes on another
macaron
for as long as she lived.

Puffing out a breath, she moved back to the table and pulled a plastic cone towards her. She had another eight of these cones in the cupboard. This one she was going
to ice. Easy-peasy. Which was precisely what it wanted to be after the number of cones she’d already practised on.

She pushed her hair back from her face. What on earth possessed people to spend hours—or in this case days—slaving over a dish that would be demolished in a matter of minutes? Where was the satisfaction in that?

If Mac ever rang her she’d ask him.

Her throat ached,
her temples throbbed and her chest cramped—as always happened whenever she thought about Mac. And as she thought about him a lot you’d think she’d be used to it by now.

She gripped her hands together. It had been eight weeks since she’d left his coastal hideaway, but she still hadn’t grown used to the gaping sense of loss that yawned through her. Some days it was all she could do to get from
minute to minute. Some days it was all she could do not to lie in some dark corner and shut the rest of the world out.

But what good would that do anyone?

Please!
Some histrionic part of herself that tore at her hair and sobbed uncontrollably pleaded with her.
Please, can’t we just...?

Jo swallowed hard and shook her head, blinking furiously.
No, they couldn’t.

She wished she’d
been able to hold onto her anger for longer. That anger had helped initially, but it had slipped away almost as soon as she’d arrived home. Instead, the hope that Mac would come to his senses had grown—the hope that he’d call her and tell her he loved her and was prepared to create a life that included her.

Which made her a certifiable idiot.

‘But a beautiful idiot,’ she whispered, reminding
herself that her time with Mac hadn’t been entirely wasted.

Of course it hadn’t been wasted. By the time she’d left he’d been healthier, stronger, and sexier than sin. Whether he knew it or not, she’d been good for him.

Oh, he knew it all right. It just wasn’t enough.

She collected icing sugar—the good, pure stuff—butter, milk and food colouring. The fact of the matter was she
had
heard from Mac. Twice. A curt email on the evening she’d left, asking if she’d reached her destination safely. She’d answered with an equally short
Yes, thank you
. And a week later he’d sent her a recipe for a
macaron
tower.

She’d thanked him again. Very briefly. And that had been the sorry extent of their communication. She expected to hear from him soon, though. Bandit must have had her
puppies by now, and those puppies must be getting old enough to be weaned.

Why hadn’t he let her know when Bandit had had them and how many there were? Why...?

Because he’d been too caught up in whatever his latest scheme was for making money for Ethan, that was why.

She seized the plastic cone and snapped it in half. She dug her fingernails into it and gouged and shredded until
some of the frustration eased out of her. Then she calmly retrieved another one and set it on the table. She pulled in a breath.

Okay, now she was ready to start.

The doorbell rang, but Jo ignored it. It would simply be more flowers for her grandmother. Her grandmother could answer it.

Jo set about measuring icing sugar.

Grandma popped her head into the kitchen a moment later.
‘Jo, dear, would you mind coming out for a moment? We have a visitor.’

‘Is it Great-Aunt Edith?’ Had she dropped in early for some reason?

‘No, dear, and I don’t believe it’s an emissary sent by her to sabotage the making of your
macaron
tower either.’

Your
macaron
tower.
But Jo remained silent. Her great-aunt mightn’t like losing, but she’d never stoop to foul play. Her grandmother,
however, had taken to imagining dastardly plots at every turn.

Wiping her hands down the front of her shirt, Jo walked out into the lounge room—and her hands froze at rib level when she saw who stood there.

Mac!

She stared, mouth agape. It took all her strength to snap it closed again, and the blood pounded in her ears and she had to plant her feet to counter the sudden giddiness
that swirled through her.

She glanced at her grandmother, who smiled serenely.

She glanced at Mac, who smiled serenely.

Serene?
Her heart tried to pound a path out of her chest. She wanted to scream. Whether in joy or despair, though, she wasn’t sure.

‘Hello, Jo.’

She swallowed and released the lip she’d been biting. ‘What are you doing here, Mac?’

‘Didn’t I say,
dear?’ Grandma patted her arm. ‘I’ve hired Mac to cater my dinner.’

She’d
what
? ‘But...how?’

‘I rang to tell you about the puppies, but you weren’t in.’

Grandma hadn’t mentioned that!

‘We got talking. Your grandmother asked me if I’d be interested in catering her birthday dinner. And...’ He shrugged.

It took every last muscle she had not to dissolve in the warmth of his
eyes. The heat between them was as blistering as ever. She gripped her hands together. It would be a bad idea. Becoming lovers with this man would make her miserable.

You’re already miserable.

She tossed her head and hardened her heart. ‘And...?’ she persisted.

‘And I found I couldn’t refuse.’

She would
not
be his consolation prize.

She opened her mouth, a set-down on
her lips, but Mac had turned away to rifle in a basket.

He turned back with a handful of squirming fluffy puppy, wearing a pink and green bow around its neck. ‘Happy birthday, Lucinda.’

‘Oh, my word. Edith will have a fit!’ Her grandmother clapped her hands in delight. ‘Thank you, Malcolm, what a lovely gift.’

Jo tried to prevent her eyes from starting from her head.

‘And this
one here is for you, Jo. I’ve called her Beauty.’

He placed the puppy in her arms and she had to close her eyes as his familiar scent hit her and the warmth of his voice threatened to cast a spell about her.

She took a step away from him. Liking each other had never been their problem. It was only logical that he’d still like her as much as he ever had—want her as much as he ever had.
What wasn’t logical was her instant response to him, given all that had happened—or not happened—between them.

It had been two months. She shouldn’t love him as much now as she had then. She wanted to weep, only it filled her with so much joy to see him.

You’ll pay for it tomorrow.

Her eyes stung. She moved further away from him, from all the temptation and remembered pain, to perch
on an armchair with her sweet, sleepy puppy.

‘Believe it or not...’

She couldn’t help but glance up.

‘Bandit has been pining for you.’

Only Bandit?
She shook her head. ‘I don’t believe you.’

On the other side of the room her grandmother cooed over her puppy. Beauty snuggled down on Jo’s lap, taking the base of Jo’s thumb into her mouth as if determined to keep a hold of
her. Jo covered her body with her free hand to let her know she was loved.

‘The moment you left she set up a whine that turned into a howl.’

Truly?
She gestured for him to take a seat on the sofa opposite, but he didn’t move from where he stood. He all but devoured her with his hot, hungry gaze. She rolled her shoulders and swallowed.

‘She hasn’t forgiven me yet for letting you
leave.’

Jo would. Forgive him, that was. If he said he was sorry and asked her to return with him she would. In an instant

No! That would be a bad thing, remember?
She had a life. She’d have a new job soon. She had a puppy.

But she didn’t have Mac.

You can’t have everything.

She lifted her chin. ‘Good for her.’ She was
not
going to sacrifice her life to a man intent on
sacrificing his own life to guilt and regret.

‘How’s Ethan?’ It was a nasty little dart, but they both needed to remember why they couldn’t be together.

‘He’s doing okay. I left him and Diana out at the beach house.’