Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set (3 page)

Risk being seen in public?
No!
He—

‘During daylight hours,’ she continued remorselessly. ‘You need vitamin D and to lose that awful pallor.’

‘You do know
I’ve been ill, don’t you?’ he demanded. ‘That I’ve been in hospital?’

‘You haven’t been in hospital for months. Do you have
any
idea how much you’ve let yourself go? You used to have a strong, lean body and lovely broad shoulders.’

Which were still broader than hers. Though he didn’t point that out.

‘And you used to move with a lanky, easy saunter. Now...? Now you look about fifty.’

He glared. He was only forty.

‘And not a good fifty either. You look as if I could snap you in half.’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I wouldn’t advise you to try that.’

She blinked and something chased itself across her face, as if she’d suddenly realised he was a man—a living, breathing man—rather than a job or a problem she had to solve.

Not that it meant she fancied him or anything
stupid like that. How could anyone fancy him now? But...

For the first time since the fire he suddenly
felt
like a living, breathing man.

‘If you want me to change my mind about you, Mac, I want to see you walk down to the beach and back every day. It’s all your own property, so you don’t need to be worried about bumping into strangers if you’re that jealous of your privacy.’

‘The
beach is public land.’ He had neighbours who walked on it every day.

‘I didn’t say you had to walk
along
it—just down to it.’

‘The land that adjoins my property to the north—’ he gestured to the left ‘—is all national park.’ There’d be the occasional hiker.

‘So walk along that side of your land, then.’ She gestured to the right and then folded her arms. ‘I’m simply answering your
question. If you find daily exercise too difficult, then I’ve probably made my point.’

He clenched his jaw, breathed in for the count of five and then unclenched it to ask, ‘What else?’

‘I’d like you to separate your work and sleep areas. A defined routine to your day will help me believe you have a handle on things. Hence a workspace that’s separate from your bedroom.’

He glared
at her. ‘Fine—whatever. And...?’

‘I’d also want you to give up alcohol. Or at least drinking bourbon in your room on your own.’

She’d seen the bottle.
Damn!

‘Finally, I’d want you to take your evening meal in the dining room with me.’

So she could keep an eye on him—assess his mental state. He could feel his nostrils flare as he dragged in a breath. He was tempted to tell her
to go to hell, except...

Except he might have given up caring about himself, but he hadn’t given up caring about Russ. His brother might be eleven and a half years older than Mac, but they’d always been close. Russ had always looked out for him. The least Mac could do now was look out for Russ in whatever limited capacity he could. With Russ’s health so tenuous Mac couldn’t risk adding to
his stress levels.

Jo’s phone rang. She pulled it from the back pocket of her jeans. He stared at that hip and something stirred inside him. And then desire hit him—hot and hard. He blinked. He turned away to hide the evidence, adjusting his jeans as he pretended an interest in the horizon.

What on earth...? He liked his women slim and compact, polished and poised. Jo Anderson might
be poised, but as for the rest of it...

He dragged a hand back through his hair. There was no denying, though, that his body reacted to her like a bee to honey. He swallowed. It was probably to be expected, right? He’d been cooped up here away from all human contact for four months. This was just a natural male reaction to the female form.

‘I don’t know, Russ.’

That snapped him
back.

‘Yeah...’ She flicked a glance in his direction. ‘I’ve seen him.’

Mac winced at her tone.

‘You have yourself a deal.’ He pitched his words low, so they wouldn’t carry down the phone to Russ, but they still came out savage. He couldn’t help it. He held up one finger. ‘Give me one week.’

‘Hmm... Well, he’s looking a little peaky—as if he’s had the flu or a tummy bug.’

He seized her free hand. Startled sage eyes met his. ‘Please,’ he whispered.

The softness and warmth of her hand seeped into him and almost made him groan, and then her hand tightened about his and his mouth went dry in a millisecond.

When she shook herself free of him a moment later he let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding.

‘I expect it’s nothing that a
bit of rest, gentle exercise, home-cooked food and sun won’t put to rights in a week or two.’

He closed his eyes and gave thanks.

‘Nah, I promise. I won’t take any risks. I’ll call a doctor in if he hasn’t picked up in a few days. Here—you want to talk to him?’

And before Mac could shake his head and back away he found the phone thrust out to him.

He swallowed the bile that
rose in his throat and took it. ‘Hey, Russ, how you doing?’

‘Better than you, by the sounds of it. Though it explains why you haven’t answered my last two calls.’

He winced. ‘It’s all I’ve been able to do to keep up with my email.’
I’m sorry, bro.
He hadn’t been good for anyone. Least of all his brother.

‘Well, you listen to Jo, okay? She’s got a good head on her shoulders.’

He glanced at said head and noticed how the wavy dark hair gleamed in the sun, and how cute little freckles sprinkled a path across the bridge of her nose. She had a rather cute nose. She cocked an eyebrow and he cleared his throat.

‘Will do,’ he forced himself to say.

‘Good. I want you in the best of health when I come to visit.’

He choked back a cough. Russ was coming to visit?

‘Give my love to Jo.’

With that, Russ hung up. Mac stared at Jo. ‘When is he coming to visit?’

She shrugged and plucked her phone from his fingers.

‘Why is he coming?’

‘Oh, that one’s easy. Because he loves you. He wants to see you before he goes under the knife.’ She met his gaze. ‘In case he doesn’t wake up after the operation.’

‘That’s crazy.’

‘Is it?’

‘Russ is going to be just fine!’ His brother didn’t need to exert himself in any fashion until he was a hundred per cent fit again.

She stared at him for a long moment. ‘Are you familiar with the Banjo Paterson poem “The Man From Snowy River”?’

Her question threw him. ‘Sure.’

‘Can you remember what comes after the first couple of lines? “There was movement at the station, for the
word had passed around that the colt from old Regret had got away...”.’

‘“And had joined the wild bush horses—he was worth a thousand pound, So all the cracks had gathered to the fray”,’ he recited. His class had memorised that in the third grade.

‘Wild... Worth... Fray...’ she murmured in that honeyed liquid sunshine voice of hers.

‘Why?’

She shook herself. ‘No reason. Just
an earworm.’

She seized her suitcases and strode back towards the house with them, and he couldn’t help feeling his fate had just been sealed by a poem.

And then it hit him.

Honey! The ingredient he’d been searching for was honey.

CHAPTER TWO

J
O
TOOK
A
couple of deep breaths before spooning spaghetti and meatballs onto two plates. If Mac said something cutting about her efforts in the kitchen she’d—

She’d dump the contents of his plate in his lap?

She let out a slow breath. It was a nice fantasy, but she wouldn’t. She’d just act calm and unconcerned, as she always did, and pretend the slings and
arrows didn’t touch her.

Seizing the plates, she strode into the dining room. She set one in front of Mac and the other at her place opposite. He didn’t so much as glance at the food, but he did glare at her. Was he going to spend the entire week sulking?

What fun.

She stared back, refusing to let him cow her. She’d expected the shouting and the outrage. After all, he wasn’t known
as ‘Mad Mac’—television’s most notorious and demanding celebrity chef—for nothing. The tabloids had gone to town on him after the accident, claiming it would never have happened if ‘Mad Mac’ hadn’t been so intimidating.

She bit back a sigh. It was all nonsense, of course. She’d had the inside scoop on Mac from Russ. She knew all of that onscreen TV shouting had been a front—a ploy to send
the ratings skyrocketing. It had worked too. So it hadn’t surprised her that he’d donned that persona when she’d stormed in on him earlier. But the sulking threw her.

‘What?’ he bit out when she continued to stare.

She shook herself. ‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.’ She picked up her cutlery and sliced into a meatball.

‘You’re religious?’

‘No.’ The prayer had just seemed a convenient way to handle an awkward silence. ‘I mean, I do believe in something bigger than us—whatever that may be.’

Mac didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move to pick up his cutlery.

She forged on. ‘One of the guys on the mineral exploration camps was a Christian and we all got into the habit of saying Grace. It’s nice. It doesn’t hurt to remember
the things we should be grateful for.’

His frown deepened to a scowl. ‘You really think that’s going to work? You really think you can make my life seem okay just by—?’

She slammed her knife and fork down. ‘Not everything is about you, Mac.’ She forced her eyes wide. ‘Some of it might even be about me.’ Couldn’t he at least look at his food? He needn’t think it would taste any better
cold. ‘Your attitude sucks. You know that? Frankly, I don’t care if you’ve decided to self-destruct or not, but you can darn well wait until after Russ has recovered from his bypass surgery to do it.’

‘You’re not exactly polite company, are you?’

‘Neither are you. Besides, I refuse to put any effort into being good company for as long as you sulk. I’m not your mother. It’s not my job
to cajole you into a better temper.’

His jaw dropped.

And he still hadn’t touched his food.

‘Eat something, Mac. If we’re busy eating we can abandon any pretence at small talk.’

A laugh choked out of him and just for a moment it transformed him. Oh, the burn scars on the left side of his face and neck were still as angry and livid as ever, but his mouth hooked up and his eyes
momentarily brightened and he held his head at an angle she remembered from his television show.

It was why she was still here. Earlier this afternoon he’d fired up—not with humour, but with intensity and passion. He’d become the man she’d recognised from the TV, but also from Russ’s descriptions.
That
was a man she could work with.

Finally he did as she bade and forked a small mouthful
of meatball and sauce into his mouth. When he didn’t gag, a knot of tension eased out of her.

‘This isn’t bad.’ He ate some more and frowned. ‘In fact, it’s pretty good.’

Yeah, right.
He was just trying to butter her up, frightened of what she might tell Russ.

‘Actually, it’s very good—considering the state of the pantry.’

She almost believed him. Almost. ‘I’ll need to shop
for groceries tomorrow. I understand we’re halfway between Forster and Taree here. Any suggestions for where I should go?’

‘No.’

When he didn’t add anything she shook her head and set to eating. It had been a long day and she was tired and hungry. She halted with half a meatball practically in her mouth when she realised he’d stopped eating and was staring at her.

‘What?’

‘I wasn’t being rude. It’s just that I haven’t been to either town. I was getting groceries delivered from a supermarket in Forster.’

‘Was?’

He scowled. ‘The delivery man couldn’t follow instructions.’

Ah. Said delivery man had probably encroached on Mac’s precious privacy. ‘Right. Well, I’ll try my luck in Forster, then.’ She’d seen signposts for the town before turning off to Mac’s
property.

He got back to work on the plate in front of him with... She blinked. With
gusto
? Heat spread through her stomach.
Oh, don’t be ridiculous!
He’d had his own TV show. He was a consummate actor. But the heat didn’t dissipate.

She pulled in a breath. ‘I’m hoping Russ warned you that I’m not much of a cook.’

He froze. Very slowly he lowered his cutlery. ‘Russ said you were
a good plain cook. On this evening’s evidence I’d agree with him.’ His face turned opaque. ‘You’re feeling intimidated cooking for a...?’

‘World-renowned chef?’ she finished for him. ‘Yes, a little. I just want you to keep your expectations within that realm of plain, please.’

She bit back a sigh. Plain—what a boring word.
Beauty is as beauty does.
The old adage sounded through her mind.
Yeah, yeah, whatever
.

‘I promise not to criticise your cooking. I will simply be...’ he grimaced ‘...grateful for whatever you serve up. You don’t need to worry that I’ll be secretly judging your technique.’

‘I expect there’d be nothing secret about it. I think you’d be more than happy to share your opinions on the matter.’

His lips twitched.

‘Is there anything you don’t eat?’
she rushed on, not wanting to dwell on those lips for too long.

He shook his head.

‘Is there anything in particular you’d like me to serve?’

He shook his head again.

There was something else she’d meant to ask him...
Oh, that’s right.
‘You have a garage...’

They both reached for the plate of garlic bread at the same time. He waited for her to take a slice first. He had
nice hands. She remembered admiring them when she’d watched him on TV. Lean, long-fingered hands that looked strong and—

‘The garage?’

She shook herself. ‘Would there be room for me to park my car in there? I expect this sea air is pretty tough on a car’s bodywork.’

‘Feel free.’

‘Thank you.’

They both crunched garlic bread. He watched her from the corner of his eye. She
chewed and swallowed, wondering what he made of her. She sure as heck wasn’t like the women he was forever being photographed with in the papers. For starters she was as tall as a lot of men, and more athletic than most.

Not Mac, though. Even in his current out-of-form condition he was still taller and broader than her—though she might give him a run for his money in an arm wrestle at the
moment.

Her stomach tightened. He was probably wondering what god he’d cheesed off to have a woman like
her
landing on his doorstep. Mac was a golden boy. Beautiful. And she was the opposite. Not that
that
had anything to do with anything. What he thought of her physically made no difference whatsoever.

Except, of course, it did. It always mattered.

‘You’ve shown a lot of concern
for Russ.’

Her head came up. ‘Yes?’

He scowled at her. ‘Are you in love with him? He’s too old for you, you know.’

It surprised her so much she laughed. ‘You’re kidding, right?’ She swept her garlic bread through the leftover sauce on her plate.

His frown deepened. ‘No.’

‘I love your brother as a friend, but I’m not in love with him. Lord, what a nightmare
that
would be.’
She sat back and wiped her fingers on a serviette.

‘Why?’

‘I’m not a masochist. You and your brother have similar tastes in women. You both date petite, perfectly made-up blondes who wear killer heels and flirty dresses.’ She hadn’t packed a dress. She didn’t even own a pair of heels.

He pushed his plate away, his face darkening. ‘How the hell do
you
know what type I like?’ He turned
sideways in his chair to cross his legs. It hid his scarring from her view.

‘It’s true I’m basing my assumption on who you’ve been snapped with in the tabloids and what Russ has told me.’

‘You make us sound shallow.’

If the shoe fits...

‘But I can assure you that the women you just described wouldn’t look twice at me now.’

‘Only if they were superficial.’

His head
jerked up.

‘And beauty and superficiality don’t necessarily go hand in hand.’

No more than plain and stupid, or plain and thick-skinned.

He opened his mouth, but she continued on over the top of him. ‘Anyway, you’re not going to get any sympathy from me on that. I’ve never been what people consider beautiful. I’ve learned to value other things. You think people will no longer find
you beautiful—

‘I
know
they won’t!’

He was wrong, but... ‘So welcome to the club.’

His jaw dropped.

‘It’s not the end of the world, you know?’

He stared at her for a long moment and then leaned across the table. ‘What the hell are you
really
doing here, Jo Anderson?’

She stared back at him, and inside she started to weep—because she wanted to ask this man to teach
her to cook and he was so damaged and angry that she knew he would toss her request on the rubbish heap and not give it so much as the time of day.

Something in his eyes gentled. ‘Jo?’

Now wasn’t the time to raise the subject. It was becoming abundantly clear that there might never be a good time.

She waved a hand in the air. ‘The answer is twofold.’ It wasn’t a lie. ‘I’m here to
make sure you don’t undo all the hard work I’ve put into Russ.’

He sat back. ‘Hard work?’

She should rise and clear away their plates, clean the kitchen, but he deserved some answers. ‘Do you know how hard, how physically demanding, it is to perform CPR for five straight minutes?’ Which was what she’d done for Russ.

He shook his head, his eyes darkening.

‘It’s really hard.
And all the while your mind is screaming in panic and making deals with the universe.’

‘Deals?’

‘Please let Russ live and I’ll never say another mean word about anyone ever again. Please let Russ live and I promise to be a better granddaughter and great-niece. Please let Russ live and I’ll do whatever you ask, will face my worst fears... Blah, blah, blah.’ She pushed her hair back off
her face. ‘You know—the usual promises that are nearly impossible to keep.’ She stared down at her glass of water. ‘It was the longest five minutes of my life.’

‘But Russ did live. You did save his life. It’s an extraordinary thing.’

‘Yes.’

‘And now you want to make sure that I don’t harm his recovery?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Which is why you’re here—to check up on me
so you can ease Russ’s mind?’

‘He was going to come himself, and that didn’t seem wise.’

Mac turned grey.

‘But you don’t have it quite right. Russ is doing me a favour, organising this job for me.’

He remained silent, not pressing her, and she was grateful for that.

‘You see, Russ’s heart attack and my fear that he was going to die brought me face to face with my own mortality.’

He flinched and she bit back a curse. What did she know about mortality compared to this man? She reached across to clasp his hand in a sign of automatic sympathy, but he froze. A bad taste rose in her mouth and she pulled her hand back into her lap. Her heart pounded. He wouldn’t welcome her touch. Of course he wouldn’t.

‘I expect you know what I’m talking about.’

Mac’s accident
had left him with serious burns, but it had left a young apprentice fighting for his life. She remembered Russ’s relief when the young man had finally been taken off the critical list.

‘What I’m trying to say is that it’s made me reassess my life. It’s forced me to admit I wasn’t very happy, that I didn’t really like my job. I don’t want to spend the next twenty years feeling like that.’

She blew out a breath.

‘So when Russ found out you needed a housekeeper and mentioned it to me I jumped at the chance. It’ll give me two or three months to come up with a game plan.’

* * *

Mac stared at her. ‘You’re changing careers?’

‘Uh-huh.’ She looked a bit green.

‘To do what?’

She turned greener. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’

He knew that feeling.

Mac didn’t want to be touched by her story—he didn’t want to be touched by anything—but he was. Maybe it was the sheer simplicity of the telling, the lack of fanfare. Or maybe it was because he understood that sense of dissatisfaction she described. He’d stalled out here in his isolation and his self-pity while she was determined to surge forward.

Maybe if he watched her he’d learn—

He cut that thought off. He didn’t deserve the chance to move forward. He’d ruined a man’s life. He deserved to spend the rest of his life making amends.

But not at the expense of other people. Like Russ. Or Jo.

‘You’re wrong, you know?’

She glanced up. ‘About...?’

‘You seem to think you’re plain—invisible, even.’
Not beautiful.

‘Invisible?’ She snorted. ‘I’m six feet tall
with a build some charitably call generous. Invisible is the one thing I’m not.’

‘Generous’ was the perfect word to describe her. She had glorious curves in all the right places. A fact that his male hormones acknowledged and appreciated even while his brain told him to leave that well enough alone.

He leaned back, careful to keep the good side of his face to her. ‘You’re a very striking
woman.’
Don’t drool.
‘So what if you’re tall? You’re in proportion.’ She looked strong, athletic and full of life. ‘You have lovely eyes, your hair is shiny, and you have skin that most women would kill for. You may not fit in with conventional magazine cover ideals of beauty, but it doesn’t mean you aren’t beautiful. Stop selling yourself short. I can assure you that you’re not plain.’