Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set (6 page)

‘If you’re not going to watch
then you best go somewhere else to pace. You’re making me nervous.’

Go where? Do what? He didn’t have a hope of settling to work at the moment. What if she didn’t understand an instruction? What if—?

‘Go toss a ball for Bandit.’

With a nod, he barrelled outside. The dog had a seemingly boundless reserve of energy.

Mac threw the ball three times. When Bandit brought it back
the third time he gave the border collie an absent-minded scratch behind the ears. ‘How do you think she’s getting on in there, boy?’

He glanced back towards the house. It wasn’t as if she had to do anything difficult—just measure out a few ingredients, chop up a tablespoon of onion. Simple, right?

He sprang up the steps and moved soundlessly across to the door. He breathed in deeply
but couldn’t smell anything. He straightened, ran a hand back through his hair. He should at least smell the vinegar being brought to the boil by now, surely? She should be reducing the mixture and...

Maybe she hadn’t started the reduction yet.

He reached for the door handle.

Bandit barked.

With a curse, Mac wheeled away and clattered back down the steps. He threw the ball
until his arm grew tired and then he switched arms. Bandit didn’t show any signs of tiring. All the while Mac kept his attention cocked for any sign of sound and movement behind him.

Finally Jo emerged from the front door, bearing a plate of sandwiches, a jug of water and two glasses. ‘Hungry?’ she called out.

Not a bit—but he moved to where she’d set the things on the wooden table that
stood at one end of the veranda and poured them both glasses of water. He drank his in an effort to appear nonchalant.

‘Run into any problems?’

She settled on the bench that sat between the living room windows, bit into a sandwich and lifted one shoulder.

He peered at her sandwich and blinked. ‘Is that peanut butter and honey?’

‘Yup.’

He stared.

‘What?’ She glared.
‘I
like
peanut butter and honey. You don’t have to eat one. I made you roast beef and pickles.’

He obeyed the unspoken demand in her voice and selected a sandwich. ‘What did the shrug mean?’ He promptly bit into the sandwich to stop himself pressing her further.

She licked a drizzle of honey from her fingers. It was unconsciously sensuous and very seductive. The fact that she didn’t
mean it to be didn’t make a scrap of difference. He forced his gaze away and concentrated on chewing and swallowing.

‘I think I should probably tell you that I’m not up on a lot of cooking terminology. The very first time a recipe told me to
“cream the butter and sugar”
I thought it was directing me to add cream to the butter and sugar.’

He’d been leaning with a hip against the railing
but he surged upright at her words. ‘This recipe didn’t ask you to cream anything.’

She waved a hand through the air. ‘That’s just an example. But...you know...
“reduce the mixture by a third”
isn’t the kind of thing I read every day.’

‘Do you think I need to add an explanation to describe what reducing means?’

She pursed her lips. ‘No, I figured it out, but...’

He leaned towards
her. ‘Yes?’

‘Why go to all the trouble of reducing at all? Why not just add less vinegar, water and onion to begin with?’

‘Simmering the ingredients together infuses the flavours to provide a base for the sauce.’

She sat back and stared. ‘Now
that’s
interesting.’ She pointed a finger at him. ‘That should go in the cookbook.’

Really?

‘But, you know, I want you to realise
that I might be more clueless than your real demographic, so—’

‘No, you’re perfect.’

She glanced up, obviously startled at this statement. Their gazes locked for a moment. They both glanced away at the same time.

Mac’s heart surged against his ribs. Why did this woman have to affect him like this? He’d known beautiful women in the past who had left him cold. Why couldn’t Jo leave
him cold?

Oh, no, not her. She threatened to ignite him. And for the first time in months the thought of heat and fire didn’t fill his soul with dread. He glanced back at her. The pulse at the base of her throat fluttered madly. Unlike him, though, it wouldn’t be desire but fear that had sent the blood surging through her veins. Fear that he would touch her.

It left a bad taste in his
mouth.

‘So...’ She cleared her throat. ‘My reduction is cooling and infusing, and I’ll strain it later when I’m ready to make the sauce. Feel free to go and check it out.’

He started for the door.

‘But...’

He turned back.

‘I didn’t know what tarragon vinegar was.’

He strode back to where she sat, one eyebrow raised.

‘So I just used plain old white vinegar.’

He let out a breath.

‘I briefly flirted with the idea of adding a herb to the mixture—like rosemary.’

He grimaced. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but—

‘Though in the end I decided not to risk it.’

‘It sounds as if you’ve done a great job.’

She didn’t look convinced. ‘I have another request to make. I’ve no idea what a double saucepan is.’

She needed to use
one when adding butter—bit by tiny bit—to the reduction later, to create the sauce.

‘I’m not asking you to tell me what it is, but can I bring my laptop into the kitchen with me? I would if I were cooking at home.’

‘Of course you can.’

‘And the final thing,’ she said before he could walk away again. ‘This recipe is Steak with Béarnaise Sauce, but you haven’t said what you want served
with it.’

‘New potatoes and green beans.’

‘Then you might want to include that at the end of the recipe too.’

Good point.

She suddenly laughed. ‘I can see you’re itching to check it out, so go. But wash your hands first. I don’t want dog hair in my reduction.’

He raced into the kitchen. He washed and dried his hands and then moved to the small saucepan sitting on the stovetop.
He could tell at a glance that she’d used too much onion. He lifted the saucepan to his nose and sniffed. It was a pity about the tarragon vinegar—if she was happy to continue this experiment of theirs then they’d need to stock up on some of the more exotic ingredients—but all in all she’d done okay. The tension bled out of his shoulders.

She glanced up when he stepped back out onto the veranda.
‘Well?’

‘You’ve done a fine job. It’s not exactly how I’d want it, which tells me what parts of my instructions I need to fine-tune.’

Elation suddenly coursed through him. He could make this work. He
could
! Then there’d be enough money for Ethan’s hospital bills for the foreseeable future.

And after that?

He pushed that thought away. He had every intention of making sure Ethan
was looked after for the rest of his life. Maybe he could do a whole series of cookbooks if this one sold well?

‘This was a brilliant idea of yours, Jo. I can’t thank you enough.’

She waved that away.

‘If there’s anything I can do in return...?’

She glanced up. The sage in her eyes deepened for a moment. ‘I believe you mean that.’

‘I
do
mean it.’ He’d have sat on the bench
beside her, but that would mean sitting with the left side of his face towards her. He leant against the railing again instead.

‘Hold that thought.’

She disappeared into the house. She returned a moment later with a picture. His heart sank when she handed it to him. It was that damned
macaron
tower she’d already mentioned.

‘
Macarons
are tricky.’

‘Yes, but could you write me
a recipe telling me how to make them—how to make that?’

He blew out a breath. ‘This is an advanced recipe.’

‘But practice makes perfect, right? I have plenty of time on my hands. I’ll just keep practising.’

‘Why do you want to make a
macaron
tower?’ He could name a hundred tastier desserts.

He handed her back the picture. She took it, but a bad taste stretched through him when
he realised how careful she was not to touch him.

She stared down at the picture before folding it in half. ‘My grandmother turns eighty-five in two months, one week, four days and—what?—eleven hours twenty minutes? I’ve promised to make her one of these.’

Wow.

‘I want to do something nice for her.’

‘Nice’ would be taking her flowers, or treating her to lunch at a decent restaurant.
Or making her a
macaron
tower
.

‘Please, Mac, don’t look like that! This
has
to be possible. I’m not that much of a klutz in the kitchen. This is something I can build up to.’

‘Of course you can.’

‘He says with fake jollity,’ she said, so drily he had to laugh.

‘I didn’t mean that you can’t do it. I’m just blown away by the fact you
want
to.’

‘I love my grandmother. I want
to do something that will make her happy. She’s as fit as a horse, and as sharp as a tack, but she’s still coming up to eighty-five.’

She rose and seized the other half of her peanut butter and honey sandwich and came to lean beside him on the railing, on his left side. He turned to stare out to sea, giving her his right side instead.

‘My grandmother and my great-aunt raised me. Their
relationship has always been tempestuous. My grandmother always praised me and indulged me. My great-aunt always thought it in my best interests to...um...not to do that.’

He stilled and glanced at her, but he couldn’t read her face.

‘There’s an ongoing dispute over the rightful ownership of my great-grandmother’s pearl necklace. My great-aunt scoffed at the idea of my making that
macaron
tower and I’m afraid my grandmother has staked the pearl necklace on the fact that I can.’

His jaw dropped.

‘I believe my so-called
womanly
qualities have always been in dispute, and I’m afraid my great-aunt is now convinced that the necklace is hers.’

He straightened. ‘What exactly does she mean by
womanly
qualities?’ As far as he could see Jo’s ‘womanly qualities’ were exemplary.
‘You mean the domestic arts?’

She pointed what was left of her sandwich at him. ‘Exactly.’

He reached around her for another sandwich. It brought him in close. She smelled faintly of onions, vinegar and honey. His mouth watered. He ached to reach across, touch his lips to her cheek to see what she tasted like.

Jo polished off the rest of her sandwich and pushed away from the railing
to amble down the veranda a little way before turning. ‘I don’t mean to give up without a fight.’

He turned to face the house again, presenting her with his good side. ‘I can understand that.’ But didn’t she resent being piggy in the middle between the two older women?

‘Why do you keep doing that?’

A chill fluttered through him. ‘Doing what?’

‘Keeping the right side of your
face towards me? Isn’t it tiring?’

CHAPTER FIVE

I
T
WAS
REALLY
starting to bug her, the way Mac tried to hide his scar. Jo understood physical self-consciousness all too well, but Mac couldn’t spend the rest of his life trying to hide one side of his face. It just wouldn’t work.

‘The way you’re going, you’ll give yourself whiplash.’

‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

How cold he could sound
when he wanted—but she knew better. Mac wasn’t cold. He was... Well, he was hot. But that wasn’t what she meant.

He was devoting his life to making Ethan Devlin’s life better. Those weren’t the actions of a cold man.

‘Really?’ she said, walking around to his left side and deliberately surveying his scars. She’d noticed them before, of course, but scars didn’t make the man, and she’d
had other issues with Mac that had nothing to do with what he looked like.

The scars were red and angry. She sucked in a breath. Heck, they must hurt!

The pulse at the base of his jaw pounded. He held his body taut, as if it were taking all his strength to remain where he stood, and let her look at him.

He finally turned to glare at her, eyes flashing and lips pressed into a thin
line. ‘Satisfied?’

She stared back at him and had to swallow. Mac, when he was riled like this, was pretty virile. She had a feeling that the glare, the set of those shoulders and the angle of his jaw were all supposed to have her shaking in her boots.
Uh, no.
Though it certainly had her pulse racing. She moistened her lips. What it really made her want to do was run
to
him—not away from
him.

Lord, wouldn’t he laugh if he knew?

‘I don’t precisely know what you mean by
satisfied
, Mac.’

He swung away to stare out to sea, presenting her with his ‘good’ side again. ‘Satisfied,’ he growled, ‘as in have you had your fill of looking at it?’

Oh.

He kept his gaze firmly fixed in front of him, but she had a feeling he didn’t see the glorious view—the cobalt sky,
the indigo and aquamarine of the sea, the white foam of the surf and the golden beach, all at their most vivid at this time of the year before the sun bleached everything pale with summer intensity.

‘Doesn’t it sicken you to look at it?’

Her head rocked back. ‘Of course not.’

He turned to glare, a blast of arctic chill from frigid eyes. ‘When you first arrived you said these scars
shocked you to the core. Those were your exact words.’

She drew herself upright. ‘I wasn’t referring to your scars, you stupid—’ She bit back something rude and vulgar. ‘I was referring to how much you’d let yourself go!’

His jaw dropped.

She reached out and poked him in the shoulder. ‘Don’t you
dare
accuse me of being so shallow.’

His shoulders unbent.

She frowned and
adjusted her stance. ‘Does it sicken
you
whenever you look in a mirror?’

One of those lovely shoulders lifted. ‘I’m used to it.’

‘But what? You don’t think anyone else can get used to it? You don’t think anyone else can see past it?’

He didn’t say anything.

‘I’ve met beautiful people who’ve proved to be spiteful or selfish or snobs, and suddenly I find their allure loses most
of its gloss. I have friends who may not fit society’s rigid ideal of beautiful, but they have such good hearts I think them the most beautiful people in the world.’

‘Jo, I—’

‘No! You listen to what I have to say! If you value yourself and others only through physical beauty then you deserve to suffer every torment imaginable at the thought of losing your so-called pretty face. But,
as far as your face is concerned, I think it’s as pretty as it ever was.’

He stilled. He stared at her for a long moment. ‘You really mean that?’

She did.

He dragged in a breath and then turned to lean against the railing, his left side towards her. ‘I’m sorry I insinuated...’ He glanced at her. ‘That you were shallow. I didn’t mean to.’ He paused. ‘I agree that a person’s attractiveness
is more than how they look, but...’

She tried not to focus on the languid line of his body. ‘But...?’

‘There’s no denying looks have an impact on how a person is perceived.’

‘If a person is repelled by your scars they’re not worth the time of day.’ She folded her arms. ‘You know, it could prove a useful filtering device.’

He gave a bark of laughter. ‘You can’t say that.’

‘Don’t let anyone know you feel self-conscious about it, Mac. That’s my best advice. They’ll see it as a weakness, and there are people in the world who pounce on others’ weaknesses in an effort to build themselves up.’

He turned to her more fully. ‘That sounds like the voice of experience.’

She shrugged and tried to walk the walk she’d just talked. ‘Look at me.’ She gestured down
at herself.

‘I’ve been doing my very best not to do that, Jo. I promised you gentlemanly behaviour, but when I look at you...’

She rolled her eyes. ‘
Do
be serious.’

Mac moved to trap her against the veranda post and the side of the house. He planted one hand on the weatherboards by her head, the other on the railing near her waist. Her mouth dried. Her heart thudded so hard she
found it impossible to catch her breath.

‘What on earth do you think you’re—?’

‘Shut up or I’ll kiss you.’

She almost swallowed her tongue.

‘You have the nerve to give me a lecture about shallowness, beauty and an individual’s true worth, and then you want to carry on with
you’re not attractive
?’

She opened her mouth. His eyes suddenly gleamed, fixing on her mouth with
a hunger that had to be feigned! But she remembered his threat and snapped her mouth shut.

‘What a shame,’ he murmured, and in his eyes was a mixture of laughter and regret.

She wanted to call him a liar, but she didn’t dare.

‘When I said you were a striking woman I meant that in every positive way there is. I meant that I find you attractive. I meant that it takes a Herculean effort
on my part whenever I look at you to conceal my desire.’

She choked.

‘And it’s not because I’ve been isolated for the last four months.’

Again, she was tempted to call him a liar. She was tempted to say anything that would make him kiss her. Warmth threaded through her stomach at the thought, her thighs softened and her breasts grew heavy.

But if he kissed her she wouldn’t
be able to help it. She’d kiss him back and then he’d know how much she wanted him, how attractive she found him, and it would make her vulnerable. She swallowed. She didn’t want to be vulnerable around this man.

‘You seem to think you’re too tall for a woman...’

He moved in closer, his heat swamping her, though he still didn’t touch her. He smelled of soap and freshly ironed cotton...and
very faintly of dog. She really wished that last would put her off, but it didn’t.

‘I don’t think you’re too tall. I think you and I would fit perfectly.’

They might not be touching, but this close to him she felt dwarfed.

‘I could stare into your eyes all day. They’re so clear, and the colour changes depending on your emotion. I find myself wanting to learn what each shade means.’

That voice of his, its low intimate tone and the words he uttered, could weave a spell around a woman.

He eased back a fraction and she managed to draw air into her lungs again. Until she realised what he was doing and the breath jammed in her throat again.

‘You have the most intriguingly womanly shape—all dips and curves.’

He was staring at her body the same way she’d stared
at his face a short while ago. Had
he
felt this exposed? For heaven’s sake, she was fully clothed, but Mac’s eyes were practically undressing her—as if he was imagining what she’d look like without said clothes—and his eyes started to gleam and he actually licked his lips. She swallowed a moan and sagged against the wall, her pulse racing, bustling, jumping.

‘Your body is lush and strong,
and I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t aching to explore it. Thoroughly and intensely.’

The words scraped out of him, a hoarse whisper, and Jo’s head fell back against the house as she struggled to draw air into her lungs.

‘But that’s just the outside packaging. The woman I’m getting to know is passionate, she gives no quarter, but she is remarkably generous.’

His gaze burned fiercely
down into hers. She couldn’t have uttered a word if her life had depended on it.

‘And all of that makes me ache that much more to make love with you.’

How on earth had the morning descended to this? For years she’d worked among teams of men in remote locations in the Outback and she’d always managed to keep things on a professional footing.

This was only her fifth day with Mac,
and the air was charged with so much blatant sensuality it would melt anyone foolish enough to stumble into its path.

‘But I promised to be gentlemanly, so I won’t, but I’m sick to death of this ridiculous belief of yours that you’re not attractive. You’re a beautiful and very desirable woman.’

It frightened her.
He
frightened her. Because she wanted to believe him. Yet in her heart
she knew it was all lies.

Mac eased away and she tossed her head. ‘I know my worth, Mac, make no mistake. I’m smart and strong and I’m a good friend. But let’s make one thing very clear. Boys like you do
not
kiss girls like me.’ Not unless it was for a bet or a dare, or they were trying to manipulate them in some way. ‘It’s a fact of life.’ A fact she had no intention of forgetting.

He’d started to turn away, but now he turned back, a flare of anger darkening his face. And then a slow, satisfied gleam lit his eyes, his mouth, even his shoulders—though she couldn’t have explained how.

‘Perfect...’ he crooned.

And then he moved in.

She raised her hands. ‘Don’t you—’

He claimed her lips swiftly, pushing her back against the house, taking his time exploring
every inch of her mouth. She tried to turn her head to the side, but he followed her, his hands cupping her face. He crowded her completely, pressing every inch of his rock-hard self against her. His chest flattened her breasts—breasts that strained to get closer. He thrust a leg between her thighs, pressing against her most sensitive spot in the most irresistible way. It made her gasp. With a purr
of satisfaction his tongue plundered her mouth.

Stop! Stop! Stop!

But he didn’t stop kissing her, savouring her, pressing against her, making her feel desired, making her feel beautiful, and with a moan scraping from the back of her throat she curled her hands into the soft cotton of his sweater and kissed him back. She wanted to know him, taste him. She wanted to savour him in the same
way he savoured her. Her hands explored his shoulders and dived into the thickness of his hair. But she wanted more—so much more.

One of his arms went around her waist—he spanned it effortlessly—and hauled her closer as if she weighed nothing. It sent shivers of delight spiralling through her. Their kisses went from tasting and savouring to a deepening hunger. Held in his arms like this,
dwarfed by his height and breadth, Jo felt almost dainty, utterly feminine and beautiful.

When his hand slid beneath her shirt to cup her breast his moan made her shake. He was moaning for
her
. He wanted
her
!

His thumb flicked across her nipple through the nylon of her bra. Desire spiked from her nipple to the core deep at the centre of her. She shifted against him, restless for more,
seeking relief...seeking release and—

If they kept this up there was only one way it would end. She stilled. So did he. He didn’t remove his hand from her breast and his heat branded her, tormented her. She didn’t remove her arms from around his neck.

They both breathed hard, as if they’d run a race.

‘I beg to differ.’

She blinked up at him blankly.

‘Guys like me most
certainly
do
kiss women like you. And what’s more, Jo, they enjoy every moment of it.’

One kiss couldn’t erase a lifetime of taunts, a lifetime of feeling she’d never measured up. A lifetime of never feeling beautiful.

She swallowed. Mac had kissed her as if he found her beautiful, but she still wasn’t convinced he wasn’t playing some deeper game. She removed her arms from around his
neck. With the wall of his house behind her, she had nowhere to move to.

‘Let me go, Mac.’

He did immediately.

Regardless of any of his reasons for kissing her, regardless of how much her body clamoured otherwise, this couldn’t go any further.

‘I’ve known you for five days.’ Not even five full days. ‘I don’t jump into bed with men I’ve known for such a short time.’ Was that
his style?

He moved down to the next veranda post, leaving a whole span of veranda railing between them. ‘I’m forty years old, Jo. The days when I thought one-night stands and flings were fun are long behind me.’

She’d never thought one-night stands or flings fun. Sharing her body with a man had always been a fraught experience and not one she’d ever raced into.

And yet today she’d
almost...

She bent at the waist to lean her forearms along the railing, unconsciously mimicking Mac’s posture.

‘That kiss became a whole lot more a whole lot quicker than I meant it to,’ he said.

She winced at the apology, glanced at him from the corner of her eye and found him staring stolidly out to sea. She grimaced, shuffled, and finally gave in, huffing out a breath. ‘Yeah,
well, it takes two to tango. It was just as much my fault as yours.’

He straightened and surveyed her. She tried not to picture what he must see—a clumsy giant of a woman. She remained in what she desperately hoped was a nonchalant, casual pose—a pose that proclaimed a kiss like that
hadn’t
rocked her world. That kisses like that happened to her all the time and she was used to them.

Ha!
If kisses like that happened to her all the time she’d be...