Harlequin Romance April 2015 Box Set (8 page)

She didn’t wait for an answer but continued straight into the house on those long, strong legs of hers.

‘So that was a hypothetical question,
then?’ he muttered.

Good. Because he didn’t have an answer for it.

* * *

Jo sensed the exact moment when Mac loomed in the dining room’s doorway. She didn’t turn from where she’d set down dishes of new potatoes and buttered green beans.

‘You’re just in time. Take a seat.’

‘On one condition.’

She turned at that. ‘What?’

‘That we call a truce and promise not to
holler at each other for the next hour.’

The tension in her shoulders melted away. ‘Make it two and you have yourself a deal.’

His lips lifted. Not quite a smile, but almost. Maybe they’d achieve one by the end of the meal.

He took a seat. ‘Did you have any trouble with my instructions?’

‘I don’t think so. Proof is in the pudding, though, so to speak.’

She went to retrieve
their steaks, oddly nervous as she set his plate in front of him.

He helped himself to potatoes and beans. Jo dug straight into her steak, slathered in béarnaise sauce. She closed her eyes.
Oh, dear Lord, the sauce was to die for.
She’d be lining up for his cookbook the moment it came out.

‘You’ve overcooked your steak.’

She opened her eyes. ‘Try yours.’

He did.

‘And?’
she prompted.

‘It’s perfect.’

‘For you, maybe.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘I prefer my steak properly cooked—not underdone, the way you seem to like it.’

‘This is
not
underdone. It’s how steak should be cooked.’

‘And the sauce?’

He frowned. ‘You’ve cooked it a little too long and it’s started to separate.’

Truly? She stared at it.

‘It’s a pity about the tarragon
vinegar, and you used too much onion to flavour the reduction, but only an experienced foodie would know.’

He frowned at her steak again, but she ignored the silent censure. ‘Relax, Mac.’ She reached for the beans. ‘I’m actually pretty chuffed with my efforts—and that’s the point, isn’t it?’

He blinked.

‘I mean the people who try out your recipes—they’re going to adjust them to
their own tastes, right? Like I did with my steak?’

‘I guess.’

‘But as long as they feel they’ve created a nice meal they’re going to be happy, aren’t they? Mission accomplished.’

He straightened as if she’d zapped him. ‘You’re right. Nobody’s going to be assessing their creations with a mark out of ten.’

‘Uh, no.’

She tried not to focus on the shape of his lips, or the
scent of coconut that came from his still-damp hair. Hair that was a touch too long. Hair that had felt glorious when she’d run her fingers through it and—

She reached for her glass of water and drained it.

‘I think I’ve been getting too hooked up on every detail.’

He really did need to let up a bit.

‘But as long as my targeted audience is satisfied then that’s the best I can
hope for.’

Yup.

He suddenly grinned. Her heart skidded, and then settled to pound too hard too fast. She took back her earlier wish that he’d smile. She wished he wouldn’t. Why couldn’t her heart just behave normally around him?

‘So, have you come any closer to discovering your new career path today?’

This had become a habit—at dinnertime he’d throw suggestions at her about
a new vocation.

‘Go on—thrill me,’ she said.
Not literally.

‘Chef?’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I expect I’d need to like cooking for that.’

‘You don’t like to cook?’

‘I never became interested in it until I started watching your show. Russ made all of us watch it.’ She blew out a breath. ‘But I’m afraid you’re not going to make a convert of me. It’s all far too fiddly for
my liking.’

‘Gardener, then?’

‘It’s a pleasant enough way to while away an hour or two, but a whole day of it? A whole week of it? Month after month? No, thanks.’

Bandit pattered into the dining room. ‘Then maybe you’d like a stint as a dog breeder?’ Mac’s grin suddenly widened. ‘It could be the perfect fit. I discovered today that Bandit is, in fact, Bandita.’

‘What?’

‘He is a she. Bandit is a girl dog.’

Her jaw dropped. ‘You’re joking?’

‘I take it you didn’t check before you agreed to adopt him...uh...her?’

She stared at the dog. ‘It never occurred to me to check. I mean he’s...she’s...fluffy, and has lots of fur, and it’s not like it’s...um...obvious. I just—’

She folded her arms and glared. ‘That nice old man told me Bandit was a boy.’

‘I suspect “that nice old man” has taken you for a ride.’

‘Why, though? What’s the big deal if Bandit is a boy or a girl? It certainly makes no difference to me, and—’

She broke off at his laughter. He looked so different when he laughed.

She moistened her lips. ‘What?’

‘Bandit is a girl dog who I suspect is going to be a mother in the not too distant future.’

‘Noooo...’

‘Yes.’

‘So that nice old man was just trying to fob Bandit off onto some poor sucker?’

‘Bingo.’

And she was the sucker.

She stared at Bandit. She stared at Mac. ‘We’re going to have puppies?’

‘Looks that way.’

Puppies? She grinned. She ate some more steak. ‘Well, that’ll be fun.’ In the next instant she stiffened. ‘What else did that rotten old man lie about?
Is she microchipped? Has she had her vaccinations?’ She set her knife and fork down. ‘Well, that’s that, then.’

Mac frowned. ‘That’s what?’

‘It means I’ll have to take her to the vet’s tomorrow for a thorough check-up.’

‘It wouldn’t hurt,’ he agreed.

She found herself grinning again. ‘Puppies, huh? Do you think there’s any money in dog breeding?’

‘Not really.’

Oh,
well. She’d think of something on the job front soon enough.

She gestured to the food. ‘I don’t think this effort has disgraced me.’

‘Absolutely not.’

But he didn’t meet her eye as he said it. Her heart started to thump. There was loads of time yet to learn all she needed to know about
macaron
towers.

She swallowed. Béarnaise sauce one day.
Macarons
the next.

* * *

‘What on earth are you trying to do?’

Jo turned at Mac’s voice. Bandit twisted out of her grasp and ran a few paces away, where she turned to glare at Jo. Jo let a growl loose from her throat. ‘I’m trying to get Bandit into The Beast.’ She gestured to her car. ‘But Bandit doesn’t seem too enamoured with the idea of going for a ride. Either that or it’s the V-word—V. E. T.—that has her spooked.’

She pushed her hair off her face, thinking she must look a sight before telling herself that it didn’t matter one iota what she looked like.

‘For heaven’s sake, how hard can it be? I’m bigger than her. I’m stronger than her. And if you make one derogatory comment about my intelligence in comparison to hers you’ll be getting fish fingers for dinner.’

He raised his hands. ‘No comments,
derogatory or otherwise. I’m hoping for a cheese soufflé. I just put the recipe on the kitchen counter.’

She hoped it would taste as good as the words sounded coming from his lips. ‘Do I need to pick up any exotic ingredients?’

‘Not for today—but you’ll need these for later in the week.’

He handed her a shopping list. Wrapped inside it was some housekeeping money.

‘Here, Bandit.’
He clicked his fingers and Bandit was at his side in an instant.

Jo scowled. Typical female. She rolled her shoulders. Actually, when she thought about it, she couldn’t fault Bandit’s taste.

‘Up.’ He patted the front passenger seat and Bandit leapt up and settled there. Mac turned back to Jo. ‘There you go. I’ll see you when you get back.’

He started to walk away and Bandit immediately
leapt down to follow him.

‘Ahem...’

Mac turned at Jo’s cleared throat. He shook his head. ‘C’mon, Bandit, let’s try that again.’

This time when Bandit was seated in the car Mac shut the door. But when he started to walk away Bandit set up a long, mournful howl.

‘Don’t cry, lovely girl.’ Jo reached into the window to pat her. ‘It’s okay.’

None of which made the slightest
difference. Bandit continued to howl.

Jo swung back to Mac. ‘She’s pregnant. I’m pretty sure that means she’s not supposed to get upset.’

He lifted both arms. ‘What do you want me to do about it?’

‘It’s more than obvious what needs to happen.’

‘What’s that?’

‘You’re going to have to come with us.’

Mac’s face shuttered. ‘That’s out of the question.’

Jo took one
look at him and had to rest her hands on her knees for several long moments. Pulling in a breath that helped haul her upright, she opened the car door to release Bandit—who leapt down in an instant.’

‘I’m sorry, beautiful girl.’ She went to fondle Bandit’s ears, but the dog dodged away from her and for some reason it cut her to the quick. It was all she could do not to cry.

‘What are
you doing?’

Disbelief was etched across every line of Mac’s face. A face, it occurred to her now, that had become a little too familiar to her.

She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but only partially succeeded. ‘I’m not going to put her through that kind of distress. Not while she’s in such a delicate condition.’ Her voice came out high and tight, due to the lump. ‘She’ll hurt
herself, or spontaneously abort. Or...’ She shook her head, her stomach churning. ‘I’m not going to be responsible for that.’

She walked past Mac and tried to hold her head up high.

‘But... But...’ he spluttered.

She stopped and waited, but he didn’t say any more. She turned. ‘Are you waiting for me to bully you? If you are you’ll be waiting a long time. You’re an adult. You know
what’s right and wrong.’

His jaw went tight and a tic started up beneath his right eye.

‘I’m going to conserve my energy for when I have to contend with Bandit
and
her puppies when I eventually leave.’ That was going to be awfully traumatic for poor Bandit. The thought made her stomach churn even harder.

‘You can’t take her when you leave.’

Jo started to stalk away, but he
strode after her.

‘She loves it here. Jo, I... Look, I know it’s unfair, but she’s adopted
me
—bonded with
me
. I didn’t mean for it to happen.’

From the corner of her eye she saw the weak excuse for a smile that he shot her.

‘I’ll make a deal with you. You keep the puppies and Bandit stays here with me. I’ll look after her—I promise.’

‘Look after her?’ She whirled to face him.
‘You can’t even take her to the vet! I can’t in any conscience leave her here—even though she loves you and merely tolerates me. Even though I know she’ll be way happier here than she will be with me.’

He took a step back from her, his mouth pressed so tight it turned his lips white.

‘I don’t know why I expected something better from you. You wouldn’t even visit your brother when he
was in hospital, though you had to know it was the thing he most wanted.’

He’d frozen to stone.

There was no room in his life for compassion or love or responsibility to his family...just a manufactured guilt that took over his every breathing moment.

She turned away, not knowing why her heart hurt so hard.

CHAPTER SEVEN

J
O
COUNTED
OUT
the eggs she’d need for the soufflé and had started to read the ‘Hints on soufflés’ section of a cooking website she’d found when voices floated in through the open front door.

Voices? She lifted her head and frowned. Surely not? She hadn’t heard
voices
—as in more than one person speaking, having a conversation—since she’d arrived. She didn’t count
the way either she or Mac spoke to Bandit. Or her and Mac’s often fraught and adversarial conversations.

He doesn’t kiss like an adversary.

He kissed like a dream.

Stop it!

She cocked her head and listened harder. There was definitely more than one voice.

The voices grew stronger as she marched through the house. She pulled up short of the front door when she found Mac
talking to an unknown man by the front steps—a man carrying what looked like a doctor’s bag.

Mac didn’t appear the least bit self-conscious. Could the man be an old friend?

She looked at the bag again and then it hit her. A
vet
! Mac had called out a vet.

She had to fight the urge to race outside and throw her arms around him. Oh, he’d love that, wouldn’t he?
Not.
She straightened
her shirt and then pushed outside as if it what was happening in front of her was the most normal thing in the world.

Could Mac conquer his fear of what the world thought of him one person at a time? She crossed her fingers behind her back.

She strode across the veranda. ‘I thought I heard voices.’

‘Jo, this is Daniel Michener. He’s the local mobile vet.’

She hadn’t considered
for a moment that this area would warrant a mobile vet.

‘There are a lot of hobby farms—not to mention dairy farms—in the area,’ Daniel explained when she said as much. ‘It’s a bit hard to bring a cow, horse or an alpaca into the surgery.’

Which made perfect sense when she thought about it. ‘Well, I’m really glad you can give Bandit a once-over.’

‘I understand you adopted her and
know nothing of her history?’

Jo grimaced. ‘I was told she was a purebred seven-year-old male border collie, microchipped, neutered, and fully vaccinated.’

He laughed. ‘Let’s take a look at her, then.’

Mac played veterinary nurse, soothing Bandit and convincing her to co-operate with Daniel. He made a rather nice veterinary nurse, with those big hands gentle on the dog’s neck. She
shivered at the way he’d run a hand down Bandit’s back while talking to her in low, reassuring tones. The sight of the broad man with the small, fine-boned, not to mention
pregnant
dog made her heart pitter-patter.

He glanced up and caught her staring, raised an eyebrow. She shrugged and forced her gaze back to Bandit, tried to ignore the way her breath hitched in her chest.

The vet
gave Bandit a clean bill of health. ‘You should expect the puppies in about a month.’ He clicked his bag shut. ‘My best guess, looking at her teeth, is that she’s three years old—and this is not her first litter, so she’ll probably be a good mother.’

Not her first?

She moved in a little closer and Mac’s scent—all warm cotton, coconut and dog—hit her. It was all she could do not to swoon.
She had to step back again.

‘Can you tell how many puppies she’s going to have?’

He shook his head. ‘With a border collie, though, you can expect somewhere between four and eight.’

Eight!

The vet handed her his bill. Mac stood beside her as they waved him goodbye.

‘Can Bandit stay here with me?’ Mac said without preamble. ‘I promise I’ll look after her.’

‘Yes.’

He plucked the bill from her fingers. ‘She’s my dog now, so I’ll take care of her bills.’ He strode back towards the house. ‘But those puppies, Jo...’ he called over his shoulder. ‘They’re all yours.’

Puppies? She smiled.
Eight
puppies? She groaned. What on earth would she do with eight puppies?

Maybe Russ would like one after he’d recovered from his surgery. Weren’t pets supposed
to be good for people—a form of therapy?

She bit back a sigh. What Russ really needed was a visit from his brother.

* * *

Mac ostensibly studied the cheese soufflé that Jo had set on the table, but all the time his mind whirled. Tomorrow Jo would have been here for a week.
What did she mean to tell Russ?

He glanced at her. She wiped her hands down the sides of her jeans. ‘Does
it pass muster?’

He pulled his attention back to the soufflé. ‘On first glance, yes. It’s a nice colour.’

She folded her arms, narrowing her eyes.

‘Okay, okay.’ He raised his hands. ‘I’d want it higher and fluffier if you were one of my apprentices—but you’re not. This is the very first time you’ve made a soufflé, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Then in that case it definitely passes
muster.’

She sat and motioned for him to serve it.

He drew the warm scent of the soufflé into his lungs. ‘It smells good.’

She leaned in closer to smell it too, her lips pursed in luscious plumpness. A beat started up inside him, making his hand clench around the serving spoon.

‘So this whole food-assessing thing...it’s a bit like wine-tasting? You check the colour of the thing,
smell it and finally taste it?’

‘Though in this instance one hopes it doesn’t get spat back out.’

She sort of smiled. There hadn’t been too many smiles from her in the last day and a half.

What was she going to tell Russ?

‘I’m trying to get away from the demanding level of perfection that’s necessary in a top-notch restaurant. The people who buy my book aren’t cooking for royalty.’
Not like he had. They’d be cooking for their eighty-five-year-old grandmothers. ‘I’m correct in thinking, aren’t I, that they just want to have some fun?’

‘Fun.’ She nodded, but he could tell she held back a sigh.

He shook his head. How was he going to teach her the intricacies of a
macaron
when she didn’t even like cooking?

He pushed the thought from his mind and sampled a forkful
of soufflé.

‘Well?’

He’d give it to her straight. Somehow she sensed it whenever he fudged. And she didn’t seem to mind the criticism.
Because she wants to get better.
Yes, but he wasn’t sure her reasons for wanting to get better were going to help her conquer the laborious process of making a
macaron
tower. He shook that thought away. If she left tomorrow there’d be no need to figure
that out.

The thought of her leaving filled him with sudden darkness. He moistened his lips. He didn’t want her leaving because he wanted her to tell Russ that there was nothing to worry about. That was all.

He dragged his mind back to the soufflé. ‘An accomplished soufflé should be lighter. You probably needed to whip the egg whites a bit longer. But it’s very good for a first effort.’

‘You mean it’s passable?’

He needed to work on that whole giving-it-to-her-straight thing.

She sampled it too, and shrugged. ‘I don’t understand the difference between beating, whipping, creaming, mixing and all that nonsense.’

It wasn’t nonsense.

‘What’s all that about anyway?’

He stared at her. ‘Would it help if I put a glossary defining those terms in the book?’

‘Yes!’ She pushed her hair off her face. ‘I mean
I’d
welcome one.’

Done.

‘And could you also add a definite length of time for how long egg whites should be whipped?’

‘That depends on the size of the eggs, the temperature of the room in which you’re whipping them, the humidity in the air and any number of other factors.’

She stared at him. He wished he could ignore the
intriguing shape of her mouth. He wished he could forget their softness and the spark they’d fired to life inside him.

‘Mac?’

He jumped. ‘What?’

‘I just asked if you could include a photo, then, of what properly beaten egg whites should look like?’

He wrote that down on the pad he’d started to keep at his elbow when they had dinner. With the addition of Jo’s suggestions, the
cookbook finally felt as if it were taking shape. He just had to remember he wasn’t writing a textbook for apprentices.

In the kitchen, the oven timer dinged. He frowned. ‘What else are you cooking?’

She didn’t answer. She was already halfway to the kitchen.

She returned with a pizza. One of those frozen jobs she’d shoved in the freezer after her first shopping trip.
What on earth...?

She took one look at his face and laughed. ‘I’m a carnivore, Mac. I’m sure cheese soufflé with a vegetable medley is all well and good, in its place, but give me a meat lovers’ pizza every time.’

She seized a slice and proceeded to eat it with gusto. His stomach tightened, his groin expanded, and it was all he could do not to groan out loud.

She tilted her chin at the pizza. ‘Help
yourself.’

‘I haven’t eaten that pap since I was a teenager. It’s full of chemicals and MSG and—’

‘You don’t know what you’re missing.’ She suddenly grinned, and it made him realise how remote and subdued she’d been. ‘Have a slice and I’ll put you out of your misery.’

His chin came up. ‘What misery?’

‘What I’m going to tell Russ tomorrow.’

He didn’t try pretending that
it didn’t matter. It mattered a lot.

Without another word he took a slice of pizza and bit into it. ‘Yuck, Jo!’ He grimaced and she laughed. ‘This is truly appalling.’

If she liked pizza that much he’d make her a pizza that would send her soul soaring—

He would if he still cooked, that was.

She reached for a second slice. ‘On one level I know that. Whenever I eat pizza from
a restaurant I can tell how much better it is. But this...? I don’t know—I still like it.’

He finished his slice and gazed at what was left.

‘It’s strangely satisfying. Addictive.’

She was right. He reached for a second slice and polished it off. ‘What
are
you going to tell Russ?’

He watched as she delicately licked her fingers—eight of them. He adjusted his jeans. He drained
his glass of water.
Don’t look. Don’t think. Don’t kiss her again
.

She rose and opened the bottle of red wine sitting on the sideboard. He hadn’t noticed it before. He didn’t know if she was making him wait to punish him, or whether she was trying to gather her thoughts.

She handed him a glass of wine and sat. ‘I’m going to tell Russ that you’re one of the most pig-headed, stubborn men
I’ve ever met. I’m going to tell him you argue every point, and that whenever your work is interrupted you have creative type-A tantrums that would do a toddler proud. I’m going to tell him that you sulk and scowl and swear under your breath. And I’m going to tell him you’ve stolen my dog.’

He stared at her and the backs of his eyes prickled and burned. ‘I could kiss you.’

Everything
she’d just said was designed to allay each and every one of Russ’s fears. He couldn’t have done better himself.

‘I’m not going to tell him that.’

The air between them suddenly shimmered with a swirl of unspoken desires and emotions as the memory of the kiss they’d shared rose up between them. He knew she recalled it too, because her eyes dilated in exactly the same way as they had before
he’d kissed her the last time.

And it had to be the last time.
Don’t kiss her again!

But the way her lips parted and her breathing became shallow...it could slay a man.

She dragged her gaze away and took a sip of wine, but even in the dim light he could see how colour slashed high on her cheekbones. He searched his mind for something to say.

‘Do you really mind about Bandit?’

Her lips twisted. ‘More than I should, I suspect. But not so much now I know there are puppies on the way.’

Her chin came up and her gaze lasered him to the spot.

‘Can I ask you a question?’

He set his glass down. ‘If I get to ask one of you in return.’

She twirled her glass in her fingers. Eventually she set her glass down too.

‘Deal.’

He stiffened his shoulders,
because he didn’t expect her question would be an easy one. That was okay. Neither was his.

‘Shoot.’

‘Why won’t you visit Russ?’

He tried to not let her words bow him. He should have known this was what she’d ask.

‘It’s funny...you don’t seem a particularly vain man.’

He wasn’t.

‘But actions speak louder than words.’

What was she talking about?

‘Are you
really
that
afraid of showing your ugly mug to the outside world?’

At any other time he’d have laughed at the ‘ugly mug’. He happened to know for a fact that she was rather partial to his particular ‘ugly mug’ no matter how much she tried to hide it. Except...

Was that what she really thought of him?

His shoulders slumped. ‘I’m not vain, Jo.’

She gnawed at her bottom lip, but
didn’t say anything.

He dragged a hand down his face. ‘I made a promise to Mrs Devlin that I would lie low and stay out of the limelight until Ethan was out of hospital. Tabloid journalists would hound me like a dog if they knew I was in Sydney.’

She opened her mouth, but he continued before she could voice her protests.

‘They’d find out—no matter how quiet I tried to keep it.’

‘Why did you make such a promise?’

‘Because the media brouhaha surrounding me and the accident was seriously upsetting for Ethan.’

‘And you wanted to do what you could to make things easier for him.’

‘At the time I’d have done anything either he or his mother asked of me.’ He still would. He leaned towards her. ‘Why don’t you think what I’m doing for Ethan is good enough?’

She reached out and twirled the stem of her wine glass in her fingers. ‘Is that your question?’

Dammit!
‘No.’

She didn’t say a word. Just sat there like the rotten sphinx, sipping her wine. She picked a piece of pepperoni from the pizza and popped it into her mouth.