Speaking of Love (Perfect Kisses) (12 page)

Then she felt panic.

“Will you pull some veggies out of the fridge?” she asked, needing to escape for a minute. “I’ll be right back.”

She barely made it up three stairs before her knees gave way and she had to sit. Hearing Rick’s words of explanation and then understanding what they meant to her heart… She had been so blind and stubborn. She’d practically seen it coming since the day she’d introduced him to Brandy.

To her utter dismay, Mac had set another woman up with the man of her dreams.

“What have I done?” she whispered into the palms of her hands.

…

The sun had just set and Rick could hear the wind howling outside. They would be lucky if the power didn’t go out.

While he was assigned to slice tomatoes and pickles in the kitchen, Mac set the table and dished out the salad. She seemed happier now, more relaxed as they worked together. And the way he caught her looking at him once or twice…it was as if that barrier between them was finally coming down.

He understood now why she hadn’t opened up to him before. It was his father. Damn him. Mac had probably assumed he was exactly like old Arthur Duffy: do anything to score the big business win. After she told him about what happened with her father, and Rick had pulled her into a hug, he could actually feel tension leaving her body. He might have felt more relieved about that than Mac.

Rick’s father was still the one threatening to buy up half of Lincoln Park—a place very dear to Mac’s heart. He sighed, knowing there was nothing he could do about that.

“What are those for?” Mac asked him, pointing toward the candle in his hand.

Despite those very welcomed glances, Mac seemed a bit distant, physically. As she walked toward him, she took the long way around the kitchen island, almost as if she didn’t want to walk by him.

He lit the last candle and set it in the middle of the table with the other three. “Ambiance,” he answered. “And in case we lose power.”

Mac looked away from him, her gaze out the window. All that was visible were lights from the other homes. Clouds covered everything else.

“Do you think that will happen?” she asked, sounding concerned.

“We should be prepared.”

“You really are a boy scout, aren’t you?”

She looked so cute in her flannel shirt. She’d pushed up the sleeves and tied the long tails together. It wasn’t a complete Daisy Duke look, but when she reached up to turn off the light over the stove, Rick caught a good two inches of her bare skin. The temperature under his collar went up a few degrees.

“Well, everything smells good,” Rick said, trying to stay busy. “Now let’s see if it tastes good.”

Mac walked to the table, carrying two hoagie rolls. “Hand me your plate,” she requested, then proceeded to spread a thick layer of the pork inside one of the rolls and top it with pickles and tomatoes. She added about a tablespoon of barbecue sauce to the top half of the roll and garnished the plate with one banana pepper.

Rick stayed standing until Mac was done making her own sandwich. It was the same as his except for one thing. “No sauce for you?” he asked after they both sat down.

“It doesn’t need it, because there’s already some cooked with the meat,” she said, pressing her roll together to make it more mouth-friendly. “But I knew you would want the extra sugar.”

Rick did like his food especially sweet. Mac had made a comment when he added additional sugar to his Starbucks hot chocolate. He was touched she remembered that about him.

He moved the sandwich to his mouth, more than prepared to tell her it was good even if it tasted like the bottom of Charlie’s Army boots.

“Whoa,” he exclaimed with a full mouth. “It’s delicious.” And that was no lie.

“Right?” she said, smiling, taking another bite. “It’s my new specialty.”

She was considerate and funny, sexy as hell, and she could make a killer sandwich. A smart man would marry her for less. As he chewed, Rick’s mind began to drift. His eyes slid to her. She had just taken another bite of sandwich and was running her tongue along the corner of her mouth, licking off some barbecue sauce. When she looked up at Rick, she winked.

He wouldn’t mind spending the rest of his life just like this, sitting across the table from Mac.

Chapter Seventeen

“What are you working on?”

Mac looked up from the notebook she’d been scribbling in. She was sitting on the floor, her back against the couch, writing by firelight. “I’m jotting down some things to say to my classes,” she said. “Things like ‘life’s not fair,’ and ‘sometimes really crappy things happen.’ Stuff like that.”

Rick put down the book he was reading but didn’t say anything for a minute. He was sitting on the other end of the couch behind her, next to a lamp, the only illuminated device in the room. When they weren’t talking, the only sounds were the wind outside, the crackling fire, and the odd caw of nature. Whenever Mac would flinch and whirl toward the window in alarm, Rick would snicker and make some kind of animal growl. Hilarious.

“Are you talking about Lincoln Park?” he asked.

Mac closed the notebook and stared straight ahead at the fire. “It’s not looking good,” she said. “You know that.”

Rick was quiet behind her, and then: “I think you should give a speech.”

“What?” she said.

“That’s your vocation, isn’t it?”

She turned around to look at him and found him lowering down to the floor a few feet away from her. He leaned his back against the couch, their legs extended toward the fire, side by side.

“What are you talking about?” she asked.

“Wasn’t it your idea to come to the paper last fall and have me write the stories about the budget cut at the high school?” He was smiling a little now.

She narrowed her eyes. “It wasn’t
all
my idea.”

“It was a brilliant thing to do.”

Mac couldn’t help feeling a rush of pleasure, hearing Rick praise her like that.

“You got the community involved,” he added. “The topic was out there, and people were talking about it for months.”

“So?” she asked, looking at his pensive profile. She quite liked the way the firelight caught the cut of his jaw. “What does my giving a speech have to do with anything?”

Rick bent his knees and sat forward. “You should have an event at Lincoln Park. The vote is Thursday night. Have it earlier that afternoon.”

“What?”

He turned to her. “Show the city how much the park means to the people of Franklin.”

Mac thought about it for a moment, feeling a little bubble of excitement in her stomach. “Like a demonstration?”

Rick chuckled. “It might be best to call it a friendly gathering,” he corrected. “No picket signs, no yelling.” He sat back. The way he was looking at her made something else bubble under her skin. “Just you,” he continued, his voice a little softer, “with a microphone, and about a hundred of your students.”

Mac stared off into the distance. Damn, it was a brilliant idea.

“Do you really think I can do it?” she asked. “Plan an event like this in five days?”

The way he was smiling at her, he didn’t need any words. He believed in her, and something about that was the highest praise she could imagine.

“If I recall correctly,” Rick said, “you told my mother you were an expert at organizing things exactly like this. Wasn’t it:
more caviar for the masses
?”

He grinned. So did Mac. She couldn’t believe he remembered that.

“I’ll even put something in the paper about it,” he added.

“Really?” Mac exclaimed, dropping her notebook and turning all the way around so her body was facing him. But her excitement tanked just as quickly. “No.” She shook her head. “That’s sweet, but you shouldn’t. I know you’re not comfortable taking sides in your…position.”

In cases like this, Mac knew that Rick would be a very powerful ally. But that’s not what she was thinking about as she looked at his hands, one clasping the other knee. The same hands that had chopped wood and defrosted a Snickers bar and driven them safely through a blizzard. The same hands that held hers when they walked into a room together and she felt out of place.

“I’d do it for you,” he said quietly.

He really did believe in her, even at the risk of his job. How could she ever properly tell him how much that meant to her?

When he turned toward the fire, the way the line of his jaw led into the muscle in his neck hit Mac in the solar plexus.

Oh, no
, she thought, but it was a pathetic thought, completely worthless. She’d been attracted to him since day one. Even after convincing herself he was the wrong man for her, over and over, she knew it was still always there, like a low-grade fever. She’d been falling further for him all day, burying it under a storm of sarcastic remarks and arguments, all the while getting to know the real him, how equally stubborn and exasperating and kind and magnificent he was.

Walls had crumbled down, until there was nothing left to separate them.

The next thing she knew, she was on her hands and knees, crawling over. In front of him now, she put a hand on each of his bent knees. He blinked, his blue eyes reflecting firelight. She leaned across his legs, her lips making contact with his.

“Thank you,” she whispered after one kiss. That was as far as her plan had gone. After this, she didn’t know what she was supposed to do.

Then she realized Rick hadn’t moved. Hadn’t breathed. She was still leaning over his knees, her face hovering right in front of him. And he wasn’t reacting in the slightest. Had he even responded to the kiss? Had there been any kissing back? Mac felt a rush of mortification sweep up her body when she realized that no, there hadn’t been.

She’d taken Rick by surprise, made a very inappropriate move, and he was so completely
not
attracted to her that he wouldn’t even take advantage of the fact that they were sitting next to a romantic fire in a cabin in the middle of a storm.

“I…” she whispered, about to back away and then go stick her face in the snow.

Before she could say another word, Rick reached out, took her face and drew her in, his lips pressing against hers. Relief washed over Mac as she leaned into him. The kiss was sweet and strong and Mac felt her skin heat up under his hands.

This was where she should be, where she belonged.

Just as Mac had convinced herself that nothing in the entire universe could feel better than this, Rick wrapped his arms around her and pulled her forward so they were pressed together, and…oh man…was she ever wrong about that.

…

Rick’s muscles were straining as he enfolded Mackenzie in his arms, careful not to hold her too tightly. After waiting all this time, he was afraid he might never let her go. He could feel her heart pounding, and when she pulled back to inhale, the heat of her sweet breath on his cheek made him crazy. He kissed her again, cradling her against his chest, completely lost in happiness and relief.

When she’d crawled over to him—only moments ago—he’d thought she’d been about to tell him to mind his own business about writing in the paper about Lincoln Park. Instead, she’d given him the most wonderful, stunning surprise: she’d kissed him. Damn.

He could still feel the buzz, the rushing of hot blood from their initial contact, still feel that first
thud
of his heart when her lips touched his. After a minute, she’d looked at him, her big blue eyes shining, and then she’d…she’d said thank you.

What?

She was grateful to him, and it was late and there was a fire. Although he would have loved to, he couldn’t take advantage of that, even if her current behavior showed that she was more than willing.

With every ounce of strength, Rick pulled his mouth away from hers. “Um, you’re welcome,” he said, sliding his hands to her shoulders, then letting them linger on the sides of her neck for one selfish moment.

Mac gazed up at him, blinking.

His lips were literally throbbing for hers, but he managed to sit up. “It’s been a long day,” he continued, still staring into her eyes, unable to look away. “I think we should turn in now. I mean, you in your room”—he gestured toward the stairs—“and me in mine.”

Mac sat back, looking completely dazed, the back of her hair tangled from where his fingers had been. His heart pounded harder when she scooted away.

“Okay,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “Good night, then.”

Rick stood up and turned off the lamp, needing to stay busy before he did anything else he would regret. In silence, they trudged up the stairs. Rick was behind Mac, but not too close. He walked her to the door of her room.

“Good night, Mackenzie,” he said. He couldn’t help pausing for a moment before he turned to go. The sound of her door closing felt like a knife to his heart.

By the time he’d made it down the hallway and around the corner, he realized he was the dumbest man alive.

You’re welcome? What in the good name of hell was that?

Yeah, the dumbest. That was all there was to it. She was there, in his arms. She’d offered him one kiss and then he’d grabbed her like a gorilla, when she had only been thanking him for offering to write about the park.

He racked his brain, trying to think of a time in human existence that could have been more humiliating.

Chapter Eighteen

Mac stretched out across the bed, leaned on one elbow, and stared at the wall. In the twenty minutes since she’d left Rick, her body hadn’t been able to uncoil. She rolled over and stared at the other wall. There was nothing to look at but the notches on the boards. She’d counted them five minutes ago. Sixty-nine. Hilarious. If she recounted and got the same number, she would have to ask Justine what that meant and then suffer potential Freudian humiliation.

She thought about turning on the TV, but the remote was way over there and she was way over here and she’d rather just keep thinking about Rick and wondering what would happen if she crawled out of bed and tiptoed to his room and finished that kiss.

He wasn’t even in a proper room, really. It was just a bed right around the corner. Only one door between them. One two-inch piece of wood and a few square feet of carpet. He was practically asking for it.

But, of course, she didn’t. She rolled onto her back and threw an arm over her eyes. There was no bright light in the room to block, but she felt better in the woe-is-me pose.

Then she heard a noise.

Scratching.

She sat up in bed.

It was coming from directly over her head. Or was it behind her? She couldn’t tell. The wooden floors and walls were making everything echo, distorting the location of the sound. Now it sounded like it was coming from outside her door.

She was about to scream for Rick when she realized what was going on. Ha-ha, very funny. He was playing a trick on her, trying to freak her out by making wilderness noises. He knew woodland creatures made her mildly terrified. Did he expect her to come running? What an ape.

When she heard the scratching again and saw a shadow move under her bedroom door, she rolled her eyes, flung back the blankets, and got out of bed.

The shadow was still moving as she crept to the door. When she flung it open, she gasped. Rick was standing there with a baseball bat.

…

Before she could make another sound, Rick put his free hand over her mouth and pulled her to his side. He was momentarily distracted by the feeling of her soft lips against his palm.

“Shhh,” he said. He felt Mac tremble and nod. Then her hands attempted to peel his hand off her mouth. “Shhh,” he repeated. Again, she nodded. He lowered his hand.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

He wanted to laugh. Hadn’t he just told her to be quiet?

“I heard something,” he whispered back.

“So did I. What is it?”

They both wheeled in the same direction when they heard a sound. It was close, at the end of the dark hallway. Rick lowered the bat. It didn’t sound like a person or a large animal. It might be something on the roof, in fact. This house had always had strange echoes.

When the scratching went from overhead to the opposite end of the hall, he moved around to the other side of Mac. “I’m going to turn on the hall light,” he whispered. “Don’t scream.”

She pressed her clenched fists over her mouth, her blue eyes huge like saucers.

“If you scream,” he continued, “you’re going to scare whatever it is. So don’t scream.”

She nodded, her eyes growing even larger. She looked like she was about to burst at any second. He sighed.

“Maybe you should wait in your room until I—”

“
No
!” She whispered the exclamation, but it was more breath than sound. And then she threw her arms around him, clinging to his waist. Enjoying yet another distraction, Rick rested his cheek against her hair while she pressed her face to his chest. “Don’t…” he heard her whisper. She was kind of clawing at him now, like she didn’t want to be touching the floor.

“Shh-shh,” he said, wrapping his free arm around her and giving her a little squeeze. “You’re fine.”

“What is it?” her low voice asked. His heart started to pound when he felt her breath on his bare shoulder.

“I don’t know,” he said. “If you let go of me for two seconds, I might find out.”

Much to his regret, Mac did let go. He looked down at her face to make sure she really was all right. Her hair was a little tangled, and strands were clinging to her eyelashes.

She looked perfect.

And for not the first time today, Rick felt like a supreme idiot for letting her go.

“It’s probably only a field mouse,” he said. “Maybe a raccoon.”

She exhaled another exclamation, an impressively dirty one.

He put an arm around her again and moved his mouth down to her ear, trying not to snicker. He had the impression that she wouldn’t appreciate him laughing.

“They’re harmless,” he said.

“Then why do you need one of
those
?” She was eyeing the Louisville slugger in his hand.

“In case it gets startled. Or if it’s a bat.”

“
Bat
?” Her face was at his chest again and she was doing that clawing thing.

“Shh-shh. It’s okay,” he whispered into her hair, moving his hand up to hold the back of her neck. “We got this, Mac. We got this, baby, okay?”

She sniffed and nodded.

With a silent groan of regret, Rick dropped his arm.

As he took one step down the hall, he heard her gasp and she curled into his side, gripping his arm. He wasn’t going to get anywhere at this rate.

“Why don’t you be the one to turn on the light?” he suggested. He could see her shaking her head furiously. “Shh, listen. It’s teamwork, see? You wait here, and when I give the signal, you flip on the light. Okay?” He needed to keep her busy. And himself. Otherwise he might be willing to stand in that hallway forever, him taking one step forward just to get her to claw at him again.

“I need you to be brave,” he added. “Like the tough, awesome, badass woman I know you are.”

Finally, she looked up at him, pushed back her hair, and nodded—for real, this time. Maybe he should call her awesome badass more often. It fit her. Well, not
now
, per se, but usually.

After taking her hand—that was clamped to his bicep like iron—and sliding it off his arm, he gave her one last nod and started down the dark hall. Before he’d gotten three steps, she whispered, “What’s the signal?”

“Caviar.” He was rewarded with one of her snorts.

A few more steps and he knew the scratching wasn’t coming from inside the walls. It was right in front of him. At that end of the hall, there was a chair and a deep, leather-covered box meant for the tossing in of magazines and newspapers and his grandmother’s crossword puzzles. He could see a shadow inside of it now, and he heard rustling. After he raised the bat for ready, he turned his chin slightly and whispered, “Caviar.”

When the overhead light came on, it was pretty anticlimactic. There was definitely something inside the box, something scrambling and too small to climb out on its own.

“Do you see it?” he heard Mac hiss, still at her post by the switch.

Rick took a step forward and peered in. He exhaled and lowered the bat.

“Yeah,” he said. His voice carried more disgust than it should. “It’s a squirrel.”

“A
what
?” He heard her bare feet pad toward him. She was probably close enough now to see it, too.

“Yeah.” He nudged the box with his foot. The thing went berserk, running around in a circle, clawing at the sides of the tall box. It must have sprained something when it fell in— otherwise, those things could really jump.

Rick did
not
like squirrels. Sure, they were fuzzy and whatever, but when he was twelve years old, at this very cabin, Madison, his golden retriever, was bitten by a rabid squirrel and had to be put down. It was the toughest loss in Rick’s young life, and he hadn’t had a dog since. This squirrel didn’t look rabid, but still, Rick felt his fingers curling around the bat, wanting to embrace his caveman instincts and smash the thing’s brains in. Who knew, maybe this was the great-great-grand-evil-spawn of the one that bit Madison.

As he took a step forward, the bat twitching in his hands, he thought of Mac, standing right behind him. She was a crazy, passionate animal lover, and would most likely flip out and never speak to him again if he hurt it, even if there was the slight possibility that it was injured and Rick was really doing the humane thing by putting it out of its misery. But would he be able to explain that to Mac? The thing didn’t look
that
hurt. Definitely not worth the risk.

The thought of upsetting Mac affected him more than wanting revenge for his childhood pet. He should probably just take the stupid thing out to the woods and let it go, then call the property manager tomorrow, make sure to patch any holes in the roof.

Maybe Mac would want to see it before he let it go, maybe even pet it.
Yuck
. Rick didn’t happen to find fuzzy rodents with dead, shark-like eyes particularly cute, but she probably would.

“Here,” he said, reaching his hand back to pull her forward. “Come see the—”

Just then, the squirrel jumped, its sharp little claws hanging over the edge of the box, its black eyes wide, its nose twitching.

“
Kill it
!” Mac shrieked, grabbing for the bat.

The squirrel lost its grip and fell back into the box. Smart squirrel.

“What are you waiting for?” Mac was pushing him toward the thing, trying to get him to raise the bat.

“I’m not going to kill it,” Rick said, then he couldn’t help laughing. Some bleeding heart she turned out to be. “It’s just a squirrel. I’m taking it outside.”

Mac wrapped her arms around herself, sniffed, and took a few steps back. It was then that Rick noticed what she was wearing. A white camisole that didn’t quite reach the top of her tiny black sleep shorts. Could those things even be called shorts? What was she doing running around like that in front of squirrels? He was about to ask her when he realized that he was in about the same state of undress: flannel pajama pants and nothing else. Mac seemed to realize this at the same time he did.

“Um, I think I’ll…” He handed her the bat, bent over and picked up the box, making sure to hold it out far enough that the critter wouldn’t get any wise ideas.

“Where are you going?” Mac asked.

“Outside.”

“Now?”

Rick headed toward the stairs. “Unless you’d like to sleep with it.”

“I want to check in to a five-star hotel.”

And the badass was back.

“Wait,” she said, moving closer. “What if it’s mad?”

“I’m sure it’s furious,” Rick said.

“No, I mean, like rabies. Is it diseased?”

He made a face. “That’s why I’m kicking it out of my house.”

“Wait!” she called again and then moved behind him. Rick didn’t say anything as she followed him down the stairs. “Where are you taking it?”

Rick paused at the back door to step into some boots. “To the tree past the shed. Stay inside.”

“Well, here.” She grabbed his coat off the back of the kitchen chair. “Put this on. You can’t go out there dressed like…” Her voice faded out, but she was staring in the general direction of his chest. With his hands unmovable, she draped the coat over his shoulders then backed up.

“Thank you,” Rick said.

She bit her lip and opened the door.

“Stay inside,” he repeated from over his shoulder.

“I
know
.”

He smiled when he heard the defiance in her voice.

It had stopped snowing, but it felt well below freezing with the wind chill. He was glad Mac had given him the coat. He made it down the stairs and around the corner, and then headed toward the shed.

As he was about to set the box on its side, his gaze automatically moved to the light coming from the open door, two stories up, where Mac was standing just outside the threshold. He took a moment to look at her, at her shape, her size, the way her hair was blowing, the way he could see her big eyes even from this distance, and the way her camisole hugged the curves—

“Dammit!” He dropped the box and heard the devil squirrel scurry through the snow and up the tree.

“What happened?” Mac called out. “Are you okay?”

He looked down at his hand. Luckily he wasn’t bit, just scratched. Damn mangy rodent.

“I’m fine,” he muttered, bending over to dip the back of his hand in the snow. The cold felt good.

“What are you doing? Rick?”

When he looked up, she was halfway down the deck, leaning over the railing. He stood and slid his arms through the sleeves of his coat. “Nothing. I’m coming up.”

He could feel her watching him all the way.

“Did it bite you?” she asked when he got to the open door. “Should we go to the ER?”

“What? No.” He kicked off his boots. “I’m fine. It’s a scratch.”

“It
scratched
you?” There was horror mixed with appall in her voice. “Let me see.”

Rick sighed and shrugged off his coat. Mac grabbed his right hand and flipped it over. “It’s the other one,” he said. She picked up his other hand and he watched as her eyes went wide. Then he was being tugged toward the sink.

“Mac, it’s—”

“Shut up,” she said, turning on the water and grabbing the soap. “It doesn’t look like it broke the skin, that’s good, but we need to wash it just in case.”

Rick smiled. He quite enjoyed how she used the word
we
.

He tried not to wince when she put his hand under the water. If she thought he wasn’t manly enough to change a tire, he sure as hell wasn’t about to so much as flinch over a scratch from an idiot squirrel.

He watched as she soaped it and rinsed it three times, gently running one finger over the two-inch scrape. They were standing so close he could smell her hair.

“I saw some ointment in my bathroom,” she said as she patted the back of his hand with a towel. “Sit on the couch.” She headed toward the stairs. “I’ll be right back.”