Fiancee for Hire (14 page)

“You should turn a cartwheel or something,” Mac called.

“Good idea,” Kelli called back. “I hear crotch shots are all the rage in engagement announcements.”

Stella shook her head. “Only the two of you could find a way to work the word ‘crotch’ into a special occasion.”

“Turn this way, Kelli,” Grant called. “Mac, get your ass over there and say something romantic to your bride.”

Mac sauntered over, looking dark and lethal and so sexy Kelli felt her toes curl in the sand. “Hey, big boy,” she murmured, looking up at him. “What sort of romance do you have for me?”

Mac slid his hands around her waist and drew her close, lowering his mouth to her ear. “The kind that involves me pinning your wrists over your head and banging you senseless against the wall.”

Kelli shivered as her stomach did a triple somersault. How the hell did he do that to her? She looped her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “Yes, please.”

“Let’s see another kiss!” Grant called. “Mac, get your hand off her ass. We’re aiming for classy and romantic, not pornography.”

Mac ignored his brother for the moment, giving Kelli’s ass a quick squeeze before settling his hands in the small of her back. He pulled her closer and Kelli went willingly. He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her with a familiarity that left her head reeling.

She drew back and looked up at him, her heart galloping. “You should take off the sunglasses,” she murmured.

“We’re on the beach.”

“And it’s almost sunset. Come on, Mac. I’m beginning to think the only time I’ll ever get to see your eyes is when we’re having sex.”

“That’s one way to guarantee it.”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t bend over that piece of driftwood there and hike my dress up right now.”

“Rain check?” he murmured, nuzzling her neck.

“Deal. Off with the glasses.”

Mac grinned and removed one hand from her back, reaching up to tug off the shades.

The instant he did it, Kelli felt the earth shift beneath her. Her fingers clenched on his shoulders, and her breath caught in her throat. She stared into his eyes, the magnetic pull of those brown depths drawing her into a trance. Waves crashed behind her and the smell of saltwater floated around them. Grant and Stella faded into the background, and for a moment it was just the two of them.

Something warm and electric surged inside her, and Kelli knew it wasn’t just lust. Mac’s eyes were locked on hers, unblinking. Was he feeling it, too?

She swallowed, too dizzy to form sentences in her mind, but knowing she had to say something. “Mac, I—”

“Hand me those sunglasses, MacArthur,” Stella called, stepping forward and breaking the trance. “You need both hands free to embrace your bride.”

Mac blinked and drew back. Was it Kelli’s imagination, or did he look as shell-shocked as she felt? He turned and took a few steps toward his mother, reaching out to hand her the glasses. Grant moved in for a close-up of Kelli.

“Perfect,” he said, shutter clicking. “That’s the look of a woman in love.”

Kelli turned to face him, feeling all the blood drain from her face. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she reached for something to hold her upright. Her fingers caught Grant’s sleeve, and he reached out to steady her.

Bang!

Grant grabbed her around the waist and knocked her to the ground. “Ooof!” she said as he threw his body over her, his burly arms covering her head. “What the—”

“Stay down!” Grant barked, covering her body with his in a way that was more brotherly protector than sexy lover. “Mac?” Grant yelled.

Kelli turned her head to the side and froze. Mac was on the ground three feet away. She watched as he reached down and whipped a pistol from a harness around his ankle. He rolled to a crouch and scanned the beach, gun braced in front of him. He looked cool and lethal and utterly, completely terrifying.

His eyes slid to her, his expression grave. Kelli swallowed hard.

“Are you okay?” he demanded.

“I’m fine,” she choked out, squirming under Grant’s weight. “Stella?”

“Right here, baby,” she called. Kelli spotted her behind a piece of driftwood, a small pistol braced in her manicured fingers.

Grant moved on top of her and she realized he was gripping a pistol of his own. “This wasn’t what I had in mind when I suggested an evening shoot,” he said.

Kelli coughed and spit out a mouthful of sand. “Jesus, is everyone here armed?”

“You’re with the Patton family, hon,” Stella called. “It’s best to assume everyone’s armed.”

“Was that a gunshot?”

No one answered at first. Kelli looked back at Mac. He was still in a crouch, still aiming the pistol, but his shoulders looked less rigid. The sound of a car engine faded into the distance, and Kelli watched as his eyes swung back to her. They were filled with something she couldn’t quite read, and a lake of dread pooled in her gut.

Mac swallowed and lowered his gun. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“Yes,” she said, taking a deep breath as Grant eased his weight off her. “What happened?”

“I think it was just a car backfiring,” Grant said. “We all overacted. Par for the course with Pattons.”

“It certainly sounded like a gunshot,” Stella said. “But I think you’re right. Just a car backfiring.”

Kelli swallowed and looked at Mac. He still looked tense, but Kelli sensed it was more than just the car weighing on his mind.

“Mac?” she asked.

He turned to face her, his brow creased in a frown. Then he reached down and caught her hand, lifting her to her feet. “You’re sure you’re fine?”

“Mac, seriously. Stop asking. I’m okay. Your brother weighs a ton, but he didn’t crush my rib cage or anything.”

He shook his head, and Kelli watched a muscle twitch on the side of his eye. “You could have been killed.”

“By someone’s faulty fuel pump?”

“Sounded more like a catalytic converter,” Grant said, dusting the sand off his shorts as he got to his feet. “Coulda been the intake timing.”

Mac scowled. “You know what I mean.” He gritted his teeth and looked down at the gun. “It should have been me protecting you.”

“From a noisy automobile? There was no need, really. I’m fine, Mac.”

“We’re all fine, buddy,” Grant said. “Everything’s okay.”

But Mac wasn’t okay. Kelli could see it in his eyes.

At least she could until he slid the sunglasses back into place.

A shiver chattered down her spine, and she fisted her hands in her dress to warm them. Overhead, a seagull gave a low cry. A wave crashed behind them, but she kept her eyes on Mac.

“Never again,” he said, shaking his head as he turned away. “That’s the last time I let my guard down.”

Chapter Thirteen

Later that night after Kelli and his mom had gone to bed, Mac sat out on the veranda sipping Laphroaig with his brother. He’d been talking for an hour, and his mouth felt tired and a little fuzzy from the scotch.

“So that’s pretty much it,” Mac said, setting his glass down on the small table that separated their chairs. “One fake engagement keeps weapons out of the hands of hundreds of terrorists. Seems like a fair trade.”

“That’s the most fucked-up cover story I’ve ever heard,” Grant said, taking a sip of his drink. “You think Zapata is buying it?”

“Hook, line, and sinker,” Mac said. “You should have seen her at dinner. She charmed the pants off of him.”

“I imagine she’s done the same for you, too,” Grant said, swirling his scotch in the glass. “Gotta admit it’s a little weird. She was always like a sister to us.”

“I never thought of her like that. I guess I never thought of her much, period. She was just Sheri’s little friend.”

“That’s because you’re completely disconnected from your fellow humans,” Grant said good-naturedly. “And also older than us. Same thing, really.”

“I barely knew her.”

“Seems like you know her pretty well now.” Grant picked up the bottle of Laphroaig and tipped a splash more into his own glass. He gestured to Mac with the bottle, but Mac shook his head. He had to keep his wits sharp, especially after what had happened on the beach.

Nothing happened. A car backfired. Everything’s okay
.

But everything wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot. He’d let his guard down, let himself get lost in those unfathomably blue eyes. It could have cost them all dearly.

“Thanks again for protecting her today,” Mac said.

“Dude, it was nothing.”

Mac shook his head. “I should have been the one keeping her safe.”

“I happened to be closer. You’d have done the same thing for my fake fiancée.” Grant studied him with a thoughtful expression, and Mac resisted the urge to look away. “You really seem rattled.”

“I brought her into a dangerous situation. It’s my job to keep her safe.”

“You sure that’s all it is?”

“Of course. What the hell else would it be?”

Grant shook his head and took a sip of his drink. “Whatever you say, bro. If you don’t want to talk about feelings, we won’t talk about feelings. How about baseball? Or guns? Or—”

“Or how about the fact that you haven’t had a girlfriend in years. Not since—”

“Okay, okay.” Grant grinned. “Touché, big brother. Let’s not go there.”

They were both quiet a moment, and Mac resisted the urge to fill the uncomfortable silence. He picked up his nearly empty glass and wondered if Kelli was asleep.

“So what’s the story for the breakup?” Grant asked at last. “You just going to go your separate ways once the deal is sealed, or are you planning a big ugly throw-down?”

“We haven’t gotten that far yet. I guess we’ll play it by ear.”

Grant snorted. “You, playing something by ear? That’s a first. The Mac I know would have every conversation mapped out in an Excel spreadsheet.”

Mac shook his head and swallowed the last sip of his scotch, not sure why it suddenly tasted bitter. It was expensive as hell, normally his favorite. He wondered if Kelli would like it, or if she’d prefer something sweet and syrupy. He couldn’t begin to guess. Everything about her seemed to surprise him.

“We’ll figure it out,” Mac said. “Hopefully, Mom won’t be too heartbroken.”

Grant raised one eyebrow. “It’s mom you’re worried about?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Grant shrugged and swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “Just that I don’t think Mom’s the only person getting attached to her. I saw the way you looked at her. Like you want to bend her over the table and show her your carrot peeler.”

“That’s a seriously fucked-up euphemism.”

“Blame it on the wedding registry.”

Mac shook his head and set his glass down on the small tiled table that separated them. “Whatever you thought you saw was lust, plain and simple.”

“Maybe. It’s something else, too.”

“Fuck off.”

Grant laughed and set his drink down. “I rest my case. I’ve never seen you this agitated by a woman.”

Mac grabbed his brother’s glass and downed the last of it in one gulp, feeling restless and edgy. “So are you sticking around for a little while?”

“Nah, I actually have to get out of here tomorrow morning,” Grant said. “I was telling the truth about the surf trip, but I only have a few days left of my leave. I just wanted to check on you, see if you needed any help.”

“I appreciate that.”

Grant nodded and looked at him. “Seems like you’ve got everything under control.”

Mac couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement, but he nodded anyway. “Absolutely.”

Pretty sure that’s true
, he thought, slamming his glass down on the table.

…

It was late when he finally headed upstairs. He hesitated on the landing outside the master bedroom, listening to the sound of crickets outside and the gentle
swoosh
of the ocean. Through the door, he heard Kelli sigh in her sleep, and he pictured her lying there with one bare leg thrown over the top of the covers, her curls tousled with sleep.

Maybe crawling into bed with her was a bad idea. It would just make things harder in the long run, make it tougher for him to stay objective and keep protecting her like he needed to. He should just go sleep on the couch.

Grant’s on the couch
, he reminded himself.
Besides, there’s no better place to keep watch over Kelli than sharing the same bed
.

He wasn’t sure his reasoning was very sound, but he pushed open the door anyway. Surely she was asleep by now. He could just creep in quietly, fall asleep beside her instead of taking her in his arms. It was a big bed, after all.

A blade of moonlight fell across the pillow, glinting on her golden curls. She was facing away from him, and Mac felt his throat tighten as he glimpsed the soft curve of her bare shoulder. Her breathing was shallow, and Mac ached to curl himself around her body and feel her breasts rise and fall.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there watching her, wrestling with his conscience. Stay or go? Be a chaste bedmate or make love to her until neither of them could breathe?

All at once she stirred and rolled to face him. She blinked in the moonlight, then smiled. Her eyes were sleepy and warm, and the curve of her hip beneath the sheet made Mac dizzy enough to forget his name. He wanted to run away. He wanted to push himself between her legs and take her hard and deep.

He settled for putting his hands behind his back so he didn’t reach out to touch her. “Hi.”

She smiled again. “Hi yourself.” She propped herself up on one elbow and patted the bed beside her.

As invitations went, it was hardly salacious. Mac moved toward her, his mind no longer in control of his body as he stripped off his shirt and shucked his pants.

No sex. Nothing to cloud my judgment, my professionalism.

He started to reach for her. To his surprise, she turned away from him.

“Spoon me,” she murmured, presenting him with the naked curve of her back.

Mac stifled a groan and moved behind her, the mattress sinking beneath his weight as he curled his arm around her. “Spoon?” he whispered back. “Is that a sex thing from our Williams-Sonoma registry?”

She laughed and nestled her backside against the curve of his pelvis. He lost his breath for a moment, aching to press himself into her. But he regained his composure and snuggled tight around her, feeling every curve of her flow warm against the hollows of his body.

“Mmm, that’s nice. Sometimes, just cuddling is good.”

“You’re warm,” he murmured against her neck, breathing in the scent of her shampoo.

She pulled his arm tight around her, her breasts soft against the underside of his forearm. They lay there like that in the moonlight, their breath in sync, their bodies twined together beneath the cool sheet.

He was pretty sure she’d fallen back asleep, and he started to relax. It was better this way. No sex, no connection to complicate things.

This isn’t connection?

It wasn’t the same, though maybe that’s what made it dangerous. He breathed her in, feeling her soft curls catch in his beard stubble. She smelled flowery and warm, and he let his hand slide down over her hip, memorizing the contours of her thigh. The curtains fluttered on a breeze that tasted like sage and seawater, and Mac closed his eyes.

I could do this forever
, he thought, then kicked himself for it.

No. Not forever. Not even close
.

She turned in his arms, and for a moment he was struck by the idea that she’d read his thoughts. Her eyes held his in the semidarkness, glinting with moonlight and curiosity.

She propped herself up on one elbow and licked her lips. “Tell me about Jillian.”

Her words hit him like a punch to the ribs.

“Jillian?”

She nodded and reached up to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear. A streak of moonlight bathed her cheek in cool light, and Mac felt his fingers clench tighter around her hip.

“Jillian,” she repeated, her expression determined. “Your mom told me what happened. About your cousin getting in the car with a strange man and police finding her body a few weeks later. I can’t even imagine how horrible that was for you.” He watched her throat move as she swallowed. “The two of you were close?”

He felt himself nodding, even though he hadn’t made up his mind yet about answering her. He rolled onto his back, distancing himself from her eyes. Her hand settled in the center of his chest, and something about the gesture made him open his mouth to speak.

“Yes,” he said slowly. “I was five, and she was seven, so I pretty much worshiped her.”

“Did you—I mean, you saw it happen?”

He turned his head to the side and met her eyes again, admiring the startling turquoise shade of them. “We knew about stranger danger, of course,” he said. “We both saw this rusty blue car pull up, and a man in a black baseball cap. Jillian said he was creepy.”

Her eyes held his, unblinking, as her palm rested over his heart. It felt good there, warm and necessary. She stroked her fingers absently through his chest hair, and Mac closed his eyes.

He saw the blue car. Saw the man with the mustache and black cap.

“He said he lost his puppy,” Mac said, his words distant to his own ears. “He pointed at Jillian and said, ‘You there, girlie—come here.’”

“And she went?”

“No. She didn’t. Not at first.” Mac breathed in and out, picturing the man’s face in his head. The crooked, leering smile. “He pulled out some candy. Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, one of those big king-size packages.”

His eyes were still closed, so her voice sounded soft and dreamlike when she spoke. “So she went for the candy?”

Mac opened his eyes and met hers. He’d never spoken the words aloud, not to anyone. He swallowed and held Kelli’s gaze.

“Jillian was allergic to peanut butter. To peanuts.”

“What?”

“She never would have gone to the car if I hadn’t begged her to.”

Her hand froze on his chest. For a moment the words hung suspended in the air, like he could still snatch them back if he wanted to. He watched her eyes flicker as realization dawned. Mac waited, not sure if she’d cry or run or call him names.

He deserved all of it.

Instead, she bent down and kissed his forehead. “Mac, you can’t possibly blame yourself for that. You were five years old. You couldn’t have known.”

He shook his head, willing her to understand. “If it weren’t for me, Jillian never would have gone with him. She’d still be alive.”

“Wait—is this why you don’t eat peanut butter? Some sort of penance?”

He swallowed. “It’s fucked-up, I know. It was my favorite treat in the whole damn world, and I begged her to go get it for me. A stupid fucking peanut-butter cup. Jesus.”

Mac closed his eyes again, suddenly more tired than he’d ever imagined. Kelli’s hand stroked over his chest, a gesture that was both calming and ridiculously sexy. She was quiet for so long, Mac thought she might have drifted off.

“What happened to him?” she asked at last. “The man in the blue car. Did the police catch him?”

“The police never caught him.”

He let the words hang there between them in the semidarkness.

“But you did.”

Mac opened his eyes, studying her. “How did you know?”

“Because I know you, Mac. It’s the kind of man you are. You made him pay.”

He nodded once. “Yes. Not enough. It could never be enough but—”

“It’s enough, Mac.” She kissed him on the cheek, soft and sweet and gentle, so unlike the woman who’d had sweaty sex with him on an arms dealer’s bathroom counter. Jesus, who the hell was she?

She kissed him again, this time on the lips. When she drew back, her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears. “It’s more than enough.”

Mac closed his eyes, certain he couldn’t handle the tears, the pitying look, the gut-wrenching swirl of emotion bombarding him from all directions.

But more than anything, certain he was dangerously close to falling for her.