Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (44 page)

An undercurrent rippled between them, tempting and dark. It had to be the wine, she told herself, not the way this man had roared into her life with that leather jacket and that dark hair that begged her to touch. “Of course that's what I mean.”

Mac held her gaze awhile longer. “Me, too. Of course.”

* * *

Mac didn't know what had made him agree to get in a little boat and zip across the bay with Savannah. The sun was beginning to set, but the air was still summer warm, hot enough to tempt him to kick back and take a swim.

Okay, yes, he did know. The more time he spent around Savannah Hillstrand and her amazing smile, the less he thought about business. In the back of his mind he was wondering how he could make her smile again, how he could make her laugh. And this house, the one with the tempting Adirondack chairs, brought out her biggest smile, which had made him ache to feel the same. As if merely being with her, on the water, would imbue him with the peace he saw in her eyes.

When was the last time he'd done something like this? Zipped away from work just to take a walk? He thought, but honestly couldn't remember a time since he'd hit eighteen when he'd taken off early and hit the beach or a park or anything remotely resembling a vacation spot. He'd traveled, of course, but always for business, with every spare moment spent in his hotel room on his laptop, analyzing numbers, creating projections, working deals.

Savannah had sat at the rear of the small metal boat, starting the engine then navigating across the bay like a pro. He had to admit it was pretty damned sexy to see a woman who could operate a boat with confidence. The wind caught her hair, whipping the blond tresses around her shoulders. Coupled with the sundress and her bare feet—she'd kicked her shoes to the side when she got in the boat—she looked like a completely different woman from the one he'd met just hours ago.

A tempting woman. A woman who made him forget about business and bottom lines. The kind that could distract him from the whole reason he was here.

That was a very dangerous combination.

She docked the boat beside a short pier, threw a rope onto a cleat and was climbing out before he could help her. “You surprise me,” he said as he stepped onto the dock.

“I do?” She slipped her shoes back on to her feet, and started walking toward the house. “How?”

“I guess I didn't expect you to know how to start an outboard or dock a boat.”

“I have a lot of skills you aren't aware of, Mac.” A slight smile played at the edge of her lips, and a tease lit her eyes.

Damn. He liked the way she said his name. “If we keep changing the subject like this, it's going to feel like we're on vacation together.”

The suggestion heated the air between them. Made him imagine taking Savannah to an island getaway, just the two of them, laughing and toasting and...

More. A lot more.

“I'd call this...recess,” Savannah said. “Not a vacation.”

She was right, but he didn't want to give up that vacation image in his head. Not yet.

“That's a vacation house,” Mac said, pointing at the white two-story house presiding over the dock.

“It used to be,” Savannah said softly. “And maybe someday it will be again.”

Behind them, there was a splash. Both of them turned at the same time toward the bay, just as a fish disappeared beneath the surface. Savannah turned left, Mac turned right and their cheeks nearly brushed. Hot awareness roared through Mac of Savannah's skin, her perfume, her entire body. His breath held for a second, neither of them moving, as if they were afraid to disrupt the moment.

“It was a...a fish,” he said.

“Must have been trying to get away,” she said, her voice as soft as a whisper.

He could feel the movement of her mouth in the air between them, feel the warmth of her breath against his skin.

His gaze traveled along the curve of her neck, the ridges of her collarbone, the swell of her breasts beneath the dark green cotton dress. Her mouth opened, closed, another breath passing between them, then he drew in the dark floral scent of her perfume, his mind filling with only her. With wanting her.

“We...” Her words trailed off.

“Yes,” he said, and he wasn't sure why, because in that next moment he was leaning in, brushing his lips against hers. Her lips parted, soft, sweet, hesitant. She paused only a second, probably caught off guard, then her hand came up and rested gently against his arm. Her feathery touch opened a door inside Mac, a door he'd kept shut for a long, long time. He turned, sliding one arm around her, then deepened the kiss.

She opened to him with a little mew, and he nearly came undone at the sound. Then her hands were tangling in his hair, and his arms were going tight around her waist, and the kiss turned from something sweet to something dark, hot, insistent.

Savannah stumbled back, breaking the contact. “That...what...what was that?”

“An accident,” he said, because it was, wasn't it? “I'm sorry.”

Her eyes were wide and glossy in the waning light. She gave him a short nod. “I agree. Maybe it's best if we just don't...don't do that again.”

Every fiber of his being wanted to do that again. That and much, much more. Instead, he nodded. “Agreed.”

He turned away, back toward Willie Jay Hillstrand's house. Even in the dim end of the day, Mac could see the peeling paint, the missing shingles, the sagging porch. It had once been a proud and majestic house, he was sure, but after years of abuse from the salty air on the Atlantic seaboard, the home had begun to edge into decay.

“You should sell this house,” he said, because it was easier to focus on dollars and cents and sensible decisions than whatever the hell he'd just been doing. “Keep the cash, reinvest—”

She spun toward him, the softness in her eyes replaced by fire. “Do you sell everything you come across? Is there anything you think is too special to get rid of?”

“Everything is replaceable, Savannah.”

“No, Mac, that's where you're wrong.” Her gaze went back to the house, to the one place in the world that he suspected held all her best memories. He watched her heart break a little when her gaze lingered on the sad frown in the rotting porch, and he felt bad for saying what he'd been thinking.

She pointed across the yard to a small white replica of the beach house that sat atop a tall wooden pole. “Do you see that birdhouse? My dad and I built that when I was nine. It's not very fancy and, frankly, I did a pretty lousy paint job on it, but it's home to this pair of bluebirds who nest there every year. If you look closely, you can sometimes see the babies poking their heads out.”

“What does that have to do with selling this house?”

“It's one of the many, many special things about this place. It's a memory that I can't relive and can't get back. But every time I see that birdhouse, and every time I see a new family taking root inside those walls, I think of my father. Of how he built that with me to give us something to look forward to every summer. A story to follow. Those are the kinds of things that make a house more than a property you can sell for a price. It makes it a home. Not everything is replaceable. And not everything has a price tag.”

In Mac's world everything had a price, a value. The land they were standing on, the house that she got all emotional about, even the boots on his feet were all commodities. A new birdhouse could be bought in a store, installed at another address. The sooner she learned that, the sooner Savannah Hillstrand would quit holding on to a business out of sentimental value and see the sense in affixing it with a price and unloading it to someone else.

And with that his mind shifted back into business mode. This was a break, a temporary one, over almost as fast as it had begun. Monday morning they'd both be back to work, no more beaches, flip-flops or bikinis in sight. And no more kisses. Especially no more of those.

And that made him disappointed as hell, then, a second later, mad at himself. What was he doing? He was supposed to be convincing her to sell so he could move on to the next project, the next business and get back on the road. Not get involved with her on an increasingly personal level. “We should probably keep this short, so we can get back to—”

Savannah reached over and grabbed his hand, cutting him off midsentence. Almost as quickly, she let go again, as if touching him was akin to brushing against a hot stove. But the touch had already had its effect. His heart leaped and something tightened in his gut. All those great resolutions he'd had a second ago flew away in the breeze.

“It's Sunday, Mac,” she said. “It's a gorgeous evening. Let's take some time to enjoy Mother Nature before you get back to work. Refill that well, like we agreed.”

Every time she said his name, it was with a little lilt of laughter in the middle of the syllable. As if she saw him as someone who could let loose, have fun, be the kind of guy who stood on a dock and cast a line into the depths of the sea. Still, the idea of just being for anything longer than a few seconds made him...anxious. As though he'd miss something or lose something if he wasted a few hours. “I don't waste time.”

“Who said it was a waste of time?” She grinned, then beckoned him toward the water's edge with a crooked finger. “Come on, let's take a walk.”

What would a short walk hurt, really? And maybe he could continue to plead his case for selling while they walked. Yeah, that was why he'd gotten in that little boat and crossed the bay. Because he wanted to talk business. Not because he wanted to see what Savannah looked like barefoot on the sand. Or wondered what she'd feel like in his arms, what her lips would taste like. He had those answers now and damned if they didn't make him want her even more.

As if reading his mind she kicked off her sandals and left them on the beach. Her toenails were red, a stark contrast against the pale sand. “You want to leave your boots there, too?”

“I'm fine.”

“You'll be uncomfortable as hell and risk ruining some pretty kickass riding boots, which I bet were custom made for you.”

“How do you know these were custom made?”

She quirked a grin at him. “You look like the kind of guy who always buys the best of the best. But I think—” she tapped a finger on his chest, and once again, his pulse went into overdrive, and he wanted to sweep her into a second kiss, a third “—that there's a beach bum in you somewhere. I saw the way you looked at this house.”

He laughed. “A beach bum? I'm far from that.”

“You're halfway there with the Harley. And I think—” she tapped his chest a second time “—that despite all your talk about bottom lines and profit margins, there's a fun guy in there somewhere. And that's the kind of person Hillstrand Solar—and I—need to help us out of this situation. So follow me, and let the sand get between your toes. You'll be a better leader for it. I guarantee it.”

“I don't think sand is going to help me do anything.”

“If you truly want to help me and my company, then I think you have to think like the man who started the business. Let go, relax. Be a regular guy, like my dad was.” She cocked her head and studied him. “If you can't get in touch with his world and my world, then how are you ever going to truly get in touch with the heartbeat of Hillstrand Solar?”

She walked off, her skirt swirling around her knees as she padded barefoot down the beach. Mac watched Savannah for a few moments, then followed along behind her.

But he kept his boots tightly laced.

Chapter Five

S
avannah was at work before the sun rose, fully expecting to arrive before Mac did. But when she walked in the nearly empty building, she found him at her father's desk again, immersed in a set of spreadsheets on the computer. He was wearing dark jeans and a pale blue button-down shirt that stretched across his broad back and muscular shoulders.

Oh, my.

She dropped her purse on the desk in the next cubicle, then peered over the wall panel at him. “How did you get in?”

“I used the code you gave me yesterday. I like to get an early start.” He waved at the computer. “I hope that's okay with you.”

The clock on the wall ticked a pair of sleepy hands past the six. “It's only half past six. What time did you get here?”

“Sometime a little after five.” He shrugged. “Maybe a little earlier.”

“Five in the
morning
?” She shook her head. There was a very short list of things she'd be willing to get up that early for, and working on a computer was not on that list. “Did you sleep last night?”

“I don't sleep much.”

“You don't take vacations, you don't sleep, you don't like breakfast... What do you do with all those hours in the day, Mac Barlow?”

His blue eyes met hers, direct and clear. “Work.”

Mac was exactly as he'd been painted on the internet: a consummate workaholic. Except none of the internet sites had mentioned those piercing blue eyes that could distract a woman in two seconds flat.

“I don't know how you stay indoors, in those meetings and at the computer and on the phone every day. I'd go stir crazy.” She stretched her back, already dreading another day at a desk. Every ounce of her itched to be outside, to do something constructive. To demo or build new or paint. Anything other than what she was supposed to do here five days a week. And lately, all seven days.

“I don't even notice the time,” Mac said. “When I'm in my office, hours can go by before I realize how long I've been working. I get immersed in a project, and time just slips away.”

“I get antsy if I'm indoors for more than an hour. Which is why I love remodeling homes. It gets me outside, doing something hands-on.” She pulled up a chair beside him and glanced at the screen. “What is that?”

“I'm creating a spreadsheet we can use to analyze the workflow in the plant. You said you wanted a creative solution for saving money, and I think this might do it.”

“How is this going to save money?”

“If we can reduce bottlenecks and increase output, then you'll increase profits.” He pointed to different sections on the digital page. “Without letting anyone go. You'll have to also increase sales, and reduce waste in every inch of the operation, but—”

“You found a way for us to do this?” Had she just said
us
, as in working together with him? She blamed it entirely on her excitement that there actually might be a good way out of this mess.

He put up a hand. “I'm not a hundred percent positive it's going to work. Remember, I don't normally do this. I need to spend the day down on the production floor, analyzing the process and making sure that my figures stand up. And there's going to be some other difficult cutbacks that you will have to make, but—”

“But no one has to lose their job.”

“
Maybe
no one has to lose their job,” he said. “I'm not promising anything.”

“Maybe is better than definitely.” She grinned, and for the first time since she had stepped into her father's shoes, she began to see sunshine on the horizon. She listened as Mac explained his thoughts on creating a leaner, more efficient operation, jotting notes as she did. The next couple of hours passed quickly, and when the production employees reported for work in the plant on the first floor, Savannah followed Mac downstairs.

She touched his shoulder before they opened the door to the first floor. “Thank you.”

He gave her a curious glance. “For what?”

“For listening. For helping. For being here before the rooster crows, just to work on this.” She smiled. “I appreciate it.”

“It's my pleasure.”

The way he said
pleasure
sent a little thrill through her. She reminded herself he was talking about business, not anything...else. “Whatever made you get into this in the first place?” she asked.

He thought a second. “I guess I've always been a guy who likes a challenge. Who likes to find something I want—”

And that sent her mind down another path entirely—

“—and do what it takes to get it,” he finished.

“That...that's a very good trait to have.” She wondered what it would be like to be the woman he pursued with that kind of drive.

Oh, that was not a good road for her to journey down. Not at all. He was just another charming Southern man with a great smile. “Let's, uh, see how production is going,” she said, and pushed through the door before she could let things get any more personal.

They walked through every inch of Hillstrand Solar. While Mac made notes, Savannah stopped and talked to every employee, many of whom had been there almost as long as she'd been alive. These were the people she felt most comfortable with, the ones who had been part of her extended family. She made sure to introduce Jeremy and Carla to Mac, thinking if he put a face to the names, he'd be less inclined to recommend firing anyone.

“So good to see you, Savannah,” Betty Williams said, drawing her into a quick hug. Betty had been one of Willie Jay's first employees. Now in her early sixties, she was the grandmother of the plant, the first one to bring in brownies for a birthday or to circulate a get-well card for someone out with the flu. “You're like our own ray of sunshine. Always have been.”

“Aw, thanks, Betty.” Savannah returned the embrace. “How's your new grandbaby?”

“Perfect as ever,” Betty said. She reached in her back pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “Have I shown you the pictures of her in her new walker?” She started scrolling through the photo app, and Savannah gushed about each picture of the blue-eyed, blonde cutie.

“Excuse me, Miss Williams, I need to talk to Ms. Hillstrand for a moment.” Mac took her arm and tugged her away from Betty. “What are you doing?”

“Looking at pictures of Betty's granddaughter. She just learned to roll—”

“You don't interrupt the employees when they're working. In fact, you shouldn't be down here treating the production floor like a high school reunion. Let them do their jobs and you do yours.”

Her temper flared. “High school reunion? I'm talking to the people who worked for my father.”

“Who work for
you
now. And every second you spend talking to them is a second they don't spend earning money for the company. That's costing you and this company thousands of dollars every month. When I talked about a lean operation, I meant lean for everyone, including you. No wasted time.”

She bristled. “Taking five seconds to look at pictures of Betty's granddaughter is not costing me thousands of dollars.”

“No, but when you couple it with talking to Joe about his knee surgery and Scott about his car, and what's-her-name about the cataract in her mother's eye—”

“It's called being nice. Building rapport.” She propped her fists on her hips. “Something you don't seem to have much of.”

“And how do you know what kind of rapport I have with anyone?” He took a step closer, so close she could see the flecks of gold in his eyes, see the tiny section of stubble he'd missed when he'd shaved this morning.

“Because I've seen the rapport you have with me. Except for those few minutes on the beach, you've been...”

“I'm what?”

“Difficult and stubborn.”

“I prefer to call it focused and driven. Both good qualities in a CEO.”

Translation—she could use a little more of that. Okay, so maybe Mac was right, but she refused to admit it to him. “My father believed in building relationships with the people he worked with.”

“And is that what you are doing?”

“Of course. Plus I've known most of these people since I was a little girl, so it's only natural to—”

“I meant with me.”

“Building a relationship with
you
?” Her gaze went to that patch of stubble again, to how it made Mac seem more vulnerable, more approachable. The idea of a relationship with him flickered into a thought, an image, a memory of that holy-hell-soul-scorching kiss last night, but then she pushed the thoughts away. “Why...why would I do that?”

“Because it seems to be the thing you do around here.” He waved toward the busy plant bustling with employees working the assembly lines and the shipping department. “I have to admit, I'm a little...disappointed since you didn't do that with me.”

“I tried. On the beach. You weren't interested.”

“I never said I wasn't interested.”

The words hung there between them, laden with meanings that could go either way.

Her breath caught, her gaze dropping again to that missed patch, then she lifted her eyes to his and realized he couldn't possibly be serious. Why would she think he was? Mac Barlow was only interested in her bottom line, not in her. He couldn't possibly be jealous that she had asked the employees about their lives and hadn't asked him. Or think that the night on the beach was anything more than just that, a walk on the sand.

She shook her head and let out a little laugh. “Whatever. You just told me not to waste the company's time talking to people about anything other than work. So I won't make the mistake of doing it with you.” She turned on her heel and headed through the door, then up the stairs. Maybe climbing five flights would be enough to make her forget the way Mac drove her crazy.

* * *

For the next three hours, Mac worked with numbers and equations, fiddling with this formula and that one, jotting notes on a pad by his side and keeping his nose to the proverbial grindstone. Focusing kept him from wondering what Savannah Hillstrand was doing at this very moment and why a woman who broke every rule he lived by intrigued him so much.

His cell phone rang, and he started to let it go to voice mail, then noted the unfamiliar number on the screen. Might be the owner of that garage-door manufacturer he was hoping to look at later this week. Mac hesitated only a moment, then he pressed the Answer Call button and put the phone to his ear. “Mac Barlow.”

There was a pause on the other end. “Uh, Mac, is it? This is Colton. Your, uh...”

It took only a second to make the connection with the name. A stone sank in Mac's gut. A part of him had been hoping Uncle Tank had been kidding, that there wasn't really anyone named Colton Barlow wanting to turn Mac's life upside down. But now the man was on the other end of the phone, a living, breathing human being. “I know who you are.”

Another pause. “I wanted to meet you. And Jack and Luke. I'm thinking of coming to Stone Gap—”

“That wouldn't be a good idea.” Not before Mac had a chance to talk to his father. Not before he figured out how the hell he was going to process the fact that his father had screwed up and screwed up big.

“I have a right to know my family.” Colton's voice hardened.

“You have a family.” A mother, a stepfather and a sister from what Mac had heard.

“I do. And I've gotten close to our uncle's family. He was...a good friend to my mother over the years. I never knew he was my father's brother until recently.”

The words
our uncle
grated on Mac's ears. He didn't know this guy Colton, didn't know him at all. And here he was coming along and throwing a monkey wrench into everything Mac thought he knew about his own life. About his
father
. Now it seemed Colton was making himself right at home, whether he'd been invited or not to do so. “Whoa. Wait. You visited Uncle Tank? Met his
kids
?”

Colton laughed. “For one, those kids are grown men like you and me. For another, Uncle Tank is my uncle, too. He was the first one in this family to accept me. And I've known him for years. I just didn't realize we shared a biological connection until my mother told me.”

“No one knew you even existed before two weeks ago. You have to give us time.”

“I understand this is a shock to you and to your family—”

“Hell, yes, it's going to be a shock.”

“I appreciate that. And I have no desire to ruin your lives. But I went my whole life not knowing my real father, Mac, or the fact that I have brothers. Three of them. Can you imagine finding that out now? What would you want to do?”

Mac wanted to say
run for the hills
, but that wasn't the truth. “Probably the same thing you are doing.”

“I've waited almost thirty-two years to meet my father,” Colton went on, his tone as clear and direct as Mac's. “And I think that's enough time. Don't you?”

There was no doubting Colton's determination. In a weird way, Mac respected his half brother for not backing down, not allowing anyone, Mac included, to stand in his way with the family he wanted to meet. Not that Mac could blame him. Had the roles been reversed, Mac would have probably just shown up in Stone Gap. Undoubtedly that would be Colton's next step if Mac didn't find a way to stall him.

“You have to give me time to talk to them,” Mac said. “This is the week of Jack's wedding and I can't—”

“I'll call back end of day tomorrow. And I
am
coming to town, Mac, whether you talk to them or not. I'm not trying to be a jerk, but this is my father, too.
My
family. I've waited long enough to meet them.” Colton severed the connection.

Mac cursed and put down the phone. Twenty-four hours. That was all he had to upend his family's life, because once Mac told Bobby that Colton was on his way to town, Bobby would have to tell the others. The Barlow boys were adults; they could handle this and rebound. Bobby—well, his father had made the mistake and, frankly, Mac didn't care much right now what this did to Bobby's life. But his mother?