Hawk's Way Grooms (12 page)

“That's another thing,” Mac said. “Just how far were you intending to go? Would you have let him kiss you?”

“Why not?” she said tartly.

Mac made a threatening, rumbly sound in his throat. “I can kiss you as well as some stranger can. If it's kisses you want, come to me.”

“Last night you said—”

“Forget about last night. It never happened. We start new, here and now. You want to practice being a woman, practice with me.”

Jewel eyed Mac in astonishment. She had exactly what she had thought she wanted. All she had to do was find the courage to follow through and take Mac up on his offer. She took a deep breath, let it out and said, “All right. I'll practice with you.”

Mac heaved a sigh and knelt down to stir the ashes with a stick to make certain the fire was out. “Thank God that's settled.”

“I want to be kissed, Mac.”

She watched his shoulders tense, saw him drop the stick, then rise to face her.

“You want to be kissed now?”

“If you hadn't scared Gavin away, he'd be kissing me now,” she pointed out.

It was hard to tell what Mac was feeling. His eyes were narrowed in—anger? His lips were twisted in a moue of—frustration? And his brow was furrowed deep with—apprehension? Which showed how good she was at reading men. What did Mac Macready have to be anxious about? He must have kissed a hundred women. She was the one who needed lessons.

“Come here, Jewel,” Mac said in a voice that grated like an unoiled hinge.

It only took a couple of steps for her to reach him. His arms opened wide, and as she stepped between them, they folded around her. One hand caught at her nape, the other low on her spine, just above her buttocks. She was aware of goose bumps rising along her nape as his hand slid up and grasped a handful of her hair.

He did not pull her any closer, simply angled her head and lowered his mouth. His lips felt warm and full as he rubbed them against hers. “Are you sure about this, Jewel?” he breathed against her half-open mouth.

She made a sound in her throat which he must have taken as assent, because he kissed the left side of her mouth, then the right, before returning to the center. He slipped his tongue beneath her upper lip, then nipped at her lips with his teeth.

Jewel shivered. It was strange, standing upright, being held—but not held—in a man's arms. She leaned into the kiss, returning the gentle pressure of his mouth. She slid her tongue along the seam of his lips, and he opened for her. Jewel had never been the aggressor with a man. It felt wonderful to be able to taste and tease to her heart's content without being afraid.

Her arms roamed up Mac's back, feeling the corded sinew. One hand slid into the hair at his nape and played with it as she indulged herself kissing him, feeling the damp softness of his lips, tasting the inside of his mouth with soft, tentative thrusts that he returned. She felt him begin to tremble.

“Jewel,” he murmured.

“Hmm.” Her lips followed the line of his chin to a spot below his ear, and she heard him hiss in a breath.

“I think we'd better stop.”

She leaned back and looked up into his hooded eyes, at lips rigid with passion. She smiled. “If I look anything like you do, perhaps you're right.”

“You look beautiful,” he said fervently.

“You don't have to say that,” Jewel protested. “I know what I—”

He put his mouth on hers to silence her, pouring his feelings into a kiss that had her straining to be closer to him, closing the distance between them, until they were pressed close from breast to thigh. Jewel was so entranced by what Mac was doing with his mouth that it took her a moment to realize he had widened his stance enough to fit her between his legs.

He was aroused.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to concentrate on the kiss. It was so lovely. It felt so good. But her body below the waist had turned to stone.

Mac broke the kiss and looked down at her, his eyes worried. “Jewel?”

“Let me go, Mac.”

“I won't hurt you, Jewel.” He put one hand on her buttocks to keep her where she was. He smiled tenderly. “I'd very much like to put myself inside you.”

Jewel felt the heat climbing up her throat at such plain speaking. “Mac—”

“But I'm not going to do anything until you're ready,” he said, leaning down to give her a gentle kiss on the lips. “We have plenty of time.”

“Your recuperation is almost complete,” Jewel countered. “Look how far you've come in—”

He stopped her with another kiss. “We have plenty of time for you to get used to me touching you, wanting you.”

“It doesn't seem fair, Mac. I mean, for me to use you like this.”

He smiled. “Believe me, I don't mind.”

His eyes seemed to be promising things she knew he could not mean. She looked down and said, “In a couple of weeks you'll be leaving here, and I won't be seeing you again.”

He lifted her chin until she was looking into his eyes. “You'll always be special to me, Jewel. You have no idea how special.” He opened his mouth as though to say something else and closed it again. “Look, let's just take this one day at a time. You can start with simple stuff like kisses and touches. Anytime you want to practice, just let me know. How does that sound?”

“Are you sure I won't be imposing?” Jewel asked.

“It'll be my pleasure,” Mac said with a grin, rocking his body against hers.

“Oh!”

His brow wrinkled in concern. “What's wrong?”

“You're still…and I'm not…It's working!” she said with delight. “I'm hardly affected at all.” Except that her pulse was throbbing, and she felt the strangest urge to push back against the hardness that rested between her legs.

Mac's smile looked a little forced. “See. You're already getting used to me.”

He released her, and Jewel took a step back.

“I suppose we'd better get back,” she said. “Camp starts tomorrow, and I'll be getting up early.”

“I can help you after my workout.”

Jewel smiled. “I'd like that.”

“Don't forget. Anytime you feel like you want to practice, just let me know. There's no need to flirt with that Gavin character.”

“I thought I might try my wings—”

“Try your wings on me!” He swung her back into his arms, kissed her hard on the lips, then stomped off toward his horse, leaving her standing there.

It took a minute for Jewel to catch her breath and steady her racing pulse. “I was just teasing!” she called after him, as she hurried to catch up.

Mac made a growling sound in his throat. “Let's go. It's late.”

She stomped right over and stood in front of him. “For heaven's sake! Where's your sense of humor?”

He grabbed her hand and placed it on the bulge in his jeans. “Right there. I'm not feeling too damn funny at the moment.”

Even though he had immediately let go of her hand, Jewel was too shocked to jerk away. She left her hand where Mac had put it, feeling the length and hardness of him. This part of him didn't seem nearly so threatening through a layer of denim and cotton, warm and pulsing beneath her hand.

“Jewel,” he said through gritted teeth. “What are you doing?”

“Learning.”

He gave a choked laugh. “I think my sense of humor is—”

“In very fine shape,” she said with a gamine grin. “Want to test it again?”

He caught her wrist and removed her hand. “I think I've had enough testing for one evening. Let's save this for another time.”

“Anything you say, Mac,” she answered cheerfully. “You're the teacher.”

And Jewel was determined to be a very good pupil.

M
AC REALIZED THE DILEMMA HE HAD
put himself in. He was going to be kissing and touching Jewel over the next several weeks—and encouraging her to kiss and touch him—even though he had serious reservations about making love to her. Not because he didn't desire her, but because he was afraid if he did something wrong, he would mess things up for her even more. He decided he owed it to both of them to get some professional advice.

“Something's come up that I need to discuss with my agent,” Mac said to Jewel at breakfast the next morning. “I've made reservations to fly to Dallas this afternoon.”

“Couldn't you do it over the phone?” Jewel asked.

Mac shook his head and raised another spoonful of cornflakes. “Too sensitive. Requires face-to-face consultation.”

“Why didn't you say something about this last night?” she asked suspiciously.

He grinned. “I was distracted last night.”

Jewel blushed. Mac thought she had never looked lovelier. She was wearing a plaid Western shirt, tucked in at the waist of her jeans, that hinted at the fullness of her figure. Her brown hair looked sun kissed, and her brown eyes gleamed. As she turned toward him, the faded crisscross scars on her face took him back to a time when they were both much younger and someone had teased her about them.

Mac realized he must have cared a great deal for her even then. He could remember wiping away her tears with his thumbs, kissing her scarred cheek and saying, “These scars are as precious as any other part of you, Jewel, more facets to add texture to the diamond you are.”

He had meant it then, and he could see it now.

Jewel laid her spoon in her cereal bowl and said, “I'll miss you, Mac. When will you be back?”

Mac met her troubled gaze and said, “I don't know.” He had no idea how long it would take to get an appointment with the one sex therapist he knew. Dr. Timothy Douglas might be too busy to fit him in for several days.

“You're not coming back, are you?” Jewel said flatly. “You've changed your mind about wanting to teach me, and you're leaving.” The glow had left her face and the sparkle had faded from her eyes.

“What do I have to do to convince you I'm not going away?”

“Kiss me,” she said. “That was the deal. I could ask anytime, and I'm asking now.” She crossed her arms over her chest as though she thought he might refuse.

Silly woman. He wasn't about to refuse.

Mac crossed to Jewel in two steps, tipped her chin up and slanted his mouth over hers, kissing her with all the passion he felt, hoping to convince her he meant what he said. They were both breathing hard when he lifted his head. “I'm coming back,” he said. “I just have some business to do in Dallas.”

Tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him. “That was goodbye. I know it.”

Mac shook his head in disbelief. He stood and put his hands on his hips. “Look, Jewel. Why would I make an offer like the one I made last night and leave the next day for good?”

“Because you had second thoughts,” she said.

“No, I did not.”

“Because you realized I might fall in love with you or something stupid like that, if you started kissing me all the time.”

“That never crossed my mind!” The thought hadn't occurred to him, but he liked the idea now that she mentioned it.

“Probably you never thought of me falling in love, because kisses don't mean much to a man like you,” she said, lips pouting.

How wrong she was! Mac thought. Her kisses, at least, made him feel a great deal, though he wasn't willing to go so far as to think in terms of love. A great deal of
like.
That was what he felt for Jewel Whitelaw.

But he couldn't resist kissing her again. He slipped his tongue inside her mouth and tasted her thoroughly. When he stood again, the revealing bulge was back in his jeans. He noticed that she noticed and felt his body tighten in expectation.

“I'll be back, Jewel. Trust me.”

It was a lot to ask a woman who hadn't found much about men to trust.

She blinked back the tears and said, “All right, Mac.”

He kissed her again, to thank her for trusting him, but when he felt the urge to pull her up and into his arms, he stepped back. “You've got campers to see to, and I've got a few things to do before I join you.”

“You're still going to help me with the campers this morning?”

“Of course. Why wouldn't I?”

“I thought you might have to pack…”

“I'm only taking a few things.”

She walked back to him and put her arms around him and hugged him tight. “I'm so glad you're coming back,” she said. “I'll be waiting for you. I won't even flirt with Gavin while you're gone.”

She was already halfway to the door by the time he realized what she had said. She turned back, winked and laughed, then headed out the door.

Mac watched her till she was gone, realizing he had more problems to solve than just hers, if they were to have any hope of a future together. He had gotten a big signing bonus when he joined the Tornadoes, but his five-year contract had provided for a smaller salary in the first few years. He had most of the signing bonus left, but he had pretty much spent his first year's salary.

What if he didn't make it back onto the team?

Don't even
think
that!

Mac didn't believe in quitting or giving up or giving in. But it was time for a reality check. He had accomplished more than most men would have. He was walking—hell, he was running again—when the doctors said he'd be in a leg brace the rest of his life. He should quit while he was ahead. If he went back to playing football, chances were good he'd reinjure his leg. Maybe next time his prognosis would be even worse.

Mac called his agent's office and got Andy's secretary. “Tell Andy I'll be in his office about four o'clock this afternoon. I'll fill him in on everything when I see him.”

He headed out the door dressed in a starched white oxford-cloth shirt belted into crisp new jeans and almost new ostrich cowboy boots, so he'd be ready if the media caught sight of him in Dallas. Mac wanted to look confident and ready to go back to work for the Tornadoes on the outside, even if he didn't feel quite that way inside.

He stopped at the boys' bunkhouse to check on Brad Templeton, but apparently the kids had already headed over to the cookhouse for breakfast. He was about to leave when he heard something hit the tile floor in the communal bathroom. He stepped inside. “Who's there?”

Nobody answered, but Mac knocked on the frame of the open bathroom doorway and said, “Anybody here?”

Brad Templeton stepped out of one of the four shower-curtained stalls. “How'd you know I was here?”

“I heard something drop.”

He made a face. “My plastic cup.”

“Why aren't you at breakfast with the other kids?” Mac asked, leaning casually against the bathroom doorway to put the kid at ease.

“I told Gavin I didn't feel well.”

Mac's easy pose evaporated. He took the few steps to bring him to Brad's side, whipped off the kid's New York Mets baseball cap and pressed his hand on Brad's forehead. It all happened so fast, Brad didn't have a chance to complain until Mac had already found out what he wanted to know. He replaced the cap. “No fever,” he said.

Brad tugged the ball cap back down over his nearly bald head. “Naw. I'm okay.”

Fever was one of the first—and worst—signs that a remission was over, that the leukemia was back. It wasn't something to be ignored. “Why'd you tell Gavin you were sick?” Mac asked.

Brad shrugged, the kind of kid gesture that could have meant anything, but really meant,
I couldn't tell him the truth.

“What's on the agenda this morning?” Mac asked.

“Horseback riding,” Brad mumbled.

“That sounds like fun. What's the problem?”

“I've never been on a horse before. I'd probably get bucked off and stomped to death. I don't want to die any sooner than I have to.”

Mac grinned.

“That's not funny!” Brad said.

“You sound exactly like I did when I went riding the first time. Funny how being sick makes you want to live all the more, isn't it?”

Brad's brows rose almost to the brim of his ball cap. It was one thing for Mac to say he'd been sick, another for him to express a feeling that could only be had by someone who had personally faced death.

“Come on,” Mac said, putting a hand on Brad's shoulder and ushering him toward the door. “Let's get you fed. I know just the pony for you. Gentle as a lamb.”

“What's his name?” Brad asked.

Mac grinned. “Buttercup.”

 

M
AC PACED THE CONFINES OF
Andy Dennison's office, from the bat signed by Ken Griffey, Jr., in one corner, to the football signed by Joe Montana in the other and back again. His agent had become his friend, and now he needed some friendly advice. But Andy was late.

He had too much time to think.

Andy must have leaked what time Mac was landing at Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, because a bunch of photographers and reporters had been waiting for him when he exited the jetway. He had smiled for the cameras as he walked quickly toward the chauffeur-driven limousine waiting for him outside.

“It's great to see you walking so well, Mac,” one reporter commented. “Will you be back with the Tornadoes this fall?”

“That's my plan,” Mac said.

“You can walk. But can you run?” another reporter asked.

Mac smiled more broadly. “Does a Texas dog have fleas?”

Everybody laughed, but the reporter persisted. “What's your time for the forty?”

Mac's time for the forty-yard dash wasn't anywhere near the four-point-something-second range of most wide receivers, and nothing close to his own previous time. His hesitation in answering hinted at the problems he was having, and the reporters, smelling blood, attacked in earnest.

“Have you come to Dallas to announce your retirement?” one speculated.

“No,” Mac said flatly.

“Are you here to see a doctor about your leg?”

“No.”

“Are you negotiating with the Tornadoes to get your spot on the team back?”

“No comment.”

That gave them more meat to chew on and distracted them from other lines of questioning. They asked a dozen more questions aimed at determining his exact status with the Tornadoes, before he reached the limousine and safety.

“Remind me to kill Andy when I see him,” he muttered to Andy's driver.

The old man laughed. “He thought you could use the publicity.”

“Why wasn't he here to keep the wolves off of me?”

“He's working on a big deal. Said he'd see you at the office at four, like you asked. You're all set up to stay at the Wyndham Hotel. I can take you there to freshen up, if you'd like.”

“I need to make another stop first.” Mac gave Andy's chauffeur the address of the sex therapist, who had agreed to see him today during a time someone else had canceled an appointment.

Dr. Timothy Douglas had first talked to Mac in the hospital after one of his operations, when Mac was scared to death that he would be impotent for life because nothing seemed to be working. The doctor had reassured Mac that the medication he was taking—and his state of agitation over the problem—had caused his lack of sex drive.

Douglas was not much older than Mac, but he was balding and wore spectacles, both of which made him look more distinguished. The good doctor had returned several times over the years to talk to Mac in the hospital, and it was during one of those discussions that Mac had admitted he was a virgin.

Douglas hadn't been able to control a smile. “Good for you,” he'd said. “Too many men are indiscriminate these days.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, Doc, but I doubt I'd be able to say that if I'd been out of this bed more than a day at a time over the past couple of years.”

Douglas patted his shoulder and said, “Wait for the right woman, Mac. You won't be sorry.”

Douglas was the only person in the world who knew Mac's secret. And the only one he felt comfortable telling about Jewel's secret. Surely the good doctor could come up with some suggestions for how Mac could help Jewel without hurting her.

“This is a doctor's office,” the chauffeur said when he stopped in front of the address Mac had given him.

“Sure is,” Mac said. “Meet me back here in an hour.”

Mac let himself out of the sleek black car and headed inside the office building.