One of the Boys (15 page)

“I can't believe I lost control to the point where I was ready to do something I'd wallop the boys for in a few years. Would it help any if I said you and the moonlight are a fatal combination and I couldn't help myself?”

A slow wave of embarrassment washed over Maggie as she listened to his apology. Here she was, a grown woman with a string of degrees, trading kisses with a man she hardly knew. In a Jeep, no less. Obviously, Mac hadn't expected her uninhibited response—any more than she had herself.

She shifted off his lap and scrambled awkwardly to her seat.

“I'd like to go home now.”

“Maggie—”

“Now, please.” Thoroughly mortified, and a little hurt by his rejection, Maggie stared straight ahead.

Mac studied her stony profile and cursed himself for being such a clumsy idiot. It wasn't as if he was totally out of practice. He hadn't been celibate all these years since Anne's death, but normally he managed a bit more finesse. He didn't know what it was about this woman now staring at the sea that started his hormones raging. Since his first meeting with her, he'd felt far more than a professional interest. That interest had ripened to a
deep attraction as he'd watched her sparkle in the firelight and shimmer in the moonlight.

He'd responded to her looks as any healthy male would, but it was more than that. She'd put him calmly and efficiently in his place in Stockton's office. Instead of turning him off, he found himself intrigued by the brain behind the face. By the whole woman. When she careened into him tonight and he felt her firm breast in his hand, Mac had decided instantly to follow up on that promising lead. He just hadn't planned to let it go quite so far, so soon.

“Look at me, Maggie. Please.”

He waited until she speared him with a cold challenging look. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come on to you like some sex-starved jerk. We're going to be working together closely for the next few weeks. I don't want you to be…uncomfortable around me.”

Mac could have kicked himself as soon as the words were out. They sounded pompous and all wrong, and he could see that was just the way Maggie heard them. Anger quickly replaced the stony stillness on her face.

“Look, Colonel, I've never yet let private feelings interfere with my professional dealings, and you aren't the man to change that. If you're through beating your breast over this evening's fiasco, would you please take me home? Or shall I find another ride?”

Mac muttered a curse under his breath. Obviously he couldn't recover tonight. However, he hadn't risen to the top of his profession without learning his trade. Any good military man knew when to beat a strategic retreat
and marshal his forces for another day. Without another word he drove the Jeep out of the tall dunes and onto the highway.

During the ride home Maggie stoked her simmering anger at the man seated next to her. So he was a world-class hunk who looked as good in his uniform as in the worn jeans he was wearing tonight. So he had a slow easy smile that crinkled his eyes. So some people thought he was brilliant. She knew better. The man was a jerk, just as he himself said, and the less she dealt with him the better. The fact that he'd stopped kissing her when she was warm and willing had nothing at all to do with the matter. At least that's what she finally managed to convince herself of by the time she'd soaked in a hot tub and buried her head under a mound of covers.

Maggie wasn't sure whether it was the insistent ringing of the doorbell or the loud barking that woke her the next morning. She poked her head out from under the tangled covers, pushed a pile of hair out of her eyes and squinted at the clock.

It was only seven thirty, for heaven's sake! And a Saturday morning, as best she could recall. What idiot was making such a racket so early? It took another few moments for the fact to penetrate that the ringing doorbell was hers and the barking didn't seem to be going away.

Muttering something that wouldn't have done much for her professional image, Maggie climbed out of bed. She searched among the jumble in her closet for a robe. She hadn't had time in the week she'd been here to unpack, but household chores were pretty low in her list of priorities. By the time she'd found a short beach robe to cover her nightshirt, the doorbell had begun to grate on her nerves, and she was seriously considering changing her opinion on animal euthanasia.

Her sleepy irritation changed to surprise when she
opened the door of her rented condo. Three pairs of male eyes surveyed her. Four, if the huge creature who treated her to one more ear-splitting bark before plopping down on her doorstep happened to be a him.

“Mornin', ma'am.” Mac's blue eyes twinkled down at her confusion. “I just collected the boys from Joey's house, and they swear three pounds of fudge barely kept them from starving to death last night. We're on our way to our favorite restaurant for breakfast. Since you're new in town, we thought you might like to join us for some local down-home cooking.”

In answer to her skeptical look, one of the boys chimed in, “Honest, ma'am. Felix makes the best grits in town. Probably in all of Florida. Maybe in the world.” Another enthusiastic bark seconded the boy's earnest opinion.

Maggie smiled down at him, then gave Mac an inquiring glance.

“This is Daniel.” Mac ruffled one dark head affectionately. “You met David last night. They're otherwise known as the Terrible Twosome or, more politely, the Scourges of Northwest Florida.”

“Aw, come on, Dad.” Davey grinned up at him. “We're not that bad, at least not all the time.”

Maggie suddenly realized that her front doorstep was not exactly the proper place to be standing in a short robe and carrying on an extended conversation. Not that she should be carrying on a conversation with these three males in a short robe at all. Correction, make
that four males, Maggie amended as the big hairy beast sniffed a ceramic pot gracing her doorstep, then lifted his leg to drown her poor potted mums. Thank goodness they were artificial, Maggie thought. Gardening was another domestic task she had little interest in or talent for.

“Woof—bad boy!” three male voices chastised the dog in unison. The dog drooped his head in a semblance of repentance for a few seconds. Then a squirrel in the yard caught his attention and he bounded off.

“Woof, come back!” Davey yelled.

“Interesting name,” Maggie said as the dog returned, tail wagging. She stood aside. “Why don't the bunch of you come in for a moment while I put on something more presentable?”

Mac's eyes told her that he found her eminently presentable, but he prudently kept silent as she led them into a light airy living room.

Maggie had fallen in love with this condo the first moment she'd seen it. Since it fronted the emerald-green waters of the Gulf of Mexico, the rent was high. She considered the spacious rooms well worth the price, though. At least they had seemed spacious until her three—four—unexpected guests filled them.

Mac caught her arm as she turned for the hallway. “Please come, Maggie,” he said softly. “I at least owe you breakfast for last night.”

“You don't owe me anything at all,” she began, only
to stop abruptly as she noted two pairs of very interested blue eyes fixed on her and Mac.

“What happened last night, Dad? Did you put the make on Dr. Westly?”

Out of the mouths of babes, Maggie thought. She folded her arms and turned to watch how Mac handled this one. He got himself in. Let him get himself out.

“It's Dr. Wescott, Davey. And I guess I did come on a bit strong with her. Breakfast is my way of apology.”

Maggie had to admire MacRae's honesty with his sons, even if she didn't particularly like being the subject of it. She gave a silent groan as the boys turned their bright inquisitive eyes back to her. She forestalled the highly personal questions hovering on their lips.

“Apology accepted. And it's Maggie, guys. Give me a few minutes to get dressed, and I'll take you up on your offer of grits.”

“That's great, Maggie. But don't take too long, okay? You won't mess with all that female stuff, will you?” Davey, or maybe it was Danny, managed to project a superb impression of imminent starvation.

“I wonder where they picked up that little bit of sexism,” Maggie tossed at Mac as she moved past him.

Five minutes later she was back, dressed in snug jeans and a soft red sweater. Her only concession to “female” stuff was a red band that caught her long curls up in a wispy concoction Mac found utterly enticing.

He forced himself to repress the mental urge to pull that band slowly back out of her hair and watch the
tawny mass spill across his arm.
Come on, man,
he told himself,
you're here to make amends, not make matters worse.
With that admonishment, he shepherded Maggie and his tribe out of the apartment and into his Jeep.

Maggie found herself amazed at the variety and scope of interest displayed by the two lively nine-year-olds. During the short ride their conversation ranged from the fate of the turtles hatched last night to hockey strategy to some strange rock group whose name seemed to be composed mostly of dead things. She sat back, content to enjoy their company and let the crisp Florida air fan her hunger.

An hour later the boys watched with open admiration as she pushed back her second empty grits bowl. It joined the litter of empty biscuit platters and gravy boats on the table.

“Gimme a break, guys,” Maggie said, noting their expressions. “I'm a big girl. I need a lot of sustenance.”

The boys and their father flashed identical grins. Maggie felt her heart thump against her full stomach. It must be heartburn from all this food, she thought. She couldn't be falling for three bothersome males who wouldn't even let a gal sleep late on Saturday mornings.

She sipped her coffee, feeling full and strangely happy in the midst of the noisy clatter of the restaurant. When she met Mac's look, he let loose with one of those slow easy smiles that started at the corners of his mouth and ended up lightening his blue eyes to silvery gray. It almost made Maggie forget where she was.

“Forgiven?” he mouthed at her over the boys' heads. She smiled back and gave a slow nod.

“At the risk of overwhelming you with MacRaes, would you like to fill the next couple of hours with fresh air, terrifying suspense and unmitigated violence? The boys have soccer practice in half an hour. They always perform better before admiring females.”

“Daaad,” the twins chorused, but they turned identical hopeful looks on Maggie.

Maggie rubbed her full tummy as if in deep thought. “I guess I need to do something to repay the guys for the best grits I've ever had. Sure, I can cheer them on for an hour or so.”

 

Mac's thigh rubbed against Maggie's jean-clad leg as they sat on the hard bleachers. She found his taut muscles much more fascinating than the controlled mayhem that passed for kids' soccer. She retained barely enough consciousness of the game to return the twins' waves after each spectacular play, which, given the wild charges up and down the field, didn't happen too often. The bleachers were crowded with noisy parents, all no doubt hoping their offspring would work off some energy. Maggie noticed the speculative glances other parents had given Mac when he arrived with boys, dog and herself in tow.

Mac had returned several friendly greetings, but didn't linger beyond brief introductions. He wanted some time alone with the tawny-haired creature next to
him—if you could consider being surrounded by yelling soccer parents on a crowded bleacher alone, he thought with a wry grimace. Actually the strategy worked better than he'd anticipated. From long years of practice he caught all the boys' more energetic moves while he kept his attention and gaze mostly on the woman beside him. She fascinated him more by the minute.

“We all appreciated not being kept waiting for ‘female stuff' this morning,” he told her, gazing down at her fresh glowing complexion. “The boys, because they were about to expire with hunger on the spot. Me, because I find you look even better in the light of day than in the moonlight.”

“I'm not sure you ought to bring up the subject of moonlight. I'm still trying to sort last night out.”

Mac winced at her directness. She leaned her elbows back against the seat behind them and studied him from under thick gold-tipped lashes. “You confused me,” she added. “My own response to you confused me.”

“Well, confusion is better than the disgusted looks I was getting last night.” He grinned down at her, unrepentant. “Our housekeeper gets back tomorrow afternoon, Maggie. Would you have dinner with me tomorrow night? Just us, I promise. No boys or turtles or dogs.”

Maggie gave him a long considering look. She should say no. Things were moving too fast with this man. He overwhelmed her, both physically and with his exuberant family. Besides, there was the project to con
sider. They might find themselves on opposite sides of a very nasty debate before too long. Despite all that, Maggie found herself nodding.

“Yes,” she got out, right before an errant soccer ball rocketed toward their heads and they both ducked, laughing.

After the game Maggie spent the rest of Saturday and most of Sunday at her cubbyhole of an office. She might hold a Phi Beta Kappa key from MIT and have a good ten years' experience in environmental issues, but the complexity of Eglin's operations awed her. Like any professional, she wanted to learn as much as she could as quickly as possible.

Late Sunday afternoon she found the folder on the laboratory test under a stack of files. Although she felt comfortable with her initial assessment, she decided to go through the documentation again. Her growing personal interest in the man behind the test had nothing to do with it, she told herself. This was business.

The new chemical proposed as a propellant could make a major difference in the Department of Defense space program. Although highly volatile, it was inexpensive to formulate and readily available. Maggie had read a lot about it, had even been involved in another minor experiment involving it a few years ago. But this test represented a major milestone in its practical ap
plication. She spent a good hour rereading the report and doing her own analysis of the test parameters.

She sat back in her chair, brow furrowed and doubts still unresolved. The propellant was incredibly dangerous, more so than most of the exotic explosives and chemicals tested at Eglin. Maggie knew commercial concerns were just beginning to consider it as a possible source of power, but no one had figured out how to reduce its volatility to safe levels yet.

As she reviewed possible test impacts, Maggie began to appreciate just why Eglin Air Force Base covered an area larger than a small state. The test business involved a lot of unknowns—dropping bombs or firing missiles for the first time and recording their properties. The fliers and engineers required a large safety footprint for their tests. Unfortunately the footprint included habitats of several endangered species, highways that had to be closed during tests and encroaching civilian communities. All of them had to be considered in the environmental analysis for each major new test. Mac's staff hadn't adequately addressed all the environmental impacts if this propellant lived up to its dangerous potential.

She made a few hasty notes and stuffed the folder into her tote to take home with her for yet another look. She put the other folders back in her drawer and glanced at the wall clock. She wanted plenty of time to prepare for her dinner date this evening with her enigmatic colonel.

If Mac's soft whistle when she opened her door to
him later was any indication, her preparation time had been well spent. She felt the impact of his glinting approval from her hair, held up with combs on top of her head, down the length of the shimmery green silk pantsuit to her high-heeled sandals.

“I'm not exactly sure how anyone encased in cloth from neck to toe can manage to look mostly undressed, but you come close.”

“I think I'll take that as a compliment,” Maggie said, moving aside to let him in. “Wearing outrageous clothes is one of the few advantages a tall woman has in life over the dainty types.”

Maggie smiled to herself as she turned to shut the door. She'd bought the outfit because of the way the silk clung sensuously to every curve. She didn't have that many of them, and if this little outfit helped Mac notice the few she had, it was worth every penny.

Mac would have disagreed with her assessment of her attractions had he known it. His eyes roamed appreciatively from her slender hips to her small high breasts. The jade-green tunic outlined them clearly, hinting at the nubs in their centers before falling in graceful folds. Surveying the way the fabric moved as Maggie did, Mac's feelings underwent a subtle change. From masculine appreciation, he began to experience a possessive desire to keep Maggie's curves to himself. He felt a surprisingly primitive urge to wrap her in a shapeless blanket so that only he knew what was beneath.

Unaware of his thoughts, Maggie turned to pick up her small gold purse. Mac barely stifled a groan when
the silk outlined the delicious curves of her derriere as she leaned down. It was with a somewhat grim expression that he escorted Maggie to his car.

He managed to relax over dinner. The sight of Maggie demolishing a grilled red snapper, a generous portion of steamed rice and half a loaf of crusty French bread, along with a bottle of perfectly chilled chardonnay, restored his balance.

Maggie sighed as she leaned back in her chair. “That was heaven.”

“It's nice to share a meal with someone who appreciates it,” he responded, lifting his wineglass in her direction.

“Which is a very tactful way of saying I eat too much.” Maggie laughed. “I guess being tall has another advantage, besides allowing me to wear outrageous clothes. It takes a lot more to fill me up. And I can enjoy every morsel.” She grinned unrepentantly over the rim of her wineglass.

“Yes, and I can think of at least one more advantage.” At her inquiring look, he stood and held out his hand. “I've been looking forward to dancing with someone whose nose won't tickle my belly-button. Come dance with me, Maggie m'girl.”

Mac decided he liked the feel of the woman in his arms. Very much. She fitted him perfectly. Ignoring the glances other men in the room directed at Maggie, he enjoyed the feel of her warm flesh through the smooth material as he moved his hand slowly up and down her back. To distract himself from what he could feel at her
front, he nuzzled a soft tendril of hair that had escaped from the topknot and resumed their lighthearted dinner conversation.

“So where did you work before coming here? You mentioned the Air Staff.”

Held closely against Mac's hard body, Maggie had difficulty remembering her own name, let alone her career history. Only after she'd shifted away from the warm cradle of his arms could she collect her thoughts.

“Mmm, yes. I worked on the Air Staff in Washington for a year or so. It was exciting, but I didn't care much for the paperwork. I decided I liked fieldwork better.

“Houston was next,” she murmured into Mac's obliging shoulder. Really, it was amazing she could talk at all. She found herself reveling in the sensation of dancing with someone whose shoulder was just the right height to rest her head on. Even with her high heels, the mountain retained his majestic proportions.

“How long at Houston?” he asked, his voice low, his breath teasing the wispy curls at her ears.

“Not quite two years.”

“So why did you leave there to come here? That job must have paid twice what the government could pay you.”

Maggie smiled into Mac's shoulder. “I think I had this conversation once before with Ed Stockton. The same answer still holds. There's more to life than money. I wanted to get back to hands-on environmental work, and Eglin has plenty of that.”

Maggie leaned back in his arms to look up at him. Mac barely managed to suppress a groan as her breasts brushed against his chest. Damn that silk! He could feel the peaks of her breasts clearly through the material, distracting him so much he almost missed her soft words.

“My needs in life are pretty simple, Mac. Some nice clothes, a good car and a challenging job, in reverse order, about sums them up.”

“Isn't there something missing from that list? Like a home and a family? Someone to cook for you?” he teased.

Much as she liked him, Maggie's habit of keeping her private life private was too ingrained to give Mac anything other than the barest details.

“I've come close once or twice,” she admitted lightly. “But every time I thought I'd found Mr. Right, he turned out to be Mr. Wrong. Enough about me. What about you? What's on your list?”

“My priorities are pretty simple, too,” Mac answered as he moved them in time to the slow dreamy tune. “The boys and the air force, not in reverse order. I'm lucky. Between those two devils and the demands of a military career, I've never been still long enough to be bored.”

“And that's enough? What about someone to talk to in the night? About things besides soccer or Boy Scouts, I mean? Don't you want to marry again?”

“What makes you think husbands and wives talk in bed about anything other than Boy Scouts and grocery lists and who's going to take the kids to the dentist?”

At her mock scowl, he shrugged. “Like you, I've had a few close calls over the years. Being single and so physically big make me a real target it seems. But so far, it's just me and the boys. And Woof.”

Maggie buried a small sigh of satisfaction in the fabric of Mac's shirt. She was glad Woof and the boys, and no one else, were taking up his time.

Mac led her around the dance floor a couple of more times, then leaned down to whisper in her ear, “Let's go, Maggie. I don't think I can take one more man sliding his eyes over you in that slinky getup.”

Maggie gave silent thanks once more to Nieman Marcus for her outfit and smiled her readiness to leave.

She promised herself another shopping trip when Mac closed the front door of her apartment and growled, “Come here, woman. That thing you're wearing has been driving me nuts all evening.”

Maggie allowed Mac's big hands to pull her close. He propped his shoulders back against the door, forcing her to put her palms on his chest and lean heavily against him. Her body was plastered against his from shoulder to knee.

“This is much better,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down her back. He bent his head to taste a spot on her neck bared by the upswept curls.

Maggie kept her eyes closed. She kept her hands still where they pressed against his chest. But she couldn't keep her nipples from tightening as Mac rubbed her front against his, or a hot streak from shoot
ing through her when his moist tongue left her neck and pushed gently into her ear.

Good grief, she thought, how did such a mountain manage to create such delicate shivers in every nook and cranny of her body? Then she forgot to think at all as his mouth took hers. He shifted her weight against his right arm. With his other hand he reached up to tug loose her curls. With a grunt of pure male satisfaction, he lifted his head to watch her hair spill down in a tumbling mass. That basic task done, he looked into her eyes.

“I want you so much it hurts, but I suspect you won't accept grits as a peace offering if I come on too strong again. So from here on out it's your call. You set the pace, Maggie. Tell me what you want.”

She opened her eyes and gave him a clear direct look. “I want you, Mac. It'd be nice to get you and grits, too, but I'll settle for you.”

“That's all I needed to know.”

With an easy movement he bent and scooped her up in his arms, then headed down the hallway toward the bedroom.