MacKenzie's Promise

by Catherine Spencer

  She choked into her wine. “Actually, he’s the ugly duckling, but don’t let him know I told you so.”

  “Did they all become police detectives, too?”

  “No. He’s the only one.”

  He slapped the flat of his hand on the table. “Okay, out of nine questions, you blew the answers to eight. I think it’s safe to say you flunked the test with flying colors.”

  “I got three right! You are the eldest of five, you can’t prove you’re more charming and handsome than your brothers and you told me yourself that you’re the only one who joined the police force.”

  “And letting that last little item of news slip out was the most disastrous of all your gaffes, dear lady. People, particularly strangers who might have something to hide, tend to become very closemouthed when they discover a detective in their midst, even if he is there in an unofficial capacity.”

  Discouraged, she slumped against the leather banquette. “I never thought of that. Maybe pretending we’re married isn’t such a good idea, after all.”

  “Sure it is. If you just stick to what you know and keep your mouth shut the rest of the time, we’ll be just fine.”

  “Leave the lying to you, in other words.”

  “I prefer to call it embroidering the truth.”

  “This whole business is beginning to make me very nervous. What if the Wagners are hiding Thayer? What if they deliberately mislead us to throw us off the scent?”

  “The only way to prevent that is to practice being Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan on vacation in San Francisco until we’re letter-perfect. We can’t afford to arouse their suspicions, or pose any kind of threat. If we do, we’ll be out the door before the first drink’s been poured.”

  “Well, I wasn’t planning on showing up with a gun tucked in my bra, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  “Not that kind of threat, cookie,” he said with a laugh. “I’m talking about making them feel comfortable enough to let their guard down, which won’t happen if they suspect we’re not who we claim to be, or if they sense your hostility toward their son. That’s why we need to polish our act, and since we have only tonight in which to do it, I suggest we get right on it.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  BY THE end of the meal, they’d exchanged enough life stories to fill a book, and worked out a fictional version of how they met, when and where they married, and where they now lived.

  “I’ve told you things I’ve never revealed to another living soul,” Linda confessed, as they strolled back to their hotel through the soft August night.

  “Are you saying no one else knows you’re afraid of heights and spiders? Holy cow, cookie, that gives me a real edge on keeping you in line!”

  She was so immersed in thought that it took a moment for her to realize Mac had laced his fingers through hers and was swinging her hand back and forth, the way a man might with the woman he was dating. “It’s not so much what I’ve told you,” she said, loving his touch and how protected she felt when she was with him, “as it is the feeling that I’ve known you much longer than I actually have.” She threw him an astonished glance. “I can’t believe I told a man I met less than a week ago, about Arthur Hipwell.”

  “The high school creep who tried to get you in the sack, and when he didn’t succeed, told the rest of the basketball team you were easy?” He curled his lip in contempt. “It’s at times like that that having a big brother comes in handy.”

  “Or a father.”

  “Do you ever wonder if Martin’s the reason you’ve never trusted a man enough to have a serious relationship?”

  “I think it had more to do with not trusting myself, but I’m learning. Take our present situation, for instance. We’re operating under false pretenses and might be walking into trouble when we meet the Wagners tomorrow. Danger, even. Yet, I’m not afraid, because I feel safe with you.”

  He gripped her hand more tightly. “Hold on to that thought, cookie, especially if we hit any rough spots. Don’t you be the one to rush to the rescue. Trust me to bail us out.”

  “I will,” she said, refusing to give credence to the little voice inside whispering, What if the reason you feel so safe with him isn’t so much that he’s the right man for the job as the fact that he’s the right man for you?

  It was absurd to allow such thoughts to flourish. Almost as absurd as the letdown, which hit her like a fist to the solar plexus when, after clamping a possessive arm around her shoulders and standing so close to her in the elevator that she could feel his every breath, he left her outside her hotel room without so much as a kiss on the cheek.

  She might have weathered the disappointment better if he hadn’t lingered at the door, and traced his thumb along her jaw, and looked at her as if he had more on his mind than the brusque good-night he eventually offered. But hadn’t that been his trademark from the minute they’d met—leading her to expect one thing, then doing another?

  She was a fool, she decided savagely, kicking off her smart sandals and stepping out of the lime-green dress. And a beggar for punishment, too! How many times did he have to reject her at the last minute, before she got the message that, when it came right down to the wire, he didn’t want her?

  Mac took the stairs up the extra four flights to his floor, in the faint hope that the exercise would kill the urge to hammer on her door and finish what he’d started last night.

  It wouldn’t be smart, and it wouldn’t be fair. He knew himself too well—and crazy though it sounded on the surface, he also knew her too well, even if she’d come into his life only days before. A man didn’t achieve detective lieutenant status without becoming a pretty good judge of character, and she…

  “Cripes, she’s an open book!” he panted, letting himself into his room and leaning against the door. “Even a rookie could read her.”

  And even a rookie knew better than to mix business with pleasure. Instinct was all very fine, as long as it was backed up with cold, hard fact and logic.

  “So consider the facts of this case, Detective,” he admonished himself, pacing to the window and scowling on the late-night crowds in Union Square. “You and she don’t fit. She’s got city lights in her eyes, and ambition in her heart. Notions of opening a five-star restaurant, of making a name for herself. Do you see her being happy in Trillium Cove where the big news of the day is that the mail came in fifteen minutes early? Do you see yourself in a long-distance relationship? Moving to some metropolitan area where the only sound to disturb the night is the wail of sirens? Face it, buddy, that’s one of things you were glad to leave behind when you quit the police force!”

  Logic. Cold hard fact. One and one, which added up to two. Trouble was, a man’s libido didn’t abide by logic, especially not when another equally solid fact was that the woman he hankered for had looked devastated when he’d cut the evening short. He wasn’t the only one with more on his mind than finding a missing baby!

  So who was he fooling? And how long was he going to wait before he made his move?

  She’d been brushing her teeth and still had the brush in her hand when she answered his knock. When she saw who her visitor was, her eyes flew wide and her mouth formed a perfect pink O of surprise.

  “You shouldn’t be opening your door without checking to see who’s on the other side, cookie,” he said. “Even in a hotel as fine as this, you never know who might be roaming the halls.”

  “I thought you were the maid, come to turn down the bed,” she stammered, clutching her thin cotton robe tightly to her breasts as if she feared they might fly out and attack him.

  “Sorry if I’ve disappointed you.”

  “I didn’t say that.” She swallowed, jittery as a kitten confronting a coyote. “Why have you come back?”

  “To say good night.”

  “You already did.”

  “No, cookie. Not the way I wanted to.”

  “And how was that?” she said, wiping surreptitiously at a dribble of toothpaste inching down her chin.
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  His gaze followed her movement. Settled on her very sexy, delicious mouth. “Well, it struck me that there’s one part of this husband-wife act that we forgot to practice, and we do want to give a convincing performance tomorrow, don’t we?”

  “That’s probably a good idea.” She hovered on the threshold, nervously shifting her balance from one foot to the other. “I don’t fancy being exposed as an impostor.”

  “I didn’t think you would.” He stepped nearer. “Newlyweds tend to be very demonstrative, you know,” he said, lowering his head until his lips grazed hers. “They do this a lot.”

  “Ohh!” she sighed, her mouth melting under his.

  By her own admission, she’d had little experience where sex was concerned, but the way she responded to a kiss was erotic enough to send a man’s resistance threshold shooting right off the chart.

  Hazily aware of the musical ding-dong of the elevator doors sliding open, of the sound of voices approaching down the hall, he held her away enough to mutter hoarsely, “It’s a bit public out here, even for a married couple.”

  A delicate flush tinted her cheeks. She lowered her eyes modestly. “Then perhaps you’d better come inside.”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he said, swinging her off her feet and accepting the invitation before she had second thoughts.

  He kicked the door shut behind him, lowered her to the floor slowly so that she slithered the length of him, an inch at a time, then kissed her again. At length. Thoroughly.

  “That’s better,” he said, lifting his head finally and smacking his lips experimentally. “A much more fitting end to the evening. I’ll sleep better now.”

  “But it doesn’t have to end here, does it?”

  He regarded her intently, gave her a moment to retract the question. Interpreting his silence as a brush-off, she turned her face aside and pressed her hands to her flaming cheeks. “Forget I said that. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  “Then how did you mean it, Linda?”

  “Why do you do that?” she cried, wheeling away.

  “Do what?”

  “You only ever call me Linda when something momentous occurs, or when I’ve done something to annoy you,” she cried distractedly. “And you always say my name in your police voice!”

  “Police voice?” He had to bite his lips to keep from laughing out loud.

  She retreated to the other side of the bed. “With the kind of stern authority that tolerates no prevaricating!”

  “I see.” Following her, he said, “In that case, Linda, answer the question, and never mind fibbing. Exactly what did you mean when you said the evening doesn’t have to end here?”

  Still she tried to dodge the truth. “I’m not sure, exactly. We could have a nightcap, maybe? Go over our strategy for tomorrow one last time?”

  “Or we could pick up where we left off last night. Isn’t that what you really want to say? And never mind giving me the big innocent eyes, darlin’,” he said, corralling her between the window and an armchair. “I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m a grown man who knows when a woman’s interested in more than the pleasure of my scintillating conversation.”

  “Well, you might be a grown man, but you’re certainly no gentleman!”

  “And how do you arrive at that conclusion?”

  Once again, she wriggled out of his arms. “By recognizing that only a boor would force a woman to beg him to make love to her. And quit stalking me like this!”

  He snagged her around the waist and drew her inexorably back to him. “Is that what you’re doing, Linda? Begging me to make love to you? Because if you’re sure that’s what you want, darlin’, I’m definitely gentleman enough to oblige.”

  “Don’t do me any favors! I’ve waited twenty-eight years to find out if sex is all it’s cracked up to be. I can wait a bit longer.”

  “It isn’t a question of favors,” he said. “It’s a question of your being sure you know what you’re doing. We went through a bottle of wine with dinner tonight—”

  “Are you suggesting I’m drunk?”

  “No,” he said. “You don’t taste of alcohol, you taste of toothpaste. Again. And I must be some sort of fool to be suffering another attack of scruples when making love to you was exactly what I had in mind when I came knocking on your door.”

  “Well, then,” she said, on an impatient sigh, “will you please stop talking about it, and just get on with it?”

  He needed no second invitation. Unlike last night, this time he was prepared. The conditions were right: a bed, music drifting from the radio, chilled champagne in the courtesy bar, the streetlights throwing a soft glow over the ceiling and cloaking the rest of the room in subtle shadows. No chance they’d be interrupted. And the rest of the night to show her what she’d been missing all these years.

  “Sure,” he murmured, kissing her eyelids as he molded her to him just enough to reassure her of how willing he was to cooperate. “I’d probably have made my move sooner if it weren’t that you mentioned once that you’ve never been with a man before.”

  “Actually,” she said, turning pink. “That’s only partly true.”

  “Partly?” He reared back, the better to see if she was having him on. But she looked perfectly serious. “I don’t think it works that way, cookie. Either you have or you haven’t.” He tilted her face up so that she had to look him in the eye. “Not that it matters one way or the other, you understand. But if I am the only one, I’d like to know beforehand. Your first time should be special.”

  “Well…I almost let a man make love to me once when I lived in Italy. But, at the last minute, it didn’t work out.”

  “In other words, you’ve never actually—?” He stopped, at a loss to phrase the question delicately.

  “I probably would have, but he…couldn’t. He tried, but…” She glanced away, her color deepening, and he wondered if she had any idea how fascinated he was by the blush of innocence underlying her otherwise sophisticated demeanor. “I think he went suddenly impotent,” she whispered, looking around furtively as if she feared the room might be bugged.

  “I see.” Cupping her cheek, he forced her to meet his gaze again. “That’s not going to happen if we make love tonight, Linda. When you wake up in the morning, there won’t be any question about whether or not you’re still a virgin. I want you to be very clear about that. And very sure you’re ready to deal with the consequences of your decision.”

  “If you mean contraception—”

  “No.” He patted the pocket containing the condom. “That’s my responsibility. I’m talking about the emotional fallout.”

  “I won’t ask you if you’ll respect me in the morning, if that’s what’s worrying you.”

  “The important thing is that you respect yourself.”

  “I do—and will.” A spark of mischief lit up her face. “Tell me, Mac, is all this talking what they call foreplay?”

  “Yeah,” he said, returning her smile. “But we’re ready to progress to the more interesting part now, and we’re going to take our time with it, darlin’, because some things shouldn’t be rushed.”

  He’d never made love to a half-virgin before, and he wanted to do it right. Make it as close to perfect for her as possible. Wipe away all memory of her first disappointing foray into sex, and leave her instead with memories she’d treasure for the rest of her life. So he began slowly, coaxing her to respond to his touch, to touch him back.

  She still wore her bra and panties under the robe. Rippled silk edged with baby-fine lace the color of pale yellow roses. Little bits of things designed less to cover a woman than to drive her man crazy. He had to discipline himself not to handle the dainty fabric too roughly. To remember that she was just as fine, just as delicate.

  “You’re beautiful,” he whispered, dipping his tongue into her ear, and felt her tremble.

  “I’m ordinary,” she replied, squeezing her eyes shut as he tasted the curve of her throat.

  He
unhooked the fastener on her bra, slipped the straps down her arms, and tossed the garment to the floor. “You’re perfect.”

  And she was. Skin as smooth and cool as cream. Breasts small and firm. Waist so narrow he could span it with his hands.

  Better not dwell too long on the rest of her, not if he wanted to prolong her pleasure. And pleasing her he was. Her pulse was racing, her breathing increasingly labored. When he took her nipple in his mouth and tugged gently, she let out a helpless moan.

  Count to a hundred, Sullivan, he cautioned, feeling his command of the situation slip alarmingly as she pulled his shirt free from the waist of his pants and ran her hands over the contours of his bare chest.

  He got as far as fifteen before conceding a battle lost before it started. She might be a novice in the art of love, but she was also a natural, and a very quick study. For every inroad he made on her control, she returned the favor in full measure.

  “This might not last as long as I’d hoped,” he said hoarsely, as he removed the last of her underthings. She was all sweetly exposed curves flung into gold relief by the glow of the city lights, and dusky shadows begging to be discovered.

  She hooked a finger inside his belt. “Shall I speed things up?” she asked, and without waiting for him to answer, began peeling away his clothes, a layer at a time.

  “Ohh!” she breathed, staring at him in unfeigned awe when at last he stood before her, buck naked and at full standing alert. “I knew you’d be…impressive, but I had no idea you were quite this magnificent.”

  She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, a mannerism made all the more erotic because it was so ingenuous. Or was it? Was he the naive one here, and she the expert? Because the way she paralleled the action by drawing her fingertip the full-length of his mightily engorged flesh just about brought him to climax, and that wasn’t part of his master plan.

  “Oh, no, you don’t! Not yet,” he panted, rescuing himself from attack by backing her toward the bed and when she fell onto the mattress, pinning her hands above her head to prevent her inflicting more torture.