MacKenzie's Promise

by Catherine Spencer

  “I thought it might be that you didn’t trust them.”

  For once, his gaze wasn’t quite as direct as usual. “Let’s just say I prefer to temper optimism with caution. The Wagners are probably on the level. James, in particular, has had it up to here with Thayer.”

  “And Sadie?”

  He made a face. “Is a loose cannon. She might give us trouble without meaning to.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Because, first and foremost, she’s a mother who’s spent years trying to protect and please her only child whom she obviously worships, regardless of how often he’s screwed up. It would be a mistake to assume she’ll abandon him now when he’s in the worst trouble of his miserable life—which is another reason not to tell her that we’re not everything we pretended to be. It doesn’t pay to get careless, especially not at this stage of the game. Time enough for true confessions when Angela’s back with her mother, where she belongs.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “No question about it,” he said cheerfully, flagging down their server. “So kick back and enjoy your dinner date with a clear conscience, Mrs. Sullivan. You’ve earned a night on the town.”

  But would it end with dinner and champagne? she wondered, peeking at him from behind her menu as he discussed the wine list with the waiter. Or had their lovemaking meant enough to him that he wanted to repeat the experiment?

  Glancing up suddenly, he caught her spying and favored her with a slow wink. Feeling a blush burn her cheeks and afraid he’d recognize the naked desire she was sure showed in her eyes, she buried her face in the menu again.

  How quickly a relationship could blossom, just when a person was ready to give up on its ever bearing fruit! She’d never expected to find him outside her door a second time last night, and hadn’t lied when she’d told him she thought it was someone from housekeeping.

  The Hyatt, though, didn’t hire maids who stood well over six feet tall and who sported a five-o’clock shadow. Nor did such employees have voices registering a full two octaves below middle C. Only Mac Sullivan filled that description, and only Mac Sullivan could turn her weak at the knees with a single glance. Those stormy eyes could cut like a laser on occasion, as she very well knew, but they’d blazed with caressing warmth as he’d stripped away her clothing and run his hands over her naked body.

  “That suit you, Linda?”

  She blinked and found him and the waiter regarding her expectantly. “I’m sorry. Does what suit me?”

  “Crab cakes as an appetizer and pheasant for the main course.”

  “Oh! Oh, yes. Absolutely.”

  “You were doing it again, cookie,” he scolded, after the waiter left with their order. “I could practically hear the wheels spinning in your head. So what’s on your mind now?”

  She shrugged and tried to pass off her insatiable need for reassurance as nothing more than mild interest. “I was just thinking about last night.”

  “Pretty memorable, huh?”

  “Pretty astonishing, actually.” She took a sip of water to give herself time to choose her next words carefully. It wouldn’t do to come across as too needy. “I didn’t think you were interested in me in…that way.”

  “I’ve been interested for quite some time, and if you hadn’t already picked up on that, I must be losing my touch.”

  But how interested? she longed to ask him. Just-for-one-night interested, or have we embarked on something more lasting? But men smelled obligation and entrapment in such questions, and the last thing she wanted was to send him running for the hills. So, “No chance of that,” she said. “You made it very special for me.”

  It? What an inept, pathetic word to apply to the most wonderful experience of her life!

  “Thank you,” he said, with what struck her as altogether too much self-satisfaction. “I like to think I’m tuned in to a woman’s needs enough to be able to satisfy her.”

  A woman? How about this woman, Mac? The one sitting opposite you now, wearing the dress you professed to admire—not to mention perfume at two hundred and fifty dollars an ounce and a hairdo that cost just about the same!—and doing her best to impress upon you that she’s different from the rest of the herd? More to the point, how would you like it if I thought of you in terms of just a man?

  “Not that I have much experience on which to base an opinion,” she replied loftily, “but I’d say you were…”

  “Yes?” He grinned and reached for her hand.

  She snatched it away. “Adequate.”

  There! Stick that in your studly pipe and smoke it!

  He compressed his lips, as if he were having a hard time not laughing in her face. “In that case, why does thinking about it leave you looking like the cat which didn’t quite manage to swallow the canary?”

  “It doesn’t,” she said, having no trouble blithely disregarding the truth in this instance. “I happen to be enjoying myself very much.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Perhaps because I find my attention wandering from the relatively trivial subject of your sexual proficiency to more imperative issues.”

  “Ouch!” He slapped his cheek smartly. “Take that, Sullivan, you arrogant, conceited pig, and get your mind out of the gutter! The lady has ‘issues’ on her mind.”

  She glared at him, beyond exasperated.

  “Watch it,” he cautioned, clearly having a whale of a good time at her expense. “Fulminating in public can land you in serious trouble with the law!”

  She wished she could shrug off her insecurity and retaliate in kind. Laugh with him and play the man-woman game with a carefree heart. But she couldn’t. He mattered too much. And to her horror, instead of returning his frivolous banter, a lump rose in her throat and her eyes swam with sudden tears.

  “Do you suppose,” she gulped, “that you could be serious for a minute, and tell me honestly if what we learned from the Wagners will prove useful?”

  “Hey, cookie, I’m teasing you, okay?” He trapped her left hand and stroked the bogus wedding ring gently.

  “Just answer the question.”

  “It’s definitely worth looking into.”

  “So what do we do next?”

  “We pay a visit to Catalina Island.” Releasing her hand, he leaned back in his chair and waited until their server had poured the wine before continuing, “I think there’s a very good chance we’ll find him holed up there. We know the house is set in private grounds, high in the hills above Avalon Bay, which makes it a perfect hideaway.”

  “From the way the Wagners described it, it sounds perfectly gorgeous. I wonder why they don’t use it anymore?”

  “There are hardly any cars on the island so people either use golf carts to get around, or they walk. From what we saw this afternoon, it’s my guess James would find the exercise more of a cardiac challenge than he could manage. We had a bit of a chat while you were saying goodbye to Sadie, and if it were up to him, he’d sell the place and invest the money elsewhere. But she inherited it from her mother and wants to hang on to it for sentimental reasons. So it pretty well stands empty year-round, except for a skeleton staff who look after it.”

  “Then Kirk would feel relatively safe there.”

  “Absolutely. No one would question his right to move in, and from all accounts, the house is far enough away from neighbors to give the kind of privacy he craves and needs. Plus, there’s a twenty-mile stretch of water between him and the mainland, which increases his chances of going undiscovered, especially in the summer when the island’s crammed with tourists.”

  “My intuition tells me that’s where he’s hiding.”

  “Mine says it’s time for a toast.” He clinked the rim of his glass lightly against hers. “So here’s to my make-believe wife for a job well-done. You handled yourself like a pro today, cookie.”

  “Here’s to my make-believe husband.”

  “We make quite a pair.” His gaze roamed over her, lingering
warmly at her breasts, her throat, her face.

  The champagne sparkled over her tongue. “Yes.” Oh, yes!

  It was probably a good thing that the waiter brought their crab cakes just then, or dear only knew what foolish things she might have said.

  “Well?” Mac inquired lazily, watching as she sampled the food. “Does it meet your gourmet standards?”

  “Very much so. This is an excellent restaurant.”

  “It’s always been one of my favorites.”

  A vague chill of uneasiness slithered over her. “So this isn’t your first visit?”

  “No.” He gave a casual shrug. “I’ve been here several times before.”

  With other women?

  Don’t ask, Linda!

  “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said, doing her utmost to match his nonchalance. “You did mention to the Wagners that you’re familiar with San Francisco and visit quite often.”

  “I have friends here. You want to dance, cookie?”

  She’d been hoping he’d elaborate on the friends, but dancing with him promised much greater satisfaction. “I’d love to.”

  He clasped her hand and led her to a small area at the far end of the club where several other couples swayed to a musical quartet’s smoochy rendition of “I Left My Heart In San Francisco.”

  “Corny but nice,” Mac said, drawing her into his arms.

  “You mean me, or the song?”

  He laughed down at her and settled his hand more firmly in the small of her back. “I can think of better words to describe you.”

  “Such as?”

  “Pretty, desirable, smart.”

  She closed her eyes, the better to savor the compliment, and the way their bodies moved together in perfect sync as if they’d danced together for years. She loved the possessive way he held her, as if she belonged to him. She loved his aftershave, the slightly rough texture of his fingers wrapped around hers.

  Ye gods, she might as well admit it: she loved all of him!

  Was she crazy? Some might think so. But she knew otherwise. Had known, the second she set eyes on him, that he was different from any other man she’d ever met and that he would impact her life in a very big way.

  She stirred in his arms. “Do you believe in fate, Mac?”

  She’d barely voiced the question when the dance band segued into “Santa Catalina.” “Cripes!” Mac said, almost stepping on her toes. “If I didn’t before, I do now! Talk about uncanny coincidence!”

  “It’s a good omen,” she murmured, allowing her hand to steal around his neck. “We’re going to find Angela and take her home. I feel it in my bones.”

  “Yes, we are,” he agreed, suddenly ushering her off the dance floor. “But first, we’re going to enjoy tonight, beginning with Pheasant Supreme. Our waiter just delivered dinner.”

  She heard unspoken promise in his tone; a pledge of something more than the meal awaiting them. She sensed it in the touch of his hands stroking intimately down her arms as he seated her at their table, and again in the way his gaze remained connected to hers as he took his place opposite. But more than the physical awareness, she felt a less tangible connection between them, one which left the very air vibrating with electricity.

  Did he feel it, too? The question hovered on her lips, itching to be set free. Yearning to capture him. But another voice intervened; a stranger’s voice, light, charming, and utterly feminine. “Mac, my old friend, I hoped I’d run into you here.”

  He looked up and, at the sight of the woman poised like an exotic butterfly next to their table, broke into a smile of such warmth that Linda flinched from the heat of it.

  “Hey, sweet face!” he crooned, throwing down his napkin and leaping up from his chair to envelop her in a hug.

  “Penny told me you’d stopped by the shop this morning,” she said, kissing him. “Why didn’t you let me know ahead of time you were coming to town?”

  “It was a last-minute decision.” He held her at arm’s length, oozing approval and admiration. “You’re looking wonderful, as always.”

  She gurgled with laughter, a musical ripple of delight. “You’re not so bad yourself, Detective!”

  “Why, thank you, ma’am.”

  Arm locked around her tiny waist, he continued to gaze at her, oblivious to anyone else in the room. But she, at least, had the good manners to pull away and acknowledge Linda.

  “Hi, I’m Andrea, and you must think I’m dreadfully rude, barging in on your dinner like this.”

  “Oh, right, you haven’t met!” Mac banged the heel of his hand to his forehead, as if to juggle his brain into remembering the name of the dumpling in the turquoise dress who sat there with a sickly, self-conscious smile pasted on her face. “This is…my client, Linda Carr.”

  His client! Or, to state it more accurately, the afterthought he wished would disappear in a puff of smoke, and never mind that he’d been rolling around in bed with her just the night before!

  “Ah, the acting Mrs. Sullivan!” Andrea exclaimed without a shred of malice, and gestured to Linda’s left hand. “How does the ring fit?”

  “Quite well, thank you.”

  “And it did the job? You passed yourself off successfully as Mac’s wife?”

  “It appears so.” She forced herself to try to reciprocate the other woman’s buoyant good humor. “Fortunately it’s a temporary arrangement.”

  Andrea threw back her perfectly coiffed auburn head and let forth with another infectious bubble of laughter. “Just as well! But if he’s not the ideal husband, he’s certainly the best man you could have working for you.” She touched Linda’s hand briefly, sympathetically. “He’ll make sure everything works out, you’ll see.”

  “I hope so.”

  “Me, too, Linda. You’ll be in my thoughts.” She straightened and turned again to Mac. “Sorry we missed each other this morning. I’d have loved to meet for lunch. Can we do it tomorrow instead?”

  “Doubtful,” he said, bathing her in that warmly encompassing smile again. “We’ll likely be heading south about then.”

  A little moue of disappointment crossed her lovely face.

  “Breakfast, then? At my place? We can make it early.” She batted her eyelashes in blatant bribery. “I’ll make your favorite.”

  “With strawberries?”

  “Yes, you brat. And whipped cream, too.” She peered over her shoulder at Linda. “You’re welcome to join us, if you like.”

  And witness more of their billing and cooing, not to mention the way they couldn’t keep their hands off each other? She’d never keep her food down! “I don’t think so, thanks.”

  “You could have made more of an effort to be gracious,” Mac rebuked, resuming his seat as Andrea floated away on a cloud of black chiffon.

  “I was perfectly polite.”

  “You were perfectly po-faced!”

  “I’m surprised you noticed. It seemed to me you didn’t have eyes for anyone but your girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Oh, really!” The careless laugh she aimed for emerged as an outraged squawk, the result, no doubt, of the acid taint of jealousy burning holes in her throat. “Your mistress, then?”

  “No. My ex-wife.”

  She should have known! The way Andrea had fingered the hair back from his brow, the kiss she’d dropped just beside his mouth, had screamed familiarity, possession.

  Linda had feared there might be a price to pay for stealing a night of pure, undiluted pleasure in the midst of so much angst, and now she knew what it was: the emergence of this beautiful, gracious, compassionate woman, her concern for a stranger so sincere that it slipped with the ease of stiletto blade between Linda’s ribs and crucified her.

  For some men, one woman is never enough…. Mac’s words rang through her memory like a death knell. But the other side of that coin surely was that, for other men, there was only ever one woman.

  Death’s the only barrier to repairing a re
lationship, he’d said, and she hadn’t believed him at the time. But she did now. She’d seen the evidence firsthand.

  Her stomach heaved and she clapped a hand to her mouth, sure she was going to be sick. Thank God she hadn’t told him how she felt about him, or worse yet, asked him if he returned her feelings, even though they’d known each other only a few days! Because time was relative when it came to love, and it had taken mere seconds for her to realize he was still besotted with his ex-wife, and all the rest—the flirtation, the occasional tenderness, the sex with her, his client!—had meant nothing!

  “Why the horrified expression, Linda?” he asked coldly. “You’ve known all along that I’m divorced.”

  “Yes,” she said. “And after seeing the two of you together just now, I can’t help but wonder why you bothered to end the marriage.”

  He regarded her over the rim of his glass. “You need to get over the notion that divorced couples have to be at each other’s throats all the time. It’s not like that for your mother and father, whether or not you’re willing to admit it, and it’s not like that for Andrea and me. Relationships are seldom that black and white, my dear.”

  “Please don’t lecture me as if I were a child! I’m fully aware that some divorced couples are able to remain friends.”

  “No, you’re not,” he said flatly. “You’re furious. Why is that, Linda? Could it be that you’re jealous?”

  Of a gorgeous wisp of a woman in black chiffon, who made him glow with delight and who was still on such intimate terms with him that she entertained him at her place? “Certainly not!”

  “That’s good,” he said silkily. “Because you’d be seriously out of line, if you were. Just because you’re paying me to find your niece doesn’t make me your personal property.”

  “I’m not paying you to be chasing your ex-wife all over town, either.”

  “She designs costume jewelry. You needed a ring. Who else would I have gone to, to supply one?”

  What was the matter with her? Where was her legendary common sense, the one thing she’d always been able to count on when faced with a dilemma? She knew better than to let her emotions run away with her like this, for heaven’s sake, especially over a man she barely knew—and especially over one who, even before she met him, she’d been warned was a loner and a maverick.