One of the Boys

by Merline Lovelace

  “What made you come back to defense work?”

  Maggie found that Mac’s presence was proving to be a major distraction. That, and the way his arm stretched across the back of the seat. She had to think a couple of moments before she could come up with a response.

  “It was time for a change,” she finally managed.

  “I’m glad,” he said, and smiled.

  At her inquiring look, his hand slid off the seat back and burrowed under the weight of her hair. It settled on her nape, and Maggie felt the tender rasp of his callused fingertips all the way down to her toes.

  “I’m glad you needed a change, Maggie. I’m glad you’re here.”

  Maggie swallowed and looked up to see his eyes glinting silvery blue in the moonlight.

  “Me, too, Mac,” she whispered.

  With a lopsided grin, he moved his arm down to wrap it around her waist. His muscles barely shifted as he lifted her easily across the gearshift and into his lap. She half-sat, half-lay across his iron-hard thighs.

  “I’ve been wanting to do this since turtle number twenty-seven,” he murmured.

  His dark head bent toward her, and Maggie felt his lips close over hers. He tasted of coffee and rum and delicious male. Letting her eyes drift closed, she savored the slow languorous way his lips moved over hers.

  She smiled up at him when he pulled back moments later. “Why did you wait so long?”

  Mac gave a little groan. The hand around her waist tightened as he fit her more fully against his chest, and her head angled back for his kiss. When she moaned softly in an unconscious echo, his tongue delved in to explore her mouth. Maggie’s last rational thought was that she hadn’t necked in a parked car since junior high. She hadn’t realized what she was missing.

  A long time later they surfaced. Mac tilted her chin up so he could see her face in the moonlight. With a grunt of pure male satisfaction he took in her half-closed dreamy eyes and swollen lips.

  “Lord, you look great in the moonlight, woman. Especially with that hair of yours glinting that way.”

  When she only smiled in response, Mac ran his finger gently back and forth across her lower lip. Maggie had thought the feel of his lips on hers erotic. This finger business was about to drive her crazy. Instinctively she opened her mouth and captured his finger in a teasing nip.

  “You little cat.”

  Mac bent her back over his arm as far as the truck door would allow and kissed her again. His hand started to move toward the zipper on her jacket, then stopped a tantalizing few inches away from her breast.

  Dragging in a harsh breath, he lifted his head and dropped his hand to rest on the curve of her hip. “Lord, I’m sorry, Maggie.”

  She blinked. “Sorry?”

  “I’m acting like some pimply teenager on his first date. I must be crazy, trying to grope you in the front seat of a car.”

  Flustered, Maggie stared up at him. She wasn’t about to admit that she wanted to be groped, front seat or back. That she hadn’t been kissed like that by anyone, pimply or otherwise, in this lifetime. That her nipples had tingled in anticipation as his hand started to open her jacket. She swallowed and tried to take in his next words.

  “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.

  CHAPTER 3

  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 consider. They m
ight 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.

  CHAPTER 4

  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 application. 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.