by Debra Webb
No more able to stop himself than he could have stopped the earth from turning, Mac reached out to touch her. With the first graze of his fingertips against her cheek, her lids fluttered open in a heart-stopping show of blue. She searched his eyes for answers he couldn’t give. He didn’t understand this crazy attraction himself, he only knew that he had to touch her. To kiss her or die.
Using both hands, he tangled his fingers into those silky curls. Waves of pleasure cascaded down his body at the first touch of their lips. “You’re a good storyteller, gypsy,” he murmured, then brushed her lips with his own once more.
She drew back just far enough to look at him. “I know a few things,” she whispered. She skimmed his lapel with her fingers, then stroked his jaw in a long, smooth caress. “I research the history of the houses I work on and the people who lived in them. I can sense a lot about them by what they left behind.” She ran her fingers into his hair, smiling as the strands sifted through them. All conscious thought evaporated for Mac.
Free tiptoed to press her lips against his and he groaned in response. He traced the seam on her lips with his tongue and she opened, inviting him inside. Time vanished as he explored the heat and softness she offered.
“Whoa! Excuse the hell out of me!”
Mac jerked back from the kiss that had consumed him with its intensity. A tall, lanky young man lurked in the parlor doorway. Tattoos marked his bare, muscled forearms. From his blond head to his biker boots, he looked like trouble. Right now he also looked ready to rip Mac’s head off and spit down his throat.
“Lance,” Free said, her voice unnaturally high. She raked a shaky hand through her hair. “This is…this is Mr. McFerrin. His company is dong the reconstruction on this site and several others we’ll be salvaging from.”
Lance leaned against the doorjamb, folded his arms over his chest and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “Oh. The magnolia hater,” he said archly.
Anger shot through Mac. If this was Free’s helper, she needed her head examined. This guy looked like the poster child for Criminals-R-Us.
“Lance,” Free scolded, “Mr. McFerrin is my neighbor.”
“Delighted, I’m sure,” Lance muttered.
“I have a meeting.” Mac pushed past Mr. Leather-and-Tattoos and strode toward the front door.
Free caught up with him on the front porch. “Lance is really a good kid. He’s just a little overprotective.”
“Kid?” Mac whirled on her. “That’s no kid, Free. And I wouldn’t trust him with my grandmother, much less with—” He snapped his mouth shut. Instantly he recognized the strange emotion twisting his gut: jealousy. He was jealous of this guy’s relationship with Free! But Mac had never been jealous of a woman in his life. Shock, followed swiftly by fear, raced through his veins, making his heart pound harder. “I have to go.”
“You never got a chance to me tell me if you could see—”
Mac glared at her, cutting her off midsentence. “I didn’t see anything, but an old rundown house that lost its purpose a long time ago.” With that, he stormed away, trying his level best to forget the look of sadness on her sweet gypsy face.
~*~
Free sat in the dark on her back steps and watched the lighted windows of Mac’s house. Now and then she would see him pass the window as he moved about in the kitchen. Every night for the past week she had watched his house. And it was always the same. He never had company and he worked until midnight or later. If she stood on her tiptoes on the top step and leaned to the right, she could see him huddled over the mass of papers spread out on the kitchen table.
Even on Sunday, he had done the same.
On Monday, Free had watched from the next block as the Bower Street houses were tore down. She had struggled with her tears, but the salty drops had streamed down her cheeks anyway. She had sat in her truck in the hot morning sun and watched another part of the past destroyed.
Free wasn’t foolish enough to believe that progress was bad, but did it have to destroy everything more than a few decades old? It just didn’t seem right to tear down all those beautiful old homes. How long would it be before her own neighborhood was viewed as obsolete?
Maybe people like Mac were right. Maybe she was fooling herself. Maybe her salvage work didn’t make a difference.
No! It did. People like Mrs. LeMont and even Julius Faraday understood. The past did have a place in the present. And no one would ever make her believe otherwise.
Chapter Four
“Mac, are you listening to me at all?”
Mac jerked his attention back to the present and wheeled around. He had been staring out the wall of windows behind his desk at the sleek office buildings that made up Enterprise Drive and hadn’t heard a word Jake said. Mac frowned and tried to recall the thread of the conversation. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
“If you have other things on your mind, we can discuss this issue later,” Jake offered. He rose from his chair on the other side of Mac’s desk.
Mac shook his head briefly. “No, no. Stay. We need to get this ironed out. I don’t want to begin the work week with the Chenille Street issue hanging over my head.” He kicked his abandoned chair from his desk, and sank into it. Jake settled back into his chair.
“I was just saying that the residents on Chenille Street are still pursuing landmark status for that house. They’ll never get it, of course. The fact that some obscure historical character stayed there when he passed through Huntsville umpity-ump years ago won’t be sufficient. And, of course, all our permits are in order. Legally speaking, it’s a done deal. My concern is the stink the opposition can stir in the media.”
Mac’s frown deepened. “We don’t want that if it can be prevented.”
“I got a call this morning from a fiend at the Times. They’ve gotten three letters to the editor on the issue. He has to print at least one of them. I asked him to hold off until next week, to give us a few more days to resolve it.”
“Good thinking,” Mac agreed. John had known what he was doing when he’d selected Jake Larsen as McFerrin Enterprises’ legal representation in Huntsville. “I plan to check out that site again today. Maybe I’ll up the demolition date. Get the work done before it becomes a public issue.” He shook his head. “I just don’t see what’s so great about those old places. Termite traps, most of them.”
Jake nodded in agreement. “I’m with you.”
Mac’s thoughts strayed back to Friday before last and his gypsy neighbor’s silly stories. Tell me what you see in this room. A man and a woman making long, slow love. Free’s words echoed inside his head. Mac hadn’t seen a damned thing but a dilapidated old house that needed to be torn down before it became a safety hazard. But she had seen more, much more. She was like the people on Chenille Street, stuck in the past. Mac wanted nothing to do with the past. He wanted to keep moving forward—straight into the future. He didn’t let anything tie him down or slow his progress. The preservationists on Chenille Street wouldn’t change his mind, nor would his bewitching neighbor.
“I’ve lost you again,” Jake said, his words bringing Mac once again to the conversation.
Mac blew out his frustration and massaged his right temple. “Sorry. I just can’t seem to concentrate.”
“I know that symptom all too well myself.”
Mac stilled. “What symptom?”
“Lack of ability to concentrate,” he said flatly. “With guys like us it can be attributed to only one thing—a woman.”
Mac straightened in his chair, the leather complaining almost as loudly as his sensibilities. “There is no woman at the moment and even if there was, I never allow my personal life to interfere with business.”
“Now you’re insulting my intelligence,” Jake said. “I saw you and Free Renzetti together, remember? It was impossible to miss the attraction between the two of you.”
Mac narrowed his gaze at his new associate—and friend, if truth be told. He didn’t make friends easily,
but Jake just seemed to slide into the part without any effort. “And you think I’m having difficulty keeping my mind off my strange neighbor?”
“Are you denying the charge?” Jake countered with complete self-assurance.
Mac shot out of his chair and paced back and forth between his desk and the credenza. “Yes, counselor,” he growled. He rubbed his temple again and arrowed Jake an irritated glare. “No,” he conceded reluctantly.
Jake grinned, then stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Don’t feel too badly. I’ve got the same problem myself.”
Mac stopped pacing and stared at Jake. “What do you mean?” Had Free drawn Jake under her spell as well? When had the two of them been together other than at the jail that one time? Jealousy flowed swift and hot through his veins. Mac scrutinized Jake’s lean, rugged appearance. He supposed that women would find a guy like that appealing. His heart pounded in time with the anger that crashed against his skull.
“Alex,” Jake told him to answer the question Mac refused to ask. “She’s been driving me crazy for months. Her father hired me last year when the partner he’d had for thirty years retired. Alex graduated from law school right after that and came to work for the firm, expecting to fill her father’s shoes eventually. Things had been going great until then.” Jake shrugged as if he didn’t care. “She hates me. The woman lives to make my life miserable. She’s all but begged her father to get rid of me. In three more months my name is supposed to go on the office stationary right next to Carlisle. Making partner in this firm has been my dream for a long time. Alex is trying every angle to make sure it doesn’t happen.”
“What does her father say?”
“He pretends the situation doesn’t exist. To him everything at the office is just hunky-dory.” Jake sighed. “Since he was diagnosed with cancer, I’ve been pretty much running the office.” His gaze connected with Mac’s. “The cancer’s terminal. Alex will be hell to live with when he’s gone. Mr. Carlisle is the only person who can keep her in line.”
Mac leaned against the credenza and crossed his legs at his ankles. “Sounds like a tough situation.”
“It is, but I can handle it. The only reason I shared this unsavory business with you is because I thought maybe you could use some advice on how to handle your situation with Free.”
Mac eyed Jake warily. “I don’t see the connection.”
“Well, let me spell it out for you,” Jake said patiently. “Although Alex and I fight constantly and, to all appearances, hate each other’s guts, the sexual attraction between us is mind-boggling.”
“So, how are you handling that?”
“I’ve decided to take an alternate approach.” He rocked back on his heels and grinned. “Instead of fighting her, I’m going to keep her happy. I agree with everything she says, and I’m so nice she can’t possibly find any fault with me. When I’m finished, she’ll be following me around like a long-last pal.”
Puzzled, Mac asked, “You want her to follow you around like that?”
“Just until the partnership contracts are signed. Then she’ll have to learn to live with the real me again.”
Mac shook his head. “What’s the moral of this story for me?”
“You’re only going to be in Huntsville for a short time. Why not make the most of it? If Free sends your libido into warp speed, why not get to know the lady better? That way you can stay on top of her work schedule if you’re worried about her getting behind on the salvaging. Plus, you won’t have to worry about any more feuds with your neighbor.” He shrugged. “She’s beautiful and she’s nice. A little romance might make your stay in Alabama a lot more pleasant. Besides, if you’re going to be mooning over her all the time, you might as well do something about it.”
Mac bit back the colorful phrase he wanted to hurl at Jake. “I don’t want to have an affair with the woman. I want to forget about her,” he said harshly. “Hell, I can’t sleep at night for thinking about her. I can’t concentrate on my work. I can’t even eat without remembering how she tastes.”
Jake looked surprised. “It’s worse than I thought. You’re already infatuated, huh?”
“I kissed her,” Mac hissed through clenched teeth.
“Just once?”
Mac gripped the edge of the credenza with both hands. “No—twice.”
“That settles it then.” Jake crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll have to have her or you’ll never be any good around here.”
“I don’t want to have her!” Mac snarled.
“Hey, buddy, I’m on your side. But I promise you, now that you’ve kissed her, you’ll never stop thinking about her if you don’t have her. But once you’ve had her, you’ll realize that she’s just like any other woman, and all will be well in your world again.”
Mac exhaled noisily. “What if it doesn’t work?”
Jake’s smile widened with genuine confidence. “Oh, it’ll work all right. I’ve never met a woman yet, no matter how intriguing she appeared, that wasn’t just like all the rest when you got down to the nitty-gritty.”
Mac had to admit that the idea of making love to Free Renzetti was more than a little appealing. She did seem just as attracted to him as he was to her. “Do me a favor, will you?”
“Name it,” Jake offered without hesitation.
“I don’t usually get involved with women I know nothing about,” he began, then exhaled in frustration. “Under normal circumstances I prefer career-oriented women with whom I have similar interests.” He shrugged. “Or common goals. I don’t know anything about her past.”
“I have a source who can do an informal background search, if that’s what you need,” Jake suggested.
Mac nodded. “That would be good.”
Maybe that was the answer. Maybe he would succumb to a brief affair with his gypsy neighbor. Maybe if he had her, just once, he could get her out of his system and then he could get back on track. That, Mac decided wearily, was a hell of a lot of maybes.
~*~
Free stripped, dropping her clothes at her feet. She pinned her hair haphazardly atop her head and stepped gingerly into the deep, claw-footed tub. A moan of satisfaction vibrated inside her as the hot water and frothy bubbles enveloped her. After a hard day’s work there was nothing in the world like a long, hot bubble bath. Today, like all Mondays, had been a killer. Everybody wanted everything now on the first day of the work week. Free leaned back against the smooth, porcelain surface and closed her eyes in ecstasy.
Slowly, she concentrated on relaxing her muscles. First, her tight, achy neck; next, the tired, strained shoulder muscles. The tension and stress of the day dissolved as the warmth eased her body. The neck-deep water caressed her skin like a lover’s touch. Free’s languid thoughts drifted to that day in the Bower Street house when Mac had kissed her. The memory of their first kiss in his kitchen joined the vivid mental pictures. A wave of desire tightened her feminine core, creating another kind of heat inside her. The man could definitely kiss.
Free moaned softly again at the sensations stirred by the memories as she recalled every passionate moment she had spent in Mac’s strong arms. Though they had nothing in common, their bodies didn’t seem to notice. Free responded to Mac as she had to no other man. He made her ache in places she had never ached before; he made her yearn for things she had decided she would never need. His powerful, muscled body beckoned to her on a very elemental level. She wanted nothing more than to spend a night locked in his arms making long, slow love. Another wave of desire washed over her, making her breasts tingle. And Mac’s desire for her on both occasions had been in abundance as well. It would have been difficult to miss that hard ridge of male flesh pressing against her.
Free slid her right foot over the rim of the cool porcelain tub and focused inward on her image of Mac’s perfectly sculpted body. She could just imagine touching that taut, tanned skin, running her fingers over every plane and ridge. A smile tugged at her lips as she rubbed her foot over the co
ntrasting coldness of the faucet. Her toes played over the old, rough spout. Her mind centered on Mac—Mac as hard as the steel beneath her sensitive toes, only he was molten steel, hot and alive. She slipped her foot down to catch the warm water dripping from the old, leaky spout. In the private theater of her mind, Free stood on tiptoe and planted a kiss square on Mac’s lips. She thrust her tongue inside his mouth and tasted his warm, unique flavor. Her tongue, thrusting and retreating, as her arms entwined around his neck, her body begging to be taken by him. She kissed him harder, longer, and deeper. Her soul needing to be one with his. And then his tongue thrust inside her mouth.
Free’s eyes popped open. She sat up straight in the tub and stared at her foot, her eyes widening in horror. She tugged gently and panic seized her. Her big toe was stuck in the spout. She tugged again, a little harder, but it wouldn’t budge.
“Oh, God.” Her heart thudded against her ribcage. She’d gotten carried away with all that thrusting and retreating and…”Oh, God,” she repeated.
Free gripped the rim of the tub with both hands, bit down on her lower lip and pulled her foot harder. Nothing happened. Fear coursed through her veins. Stuck. The cold steel spout gripped her toe in an awkwardly bent angle. How could she have been so stupid? An occasional droplet managed to slip around her toe, slid over the top of her foot and down around the arch. Quickly she scanned the bathroom for anything that might aid her in disengaging herself. Nothing. No telephone to call for help. No blowtorch to cut herself loose—which is probably what it would take.
“Oh, God,” Free chanted once more. How would she ever get out of this mess, short of summoning the fire department? Adrenaline surged, renewing her fear.