by Debra Webb
“Okay, okay, don’t panic,” she told herself. Emily or Alex would be coming home anytime. Free hadn’t shut the bathroom door. If she yelled when she heard someone come into the house they would definitely hear her. The front door was open, but she would hear the screen door when it slammed. All she had to do now was relax and listen for one of her housemates to arrive. And pray one of them came home before she shriveled into a human-sized prune. Draining the water was not an option since it provided the only cover for her naked body.
~*~
The knock that rattled the old screen door startled Free from the doze she had slipped into. She jerked to attention, then shivered as her surroundings, cool water and all, pervaded her consciousness. She had no way of knowing how long she had been in the water, but judging by the throb in her toe and the temperature of the water, it had been awhile.
The screen door rattled again. Someone was at the door, but it wasn’t Alex or Emily—they wouldn’t knock. Maybe Lance had forgotten something in her truck. Free shivered again and decided she would just have to take her chances. She couldn’t risk spending any more time in this predicament.
“Hello! Who’s there?” she shouted. Her bathroom was the second room on the left past the staircase. Whoever stood on her porch at the moment would hear her. Free grimaced and tried to support her cramping leg by propping the other one beneath it.
“It’s Mac.”
She cringed as the deep, masculine sound of his voice echoed down the hall. Damn!
Why couldn’t it have been anyone else? Damn!
The Girl Scouts selling cookies? Lance, Phil, anybody? Double damn!
She glanced down at herself and shivered again. At least the slowly dissolving bubbles afforded her some protection. Just to be sure, she wiggled her foot from side to side and tugged hard. It still didn’t budge. She swallowed her pride and did what she knew she had to.
“Mac, the door is open,” she called out. She moistened her lips and sucked in a bolstering breath. “I need you to come in and help me. I’m stuck.”
“Stuck? What do you mean stuck?” His voice was louder now. Free could picture him at the door, his face pressed to the screen.
“Please, just come inside and help me.” She closed her eyes. “You’ll see when you get in here,” she muttered more to herself than to him.
She heard the creak of the screen door’s hinges and then the slap of wood against wood. She told herself that she should be thankful, but somehow she couldn’t manage the emotion. Mac’s footsteps thudded in the hall.
“Where are you?” he asked cautiously.
“Second door on the left.”
Free checked the bubble level once more, then gripped the sides of the tub as she watched the doorway. This had to be the most humiliating experience of her life. Heat climbed up her neck and spread across her cheeks in anticipation of the inevitable. Mac McFerrin was about to see her naked, save for some strategic bubbles, with her toe stuck in a faucet. She blanched at the cold, hard reality.
When he stopped in the doorway, his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in surprise. He blinked twice and then looked again. Instantly he spun around, giving Free his back.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I didn’t realize…damn,” he finished, the words almost too low for her to hear. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What exactly is the problem?”
His tone sounded strained, with the effort of hiding his surprise, she supposed. After all, how often did a man walk into a bathroom to find a naked woman—a stranger, practically—in a tub demanding his assistance? “I’m stuck,” she groused, her humiliation complete.
His hands went to his waist in that take-charge stance she’d seen him in on more than one occasion. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific. Exactly what part of you is stuck?”
“My toe,” she murmured, tugging once more in a last-ditch effort to get loose. She winced at the flash of pain that shot across he top of her foot and up her aching leg.
Mac turned around slowly, his gaze connecting with hers. “Your toe?” he echoed, disbelief claimed his features.
Free nodded.
He smiled, then rubbed his jaw to hide his widening grin. “Your toe?” he repeated.
“That’s what I said. Are you deaf?”
Mac looked down and shook his head, obviously trying valiantly not to do or say anything that would humiliate her further. Then it came. Real belly-busting, side-splitting laughter rumbled from his throat.
Free’s eyes narrowed and she glared at him, too embarrassed to speak at this point. She felt like a total idiot.
Mac licked his lips and drew in a big breath, then shrugged. “Okay,” he said, barely suppressing his laughter, and stepped toward the tub. His gaze traveled from her face to the only other part of her which protruded from the water. His brow knitted in puzzlement as he opened his mouth.
Free cut him off. “Don’t ask,” she warned. “Just get me loose.”
A forced seriousness in his expression, Mac stroked his chin with the fingers of one hand as if considering the best approach. “I’ll give it my best shot,” he finally said flatly.
Though he didn’t sound optimistic, she breathed a sigh of relief. The water was getting colder by the minute, her bubbles were disappearing entirely too fast, and her skin felt tight and wrinkled.
He took off his tailored suit jacket and hung it on the doorknob. Despite her current circumstances, she noted again how oddly out of place his ponytail seemed. Silk shirts and ties, elegantly tailored suits and long sexy hair. What a combination.
He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, all the while keeping his gaze focused on the faucet. She watched as he shoved aside her clothes and knelt next to the tub, then hesitantly reached for her foot. She shivered when one big hand clasped her ankle and the other closed around the arch of her foot. The warmth and slight roughness of his hands made her tender flesh tingle. He tugged gently but her toe remained lodged inside the ancient fixture. When he pulled harder, Free couldn’t stifle the gasp.
His gaze sought hers, concern clear in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head and fought the sting of tears. “Of course I’m not okay. My toe is stuck. I am freezing and my skin looks like I belong in a group with the California Raisins.” She hated the way her voice climbed into a full-fledged whine, but she couldn’t help it. If Mac couldn’t get her loose, crying would be the next indignity.
He surveyed the situation again and sighed. “Removing the spout is out of the question.” He looked over his shoulder and scanned the old pedestal sink. “What we need,” he began, his searching gaze roaming over the room, “is a lubricant and maybe some Q-Tips.”
A lubricant? What did she have? Oh, yeah! “There’s something in the medicine cabinet. It’s old, but it should work.”
Mac stood and opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink. “What am I looking for? A bottle, a jar?”
“A tube, I think.” Free craned her neck to see each item he examined. “That’s it!” she exclaimed when he picked up the old tube.
He twisted at the waist to look down at her, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “KY Jelly?”
Heat flooded Free’s face. Why couldn’t it have been anything but that? Murphy’s Law, she decided. “It’s not—never mind,” she muttered. Why bother explaining that the probably-out-of-date product didn’t belong to her? “The Q-Tips should be there, too.”
A wry grin hitching up one side of his mouth, he turned back to the cabinet and located the other item he needed. Free closed her eyes and exhaled in disgust. Why did crazy things always happen to her whenever this man was around? It was as if fate had decided to throw the two of them together in bizarre situations.
“I’ll need to drain some of this water.”
His raspy baritone snapped her out of her self-pity session. He was on his knees at the side of the tub again. “What?”
“The water,” he repeate
d. “I need to drain some of the water.”
“No way!” She glared at him. The water and ever-diminishing bubbles were the only things allowing her any shred of decency.
“The tub is so full that we’re going to make a hell of a mess if we don’t.”
“I don’t care. The water stays.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you say, it’s your bathroom.”
She shot him another heated glare and he promptly set to the task of using Q-Tips to shove jelly into the spout around her toe. What if this didn’t work?
It had to work. She wasn’t about to involve anyone else in this fiasco. If Mac couldn’t get her loose, she’d just stay here until she dissolved.
When he had injected as much lubricant as he deemed necessary, he grasped her foot again and worked her toe back and forth. Water splashed over the edge of the tub. His sleeves and shirt front were soaked, but he didn’t seem to notice. After adding more lubricant, he wiggled her foot again, then repeated the process.
“You know,” he said, as he poked and prodded with the Q-Tip, “if you’d get rid of this prehistoric faucet, you wouldn’t have to worry about this sort of thing.”
“This is a perfectly good faucet,” she protested. She loved the curving shape of it, she didn’t want a new one. She just wouldn’t ever stick her toe in the spout again.
“I’ll bet it drips,” he countered.
“Lance works on it from time to time.”
Mac shot her a look. “Does he stop the drip?”
Free lifted her chin a notch. “Pretty much.”
He shook his handsome head. “That’s what I figured.”
Finally, her toe slipped out. She cried out in relief and cradled her foot in her hands and inspected her reddened toe, then wiggled it and winced at the soreness. Immensely, grateful, she lifted her gaze to Mac’s and for the first time noticed just how close he was. Close enough that she could smell the intriguing scent of his cologne. Close enough to kiss his gorgeous mouth. How could any man be so undeniably, irresistibly handsome?
“Thank you,” she managed rather breathlessly.
“You’re welcome,” he answered, just as breathlessly. That electric blue gaze was no longer on hers, but had latched onto her mouth. His full lips parted just enough for him to lick them, and the movement sent a spear of heat diving through her. Desire followed hot on its heels.
She watched, mesmerized, as his gaze moved even lower. Down her throat, over the slope of her shoulder, then lower still to the slowly dissolving bubbles that barely concealed her breasts. His knuckles were as white as the porcelain rim he gripped.
“Would you hand me my robe, please?” she asked tentatively.
His gaze jerked back to hers, his pupils wide with desire. “Sure.” He pushed quickly to his feet. “Where is it?” He glanced around, spotted it hanging on the back of the door and carefully removed the old terry-cloth robe from its hook. He held it at arm’s length.
Free smiled as she reached for it. The knowledge that he didn’t trust himself to come closer again made her feel a little giddy. He looked anywhere but at her now. A moment of awkward silence passed before he had the presence of mind to turn his back. Her smile widened at his uneasiness. Scorpios were reputedly hard to rattle, but Mac was definitely rattled at the moment. But then, so was she.
Free stood, the cold water and remaining bubbles slipping down her naked body. Mac visibly stiffened at the sound of water sloshing in the tub. She stepped onto the wet floor and pulled on her robe, then tightened the sash at her waist. She touched his rigid shoulder and he turned to face her.
“Oh, my,” she said when she saw how wet his clothes had gotten. “You need a towel.” Free reached past him for a towel stacked on the antique dry sink she used for storage. She offered the towel, but he made no move to take it. His eyes were fixed on her left shoulder, the one bared by the carelessly donned robe.
She shrugged the robe into place and produced an apologetic smile. “You’re all wet,” she reminded him as she held the towel against his damp chest. His white silk shirt had become transparent, clinging to every contour of his awesome chest. Free knotted her hand in the fluffy towel to prevent the natural impulse to more closely examine that muscled terrain.
“It’s okay,” he said hoarsely. “I should go.” He started to back up before the words were out of his mouth. “I have work to do and—” The doorframe stopped him. He banged hard against it.
Free winced in sympathy. “Thanks again for rescuing me.” She hugged the towel and followed his backward movement through the doorway.
Mac paused, then swallowed, his throat work extra hard with effort. “It was no big deal.” He shrugged stiffly. “You’re…you’re welcome.”
Not quite allowing herself to act out her earlier fantasy for fear of losing control, she tiptoed and placed a light kiss on his tense jaw. It was during that brief moment when she pulled away, that almost imperceptible pause, that she realized just how much she wanted this man. The pull of attraction was so strong, so overwhelming that it took every ounce of restraint she could muster not to press her lips to his. He stood absolutely still, waiting to see what she would do next, she assumed. His eyes never left hers.
Free couldn’t turn away. She was blind with desire, crazy with passion, hot with need. Even if Mac McFerrin was all wrong for her. They were too different. And he was, in effect, her boss. She knew business and pleasure didn’t mix. The only thing they could possibly hope to have together was a casual affair and Free didn’t do casual affairs.
Mac lowered his head, his lips tempting hers. His warm breath tantalizing her mouth. This will never work! She screamed silently. Electricity zipped through her when his firm lips brushed hers. She jerked back before he swept her into that whirlwind of sensation.
“I’ll get your jacket.” Free spun around and propelled herself in the direction of the bathroom. She dropped the towel and grabbed his jacket. She had to get him out of here before she did something truly stupid. Somehow he had regained his own control during her brief absence. He accepted the jacket and hurried toward the front door. Free followed, still dizzy from the close encounter of the too intense kind.
Once outside on the porch, he paused and turned back to her. “I almost forgot. We had to do some rescheduling. Demolition of the Chenille Street project had been moved up to next Monday.”
Free felt her eyes go round in disbelief. He couldn’t do that! She rubbed at the frown creasing her forehead. Of course he could do it, she reminded herself. Mac was the boss.
Sarge! She had to get word to Sarge.
“Is that a problem?” he asked when she made no response.
“No,” she lied. “Lance and I will adjust our schedules.”
He nodded. “Good.” Without looking at her again, he strode away.
Good, he’s said. Free could think of a great many ways to describe that announcement, but good wasn’t one of them.
Chapter Five
At half past nine on Tuesday night, Free paced her crowded parlor waiting for Alex’s return. From his position against the doorjamb, Lance cracked his knuckles, punctuating the murmuring from the Chenille Street Preservation Committee. Free shot Lance an annoyed look. He shrugged and ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. Free felt immediately contrite for taking her frustration out on Lance, but tension had frazzled her nerves.
Sarge and two of his friends were huddled with the group. Their perpetual murmuring and frequent glances at her added to Free’s escalating uneasiness.
She desperately hoped she was doing the right thing. The way she saw it, Mac hadn’t really left her much choice. His revelation last evening that he intended to move up the demolition date by more than a month had put things under a serious time crunch. Since the Chenille Street residents wanted so fiercely to save at least one house, Free had assumed that they had control of the situation, but historical status had been denied.
Mac could tear down the house and build a new, modern st
ructure at will. Why wouldn’t he work with what was already there? The house was structurally sound, and plenty large enough to turn into medical offices. He could renovate the grand old home into a state-of- the-art clinic while maintaining the neighborhood’s antebellum atmosphere.
But no. Mac wanted to destroy the past one house at a time. Free shuddered. If only she could make him feel just a little of her love for history, for life in general. Hadn’t the man ever heard of stopping to smell the roses?
What was she thinking? Mac didn’t seem to care much about the here and now. Why on earth would she expect him to have any attachment to the past? The man seemed to be rootless, and maybe even heartless.
She shook her head. She wouldn’t believe that. Instantly she chastised herself. Why not believe it? Just because the man was sexy didn’t mean he had a heart in that sense of the word. She tossed her hair over her shoulders and retraced her path across the room. None of this felt right.
“I’ve got it!” Alex announced as she breezed in, all eyes focused on her willowy form as she strode toward Free.
Free moistened her lips and drew in a deep breath. “Will it provide us with the right opportunity?”
“Do bears sh—”
“Alex!” Emily exclaimed from amid the group of preservationists. She glowered at Alex in a spiritually superior manner. “These are respectable people,” she said primly, as if her housemates weren’t.
Alex rolled her eyes and sighed. She crossed her arms over her chest and focused on Free. “McFerrin has a meeting with the investors for the Chenille Street project on Friday at ten a.m.” She surveyed the assembled group much the way she would a jury, pausing for added emphasis, and then continued. “I thought I noticed his name on Jake’s calendar, so I checked to be sure. The meeting will be held in the executive conference room on the sixth floor across the hall from Mac’s office.”
“Okay.” Free met Alex’s triumphant gaze with more than a little uncertainty. “Do you have a plan?”