Free Falling

by Debra Webb

  Alex’s eyes narrowed, adding to Free’s tension. She turned back to the group when she spoke. “If you’re serious about putting a stop to the demolition, then you may have only one opportunity and that’s at the meeting on Friday. If you can convince his investors that your plan is better than the one McFerrin Enterprises is offering, you might have a chance.”

  “And how do we get into this meeting without getting thrown out of the building first?” Free shifted restlessly. She had a very bad feeling about what Alex might have in mind.

  Alex smiled, one of those sharkish, barely-a-cut-above-sinister kinds of smiles. “We’ll need a distraction.” She turned to Mr. Towery, who was hovering over the coffee table he had pulled his chair next to. “Mr. Towery, are your plans in order?”

  The elderly man tapped the blueprints spread out on the table and nodded. “All I need are cost projections.”

  Alex nodded. “I have a friend who’s in construction. I’ll ask him to crunch those numbers with you.” She scanned the group once more, then braced her hands on her hips with a dramatic flourish. “What makes sense to you or looks like the right thing to do won’t be enough. You have to present a cost-effective plan that will appeal to the needs of these people, i.e., will it be profitable?”

  Free watched as Alex moved to Mr. Towery’s side. She hoped he could deal with the pressure—after all, he was eighty-five. During the 1940s, Towery had been considered one of the southeast’s most prominent architects, and today he lived in one of the lovely antebellum homes on Chenille Street. From the moment the plans to build a new medical center in his neighborhood had been announced, Towery had worked with the Historical Society as well as with McFerrin Enterprises to try and come up with a feasible alternative that would leave the ambiance of the street intact. But his efforts thus far had been futile.

  Free frowned as the full impact of Alex’s response to her question hit her. “What do you mean we’ll need a distraction?”

  Alex straightened from her perusal of Towery’s work. “Mac and Jake will be in that meeting. We won’t be able to accomplish anything while those two are in there.” She re-crossed her arms and seemed to consider the problem for a time. “I can distract Jake,” she announced, leveling her gaze on Free’s. “But you’ll have to take care of Mac. Once we have those two out of the way, Mr. Towery and company” she waved her upturned palm to indicate the assembled group “will take over.”

  Free tensed. She liked the sound of this less and less. “And just how am I supposed to distract him?”

  Alex’s knowing smile made Free cringe. “Oh, we’ll think of something, sweetie.” She tapped her forearm with one long, perfectly manicured nail. “I have a feeling that where you’re concerned, Mac the Magnolia Murderer is easily distracted.”

  ~*~

  Free slumped on the cushioned window seat and stared out at the steady drizzle. Its sweet, cleaning scent drifted into the room, and mingled with the lingering smells of freshly baked chocolate cake. Chocolate relaxed her, and right now she desperately needed to relax. After an evening of conspiracy against her unsuspecting neighbor, she felt stressed to the max.

  She sighed in an effort to release some of the tension and watched the occasional fat raindrop splat against the window ledge. The rain would be a tremendous relief to farmers and gardeners alike, but it only added to her depressed mood. This entire scheme to save the Chenille Street house had put her in an awkward position. Free had committed herself to preserving as much of the past as possible, but her main concern was always for the people. And in this instance the people wanted the house to remain. But Mac had his own agenda…and investors he had to answer to.

  What a mess. She felt torn. Part of her yearned to make this right, but part of her wanted nothing to do with anything that might hurt Mac.

  If only he hadn’t moved next door to her. She would never have known him, would never have come to care about him. Free stilled. Did she care about Mac?

  Yes. She did. She couldn’t help herself.

  The old grandfather clock counted the hour as midnight. Oscar lifted his head from his post under the kitchen table and peered at Free with big sad eyes. She chuckled, the sound lost to the low, rhythmic pulse of the music wafting from the radio.

  Why did life have to be so unsettling sometimes? She had thought that hers had reached an even keel these days. After years of struggling to survive, the last four had been happy. Except for Thomas’s death, of course.

  Free pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on top of them. Thomas Styles had been so good to her. How had she been lucky enough to find someone like him? Emily would call it Divine intervention. All Free knew was that Thomas had come along in the nick of time and managed to save her. To say she had hit bottom would be an understatement. Thomas had given her a real home and the chance she needed to have a real life.

  Free had escaped foster care and gone out on her own at the ripe old age of sixteen. She had worked at odd jobs, some odder than others, everything from dog-sitting to being a human billboard, to make her way. Never had she allowed anyone to take care of her. You had to trust to do that, and Free hadn’t trusted anyone. Between her pathetic excuse for a mother and half a dozen common-law stepfathers, Free had learned early on not to trust.

  Unfortunately for her, she had been blessed—or cursed, depending on the way you looked at it—with a big heart. Even when things couldn’t have gotten worse for her, Free wouldn’t turn away anyone in need. It was her one fatal flaw. She would part with her last dime for a friend and champion the underdog to her own detriment.

  She had unwittingly stumbled into a life of crime by the time Thomas had come along. She shuddered at the unsavory memories. Twice she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, helping a friend in need, and gotten busted for solicitation. Police weren’t interested in whether she was guilty or not, only that she was with two known prostitutes. At least she had been of legal age by then and hadn’t been thrown back into the foster care system.

  But she would never forget the hurt and humiliation of being thrown into jail for something she hadn’t done. And being treated like a lesser life form—that was the worst.

  The third time, when Free had taken a beating intended for her friend, Liza, Phil Gerard had been the arresting officer. It seemed Liza’s pimp didn’t like the idea of one of his ladies getting pregnant. If Free hadn’t stepped in, Liza would have certainly lost her baby after such a beating. Free had spent two days in the hospital with a concussion as a result. That time when she got arrested, it wasn’t for solicitation, it was for assault. Liza’s pimp had pressed charges against Free! It still didn’t make sense to her. One minor detail had proven satisfying, however. The pimp had done time in the hospital as well, with a broken jaw and cracked ribs. Free hadn’t wielded the baseball bat, Liza had, but Free never told.

  She shook off her bad memories. She had survived. And after that Liza had gone straight and raised a beautiful baby girl. Phil had taken Free under his wing and introduced her to Thomas Styles, who became her court-appointed attorney.

  Thomas had given Free a new life. He taught her to take the time to smell the roses. To appreciate life. That appreciation and understanding of just how precious life really is had changed everything for her. Most importantly, he taught her to trust someone besides herself. She had trusted Thomas completely, and he had given her everything he had to give.

  Free released another beleaguered sigh. If only she could teach that to Mac. But he had to want to change to learn. And by all accounts Mac McFerrin had no desire to change. He had no intention of trusting whatever heart he had to anyone or anything but work.

  The tempo of the music emanating from the FM station shifted, and a sultry, jazzy tune throbbed from the speakers. Free’s body reacted instantly. She felt herself swaying subtly with the sensual rhythm. Her mind began to clear, allowing the music inside, pushing away everything else.

  She stood and stretched languidly. The mu
sic tugged at her, teasing, inviting her to dance. She smiled. She hadn’t danced in a very long time. Therapy. Dancing is good therapy, that’s what Mrs. Lassiter had always said. Free smiled again as she recalled the beautiful, precise moves the fragile old lady had taught her. Loretta Lassiter had learned to dance in a school in Paris.

  Paris. Free probably wouldn’t ever make it to Paris, but she could close her eyes and envision all the vivid details her elderly neighbor had shared with her. And she could forget. Right now she really wanted to forget. To forget Mac and how he made her feel. To forget Alex’s plan.

  Free closed her eyes and allowed the music to move her, to take her away. Slowly her muscles relaxed and swayed with every beat, every ebb and flow of the tempo. And then, all else disappeared.

  ~*~

  Mac sat in the near darkness on the steps of his back stoop. The gentle pattering if rain combined with the jazz tune drifting from Free’s open windows relaxed him. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the railing. He hadn’t taken the time to just sit back and unwind in a long time. His routine consisted of working until he exhausted himself and then falling asleep, sometimes on top of his work.

  Maybe John was right. Maybe he did work too hard. Maybe he needed a break. But what would he do?

  Instantly, the image of Free Renzetti popped into his head. That luscious mane of hair falling around her shoulders, all silk and curls. And, God, that body. Of course he hadn’t seen that much of her body. Between those long flowing skirts and baggy overalls, she managed to keep everything pretty much covered. But Mac knew she was voluptuous beneath all that cloth. If he’d had any doubts, yesterday’s little bubble bath episode had cleared them up. Though the bubbles had kept him from admiring certain areas of interest, her gently rounded curves had been obvious.

  Free was all woman. Soft and sexy. And Mac wanted her more than he had ever wanted anyone in his life. His body tightened just thinking about her. And she seemed so innocent about the real ways of the world. Mac smiled, an unfamiliar sensation. Sexy, innocent, and gorgeous as hell. What a rare combination.

  She might not be innocent, sexually speaking, but she definitely looked at life through rose-colored glasses with a naïveté that made him wince. Free thought the world was still worth saving. She trusted so completely, automatically assuming that there would be goodness in all. A girl with a dream of saving the world and maybe going to Paris. So sweet and so giving, she made him ache to take what she offered.

  But there was no sweetness in him. Mac’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t give anything. He had business associates, he didn’t need friends. He had money, he didn’t need family. And she as hell didn’t need some gypsy turning him inside out.

  Mac didn’t care what John or Jake recommended, he intended to stay clear of emotional entanglements in general—one with Free Renzetti in particular.

  The screen door on the back of Free’s house slammed and Mac’s gaze darted in that direction. Free, wearing a log, billowy white dress, drifted outside. She paused on her bottom step and lifted her face to the rain. Her eyes closed as she seemed to relish the feel of the cool moisture against her skin.

  Striking a pose that took his breath away, Free waited a beat and then glided across the wet grass like a graceful ballerina, moving precisely with the rhythm of the music. Every muscle in Mac’s body hardened as he watched her slow flowing movements. She whirled around the yard, seemingly weightless and completely oblivious to his presence.

  The bright glow from her kitchen windows and doors reached into the darkness like spotlights, highlighting her sensuous movements. Her dress, dampened by the drizzle, became sheer and gauzy. The moisture evaporated from Mac’s mouth as he watched the play of light over her lithe body.

  When the final notes of the melody floated through the air, Free slowed to a perfectly-poised conclusion. Unable to stop himself, he stood and applauded. She whirled around to face him, all that amazing hair clinging to her shoulders and breasts.

  Mac couldn’t hold back his smile at her surprised expression. “Breathtaking, Ms. Renzetti.” He gave her one more round of enthusiastic applause. “Absolutely breathtaking. You missed your calling, you should have been a dancer.”

  Free approached him purposefully, her hands resting at her waist. “I don’t usually perform for an audience, but I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mr. McFerrin.”

  Never in his life had Mac seen a woman so utterly sexy. Wanting to be closer to her, he moved down one step. “Oh, I enjoyed it all right.” Another step disappeared between them, and he watched as she moved closer. “Maybe not as much as yesterday’s bubble bath, but I definitely enjoyed it.” His smile widened into a grin when her cheeks flushed. He took the final step down, then asked, “Do you always dance in the rain?”

  “Don’t you?” she returned.

  Free stood right in front of him now. The cool rain pelted his bare chest and back, the wet grass spiked between his toes, but Mac didn’t care. His gaze was glued to the translucent material clinging to Free’s breasts. Her dusky nipples strained against the thin, damp fabric.

  When he found his voice, he stammered, “I…ah…no, I’ve never danced in the rain.” His gaze lifted to hers, she smiled, and his gut twisted with need.

  “Well,” she reached for his hand “there’s no time like the present.” Free tugged him toward the center of the yard just as a slow, sultry melody flowed from the depths of her kitchen.

  Mac stiffened, halting her progress. “I’m not much of a dancer.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had danced. He wasn’t sure if it had even been in the current decade.

  “It’s not that hard,” she insisted, tugging him forward one more step.

  “Maybe not for you,” Mac muttered, but things were pretty damned hard from his prospective.

  “Nonsense.” Free moved closer to him. “It’s easy. You just put one hand here.” She placed his right hand on her left hip. “And the other one here.” Her arms went around his neck and her chin against his chest.

  Mac’s pulse kicked into overdrive. She must have heard his ragged exhale. “Just relax,” she told him. “Close your eyes and let the music guide you.”

  Free moved in his arms, her body swaying gently to the music. Mac inhaled the fresh scent of her rain-dampened hair, closed his eyes and followed her slow, sensual movements. She wasn’t quite as relaxed as she led him to believe, though…her body trembled slightly in his arms. Automatically, his arms tightened around her waist, drawing her nearer. Her breasts flattened against his chest, making his breath catch. Need welled inside him with such force that he wasn’t sure he could contain it. He ached with longing. Desire pumped heat through his veins.

  Her lips accidentally brushed his throat. Free tensed, an almost imperceptible tightening, but Mac felt it. His eyes popped open and he bit back a desperate groan. How long had it been? Too long, obviously. That had to be the explanation. He had simply waited too long for sex. It couldn’t be anything else. Couldn’t be.

  The next touch of her lips was no accident. Free took her time, planting lingering kisses all along his throat. Mac squeezed his eyes shut and fought the impulse to drag her to the ground and take her right there in the rain.

  Unable to live another moment without responding, he nuzzled the crook of her neck, tasted the shell of her ear. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

  She drew back and looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry…I couldn’t help myself.” She looked as surprised by her actions as he felt. That startled innocence pulled at something deep inside him.

  Mac made his decision right then and there, staring into her eyes with the rain falling around them. “Don’t be sorry,” he whispered as he took her mouth with his own. “Don’t ever be sorry.” He breathed the words against her mouth, then tugged on her lower lip with his teeth. He swept his tongue over that sensitive area behind her lip, teasing, seeking access. She opened and he dipped inside. Her arms tightened around his neck, and pressed her bo
dy against him. He slid his hands over her bottom and pulled her against him. She moaned, then stroked his tongue with her own. Her body felt firm and hot beneath the damp dress. He wanted her out of it, to feel her skin melding with his.

  “I want to take you inside,” he murmured.

  Her eyes met his, that deep blue glittering with desire, rain slipping down her cheeks. She nodded her approval.

  He took her hand in his and they dashed across the yard. Her laughter echoed through the night and his heart skipped a beat. How could anything sound that wonderful? He wanted to hear her laugh again and again. They bounded onto the stoop, but he couldn’t wait until he got her inside. He whirled her around and pressed her against the door, covering her mouth with his. His hands were frantic now, searching, touching, learning her body. Free matched his frenzy. She kissed him hard, touched him everywhere.

  “Inside…we have to go inside,” she managed to say between kisses, her breath as ragged as his.

  Mac wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted her against him. He opened the screen door and walked into his dimly lit kitchen, without ending the kiss. He pressed her into the wall and intensified his assault. He wanted to be inside her. He thrust harder into her mouth and ground his hips into hers.

  “Not here, not like this,” she protested, her words hardly a whisper.

  “Okay,” he rasped, clutching her to him once more and moving away from the wall. His wet feet slipped on the slick tile. “Whoa!” Mac grabbed back his balance and steadied himself. She didn’t seem to notice or care; she just kept kissing him—his face, his throat, his chest.

  He caressed her bottom, pressing her against him. Groaning her need, she wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed. Desire roared through him. He wouldn’t make it to the bedroom. Maybe the parlor. He could make it to the parlor.

  He stumbled into the parlor, bounced off a chair, Free’s tongue dueling with his in a mind-numbing kiss. Staggering and crazy with want, he made it to the sofa and stumbled onto it, Free still wrapped around him.