by Dita Parker
Mac almost fell sorry for Lucie. Almost. If she felt half as torn as he felt it served her right, dammit. She’d dragged him through hell for months and she didn’t even know it. He’d picked up the phone a hundred times to call her and dialed Boyd’s or Bruno’s number instead to ask how she was doing. Eight days a week he’d wanted to return and force her to give them a chance.
He’d gotten through to her, moved something in her. He knew he had. She had wanted him, wanted the same thing, more of a good thing. He was sure of that. He had thought she would come around and come after him.
And then she’d made no contact.
Like a fool he had convinced himself a woman in love would. Not Lucie. Not in the summer, not in the fall. He’d never heard from her again.
But she had haunted him. She had haunted him to distraction.
Boyd said all she needed was time to think things over. He didn’t share the faith. It didn’t make him love her any less, but he’d begun conditioning himself to let go. Too bad the dates he’d gone on were fast earning him a reputation as the most horrible tease that ever made the women of LA miserable. As soon as they made a move he froze, feeling like a cheater. His heart wasn’t in it. It stayed with Lucie. There was only one woman he could imagine touching, only one woman he wanted to be touched by. Lucie still starred in his fantasies. So he’d sworn off women and concentrated on exorcising her memory instead.
But looking at Lucie now, Lucie dodging his eyes, her skin pale as if she hadn’t been outside all summer, how cold her hands had been and how her cheeks had burned when he’d touched her in the hall, how choppy her voice as they had said hello…he didn’t know what to think.
He had seen right through the pretender, but this Lucie…this Lucie he’d never met before.
She probably wondered why Boyd had brought her to a family gathering, everyone dressed to the nines. But for Boyd, it was always a momentous occasion when they got together. He always said they were the grandsons he’d never had. And Mac knew Lucie was like a granddaughter to him. She was family to Boyd, if not by blood then by a close association and a history that extended over decades. The last time she had been in town, Boyd had been a young man. The next time she came around, he would be long gone. Even if Lucie had all the time in the world, every moment was precious to Boyd.
She hadn’t had a family in two hundred years. Judging by how out of her element she looked, the dynamics were probably beyond her. It made him want to take her aside and soothe her, assure her he would be there for her as Boyd had always been, if only she’d let him in. It made MacCale want to drag her into the study he had followed her into that first night and pound some sense into her. He would remind Lucie of everything she was refusing with his mouth, his hands, his body on hers, and dare her to refuse him again.
And if that’s what she wanted, she would have come to you, months ago.
God, he was pathetic.
And he owed it all to her.
“You’re awfully silent tonight, Lucie,” Boyd said. “Are you all right?”
Smiling apologetically, she said, “I think I’m coming down with something. I think I should be going.”
“Nonsense. You can use any of the guest rooms—”
“And I truly appreciate it, Boyd. Tonight, I’d rather head home.”
“Very well. MacCale, would you please drive Lucie home?”
“No!” She bolted to her feet. “No…need for you to leave. Please, enjoy your evening, I’ll just—”
“It would be my pleasure,” MacCale said, daring her with his eyes to start arguing with him as well. She didn’t. “Thank you,” was all she said, her voice pleasant, the fatigue in her eyes glazed over by a flash of ire.
“That’s settled then. But first, a photograph. Mac, Lucie, would you please join Ronnie and Hannah?”
His brother and sister-in-law eagerly made room for them on the comfortable three-seater while Boyd went for the camera. MacCale planted himself smack in the middle of what room was left, leaving Lucie standing undecided before him.
“Don’t be a stranger.” He tugged her to him. Lucie landed on his lap on a yelp. Immediately, she tried getting up again. Just as fast, he had his arm around her, Lucie rolling her butt against his thighs but getting nowhere.
He pulled her to him. “Stop squirming,” he whispered. “You’re giving me a hard-on.”
Lucie went dead still.
“Ah, too late, honey.” His cock swelled, burrowing into her lush bottom. She drew a sharp breath.
“Better hurry. Lucie looks ready to faint,” Boyd muttered. “Ready? Set. Smile!”
Chapter Nine
Third time was supposed to be the charm. Lucie didn’t feel charmed, or lucky. For the third time the man of her dreams and the star of her feverish fantasies was driving her home just so she could watch him leave.
What a nightmare. For the first time in a very long time, Lucie felt the full weight of her age and her past. It had been weighing down on her all summer long, and sitting next to MacCale in Boyd’s Bentley Heritage only made the burden more unbearable.
She knew she hadn’t been her bubbly self at Boyd’s. She knew Mac had noticed because she had averted his inspection all night and concentrated on everything else besides the fact she wanted to both jump him and escape him.
“You look well,” she said. He looked fantastic, the suit a perfect fit that complemented his natural athleticism.
“Thanks. You look like maybe you are coming down with something.”
She looked ghastly. How kind of him not to state the obvious.
“I never congratulated you. On becoming an uncle again. Twice over, I heard.”
“It’s great, isn’t it?” He flashed her the same smile he had bestowed on his sister-in-law, glowing as if he were about to become a father. “I’m so happy for Ronnie and Hannah. I guess it’s a blessing in disguise Em’s already a bit older and bigger now that there’ll be two babies in the house. But they’ve done such a good job with her, I’m a hundred percent certain they’ll do an outstanding job with their youngest.”
“And they have you to help them out,” she noted.
“You bet,” he said. “If I’m around, I’m available.”
If he was around. Was he leaving the country again soon? With several projects in production, he could be going anywhere, for who knew how long.
“Would you have come over had you known I’d be there?” he asked, his eyes strictly on the road.
“No,” Lucie admitted. Why lie? He had stripped her down to the core and she was done pretending he hadn’t.
“Then I’m glad Boyd didn’t tell. And I specifically asked him not to.”
Why? So he could gauge her reactions, watch her suffer, feel vindicated? She had no idea how MacCale felt about anything at the moment, but judging by Boyd’s secrecy and Mac’s admission, something had gone down behind her back.
Then another conspirator came to mind. “Did you ask Bruno to keep tabs on me, because he’s been calling me. A lot.”
He half-smiled but stayed silent. Then suddenly, “I might have.”
“You could have called yourself, you know.”
“I could’ve?” He shot her a glance. “Would you have welcomed my calls?”
“If I remember correctly it was you who told me to go fuck myself,” she fired back.
“And have you?” he asked, his voice low, his tone contained. “Fucked yourself. Or did you find yourself another fuck buddy?”
“If you’ve talked to Bruno—or Boyd for that matter—you know I haven’t been with anyone since you left.”
His gaze jerked back to hers. “What a coincidence. Neither have I.” His tone was still impersonal but his eyes shone a hard light.
Accusatory, Lucie thought. Hurt. It made her want to try out one of his stunts, open the door and throw herself out of the car at full speed. She had played him, played with things MacCale dreamed of cherishing for life. Why wouldn’t he hate her, resent the h
ell out of her?
Her stomach roiled, the moving car amplifying the feeling. The idea of having to explain to Boyd why she had been sick all over the ultra-soft cream leather interior of his favorite car was enough to settle her belly. Breathing calm and deep, Lucie concentrated on the road ahead.
For the longest time, MacCale said nothing. Then, out of the blue he said, “You thought I was with Hannah.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Because you looked surprised one moment, shocked the next and then you just looked utterly and completely lost.”
Her eyes narrowed on him. MacCale might have lost his interest but he certainly hadn’t lost his perceptiveness. “Could you please stop analyzing me for one second? Jesus, you should have been a shrink and not a stuntman.”
He glowered back at her then burst out laughing.
Seeing her chance to change the topic and dispel some of the awful tension, Lucie ran with it. Besides, the fact intrigued her. MacCale plain fascinated her. “So. Evel Knievel.”
“What about him?”
“You said he’s the reason you got into show business.”
“Not exactly,” he said. “He’s the reason I wanted to learn how to perform stunts. The passion came first. The profession was a byproduct. I happened to be in the right place at the right time, I was asked to show what I can do, and things just evolved from there. Before I knew it, I’d made a career out of being a daredevil.”
“So that’s what you do then.”
“That’s what I do,” he said. “Surprised?”
“A little,” she admitted. “I thought maybe you were an athlete.”
“I am an athlete. All stunt performers are or they wouldn’t last take after take after take. It’s a highly competitive and saturated business. Survival of the fittest, literally.”
So she had read. For all of the safety precautions, it still sounded dangerous. “You have a death wish, MacCale?”
“Trust me, Lucie. I know what I’m doing.”
“Famous last words,” she muttered.
MacCale gripped his chest theatrically as she had seen Boyd do many times. With both hands. “Be still my beating heart. Is that concern in your voice?”
“No,” she answered surly, mildly alarmed by the fact Mac no longer steered the car.
“Then why the long face, baby? The wide eyes, the trembling lips?” he crooned, his eyes fixed on her instead of the road.
She waved her index finger at the windshield. “Because you’re flirting with disaster?” Were they slowly moving toward the side of the road?
“You are worried, admit it.” His grin was smug, his voice tinged with amusement. “Would you revive me if I died, baby? Would you save me and keep me as your love slave for life? Now there’s an idea almost worth wrecking this car for.” MacCale gripped the steering wheel and turned his eyes back to the highway.
He must have known exactly what he was doing and how far he could take it. He had probably held the steering wheel in place with those tree trunks for thighs of his.
So smug, Lucie thought. “So confident,” she said.
“A professional. There’s confident and then there’s overconfident. I’ve known some arrogant bastards in my time. They’re all either dead or disabled.”
She had read about accidents and even deaths on set.
“I hire and handle performers and believe me, I have no use for brainless musclemen who abuse their bodies, put others in jeopardy or conduct themselves like idiots. I’m always open to suggestions but no one—no one—improvises when I’m in charge of the action. Someone wants to try out something, they better go through me first or they can get the fuck off the set.”
“Sounds harsh,” she said. “But safety first, right?”
“Always,” he stressed. “Anything else risks lives. Not on my shift.”
He wasn’t superior, Lucie realized, reassessing her conclusion. He was confident because he was a true professional. A staunch, experienced professional. “What other rules do you have?”
“Never dip your pen in the company ink,” he cracked.
“Meaning?” she asked, thoroughly entertained by him.
“Never date anyone on set. Not the stunt women, not the supporting actresses and certainly not the leading ladies. That’s the surest way to end up in the papers and on the internet and that’s the last thing I want. Besides, I get congested if I don’t have anything else to talk or think about except work.”
Interesting. A professional. A very private professional. “So you date civilians, so to speak.”
“Oh yes.” He nodded. “The further removed from the business the better.”
“Have you ever wanted to be an actor?”
After a quick glance at her, he said, “I am an actor.”
“Let me rephrase that. Have you ever wanted to be a leading actor? Or even a supporting one?”
MacCale shook his head.
“What?”
“Why does everyone always ask that? They don’t ask a pianist when he’s going to start playing the trombone or a football player if he dreams of switching to hockey.”
Shrugging, Lucie rushed to explain. “Well, some stunt performers have made the transition, haven’t they? And singers turn to actors and actors into directors all the time.” Remembering his performance at the Scottish Games, she added, “I bet you could have been an athlete.”
“I suppose. I did think about it for a second.”
“Leading roles or sports?”
“Both.”
But he’d never actively pursued the spotlight? “You’re always behind the scenes, even when on camera. A name in the credits while the actors get all the photo ops and the oohs and ahs.”
“Most actors give credit where credit is due. And being just a name on a list and not a face on the A-list isn’t a downside, it’s a bonus.”
“Come on,” she challenged him. “You’ve never wanted to be famous? Ever? Delve in the glitz, the glamour, the girls?”
He glanced at her, nonplussed. “Many dream of it, I know, but I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.” Her words to him when he’d asked whether she considered herself blessed or cursed. He remembered.
“I’ve watched people rise to fame then be destroyed by it,” he said. “Young people wanting to be heard and seen end up being stared at and hunted down, some for the rest of their lives. No, I don’t dream about it. I have nightmares. I get to work with the most respected directors and producers in the business in fantastic locations all over the world with the best actors and actresses around. And I get to walk away at the end of the day without anyone waiting on me or following me. No one shoves a camera in my face when I go out shopping or a mike in my mouth when I’m really not up to talking to anyone. No one gives a shit what I wear or who I date. Believe me, I wouldn’t trade it for seven Oscars.”
It made sense. He had a solid career in a business many pursued and few succeeded in without most of the disadvantages that came with the territory.
“Imagine what would happen if the truth about your life ever got out,” he said.
Oh god, it would turn her life into a freak show.
Knowing one of her worst nightmares was one of his as well felt oddly comforting. MacCale would never tell. With a bone-deep certainty Lucie knew her secret would always be safe with him, just as he had promised.
They drove a long stretch in silence. MacCale appeared deep in thought but his fingers worked on the steering wheel, alternately clenching and relaxing. Lucie didn’t know what to make of it, until he said, “I told Boyd I know about you.”
Just like that, the uneasiness returned. “He put you up to this?”
“What? No. What am I? Young and impressionable? And what the hell do you mean by ‘this’? You don’t seriously believe whatever happened between us has anything to do with him?”
“No!” She had. For a second, that was what she thought.
“He can’t bear the thought of you alone in t
he world when he’s gone,” MacCale said, his voice softer now.
“I know.” Boyd had been one of the best friends she had ever had.
“He loves you. Not in the way he did when he was young but still.”
“Believe me, I know.” Boyd had once pursued her so relentlessly she had decided to confide in him. The thought of possibly losing his friendship after rejecting him had been unbearable. The truth had saved their friendship and the truth was obviously something both great-uncle and grandnephew highly valued.
“What’s wrong with him, Mac?” Lucie whispered.
“He’s old,” he said, keeping his voice low and tender. The gentleness made her throat tighten with emotion. Tears tried to surface to fill her eyes, forcing Lucie to turn away. Staring out the passenger window into the darkness, she blinked furiously, the feeling of loss a monstrous force sucking her into the jaws of more despair and loneliness than she could ever remember feeling.
Boyd…MacCale…she had let herself care for them and she would pay for that love. She would lose them both eventually and mourn them indefinitely. She may have been immortal but she was still only human and it made her want to beg MacCale to hold her and make her forget.
Her hands shaking with nerves, Lucie wet her lips. She turned to him, the loss and the longing burning in her, and stared at him in confusion. She had no right. No right to burden him with her feelings. She didn’t deserve one kind word or glance from him. She didn’t deserve his fidelity or the comfort of his body. That’s what she wanted all the same.
Him. Only him.
She was addicted to him, to what he raised in her very time he touched her, every time he turned those knowing eyes on her, demanding to be let inside her mind and body and heart. And he was doing it again, making her scream inside her head for another dose of him.
MacCale turned to her and watched her curiously before jerking his eyes back to the road and the last turn he had to make to get them on Lucie’s oak-flanked driveway.