by Adrianne Lee
“Where are we?” Tia asked, peering out at the barn-shaped house looming out of the fog. A scattering of vapor lights, set on towering poles, shed an eerie glow over the property.
“Home, sweet home,” he said with genuine warmth. He parked beside his old black Jaguar, which Bud Gibson had returned to the house the day Grant died.
He told Tia to wait a minute and hurried into the house.
Tia huddled in the Porsche, watching lights going on inside. She figured Mac was checking for intruders or signs of a break-in. After her experience earlier she appreciated his zeal. But the car was rapidly cooling, and the fog seemed to creep ever closer, perhaps hiding something or someone with evil intent.
She scrambled out of the car and up the porch, moving as quickly as her bruised body allowed. She slipped in the front door and closed it behind her, engaging the lock. Her breath came in short spurts and her pulse beat rapidly. She forced herself to take several slow breaths. To inspect her surroundings. She stood in a wide open foyer, with a staircase rising to her left and a solid rock wall directly ahead. She took another, calmer breath and caught the scents of cold fire ash, leather and wood polish.
Mac’s house.
The thought warmed her insides as nothing had in hours.
She heard the rustle of paper nearby and headed across the plank flooring, past the rock wall and into a great room. The kitchen ran the length of the house to her right, a giant U-shaped, granite counter with all black appliances, including the refrigerator.
As she stepped into his view, Mac glanced sharply up, tension in every line of his body, until he realized it was she. He stood at the fireplace, one knee on the raised hearth, lighting the papers beneath a tepee of kindling. “It shouldn’t take too long to warm the house.”
He seemed disconcerted, as though uncomfortable or shy at having her in his home.
“Thanks, but I didn’t like being out there without…” She swallowed hard over the fact that she felt a hundred times better just being near him. “Alone.”
Self-conscious, she turned her attention to the room. There was no sofa, just a pair of leather chairs and ottomans facing each other near the rock fireplace. Beyond the fireplace built-in bookcases rose above a wall-long counter that apparently served as desk and work space. Strung along its surface were phone, computer, fax, copier and other electronic gadgets she couldn’t identify.
The end wall seemed to be solid window, open to the view, whatever that was. There were no curtains. The glass glared their reflections back at her, but she caught a dim image of some plants, overgrown and intrusive, against the outside.
She glanced at Mac’s reflection and saw he was looking at her with a sheepish grin. She spun around. He said, “There’s a nice view of the lake from here…when I’m home in the daytime and think to trim the vegetation, that is. But I haven’t had many daytime hours free lately. So right now the shrubs are encroaching on the house.”
She smiled, glancing around again. Obviously picking up after himself wasn’t one of Mac’s priorities, either. And yet, for all its chaotic appearance, this house felt more like a home than Grant’s spotless condo or her own pristine apartment.
Why? There was no symmetry of color or style, no common theme. The dining table was a picnic table with matching benches; the lamps consisted of a brass floor model, a high-tech desk fixture and a hanging wooden wagon wheel over the table; one leather chair was burgundy, the other navy blue. The hide had cracked at the arms and the headrests of both.
But like Mac, his house made no excuses for what it wasn’t. What you saw was what you got. She wished she was as brave as he. But she doubted anyone had ever come into his home and turned it upside down, made it feel like one more place he wasn’t safe.
She hugged herself.
“You still cold?” he asked. “You want some coffee?”
“No. I’d like something stronger.”
“I’ve got some tequila.” He nodded, understanding her request. “Or wine?”
“I think I could use the tequila, but I’ll take the wine.”
“How about something to eat?” He headed toward the kitchen.
She followed him, leaning on the counter as he opened the refrigerator. “What have you got?”
“I’d say our safest bet is a cheese omelet.”
“You cook?”
He glanced over the refrigerator door and gave her a wry grin. “Most bachelors figure out one or two means of feeding themselves. I have a few specialties and I can use a microwave with the best of them.”
He handed her the wine and corkscrew. “What happened at the condo?”
She told him about the break-in as she opened the wine. Her hand shook slightly, but she maneuvered the cork from the bottle and poured them both a glass. She took a sip of hers, then said, “I had just completed calling the references on Bijou Novak’s job application when the alarm went off. For a second I didn’t realize what it was. Then the door crashed open. Like I said, I didn’t wait around to see who’d come calling. I just went out the glass door and dropped from the deck into the shrubs below.”
Mac’s face was ashen. “And this person, whoever it was, set fire to the condo?”
“Must have. Next thing I knew, smoke was pouring out of the open glass door. I ran to the next building and hid in the hedge until I heard the fire trucks coming.”
Mac looked torn between sweeping her into his arms and smashing the wall. A cracking sound rent the thick tension separating them. Mac swore and looked at his hand. Egg was oozing through his fingers. Tia covered her mouth, barely holding in a laugh. “Do you always scramble eggs with your hands?”
Mac set the other eggs in the sink, then ran the tap. “It isn’t funny. You might have been killed.”
“But I wasn’t, and I don’t know about you—” she handed him a dish towel “—but I’m very grateful to be alive and able to laugh about something.”
He dried his hands, then touched her chin. His gaze was tender and searching. “After tonight you’re out of this sham. I won’t have you in harm’s way again.”
Her dander flared at that. “You know what? I agreed to go along with you in order to help launch your toy. If in doing that we found Grant’s killer, then so be it. But since last night, the person responsible has raised the stakes and made this even more personal than before. Burning the condo. Melting Ginny’s laptop. Coming after me like that. No, I’m not bowing out. I’m going to help you figure out who’s behind this.”
“I don’t want you hurt.” He was adamant.
She lifted her chin defiantly. “Neither do I. So let’s not waste time with ultimatums. We need to share information.”
He looked ready to continue arguing. But she just shook her head at him. He picked up the eggs and began breaking them into the bowl. “Such as?”
“Such as—did you know that none of Bijou Novak’s references panned out?” Tia set aside her wine and began grating cheddar into another bowl, working beside him, with him, anticipating his moves, as if they’d been doing this for years. “It’s like she didn’t exist before you hired her. She may have been the one at the condo this afternoon.”
His brows twitched, then dove into a deep frown. “Couldn’t have been Bijou. She was in my office just before I left.”
“Darn.” Tia sighed. “I suppose that would have been too easy. Do you know who might have been gone from the plant this afternoon?”
He poured the eggs into his omelet pan and poked at them with a spatula. “Will was at the printer’s, Fred and Stewy followed a truckload of bears to the storage warehouse, and Suzanne had a dentist appointment.”
“And Bud was off work.” Tia handed him the cheese, then found dishes in one of the cupboards and set the picnic table. “Could have been any of them.”
Mac grunted unhappily.
She concurred. This was getting them nowhere. How had Grant solved mysteries? She considered a moment and decided he probably used plain old logic—firs
t checked the facts, found the inconsistencies in a suspect’s stories and either proved them unimportant or the clue that solved the case. She and Mac were both intelligent people. They could figure this out. But where did they start?
With their list of suspects, of course. It occurred to her he hadn’t mentioned his VP. “Did you have your talk with Gwen?”
He grimaced. “No. One of the techs called in sick, and she took his place in the lab working on the chips all day. So that’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”
Tia settled silverware next to the dishes, then paper towels for napkins. A thought struck her. “Are you sure Gwen was actually in the lab?”
“What?”
“Well…you know.” She gestured with her hands. “All that protective gear required in the lab—how could you tell whether or not she was actually there? Did you speak with her?”
Mac’s eyes widened. “No. Not in person. Just by phone. In the morning.”
Tia pulled her hair behind her ear and tilted her head. “Great. The list keeps growing, instead of shrinking. What about Nancy?”
“Oh, Lord.” He winced. “She was definitely at work.”
And something, Tia realized, had definitely happened to cause him to look so embarrassed. Knowing Nancy, she guessed the woman had cornered him, caught him off guard somehow. An unexpected rush of jealousy and resentment sent heat into her cheeks. She bit back the urge to ask, hating that she reacted possessively about Mac. She had no right. Not to irritation or envy. This was none of her business.
If Mac wanted her to know details, he’d share them. Otherwise, she’d better stifle all curiosity. Maybe when this was ended—if Nancy proved not to be involved—maybe she and Mac…The thought left a bitter taste in Tia’s mouth.
He carried the omelet pan to the table and spooned equal portions onto each plate. “She cornered me.”
“She did?”
“Yes…” His voice trailed away as he sank onto the bench opposite her. He took a deep swallow of wine. “I can only think you’re right—she must have seen Grant and Gwen together and assumes the engagement means nothing.”
He spoke with a tenderness meant to protect her from the cruelty of the situation. But Tia knew nothing could protect her from the truth. She’d learned that the hard way. All you could do was deal with it. Somehow. “How did you handle it?”
He grinned, a self-deprecating lift of the corner of his mouth. That bedeviling mouth. “In a most un-Grant-like manner. Let’s face it, I don’t have his…his…his anything.”
He laughed at that. At himself. But she sensed deep down he might believe it, and she felt sad. He shouldn’t compare himself to Grant. The differences were vast and wonderful. He lacked nothing. Tia touched his hand, riveting his gaze with hers. “Don’t sell yourself short. Nancy would be lucky to have your love.”
Any woman would.
He laughed at that. A tight, self-loathing bark. Tia wondered what she’d said wrong. Her concern must have shown on her face.
He said, “Grant would have handled the situation with more finesse.”
Grant, Tia thought, would probably have taken Nancy up on her not-so-subtle sexual come-ons. Most healthy males would. She recalled her encounter with Mac the night before. He was definitely a healthy male. So why hadn’t he given Nancy what she wanted?
Arguing with herself, she drank more wine, her courage building with every sip. Why not? Why not ask him? “Don’t you find Nancy attractive, Mac?”
The question seemed to startle him. He laughed again. This time she couldn’t identify his emotion from the tone. He reached for the wine bottle and refilled both their glasses. “Sure. I mean, what guy wouldn’t?”
There was no conviction in his statement. His gaze met hers again and the heat in their turquoise depths was all for her. She tried looking away, but she seemed to be held in his glance, as mesmerized as the three wise men by the star in the east. She would follow him anywhere.
She blinked, the realization shocking her. She had no right to Mac. No right to encourage him. To keep him from pursuing a possible true love. Her heart pinched. She had to make him see that. To steer him in a better direction. Any direction away from herself. “Why does Nancy make you so uncomfortable, then?”
Mac just stared at Tia, at her luscious lips, remembering the feel of that mouth beneath his. He forced his mind to Nancy, to the incident in his office, to her attempt to kiss him today. He’d backed away from her like a man running from terrorists. Nancy’s lips weren’t haunting his dreams. Tia’s were. He wanted her so badly he could think of little else, could barely keep his mind on the launch.
“Why, Mac?”
She was staring at him with those damn, distracting emerald eyes, and by God, at this moment, with two glasses of wine bolstering his confidence, he decided to share his secret with her. “It isn’t Nancy—”
It’s you. But he bit off the words before he embarrassed her as much or more than he’d embarrass himself. Why had he even considered telling her this?
“Then what is it, Mac?”
“It’s me,” he blurted. “I…I haven’t had…er, any experience with the fair sex.”
Tia lifted her eyebrows. Whatever she’d expected him to say, it wasn’t this. Disbelief reached into every corner of her mind. She shook her head. She’d been held by this man. Tenderly. Sexily. Her gaze fell to his generous mouth. Her pulse quickened. She’d been kissed by him in ways that fired her blood and haunted her imagination. His claims were false. “I don’t believe you.”
His expression was serious. Earnest. “I’m not Grant. My life has been computers and electronics. My lab. My toys. Kids. Women—” the tips of his ears were bright red “—make me too…nervous.”
Too nervous? What exactly did that mean? Tia was taken aback…and touched. Mac’s shyness endeared him to her more than she expected. She hadn’t noticed he was too nervous. He was staring at her lips again. Her blood began to simmer. Her gaze lowered to his mouth, and all the sweet memories of his kisses came to haunt her, to tease her with need.
As though he’d read her like a book, Mac moved to her bench and pulled her into his arms. All her intentions of letting him go, of pushing him away were lost in a power she didn’t understand and couldn’t fight.
His kiss, at first timid, quickly grew bold, demanding, and robbed her resistance, rousing such need through her, it pulled her down into a whirlpool of swirling passion. For a man without experience, he knew instinctively all the ways to leave her breathless. Her whole body, her entire mind, burned for want of him; it was like nothing she’d ever felt.
Mac pulled back. His eyes were so glazed, his manner so rattled, Tia realized he hadn’t exaggerated his lack of finesse with the ladies. He might not be a virgin, but he wasn’t Don Juan, either. A strange feeling filled her heart, a deepening of her affection for this man.
Somehow his innocence made him even more appealing. Just as kissing and encouraging him was even more dangerous. She had to stop this now. She opened her mouth to speak. Mac’s lips claimed hers with renewed fervor. She placed her hands on his chest. She would push him away. She would. His tongue danced with hers. And every promise she’d just made herself dissolved in the magic that was Mac Coy.
Chapter Twelve
Mac could no more stop kissing Tia than he could stop breathing. But he knew he should. Even as her sweet soft mouth invited him inside, he knew it. Even as her bedeviling tongue stroked his—promising delights without end—he knew it. Even as her delicate hands pressed against his chest like conduits flowing with love, he knew it.
He skimmed his fingers over her back, exploring, learning, memorizing the planes and curves of her. His blood thickened, heated, his need swelling hard and tight. The air seemed to be sucked from his lungs in tiny spurts. His heart thrummed against her palms. Her skin yielded to his touch.
With every ounce of his being he ached to give himself over to her completely, to trust her with his feelings, his hopes, his drea
ms. His secrets.
And yet how could he? Yes, he loved this woman—but she loved his brother. Still, she was responding to him, sighing at his touch, urging him on. She wanted him, too. Or did she? An awful thought cooled his fevered brain. Was she kissing him like this from her desire to hang on to all that remained of Grant? Because he looked like Grant? Reminded her of Grant? Cold washed his veins, drained his ardor. As sad as the possibility made Mac, he couldn’t blame her if she was.
But he didn’t want her that way.
He pulled back, his chest heaving, his heart thudding like a shutter in the wind. “This…this isn’t—”
“No,” Tia said breathlessly. “Don’t…” Don’t explain. Don’t apologize. Her cheeks burned with guilt. Shame. She shouldn’t have let it go this far. Shouldn’t have encouraged him. Shouldn’t have taken advantage of his hunger to be with a woman. Any woman.
The awful guilt she saw in his eyes proved she was right. Despite his knowledge of Gwen and Grant, she, Tia, still wore his brother’s ring. Mac still thought of her as the woman grieving for his brother. If she allowed him to make love to her, afterward he might never forgive himself.
No matter that it was Mac she wanted. Not Grant. The fact remained that he deserved a woman who could promise him a future. That woman was not Tia Larken. She felt her heart cracking, a long jagged pain cutting across her chest. There were too few men like Mac Coy in this world. Whomever he fell in love with would be one lucky woman. Tia just wasn’t sure she could stand that woman being Nancy Rice.
Mac grabbed their empty plates and headed into the kitchen. He’d be damned if he’d apologize for kissing her, for wanting her. Yes, it was wrong. He shouldn’t have taken advantage of her vulnerability, but he wasn’t going to lie about it, to her or to himself. He yanked open the dishwasher and plunked the plates into it, then began cleaning the bowls and omelet pan.
When he finished, he straightened and glanced around for Tia. She stood near the fireplace gazing into the flames, looking careworn and in need of protection. He yearned to rush to her, to pull her into his arms again. But he feared where that would lead. He cursed under his breath. Why couldn’t it be Tia, instead of Nancy, who wanted him? Who…