Mac's Law

by Sarah McCarty

  He cocked an eyebrow at her. “How come you get to sit way up there?”

  “Because I rate,” Jessie snapped as the lights went out and the music took off in a resounding crescendo. The first dancer leapt onto the lit stage clad only in a spandex G-string. He was a redhead, he was built, and he was very, very good.

  There was evidence of ballet in his moves along with some innovative bump and grind. Jessie saw his eyes widen as he caught sight of Mac scowling in the background. When he swallowed hard, almost missing a strategic pulse of his lean hips, she tried to smile encouragingly and subtly motioned him on.

  She had instructed Coulton that she wanted the men to be as seductive as possible. They were to pull out all the stops, and as they descended the stage, they were to kiss her, searching for a response. Obviously the redhead—Bob she thought his name was—had taken the instructions to heart, for the kiss he pressed onto her lips after sauntering down the stairs was a lingering one. He broke it off rather abruptly when a glass slammed down hard on the table behind them. Mouthing a silent thanks, Jessie turned and faced Mac, totally composed. The haughty lift of her brows was a reminder to keep to his promise. The redhead walked over to the far left of the stage as the next dancer came out.

  There were four dancers in all and the efforts of the previous seemed to inspire the following. Their antics grew more outrageous with every new song, and the kisses got longer and hotter until only Coulton had yet to strut his stuff.

  The air became full of the sound of primitive drums as Coulton leapt onto the stage, his hair a golden swirl around a body as raw and as primitive as his music. A minuscule scrap of cloth protected his modesty in front, while nothing obscured his tight, muscled buttocks from view. The wicked glint in his eyes warned Jessie just before he executed a perfect leap to land two inches in front of her. He grasped her hands, pulling her to her feet while he shimmied erotically in front of her. His fingers drifted up her arms to slide under the curtain of her hair. His leg slid between hers and his hips pulsed to the music. A chair crashed behind them. The smile in Coulton’s eyes spread to his full lips.

  “You’re going to get killed,” she mouthed as his tongue slowly appeared to moisten his lips.

  Coulton’s response was to bury his face in the curls by her ear while his pectorals bounced and rubbed against her breasts.

  Out of the shadows rumbled a warning growl.

  “As gentle as a lamb, luv?”

  And Jessie knew his outrageous behavior was her punishment for the small lie.

  “I’ll be lucky if he doesn’t feed me my butt for breakfast.” The wry comment was totally at odds with his seductive dance.

  Before Jessie could even form a response, Coulton’s mouth was on hers. His fingers on her cheeks pried her teeth apart, and his tongue slid into her mouth in an earthy kiss that promised all kinds of pleasures, while the hips sliding against hers merely affirmed the pledge. She glared up at him. He increased the depth of the kiss. He bent her over his arm. Sliding his thigh up between her legs. One of his big hands abandoned its hold on her nape to slide down, its destination obviously her breast. Jessie began to struggle in earnest. Mac would kill him!

  “You’d better tell Goldilocks here, Jessie, if that hand so much as twitches an inch, I’m going to remove it. Permanently.”

  There was no mistaking the deadly threat in that glacial drawl. Jessie heard it, and apparently so did Coulton, for he released her so suddenly she stumbled and would have fallen if Mac hadn’t caught her arm and pulled her up.

  Coulton took one look into Mac’s eyes and whistled long and low before smiling, bowing and taking shelter behind the curtain. The music stopped abruptly, and Jessie felt off-balance facing Mac in the deafening silence. She didn’t let that stop her though. They were settling this tonight.

  “I thought I told you to stay in your seat?”

  “I thought we agreed sharing wasn’t my bag.”

  “Who said anything about sharing?”

  “Honey girl, when a man kisses a woman like that there isn’t anything but sex on the guy’s mind.”

  She ignored the rumble of male laughter from the stage, looked pointedly at the erection straining his jeans and said, “You should know.”

  “Yeah. I should.” He was stubborn and arrogant, but he was hers and she’d just have to find a way to manage him.

  Stepping close, so her breasts touched his heaving chest, she slid her arms up to circle his neck, but he was too tall. She settled for linking her fingers instead. Moistening her lips, she slid her hips into the cradle of his thighs and ordered huskily, “Kiss me, Mac.”

  Because she was his, because he had a primal need to mark her as such in the wake of her “show”, Mac did as bid. He lifted her to meet the descent of his mouth. There was nothing tentative in the caress, only a desperate, driving hunger. At the first taste of the sweetness within, some of the brittleness he felt inside dissolved beneath exquisite pleasure, but not all of it. Jessie was up to something and part of him was terrified that something was a goodbye. After several heated moments, she pushed at his shoulder. Mac set her feet back on the ground.

  Hands trembling, his breath sawing in and out of his lungs as if he’d just finished running a marathon, Mac stared into Jessie’s passion-smoked eyes and felt a trill of pure male satisfaction. Only he could bring that color to her cheeks, that sexy fullness to her lips. No one else. Just him. She stepped out of his arms, and pulled her composure back around her desire with a grace he envied.

  “You will notice,” she waved in the direction of the stage where the dancers had formed a line, “that every one of the dancers is a young, handsome male in excellent physical condition.”

  “I noticed.” Damn, was that his voice so low and hoarse and tinged with the urge to commit mayhem? It must have been because the look Jessie sent him bordered on a reprimand.

  “I don’t know what you’re afraid of,” she continued, “but since I couldn’t rule out losing me to another, I thought we’d start off with something easy.”

  “Easy?”

  “Yes.” She gave him a slight push that landed him in her chair. “We’re getting to the bottom of your fears tonight, Mac.”

  “I don’t have any fears.”

  “Uh-huh. You’ve been feeding me that bull since I got here, and I still don’t buy it. I’ve tried being patient. I’ve tried raising hell. And you know what? It doesn’t get me anywhere.”

  “Maybe because there’s nowhere to go.” He slouched in the chair, his attention drifting to the stage where a lot of commotion was going on. He didn’t want to talk about this.

  Jessie hooked her finger under his chin. “Horseshit.”

  His gaze snapped to hers, surprised by the obscenity.

  “That’s right, Mac. I can swear like a trooper if I choose to.”

  Something crashed behind the curtain on the stage. “Hadn’t you better go see what’s going on back there?”

  “No. I’m more interested in what’s going on out here.”

  Jessie didn’t flinch at the sound of breaking glass, but he did.

  “Am I going to have a house left when this is done?”

  “I’m sure Zach has everything under control.”

  “Zach?”

  “Yes, Zach. You see Mac, I’ve decided I’m not willing to give you up.”

  “I wasn’t aware that you were considering it.” The very thought wrapped his gut into a tight knot of pain.

  “I wasn’t, but I can see it turning into an eventuality.”

  “You can?”

  “Yup.” She actually patted him on the head. “But don’t worry. I’m not going to let it happen.”

  “And how do you intend to stop it?” A man flitted out from behind the curtain before disappearing again. Mac couldn’t make out the face, but the long blond hair was a dead giveaway. “By having a bunch of half-naked men kiss you?”

  “Well, I had to know if jealousy was one of your motivators.”


  “And?”

  She sighed. “And you have a normal amount, but that’s notit .”

  “It?”

  “Yes,it . Theit that keeps you up nights. Theit that makes you forget I’m a perfectly capable adult. Theit that makes you…” Her hand waved in the air encompassing everything, clarifying nothing. “Theit that makes you the way you are now. Overprotective and fearful.” Her gaze collided with his in perfect conjunction with her finger driving into his chest. “That’s theit I’m going to fight.”

  Mac folded his arms across his chest. They were back to this again. “There’s nothing wrong with a man taking care of his woman.”

  “Could you rephrase that?”

  He set his chin stubbornly. “Why?”

  “Because it makes you sound like a Neanderthal who’s misplaced his century.”

  Despite his simmering anger, Mac grinned. “Want something more modern, huh?”

  “Even something from the eighties would be an improvement.”

  “I can’t remember the eighties.”

  “Try.”

  All joking fled. Mac caught her hand in his. It felt tiny, fragile, arousing all the protective instincts she wanted him to will away.

  “I can’t, Jessie.” She stared at him. He didn’t look away. He owed her this much of the truth. “What I feel for you isn’t neat and tidy. Hell,” he laughed. “I’m not even sure it’s civilized.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s primitive, all consuming. It’s tenderness combined with lust. Admiration partnered with dismay. Joy mingled with fear.” His fingers tightened around hers. He wanted to pull her close, the urge to make her understand that she was his stronger than ever before. “It’s a mess is what it is,” he admitted wearily.

  “But a loving one?”

  “Yeah. Definitely a loving one.”

  She squeezed his fingers gently before slipping free. It felt like an apology. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Go where?”

  “Back on stage.”

  He ran his finger down her spine, a little confidence reasserting itself when she shivered helplessly and leaned back into his touch. “I gotta warn you Jess, my ‘normal amount of jealousy’ isn’t going let me just sit here while another one of those steroid gods gets his jollies feeling you up.”

  “I don’t think that’s going to be your problem,” she said obliquely over her shoulder as she hurried away and disappeared behind the curtain.

  “Did you know,” a voice at his shoulder announced in a disgustingly proper English accent, one Mac was sure drove women wild, “that steroids can utterly ruin a man’s abilities?”

  Mac looked into the amused blue eyes of the blond dancer. He looked at the man’s hands which held two glasses and the whiskey bottle from his table. The same hands that had been on Jessie a few minutes ago. “Did you know that putting your hands, not to mention your lips, on Jessie in the future will make that causality a moot point?”

  Instead of leaving, the male bimbo pulled up a chair. “Ah, but they were there by invitation only.”

  Mac poured himself more whiskey. As the amber liquid filled the glass, he set his teeth in a polite imitation of a smile. “If I were you, I’d consider that invite closed.”

  The man laughed outright. “It was never really open and you know it. Otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting here talking to me.”

  “You’re every perceptive for an…Englishman?”

  “And you’re very amusing for an American.” He pointed to the whiskey bottle. “Mind if I have a bit of that?”

  Mac noticed Jessie sending glances their way. “No shirt, no service.”

  The man laughed. “Relax, man. I couldn’t turn that woman on with a blowtorch.”

  Mac raised an eyebrow, wondering if he was going to have to spoil that perfect smile after all. “That sounds like the voice of experience.”

  “She’s something, our J. C.”

  “Considering you just had your hands all over her, I’d advise you to refrain from referring to her in any possessive sense.”

  “Can’t help it.” The blond looked unconcerned as he slouched back in his chair. “I asked her to marry me once.”

  Now, that was a surprise. “She turned you down, I take it?”

  “Without a bit of tact, too.”

  Mac’s smile was genuine this time. “She does have a way of just blurting out the truth without regard to self-preservation.”

  “Discovered that for yourself, have you?”

  “Among other things.” Mac held out his hand. “Mac Hollister.”

  “Coulton Westcott,” he said, shaking hands before taking a sip of his drink. “So, what did you do to make all this necessary?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  A drum roll interrupted the rest of what Mac was about to say. As the makeshift curtain slid open, Coulton stated the obvious. “Well, I’m sure by the end of tonight, there won’t be much doubt.”

  “Damn! That’d better not be my lucky saddle.”

  But it was. Mac knew it in the pit of his stomach. The saddle that had taken him to three rodeo championships was now sitting in the middle of a huge bull’s-eye.

  “It doesn’t look good, chap.”

  No. It didn’t. Mac took a fortifying sip of whiskey as Zach came out on stage, dressed only in moccasins and breechclout, brandishing a set of throwing knives.

  “Nice build,” Coulton remarked before pointing to the saddle. “Wonder if he’s supposed to hit or miss?”

  “It’d better be miss.”

  “Either way, looks like you’ll need this,” Coulton said as he topped off Mac’s already half-full glass.

  “Thanks.” Mac glared at the stage, at Jessie, and especially at Zach.

  “Don’t worry Mac,” Zach called with a grin. “I’m feeling ‘on’ tonight.”

  Before Mac could respond, Zach let loose with three knives, so fast it looked as if only one flew toward the target.

  Mac released a sigh of relief just as fast as they found their place. And chugged two swallows of whiskey.

  “Looks like he was supposed to miss.”

  “Yeah,” Mac wheezed as the liquor burned its way to his stomach. “God, I hate this stuff.”

  “Then why are you drinking it?”

  “Because it’s the only thing anyone ever shoves at me when I’m in need of support.”

  “Oh.” Coulton lifted his glass toward the stage. “In that case, you might want to state a preference for whatever it is you do like pretty quickly.”

  Mac had a sneaking suspicion of what he was going to see before he looked up. Bracing himself didn’t diminish the impact of Jessie standing where Zach had been, two knives on the table beside her, one in her good hand, and her eyes glued to the target.

  Her “Pay attention, Mac,” coincided with his chair toppling over as he jumped to his feet.

  “Dammit, Jessie,” he hollered. “That’s my lucky saddle!”

  Coulton grabbed his arm, halting his flight to the stage.

  “Trust me, Mac,” Jessie called over her shoulder. She dropped one of the knives. Muttering an “Oh, damn” that clearly carried to the men at the table, she bent over and picked it up. The knit dress hugged her curves every inch of the way.

  Coulton whistled appreciatively through his teeth and rocked his chair back on two legs. “That woman always did have a body that could stop traffic.”

  Mac freed his arm. With a well-placed shove to the middle of Coulton’s chest, he sent him the rest of the way to the floor. “Jessie…do you know how hard it is to break a saddle in? How attached a man gets to one once it’s proven itself?”

  Jessie spun around and placed her hands on her hips. Mac caught his breath as one of the knives came close to pricking the underside of her breast. “I’m well aware of your attachment to that saddle. I’ve even been meaning to discuss it with you.” She frowned disapprovingly. “It borders on the unnatural.”

  “Just because yo
u’re jealous of my saddle, there’s no need to throw knives at it.”

  “I’m not jealous of that hunk of leather,” she retorted, “And I happen to think it’s entirely necessary.”

  She turned around. Her arm drew back.

  “Can I ask how long you’ve been doing this?” he called out desperately.

  She halted mid-throw and turned back slowly. Coulton straightened his chair and resumed his seat. Mac didn’t even spare him a glance. There was a certain light in Jessie’s eyes that didn’t bode well for his stalling tactics.