Was he sick? Outrage dissolved into concern and she approached him tentatively. An odd sense of déjà vu needled at her memory.
Her sneakers squeaked lightly on the smooth wooden floor of the foyer. She stopped and slipped them off her feet. “Are you okay? What just happened? I heard you on the phone. Is something wrong?”
He continued leaning on the railing and remained silent until she moved closer.
“Stay there.” He threw a hand back and she hesitated again.
“I’ll just come back later, then.” She turned to leave.
“NO.” DOM HELD the towel tighter around his head, a desperate barrier between the two of them. If he’d had the slightest idea Mackenzie was delivering the painting, he would’ve been ready for the overwhelming force of her presence. How could he have missed picking up her energy trail? He’d assumed the knot in his chest was because he was so pissed off with San Diego’s ineptness. There was certainly no mistaking that she was inches from him now.
Heat from her body ignited his bare skin, while the rush of blood through her veins seduced the beast inside him. A familiar throbbing vibrated his gums. He bit down hard, but it was no use. Razor-sharp fangs pushed through, cutting his lips, and he was forced to open his mouth to accommodate them. With every muscle tensed, his body prepared to spring, straining against his will. He gripped the railing with such force that it compressed beneath his fingers.
She hesitated, he could hear the breath catch in her throat, then, with one final step, she was at his side, and impossibly cool fingers grazed his shoulder. A thrill surged through his body, yet calmed him at the same time and in the span of a heartbeat, the violent tension left his muscles like water pouring from a glass.
“Dom?” She dipped her head close, her voice velvety in his ear.
Her fingers caressed his back so subtly, like the automatic touch of a lover, and he doubted she realized her hand was moving. His fangs retracted, but he was powerless to control the needs of a man. When his erection threatened to emerge from the top of his briefs, he shifted his stance and Mackenzie dropped her hand.
No fear emanated from her pores, nor could he taste it in the air. He perceived only her concern for him along with the remnants of anger. What the hell? It made no sense. Why wasn’t she freaked out like most people would be? And how was he able to control himself?
With his back to her, he straightened up and scrubbed his face with the towel. “I’m fine. Head rush.” What a pathetic explanation. “You caught me off— I was expecting one of Martin’s people. Not you.” He stumbled into the kitchen and carefully zipped his fly.
“I am one of Martin’s people.” She sounded irritated now. “I work for him, remember? But of course, you knew that. I’ll come back another time. Or better yet, Martin can.”
“No. I want the painting installed today.” His tone was harsher than he’d intended, but he didn’t want her to leave.
Getting nothing but silence from the foyer, he was about to blurt out “latte or mocha?” when he heard a rustling of fabric. Was she leaving?
Through the doorway, he spotted her bag near her shoes on the floor, and watched as she stepped down, sock-footed, into the living room and disappeared from view. What had drawn her attention? After he licked his lips to make sure the cuts from his fangs had closed, he marched past the kitchen island, still conscious of the heavy throbbing between his legs.
With her back to him, she stood before the wall of windows. Careful to stay out of the direct sunlight, he moved closer to better observe her. Jeans hugged her shapely legs and bottom as if they were custom-made. A colorful knit scarf draped around her neck hinted at a carefree attitude, and the sun on her long, dark hair gave it a rich, auburn cast. With her mouth agape, she stared at the view.
And he stared at her.
“I knew it,” she whispered.
“What?” She jumped at his question, evidently not expecting him to have heard her. He felt her raw emotion, the eager thumping of her heart in his head.
Excitement flickered in her expression, but was gone a moment later. “Nothing.” With her eyebrows slightly lifted as if to better control herself, she dropped her eyes and turned toward the foyer.
He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “No, tell me.” For some reason, he needed to hear her verbalize what she was feeling when she looked out the window.
She frowned, stared at her hands. “Well…I’ve always wondered whether the islands and the peninsula could be seen from one of these lofts on a clear day.” She met his gaze with damp eyes, then abruptly turned away. “Sorry. I’m a little overwhelmed by your view. Should we—”
“No, please go on.” Was she crying? He sifted through the air but detected no sadness. Why were there tears?
Her eyes narrowed. Clearly, she doubted his sincerity.
“I’m serious. I’ve lived here on and off for so long that I’m rather immune to the view, I’m afraid. Tell me what you think when you look out. What you see.” As if watching a conductor raise his baton, he held his breath in anticipation.
“It’s stunning, of course. Magnificent.” She stood at the window with her arms crossed.
“Come on. You can do better than that. That’s not what you were thinking when you first looked out. Tell me.”
She seemed to come alive then, hopefully noting the sincerity in his voice. “Well, all right.” She cleared her throat and faced the view again. “I see how the Olympic Mountains seem to stretch out forever to the north and south and wonder how much has never been walked on by human feet.” Wide-eyed, she glanced over at him and he nodded his encouragement. As if to get more serious, she gathered her hair into a loose ponytail, using a hair band around her wrist. She took a deep breath and continued.
“The jagged peaks against the unusually clear sky remind me of a torn strip of paper glued into place. A contrast of shapes and textures, very different, yet united by color.”
His heart thumped unevenly at first, then as he tuned in to her voice, it seemed to blend in with the beating in his head as she continued.
“Today, it’s a study of blues. The misty mountains. The indigo water. The pale, cloud-strewn sky. But tonight it may be pinks and tomorrow it may be grays. It honestly takes my breath away.”
“You have an artist’s eye for description. What else?”
She wiggled a finger around and pointed at the distant peaks. “Could there be a person exactly right there? Or a bear? Or a mountain goat? Or Bigfoot?” Her laughter tickled his ears. “Pretty silly. Not really an artist’s description.”
“Mmm, not at all. You see and imagine more than an average person would when confronted with the same scenario.”
When she looked over at him, her full upper lip puckered into a playful smile, and a strange sensation, as well as a few familiar ones, tugged at his insides. Seeing the view had lighted her mood and that made him…happy.
He longed to pull her into his arms, to mold her body against his and to bury himself inside her with more than just his fingers. Instead, he plunged his hands into his pockets to hide his still hard erection and took a step away.
“Let’s say you knew someone was standing in that exact spot you’re pointing to. How would that make you feel?” He was utterly captivated by her imagination and didn’t want her to stop.
She stared through the glass and was quiet for such a long time, he wasn’t sure she was going to answer.
“Less lonely, I guess.”
He suddenly needed to make her laugh again, to lift the trace of heaviness from her heart. Twirl her around the room and see her sparkling green eyes dance with excitement. To be the source of her happiness.
“That’s beautiful. I’ve never heard it described quite so vividly. Lovely.” He flashed her a devious smile. “Sorry. I’d have studied my thesaurus had I known you were coming.”
Her head snapped in his direction, her cheeks flushed a bewitching shade of crimson, and her fiery glance ignited him. She sp
un on her heel and stormed back through the living room.
Good God, was she still embarrassed about last week? He had hoped to make her laugh again, but this might even be better. Watching her sassy ponytail bounce its delightful “go screw yourself” message against her back, he grinned.
To hell with playing nice. Yes, this could be fun.
MACKENZIE STOMPED BACK to the foyer and knew he followed, irritating her further. She dug into the satchel, rifled through the contents and pulled out a cell phone.
“Calling your boys downstairs?”
“No, I’m calling Martin to tell him to reschedule.”
“But I want it installed today.”
Those damn blue eyes were probably raking across her backside; she could practically feel them on her bare skin. Crap. Did her waistband dip low when she stooped? She grabbed a belt loop on the back of her jeans, stood up and hoped she looked as mad as she felt.
But when she thought about leaving, she knew the install guys would wonder why. She wasn’t prepared to tell them anything. She supposed she could lie, say the client wasn’t available, but what if Dom followed her down?
She decided to ignore his references to the auction and pretend this was a normal install. That was how she’d get through this. Just get the painting hung and leave. Not get sucked into his stupid game. “Fine.”
He’d played her at the auction and, most likely, he was playing her now. He couldn’t care less how she felt about the view. He probably just wanted to soften her up to get in her pants again.
“Can I get you something?”
She forced herself to examine the soaring open-beam ceiling rather than the swing of his hips in those jeans as he headed for the kitchen.
“Latte, perhaps? Water?” He said something else but she couldn’t make it out.
“No. I won’t be long.”
The open kitchen was a dream with granite and stainless steel and the high-pitched whine of the milk steamer filled the room. Four upholstered stools perched beneath the island counter, a perfect gathering place for people who liked to cook together or for a chef who liked an audience.
“Aren’t you worried about things flying out? Bad feng shui?” She heard the amusement in his voice.
“It’s not my purse,” she said through gritted teeth. He was clearly having way too much fun tormenting her. God, she couldn’t wait to get out of here.
She yanked a clipboard and measuring tape from her bag and peered down the long hallway, surprised to see so many doors. His loft had to take up half the floor. Which room had he come out of? Did anyone else live here with him? Girlfriend? The occasional weak-kneed hook-up? She heard footsteps behind her.
“Let me just take a look at the space and I’ll get the workers up here. They’re waiting in the van. We’ll get the piece hung and be out of your hair.”
“I’m in no hurry, unless you are.” He handed her a large coffeehouse mug.
She tried to protest, but he shoved it at her. Taking a sip, she discovered the drink was light on the chocolate, heavy on the whipped cream. Perfect. Lucky guess.
“Let me show you the two places I had in mind. Right this way.”
His fingers brushed the back of her arm and she shivered. He guided her down into the living area again and pointed to a huge empty wall behind a cream-colored leather sectional.
“That’s one place. I like the lighting, of course. Natural, not manmade, but I don’t want it to compete with the view. Besides, the piece is a little intimate for a living room, don’t you think?”
His breath skimmed over her ear, causing loose tendrils from her ponytail to dance on her cheek. He was closer than she’d thought. Inches away, actually. Hadn’t he just been on the other side of the ottoman? She felt herself shift slightly toward him.
Hell, what was she doing? She set her mug and clipboard down, grabbed the tape measure and folded her arms tightly against her chest.
“That’s up to you.” She didn’t want to discuss the appropriateness of her naked form in his living room. “This is a nice location. It’ll work, but the wall could really use a couple of spotlights. Especially in the evening when there is no natural light. We could get an electrician in here and Martin could come back later to install the painting.”
He had a strange look on his face and shook his head.
“Suit yourself. Could you hold the end of this so I can get some measurements?”
His fingers grazed hers as he reached for the end of the tape and she pretended not to notice. Had he been someone else, the insubstantial contact never would have registered with her. Why did everything with him seem so magnetized? Larger than life? After jotting down the measurements, she took another sip of the mocha, trying to keep her hands from shaking as she felt the heat from his body right behind her.
“Where’s the other space?” she asked.
She turned and crystal blue eyes locked her in place. He ran a hungry gaze over her face, stopping at her mouth, which burned in response. He reached up and flicked a thumb over her lips, then put it to his mouth.
“Whipped cream.” His voice was husky.
Her heart stuttered and she could hardly breathe.
Remember, he’s just playing you.
She grabbed her things, stepped away from him and repeated her question. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as if confirming her suspicions.
“This way.” He touched the back of her arm again, obviously not deterred by her reaction, and guided her down the hall. She was only vaguely aware of the colorful artwork on the walls and the humming of a washer and dryer behind one of the doors as her skin tingled from the contact.
At the end of the hallway stood a pair of ornately carved wood doors, grander than the others. He grasped both handles and swung them wide.
The room was completely dark. When he stepped forward and pressed a button on the wall, natural light flooded the room as flexible metal covers retracted from the windows.
Oh God. His bedroom. He wants the painting of me in here? Is this some kind of sick joke?
Her gaze rested on the unmade bed. Rather intimate to see his bare sheets still rumpled from the night. Had he gotten up, just in time for a shower, before she arrived? Were the sheets still warm? She shuffled the papers on the clipboard and fiddled with the tape measure.
With a flourish, Dom motioned her inside while he stayed at the door. He’s just a client, she repeated to herself as she brushed past, careful not to touch him. This was just a job.
The room was almost as big as the living area, with floor-to-ceiling windows on two of the walls. The glass met at the corner, no trim to spoil the view. With a motorized click, the metal blinds retracted into a narrow panel on both walls. She wasn’t aware of how she’d gotten over to the glass, but she was there now. From this vantage point facing northwest, she could see the mouth of the bay. A container ship was pulling into port. Was that Bainbridge Island up there?
To wake up to this every day. To open your eyes and see this.
She imagined sitting here with a cup of coffee in the morning. Or in the evening with a glass of wine. Is there a rooftop terrace to watch the sun as it sets behind the Olympics?
The air shifted behind her. She whirled around, the mocha sloshing in her cup. She’d almost forgotten why she was here.
Oh God, there he was, still barely clothed, still so damned hot and still with that smug smile that grated on her nerves.
But now they were in his bedroom.
Why couldn’t he just put on a shirt? Her fingers itched to splay over the defined muscles of his chest and she gripped her clipboard tighter. With his unshaven face, would his kisses sting her lips?
In the light she noticed the palest of shadows hovering under his half-hooded eyes, as if he hadn’t gotten much sleep.
She glanced again at the tangled sheets, imagined a woman here, running down the hallway just hours ago, late for work in high heels and a wrinkled dress from the day before. They’d prob
ably had sex all night long and he’d have slept longer if the painting wasn’t being delivered. Why did she care? Who was he to her? Just a casual hook-up. Why did the extracurricular activities of a player like Dom even matter to her?
With him standing so close, she could hardly trust herself to say anything coherent. She skittered away from him. His presence invaded her mind and muddled up her thoughts.
“What…where did you have in mind? I mean…for the painting. Where do you want it?” Everything sounded suggestive and her cheeks burned again.
She tried to remain businesslike, but all she could see was that big damn bed right in front of her and the half-dressed man beside her. She tried to ignore the massive carved wood headboard that looked like it belonged in a castle, the lush golden silk duvet cover and the multitude of pillows tangled up in the sheets.
She shuffled her papers again, dropping her pen. As she stooped to pick it up, her eyes froze on the crotch of his jeans. She almost gasped at the outline of his length, level with her eyes, straining against the fabric. Could her face get any hotter?
She chewed on the inside of her lip as she stood up. Ever so slightly, his hips turned toward her and his stance widened. She felt a gush of warmth and a throbbing pulse between her legs.
What was happening to her? She stepped away and fanned her cheeks with the clipboard.
“Hot?”
“A little, yes.” She didn’t dare make eye contact, for her composure was held together only by a thread. If he touched her, raised an eyebrow, skimmed his breath on her skin, she knew it’d be all over. Her body would betray her and she wouldn’t be able to resist him.
“Do you want something? Water?”
“No. I’m fine. Should we get on with it? The guys have been waiting for fifteen minutes or so. Where in here? For the painting.”
She was sure his gaze rested for a moment on the sheets.
“There.” He lifted an arm and pointed at the wall behind the bed.
Bonded by Blood Page 10