The glazier took a sip of tea and put the mug down before he began working on the window frame. ‘The boss is pretty good at judging things like this,’ he explained.
Mac sipped her own tea as she watched him work. ‘Was that the man I spoke to on the telephone this morning?’
‘Don’t know about that, love.’ Bob Jenkins looked up to give her a grin. ‘He just told me to get over here toot sweet and replace the window.’
Mac had no idea why, but she had a sudden uneasy feeling about ‘the boss’. Maybe because she didn’t recall telling the man at the glazier company she had called this morning what size window had been broken. Or expected anyone to arrive from that company until tomorrow…
She eyed Bob warily. ‘Exactly who is the boss?’
He raised grizzled grey brows. ‘Mr Buchanan, of course.’
Exactly what Mac had suspected—dreaded—hearing!
After their strained parting earlier Mac hadn’t expected to see or hear from Jonas ever again. Although technically, she wasn’t seeing or hearing from him now, either; he had just arrogantly sent one of his workmen over to fix her broken window.
Why?
Was Jonas treating her like the ‘fragile little woman’ who needed the help of the ‘big, strong man’?
Or was Jonas replacing the window because he knew that he—or someone who worked for him—was responsible for it being broken in the first place?
‘Of course,’ Mac answered the workman distractedly. ‘If you’ll excuse me, Bob?’
‘No problem,’ he assured her brightly.
Mac was so annoyed at Jonas’s high-handedness that she didn’t quite know what to do with all the anger bubbling inside her. What did he think he was doing, interfering in this way, when she had already told him that she had arranged for a glazier to come out tomorrow?
An arrangement he had instantly expressed his disapproval of. Enough to have arranged for one of his own workmen to come out and replace the window immediately, apparently! Were Jonas’s actions prompted by a guilty conscience? Or by something else? Although quite what that something else could be Mac had no idea. It was enough, surely, that Jonas was sticking his arrogant nose into her business?
Too right it was!
‘What can I do for you this time, Mac?’ Jonas took his briefcase out of the car before locking it and turning to face her wearily across the private and brightly lid underground car park beneath his apartment building.
He had been vaguely aware, as he drove home at the end of what had been a damned awful day, of the black motorbike following in the traffic behind him. He simply hadn’t realised that Mac was the driver of that motorbike until she followed him down into the car park, stopped the vehicle behind his car and removed the black crash helmet to shake the long length of her ebony-dark hair loose about her shoulders. The black biking leathers she was wearing fitted her as snugly as a glove, and clearly outlined the fullness of her breasts and her slender waist and hips. Jonas couldn’t help thinking of how they were no doubt moulded to her perfectly shaped bottom, too!
But there was no way that Jonas could mistake the obviously hostile demeanour on her face for anything other than what it was as she climbed off the motorbike; her eyes were sparkling with challenge, the fullness of her lips compressed and unsmiling.
Jonas’s afternoon had been just as uncomfortable as he had thought it might be. So much so that he hadn’t been able to give his usual concentration to his business meetings.
What was it about this woman in particular that so disturbed him? Mac was beautiful, yes, but in a wild and Bohemian sort of way that had never appealed to him before. There was absolutely nothing about her that usually attracted him to a woman. She was short and dark-haired, boyishly slender apart from the fullness of her breasts, and not in the least sophisticated; she even rode a motorbike, for heaven’s sake!
Jonas wasn’t particularly into motorbikes, but even he recognised the machine as being a Harley, the chassis a shiny black, its silver chrome gleaming brightly. For what had to be the dozenth time, Jonas told himself that Mac McGuire was most definitely not his type.
So why the hell couldn’t he stop thinking about her?
His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t you think—whatever your reason for being here—that following me home is taking things to an extreme?’
Her mouth tightened further at the criticism. ‘Maybe.’
He raised mocking brows. ‘Only maybe?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted grudgingly.
He eyed her coldly. ‘And so you’re here because…?’
She glared at him. ‘You sent a glazier to repair my window.’
‘Yes.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You aren’t even going to attempt to deny it?’
Jonas grimaced. ‘Presumably Bob told you I had sent him?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then what would be the point of my trying to deny it?’ he reasoned impatiently.
Mac was feeling a little foolish now that she was actually face to face with Jonas. Anger had been her primary emotion, as she waited the twenty minutes or so it had taken Bob Jenkins to replace the window, before donning her leathers and getting her motorcycle out of the garage and riding it over to Jonas’s office. Just in time to see Jonas driving out of the office underground car park in his dark green sports car.
Frustrated anger had made her decide to follow him home; having ridden back into the city for the sole purpose of speaking to him, Mac had had no intention of just turning round and going home without doing exactly that.
At least, she had hoped Jonas was driving home; it would be a little embarrassing for Mac to have followed him to a date with another woman!
The prestigious apartment building above this underground car park—so unlike her own rambling warehouse-conversion home—definitely looked like the sort of place Jonas would choose to live.
She stubbornly stood her ground. ‘I told you I had a glazier coming out tomorrow.’
Jonas nodded tersely. ‘And I seem to recall telling you that wasn’t good enough.’
Her eyes widened. ‘So you just arranged for one of your own workmen to come over this afternoon instead? Without even giving me the courtesy of telling me about it?’
Jonas could see that Mac was clearly running out of steam, her accusing tone certainly lacking some of its earlier anger. He regarded her mockingly. ‘So it would seem.’
‘I—but—you can’t just take over my life in this way, Jonas!’
He frowned. ‘You see ensuring your safety as an attempt to take over your life?’
‘Yes! Well…not exactly,’ she allowed impatiently. ‘But it was certainly an arrogant thing to do!’
Yes, she was definitely running out of steam…‘But I am arrogant, Mac.’
‘It’s not something you should be in the least proud of!’
He gave her an unapologetic, smile. ‘Your objection is duly noted.’
‘And dismissed!’
Jonas gave a shrug. ‘I presume Bob has now replaced the broken window?’
Mac gave a disgusted snort. ‘He wouldn’t dare do anything else when “the boss” told him to do so “toot sweet”.’
Jonas had to smile at her perfect mimicry of Bob’s broad Cockney accent. ‘Well, unless you want me to break the window again just so that you can have the satisfaction of having your own glazier fix it tomorrow, I don’t really see what you want me to do about it.’
Those smoky-grey eyes narrowed. ‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’
Jonas straightened. ‘No, Mac, I think what I did was the most sensible course of action in the circumstances,’ he stated calmly. ‘If you disagree with that, then that’s obviously your prerogative.’
‘I disagree with the way you went about it, not with the fact that you did it,’ she continued in obvious frustration.
He gave a cool nod. ‘Again, your objection is duly noted.’
‘Right. Okay.’ Mac didn’t quite know what to
do or say now that she’d voiced her protest over the replacement of her broken window.
She should have just telephoned Jonas and told him what she thought of him rather than coming back into town to speak to him personally. She certainly shouldn’t—as he had already pointed out so mockingly—have followed him home!
The wisest thing to do now would be to get back on her motorbike and drive back home. Unwisely, Mac knew she wasn’t yet ready to do that…
Just looking at Jonas, his dark hair once again ruffled by the breeze outside, the hard arrogance of his face clearly visible in the brightly lit car park, was enough to make her knees go weak. To remind her of the way he had kissed and touched her earlier today. To make her long for him to kiss and touch her in that way again.
To make her question whether that wasn’t the very reason she had come here in the first place…
Jonas had been watching the different emotions flickering across Mac’s expressive face. First the fading of her anger, which was replaced by confusion and uncertainty. And now he could see those emotions replaced by an unmistakable hunger in those smoky-grey eyes as she looked at him so intently…
A hunger he fully reciprocated. ‘I intend to have several glasses of wine as soon as I get up to my apartment—would you care to join me?’ he offered huskily.
She visibly swallowed. ‘That’s probably not a good idea.’
Again, here and now, Jonas was more than willing to go with a bad idea. His body physically ached from the hours he had already spent aroused by this woman today; the thought of an evening and night suffering the same discomfort did not appeal to him in the slightest. Besides, he really did want to see her perfect little bottom in those skin-tight leathers! ‘Half a glass of wine isn’t going to do you any harm, Mac.’
‘Isn’t it?’
Maybe it was, Jonas acknowledged with dark humour. If he had anything to do or say about it. ‘Scared, Mac?’ he taunted.
Her cheeks became flushed. ‘Now you’re deliberately challenging me into agreeing to go up to your apartment with you!’
He gave her an amused smile. ‘Is it working?’
Mac knew that her temptation to go up to Jonas’s apartment with him had very little to do with annoyance. Just talking with him like this made her nerve endings tingle, the low timbre of his voice sending little quivers of awareness up her nape and down the length of her spine, the fine hairs on her arms standing to attention, and her skin feeling as if it were covered in goose-bumps. She also felt uncomfortably hot, a heat she knew had nothing to do with the leathers she was wearing to keep out the early evening chill, and everything to do with being so physically aware of Jonas.
All of which told Mac she would be a fool to go anywhere she would be completely alone—and vulnerable to her own churning emotions—with Jonas.
Except she ached to be alone with him.
She nodded abruptly. ‘I—Fine. Will it be safe to leave my helmet down here with my bike?’
‘I’m sure your bike and helmet will be perfectly safe left down here,’ Jonas assured her.
The implication being that it was Mac’s own safety, once she was alone with him in his apartment, that she ought to be worried about.
Chapter Six
MAC turned to look at Jonas as he fell into step slightly behind her as she crossed the car park to the lift that would take them up to his apartment. Only to quickly turn away again, her cheeks flaring with heated colour, as she saw the way he was unashamedly watching the gentle swaying of her hips and bottom as she walked.
He eyed her unapologetically as he stood beside her to punch in the security code that opened the lift doors and allowed the two of them to step inside. ‘You shouldn’t wear tight leathers if you don’t want men to look at you!’ He pressed the penthouse button.
Mac looked up at him reprovingly as the lift began to ascend. ‘I wear them for extra safety if I should come off the bike, not for men to look at. And you know how hot you are on safety,’ she prodded.
‘Hot would seem to be the appropriate word,’ Jonas teased.
Mac’s cheeks felt more heated than ever at the knowledge that Jonas thought she looked hot in her biking gear. ‘Perhaps we should just change the subject.’
‘Perhaps we should.’ He nodded, blue eyes openly laughing at her.
Mac turned away to stare fixedly at the grey metal doors until they opened onto the penthouse floor. The lights came on automatically as they stepped straight into what was obviously the sitting-room—or perhaps one of them?—of Jonas’s huge apartment.
It had exactly the sort of impersonal ultra-modern décor that Mac had expected, mainly in black and white with chrome, with touches of red to alleviate the austerity. The walls were painted a cool white, with black and chrome furniture, with cushions in several shades of red on the sofa and chairs, and several black and white rugs on the highly polished black-wood floor.
Mac hated it on sight!
‘Very nice,’ she murmured unenthusiastically.
Jonas had seen the wince on Mac’s face before she donned the mask of social politeness. ‘I allowed an interior designer free rein with the décor in here when I moved in six months ago,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘Awful, isn’t it?’ He grimaced as he strode further into the room.
Mac followed slowly. ‘If you don’t like it, why haven’t you changed it?’
He shrugged. ‘I couldn’t see the point when I shall be moving out again soon.’
‘Oh?’ She turned to look at him. ‘Is that why you haven’t bothered to put up any Christmas decorations, either?’
Jonas never bothered to put up Christmas decorations. What was the point? Only he lived here, with the occasional visitor, so why bother with a lot of tacky decorations that only gathered dust, before they had to be taken down again? For Jonas, Christmas was, and always had been, just a time to be suffered through, while everyone else seemed to overeat and indulge in needless sentimentality. In fact, Jonas usually made a point of disappearing to the warmth of a Caribbean island for the whole of the holidays, and, although he hadn’t made any plans to do so yet, he doubted that this year would be any different from previous ones.
‘No,’ Jonas said shortly. Mac really did look good in those figure-hugging leathers, he acknowledged privately as once again he felt what was fast becoming a familiar hardening of his thighs. ‘Come through to the kitchen and I’ll open a bottle of wine,’ he invited briskly before leading the way through to the adjoining room.
He had designed the kitchen himself, the cathedralstyle ceiling oak-beamed using beams that had originally come from an eighteenth-century cottage, with matching oak kitchen cabinets, all the modern conveniences such as a fridge-freezer and a dishwasher hidden behind those cabinets, with a weathered oak table in the middle of the room surrounded by four chairs, and copper pots hanging conveniently beside the green Aga.
It was a warm and comfortable room as opposed to the coolly impersonal sitting-room. The kitchen was where Jonas felt most at ease, and was where he usually sat and read the newspapers or did paperwork on the evenings he was at home.
Although he wasn’t too sure any more about inviting Mac McGuire into his inner sanctum…
‘Much better,’ she murmured approvingly. ‘Did you design this yourself?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought so.’
Jonas raised dark brows. ‘Why?’
She gave an awkward shrug. ‘It’s—warmer, than the other room.’
He scowled. ‘Warmer?’
‘More lived-in,’ she amended.
Jonas continued to look at her for several long seconds before giving an abrupt nod. ‘Make yourself comfortable,’ he invited and moved to take a bottle of Chablis Premier Cru from the cooler before deftly opening it and pouring some of the delicious fruity wine into two glasses.
Mac still wasn’t sure about being in Jonas’s apartment at all, let alone making herself comfortable. And from the frown now on Jonas’s brow she thought m
aybe he was regretting having invited her, too.
She sat down gingerly on one of the four chairs placed about the oak table. ‘I’ll just drink my half a glass of wine and then go.’
Jonas placed the glass on the table in front of her. ‘What’s your hurry?’
She nervously moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue as he stood far too close to her, only to immediately stop again as she saw the intensity with which Jonas was watching the movement. ‘I just think it would be better if I don’t overstay my welcome.’ Her hand was shaking slightly as she reached out to pick up the glass and take a sip of the cool wine.
Jonas smiled slightly. ‘Better for whom?’
She lifted one shoulder delicately. ‘Both of us, I would have thought.’
‘Maybe we’re both thinking too much,’ he murmured broodingly. ‘Have you eaten dinner yet?’
Mac looked at him sharply. ‘Not yet, no.’ Surely he wasn’t about to repeat his earlier suggestion that the two of them go out to dinner together?
‘I only had a few prawns for lunch,’ he reminded her ruefully. ‘How about you?’
‘I had a piece of toast when I got home. But I’m hardly dressed for going out to dinner, Jonas.’
‘Who said anything about going out?’ He looked at her quizzically.
Mac felt an uncomfortable surge—of what?—in her chest. Trepidation? Fear? Or anticipation? Or could it be a combination of all three of those things? Whichever it was, Mac didn’t think she should stay here alone with Jonas in his apartment any longer than she absolutely had to.
‘It’s very kind of you to offer—’
‘How polite you are all of a sudden, Mac,’ Jonas cut in. ‘If you don’t want to have dinner with me then just have the guts to come out and say so, damn it!’ His eyes glittered darkly.
She gave a pained frown. ‘It isn’t a question of not wanting to have dinner with you, Jonas—’
‘Then what is it a question of?’ he demanded harshly.
Mac swallowed hard. ‘I’m not sure I belong here…’
His Christmas Virgin Page 6