Playboy's Ruthless Payback: Playboy's Ruthless Payback

Six

The guy at the first tow truck company hung up on her, the guy at the second tow truck company actually laughed when she’d asked if he could come out and excavate her car, and her third call had gone straight to a machine.

Olivia had known it would be somewhat of a long shot to get home tonight, but after the way her body had reacted to Mac’s touch earlier—a very simple, not that overtly sexual a touch—she was really hoping.

She sat on the edge of Mac’s king-sized bed, her shoulders drooping forward. She was tired and cold, and disappointed in herself for caving in and taking his room. A better woman might have stuck to her guns about not bunking in Mac’s sparse, octagon-shaped room, maybe grabbing a few extralong towels from his bathroom and cuddling up on the carpeted floor of one of the empty guest rooms. But she was a wimp that way. She liked her creature comforts. She’d always wondered about people who liked camping. Strange noises and bugs for bunkmates…what was the attraction? Anyway, she was sleeping in Mac’s bed tonight. She just hoped he’d keep his word and wouldn’t venture out of the den to find her.

She pulled the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around herself. Then again, why would he leave such a lovely, warm spot by the fire? Olivia blew out a puff of air to see if she could see her breath. It was cold as hell in Mac’s house, a ridiculous kind of cold that sank deep into your bones and could only be relieved by a hot bath. She didn’t know what that handyman did around here, but first thing tomorrow, she was calling in a professional heating technician. Forget all the warm, family friendly furnishings. If the house felt like an igloo, the DeBolds were going to head straight for the nearest five-star hotel.

Olivia thought about lying down and trying to sleep, but when nature called, she threw off the comforter and dashed into the master bathroom. And there she saw it—surrounded by beautiful pale brown tumbled stone was a massive box of glass with a rain showerhead above and four body sprayers along one wall. Oh, she wanted to cry it looked so inviting.

Did she dare? Maybe just a quick one? Just to get warm.

Feeling a sudden burst of happiness at the thought, she flipped on the water and turned the temperature knob to the equivalent of “hotter-than-hell.” After closing the door to keep all the beautiful heat contained, she got undressed. She was just about to step inside the shower when she heard a knock on the bedroom door.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. No, no, no. Not now. Why was he here? Did he have radar or a sixth sense that told him when there was a naked woman in his room or something?

She snatched a huge white bath sheet and wrapped herself in it, then she opened the door and walked out into the frigid air.

He was knocking again. “Olivia?”

She opened the door just wide enough to accommodate her head, but hid the rest of her from his view. “Yes?”

“So you took the room?”

“Yes. I took the room. Can we not make a big deal out of it?”

“Of course.” He grinned. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just tired.” And cold. “What’s up?”

He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he was trying to assess the situation as he spoke. “I put a frozen pizza in the oven if you’re interested.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m not very hungry. Just tired. Very, very tired.”

“All right. Good night, then.” Olivia thought that he was about to leave, that she was about to finally get warm, but then he paused and cocked his head to one side. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” she asked innocently, as if she didn’t know.

“Is that water running?”

“No.”

His mouth twitched. “Are you taking a shower?”

“Not at this precise moment,” she said with irritation, which caused him to grin, full-on and slightly roguishly.

“Taking advantage of my steam shower, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

“Hey, I don’t blame you, the thing is awesome.”

“Well, good…then I’m going to go—”

“Have all the towels you need?” he asked.

“Yes.”

She looked expectantly at him. Time to leave, Mr. Valentine. What more was there to say? After all, he’d humiliated and humbled her, what could be left? But he didn’t leave, he just stood there looking sexy in his black sweater and pants.

Olivia let out a frustrated breath. “I’m freezing, okay? I need a way to warm up.”

His grin widened, his gaze dropped. “No, too easy.”

“Good night, Mac,” she said through gritted teeth. “Enjoy your pizza.”

He chuckled and pushed away from the door frame. “All right. Enjoy your shower. But,” he said as he turned to walk away, “if you find that you can’t sleep or you get hungry, you know where to find me.”

“That, I can promise you,” she called after him, “will never happen.”

Mac put another log on the fire, then rescued his bottle of beer from the rutted mantel before dropping back into his chair. The book he was reading was pretty dull, but he was halfway through it and he wasn’t a quitter. Just as he was about to find out why early man and an anthropoid ape had almost the same number of cranial bones and teeth, he heard footsteps behind him.

“You suck, Valentine.”

Mac chuckled and turned around. “Now why would you say something like—” The words died on his lips as he caught sight of her, practically glowing in the firelight. From the moment he’d seen Olivia Winston, serving up brownies and attitude in her office kitchen, he’d found her incredibly attractive. Tonight, however, she was breath-stealing.

Her white blouse was untucked and rumpled, and resembled a man’s shirt with the cuffs falling loose about her hands. Her long, black pants seemed a little too big without the heels and belt, but it was her face and hair that had his pulse running a race at the base of his throat. With no makeup, she looked fresh, delectably soft, her flawless skin glowing a pale peachy color. Her long, damp, dark hair swung sexy and loose, and reminded him of a mermaid. It took every ounce of control he had not to take her in his arms and kiss her until she realized just how perfectly their bodies would fit together.

She walked over and dropped into the chair beside him. “My hot shower wasn’t so hot.”

“No?”

She tossed him a look of mock reproof. “And it’s all your fault.”

“I did inadvertently ask if you wanted me to join you,” he reminded her, taking a swallow of his beer.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“No?”

“You made me stand at the door talking to you so long the hot water was almost gone by the time I got in there.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “Let me make it up to you with a never-ending fire and a cold slice of pepperoni.”

She looked unconvinced at first, then she shrugged. “Okay.” She took a piece of pizza from him and practically attacked it. “Oh, the fire feels so good. Your room is freezing, Valentine. This house is freezing.”

“It can get a little cold, I guess.”

“You sound like you don’t mind turning into an ice cube every time the sun goes down.”

“I hardly notice. I’m really only here to sleep.”

“Well, first thing tomorrow I’m calling a heating technician. The DeBolds may sell ice, but they don’t want to sleep in it.”

He grinned at her. “That was funny, Liv…clever.”

She shrugged. “I have my moments,” she said, reaching for a second slice of pizza.

Mac grabbed another bottle of beer from beside his chair, opened it and tipped it her way. “Something to drink?”

“Sure, why not?” She took the cold bottle from him. “Thanks.”

“You bet.”

“Sitting in a freezing house in front of a fire eating cold pizza and even colder beer—this night couldn’t get any stranger, could it?”

He sipped his beer, then said, “How about if I tell you that when I was around nine or ten I thought—well, I’d hoped—I’d grow up to be a comedian.”

She turned to stare at him. “That would be stranger.”

“Hard to believe, I know. I’d put on one of my foster father’s suits and tell incredibly awful jokes to these three crazy dogs they had. I was really into toilet humor at nine.”

“You grew up in a foster home?” Her tone had changed from cute sarcasm to barely disguised pity in a matter of seconds.

He hated that, and rarely told anyone about his less-than-ideal beginnings to avoid hearing just such a reaction. He didn’t know why he’d just blurted it out to her. Inadvertently, yes, but still… Maybe he needed to ease up on the beer. “I lived in a few foster homes. No big deal.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“My mother died when I was two, and my father was never really in the picture.”

She bit her lip. “That’s tough.”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Was the foster father you borrowed the suit from a good guy at least?”

“He wasn’t awful. Although he did come home early one night to see me knocking around in that suit and he was pretty pissed off.”

“What did he do?”

“Went for the belt.”

Olivia’s mouth dropped open. “What a bastard. What a cowardly piece of trash. If I had been there I would’ve kicked his—”

Mac’s dark laughter cut her off. “It was no big deal. It happened.” Even though he said the words with cool casualness, he appreciated her passion and protective nature. “You know, twenty-five years ago, there wasn’t this push for fathers to be loving and gentle. ‘Hands-on’ had a different meaning.” He took a healthy swallow of beer. “Every kid got boxed by their dad, foster or not, once or twice while they were growing up.”

She sat forward in her seat, and looked at him with a strange mixture of sadness and care in her eyes. “No, they didn’t.”

Sure, he’d had a few beers, but he understood exactly what she was saying, and who she was saying it about. His jaw twitched. Owen Winston may have disciplined with words, but he was certainly no saint. “Well, I learned my lesson,” he said tightly. “I never touched his suits again.”

They were both quiet for a while after that, both drinking their beer and staring into the fire. Mac’s ire subsided, and he was close to sleep when he heard her say his name.

He turned his head. “Yeah?”

“What happened to the career in comedy?”

He chuckled. “Ended shortly thereafter.”

She smiled. “Bummer.” Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire and she looked really beautiful.

“Or a blessing—depending on how you look at it.”

Yawning, Olivia curled deeper into the chair. “Well, feel free to try out any new material you’ve got on me.”

His body stirred with her words, but he said nothing. He wasn’t going to push things. Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, she was growing interested in him, attracted to him, and someday soon he would have her in his bed. It wouldn’t make nearly the impact if he took what she wasn’t ready to give. Owen Winston needed to know that his sweet, innocent little girl had come to Mac all on her own.

Mac heard her breathing grow slow and even, and after a few minutes, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep, too.

Olivia woke up in a daze. In front of her the dying fire crackled softly. For a moment, she thought it was morning, but with a quick glance to the windows to her left she saw that the inky blackness of night had yet to turn to the steely gray of dawn.

“Hey.”

She looked over at Mac, who was sitting forward in his chair, his dark eyes seductive and hungry under heavy lids. “What time is it?”

“Around three.”

She blinked a few times, feeling foggy. “I should go back to bed.”

“But it’s cold in there.”

“Yeah.” But she didn’t move. She just stared at him.

Mac got out of the chair and went to her, sat on his heels in front of her. The hot flicker in his gaze made every bit of Olivia’s tired limbs feel on edge and alive.

He reached up to touch her face. She grabbed his wrist, that hard, thick, oh-so-masculine wrist, and he stopped and stared at her. Her heart thudded in her chest as he leaned in, his gaze hungry, his mouth so close. Looking back on that night, Olivia had wanted to blame the foggy tiredness in her brain or the cold and snow for what she did next. But she knew exactly why she went temporarily nuts. All the frustration she felt at her attraction to Mac, and all the years of pushing aside her feelings of need and desire, just seemed to explode in her face at that moment.

Her hand snaked around his neck and she pulled him down for a kiss. And not a peck kiss, either, but a full-blown, lip-nuzzling, teeth-raking, breath-stealing kiss.

Seven

“Holy—” Mac didn’t finish the end of the curse as he took her in his arms and dropped back onto the rug, taking her with him.

Poised above him, Olivia welcomed the crush of Mac’s mouth and the heat of his body against hers. It had been so long, almost ten years since she’d been touched like this, felt a man’s lips on her, his warm breath mingling with hers. The delicious hard angles and clean scent of his skin thrilled her, and she pushed away any thoughts of how wrong the situation might be.

She threaded her fingers in his hair and gripped his scalp as he changed the angle of his kiss. Soft, hot, drugging kisses. All she wanted was to get closer to him, feel a new kind of heat, forget who she was for a few minutes, forget what he was after.

In one easy movement, he flipped her onto her back. The warmth of the fire made her sweetly dizzy and she arched against him. Sensing her need, Mac explored further. His hand moved down, under her shirt, and she felt his palm on her belly. Little zaps of fear warred with the almost desperate urge she had to feel his fingers brush over the skin of her breasts, hear his breathing change when he cupped them and felt the weight of them, feel the lower half of him grow thick and hard as his thumb flicked back and forth over her nipple.

Mac dragged his hand up, over her ribs and along the side of her rib cage. She arched and tilted her body toward his hand, silently begging him to go there, put her out of her misery or show her exactly what misery felt like again as he gave in to her fantasy.

He was no fool, he knew what she was asking for and he delivered with the utmost care. As he applied teasing kisses to her lower lip, his hand drifted from her ribs to her breast, and slowly—so slowly—he began to roll the hard peak between his thumb and forefinger. Olivia shuddered, and released an anguished sigh. Oh, such sweet torture. She felt as though she had just been plunged into a deliciously hot bath, and God help her, she never wanted to step out of it.

But somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she knew if she didn’t, she was going to drown.

He left her mouth and dipped his face into her neck, kissing and suckling her rapid pulse as the speed of his fingers on her nipple quickened. Back and forth, faster and faster.

Her legs were shaking now, almost uncontrollably, and she knew if he didn’t stop touching her, she was going to climax. Right then and there without him even going near the hot, wet place between her thighs. And she couldn’t do that—not now, not for him.

She pushed at his chest and sat up, her breathing as labored as if she’d just outrun a hungry animal.

“Why are you stopping?” His voice was ragged.

“You know why,” she uttered softly.

He raked a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Liv, there’s nothing wrong with being together like this, taking what you need when you need it.”

She looked down at him, her body warring with her mind. “From you, there is.” He looked so sexy lying there in the light of the fire with his hair tousled and a light shadow of beard around his full mouth. “From a guy who’s just using me—”

“You’re using me, too,” he uttered darkly. “Don’t pretend you’re not. I could feel every moment you’ve denied yourself in your touch, in your kiss, the way your hips pushed against mine. You’re starving, Olivia, and you want to feed so badly you’re still shaking with it.”

“I’m cold.”

“Bull. It’s hot as hell in here right now.”

His words startled her. She did want him, but she wasn’t altogether sure why. Was it to use him? Was it to make up for lost time and to finally feel a release in her body and a release of the past? Or was it because she was actually starting to like him?

Her body still hummed from his touch, but she ignored it and said softly, “I’m going to go back to your room now. Alone.”

“Is that really what you want?”

Of course it wasn’t, but she needed to step back and gain some perspective here. “Yes.”

“All right. But if you get cold—”

She stopped him right there and stood. “A little cold might be a good thing right now.” And without another glance in his direction, she left the room.

Mac woke up to the sounds of a snowplow and his doorbell chiming. Looked as though the streets were clear and his furniture delivery had arrived. He pushed himself out of his chair and stretched, the kinks in his back protesting. As he walked to the front door he wondered if Olivia was still asleep in his bed or if she’d slipped out at dawn.

He raked a hand through his hair. What kind of trouble would he be in if, after he let the furniture guys in, he went to wake her up, started at her ankles and worked his way up? He grinned, the lower half of him tightening at the thought. She might kick him out of bed—but maybe not.

Mac was still very deeply ensconced in that fantasy when he opened the front door. But when he saw who was on the other side, all softness and desire vanished, and his fangs came out. “Hell, no. It’s way too early for this.”

Owen Winston looked ready to murder him. “Where’s my daughter?”

“You have a helluva lot of nerve coming here.”

“Where is my daughter?”

Mac leaned against the doorjamb and raised one eyebrow. “In my bed.”

The older man’s eyes bulged out like a tree frog’s and he lunged at Mac.

Eight

Olivia walked down the hall, an aching stiffness in her bones that came from sleeping in a chair for most of the night. If she’d had the day to herself, she might grab a massage and a whirlpool bath at the local spa, but she had a full plate today and a good soak in her bathtub when she got home tonight was about the best she could hope for.

When she got to the stairs, she heard voices below in the hall. “Oh, that’s my cab,” she called to Mac. “The tow truck company said they should be pulling out my car later this afternoon, so you don’t have to—” She stopped talking. The voices she heard were angry and threatening, and she recognized them at once. One belonged to Mac, and the other, she was pretty sure, belonged to her father.

She raced down the hallway, but when she got to the entryway, all she could do was stare. There was her father, his back against the wall, looking like he wanted to kill Mac with his bare hands. And Mac, who was standing in front of him, only inches away, looked just as menacing.

“What the hell are you two doing?” she demanded. When neither of them answered, she walked over and stood in front of them, her hands on her hips. “Mac,” she said evenly, trying to bring some sense of calm to the situation, and to the two fire-breathing men before her. “Take a breath and back up.”

His jaw flickered with tension, but he didn’t look at her when he muttered hotly, “Yeah. Sure. As long as your father here doesn’t jump on me again.”

“What?” Olivia turned to her father. “Jump on you?” When Owen didn’t look at her, she put a hand on his shoulder and said in a voice laced with warning, “Dad, what are you doing here?”

Owen’s lips tightened as he turned to look at her. “We need to talk.”

“You could’ve called me.”

“I tried to call you, but you weren’t at home.”

“Let’s go outside.” Embarrassed at her father’s behavior, and the overly parental way he was treating her at that moment, Olivia tried to smooth things over with Mac. She felt really awkward looking at him, especially after their encounter last night, but she forced herself to. “I’m sorry about this—”

Mac put a hand up. “Don’t worry about it, just get him out—”

“Don’t apologize to him, Olivia,” Owen said with a sneer. “He’s a monster, a conniving—”

Before Owen could hurtle any more insults Mac’s way, Olivia took his hand and pulled him out the door, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll be back at ten for the delivery. If you’ll just put a key under the mat…”

Not expecting a response, Olivia led Owen down the walkway toward her waiting cab. She was furious, and could barely contain her anger. She understood her father’s need to protect her, but this was way over the top.

As soon as she believed herself to be out of earshot, she faced him, her tone grave. “Dad, seriously, what are you doing? Coming here and attacking a man in his own home?”

“He’s no man, he’s a—”

“He could have called the police. Hell, he still could…and I have to say I wouldn’t blame him. What were you thinking?”

Owen suddenly looked very weary as he reached out to touch her hair. “I was trying to protect you, honey, stop you from making a huge mistake.” His eyes clouded with sadness. “But it looks like I’m too late for that.”

“Too late for what? What mistake…?” Then she understood why her father had come. She heaved a sigh. It was the same old thing—her father’s desperation, and constant fear that she was going to turn out like his older sister Grace. Her poor aunt Grace, who had been way too wild, made way too many mistakes and had been totally incapable of picking a decent guy. Poor Aunt Grace who, after staying out until dawn partying with some jerk from the local college, had been killed in a car accident on her way home. She’d just turned eighteen the week before, and Olivia’s father had never gotten over losing her.

Olivia understood her father’s fears and his need to protect her, but she wasn’t sixteen anymore. This over-protectiveness needed to stop.

Standing beside the open door of the cab, Owen was shaking his head. “That monster stood there in his doorway and smiled when I asked him where you were.”

Oh, great. “What did he tell you?” As if she needed to ask.

“That you were in his bed.” Her father said the words as though he had acid on his tongue.

So Mac had baited her father. What a shocker. God, they were both acting like such juvenile idiots….

“Is it true then?” her father asked, his brown eyes incredibly sad.

“Dad, I’m not going to answer that.”

The cab driver opened his window. “You going to be much longer, lady?”

Olivia shrugged. “I don’t know—maybe.”

The man rolled his eyes and closed his window.

“Olivia, please,” her father continued. “You’re such a good girl. Don’t act irrationally—and with a man who only wants to use you to get back at me.”

“I’m not acting irrationally, Dad. And I’m not a girl anymore.”

“I know….”

“No, I don’t think you do.” She bit her lip and contemplated broaching the subject about his fears and what the hell had happened so long ago. But his eyes still spit fire and he looked way too closed. “Listen,” she said gently, “you knew I was taking this job, and that it would mean working closely with Mac Valentine.”

“Helping my enemy.”

“I have a company to run, too.”

Owen seemed to consider this, then he said in a slightly calculating tone, “Okay, so you’re helping him do what exactly? Go after new clients?”

Olivia shook her head. “That’s confidential.”

Owen looked livid. “The man is a conniving bastard who wants to hurt you, and you’re worried about…”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “How long have I been living on my own, supporting myself?”

“Since you were eighteen.” He pointed at her. “But that was not my choice.”

“Exactly. I’m a grown woman who makes her own choices, and as I’ve told you before—respectfully—I don’t have to answer to you or to anyone.”

Owen wilted slightly, but it wasn’t the first time he’d heard her speak this way. After her mother had died, and after Owen had emotionally checked out, Olivia had made decisions for herself. Some of them had been downright stupid, even reckless, but the majority, she’d been proud of—like her business.

Her father’s gaze grew soft as he looked at her. “What happened to my little girl?”

“I left her back in high school.” Olivia leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “I have a busy day, as I’m sure you do, too.” She got into the backseat of the cab and gave him a little wave before her driver backed out and pulled away.

Mac stood in the living room, watching Olivia’s cab take off down the street. The glass on every window in the house was pretty thin, and he’d heard their entire conversation. Looked like he had gotten it wrong; Olivia may not be that sweet, naive girl he assumed her to be. But where her father didn’t want to deal with it, Mac burned to know every detail of the past she seemed to be hiding—especially after last night.

Grinning, he left the living room and went into his study. Embers burned in the fireplace, and as he sat in one of the leather armchairs, his body twitched with the memory of Olivia in his arms, on top of him, underneath him. The way she’d responded to his touch, the silent, hungry demands. She’d felt pleasure before, but she’d been denied it for way too long. There was no need to push her, he realized. The demands of her body had started to take over her good sense and Mac was going to be there, totally available when it happened again.

After all, her father thought him to be a womanizing bastard, and Mac was ready to prove him right.

All in all a very successful day, Olivia mused, walking from one beautifully furnished room to the next. She’d quite outdone herself, and in record time, too. Each room complemented the next in leather and iron, glass and walnut.

She stopped in the living room and marveled at the classic, comfortable feel of the space. Not to mention the warm air puffing from the vents in the baseboards. She’d finally found a guy to come out in the snow and turn on the heat. A vast improvement in and of itself.

Though she’d purchased all the linens for the upstairs, the bedroom furniture wouldn’t be arriving until early tomorrow morning. But they were close—well on their way to creating a very modern, very homey, very Mac-like environment.

“Ms. Winston?”

Olivia returned to the living room where Dennis Thompson, a local art gallery owner who looked rather like a short version of Ichabod Crane, was hanging several paintings she’d purchased for Mac’s house.

“What do you think?” he asked, holding up two Josef Albers pieces, both in several shades of yellow. “On top of one another?”

She sat on the new distressed, brown leather couch to get a better view. “Hmm…I don’t know. How about—”

“Side by side?” came Mac’s voice behind her.

Dennis Thompson looked behind Olivia and beamed at Mac. “Perfect. I’ll just go get my tools from the car.”

Olivia turned, surprised. “You’re home early, Mr. Valentine. Are you here to supervise?”

He was dressed in a tailored black suit and crisp white shirt, his tie loosened from his neck. “I came home for a late lunch or an early dinner.”

“Oh, really?” she said with a grin. “I haven’t stocked the fridge yet and you ate the only frozen pizza, so what were you planning on having? The cocktail onions or that last, lonely bottle of Corona?”

He walked around the couch and sat beside her. “You’re a pretty good chef, aren’t you?”

“I like to think so.” He smelled so good. She tried not to breathe through her nose.

“Well, then, can’t you make something amazing out of onions and beer?”

“No,” said Olivia succinctly, lifting an eyebrow. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“When do you normally leave the office to come home?”

His lips twitched. “Oh, I don’t know…”

“Approximately.”

“Seven, eight…nine, ten.”

She looked at her watch. “It’s four-thirty—why are you here?” Her heart began to pound in her chest as she wondered for a moment if he was there to see her. After what happened that morning with her father, she wouldn’t blame him. She just hoped he wouldn’t spread the story around town. “Are you going to fire me?”

“No.” He laughed. “That’s over and done with.” His voice turned serious. “As long as it doesn’t happen again. I can’t have your father showing up when the DeBolds arrive.”

“It will not happen again,” she assured him. “You have my word.”

Satisfied with that answer, Mac leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “I’m not exactly sure why I’m here. But I think the reason might be embarrassing.”

“For you or me?”

“Me. Definitely me.”

“Oh, well, then share, please.”

He glanced around the room. “It’s really warm in here.”

“I know. I had the tech come this morning and it took him hours just to—”

“No, I mean what you’ve created here from the furniture to the artwork to all those little things on the tables and in the bathroom and on the mantels. It’s all warm. I never thought I’d be comfortable with warm.…” He looked at her, surprise in his gaze. “As you start to make my house into a livable, family-friendly place I sort of want to be here to see it…and you.”

Her muscles tensed at his words and she could almost feel the pressure of his lips on her mouth once again. Her reaction to him, her attraction to him, wasn’t going away, she knew that. But she hoped that maybe the two of them could forget what happened last night and go on about their business.

When she found his gaze once again, Mac had that look in his eye, that roguish one that made her knees weak and her resolve disappear.

“Listen,” she began, “about last night…”

“Yes?”

“I was half-asleep.”

“Before or after you kissed me?” he asked huskily.

Right. Her brow creased with unease. “As clichéd as this is about to sound, it’ll never happen again.”