Enchanted (28 page)

“
T
he market
is
saturated,” Mac stated, “but have you noticed where many of those magazines are found? On the bottom shelf, in the back row at the grocery store. Like I’ve said several times today, it takes perseverance and ingenuity to bring a magazine to the forefront. Ms. Flannigan has worked with our marketing people and secured a position for
Success
right next to
People
,
Woman’s Day
, and
Family Circle
—right there at eye level at the checkout counte
rs at the grocery stores. We have
full-page ads running in major magazines,
as well as ads all over the Internet, not to mention free copies being sent to business women around the country--CEOs, CFOs, advertising execs, as well as thousands of successful woman
.
Success
has the backing of McKenna Publishing, which has the respect of the industry, and I fully intend to make sure it succeeds.

“By the way, Dorothy. I’ve read your stuff. It’s good. Really good. I could use your talents at McKenna. If you’re interested, give me a call. I’ll interview you personally.

“Are there any more questions?” Mac looked around the room. No hands appeared, but Dorothy had a grin on her face.

“Did you have another question, Dorothy?”

“I’ll ask it during my interview.”

Mac laughed. “Thanks, again, for coming today. Have a good afternoon.”

oOo

“How did it go?” Kathleen asked when Mac walked through the door, arms laden with bags from the comer deli and a bouquet of fresh-cut flowers.

“You’re awfully animated for a sick person.” He dropped the bags on Kathleen’s nightstand. “Do you have a vase I can put these in? Thought they might brighten up the room.”

“In the kitchen, over the sink.”

“Umm, the kitchen. Another disaster area.”

“Mac!”
She threw
a pillow at his back as he walked toward the bedroom door.

“Save your energy.” He tossed the words over his shoulder.

“Why?”

Mac stopped in the doorway and turned around. “Because you have a magazine to run.”

“Is that all?” Kathleen asked in her most seductive yet feverish voice.

“I want you out of bed so I can take you back to bed. And I have other games in mind besides nursemaid.”

Kathleen smiled.
“
I love games, especially played with the right partner
.”

Mac winked.
“I’m going to get a vase. I hope you put a nightgown on while I was gone. I’m getting awfully tired of pulling up that sheet.”

“Get the vase, Mac. I’ll show you what’s under the sheet when you get back.”

“Promises. Promises.”

He rummaged through the shelf and found a tall, clear glass vase behind wicker baskets and a popcorn popper. He filled it with water, stuck in the bouquet, then surveyed the disaster Kathleen called a kitchen. What the hell, he laughed, and proceeded to fill the sink with hot water, dirty dishes, and detergent
.
I’ve got nothing better to do while Kath’s on the mend, he laughed to himself. Might as well try my hand at dishwashing.

He whistled a tune as he went back to the bedroom, carrying the unarranged vase of flowers. “For you, my dear,” he said with a bow.

“Why, thank you, my beast.” She pressed her fingers to her aching head and lay back down on the pillow.

“Still not feeling well, are you?”

“No, unfortunately.”

“Maybe you’re just trying to avoid my advances?”

“When I feel better, you can have your way with me.”

“I’ll take you up on that. I’ve got our getaway weekend all planned.”

“Don’t forget I have to pick Julie up on Sunday.”

“I haven’t forgotten. Now, do you want to know about the press conference?”

“Yes. How did it go?”

“I told them you’re my girl and they’d better say good things about your magazine.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Okay, I told them you’re a better editor than you are a housekeeper. Do you know you have a pile of dirty dishes in that kitchen, some of them growing mold?”

Kathleen rolled her eyes. “I don’t have a maid like some people I know. I have me, myself, and I, and I didn’t plan on having you sleeping and eating here, or I would have cleaned house.”

He sat on the bed, smoothing Kathleen’s hair back from her face. “I’m teasing, sweetheart. I don’t care about the dishes or the clothes on the floor. I’ll get you a maid if you want one.”

“Hush.” She put a finger to his lips. “I don’t want you to get me a maid. I’m perfectly happy the way things are. I’m just not in the mood for teasing. My head hurts, my muscles ache, and I really want to know what happened at the press conference today.”

He kissed the backs of her fingers. “You have nothing to worry about. It went great.”

“And the speech? I worked on it for ages. I hope you didn’t have to make many changes.”

“I didn’t use your speech.”

“What?” She closed her eyes and pulled her hand from his. “You didn’t have time to write something new. What did you do? Go in there cold?”

Mac nodded. “Grace gave me a portfolio of yours.”

“She didn’t. That was private.”

“It was wonderful stuff. I especially liked your notes about the arrogant male. I hope there’s a happy ending to the story.”

“You arrogant—”

He silenced her with his lips. He felt resistance at first, then she relaxed, giving in to his warmth and gentleness. It lasted only long enough to calm her, then he pulled away. “You’re too sick to make love. Quit enticing me.”

“Believe me, Mac, when I get well, I have every intention of getting even.”

“I hope so. I truly hope so.”

Mac’s words had rung true about the press conference. It
had
gone great, and the word was out on the street that
Success
would be one of the top ten periodicals within the year. By Thursday, when Kathleen struggled to work, her calendar was filled with a
ppointments for people wanting
—
begging
—
to see her, each hoping for a chance at a featured article in one of the initial issues. Advertisers sought space rather than being pursued. And the First Lady had invited her for lunch with a small group of other successful women.

Heaven couldn’t be much better than this.

Or could it? In exactly five minutes McKenna O’Brien would knock on her door, and they would drive off to the little piece of paradise he had rented in the woods. That, she knew, was the epitome of bliss.

Nearly everything she would need for their short overnight trip was packed. He had wanted to leave Friday, but she couldn’t pull herself away from the office—too many things demanded her attention. He settled for eight
A.M.
Saturday, and she knew from experience, if he said eight, he didn’t mean eight-oh-one.

She gave the bathroom one last check and threw toothbrush, toothpaste, and other essentials into a bag. The Beauty and the Beast towel hung over a chrome bar, neatly folded, just as Mac had left it. Never before had her apartment looked so orderly. Those first two days, while she slept, he had cleaned. It amazed her to hear him whistling a tune, to see him with feather duster in hand, bustling around her apartment. It also lightened her heart, for in a matter of weeks the man she had longed for had suddenly become a man she could love.

From a box imprinted Saks, she lifted the delicate white satin negligee, hugging it to her chest before carefully laying it on top of the other items in her suitcase. Tonight would be special. Tonight would be magic. She longed to slip the gown over her body, to see Mac’s eyes when she appeared before him, ready, desirous, willing to be his.

She heard his knock, put her hand to her chest, and felt the strong, erratic beat of her heart. Would there ever come a time when the mere thought of him wouldn’t send her into a dizzying spin? Surely when they were old and gray and sitting side by side in rocking chairs her heart would calm, but she was positive even then she would desire him just as much as she did at this very moment.

She released the chain lock, the dead bolt, and turned the knob. He stood before her looking like a god—tall, masculine, and heaven-sent—and she knew as sure as the sun rises and falls that her eyes gave away every lusty thought in her head.

He looked at the woman before him, the tight blue jeans, a bit worn at the knees, the scuffed cowboy boots, the pink T-shirt, and he
knew he’d never seen anyone so
warm and generous and bright and—perfect. Not the ravishing beauty today that she had been the night of the ball, but an older, wiser version of the captivating and beguiling innocent he had longed for years ago. Once again he beheld the woman who had so thoroughly charmed him, and he never wanted that woman to leave.

“So, is this the woman the First Lady wants to meet?”

“Can you believe it?” Her voice raised an octave. “Me? Kathleen Flannigan. The rancher’s daughter from Corvallis, Montana.”

“Yes, you. The rancher’s daughter from Corvallis, Montana, and you, the intelligent, successful creator of what’s going to be the hottest magazine to hit the market since
People
.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes, I mean it But your head’s starting to swell from all the attention. Let’s grab your bag and leave civilization before you’re too caught up in the excitement and forget to come back down to earth.”

“You’re happy with the way things have turned out aren’t you? You’ve seen what we’ve got so far. You do like it don’t you?”

Yes, he liked it No, he didn’t like the way things had turned out. How could he talk her into settling down now? How could he ask her to marry him and give up the glory she was so obviously reveling in? “Does my opinion matter that much?”

“Yours is the most important.”

“More important than the press? The advertisers? The First Lady?”

“Well”—she grinned—“I am just a little bit excited about the First Lady’s opinion.”

“Actually, the most important opinion is your own. You feel good about what you’ve accomplished. That should stand on its own.”

“It does.”

“Then my opinion doesn’t matter.” And then he said words he didn’t really mean. “I suppose we’re going to have to discuss a promotion one of these days?”

She grabbed her jacket from the back of the couch, handed Mac her suitcase, and tucked her arm around his. “No talk of promotions today. No talk of business. My gift to you for taking care of me all week is a day of me being just plain old Kathleen, the rancher’s daughter.”

“Thank you. You’ll never know how much I wanted to hear those words.”

Three hours later they stopped in front of the cottage Mac hoped would be the perfect spot for their magical weekend alone. Merry said she had found the
ideal place
for a getaway. No telephone poles, no electric wires, in fact, nothing seemed to connect the outside world to this dwelling, which looked like a Swiss chalet. Sitting behind the wheel of the Mercedes, he took a moment to survey the surroundings—pink and red geraniums in planter boxes and frilly white lace curtains adorned the windows. Painted cement deer stood in welcome amidst the wildflowers growing up in profusion along the cobblestone walk, which led from the gravel drive to the ivy-covered arch over the front door. Definitely not a man’s house, but a place to capture the heart of a romantic woman.

Kathleen watched the many expressions crossing Mac’s face as his hands gripped the steering wheel. What could he possibly be thinking? Maybe the same thing as she? Alone at last. No need to worry about interruptions or propriety, just the two of them. Time to talk, to share their feelings, and, perhaps, to explore the overwhelming emotional bond that surrounded them.

“It’s beautiful.” She lay a hand on his leg, feeling the tensing of his muscles at her touch. Since the morning he had stood before her in that damp, clinging towel, she had longed to touch his body, every inch of it. She hoped it wouldn’t be long.