Authors: Dita Parker
MacCale’s expression was tense, his lashes lowered over
golden eyes. In her dreams they looked upon her with desire and devotion. She
couldn’t read what she saw in them now. And she couldn’t walk through the door
without knowing.
“Stay the night.”
“So you can throw me out again in the morning?” He breathed
out roughly. “No thanks.” He crossed his arms over his chest, a decidedly
forbidding gesture.
Lucie wanted to scream. “It’s been all for you, Mac. To
protect you.”
“You can’t protect a heart, Lucie.” His voice was hard,
almost condescending. “It will feel what it will feel. It’s the risk you have
to take. The price you have to pay. That’s life. And that’s love. You’re afraid
of ending up alone so you’ve been alone all your life. Are you the only one who
doesn’t see the irony?”
Lucie blinked, feeling the petrifying sense of loss, a pain
that weighed on her chest like a log. “You’re a mean one, Mr. Moore.”
His mouth pinched in a hard line for a second.
“No. I’m just a man who would have given anything for a chance to prove
it’s worth it.” He said it simply, as if she had lived forever but hadn’t
learned a thing yet.
“If you’re going to accuse me of being unfeeling again, save
your breath,” she charged. “It’s self-preservation. You of all people should
get that. You take all kinds of precautions to make sure no one gets hurt.
Well, this is mine. And you talk about life but you forget that for me that’s
all eternity. Not a flicker or a fleeting moment. Fucking forever.” She was
shouting. She couldn’t remember yelling at a man in her life, but staring at
MacCale looking back at her with taut eyes and tilted head, Lucie had to fight
to keep herself in check and not smack him out of impotent frustration.
“Would you sleep better if I told you I hardly sleep at
all?” she asked more sedately.
“No. It would only make me sad. Sad to think of you, alone
in this house, forever.”
“So stay the night,” she blurted. “Make it go away.”
He swallowed hard, his throat and jaw working. “I can’t.”
“Or won’t?” she spat.
“It makes no difference what I want,” he shot back. “You
made that pretty obvious months ago.”
He was doing it again. Turning the tables on her, using
everything she had said, every move she had made against her. “I wish I’d never
told you the truth.”
He waved his hand back at her. “It wouldn’t have changed a
thing even if you hadn’t.”
She gaped at him. “So this is my punishment.” That’s what it
felt like with MacCale’s stance so rigid, his tone unrelenting.
“I don’t want to punish you, Lucie.” His voice was gentler
now, resigned. “You know what I want. Nothing’s changed.”
It couldn’t be. Did he expect her to believe he had forgiven
and forgotten? “I hurt you. I really hurt you, Mac.”
He winced. “You did,” he said, his voice rough, his eyes
reflecting her pain. “And still I can’t move on. You’re in my head, driving me
to distraction. You’re a bug in my blood, spoiling me for other women. If
that’s what
you
wanted, you succeeded, baby. Now release me,” he
demanded harshly. “Tell me off again. Tell me you hate me. Can’t stand the
sight of me. Because everything you’ve done since day one tells me otherwise.
That makes me hope against all hope, so smash it, baby.” He stopped, almost
panting, and closed the distance between them. It brought her toe to toe, nose
to nose with a mountain of seething, sexy male.
“Smash that hope, Lucie,” he gushed out. “Here’s your
chance. Because all you want is to protect me.” His voice was a low snarl
grating on her senses. His eyes were bright, a savage look she had seen before.
Lethal, passionate. That explosive look should have terrified her. It only made
her want him more.
“Do it!”
Lucie jumped, springing into action. She dug into her purse,
jammed the key into the lock and threw the door open.
“Inside,” she commanded.
“Whatever you want to say, you say right here.”
Latching on to a thick wrist, Lucie drew him inside.
MacCale’s surprise worked to her advantage. He didn’t protest or resist when he
could have brushed her off like a fly, he stumbled in after her. Lucie shoved
the door closed and pushing at his shoulders, shoved MacCale against it.
He shook his head, half smiling, then clucked his tongue.
“You can’t seduce your way out of this, baby.”
“I need you.”
He raised a brow. “Me, my cock or just cock?”
“
You
, Mac,” she said, not caring how mocking he
sounded or how disbelieving he looked. “You want me.” Pressing closer, half
expecting Mac to push her away, Lucie circled his neck with one hand.
“That’s beside the point,” he grated. “I’m not going to fuck
you.”
She tested the corded strength beneath his skin, petted him
as he had once caressed her, making her forget the resolve to keep her distance.
“All right. No fucking,” she said, massaging him gently. “Make love to me
then,” she whispered. She stroked her body against his, rubbed his hips with
her belly, moving all over the rock-hard length of his cock. “Make love to me,
Mac.”
His expression pained, he gripped her hips, effectively
stopping all motion. “Honey, the last time I tried to make love to you, you
acted as if I had molested you.”
“Forget about last time,” she bit out. “I missed you. I
missed you so damn much I have trouble sleeping and eating and working.” She
pulled at his neck to steal a kiss before he could pull back. “You have to set
me right before I stop functioning altogether.”
He groaned, his fingers digging into her hips as if he
wanted to shake her. “You’re supposed to talk me into leaving, Lucie, not
staying.”
“I know. I don’t deserve you. It doesn’t stop me from
wanting you.” She tried to pull him back down for another kiss. Unyielding,
MacCale evaded the move, forcing her to let go of his neck.
Locking eyes with him, feeling him slipping away a mile a
second, Lucie made one last attempt. “I haven’t been with anyone since you
left. Not even in my dreams. And we make love in my dreams all the time.”
“Mine too, baby,” he rasped, a harrowing sadness in his
eyes. “But a dream’s a dream. If that’s all this will ever be then what’s the
point?”
Chapter Ten
Letting go of Lucie, MacCale gently pushed her away from
him. Her hands dropped, her eyes flooded with hurt and maybe a hint of
humiliation. All color draining from her cheeks, she slowly stepped back. Her
expression, so lost, so lonely… It made his skin crawl.
How did she bear it without going mad?
She did what she had to do. She couldn’t die so she played
dead while putting on a show, and she did it with a flair not many actresses
possessed. But Lucie wasn’t an actress, or an otherworldly creature. She was
human, the most heartbreaking mixture of strength and vulnerability he had ever
known.
And he was an idiot.
He thought he could see right through her. He’d seen through
her all right. Right past the truth about her life and motivation. He was too
wrapped up in his own feelings and needs to understand hers. He forced his own
take on her, made demands and deprived her of choices like a bona fide bully.
Lucie had pegged him for what he was, a man used to getting
his way. It was all good and well on the job. But this wasn’t work. He had no
script to follow. No one yelled “Cut” when he started making a mess of things.
There was no way to take it from the top and do another take.
Lucie nodded, her lips pursed tight but he could see them
tremble. Was she holding back a sob? A plea?
“Thanks for the ride, MacCale. Tell Emily I—” She stopped,
one hand flying to her mouth while the other smoothed the rumpled front of her
gown. “Tell Emily—” She inhaled sharply and turned her back on him. “Good
night.”
“Lucie, wait.” He flinched at the harshness in his voice,
the commanding tone that had her whipping around, but what he heard in hers
stirred the despair and longing he had battled with for months. Maybe he could
have fought wanting her. But not the fact she still wanted him. Not her
anguish, the stricken look in her eyes or her shattered voice, Lucie blinking
hard not to shed the tears that glazed her eyes with moisture, Lucie trying so
hard not to cry, not to beg, pleading with him with her eyes all the same.
He thought she had hurt him. The look in her eyes nearly
destroyed him. It broke through every defense, every excuse and reason he had
vowed to hold on to should it come to this. He had vowed not to fall prey
again. He had promised himself he wouldn’t give in to the temptress no matter
what she did or said. But he hadn’t expected this. A cold shoulder, maybe.
Aloofness, definitely. But coming face-to-face with the devastating sorrow she
had carried and kept buried all her life, the woman she hid from everyone,
maybe even from herself…never.
He thought she felt nothing. Now he saw how much she was
capable of feeling—he saw everything—raw and real and unbidden. The knowledge
overwhelmed him, his grief expanding to a desperate need to soothe her pain, to
protect her against the hurt, make it go away, even for one night, as she
begged him to.
“Lucie, I’m so sorry. God, baby, I—”
“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I understand. Just go.” The
distress in her eyes only grew as the tears finally fell, drenching her ashen
cheeks.
Slowly, he stalked to her, touched her face. “I would do
anything to undo what happened to you.”
“I know. But you can’t. So just go, Mac. Please.”
MacCale closed his eyes against the heaviness in her voice.
He wanted it gone. He wanted her free of it. Now. She hadn’t meant to hurt him.
He believed her. She had only done what she had to do to protect them both.
“Christ, Lucie.” He gathered her against him, rested his
head against hers.
“Don’t.” She twisted to get away from him. “Don’t you dare
pity me. I do
not
want a pity fuck.”
Holding on to her, MacCale let her struggle. Lucie had
sensed his frustrated sorrow over the fate and the facts that would always
stand between them and keep her from him.
He dipped his head to nuzzle her neck in passing, to let her
feel the warmth of his mouth against her skin. “The things you say, baby.”
She stopped moving. “I mean it.”
“And I said I’m not gonna fuck you. I meant it.”
Naked disappointment shone on her face. Mac was quick to set
her straight with a kiss.
Lucie wrenched in his arms, gasped for breath. “I don’t
understand. Are you staying or not?”
Swinging her around, backing toward the door, MacCale kissed
her again, fighting to keep it light for all the heat raging inside him,
desperate to go slow and sensual when the separation had only made his need for
her stronger.
She whimpered, a tiny kittenish sound that made him moan in
return. Squeezed against his chest, she gripped his shirt. Her hand snaked over
his shoulder and up to his neck, pulling him closer.
Mac snatched her up for a more comfortable fit. Instantly
the kiss turned harder, wilder, her legs circling his hips as she settled into
his arms.
“The porch,” she panted against his lips. “The sleeping
porch. Past the kitchen, at the back.”
Torn between speeding things up and delaying the inevitable,
because when the night was over so would their relationship be, he muttered,
“In a minute.”
He needed to kiss her again. He couldn’t stop. Cupping the
back of her head for protection, he pressed her against the door. She touched
her forehead to his, nudged his nose with the tip of hers before pressing her
sweet luscious lips on his mouth, lightly, tentatively.
He meant to soothe her. It worked the other way around, the
pain in his gut dissolving as Lucie kept touching him. A fierce
need to protect washed over him. He still wanted her so much it hurt,
but it was a good pain, one he welcomed. With the lightest of caresses she had
everything in him tight, hot and hard.
“Mac? The porch? Put me down?”
“Are you uncomfortable, baby?”
“In your arms? No. In this dress? Always.”
“Oh.” Swiftly, he set her down. “Better get you out of that
thing before you hurt yourself.”
Tears still glistened in her eyes but Lucie attempted a
smile, sidestepped him and taking his hand, turned to lead him to the double
doors at the opposite end of the wide center hall.
The porch turned out to be a glass-paned room that ran along
the length of the waterside facade facing the Little Ogeechee River.
Comfortable and inviting, there was no gleam of silk or touch of formality in
what looked like the perfect living porch. There were rocking chairs and
hammocks, seagrass rugs and painted wicker furniture, dark green, maybe gray.
Coupled with the heavy shutters, the deep structure was the perfect screen from
the light and heat of the sun. But it wasn’t the sun that dappled the scenery,
it was the moon.
“Down on the corner,” Lucie said.
A massive oak sheltered the sleeping porch in its turn. Had
she watched the tree grow over the decades? How many times had she sat there
looking over the river, the garden below and the stars above, never aging,
never changing, always alone? He shook the thought away.
“Is it too cold?” she asked, mistaking his shudder for a
shiver.
“I’m good if you are.”
“With you, always.”
“You have to stop saying things like that.”
“But it’s the truth,” she said. “If only for tonight, I want
this to be real.”
“It’s been real to me from the first breath, baby.”
“And I’ll always love you for it.”
God, if only she would. Love him. Always. “You
really
need to stop saying things like that.” Everything she had done said she wanted
to give in to him. Give them a chance. The thought had hounded him from the day
they had last parted. He’d argued his case, said his peace, but he couldn’t
force her to make that leap. He could only enjoy her and hope she took her
pleasure with him as freely as he gave it.
He would sort out his soul later. It had taken him all
summer to deal with the effect she’d had and nothing felt finished. Who knew
how long it would take for him to get over one last night with her. If it took
a lifetime, the pain would still come to an end one day. Hers was infinite. No
wonder she worked so hard not to feel a thing.
“Lights?” He looked around for a switch.
“Or candles?” she asked, snatching a matchbox from the table
between another hammock and a wrought iron day bed.
He couldn’t spot that many candles but to his satisfaction
MacCale found there were enough as he lighted the candelabras by the door, by
the bed and one massive carved wood concoction on the floor. The light was
subdued, very atmospheric, and best of all, in no danger of going out without
some help.
“The panes open up?” he asked.
“They let the breeze in, yes. I would bake in the summer if
they didn’t.”
“It’s beautiful out here,” he noted, toeing off his shoes
and ridding himself of the jacket.
“It’s my favorite place in the world.”
“And you’re sharing it with me?” he asked, opening the tie
and tugging it off.
She nodded, watched his every move. “I’m sharing it with
you. And only you. Under the skies, with nothing but the wind and water looking
on.”
He had offered to take her that way once. God, it had turned
into his favorite fantasy. Had she dreamed the same dream all summer too?
“I’m honored,” MacCale said as he undressed slowly, letting
her watch him at will. “And humbled,” he added as Lucie padded to him.
“And horny,” she stated, placing her palms flat on his
chest. She trailed down the center of his torso, her small hands cool on his
feverish skin. “You’re so beautiful,” she said, her palms sliding to his hips
before she could reach his dick.
“You mean incredibly handsome.”
“That too,” she said, her eyes following the trail her palms
had forged.
“What do I say?” she whispered, her eyes descending to his
cock. “What do I do so you won’t feel used? Because that’s not what I wanted.
Ever.” Her fingers kneaded his hips, her thumbs reaching for his groin where
his cock bobbed impatiently. He’d waited months for her touch. Surely he could
wait a few moments more, get this right on the first take? He needed her. Lucie
needed him more and by God he would deliver or die trying.
“Mac, what do I do?” She stared up at him now, her voice
small, her eyes uncertain.
He took her face in his hands. “Do you trust me, Lucie?”
“Yes,” she said without delay or hesitation.
“That’s all I need to know. That’s all you need to do.”
Reaching for the back of her dress, he searched for the zipper hidden in the
seam. The dress parted down to her thighs. MacCale knelt to help her step out
and laid the gown over the hammock with his own clothes. “Shoes.” He went on
one knee to remove the nude pumps she wore.
He half expected Lucie to be naked underneath the dress
again. The pale-pink underwear she wore revealed more than it covered but still
offered him the pleasure of stripping her bare. “Pretty,” he murmured,
fingering the sheer lace of the bra. He cupped her breasts, ran his thumbs over
her nipples already hard and beading against his palm. Dipping his index
fingers between fabric and skin, he carefully lowered the edge as far down as
he comfortably could. “So pretty.” The plump globes pushed up and out, a sweet
offering tempting him to taste, to touch.
He caught her mouth instead. Lucie whimpered. In protest or
pleasure, he couldn’t tell as he fondled her breasts, rubbed her nipples
gently. “I could kiss and cuddle you all night long, honey.”
“Please tell me you’ll do more than that,” she gasped.
Releasing her mouth, MacCale let go of her breasts, tilted
her head back and cupped her lace-covered mound. “No body part left behind, I
promise.” He caressed her neck with his lips, careful not to linger, not mark
her creamy skin. One hand snaked beneath the flimsy fabric of her panties.
Torturously slow he kept going, delving between her legs until he felt the
slick opening of her pussy wet the tips of his fingers. “Wider,” he ordered,
licked her throat, imagined kneeling between her thighs and savoring her pussy
instead. “Open your legs, baby, let me feel you. That’s it. Good girl. Such a
good girl to let me finger your pussy.”
Christ, she was steamy hot against his skin. He rubbed her
lips, rimming ruthlessly until she keened, rolled her hips and tried to force
him closer, drenching his digits in the process. Thrusting two fingers inside
her without warning, he anchored her in place. Frantically, she pumped his
fingers with her inner muscles, small clenches tugging him deeper.
“Shh, Lucie. Shh, honey.” He kissed her, her breathing no
more than a pant against his mouth. “I need you too. So. Damn. Much.”
MacCale waited for Lucie to relax before giving her what she
wanted, the friction she longed for. He worked his fingers in and out of her,
slowly withdrawing, pistoning back in, the wash of her juices allowing for a
smooth, easy penetration.
On a curse, Lucie’s hands flew to his arms, her nails
digging into his biceps. He drew back, gave her clit a quick pluck before
impaling her again, fast, hard. She cried out. He did it again, and again. Her
back arched with every jolt of sensation, her hips shifting, rolling.
“Mac!”
“That’s it, sweet baby. Ride my fingers.” He slammed into
her, burying his fingers inside her as she ground against his hand. Her pussy
clenched around him, the snug wet grip making him crazy. His balls drew tight
against the base of his cock, so damn tight with the need to come. But not
before Lucie did.
“Five months. Five fucking months.” His fingers worked
inside her with tight, controlled movements and within seconds her pussy
rippled, tightened on him. Her moans grew longer, sharper, her whole body
quivering as she reached for release. Everything in him fought not to push her
to the bed, spread her legs and fuck her into the orgasm she so desperately
craved. He gave her the frenzied movement of his fingers instead.