She grinned, a bit self-conscious. “Okay, so you’ve found us out.”
“Us, who?” Mac asked.
“Us writers. I’m afraid it’s a common failing we have, to take life experiences and store them like a squirrel stores nuts. It’s in our genes. Never know when we might need to use something in a book.”
He frowned. “Hell. I better not show up in one of those stories.”
She smiled primly. “Of course not…unless, of course, I ever need a male chauvinist character with tunnel vision toward women.”
“I don’t have tunnel vision toward women.”
She chose not to remind him that he hadn’t denied being a male chauvinist.
“I’m willing to bet you do,” she countered.
Interested in spite of himself, the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. “What kind of bet?”
She thought a moment and then started to smile. “If I win, I want to go to the park and make a snowman.”
“Hell’s bells, Caitie, it’s freezing out there.”
“But it quit snowing.”
He sighed. “And if you lose, what’s in it for me?”
She hesitated, unsure how far to push the tentative truce under which they were living.
“I don’t know what sort of things you like.”
A slow grin spread across his face. “I like women.”
Her mouth pursed primly. “That’s not news. Aaron speaks often of your prowess with the opposite sex.”
This time he frowned. “I wouldn’t call it prowess. I’m just unattached. You know how it is when you’re single.”
“If by ‘unattached’ you mean promiscuous, then no, I can’t say that I do. I don’t sleep around, Connor McKee.”
“I know,” he said softly. “That’s part of my problem.”
Her eyes widened nervously. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been in this situation before.”
“What kind of situation?”
“You want the truth?” he asked.
Suddenly she wasn’t so sure. “Oh…never mind the bet. I’m going out. You’re welcome to come along.”
“I don’t have tunnel vision when it comes to women.”
Her eyes narrowed as she looked him over.
“You like women with big boobs and round hips and little bitty waists, and if they giggle when they talk, so much the better. You’re partial to redheads but won’t turn down an invitation from a blue-eyed blonde.” Then she crossed her arms over her chest and grinned. “How am I doing?”
She had so nailed the redhead from the ski lodge that it shamed him. God, when had he become so shallow?
“I’ll get my coat.”
“So you’re admitting I won the bet?” Caitlin asked.
“Don’t push your luck, woman. I thought you wanted to go outside.”
“What about your feet? You’ll need protection.”
“Now that you’ve bullied me into having your way, you’re worrying about my anatomy?”
“Connor, so help me—”
He grinned. “I packed an old pair of boots. They’ll do.”
“I’m going to change clothes,” she announced. “I’d advise you to do the same. Wear layers of clothing. It’s warmer than one really heavy coat, okay?”
“Yes, Mother.”
“I am not your mother, God rest her soul,” Caitlin muttered, and stomped out of the room.
And I thank the Lord for small favors.
The way he was feeling, he didn’t want to be any relation to Caitlin Bennett at all.
“Where are you going? You just got here.”
Buddy turned, his coat draped across his arm.
“I’ve got some personal business to tend to. I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he said.
He left before further explanations were requested, shrugging into his coat and pulling on his gloves as he took the stairs down two at a time.
As he stepped outside, he patted the bulky packet inside the pocket of his coat to make sure it was still there. It was.
As he looked up, he saw the drivers of a trio of cabs on a collision course with disaster, blasting their horns at each other as they came together at an intersection, each refusing to yield. He winced, expecting to see them collide and then laughed when they slid past each other in a flurry of snow and curses. He could only imagine what their passengers were thinking.
The city was digging out from beneath the blizzard and doing a remarkable job, but it was going to take at least another twenty-four, maybe even forty-eight, hours before things would be back to normal. In the meantime, he had a mission of his own to accomplish that had nothing to do with snow.
As he started up the street, the cold hit him like a slap in the face. He paused at the corner, the breath from his mouth forming small, perfect clouds. They refused to dissipate, as if reluctant to leave the warmth from which they had been birthed. Debating with himself as to whether to risk his life and take a cab or use the subway, which would take longer, the decision was taken out of his hands. A cab pulled up to the curb in front of him and let out a passenger. Taking it as a sign, he jumped in the back seat as the passenger paid off the driver.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Manhattan…Riverside Drive. I’ll tell you when to stop.”
Then he settled in for the ride, taking care to buckle up as the driver pulled away from the curb.
As the driver sped over the snow-packed streets, Buddy got an unexpected view of a strange anomaly. The distinction of the buildings had been so blurred by the snowfall that they all looked the same. If it wasn’t for the street signs on the blocks they were passing, he might have believed they were going in circles. Snowplows were out in full force, but it would be nightfall before all the main avenues had been plowed and probably another thirty-six hours before the side streets were finished.
Shop owners were out on the sidewalks, trying to shovel pathways to their stores, and so much snow was drifted everywhere that delivery trucks had to park halfway into the street in order to unload their goods.
“Hey, buddy, it’s a real mess, ain’t it?”
Startled to hear a stranger call him by name, it took a moment for him to realize the driver was using it as a gesture of friendliness, rather than recognition.
“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“The snow. It’s a mess.”
He shrugged. “A reflection of life,” he said, and then suddenly leaned close to the bullet-proof partition. “Let me out on the next corner.”
The driver eased in toward the curb. Buddy paid and got out, cursing as the snow went over his boots. The cab pulled away as he stumbled toward the curb. Once on the sidewalk, he looked around, judging his location against his final destination.
When he got his bearings, he smiled. A block north, then a half a block east, and he would be in the alley behind the Bennett Building. Feeling his coat pocket to make sure the package he’d come to deliver was still in its place, he lowered his head and started walking.
There were more people out than he had expected, and the closer he got to the building, the more he wished he’d worn a disguise. Thanks to a friend at City Hall, he had a copy of the blueprint for the building, and he reminded himself that he had been inside before. All he had to do was follow the plan and he would be fine.
He glanced down at his watch, judging how long he’d been gone against the time it would take to deliver his little treat. When he looked up, his heart nearly stopped. Caitlin Bennett and her bodyguard were coming toward him from less than half a block away. Without thinking, he ducked into the nearest business, which turned out to be a stationery store.
“May I help you, sir?”
“Just looking,” he said, and stepped away from the door as Caitlin and her escort passed in front of the building.
He stood without moving, watching the animation on her face and resenting the way her smile curved upward in delight at something the man must have said. Her behavior puzzled him. He would have sworn she was more intelligent than this. How dare she be happy when her life was in danger?
By the time they were gone, he was shaking with anger. It was time to get serious. What he had in his pocket was just a taste of what he had in store for her. Oh, if he could only be a fly on the wall when she opened his little surprise. But since he couldn’t, he would have to be satisfied with the fact that it would surely wipe that smile off her face.
All he had to do was jimmy the maintenance door in the rear of the building, follow the map in his head to the elevator shaft leading to the penthouse, leave his little “gift” and be on his way.
Mac didn’t know whether to be glad that Caitlin was happy or pick a fight with her just to regain some emotional distance. Every time he thought about saying something rude, she would look up at him and smile, and he would forget what he’d been going to say. Finally he decided to just let the day be. They’d been snowed in too long for him to bring the outing to a premature halt.
“I’m starving,” Caitlin said, pointing toward an entrepreneurial vendor who’d dared the cold to sell his wares. “Let’s get a pretzel.”
“You eat from those things?” he asked, unable to keep shock out of his voice.
Caitlin rolled her eyes as she dug into her pocket for some money.
“You are such a wuss. How do you think you’re going to protect me from bad guys when you’re too chicken to eat a simple pretzel? Besides that, I forgot my money. You’ll have to pay.”
“I’m not chicken,” he muttered as they stopped at the push cart, standing behind a man with two kids. He eyed the vendor suspiciously, watching him handling the pretzels, then taking money and making change with the same hands. “I just like my food handlers to wash their hands once in a while.”
Caitlin grinned and leaned toward him, whispering in a conspiratorial tone, “Oh, I’m sure he washes now and then, don’t you think?”
Mac glared. “You’re making fun of me.”
Caitlin laughed. “You’re an easy mark, McKee. It’s hard not to bait you.”
He started to argue, then saw his own reflection in the mirrored surface of her sunglasses and felt his stomach drop. He looked like a lovesick calf.
“Damn it,” he mumbled, and looked away.
Caitlin frowned. “Don’t be mad,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“My feelings are not up for discussion,” he said shortly. “Tell the man what you want.”
Caitlin turned, only then realizing that they were next in line.
“We’ll have two pretzels, please.”
“Four bucks,” the vendor said.
“For pretzels?” Mac asked.
“Do you see a better deal?” the vendor quipped, well aware that he had a corner on the market today.
Considering the fact that Caitlin was already chewing the first bite of her pretzel, he handed the man the money, took his food and moved on.
“Another reason why I left New York City,” he said.
Caitlin frowned. “Street vendors?”
“No. The high cost of living.”
“You can’t put a price on the place you call home,” Caitlin said.
The profundity of her words brought him to a halt.
“What’s wrong?” Caitlin asked.
He looked at her then, with the weak sunlight highlighting the fading bruises on her face. He sighed.
“Nothing is wrong,” he said softly. “The pretzel is tasty and hot, and you, my dear Caitie, have a fine way with words. Did anyone ever tell you that you had the makings of a writer?”
His tenderness was as unexpected as the compliment, and she could only stare at him in mute disbelief.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
She shook her head no.
“Tell me when you want to start back,” he said.
She nodded, still too dumbstruck to speak. And so they walked and ate, occasionally talking of things they saw until the food was gone and Caitlin’s cheeks were a bright, rosy red.
“We’ve been out over an hour,” Mac said. “Time to start back.”
Mac took her hand to help her over a slick spot and didn’t bother to let go. The farther they walked, the larger the lump in Caitlin’s throat became. If she wasn’t careful, she might begin to think he really liked her. And if she ever deluded herself about that fact, she would be setting herself up for such a fall. Connor McKee wasn’t the kind of man women like her fell for—not unless they wanted their hearts broken. He’d said it himself. He wasn’t into lasting relationships, and she was not the kind of woman who could live with one-night stands. She wanted a forever kind of love, with a home and family. She dreamed of being a mother, sharing things with her children that she’d never had. Oh, she’d had everything money could buy, but little else.
If only Connor liked her, she could let herself believe something more than antagonism might grow between them.
By the time they got to the apartment building, her toes were numb and her cheeks were burning from the cold. Mike, the security guard, looked up as they entered.
“Have yourself a good walk, did you, Miss Bennett?”
“Yes, although I think I froze my nose.”
He smiled while eyeing the man beside her. “And how are you liking our fair city, Mr. McKee?”
Mac grinned. “Ask me that after the snow melts and I’ll have a better opinion.”
“It’s been a bugger, all right,” Mike said. “You staying long?”
“As long as it takes,” he said, then eyed Caitlin. “I want to talk to Mike about…stuff. Don’t you agree?”
Caitlin hesitated, then nodded. It would be foolish not to alert the security guard in her own building that her life was being threatened.
“Yes, but if you don’t mind, I’m going to go on up. The hems of my jeans are wet, and I want a hot shower and dry clothes, in that order.”
Mac started to argue, then stopped. She was going straight up to the penthouse. He would be right behind her. What could it hurt?
“Okay. I won’t be long.”
She waved goodbye to Mike and headed for the elevator, taking off her scarf and gloves as she went. Behind her, Mac began explaining the reason for Caitlin’s injuries and the danger she faced.
The almost silent upward motion of the elevator was expected, as was the elegant bouquet of flowers on the hall table beside the elevator doors. Pausing a moment to admire the arrangement and sniff a favorite flower, she took her mail from the mail basket and let herself in, disarming the alarm as she went.