Finding The One (Meadowview Heroes 1; The Meadowview Series 5) (11 page)

A
s they drove
through the dark, streetlights sent flashes of white to crisscross Mac’s face. Trudy fiddled with the knobs on the car door. Beside her, Mac thumbed the gear shift, sending his Porsche Cayman into fourth as he entered Highway 99. She rolled her head against the leather seat and stared out the window. Mac had passed the test, most definitely.

She’d known he was good with kids, but had no idea
how
good. She always stumbled when taking care of Milla’s brood, but not Mac. Nope, he’d been a success from the moment he’d stopped Betsy from wailing. And in doing so, had most likely had prevented the preschooler from ever cutting a doll’s hair again.

He’d charmed the socks off her twin nieces Lana and Laura, reading the two-year-olds
Hop on Pop
five times and then letting them jump all over him. When he saw how uncomfortable she was holding the baby, he’d held Gabbie himself and hadn’t made a single comment about the lack of mothering instincts Trudy seemed to possess. And when Gabbie wouldn’t go to sleep, he’d taking Milla’s mini-van out of the garage and driving around the block fifteen times until the baby fell asleep.

A man like that deserved his own family. A man like that should have his own children. A man like that shouldn’t be with someone missing a uterus and ovaries and—

“So Trudy is short for Gertrude, but what’s Milla short for?” Mac’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

She toyed with her hair, then gathered the heavy weight up and swept it over a shoulder as she mentally swept away thoughts of her infertility. No sense in alienating the man now. That was a conversation they could have another time, after she worked herself up to do the whole “Do you want babies” conversation. If things even got that far—Mac was a playboy, used to dating a multitude of women. Not the kind of guy who had marriage on his mind, fortunately for her.

After clearing her throat, she said, “Um, Camilla.”

“But you both go by nicknames?”

She swallowed. “Our mom gave us old family names. She said they were very special and she’d even make up songs with our names in them. But then she royally screwed up her life and Milla and I were dumped into foster care. She died after that.”

“Oh” Mac’s voice had gone quiet. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Trudy shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“Were Trudy and Milla the nicknames your mom gave you?”

“No,” she said flatly. “When we were put into our first foster home, we didn’t want Foster Mom Number One to call us by the names our mother called us by, so we told her to call us Trudy and Milla.”

“Do you miss your mom?”

She sat for a while, thinking about the question. “No,” she said, slowly, “not really. I don’t even remember her much. But I miss the idea of her. The idea of family.”

Mac changed lanes, getting ready to merge from the 99 to Highway 50. “Your sister looks like she’s embraced the whole concept of family rather willingly. That’s a heck of a lot of kids she and Jarrod have back there.”

Trudy let out a light laugh. “You were awesome with my nieces. Much better than me.”

He chuckled. “Not much of a baby person, are you?”

“I…” She paused, then placed a hand on her belly, becoming aware of how shallow her breath had grown. “I don’t have much experience with them, is all.”

“Think you’ll ever have a passel of your own? Like your sister?”

The unexpected question hit her hard. He wanted to talk about family
already
? She sucked in a deep breath, hungry for oxygen, and feeling the distinct need to switch topics. “It’s getting a little stuffy in here. Mind if I roll down the window?”

Using his own controls, Mac lowered the window for her, and she breathed in the balmy night air. And noticed they were almost to the junction of Highway 99 and Highway 50. Just off 50 was her place.

Suddenly, she realized what she didn’t want. And what she did.

“Mac?” She said his name, aware of how thick her voice sounded.

“Yes, Trudy?” He mimicked her formality, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“Um…you know you won the bet.”

“A gentleman never bets on a lady’s honor,” he intoned.

She laughed. “A gentleman never rescinds on an agreement, either.”

“Are you saying I should have brought along a toothbrush?” he teased, then reached over and stroked her thigh, a simple light and gentle touch, and she just about melted.

She brushed her hair behind an ear and looked fully at him. “No,” she said, holding her voice as steady as she could. “I’m saying you shouldn’t make the two-hour trip to Meadowview alone.”

Mac shoved the car into gear, stomped on the gas, and shot past the exit lane to the 50. The lunge of the car threw Trudy back against the seat and she burst out laughing.

“I have a box of condoms, clean sheets, and Barry White on my iPod at home,” he said over the roar of the engine.

Excitement gripped and held her tight. Griswold could wake someone else up tomorrow morning. “An entire box?”

“This time we’re using every single condom in that package. Just you wait.”

She wasn’t sure she could.

* * *

W
ithin ninety minutes
, they’d arrived at Mac’s estate. The streets of Meadowview had been still and dark as they’d slowly driven through, and the clock tower in the middle of town had both its hands on the Two marker. She twisted her hands in her lap. Had she made the right decision coming here? The choice she’d made earlier, to stay overnight at Mac’s place, had seemed a no-brainer at the moment. But now…

She could always chicken out, she told herself. Tell Mac she’d changed her mind. Ask to borrow a guest room for the night and then find her way home in the morning.

But when Mac came around the corner of the car and took her hand in his, sliding his fingers between hers, she kept silent. An electrical tingle buzzed up her arm and into her chest. She followed him into the house, and once inside, squeezed her eyes shut for a second, then opened them, letting her gaze drift about, taking in the mix of traditional and contemporary décor, the lead-paned windows, and the thick oak flooring.

“Where’s Doe?” She kept her voice low.

“This is a big house, with plenty of additions. She and Aaron have their own separate wing. So does my dad, but he’s usually only here during the winter. He’s in Europe now.” Mac’s voice carried a nonchalance she wished she felt.

“So we won’t be bothering anyone?”

“Nope.” Mac pulled her into a large and well-organized kitchen. Copper pots hung from an iron rack over a black granite kitchen island. More granite countertops and heavy oak cupboards lined the expansive space. “Now that Aaron sleeps through the night, so does Doe. Can’t wake her up unless you’re louder than a fire alarm.”

“Oh,” she said, inanely, then realized her jaw was open and snapped it shut. Foster Mom Number Six used to tell her she was like one of those ventriloquist dummies with the wooden mouths.

“Hungry?” Mac asked, letting go of her hand.

She shook her head.

He opened the refrigerator and stuck his head inside. A bowl of floating camellias on the kitchen island caught Trudy’s attention. She bent low and breathed in the heady scent, an attempt at steadying her nerves.

Mac sidled up to her, pressing her back against the counter with his hips. In his hands he held a basket of strawberries, a can of whipped cream, and a jar of what appeared to be homemade chocolate sauce.

Trudy smiled. “Got a sweet tooth, there?”

“The strawberries are from the garden. Early bloomers. Sure you don’t want any?” Mac pressed in closer, his chest tight against hers, and dropped the items on the counter. He reached forward, framing her face with both hands, tipping her chin upward. Rather than kissing her, he simply stroked her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs, his gaze flitting about her face.

A frisson of sexually charged energy shot through her. But she wasn’t ready to act on her desires—not just yet. She needed some composure first. Instead, she said, “I didn’t know you had a gardener.”

He leaned back and opened the jar of chocolate sauce, then dug around inside with a spoon. He smeared chocolate over a strawberry. Trudy’s mouth watered. “I don’t.” He took a large bite.

“But…you said you had a garden…”

Mac took the can of whipped cream, shook it twice. He tipped his head up, opened his mouth, and sprayed a shot of frothy creamy into his mouth. He chewed, swallowed, and gave her a wide grin. “I do it all myself. Cheaper than a gym. Nothing like swinging a pickax or hauling a wheelbarrow full of boulders to get you buff.” He pumped a fist in the air, showing off the hardened bump of his bicep.

Trudy laughed.

“Sure you don’t want any?” He waved a strawberry at her.

“No, you go ahead, though. You look hungry.”

Mac drilled her a look that spoke of untamed desire. “You keep hanging out with me and you’ll see how hungry I can get.”

A nervous flutter of laughter escaped from Trudy’s lips. “I get the feeling you’re not talking about food.”

Mac held Trudy’s gaze captive, his eyes revealing a smoldering sensuality. He slid a hand down, fingering the fluttering pulse along her neck, stroked lower to her breast. She stole a glance at his wandering hand as it dipped inside the vee of her dress.

With his other hand, Mac untied the thin bow at her waist. “Hop up on the counter for me,” he murmured.

It took little effort for Trudy to reach behind her and ease her way to sitting on the countertop. Mac’s fingers flicked at the front clasp of her bra and suddenly her breasts were spilling into his hands. She kicked off her heels and hooked her bare feet behind his back, holding him close. His erection pressed through his jeans against her inner thigh. Her head lolled back on her shoulders.

“This time
you
get naked and
I
stay dressed.”

Gentle fingers slid her dress off her shoulders. Soft kisses followed the path of the falling fabric and then—

Ice shot through her veins as Mac fingered her scars. She scrambled, tugging the sides of her dress back together, desperate to cover her belly.

“Stop.” Mac grabbed her wrists and held them in his hands. “I want to see your stomach.”

“No…”

“Sweetheart, we all have scars. Some wear them on the outside, some on the inside. I don’t mind how your tummy looks. Now, unless we keep the lights out, we aren’t going to get far with this whole sex do-over until we get naked.” He chuckled. “And we both know what fumbling around in the dark got us last time.”

Trudy stopped struggling against Mac’s grip. Slowly, he released her wrists. Eyes still closed, she reached for her dress and pulled the fabric off her shoulders, letting it pool at her waist.

She opened her eyes to see Mac staring at her midriff, his brow wrinkled.

“Car crash?” he guessed.

Trudy shook her head.

“Appendicitis?”

She gulped. The surgeons had assumed the same condition early on, performing an unwarranted appendectomy. But Mac didn’t need to know the specifics. Not now. Maybe not ever. “One of the surgeries was an appendectomy. I also had a few laparoscopies to remove scar tissue that formed afterward.” True, although she was lying by omission. But this was only their second date.

“This is why you didn’t want the light on at the hotel, right? And why you tried covering up your naked belly and not your breasts when you caught me taking pictures of you posing as Warrior Woman. You didn’t want me to see a couple of scars. Big whoop.”

Trudy laughed, sharp and brief. “You can hardly call this mess a couple of scars.”

Mac released her wrists to place his hands on her chest. Firmly, he pressed her backward until she lay on the countertop, legs still wrapped around his middle. He followed her down and gently kissed each breast. Then he traced a finger over her marks; the long vertical scar on her right side, the crisscrossed inch-long markings on her lower abdomen, and the six-inch horizontal swath of silver that hovered below her bellybutton.

Trudy mewled, a mixture of emotional pain and sensual pleasure.

“Don’t hide who you are,” he stated. “Not from me.”