Free Falling (7 page)

Free deposited her pad and pen on the nearest
counter and surveyed the big, dust-laden room. Some of the knobs on
the cupboard doors were in excellent condition. She could start
there. Free turned to go back for a screwdriver, and pushed against
the door—but something stopped it midway. She frowned and shoved
harder. A harsh curse froze her in her tracks. She’d know that
grunted expletive anywhere.

Mac.

She’d just hit Mac.

Again.

~*~

Mac staggered backwards, holding his nose.
His forehead, which fortunately for him had taken the brunt of the
blow, throbbed in time with the ache in his nose. He blinked away
the stars and tried to focus on the image before him.

Free
.

Who else?

“What the hell are you doing here?” he
growled. “Is that your Harley out there?” He couldn’t picture Free
on that macho crotch rocket. He stared at the gypsy before him.
Then again, maybe he could.

“I’m…” She started toward him, then stopped
and jammed her hands into the pockets of her overalls. Color crept
into her face and she quickly swiped the back of one hand across
her cheek as if she could erase the darkening blush. She drew in a
deep breath and settled her dazzling blue gaze on his. And Mac was
definitely dazzled. His body reacted instantly to her presence and
the response annoyed the hell out of him.

“I suppose you’re still upset about your
papers.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Upset isn’t
the word you’re looking for, Ms. Renzetti.” He had worked since
three o’clock that morning at the office to duplicate the papers
she’d ruined in a matter of seconds. He glowered at her. “You
didn’t answer my question. What are you doing in this house?”

“I’m Liberty Salvage and Restoration.”

Mac frowned. Liberty Salvage and Restoration.
He knew that name. The salvage contracts.
Damn.
She couldn’t
be in charge of that company. Chaos was her constant companion; she
was a disaster waiting to happen. This woman belonged on the
demolition team. “You?”

She nodded. “Me.”

Forgetting his aching head and throbbing
nose, Mac stormed down the hall and into the parlor. She followed
so quietly he wouldn’t have known she was there except he could
sense her. Every nerve ending in his body had gone on alert. He
scrutinized the large room. “What do you plan to salvage?” He gave
her an impatient look. “This is Friday and demolition begins bright
and early Monday morning.”

Free moistened her lips. “A few window
sashes, a mantel. The crown molding from this room. Some knobs
and…” She drifted into silence when her gaze moved back to his.

Her eyes were huge and liquid. She looked
very young in those big overalls and that silly baseball cap. With
her hair pulled back, her delicate features were more apparent.

High, exotic cheekbones, long, thick lashes,
and a perfect, straight nose. And that mouth. A wide, generous
mouth with rose-colored lips. That vivid recollection of how her
mouth had felt beneath his sent Mac’s heart racing. Damn. He was
already semi-aroused from just looking at her. No other woman had
ever aroused him by simply gazing innocently into his eyes. That
damned protective feeling welled in him again, suffocating him with
its intensity. He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. He
would not feel this. He would not want this woman.

“I’ll be finished on time. I have an
assistant,” she said, challenge rising in her tone. “The Harley
belongs to him.”

Mac opened his eyes and resolutely crushed
the emotions whirling inside him. This was business—his business.
No one came between him and business.
No one.
“Where’s your
assistant now? Why isn’t he helping you get this job done?”

Her chin had a defiant set. “He’s running an
errand. He’ll be back any minute. You don’t need to be concerned,
Mr. McFerrin. We will be finished before Monday.”

“Good.” Mac pivoted and headed for the door.
He absolutely would not hang around and lust after this woman. Nor
would he take a chance on getting himself bashed in the head again.
Since she lived next door to him and apparently also had the
salvage contracts on several of his projects, he might have to see
her now and again, but he didn’t have to interact with her. Hell,
he hadn’t intended to stop here at all today. But he’d seen that
damned Harley and decided to investigate. He had a meeting in—he
glanced at his watch—twenty minutes. He’d be late, but they would
wait—
he
was the boss.

“You don’t see any of this, do you?”

The question jerked him to a stop halfway
across the room. He whipped around and glared at the annoying
female. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This.” She extended her arms outward and
turned around slowly in the middle of the big, empty room.

“I’m already late for a meeting, Ms.
Renzetti.” He tapped his watch. “What exactly is your question?” He
tugged at his tie and wondered why he bothered to ask. If he worked
at it, he could convince himself that what she thought meant
nothing to him.

“What do you see when you look at these old
homes?”

Reaching past his defenses, that searing blue
gaze touched him deep inside, tugging at feelings too long
neglected. Feelings that he had never allowed to grow. He tensed,
steeling himself against the intrusion.

“I don’t understand the question,” he said
without conviction. He understood too well, but he didn’t want to
answer. She was not going to get to him this time.

She shifted that searching gaze from his and
slowly surveyed the room, both awe and respect clear on her face.
“This home is our history. It tells us where we’ve been.” She
looked directly at him then. “And connects us to the past, to each
other, and our future. It shows us who we are.” She stepped closer,
a smile playing about her lips. “People lived, loved, and died in
this house.”

Mac shoved back the sides of his jacket and
planted his hands at his waist. “The point to this lovely story
is?”

“Close your eyes, Mac,” she commanded.

He harrumphed and ran a hand through his
hair. “I don’t have time for games, lady.”

Free advanced another step closer. “I told
you not to call me
lady
.” She paused. “Now close your eyes.”
She tempered her command with a pulse-tripping smile.

He muttered a curse under his breath, but he
closed his eyes just the same. He had to be crazy to go along with
this woman. She would probably use this moment of weakness to whack
him with something. The thought almost made him flinch.

“Without opening your eyes, tell me what you
saw in this room,” she instructed.

Free had moved closer—he could feel the heat
from her tempting, feminine body. God, how he wanted to touch this
woman. He ached to kiss her again. He silently cursed himself for
the fool he was.

“Tell me,” she persisted softly.

Mac exhaled in frustration. “Dust, dirt,
cobwebs, missing floorboards and broken glass.”

Free sighed. “Keep your eyes closed and look
again,” she commanded. “Concentrate. Don’t you see the tiny blue
flowers in the wallpaper? The indigo Duncan Phyfe sofa that may
have once stood in the middle of the room? The hand-carved crown
molding? What about the children sitting on the Persian rug reading
stories? Can’t you hear them laughing?”

Mac snapped his eyes open. “Yeah, I hear them
laughing…at me, for playing along with this game.”

Free jerked off her cap and tucked it into
one deep pocket. That mane of glorious hair fell around her slender
shoulders. “You’re hopeless,” she said. “You don’t connect with the
past at all. Don’t you feel anything?” She glared at him, her eyes
glowing a brilliant blue with anger now.

“All right, then, if you’re so in tune with”
Mac flung his arms outward in exasperation “whatever, you close
your eyes and tell me what
you
see.”

Free clasped her hands behind her back and
lifted that defiant chin. “All right.” She closed her eyes, those
unbelievably long lashes dark against her porcelain cheeks. Damn,
he’d made a big mistake. Mac didn’t care what she saw, he only
cared about what he could see. One wide strap had fallen over her
shoulder, revealing more creamy skin. This time instead of a
T-shirt, she wore a neon pink Lycra tube like top beneath her baggy
overalls. The taut material hugged her breast, revealing delicious
contours. Mac’s throat constricted and his breath came in half
measures, too shallow and too fast.

“I see warmth. I see…home.”

She smiled, the image soft and sweet, and
more tempting than anything he’d ever laid eyes on. Fire and
fragility, that’s what she was. His lower anatomy tightened and
grew heavier.

“I see a place where the walls have absorbed
several lifetimes of love and laughter.” Her breasts rose and fell
with each breath she took. “I see a crackling fire in the fireplace
and a man and a woman making long, slow love on a wool rug in the
leaping shadows of the flames. I see people who’ve spent their
lives in this home, conceiving and bearing children, sharing hopes
and dreams. Holding dear their past and cradling the future in
their arms.”

Mac couldn’t move, couldn’t take his eyes off
her beautiful face. The sensation of arousal her words conjured
inside him ripped the breath right out of his lungs. He had never
truly wanted a woman this much in entire life, but in the farthest
reaches of his soul he wanted Free. He wanted to touch her the way
she touched him. To lose himself inside her and forget everything
else, the commitments, the stress and pressure, for just a little
while.

No more able to stop himself than he could
have stopped the earth from turning, Mac reached out to touch her.
With the first graze of his fingertips against her cheek, her lids
fluttered open in a heart-stopping show of blue. She searched his
eyes for answers he couldn’t give. He didn’t understand this crazy
attraction himself, he only knew that he had to touch her. To kiss
her or die.

Using both hands, he tangled his fingers into
those silky curls. Waves of pleasure cascaded down his body at the
first touch of their lips. “You’re a good storyteller, gypsy,” he
murmured, then brushed her lips with his own once more.

She drew back just far enough to look at him.
“I know a few things,” she whispered. She skimmed his lapel with
her fingers, then stroked his jaw in a long, smooth caress. “I
research the history of the houses I work on and the people who
lived in them. I can sense a lot about them by what they left
behind.” She ran her fingers into his hair, smiling as the strands
sifted through them. All conscious thought evaporated for Mac.

Free tiptoed to press her lips against his
and he groaned in response. He traced the seam on her lips with his
tongue and she opened, inviting him inside. Time vanished as he
explored the heat and softness she offered.

“Whoa! Excuse the hell out of me!”

Mac jerked back from the kiss that had
consumed him with its intensity. A tall, lanky young man lurked in
the parlor doorway. Tattoos marked his bare, muscled forearms. From
his blond head to his biker boots, he looked like trouble. Right
now he also looked ready to rip Mac’s head off and spit down his
throat.

“Lance,” Free said, her voice unnaturally
high. She raked a shaky hand through her hair. “This is…this is Mr.
McFerrin. His company is dong the reconstruction on this site and
several others we’ll be salvaging from.”

Lance leaned against the doorjamb, folded his
arms over his chest and crossed his booted feet at the ankles. “Oh.
The magnolia hater,” he said archly.

Anger shot through Mac. If this was Free’s
helper, she needed her head examined. This guy looked like the
poster child for Criminals-R-Us.

“Lance,” Free scolded, “Mr. McFerrin is my
neighbor.”

“Delighted, I’m sure,” Lance muttered.

“I have a meeting.” Mac pushed past Mr.
Leather-and-Tattoos and strode toward the front door.

Free caught up with him on the front porch.
“Lance is really a good kid. He’s just a little
overprotective.”

“Kid?” Mac whirled on her. “That’s no kid,
Free. And I wouldn’t trust him with my grandmother, much less
with—” He snapped his mouth shut. Instantly he recognized the
strange emotion twisting his gut: jealousy. He was jealous of this
guy’s relationship with Free! But Mac had never been jealous of a
woman in his life. Shock, followed swiftly by fear, raced through
his veins, making his heart pound harder. “I have to go.”

“You never got a chance to me tell me if you
could see—”

Mac glared at her, cutting her off
midsentence. “I didn’t see anything, but an old rundown house that
lost its purpose a long time ago.” With that, he stormed away,
trying his level best to forget the look of sadness on her sweet
gypsy face.

~*~

Free sat in the dark on her back steps and
watched the lighted windows of Mac’s house. Now and then she would
see him pass the window as he moved about in the kitchen. Every
night for the past week she had watched his house. And it was
always the same. He never had company and he worked until midnight
or later. If she stood on her tiptoes on the top step and leaned to
the right, she could see him huddled over the mass of papers spread
out on the kitchen table.

Even on Sunday, he had done the same.

On Monday, Free had watched from the next
block as the Bower Street houses were tore down. She had struggled
with her tears, but the salty drops had streamed down her cheeks
anyway. She had sat in her truck in the hot morning sun and watched
another part of the past destroyed.

Free wasn’t foolish enough to believe that
progress was bad, but did it have to destroy everything more than a
few decades old? It just didn’t seem right to tear down all those
beautiful old homes. How long would it be before her own
neighborhood was viewed as obsolete?