Heiress (64 page)

"I'm sorry, but we can't go. Ben and I have to stay here." Abbie saw the tantrum coming on and braced herself for it.

"Then I'm not going to go either," Eden retorted, her expression defiant.

"Eden, you know you always have fun with Mac." She tried to reason with her.

"But I want all of us to have fun together like we did that time at the horse show."

"Don't be difficult, Eden." Abbie sighed, running out of patience with her recalcitrant daughter.

"If you won't come with us, we'll just stay here with you." She folded her arms in front of her, the gesture determined, and accompanied by a stubborn jutting of her chin.

"You're not spoiling anybody's fun but your own." But it was like talking to a mule. Abbie glanced helplessly at MacCrea, who seemed amused by their battle of wills. Just for an instant, she wondered if he had put Eden up to this.

"If you can't beat 'em, join 'em. Isn't that the way the old saying goes?" MacCrea said, his mouth crooking slightly beneath his mustache. "Come along with us. Windstorm gets along fine when you're not here. Why should this afternoon be any different?"

"I should have known you'd take her side in this," Abbie accused, but she couldn't summon any anger. She had the uneasy feeling that subconsciously she wanted to be talked into going. But to admit that, she'd also have to admit that she wanted to be with MacCrea.

"Please come with us, Mommy. They'll take good care of Windstorm. I know they will," Eden said, indicating the grooms with the stallion.

"Ben. . .?" Abbie appealed to him for help.

"What is there to argue with?" He shrugged his square shoulders. "What she says is true."

"See. Even Ben agrees," Eden declared happily and took hold of Abbie's hand, then reached for Ben's. "You'll come with us, won't you? We'll have lots of fun."

Eden was so obviously delighted at the prospect that Abbie felt it would be deliberately churlish to refuse. "You've talked me into it."

Together the four of them set off for the parking lot and the car MacCrea had rented, their destination a movie theater not too many miles from the track, one that MacCrea and Eden had discovered on a previous excursion in the area.

When they left the theater two hours later, dusk was spreading its mauve blanket over the sky, pushing aside the streaks of cerise. To Eden's dismay, Abbie insisted it was time they went back to their motel. She tried to convince Abbie she wasn't tired, but she fell asleep in the backseat within ten minutes.

MacCrea turned in to the motel parking lot and drove past the lobby. "What room are you in?"

"One twenty-six. It's near that first side entrance." Abbie opened her purse to retrieve the room key. "Ben, would you wake up Eden?"

"Let her sleep," MacCrea said. "I'll carry her in."

Knowing how cranky and uncooperative Eden could be when she first woke up, Abbie didn't argue. "All right."

MacCrea parked the car near the side entrance and lifted Eden out of the backseat, then followed Abbie and Ben into the building.

Unlocking the door to room 126, Abbie walked in and stepped to the side to hold the door open for MacCrea, as Ben continued on to his own room. "You can put her down on the first bed," she said, indicating the double bed closest to the door.

When MacCrea started to lay her down, Eden made a protesting sound and clung to him. Gently he laid her down on the bed and untangled her arms from around his neck. Smiling absently, Abbie took off her hat and walked over to the suitcase lying open on the low dresser. Eden's nightgown, a long mock tee shirt, lay on top. As Abbie picked it up and started back to the bed with it, she noticed MacCrea sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling off Eden's socks and shoes.

"You don't have to bother with that. I'll get her ready for bed."

"I want to do it." The bedsprings creaked faintly as MacCrea shifted to glance at her, his angular features gentled by the underlying tenderness in his expression. "Is that her nightgown?"

"Yes." Abbie stared uncertainly at his outstretched hand.

"Putting Eden to bed is probably old hat to you," he pointed out, "but I've never had the opportunity to do this for my daughter before."

Abbie hesitated a second more, then handed him the nightgown and stood back to watch. Unwillingly, she was moved by the touching scene as MacCrea removed Eden's dress and slip, careful to disturb her as little as possible. He smiled at the frowning faces she made, his strong hands gentle in their handling of the sleeping child. Holding her, he pulled the nightgown over her head, slipped her arms through the sleeves, then laid her back down, sliding her legs between the sheets. Eden immediately snuggled into the pillow under her head. Bending, MacCrea lightly kissed her forehead, then straightened and pulled the bedcovers over her, tucking her in. He paused for an instant to watch Eden in sleep, then switched off the bedside lamp, leaving only the soft glow from the floor-lamp between the two vinyl chairs to light the room. Moving with cat-soft silence, he came back to stand next to Abbie.

"Look at her," he murmured. "So small and innocent. A sleeping angel."

Admittedly that was the way she looked, the white pillowcase a halo around her dark head, her cheeks still baby-soft, her long-lashed eyes closed, all sweetness and innocence. But Abbie was well aware that Eden was no angel. Surely MacCrea didn't really think she was, but he had never seen her at her irritating worst. He'd only been exposed to her in small doses.

Surely he didn't think that today was an example of what it was like to be a parent. Certainly it had been fun and idyllic, but today was the exception rather than the rule. All he'd ever done was play at being a father. Living with Eden was something entirely different.

"Don't be fooled by her. She isn't always like this," Abbie warned. "You've never seen her when she's sick with the flu or a cold. She's whiny and demanding, always wanting this or that. Believe me, she's no fun at all then." Judging by his amused study of her, MacCrea wasn't at all convinced. Abbie hurried on, "Being a parent isn't all fun and games. That little temper tantrum you saw today—it was mild compared to some she's thrown when she didn't get her way. Just wait until she starts sassing and talking back. You won't think she's so cute and innocent then."

"Is that right?" The hint of a smile around the edges of his mouth seemed to mock her.

"Yes, it is," Abbie retorted, irritated that he might think she was making all this up. "And then there's the way she talks all the time. Look at the way she talked through the entire movie, asking why somebody did this or said that, wanting everything explained to her. Do you know that she even talks in her sleep? You've only had to put up with her endless chatter for a few hours at a time. Wait until you have to listen to her day in and day out."

"Talk, talk, talk," he said.

"Exactly. She just goes on and on. . ." Abbie forgot what she was going to say as he took her by the shoulders and squared her around to face him, all in one motion.

She stared at his mouth, surprised to find it so close, and watched his lips form the words, "Just like her mother."

Before she could react, he was kissing her, warmly, deeply. For an instant she forgot to resist then she drew back, breaking the contact. "Mac, I think—"

"That's always been your trouble, Abbie." He didn't let her get away. Instead, he started nuzzling her neck and ear. "You think too much and you talk too much. For once, just shut up."

As he claimed her lips again, his advice suddenly seemed very wise. Why should she refuse herself something she wanted as much as he did, just because she didn't want to admit she wanted it? Denying it wouldn't change the longing she felt at this moment. As she allowed herself to enjoy his embrace, it was a little like coming home after a long absence. The joy, the warmth, the sense of reunion—they were all there. . . and something more that she was reluctant to identify.

He tunneled his fingers into her hair and began pulling out the pins that bound the chignon. As her hair tumbled loose about her shoulders, he drew back to look at her, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark. "I've wanted to do that for a long time."

Still holding her gaze, he scooped her off her feet and carried her to the nearest armchair and sat down, cradling her in his lap. No longer did she have to strain to reach him and span the difference in their heights. She was free to touch him, to run her fingers through his thick, wavy hair and feel the rope-lean muscles along his shoulders and back. His roaming hands stroked, caressed, and kneaded her body as he and she kissed and nibbled as if hungry for the taste of each other. Then his fingers went to work on the bow at her throat and the buttons of her shirtwaist dress, undoing them one by one. When his hand glided onto her bare skin, a rush of sensations raced through her body.

Caught up in the building passion between them, Abbie had no idea how long they had been in the chair, necking like a pair of teenagers just discovering all the preliminary delights that made making love the wonder it was. But when she heard Eden stir and mumble in her sleep, her maternal instincts reclaimed her. She couldn't tune out the sounds her daughter made, or ignore her presence in the room.

When she tried to inject a degree of restraint into their embrace, MacCrea protested. "Let me love you, Abbie. It's what we both want."

"Not here." She drew back, earnestly trying to make him understand. "We can't. Eden might wake up." A mixture of irritation, disappointment, and frustration darkened his expression when he glanced toward the bed. "We'd better stop before. . . one of us loses control," Abbie suggested, no more willing than he was to end this.

"Me, you mean." His mocking reply had a husky edge to it.

"I didn't say that."

He sighed heavily, giving her his answer as he sat her upright. She swung off his lap to stand on her own, feeling shaky and weak. She wanted nothing more than to turn and have MacCrea gather her back into his arms. Instead, she walked him to the door, holding the gaping front of her dress together. As he paused with his hand on the knob, she had the feeling that he didn't trust himself to kiss her again.

"This isn't over, you know," he said.

"Yes." She nodded, recognizing that she didn't want it to be over. A slow smile spread across his face. "It took you long enough to admit it." Then he was gone—out the door before Abbie could say any more.

Automatically, she locked the door and slipped the safety chain in place, all the while thinking about his last statement. For the last four months, ever since she'd seen him that first time in Scottsdale, she had been telling herself it was over between them. Now she knew better. She wanted him so much it had become a physical ache.

She walked over to the open suitcase on the dresser. As she started to pick up her lace nightgown, she noticed her reflection in the mirror. Her long hair was all disheveled; her lips looked unusually full; her eyelids appeared to be faintly swollen; and the front of her dress gaped open all the way to her navel. She had the definite look of a woman who had just been thoroughly made love to. . . perhaps not thoroughly, she corrected, conscious of the lingering need.

As she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, Abbie found herself coming face to face with reality. A part of her had never stopped loving MacCrea—and the rest of her had learned to love him all over again.

She went through the motions of getting ready for bed—washing her face, brushing her teeth, and changing into her nightgown—but she didn't go near it. Instead she laid out clean clothes for herself and Eden and packed everything else into the suitcase except the toiletries they would need in the morning, postponing the moment when she'd have to climb into that bed alone.

At first, Abbie didn't pay any attention to the light rapping sound she heard, thinking that someone was knocking on a door somewhere along the corridor. Then it came again, slightly louder and more insistent, accompanied by the soft calling of her name. Frowning, Abbie started for the door. Halfway there, she realized that the rapping was coming from the door to the adjoining motel room. She stopped in front of it and waited until the sound came again.

"Yes?" she said hesitantly.

"It's me, MacCrea. Open the door."

She fumbled briefly with the lock, then pulled the door open. There he stood, leaning in the doorway to the next room and dangling a room key from his hand.

"I gave the desk clerk a hundred dollars and told him one twenty-eight was my lucky number. Is it?"

She stared at him, momentarily at a loss for even the simplest answer. Then she found it. "Yes." She was in his room—and in his arms—before she had time to consider the decision. But it didn't matter. It was where she belonged. Where she had always belonged.

Chapter 43

MacCrea drifted somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, a heady contentment claiming him. He was reluctant to waken and break the spell of whatever dream he'd had that made him feel this good. Yet something—or someone—stirred against him and coolness touched his bare leg where heat had been. Instinctively he reached out to draw that warm body close to him again. The instant he touched her, he knew. He opened his eyes to look and make sure he wasn't dreaming. It was Abbie he held, nestled in the curve of his body.

In sleep, she reminded him of a more sensual version of Eden: the same dark hair billowing about her face like a black cloud, the same long-lashed eyes and full lower lip. Now fully awake and aroused by the recollection of last night's passion, MacCrea couldn't resist the urge to lean over and kiss the ripe curve of her lips.

She stirred beneath him, drowsily kissing him back. He lifted his head to study her, watching as she arched her back, stretching her arms overhead like a cat waking from a nap, the action brushing her breasts against his chest. Then she snuggled back down, her eyes more than half-closed.

"Is it morning?" she asked, her voice thick and husky with sleep.

"Does it matter?" Supporting himself on one arm, he ran his hand over her body, pausing long enough to arouse a sleeping nipple, then traveling back down.