Kiss Me Hello (Sweetest Kisses) (29 page)

Trent flipped his tie, a navy-blue silk with unicorns charging around on it. “If she’s pregnant.”

“Get me a nephew, would you? The numbers in this family have abruptly tilted in favor of the opposing team.”

“I’ll do what I can, but, Mac?”

Mac waited, hand on the doorknob, knowing whatever misbegotten sentiments came out of Trent’s mouth, his brother meant well.

“You can’t let Sid slip over the horizon. You have to take a risk.”

“I took a risk, Trent. Risked what I thought was the biggest gesture of trust I could make toward a woman, any woman, and she didn’t let me down over it. She instead let me down over something so insubstantial I’m tempted to think she would have found a pretext sooner or later to dump me.”

Though to Sid, it hadn’t been insubstantial at all. That Mac was a lawyer had been a reminder of every trauma and loss she’d suffered. Could she see that? Could she see that connection if Mac brought it up?

“If practicing law is insubstantial, and I would argue that conclusion on behalf of every defendant you’ve ever seen acquitted, then why not give it up?”

Mac’s grip on the doorknob slipped. “
What?
”

“If Sid doesn’t like you being a lawyer, but she’s necessary for your happiness, then quit. You don’t need the money. We can manage without a criminal department. Every other defense lawyer in town will rejoice, as well as the state’s attorney’s office. Quit.”

“I can’t…”
But
he
could.
He could give it up in a heartbeat. The whiny clients, the scared clients, the arrogant clients, even the nice clients, the ones who went meekly to their fate. They got Mac’s best efforts, each and every one of them, but what did he get?

A fatter portfolio?

“I haven’t told you this for a while, Trenton Edwards, but I have the best brothers in the world, mostly because I raised you that way.”

Trent smiled, a smug grin with a hint of relief in it. “James said you’d threaten to punch me out for suggesting it.”

“In which case, you’d tell me it was James’s idea?”

“I’m thinking it was Vera’s, and you’re not rejecting it out of hand, are you?”

“No, I am not.”

* * *

Another Sunday morning home alone, and Sid’s nerves were stretched thin. Her damned useless period was late, playing games with her at a time when she needed her body to treat her decently. Luis was off at the stable, though he’d continued to needle her, to hint and wheedle that she should call MacKenzie Knightley and give him a fair hearing.

She’d given Mac her body, her trust, her affection…

Wheels splashing up the lane, a big engine with a particular knocking rhythm.

Mac.
Maybe he’d go right out to the barn, see his girls, whom Luis hadn’t turned out because of the rain.

Maybe he’d come to apologize.

Maybe it wasn’t even him.

“May I come in?”

He stood outside the screen door to the kitchen, a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Seeing him hurt and filled Sid with gladness—and pissed her off.

She let him in, because pissed off was reassuring. “Those are for me?”

“They’re only yard flowers, but yes.”

Yard flowers meant lily of the valley, lilacs, tulips, a fat blue hyacinth, some kind of narcissus that smelled heavenly, and a blossomy white flower on woody stems that smelled even better.

“Why are you here, MacKenzie?” Sid set two mugs on the counter, hoping he’d stand his ground long enough to share a cup of tea with her.

“As soon as I understood how you feel about lawyers, I should have told you I’m a criminal defense attorney. I apologize for that. I didn’t try to deceive you, but I avoided the confrontation much too long. I regret that more than I can say.”

Sid took the flowers without touching Mac’s hands. The regret was sincere, that much she could read in his eyes, but the apology was grudging.

“You like being a lawyer.” She fished a green glass vase out from under the sink. “It galls you to have to apologize for what you are.”

“I do like being a lawyer, and I’m sorry you can’t respect the profession. I’d like to hear your reasons, though I’d clarify one point: I practice law, it’s what I do, it isn’t what I am, or not the biggest part of what I am.”

Oh, he was trying so hard, looking so solemn.

“This isn’t about your profession, MacKenzie. It’s about not being honest when you knew it was important to me.” Though it was about his profession too. Why couldn’t he have been a mortician? A trash collector? Anything but a lawyer?

“Would it make a difference if I weren’t a lawyer anymore, Sid?”

She was glad her back was turned to him, lest he see the shock his question gave her. That he would offer to give up his livelihood meant more than it should—and he was offering. This wasn’t a negotiating ploy. Mac was being honest.

Damn him.

“Yes, it would make a difference,” she said, turning to face him. “It would make you resent me, but it wouldn’t fix what’s wrong between us.”

His eyes went blank, his expression utterly calm.

She’d hurt him, and that wasn’t any help either. “We’ll torment each other if we pile words on top of deeds. I’m sorry, Mac. I like you. I do respect you…” She stopped herself before she could say she desired him, but heaven help her, she did. Just keeping her hands off him, just keeping enough distance that his scent didn’t invade her brain was killing her.

“Don’t say it.” He crossed the kitchen and pulled her gently into his arms. “Whatever brush-off you’re about to give me, Sidonie, don’t say it. I will keep coming around, bringing you flowers, begging you on my knees if that’s—”

“Oh, hush.” She put her hand over his mouth, but he turned his head and kissed her palm. “MacKenzie, we mustn’t—”

“You’re not eating,” he said, running his hand over her hips. “It’s Mother’s Day, Sid, and you’re sitting here, alone, still in your nightie, when you should be—”

Double damn him for being able to read a calendar.

Bless him too. Sid kissed him to shut him up, mostly. To shut him up and to satisfy the hunger aroused by the simple sight of him. He felt so good against her body, his kisses tasted so clean and sweet, and the scent of him fed a need Sid had tried to ignore.

“Mac, we can’t
do
this.”

“I’ll stop when you do.” He hoisted her up on the counter, so she could wrap her legs around his flanks, get her hands on his belt buckle. That took some doing when she couldn’t tear her mouth from his, but she got his jeans undone, and delved into his clothing with her hands.

“Want you, MacKenzie…” Though she shouldn’t, she shouldn’t, she absolutely
should
not
.

“Honey, I know.”

Honey. Had he ever called her
honey
before? “This doesn’t change anything.”

“Touch me, Sid. Touch me, love me, let me love you.”

Her breasts were exquisitely sensitive when he brushed his thumbs over her nipples through the thin cotton of her summer-length nightie. The hem was above her knees, but to Sid, that was still too much clothing.

She would regret this, and Mac ought to hate her for that. She fused her mouth to his anyway.

Mac was the perfect height for having sex with a woman sitting on the kitchen counter, but they weren’t having sex. Mac touched her with a combination of tenderness and ferocity, kissed her like he’d been starving for the taste of her, ran his fingers over her sex with delicate insistence.

Sid did not mistake this for a hookup. This wasn’t a quickie, wasn’t anything casual at all. This
mistake
was MacKenzie Knightley making love to a woman he cared for very much. Sid groaned at the first touch of him near the entrance to her body, wiggled her hips closer, and then went still.

The moment of joining, of penetration beyond that first glancing nudge, stood out for her as so right, so pleasurable, so
inevitable
, she laid her cheek against his shoulder and let him move into her. She bit his shirt to keep from crying, because they were joined bodily, and Mac would feel the shudders moving through her.

He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her brow, her mouth, not denying her tears, but offering what comfort he could. Oh, how she’d missed him, how she was going to miss him if she couldn’t get over her mad.

Over her fears.

Mac had missed her too. He communicated that in every kiss and sigh, every undulation of his hips and caress of his hands. Pleasure came over Sid, the building heat of a summer morning, pushing against the pain, absorbing it, consuming it, and turning it back on her in satisfaction that blurred her awareness of MacKenzie as a separate being. He was inside her, around her,
with
her
, and she never wanted the moment to end.

But it did. The sense of union faded like the last notes of sweet music, leaving Sid panting against Mac’s shoulder while his hand stroked her hair. The tears were spent; the passion was subdued for the present.

In its wake lay a bitter, bottomless ache despite the fact that Mac was still hilted inside her. Grief, disappointment, and anxiety tangled up with whatever Sid felt for Mac, and made her reckless.

“I can’t do this again, MacKenzie. Not until I’ve sorted this out. Have your pleasure of me, and go.” The voice of a despairing old woman, Sid barely recognized it as her own.

Mac held her for a moment longer, his hand moving over her hair slowly, and then he withdrew. The absence of him made everything hurt worse, but she understood the gesture: he’d denied himself what pleasure he could have had, contenting himself with the pleasure she’d taken from him.

“That was unnecessary,” she said, plucking her nightgown off the counter and dropping it over her head. When had she lost it?

He finished tucking himself back into his clothes and gave her a level look.

“I needed to be with you. I didn’t need to be selfish about it. Cut line, Sid. We’re both miserable without each other, and we can work through this if you’d give me a chance.”

“I gave you the first chance I’ve given any man in years. Luis tried to tell me horseshoers don’t live in four-bathroom estate homes, but I was so needy, so imprudent, I didn’t heed the signs. I’m eighteen again, grieving, adrift, and clinging to any spar. A relationship can’t work when I’m in this shape.”

Sid hadn’t understood that dynamic until she’d said the words out loud. She wiggled off the counter and past Mac, though that meant she’d brushed against him momentarily.

And he hadn’t budged. “It was working fine a minute ago, and let me remind you I gave you the first chance I’ve given any woman in years. We belong together, Sidonie, and you’re too scared to admit it.”

She ignored the plea in his voice and focused on the words, on the traction they gave her.

“Thank you for sharing, MacKenzie. You’ve just repeated my own conclusions: I’m scared because I let things move too fast with you. I’m rattled as hell because Luis is facing another hearing. I’m anxious over money, though on paper, I’m supposed to be wealthy. I’m not happy that you lied by omission about your profession. I’m
upset
, MacKenzie, and tired of being upset, and it’s damned Mother’s Day. Brilliant closing argument, but this isn’t a courtroom.”

So upset, she was about to throw herself back into his arms, and that would be a horrendously mixed message to a guy who wasn’t the villain of the piece.

“I love you, Sidonie. I’m in love with you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. But if you can’t understand that, if you don’t want that, then just
please
forgive
me
.”

She turned away, as if his words were more than verbal threats to her fragile composure. As if they could hurt her physically, steal her resources, addle her feeble wits, and break her already broken heart.

“MacKenzie, I absolutely do forgive you. That’s the easy part, but as for the rest of what I want—”

She wanted her brother alive and in good health. She wanted Luis to be legally hers and for him to have a real relationship with his little sisters again. She wanted Mac and she wanted her mother and she wanted to
be
a mother.

“Mac, I’m sorry, I can’t do this now.” Sid pelted up the steps, bare feet slapping on the risers, half hoping he’d chase her and make her listen again to those terrible, awful, unbelievable words.

But as she threw herself on her bed, all Sid heard was the kitchen door banging closed, then silence.

Complete, hopeless silence.

* * *

The most neglected tactic of all the tactics used on cross-examination was silence. In theory, the witness should not say anything other than to answer questions put to him or her by counsel. In practice, opposing counsel was allowed to ask leading questions, and this could be exploited to create the fiction of a dialogue.

Mac exploited that fiction shamelessly. In the days following his most recent encounter with Sidonie, his courtroom technique graduated from flawless to brilliant. His clients were offered sweet plea-bargain deals; his cases were settling left and right.

Because he was in love, but his lady wasn’t in love with him.

Or was she?

Sid had wanted him desperately, clung to him, wrung herself out, poured her soul into that interlude in the kitchen, and then she’d gathered up her anger, fear, and exhaustion like so much dirty laundry, and left Mac standing alone, his balls aching, his heart in tatters.

“Come with me.” Trent swept past Mac and headed for a witness interview room, the closest thing to privacy the Damson County Courthouse had to offer.

“What’s on your mind?” Mac asked when the door was closed.

“
I
told
you
so
is on my mind. Look at this.” Trent passed Mac a document eight or ten pages thick. Mac recognized it as the report a social worker would complete in anticipation of a hearing on a foster care case.

Luis’s case.

“Read the recommendations.”

Mac flipped back to the last page and scanned the document. “This will kill Sid, to say nothing of what it will do to Luis. What the hell do they have up their sleeves?”