Mac's Angels: The Last Dance: A Loveswept Classic Romance (12 page)

She smiled. “And Moneypenny never gives in.”

“There’s still time. Just throw on a robe and I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”

“That’s awfully quick. Where are you?”

“Right next door.”

Why had he invited her to join him at dinner? He had initially planned on sharing a rare meal with Jessie, but she had already eaten.

The medical staff threatened him with amputation of certain parts of his anatomy if he stuck his head into their offices again. That seemed a bit extreme, at least the lower section of his body protested. He didn’t have to be told twice to leave everyone alone. Mac needed someone to pass the time with, and Sterling was the perfect candidate.

Conner hadn’t responded either to his pager or E-mail, and Mac knew that his Washington friends wouldn’t appreciate him pressuring them any more than he already had. The soonest he was likely to hear anything was morning. The hours from now until then seemed an eternity.

When he’d sauntered into the kitchen and found Burt whistling merrily over his stove, he had no idea that he’d run straight into a trap. His innocent question—“What’s for dinner?”—brought a lofty answer from Burtram Kazino, the man who owed his life to Mac but all his future earnings to a bookie who was probably still looking for a short-order cook.

“I’m preparing a special casserole for Sterling, nothing you’d like.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you don’t like casseroles. You always call them leftovers smothered with cheese and served with a strong wine so that you won’t remember that you’ve already eaten it once.”

Mac opened the door to the oven and took a sniff. “Doesn’t smell like leftovers to me. Is there enough for two?”

“Actually, I’m preparing this for Ms. Lindsey. It’s supposed to break the ice. Don’t want the courtship to be too forward.”

“Courtship? What do you mean
courtship
?”

“You’ve heard that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?”

Mac nodded.

“Well, the way to a woman’s is with a romantic meal; good food, good wine, and … 
this
.”

Burt opened the refrigerator and removed parfait glasses filled with vanilla and chocolate swirls. “And”—he grinned as he arranged the dessert on a tray—“if all else fails, bring her a gift.” From beneath the counter he drew out a package wrapped in red foil and tied with a silver bow.

“Dare I ask what’s in the box?”

“You do not. This gift isn’t for you.”

“You’re really having dinner with Ms. Lindsey?” Mac asked, feeling a strange twinge of jealousy.

“I will be serving her, yes. And if you’re going to join her, you’d better hurry.”

“Me? But I thought—”

“You’re always thinking, boss. When you gonna
stop that thoughty stuff and live dangerously. Tell her you’ll pick her up in fifteen minutes. I’ve set a table in the library. I’ve selected the food and wine, you pick the music.”

“But …” Why was he being difficult? Having dinner with Sterling was exactly what he wanted to do. “Yes,” he finally said. “I’ll call her. And Burt, thanks.”

He started out of the kitchen, a spring in his step that hadn’t been there before. He bumped straight into Elizabeth, who was walking in. “Oh, Mac, I wanted to talk with you.”

“Right now?” He’d didn’t have time now. Minutes were ticking by. “I … I have an appointment. Can’t it wait?”

“I suppose. Just answer one question. Sterling thinks that Jessie needs a more traditional Christmas. Do I have your permission to have a tree brought in?”

“Sure. And tell Jessie if she writes Santa a note, he might pay her a visit.”

“Tell her yourself, Mac.”

“I—I just might. It’s been a long time since she sat on Santa’s knee.”

Elizabeth smiled as Mac moved out of the kitchen and down the hall whistling “Jingle Bells.”

“What set him off?” she asked Burt.

“Don’t know. Must be the casserole. Is it getting to you?”

Elizabeth eyed the chef skeptically. “What are you up to, you overgrown Cupid?”

“I’m sharpening my arrows, Lizzie, my girl. You’d better watch out. One of Santa’s larger angels is watching you.”

“And what is this
extra-large
angel planning to do?”

Burt took Elizabeth by the shoulders and backed her up to the door. “Look up, Lizzie?”

She did. In the archway, Burt had tied a tiny sprig of greenery fall of white berries. “Now, Burt.”

“Now, Lizzie, it’s mistletoe. I haven’t seen any mistletoe in the three years I’ve been here. I haven’t kissed a pretty girl in too long, and I’ll bet you haven’t been kissed either.”

“You aren’t serious.”

“Trust me, Lizzie, I am.”

He was. And by the time he was finished, Lizzie knew exactly how deadly serious a kiss could be. She looked up at the man who towered over her. “You kissed me.”

“That I did, and I intend to do it again. I’ve put this on top of my list of New Year’s resolutions.”

“But, Burt, I’m an old woman. I don’t know what to say.”

“Say you’ll have dessert with me by the pool, and I’ll tell you about all the gifts that Santa’s bringing you.”

A flush spread across her face. “I know you’re going to think I’m silly, but I can’t. I mean, I never … I shouldn’t … what kind of dessert?”

“Chocolate kisses.”

Too many years had passed since a man had looked at Elizabeth Everett as if she were the dessert. She swallowed hard and said a little prayer for forgiveness before she quipped, “I guess I could indulge in some dessert … just this once.”

The Christmas music on Sterling’s intercom faded. She had visions of Mac gleefully manipulating the buttons on some vast control board. And she wasn’t certain that he wasn’t watching her right now.

Without the music, the complete darkness smothered her. So be it. If Lincoln McAllister was a voyeur, and didn’t get a good enough look the night he undressed her, he was about to see plenty. She turned the lights back on, and waited, expecting his voice to fill the silence.

Nothing.

Sterling didn’t know whether she was pleased or angry.

Water from her wet hair ran down her face. She wiped her forehead, felt the sopping tendrils, and grimaced. Ten minutes? That’s all the time she had to dress and turn herself into someone a man like 007 would want to face across a dinner table. It had
been a long time since she’d even considered pleasing a man.

First, a dinner dress. She reminded herself to have Conner pack her own clothes and send them to her. They would make her feel less vulnerable.

As usual, Elizabeth had come up with something new. This time she’d laid out a long loose garment, half dressing, half evening gown. Made out of shimmering coral-colored material, the dress had a scooped elastic neckline and Empire bodice, from which the fabric was softly gathered.

Sterling looked around, picked up the clothing, and wheeled herself to her closet. Opening the door, she stood and stepped inside, where she ripped off the wet suit and donned the gossamer underwear Elizabeth had provided. She might as well not be wearing anything. The shape and color of her nipples were as obvious as if she were nude.

Before she panicked entirely, she pulled the gown over her head and threaded her feet into a pair of gold sandals that had appeared in her closet. Now, what on earth would she do about her hair?

Reclaiming her chair, she flipped the footrests down, wheeled herself into her bathroom, and replaced the wet towel around her head with a dry one that she spread over her shoulders. The hair dryer was already connected. She turned it on, let it get hot, and began to blow her hair. Once it started to dry, the heavy dark brown strands would turn into a mass of curls. She didn’t have enough time to dry it
completely. She’d just have to pull it back and fasten it with combs.

Laying the dryer aside for a moment, she turned to her makeup, applying moisturizer, followed by a natural base coat. A glittering taupe eyeshadow and mascara brought her eyes to life. The coral lipstick that she applied to her cheeks and her lips complemented the color of her gown.

She studied her efforts. A soft: gasp escaped her lips. She looked like some kind of Grecian girl from days of old. All she needed was an urn.

There was a knock on her door.

“Just a minute.” In her haste to turn her chair, she knocked her dryer to the floor and caught it in the wheel.

“Sterling? Are you all right? I’m coming in.”

She heard the door open. “I’m in here.”

“Oops! Are you decent?”

“Certainly. I just dropped my dryer. It’s pretty useless, my hair’s a mess.”

“Your hair is …” His voice trailed off.

She looked up, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “I’m sorry, Mac. All my things were in my case and it got lost somewhere along the way. Mrs. Everett has done the best she could, but I would never dress like this.”

“You should,” he said. “You’re lovely. But if these things don’t suit you, Elizabeth will take you shopping and you can replace anything you need.”

“I know, you have a store here in the mountain.”

“A small one. What we don’t have, the manager brings in.”

“What I need right now is a hairdresser.”

“Sorry, we don’t have one handy.” He picked up the dryer. “Will I do? I used to dry Jessie’s hair.” He turned the appliance on and began to direct the stream of heat beneath her hair, pulling it out and combing it with his fingertips.

The effect was hypnotizing. In the mirror she could watch his cool concentration, the way he massaged her scalp as he separated the strands. The feathery touch of his hands fanned the hotness of the blown air. Overhead, the mirror was beginning to fog over and she wasn’t entirely certain that it was from the dryer.

“Mac, that’s fine. I can manage now.”

He paused and caught her gaze in the mirror. “I know you can manage, but I can do it much quicker. Just close your eyes and let me. Please?”

How could she refuse? There was something mesmerizing about his touch, about feeling the warm air against her skin as he lifted the hair, exposing it to the heat section by section. She closed her eyes and once more forced herself to relax.

Finally, he laid the dryer on the counter, giving her hair one last touch, then stepped away. “I think that’s it.”

She opened her eyes to find a different woman looking back at her. He hadn’t used a curling iron to shape her hair and the result was a mass of fine curls, capping her head like a lacy veil.

“Mac. I look like some kind of … I don’t know. Wild child. Maybe one of those flower children from the sixties.”

He put his hands on her shoulders and leaned forward so that the two faces in the mirror were side by side.

“Were you ever a wild child?”

“Not really. I was too sensible, too busy preparing myself to be the CEO of General Motors.”

“That’s what I thought. Tell you a little secret, Sterling. I was wild enough for both of us.”

“I’ll bet you had long hair and rode a Harley.”

“If you’d put money on that bet, you’d be a rich woman. A Harley, a Porsche, a vintage convertible, and a Palomino stallion. If it cost money, I had it. If it went fast, I raced it.”

And if it needed loving, she’d bet he loved it. She wanted to respond with something light, as they had before, but the tension between them left her speechless.

Finally, Mac straightened up. “I think we’re looking at two deprived people. Maybe we’d better see what Burt is serving before he comes after us with one of his long-handled forks.”

Sterling felt a slow blush steal across her face. What on earth had gotten into her? She’d been staring into that mirror like some kind of lovestruck girl, caught up in the fantasy of a lover who brushed her hair. Of being a wild child.

She was safer with the holograph of Bond and
the Danish babe. It was only a picture. What she’d been caught up in moments ago was real.

Too real.

“Yes,” she managed to say. “I’m starving.” She looked down at herself; the neckline of her Grecian gown was far too low. Her ample breasts were threatening to spill over and a tug at the top only made Mac aware of her discomfort. “Swimming always increases my appetite,” she finished lamely, and folded her wrists in her lap.

“Do you swim much?”

“Every day. Sometimes twice a day. Your pool is lovely. Do you use it?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “Jessie does. I built it for her, to exercise her legs.”

They’d gone only a short distance down the corridor when Mac stopped and waited. A light came on over the door and it opened silently.

“Magic?” she teased.

“No. Photo identification again. Toys. Every time my engineers hear about something new, they have to try it. It’s part of my research lab.”

“Technology is a wonderful thing.”

“Yes, but there are some things it still can’t do.”

She heard a wistfulness in his voice. “Is that why you don’t sleep at night?” She should have bitten her tongue. The connection between them had lessened. The last thing she needed to bring up was something that tied them together personally.

“How’d you know about my being an insomniac?”

“You always called me after midnight, remember?”

He looked down for a moment. “And you were always there.”

“Yes, I had my share of sleepless nights. You know why I was awake. What about you?”

“So many things keep me from sleeping, Sterling. I think we both have our own demons. Now that I know about Vincent Dawson, I understand one of your demons better.”

She could have corrected him, told him that Vincent Dawson’s eyes were only one thing that haunted her at night. Until now she might have blamed him for all of it. She would have been fooling herself. In those dark lonely hours when the shadows reached out and pulled her in, it was human contact that she needed and found in the voice of a stranger.

Now that stranger was real and she was having a hard time dealing with being so close to him. A voice in the darkness filled those empty spaces, but it disappeared in the light.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Mac said, “but Burt set a table in my quarters.”

“Your quarters?”

“I told you. I’m next door, remember?”