Mac's Angels: The Last Dance: A Loveswept Classic Romance (6 page)

It had been years since he’d worn the jacket. He was just about to remove it when there was a knock on the door, and Elizabeth appeared.

“Oh my, Mac, you look very nice.”

“I look like an idiot,” he protested.

“That’s the same thing Miss Lindsey said. The two of you will match beautifully. Just you wait and see.”

“I’m not sure this is a good idea, Elizabeth.”

“I’m sure it is. I’ve set up your table on the balcony. Shall I bring her?”

“No. I’ll get her. And, thank you, Elizabeth. You’re excused for the evening. Unless—will she need you later?”

“Miss Lindsey is a very independent woman. Like you, she doesn’t think she needs anyone. I’m not certain either one of you is right about that. Independence can become crippling.”

Mac frowned. Elizabeth fancied herself his surrogate mother. Tonight she was certainly acting like one.

At Sterling’s door, Mac hesitated, then knocked lightly. The door was only partially closed. It swung open to reveal Sterling standing by her window.

She looked around and for a moment felt dizzy. She’d complained that the dress Elizabeth had found was far too elegant for a simple meal. It clung to her body, emphasizing the round curves she’d developed as a result of being confined. There was a time when she’d been called long and lean. But that was no longer the case.

Now she wished that she’d followed through with the private trainer Conner had arranged, but the young man had referred over and over to the future relationships she would have once she got herself in shape. She hadn’t wanted relationships. She’d had one and she’d learned that physical attributes were as important as mental equality. She had decided that physical appearances didn’t matter to her anymore, and she allowed herself to develop the soft curves the dress was now showing off. Physical didn’t matter. At least, it hadn’t until tonight.

She forced herself to speak. “You’re very handsome, Mr. McAllister. You look like Humphrey Bogart. Do you play the piano?”

“No, and neither did Bogie. Shall we go?”

He was doing it again, covering a moment of awkwardness with humour. What could she do but respond? “Of course. I haven’t much experience in dining with rich handsome men. But I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“What about Conner?”

“Conner’s married, so he doesn’t count,” she said, and waited for him to respond.

Instead, he simply pushed her chair forward, then held out his hand. She smiled and allowed him to assist her. “Where are we dining?”

“Where else? Mac’s Place.”

Red and green candles set in a nest of holly branches sent little curls of smoke into the night sky. A table for two had been placed beside a wall created by windows.

Sterling slipped into her seat, trying unsuccessfully to avoid any contact with Mac as he slid the chair forward. But he thwarted that by placing one hand on her shoulder. He leaned down, pointing at the night beyond the glass.

“Look at that view, Sterling. There’s nothing like it anywhere else in the world.”

A million glittering stars surrounded an icy white moon pinned on a black velvet sky like some elegant display in a museum. “Did you order this moon?” she asked, hearing the slight breathlessness she felt in her voice.

“No, I managed to create a complex that offers safe haven to the needy, and houses the most up-to-date medical equipment available to man. I have a staff that can solve almost any problem and the space and means to do it. Dozens of people scattered across the world take on trouble, from a mother who can’t face the loss of a child to a patriot wishing to
overthrow a cruel dictator. But creating something like this is beyond the capabilities of any of my earthbound angels.”

“Do you really believe in angels?”

He straightened up and moved over to an entertainment center on the adjacent wall. “Sometimes,” he said softly. “Sometimes there is no other answer.”

A waiter appeared silently. He removed Sterling’s napkin and gave it a shake before placing it in her lap. A bottle of wine was brought, opened, and tasted by Mac, who nodded and carefully watched as their glasses were filled.

Moments later piano music drifted into the air and added to the magic.

“Shall we make a toast?” Mac asked, lifting his glass.

Sterling held out her glass. “What shall we drink to?”

“To angels,” he said, and tapped her glass, sending a lovely chiming sound that rippled around the room, as if the composer had written it into the evening’s song. “And to forever after.”

“Forever after?” she asked with a smile.

“Of course. This is Shangri-la, remember?”

She remembered. She also remembered something else he’d said. He’d said he was taking her to meet Jessie, the woman he loved.

Mac had rescued Sterling, but he hadn’t anticipated the effect it would have on him. Personally bringing her to Shangri-la had taken him back to a time before he’d built the complex, when he’d met another woman who had needed him. The first time he’d been the helping angel.

Long before he’d become Mac, he’d been Lincoln McAllister, playboy extraordinaire. He’d been on his way home from a party. He didn’t remember who’d given it—life had been one party after another—only that particular night he’d had too much to drink and had insisted on driving himself home in his latest shiny black sports car.

Her name was Alice and she’d been standing at the side of the road, waiting for a car, any car. He’d seen her in the lights cast by the truck ahead. It slowed, then kept going. At first he’d thought she was about to cross the street. Then, as he’d reached
the spot where she was standing, she had leaped into the path of his car.

Even now, late at night, he still heard the sound of screeching brakes and felt the thud as his fender caught her body and threw her into the air.

She hadn’t died, not then. Her first attempt at suicide had failed. Six years later—after he’d married her and given her a child—the demons inside her head became more than she could handle, and she’d driven off the mountain, killing herself and critically injuring their little girl.

Now, as he watched Sterling across the table, he thought about what he was doing. He’d built a sanctuary for desperate people and he’d staffed it with professionals who could help. Slowly, over the last fourteen years, he’d expanded the scope of his enterprise. He’d had some success and with that came a kind of fragile, manufactured peace. All of his interventions hadn’t been so dramatic. There were times when he’d simply read about someone somewhere who had a dream or needed one and he’d stepped in. But this was the first time he’d become personally involved with a woman who needed him since his wife Alice and their child. Why?

“Mac? What happens now?” Sterling’s voice jerked him back to the present.

“Now? We have dessert, something sinfully delicious.”

“No, Mac. No dessert. I’m not one of those eat-all-you-want, willowy people. Too many late-night
dinners like this and I’ll have to have an eighteen-wheeler to get around instead of a wheelchair.”

“You’re fine, Sterling. I lifted you, remember?”

She was fine. All through dinner he’d been reminded how fine. The dress Elizabeth had provided for her was made of a loose-fitting flimsy red material shot with a metallic thread that shimmered in the candlelight. She wore no jewelry, only a single strand of silver woven into the simple twist she’d fashioned at the back of her neck.

She was round, yes, but it was the kind of gentle softness that a man could cuddle up to and feel safe with. Simple, old-fashioned, and elegant.

“You’re too concerned about your size,” he added with a smile.

But she wasn’t concerned, not really, just fluttery with the knowledge that he was interested in her. They were alone, in an intimate setting and they’d shared danger. That was intoxicating. But she thought that it was the situation, not the woman, that intrigued Lincoln McAllister.

She shook her head, consciously searching for a way to defuse the sexual tension. “Thank you, Mac, but I know what I am. The dinner was wonderful, but I think it’s time we talk about what I’m doing here.”

In one second she shattered the illusion he’d been building subconsciously throughout dinner. He wondered why he kept straying off into some sensual fantasy. He understood that’s what it was. Fantasy, based on shared risk and loneliness. “Not yet,” he
said, too abruptly. “We get the facts, analyze them, and formulate our plan. By tomorrow we’ll know more. Tonight we’re simply two people having dinner.”

Sterling laid her napkin down and studied him. “All right. But I am sorry you missed the wedding. I know how seldom you leave your mountaintop. I know you wanted to be there, since you and Montana are close friends.”

“We are friends, but I would have been totally out of place at a wedding. Long ago I lost any talent I ever had for making small talk. The wedding was simply an—obligation. I helped Montana once when he needed help. Then he returned the favor by being one of Mac’s Angels to help someone else.”

“That’s pretty cut-and-dried.”

“That’s what I am, Sterling. I joke about it, but I’m not a real angel. Don’t give me that kind of credit. What I do is use what I have, to do what I … I can’t do myself.”

She didn’t believe he was that cold. She’d seen the playful side of him, understood he used humor to cover up real emotion. “And me? Will I be asked to help someone else?”

“You will,” he said solemnly. “You most certainly will.”

She sat silent for a moment. “Well, the food was delicious and I appreciate you sharing Mac’s Place with me. But I truly am very tired.”

The strain in Sterling’s voice made him feel
guilty. Having dinner with her had been pleasant. For a time she’d relaxed and forgotten the danger.

He had enjoyed the company.

Now she was fading. How long had he been staring at her without seeing? “I’m sorry, Sterling. Guess I’ll have to admit it. I’m not really Bogart; I’m just an ordinary man.”

She cocked her head to the side. “How’s that? This place certainly isn’t ordinary. What you’ve created here is unbelievable. In fact, I probably ought to be calling you James.”

“Now, there you have me. James?”

“As in Bond. 007. You don’t look like him, but if he doesn’t have his American headquarters here, he ought to.”

Mac grinned in spite of himself. She had a way of making him do that. She wasn’t the first to make that comparison. It wasn’t a personal comparison; it was more a matter of the lengths to which he went to succeed.

“Well, if I’m 007, who does that make you?”

“Why Moneypenny, of course. Secretary, assistant, and general nanny. That’s a role I could probably handle.”

“Perhaps,” he said softly, remembering Sterling’s voice on the phone. “Perhaps Moneypenny would tell me I’m falling behind in my duties.” He stood, dropped his napkin, and pushed Sterling’s wheelchair next to the chair she was sitting on. He held out his hand.

She took it and moved stiffly to her wheelchair.
“I think you’ve done fine so far, 007. What do you think you haven’t done well?”

“Well, it has been a long day.” He pushed her wheelchair into the corridor and back toward the wing where she was staying, adding, “I expect Bond would have thought about that. He would have taken you to bed an hour ago.”

Sterling gasped.

“Damn! That didn’t come out quite right. Maybe you’d better go back to calling me Barney instead of Bond.”

“Not a chance. Barney could never have worn that tux.”

Sterling’s chair wheels made a whistling sound as they rolled down the silent corridor. She had said she was very tired. That was untrue. Her senses were awake and heavily charged by the closeness of Lincoln McAllister. Beginning with her dramatic airport rescue, they’d left Barney Rubble behind. Now they were playing out events that
could
have come straight from a Bond movie.

Shangri-la had to be big-screen imagination and action at its best, a secret hideaway designed to repair and protect. Then came a romantic dinner with a handsome man who’d worn a white dinner jacket and created a fantasy meant to distract and entice. Bond at his best. But that was where the comparison ended.

Mac was no ultrasophisticated ladies’ man. The crook in his once broken nose and a scar on his cheek made Mac more real than any screen actor.
There was a sense of pain about him, pain buried so deep that he wouldn’t share it easily.

Except maybe with Jessie. She had to remember Jessie.

To add to the swirling currents of danger and emotion, she’d been plopped down right in the middle of Christmas, a sentimental holiday.

Christmas was the one season Sterling avoided. Christmas was for children, for the mystery of promises made and kept. If there really were angels, they wouldn’t tease her with the illusion of love and family and all that the season promised.

But they—Mac had done just that.

Low strains of Christmas music wafted down the corridor as if someone had just opened a door. “Hark the Herald Angels Sing …” Then it stopped as suddenly as it had begun.

“Did you hear that?” she asked.

“What?”

“Music?”

“No, but if you want music, or anything else, all you have to do is ask Elizabeth.”

“Mac, I want to talk to you about Mrs. Everett. I appreciate your concern, but I insist that you release her from her duties as my companion. I can manage alone.”

He reached her door and stopped, looking down at her. “She isn’t assigned to you, Sterling. As a matter of fact, tonight she’s attending a social function away from the family quarters.”

“Good,” Sterling replied, lacking the energy to
argue. “I wouldn’t want to take up all her time. Except for mastering all your electronic gadgets, I can look after myself.”

Even Sterling knew how slurred her speech sounded.

He studied her. She couldn’t hide her exhaustion even though she tried. Mentally gritting her teeth, she stood and took a step forward, intent on proving that she could manage.

Under other conditions she might have, but tonight she stumbled, a groan escaping her lips. She’d sat for too long without moving. Now her legs were asleep and out of control and the pain sliced right through her.