Maid for Love (6 page)

He strapped a sleeping bag to the back of the motorcycle while his mother watched him. Pretending not to notice her frosty glare, he tinkered with spark plugs and connections before straddling the bike to kick-start it. The engine sputtered and died. He tried twice more before it roared to life with a deafening backfire.

Mac couldn't wait to open up the bike on the island's winding roads, just like he used to.

"Where are you going?" his mother hollered over the roar.

"To see Dad and then back to Maddie's. I'll be by tomorrow."

"Mac!
Wait!
We need to talk!"

He turned the bike around and gunned it, sending pieces of crushed shell flying behind him.

"You forgot your helmet!"

Flashing a grin over his shoulder, he pretended he couldn't hear her. Just like old times.

As Mac coasted down the long, winding hill that led to the marina, he was glad he hadn't bothered to cut his hair before he left Miami. The wind rushing through it took him right back to high school, and the wild burst of freedom reminded him of a time before life became so complicated.

His thoughts inevitably turned to Maddie and what Janey had told him. They'd grown up just a few miles apart, but light years separated them. While he'd been the hometown hero, she'd been mocked and ridiculed and God knows what else because of something she could neither help nor change.

"It's not up to you to right all those wrongs," he muttered to himself. But for some reason, he wanted to do just that. She'd stirred something primal in him and touched a part of him he hadn't even known existed. The notion both excited and discomforted at the same time.

Even as he decided he should keep his distance, he knew he wouldn't. In fact, as soon as he said a quick hello to his father, he'd be heading right back to her. Surely the reaction he'd had earlier was the result of the accident and the ensuing burst of adrenaline. Once he saw her again, everything would be back to normal, or at least he hoped so.

Mac zipped into the marina and parked next to one of the Dumpsters.

Thanks to his six-foot, four-inch height, Big Mac's thatch of wiry gray hair stood out amid the chaos on the main dock. Because the word sunscreen was not, and had never been, in his vocabulary, he was already as tan as most people were by the end of the summer. He wore a blue T-shirt with a faded silkscreen of a wide-mouthed bass and bleached-out denim shorts with his trademark boat shoes.

Mac watched his father interact with kids, customers and employees as he shouted out orders and engaged in a series of hand signals to direct incoming boaters while deftly fending off another arriving boat. Big Mac choreographed the scene with the finesse of a dispatcher and the authority of a drill sergeant.

Amused, Mac waited for his father to finish tying up the newcomer. Farther down the main dock, the marina's second-in-command, Luke Harris, wrestled with a throttle-happy power boater who'd put speed ahead of safety and skill.

Luke, a high school classmate of Mac's, had worked at McCarthy's for more summers than Mac could count. Mac watched him corral the out-of-control boat without any damage to the others around it. The crowd on the dock gave Luke a round of applause that earned a scowl from the boat's captain.

Big Mac had turned his attention to a crew of kids he'd no doubt recruited from the boats who were shucking a bushel of corn for the restaurant. He said a something that had them all laughing. Pulling a fly swatter from his back pocket, Big Mac took care of the early-season bees that were bugging the kids and returned the swatter to his pocket.

Patting one of the kids on the head, Big Mac turned and noticed his son standing on the sidelines waiting for him. His face lit up with pure joy. Mac's throat tightened as his father made his way across the pier. He loved no one more than the giant of a man who'd raised him with a gentle but steady hand. His father stopped, gave him a measuring once-over and then shook his head as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Behind the dark sunglasses, Mac suspected he'd find tears.

"What a nice surprise," Big Mac said softly, framing his son's face with calloused, work-roughened hands the size of dinner plates. Their father's effusive love had once mortified his sons, but Mac had long ago outgrown his aversion. "What's wrong with you?"

Mac laughed, not one bit surprised that his father could also take a quick look and know something wasn't quite right. "Apparently, I've been burning the candle."

"Well, you look like hell." He slung a thick arm around Mac's shoulders. "Buy you a late lunch?"

"Thanks, but I already ate. I actually have to get back to town." He gave his father a quick recap of what'd happened earlier with Maddie.

"You can't be serious about covering for her at the hotel."

"She can't work for a few days, and she's petrified about losing the job."

"We can see that doesn't happen, son. We're not ogres."

"It's a pride thing. Besides, how hard can it be to clean a couple of rooms?"

Big Mac snickered. "Harder than you probably think. Mom will pitch a cow over this."

"Believe me, I've already gotten an earful."

Big Mac nodded to the bike. "Got the old girl out of mothballs, huh?"

"She's running great."

"I take her out for a spin every now and then to keep her lubed up and ready. Just in case."

"In case of what?"

"In case you come home."

The stark simplicity of his father's statement tugged at Mac's heart. "I'm sorry it's been so long."

"No matter. You're here now. For how long?"

Mac took a long look around at the marina, taking in the peeling paint, the sagging roof on the main building that housed the office and restaurant, and the broken windowpane in the gift shop. Seeing his father made Mac forget all about his vow to get in and get out as quickly as possible.

"As long as it takes."

Maddie slept deeper than she had in years. She dreamed about Mac McCarthy. They were on a sailboat, and he was at the helm. The sun shone down upon them, the warmth cooled by an ocean breeze that powered the sleek wooden boat. He wore only a bathing suit tied low on narrow hips. A light dusting of dark hair covered his muscular chest and rippled abs, forming a tantalizing trail into his suit.

He caught her watching him and smiled, dazzling her with his beautiful face and twinkling eyes. That he—Mac McCarthy, local hero and golden boy—seemed so happy to be with her was nothing short of miraculous.

A nagging voice in the back of her mind warned her to be careful. Surely a man who could have any woman he wanted wouldn't really be interested in her. But no one else was around just now. For however long he chose to stay, he was hers and she wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anything. Knowing he had the power to shatter her did nothing to quell the wave of longing. As if she was outside herself watching someone else, Maddie stood up in the boat's roomy cockpit and went to him.

He slipped an arm around her shoulders and drew her in close. His hand caressing her sun-warmed skin sent desire darting through her.

Maddie looked up at him, the yearning no doubt apparent on her face.

He studied her for a long moment before he lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers in tentative kiss, keeping his eyes focused on hers.

Hooking her hand around his neck, she brought him back for more.

His open mouth came down on hers as if he'd been dying to kiss her forever. He traced the outline of her mouth with his tongue before delving deeper to engage in a fierce duel with hers.

Maddie met him thrust for thrust.

Without surrendering her mouth, he released his hold on the wheel and wrapped his arms around her, bringing her in tight against his instant arousal. The unattended sails flapped in the breeze as the boat foundered.

The desire was so intense, she didn't even care that her breasts were now pressed against his chest.

A moan escaped their joined lips, and Maddie wasn't sure if it came from him or from her. What did it matter?

From outside the screen door, Mac heard the moan and rushed in to find her sleeping—and clearly dreaming. Her hair formed a wild halo around her face. Her lips were pursed and moving.

Transfixed by the sight of her, he dropped the sleeping bag and the extra bandages he'd bought just inside the door and went to her. She moaned again, and he wondered if she was in pain. When her legs fell open and her hips thrust upward, he went hard as stone.

"God," he muttered, worried that she would reopen her wounds if she kept thrashing about. Sitting next to her on the sofa, he put his hands on her shoulders to hold her still. "Maddie, wake up. You're dreaming."

"Mmm."

She has the prettiest mouth I've ever seen
. Before he could indulge in a fantasy about what it would be like to press his own mouth to her plump, pink lips, she lifted her hips again.

"Maddie."

She shocked him when she hooked her uninjured arm around his neck and dragged him down to her. What had been a brief fantasy only a second ago quickly became reality as her lips opened under his and her tongue thrust into his mouth with wild abandon.

Mac knew he should stop her—that was, if he could think clearly enough to do anything but hang on for the ride. Besides, if he fought her, he risked hurting her and he'd already hurt her enough. He cupped her soft cheek, and his tongue met her ardent thrusts, feasting on her sweet flavor.

Time seemed to slip away as he gave in to the attraction that had simmered from the second their eyes first met. Immersed in the scent of summer flowers that came from her hair, he had no idea if he kissed her for five minutes or an hour. All he knew was he didn't want it to end—ever.

He knew the exact instant that she woke up and realized she was no longer dreaming. Her body went tense and rigid, and her ardent mouth stilled.

Mac pulled back to stare at her, astounded by the kiss, the emotion, the desire. Brushing the hair off her forehead, he watched surprise, embarrassment, anger and longing dance across her face. The longing caught him off guard and filled him with a brand new kind of desire—to give her everything and anything she wanted.

"What're you doing?" she finally asked.

Mac cleared his throat. "I was trying to wake you up, and you kissed me."

"I did not kiss you!" But then she seemed to realize her arm was still hooked around his neck. Her face flushing with color, she released him.

"Ah, yeah, you did." He leaned in again so his lips lingered just above hers. "And guess what else? You liked it."

"You don't know that."

"I can tell when the woman I'm kissing is enjoying it."

Disgust twisted her pretty mouth into a sneer. "Oh, you and all your experience,
of course
you can tell."

He continued to hover just above her, amused by her disdain. Why did he get such a kick out of pushing her buttons?

Her hand landed on his chest to keep him from getting any closer. "Would you please move? I need to get up."

"And go where?"

"To the bathroom, if you must know."

Rather than get up, he slid an arm under her legs and lifted her.

"Put me down!" She winced from the pain of her sore knee bending over his arm. "I can get there on my own."

"But you don't have to." He delivered her to the door and waited while she got her footing. The agonized look that crossed her face made him ache.

"I'll be out in a minute. Feel free to be gone by then." Leaning on her uninjured hand, she used the wall as a makeshift crutch.

Mac closed the door and waited outside, leaning his head back against the wall in a failed attempt to calm his overheated body while reliving the kiss that had blown his mind. So much for his plan to keep his distance and not get involved. With one kiss, he was already more involved with her than he'd been with any other woman.

The bathroom door opened. "I need to get over to my sister's."

"I know."

Her eyes landed on the sleeping bag he'd left by the front door. "What's that?"

"A sleeping bag."

She glared at him. "No kidding."

"You might need help with the baby during the night."

"You can't stay here. No way."

"I'm not leaving you to fend for yourself and Thomas with one working hand."

"It's not up to you to fix this! I don't know who you think you are, but you're not bombing into my life and barking out orders—"

"I won't be responsible for you dropping your son or something else happening to him because I was clumsy."

"It's not your responsibility! It's mine. I'll take care of Thomas the way I always have—by myself. The last thing I need is everyone in town knowing you're staying here."

The mulish set to her chin amused him, and apparently he did a poor job of hiding it.

"What's so funny?"

"You are when you get all…" He waved his hand. "Worked up."