Mac's Angels: The Last Dance: A Loveswept Classic Romance Read online

  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?”

  She remembered
.

  His apartment was almost Spartan in its decor. There were rough, sand-colored walls, simple furniture of a light-colored wood, and rugs that resembled Indian blankets. From the foyer she could see a fireplace in the living room that might be found in any adobe house in the Southwest.

  Sterling looked around in amazement, then over her shoulder at Mac. “It’s lovely. Does the fireplace work?”

  “Of course. There’s another one in the library where Burt set up our table. Would you like a fire?”

  “I’d love a fire.”

  He moved her chair through the doorway into a small room lined with books. Several overstuffed cream-colored couches nestled around a larger fireplace already bright with glowing coals.

  “Looks like Burt already decided we needed one,” Mac said.

  This time there was no holograph, no window opening on the outside world. Instead, the lights were low, supplemented by thick white candles ringed with poinsettias in the middle of the table.

  “It’s lovely. I can see why you never leave Shangri-la. You have everything you want right here.”

  He stopped the chair for a moment, allowing her to take in the setting Burt had created. “Almost. Almost. Can you stand? I think you’d be more comfortable in the chairs Burt arranged.”

  “Of course. I told you I can walk. Short distances are fine; it’s the long treks that hurt.” She leaned down to fold the footrests up.

  “Let me.” He made a move toward her feet.

  “No!” she said sharply, then raised up, regretting the sharpness of her voice. “I’m sorry. It’s just that since I left the rehabilitation center, I’ve never had anyone so … close.”

  “What about Conner?”

  She laughed as she pushed herself up. “His stealth in the marines might have given him his nickname—The Shadow—but when it comes to nursing, he has two left feet. Seriously, it took a long time, but I don’t think he sees me as handicapped anymore. There are times when I have to remind him that I can’t climb mountains or swim oceans.”

  Mac helped her into her chair and pushed it beneath the crisp white tablecloth. Then he moved the wheelchair and turned to the wine cabinet. “Looks like Burt has chosen the wine. I hope you like this one. I have it sent in from France.”

  “I can’t say that I’m a connoisseur. I—I don’t drink much. For so long being clearheaded was more important than satisfying my taste buds.”

  Mac filled her wineglass then his own. As he sat down he raised his glass. “A toast, Sterling. To Bond and Moneypenny, two lost souls together at last.”

  She smiled and touched her glass to his. “No, Mac. To Sterling and Mac, two lost souls trapped in a mountain by a madman.”

  He sipped his wine. “I liked my toast better.”

  “Mine is more honest.”

  “All right, then. Accepting that honesty is the best policy. Tell me about yourself?”

  “Myself? You already know more about me than anybody else has ever known, including Conner.”

  “I don’t mean the accident. Tell me about the woman who was going to be the CEO of General Motors.”

  “She’s been gone so long, I’m not sure I even remember her anymore.”

  “That’s probably just as well. Most of the corporate women I’ve dealt with are alligators.” He glanced across the table at her and smiled. “I like flower children better.”

  “I might, too, but I’m afraid I don’t fit into that category either. My life is pretty much Paradox, Inc. I run Conner’s company, not the actual business part of it. There are warehouses and accountants for that. I deal more with the overall picture. He needs a product and I find it. He wants to sell something unique and I find a buyer. If someone needs him to do something, I facilitate it.”

  “And you look after him,” Mac said softly.

  “I did. Now he has Erica. I’m having to learn to step back and let her claim the man she married.”

  The fire crackled in the silence.

  “That must be hard,” Mac said. “I’ve never had to let go—except once. I’ve always been more concerned with shoring up.”

  “You sound like you’re talking about buildings, not people.”

  “I guess I am. Being close to people isn’t something I’m comfortable with. Would you like some music?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject.

  “Am I going to get another chorus of ‘Santa Claus Is Coming to Town’?”

  He stood and moved over to an entertainment center on the wall just inside the door. “Not if you’ve made your list?”

  “No list,” she said. “I expect Santa to know what I want. It’s the same thing I’ve asked for every year.”

  He hit a button and the sweet voice of Celine Dion sang softly through the room. He listened for a moment, then said, “If you didn’t get what you asked for, maybe you’re asking for the wrong thing.”

  She thought of her childish request for someone to love her and nodded. “I think you’re absolutely right. That’s why I stopped asking.”

  There came a knock on the door.

  “You decent, Mac?” It was Burt.

  “Of course I’m decent.”

  “Too bad. In that case, I’m coming in.” The rotund chef rolled a serving cart into the room. “Evening, ma’am. I’m sorry, you must have taken the wrong turn. I’m supposed to be serving Ms. Lindsey, not a model from the Victoria’s Secret catalog.”

  Sterling gasped. “Is that where this dress came from?”

  Burt leaned closer and studied her. “Golly, it is Sterling. Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t recognize you.”

  “I’m not surprised,” she said, tugging once more at the neckline of her gown. Apparently, it really was a gown, not a dinner dress. She’d been on the lingerie company mailing list for years, but she never ordered anything. Her normal sleepwear was an oversized T-shirt and cotton underpants—not the sensual underwear she was wearing tonight.

  “The food Burt?” Mac frowned at his employee.

  “Sorry, boss. I know you’ve had your mouth set for eggplant-and-onion casserole ever since you smelled it in the kitchen.”

  Sterling bit back a smile as Burt placed fine china bowls filled with a creamy tomato soup before them.

  “I hope you like the meal, Sterling.” Burt winked. “The company I can’t guarantee, but I tried to prepare something that would make the evening special.”

  He winked at Mac. “I’ll just leave the rest of the serving to you, boss. There’s room underneath for the plates. The casserole is warming and the dessert is on the cart.” He backed out, reached for the door, and lowered the lights even more.

  “Don’t forget your surprise, boss,” he said. “I put it on the cart for you.”

  Sterling took a sip of her soup and sighed. “If everything is as good as this soup, I’m in trouble.”

  Mac tasted the soup. “If you follow Burt’s advice, you may be in more trouble than you think.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “First, he’s late. Second, his jacket was only half-buttoned. And third, unless he’s not feeling well, he’s taken to wearing lipstick?”

  The clink that followed was Sterling’s soupspoon landing in her bowl. “Burt?”

  Mac grinned. “Never knew Burt to let anyone in his kitchen but family and—Elizabeth.” The grin widened. “Imagine that. Elizabeth and Burt. Do you think?”

  Sterling didn’t want to think. The soft candlelight, the romantic music, and the evening Burt was orchestrating didn’t need any thought.

  “Now, about that alligator,” Mac said. “Tell me more about how she turned into the lady I’m fantasizing about.”

  “Mac, don’t do that. I’m no man’s fantasy. I put that kind of life behind me long ago.”

  “Why?” he asked curiously.

  She looked at him with a touch of irritation. “That should be obvious.”

  “What’s obvious is that you’re a woman who doesn’t have a clue about how beautiful she is.”

&n
bsp; Sterling blotted her lips with her napkin and placed her spoon in her empty bowl. “Please, don’t do this, Mac.”

  “Do what?”

  “Tease me. I’m having enough trouble dealing with what happened. I’ve been moved away from my home and forced to face the possibility that I may not come out of this whole thing alive. That tends to make a person vulnerable. And now you’re … you’re making me uncomfortable with your … flirting.”

  He tensed. She was right. What was he doing? Sitting across from Sterling, he was as excited as a teenager and he was only making it worse with his suggestive conversational gambits.

  Without thinking, he slid his hand over, covering hers. A new bolt of desire connected them and she stared at him. There was fear in her eyes, uncertainty, and the kind of naked need that couldn’t be denied. It wasn’t just him. It wasn’t something that either could turn on and off as though it didn’t exist.

  “Sterling.” He stood and moved around the table. “I don’t think I like this any more than you, but damned if I want to stop it. You’re right, I’ve been lonely. I’ve just had to learn to live with it.”

  She stood, pushing her chair back. “With the airport and that man, everything changed and I don’t know how to change it back.”

  Then she was in Mac’s arms, strong arms that supported her and pulled her close. No, she didn’t—couldn’t want this.

  Mac groaned. “Sterling …”

  Then he brushed her lips and she knew that this was what she’d wanted from the first time he’d touched her. It was a shock to realize that she was so ready, so willing. As his lips touched hers she stopped fighting her desire and caught her fingertips in the buttons of his shirt, drawing him closer. He wasn’t a great deal taller than she, but she was forced to tilt her head slightly to allow him access to her mouth. He lingered there, then moved to her eyes.

  “I slept last night,” she whispered. “And I dreamed about you. I never have dreams like that. And I don’t want to.”

  She felt his heart beating against her fingers. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. There was an intensity about him that said he was no more in control of his actions than she was in control of hers. She was way out on a limb here and she didn’t seem to be able to get back.