Bonded by Blood

chapter EIGHT

“MACKENZIE, BE A peach.” Martin crooned over the phone. “Please? For me?”

“You know I’d do it in a heartbeat, but I’ve been feeling like crap lately.” Not really, but she didn’t know how else to explain it. Restless maybe? “I think I’m coming down with something. You can’t find anyone else to do it?”

“Although I love these installation guys, I don’t trust them to hang the piece correctly. They need supervision, otherwise the thing will be slapped up on any old wall. I’d do it, but I completely forgot my teaching schedule is different this term. I’m in class in less than an hour.” She heard him sniff away a couple of fake tears through the phone connection.

“Yeah, Martin, talk about embarrassing. I’m helping hang a picture of my naked self.”

“If you’re not up to it, I understand. I’ll just reschedule.”

It would give her a chance to see the painting one last time. To see its new home. “Oh, all right. So if I need you to cover for one of my classes, you won’t bitch about it, will you?”

“Of course not. I knew I could count on you.”

“Where do they live? One of the suburbs? Traffic getting over there will be a nightmare at this time of the morning.”

“Nope. One of the artist lofts in Pioneer Square. Shouldn’t take you too long to get there from the studio.”

She hung up the phone and finished getting ready. She’d planned to shoot some pictures of the docks this afternoon anyway, and Pioneer Square wasn’t far. She packed her camera into the Triumph’s saddlebag and met the workers at the studio. When the painting was loaded into the delivery van, she followed them over the Ballard Bridge and along the waterfront into the downtown area.

The loft was located in one of the oldest and most historic parts of the city, near the sports stadiums and overlooking Elliott Bay. Since many of the buildings were in the National Historic Register, none were very tall. This was an artsy part of town with trendy stores, art galleries and a funky coffee shop every few feet or so.

Her heart beat with anticipation. She’d always wondered what the lofts looked like from the inside and imagined how exciting it would be to live in the heart of everything. Forgetting how out of sorts she had been feeling, she practically skipped into the building foyer.

The doorman, though polite, evaluated her with the efficiency and no-bullshit air of a seasoned security professional as he checked a logbook, punched something on his keyboard and made a phone call. Although she wasn’t positive, she thought she passed through at least two different metal detectors and the guy put her bag through an X-ray machine. It felt like the airport.

As she waited for more direction from him, she scanned her surroundings. All the high-tech security gadgetry couldn’t hide the rich old-world beauty of the building itself, with its gleaming inlaid marble floors, ornately carved moldings and corbels and intricate wrought-iron details.

Things went from a little odd to downright bizarre when she stepped through a narrow opening into a cylindrical-shaped mini-room and the door slammed shut behind her.

“One moment, miss.” The guard’s voice piped through a speaker.

Good thing she wasn’t claustrophobic. Little lights bordering the edges flashed orange before a short burst of dry mist surrounded her and she coughed. When they blinked green, a door in front opened and the man motioned her forward, handing her the satchel.

What would he have done if she had strapped on her handgun today? Hauled her ass to a holding area for interrogation? Her knife—

She dug into her bag, her fingers sifting through the loose contents at the bottom. Where was her Kershaw folding knife?

As if reading her mind, the doorman—no—guard held it up for her to see.

“Sorry, ma’am. You’ll get it back when you leave.”

I don’t care if Martin pays me for overtime. He is so going to owe me for this.

As she rode the slow, clunky elevator to the top floor, she wondered what kind of important paranoid people lived here. Pulling out her paperwork, she examined Martin’s chicken scratch. For a talented artist, he had the handwriting of a doctor.

Would she be able to see any of the San Juan Islands from up here? With a ding, the elevator doors opened into an expansive hallway. She glanced around but saw no windows and walked toward the only door. Guess she’d have to wait to see the view until she got inside. The building might not be quite tall enough, but she’d surely be able to see West Seattle and maybe even Vashon Island. She wondered if the Olympic Mountains on the peninsula were visible. Sunsets had to be—

“Goddamn it.” Although the voice was somewhat muffled, obviously coming from deep inside the loft, it still boomed through the cracked door. “Does everyone in San Diego have to follow every damn procedure like they were friggin’ boy scouts?”

A prickly heat started in her toes and rushed upwards with the force of a broken fire hydrant, burning her cheeks and setting every hair on edge.

Martin. I’m going to positively kill him this time.

“It’s open,” the voice called. “I’ll be right there.”

Like electricity in the air before a lightning storm, the atmosphere felt charged as she pushed the door wider with her foot. She stood frozen as heavy footsteps echoed on the planks of the wood floor.

“Have Gibson call me back, then.” A cell phone clicked shut.

Clad only in a pair of low-riding jeans clearly pulled on in haste as the top of his fly hung open, Dom was towel-drying his hair when he emerged from the hallway into the foyer. “Martin, thanks so much for coming on short notice. I—” He hesitated midstep when their eyes met, and Mackenzie could smell the cedarlike scent of a man’s soap.

Wrinkling her nose, she tried not to notice his bare, well-developed upper body, the hanks of dark wet hair hanging in clumps around his face, and the ridges of his stomach muscles making a pathway into the waistband of his black boxer-briefs. No, she desperately tried not to notice any of these things.

“Mackenzie.” He expelled her name like an expletive.

“You.” Her voice sounded too breathy and the thin fabric of her T-shirt fluttered with her pounding heart. The memory of what he’d done to her on the terrace made her cheeks heat with embarrassment. She’d been intimate with a man—this man—though she hardly knew him. Many times over the past week, thoughts of him had invaded her head, and she wished he was more than just a stranger who’d shown her a good time. She’d wondered if she’d ever see him again but doubted she ever would. “I didn’t know…how did you—” Totally unprepared, she willed the floor to swallow her up and disappear.

She clamped her eyes shut, sucked a deep breath through her teeth and tried to get ahold of herself. Then it dawned on her. Was this what he meant by “not tonight” when they were on the terrace, because he knew she’d be coming here later? Had he set this whole damn thing up? Mortification gave way as a flood of anger roared in her ears.

Steeling herself for a confrontation, her eyes flew open. But now he was on the other side of the foyer. She blinked a few times, wondering how he could’ve moved so fast. With white knuckles, he clutched the wrought-iron railing and his towel-draped head hung down between the straining muscles of his shoulders.

Was he sick? Outrage dissolved into concern and she approached him tentatively. An odd sense of dйjа vu needled at her memory.

Her sneakers squeaked lightly on the smooth wooden floor of the foyer. She stopped and slipped them off her feet. “Are you okay? What just happened? I heard you on the phone. Is something wrong?”

He continued leaning on the railing and remained silent until she moved closer.

“Stay there.” He threw a hand back and she hesitated again.

“I’ll just come back later, then.” She turned to leave.

“NO.” DOM HELD the towel tighter around his head, a desperate barrier between the two of them. If he’d had the slightest idea Mackenzie was delivering the painting, he would’ve been ready for the overwhelming force of her presence. How could he have missed picking up her energy trail? He’d assumed the knot in his chest was because he was so pissed off with San Diego’s ineptness. There was certainly no mistaking that she was inches from him now.

Heat from her body ignited his bare skin, while the rush of blood through her veins seduced the beast inside him. A familiar throbbing vibrated his gums. He bit down hard, but it was no use. Razor-sharp fangs pushed through, cutting his lips, and he was forced to open his mouth to accommodate them. With every muscle tensed, his body prepared to spring, straining against his will. He gripped the railing with such force that it compressed beneath his fingers.

She hesitated, he could hear the breath catch in her throat, then, with one final step, she was at his side, and impossibly cool fingers grazed his shoulder. A thrill surged through his body, yet calmed him at the same time and in the span of a heartbeat, the violent tension left his muscles like water pouring from a glass.

“Dom?” She dipped her head close, her voice velvety in his ear.

Her fingers caressed his back so subtly, like the automatic touch of a lover, and he doubted she realized her hand was moving. His fangs retracted, but he was powerless to control the needs of a man. When his erection threatened to emerge from the top of his briefs, he shifted his stance and Mackenzie dropped her hand.

No fear emanated from her pores, nor could he taste it in the air. He perceived only her concern for him along with the remnants of anger. What the hell? It made no sense. Why wasn’t she freaked out like most people would be? And how was he able to control himself?

With his back to her, he straightened up and scrubbed his face with the towel. “I’m fine. Head rush.” What a pathetic explanation. “You caught me off— I was expecting one of Martin’s people. Not you.” He stumbled into the kitchen and carefully zipped his fly.

“I am one of Martin’s people.” She sounded irritated now. “I work for him, remember? But of course, you knew that. I’ll come back another time. Or better yet, Martin can.”

“No. I want the painting installed today.” His tone was harsher than he’d intended, but he didn’t want her to leave.

Getting nothing but silence from the foyer, he was about to blurt out “latte or mocha?” when he heard a rustling of fabric. Was she leaving?

Through the doorway, he spotted her bag near her shoes on the floor, and watched as she stepped down, sock-footed, into the living room and disappeared from view. What had drawn her attention? After he licked his lips to make sure the cuts from his fangs had closed, he marched past the kitchen island, still conscious of the heavy throbbing between his legs.

With her back to him, she stood before the wall of windows. Careful to stay out of the direct sunlight, he moved closer to better observe her. Jeans hugged her shapely legs and bottom as if they were custom-made. A colorful knit scarf draped around her neck hinted at a carefree attitude, and the sun on her long, dark hair gave it a rich, auburn cast. With her mouth agape, she stared at the view.

And he stared at her.

“I knew it,” she whispered.

“What?” She jumped at his question, evidently not expecting him to have heard her. He felt her raw emotion, the eager thumping of her heart in his head.

Excitement flickered in her expression, but was gone a moment later. “Nothing.” With her eyebrows slightly lifted as if to better control herself, she dropped her eyes and turned toward the foyer.

He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. “No, tell me.” For some reason, he needed to hear her verbalize what she was feeling when she looked out the window.

She frowned, stared at her hands. “Well…I’ve always wondered whether the islands and the peninsula could be seen from one of these lofts on a clear day.” She met his gaze with damp eyes, then abruptly turned away. “Sorry. I’m a little overwhelmed by your view. Should we—”

“No, please go on.” Was she crying? He sifted through the air but detected no sadness. Why were there tears?

Her eyes narrowed. Clearly, she doubted his sincerity.

“I’m serious. I’ve lived here on and off for so long that I’m rather immune to the view, I’m afraid. Tell me what you think when you look out. What you see.” As if watching a conductor raise his baton, he held his breath in anticipation.

“It’s stunning, of course. Magnificent.” She stood at the window with her arms crossed.

“Come on. You can do better than that. That’s not what you were thinking when you first looked out. Tell me.”

She seemed to come alive then, hopefully noting the sincerity in his voice. “Well, all right.” She cleared her throat and faced the view again. “I see how the Olympic Mountains seem to stretch out forever to the north and south and wonder how much has never been walked on by human feet.” Wide-eyed, she glanced over at him and he nodded his encouragement. As if to get more serious, she gathered her hair into a loose ponytail, using a hair band around her wrist. She took a deep breath and continued.

“The jagged peaks against the unusually clear sky remind me of a torn strip of paper glued into place. A contrast of shapes and textures, very different, yet united by color.”

His heart thumped unevenly at first, then as he tuned in to her voice, it seemed to blend in with the beating in his head as she continued.

“Today, it’s a study of blues. The misty mountains. The indigo water. The pale, cloud-strewn sky. But tonight it may be pinks and tomorrow it may be grays. It honestly takes my breath away.”

“You have an artist’s eye for description. What else?”

She wiggled a finger around and pointed at the distant peaks. “Could there be a person exactly right there? Or a bear? Or a mountain goat? Or Bigfoot?” Her laughter tickled his ears. “Pretty silly. Not really an artist’s description.”

“Mmm, not at all. You see and imagine more than an average person would when confronted with the same scenario.”

When she looked over at him, her full upper lip puckered into a playful smile, and a strange sensation, as well as a few familiar ones, tugged at his insides. Seeing the view had lighted her mood and that made him…happy.

He longed to pull her into his arms, to mold her body against his and to bury himself inside her with more than just his fingers. Instead, he plunged his hands into his pockets to hide his still hard erection and took a step away.

“Let’s say you knew someone was standing in that exact spot you’re pointing to. How would that make you feel?” He was utterly captivated by her imagination and didn’t want her to stop.

She stared through the glass and was quiet for such a long time, he wasn’t sure she was going to answer.

“Less lonely, I guess.”

He suddenly needed to make her laugh again, to lift the trace of heaviness from her heart. Twirl her around the room and see her sparkling green eyes dance with excitement. To be the source of her happiness.

“That’s beautiful. I’ve never heard it described quite so vividly. Lovely.” He flashed her a devious smile. “Sorry. I’d have studied my thesaurus had I known you were coming.”

Her head snapped in his direction, her cheeks flushed a bewitching shade of crimson, and her fiery glance ignited him. She spun on her heel and stormed back through the living room.

Good God, was she still embarrassed about last week? He had hoped to make her laugh again, but this might even be better. Watching her sassy ponytail bounce its delightful “go screw yourself” message against her back, he grinned.

To hell with playing nice. Yes, this could be fun.

MACKENZIE STOMPED BACK to the foyer and knew he followed, irritating her further. She dug into the satchel, rifled through the contents and pulled out a cell phone.

“Calling your boys downstairs?”

“No, I’m calling Martin to tell him to reschedule.”

“But I want it installed today.”

Those damn blue eyes were probably raking across her backside; she could practically feel them on her bare skin. Crap. Did her waistband dip low when she stooped? She grabbed a belt loop on the back of her jeans, stood up and hoped she looked as mad as she felt.

But when she thought about leaving, she knew the install guys would wonder why. She wasn’t prepared to tell them anything. She supposed she could lie, say the client wasn’t available, but what if Dom followed her down?

She decided to ignore his references to the auction and pretend this was a normal install. That was how she’d get through this. Just get the painting hung and leave. Not get sucked into his stupid game. “Fine.”

He’d played her at the auction and, most likely, he was playing her now. He couldn’t care less how she felt about the view. He probably just wanted to soften her up to get in her pants again.

“Can I get you something?”

She forced herself to examine the soaring open-beam ceiling rather than the swing of his hips in those jeans as he headed for the kitchen.

“Latte, perhaps? Water?” He said something else but she couldn’t make it out.

“No. I won’t be long.”

The open kitchen was a dream with granite and stainless steel and the high-pitched whine of the milk steamer filled the room. Four upholstered stools perched beneath the island counter, a perfect gathering place for people who liked to cook together or for a chef who liked an audience.

“Aren’t you worried about things flying out? Bad feng shui?” She heard the amusement in his voice.

“It’s not my purse,” she said through gritted teeth. He was clearly having way too much fun tormenting her. God, she couldn’t wait to get out of here.

She yanked a clipboard and measuring tape from her bag and peered down the long hallway, surprised to see so many doors. His loft had to take up half the floor. Which room had he come out of? Did anyone else live here with him? Girlfriend? The occasional weak-kneed hook-up? She heard footsteps behind her.

“Let me just take a look at the space and I’ll get the workers up here. They’re waiting in the van. We’ll get the piece hung and be out of your hair.”

“I’m in no hurry, unless you are.” He handed her a large coffeehouse mug.

She tried to protest, but he shoved it at her. Taking a sip, she discovered the drink was light on the chocolate, heavy on the whipped cream. Perfect. Lucky guess.

“Let me show you the two places I had in mind. Right this way.”

His fingers brushed the back of her arm and she shivered. He guided her down into the living area again and pointed to a huge empty wall behind a cream-colored leather sectional.

“That’s one place. I like the lighting, of course. Natural, not manmade, but I don’t want it to compete with the view. Besides, the piece is a little intimate for a living room, don’t you think?”

His breath skimmed over her ear, causing loose tendrils from her ponytail to dance on her cheek. He was closer than she’d thought. Inches away, actually. Hadn’t he just been on the other side of the ottoman? She felt herself shift slightly toward him.

Hell, what was she doing? She set her mug and clipboard down, grabbed the tape measure and folded her arms tightly against her chest.

“That’s up to you.” She didn’t want to discuss the appropriateness of her naked form in his living room. “This is a nice location. It’ll work, but the wall could really use a couple of spotlights. Especially in the evening when there is no natural light. We could get an electrician in here and Martin could come back later to install the painting.”

He had a strange look on his face and shook his head.

“Suit yourself. Could you hold the end of this so I can get some measurements?”

His fingers grazed hers as he reached for the end of the tape and she pretended not to notice. Had he been someone else, the insubstantial contact never would have registered with her. Why did everything with him seem so magnetized? Larger than life? After jotting down the measurements, she took another sip of the mocha, trying to keep her hands from shaking as she felt the heat from his body right behind her.

“Where’s the other space?” she asked.

She turned and crystal blue eyes locked her in place. He ran a hungry gaze over her face, stopping at her mouth, which burned in response. He reached up and flicked a thumb over her lips, then put it to his mouth.

“Whipped cream.” His voice was husky.

Her heart stuttered and she could hardly breathe.

Remember, he’s just playing you.

She grabbed her things, stepped away from him and repeated her question. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly as if confirming her suspicions.

“This way.” He touched the back of her arm again, obviously not deterred by her reaction, and guided her down the hall. She was only vaguely aware of the colorful artwork on the walls and the humming of a washer and dryer behind one of the doors as her skin tingled from the contact.

At the end of the hallway stood a pair of ornately carved wood doors, grander than the others. He grasped both handles and swung them wide.

The room was completely dark. When he stepped forward and pressed a button on the wall, natural light flooded the room as flexible metal covers retracted from the windows.

Oh God. His bedroom. He wants the painting of me in here? Is this some kind of sick joke?

Her gaze rested on the unmade bed. Rather intimate to see his bare sheets still rumpled from the night. Had he gotten up, just in time for a shower, before she arrived? Were the sheets still warm? She shuffled the papers on the clipboard and fiddled with the tape measure.

With a flourish, Dom motioned her inside while he stayed at the door. He’s just a client, she repeated to herself as she brushed past, careful not to touch him. This was just a job.

The room was almost as big as the living area, with floor-to-ceiling windows on two of the walls. The glass met at the corner, no trim to spoil the view. With a motorized click, the metal blinds retracted into a narrow panel on both walls. She wasn’t aware of how she’d gotten over to the glass, but she was there now. From this vantage point facing northwest, she could see the mouth of the bay. A container ship was pulling into port. Was that Bainbridge Island up there?

To wake up to this every day. To open your eyes and see this.

She imagined sitting here with a cup of coffee in the morning. Or in the evening with a glass of wine. Is there a rooftop terrace to watch the sun as it sets behind the Olympics?

The air shifted behind her. She whirled around, the mocha sloshing in her cup. She’d almost forgotten why she was here.

Oh God, there he was, still barely clothed, still so damned hot and still with that smug smile that grated on her nerves.

But now they were in his bedroom.

Why couldn’t he just put on a shirt? Her fingers itched to splay over the defined muscles of his chest and she gripped her clipboard tighter. With his unshaven face, would his kisses sting her lips?

In the light she noticed the palest of shadows hovering under his half-hooded eyes, as if he hadn’t gotten much sleep.

She glanced again at the tangled sheets, imagined a woman here, running down the hallway just hours ago, late for work in high heels and a wrinkled dress from the day before. They’d probably had sex all night long and he’d have slept longer if the painting wasn’t being delivered. Why did she care? Who was he to her? Just a casual hook-up. Why did the extracurricular activities of a player like Dom even matter to her?

With him standing so close, she could hardly trust herself to say anything coherent. She skittered away from him. His presence invaded her mind and muddled up her thoughts.

“What…where did you have in mind? I mean…for the painting. Where do you want it?” Everything sounded suggestive and her cheeks burned again.

She tried to remain businesslike, but all she could see was that big damn bed right in front of her and the half-dressed man beside her. She tried to ignore the massive carved wood headboard that looked like it belonged in a castle, the lush golden silk duvet cover and the multitude of pillows tangled up in the sheets.

She shuffled her papers again, dropping her pen. As she stooped to pick it up, her eyes froze on the crotch of his jeans. She almost gasped at the outline of his length, level with her eyes, straining against the fabric. Could her face get any hotter?

She chewed on the inside of her lip as she stood up. Ever so slightly, his hips turned toward her and his stance widened. She felt a gush of warmth and a throbbing pulse between her legs.

What was happening to her? She stepped away and fanned her cheeks with the clipboard.

“Hot?”

“A little, yes.” She didn’t dare make eye contact, for her composure was held together only by a thread. If he touched her, raised an eyebrow, skimmed his breath on her skin, she knew it’d be all over. Her body would betray her and she wouldn’t be able to resist him.

“Do you want something? Water?”

“No. I’m fine. Should we get on with it? The guys have been waiting for fifteen minutes or so. Where in here? For the painting.”

She was sure his gaze rested for a moment on the sheets.

“There.” He lifted an arm and pointed at the wall behind the bed.

“Really? Don’t you think it’d be better over there?” She indicated the long wall near the double doors. Just talk. Keep talking. Focus on the words and nothing else. “Or even back in the living area? The lighting there was awfully nice and besides, no one will see it if it’s in here.”

“I didn’t think you liked the lighting out there.”

She pretended to be writing something on the clipboard and kept her eyes glued downward. “It’s better than in here.”

“Hmm. Now that I’m standing here, I think the wall behind the bed is my favorite place. I can look at it often.” She felt the heat of his smile and looked up. It was a slow, knowing grin, as if he were daring her somehow.

“All right.” Often? He’d only be able to see it if he were right here. And how often will he be standing in this very place?

She glanced around the room. In bed, it’d be behind him. Why was he looking at her like that?

He sauntered closer, his hands in his back pockets, taunting her. She stepped back with her clipboard clutched to her chest, a flimsy yet tangible barrier between them. At the foot of the bed he stopped and held his palms up as if framing a picture.

“It’s the perfect location.”

Something about the tone of his voice tickled inside her head and she rubbed a finger against her temple. And then it dawned on her.

He’d be able to see it if he were making love.

Anger ripped at her thin resolve and she could scarcely breathe as she brushed past him and rushed from the room. He was nothing to her. Absolutely nothing.

“I’ll get the guys up here with the equipment and the painting. Back in a moment.” She squeaked the words and heard him laugh as she stormed down the hall.