Chapter ELEVEN
SHE WOKE FROM A DEEP SLEEP with a single, vivid image in her mind’s eye—two women standing side by side, one dressed in the sober, neck-to-ankle garb of a hundred years ago, the other in the clothes of today. The first woman was Dr. Mary Clementina De Garis, the second more amorphous and ill defined. It took Mackenzie a moment to understand she was simply a placeholder, a representative of the young women who aspired to be doctors today.
A buzz of excitement fizzed in her belly as she pieced together the fragments her subconscious had revealed overnight.
The old and the new. The trailblazer and the women who followed in her footsteps. An engaging, challenging examination of past and present culture.
She would find a young female medical student. Maybe even more than one. And she would follow them as they completed their training. She would contrast their experiences with those of Mary De Garis, who had had to fight every step of the way for acceptance and credibility. Mackenzie would look at the milestones for women in medicine. She would examine female medical achievements.
Her gut told her it was a good idea. It made her old project less of a dry examination of a woman’s life and more an exploration of women’s roles in Australian society over the span of a century. It gave Mary De Garis’s life context, shining a light on her achievements by showing how much things had changed.
Perhaps most importantly, it made Mackenzie’s passion project commercially viable because suddenly she had a hook. She threw the covers back and almost bounded out of bed, she was so energized by her re-visioning of her old project. Shoving her feet into slippers, she made her way to the study, stopping only to let Smitty out for his morning ablutions.
She dragged open the filing cabinet, searching through the neatly labeled files there for the backup she’d made of her old computer hard drive several years ago. The De Garis project had been with her so long it had been stored on floppy discs before she’d converted it to CD a few years ago. At the time, she’d felt foolish, preserving old research and ideas that she’d long since given up on. Now she blew a kiss to Past Mackenzie. She’d had good instincts, it turned out.
The file wasn’t there, and she turned to the cupboard and considered the half-a-dozen file boxes stacked in there. She’d brought all this stuff to the beach house when the storage locker in the underground garage beneath her apartment had reached the overflowing stage. There were many more boxes like this in Melbourne, and it was only when she’d rifled through those stacked in the cupboard that she accepted that the De Garis file must be among them. Damn.
She would have to make a trip up to Melbourne to retrieve them. Not the end of the world, but she dearly wanted to look over what she had in order to start planning her first steps forward with this new project, and she wanted to do it now. She grinned, wiping her dusty hands on her pajama pants. It had been a long time since she’d felt this stimulated and excited about a creative project. Wait until she told Oliver that his back-to-basics songwriting technique had borne fruit.
The thought gave her pause, but only for a second. Last night had been awesome and awkward in equal measures but she’d already decided she could live with that. She was standing by the decision she’d made in the small hours: Oliver was a friend worth having, even without benefits.
She fed Smitty and herself and dressed in cleaning-out-the-shed clothes—yoga pants, a sweater and sneakers—and headed next door, Smitty leading the way double-time. If she was going to be spending hours in Oliver’s yard, there was no reason Smitty should miss out on some quality time with his favorite girl.
She was approaching Oliver’s porch when she heard the mellow tones of an acoustic guitar. Oliver, of course, playing a lovely, rolling melody that made her want to hum along. Her steps slowed as he began to sing in a pleasing, slightly raspy baritone.
“Left town ’cause of her, couldn’t leave me behind. Drove through the country, regret on my tail. Looking for a place to work out why we failed...”
The song washed over her, sad and hopeful in equal measures. She knew, absolutely, that this was an original composition, something he was still creating. She had to blink away tears when he reached the chorus.
“I thought she was the best of me, now I know she set me free. I’d rather look life in the eye than live a quiet suburban lie. It’s true what the wise men say, tomorrow is another day. Another day, yeah...another day...”
She waited until the guitar fell silent before climbing the steps. She knocked, and a few seconds later the door swung open. Oliver stood there in his jeans and sweater, his face bristly with stubble, his hair bed-messy, his guitar in one hand.
“Morning,” she said.
She knew from the expression on his face that he’d guessed she’d heard him playing. She smiled.
“I like it, for what it’s worth. Reminds me of Ben Harper.”
His eyes were very steady on hers. “I didn’t think I’d see you today. You’re a brave woman.”
“Not that brave, really. Are Smitty and I too early? We can go for a walk and come back.”
“I just need to grab a shower. If you don’t mind waiting...”
She had a flash of him standing naked beneath the shower spray and had to blink a couple times to get rid of it. That kind of thing wasn’t going to help anyone with anything.
“Sure. I can wait. No big deal.”
He stood aside to allow her to enter before leading her into the living room. The fire glowed in the grate, a fine layer of ash on the logs, and a crumb-strewn plate and coffee mug rested on the small side table.
“Been up for a while,” Oliver said, obviously interpreting her expression.
A laptop was open on the sofa, a complicated-looking software program filling the screen. She knew enough from sitting in on sound mixes that she was looking at a recording program.
“Oh, good, you got it down,” she said without thinking.
His smile was endearingly shy. “Yeah. Very roughly.” He shrugged.
“I mentioned it was good, right? Thoughtful and a bit sad but mostly optimistic.”
He stared at her for a long beat, a muscle in his jaw flickering as though he was working to contain strong emotion.
“Last night meant something to me, Mackenzie. I want you to know that.” His voice was all gravel and bass.
Any lingering misgivings she’d been hanging on to dissolved. How could she regret having been naked with this man?
“Me, too.”
His smile broadened. Maybe it was her imagination—her ego—but he looked relieved.
“I’ll go grab that shower.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
“Help yourself to toast or coffee. Sorry, tea.” He started toward the kitchen, as though he was going to make her a cup himself.
“Shoo. I can make myself tea. You go make yourself presentable, you reprobate.”
He glanced down at himself, one hand rubbing his bristly jaw.
“Fair enough.”
He left the room, Strudel following him into the hall but stopping short of trailing him to the bathroom. Clearly the poor girl was torn between two loyalties—the man who fed her and the boy dog who captured her attention.
“I know which way I’d be leaning, Strudel,” Mackenzie said as she wandered into the kitchen and made herself tea. She looked out over the lawn as she drank it, pretending that her mind was not alive with images of Oliver naked in the shower.
Water cascading down the strong column of his spine. Bouncing off his firm, muscular ass. Sleeking down his flat belly.
She tipped the dregs of her tea down the drain. There was no point getting herself all worked up over something that wouldn’t happen again. Because that was what the little conversation in the living room had been about—Oliver drawing a line under what had happened politely but firmly, and her agreeing.
Her newly reawakened libido might regret the decision, but her head and heart didn’t. Who in their right mind set themselves up for almost certain disaster? Not her. She had enough good sense to dodge that bullet.
The shower stopped with a groan of the pipes. Oliver would be out any minute now. Composing herself, she went into the living room to wait for him.
* * *
OLIVER SHRUGGED INTO a T-shirt and topped it with a sweater before pulling on jeans, very aware that Mackenzie was waiting for him. He hadn’t expected to see her today. Not after last night. He wouldn’t have blamed her for giving him a wide berth, either. Yet she’d still turned up, ready to fulfill her part of their bargain.
If he didn’t like her a hell of a lot already, her classy, honest actions this morning would have sealed the deal.
He took his boots into the living room to put them on and found Mackenzie ministering to both dogs, who were offering her their bellies for rubbing.
“Got you hard at work, I see,” he said as he donned the boots.
“No rest for the wicked. Hadn’t you heard that?”
“I’d heard a rumor.” He stood and gave her an assessing look. “Do you feel okay after yesterday’s workout? Because we don’t have to do this today if you’re not up to it.”
She blinked a couple of times and it hit him suddenly how he must have sounded—as though he was checking if she was able to function normally after a few hours in his bed.
“Because of the yard work,” he quickly tacked on. “I meant because of the yard work. Obviously.”
She bit her lip, then gave up trying to hide her smile.
“I’m okay, on both counts. But thanks for asking.”
His face burned with embarrassment. Which served him right for being such a yokel.
“Maybe we should get started before I have to have my foot surgically removed from my mouth,” he said, heading for the door.
They walked through the overgrown grass to the shed, the dogs disappearing into the thicker vegetation toward the rear of the lot.
Mackenzie stood to one side as he wrangled with the rusty bolt before opening the door wide. She joined him on the step to inspect the contents.
“Okay. That’s a lot of old furniture,” she said.
“It is. Feel free to back out if you’re freaking out right now.”
She gave him a look. “What do you think I am, some kind of wimp?” She pushed up her sleeves. “How do you want to do this?”
He couldn’t help grinning. She was small but feisty. A true force to be reckoned with.
“Bet you gave those doctors hell when you were in hospital.”
“I was a model patient—once we’d all agreed that no one was going to tell me what I couldn’t do.”
“Poor bastards.”
She punched him in the arm. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”
He fought the urge to sling his arm around her and drop a kiss onto her lips.
“I am.”
She made a noise to signal she wasn’t so sure, but he knew she wasn’t really pissed. Just as he knew what her body would have felt like against his if he’d given in to the urge to kiss her.
It occurred to him belatedly that maybe there were worse things than Mackenzie avoiding him after what had happened between them—like spending quality time with her and having to keep his distance now that he knew exactly how soft her mouth was and how round and perky her breasts were and how silken and tight she was—
He turned away, aware that he was already half-hard. He’d made his decision where Mackenzie was concerned. He wasn’t messing up her life with his own confusion. No matter how attractive he found her.
Between them they decided to carry each piece of furniture onto the lawn so they could assess and photograph it for potential listing on eBay or valuation by a dealer. He did everything he could to minimize Mackenzie’s workload, assigning her the task of cataloging and photographing their finds, but she insisted on helping him shift the bulkier items.
“You’re pretty strong for a girl,” he observed as they set down a chunky Edwardian-era card table. Especially for a girl who had been put back together again by surgeons.
“Rehab, baby.” She pulled up her sleeve and flexed her biceps for him. It was noticeable and he gave an appreciative whistle.
“Few more inches, you might actually be dangerous,” he said.
“I’m dangerous now. You just don’t know it.” She threw him a challenging look as she walked toward the shed.
He had to agree with her—she was dangerous. To his peace of mind, as well as his resolve. The tight bounce of her bottom, the gleam in her eye. The arch of her slim neck, the tilt to her mouth.
She was sexy and smart and real, and a part of him wanted to snatch what she offered—pleasure and desire and distraction and laughter—and hang on for grim life.
But he hadn’t forgotten that sense of panic from last night. The feeling that he’d grabbed a tiger by the tail. Until he had his head on straight, he had no business even looking sideways at Mackenzie.
They worked until midday, talking and laughing, sharing stories from their working lives and childhoods. He learned that she’d tortured her brother when they were younger by throwing her least favorite vegetables under his chair at the dining-room table when their parents weren’t looking, letting him take the blame for the failure to eat. He told her about the time he and Brent wrote a stream of outraged letters to the purveyors of X-ray glasses, complaining that despite having handed over a significant sum of pocket money, they were unable to see through walls.
At lunchtime, Oliver and Mackenzie drove into town to buy sandwiches and vanilla cakes from the local sweetshop. Mackenzie insisted she was happy to keep working into the afternoon, pointing out they were very close to finishing. She was right—the clock hit two as they photographed the last piece and returned it to the shed.
“I think I owe you dinner as well as lunch,” he said as they walked to the house.
“What you owe me is three more hours on the end of a shovel. Don’t think I wasn’t keeping track.”
He noticed that she hadn’t responded to his invitation, which he chose to interpret as a “thanks, but no thanks.” Probably a good decision, all things considered.
“Someone’s going to have a great time restoring all that furniture,” Mackenzie said as they entered the kitchen.
“Not me, thank God. I’ll be more than happy to see the back of it.”
“Amen.”
Mackenzie busied herself at the sink, washing her dusty hands and forearms.
“I’ll grab you a towel,” he said, heading for the bathroom.
She was washing the last of the soap off as he returned, and she glanced toward the doorway expectantly. There was a smudge on her nose and a cobweb in her hair. At some point she’d stripped off her sweater to reveal a slim-fitting black T-shirt, and the soft fabric outlined her breasts and belly faithfully. Because he wanted to touch her so badly it hurt, he fell back on the devices of adolescence, tossing the towel at her so swiftly and forcefully it hit her in the chest before she could intercept it.
“Hey!”
“Sorry.”
“Like hell.”
He grinned. She dried her hands, shaking her head.
“You didn’t really expect me to take that sort of unprovoked attack lying down, did you?” she asked, her head tilted to one side, her eyes bright.
“It was an accident. Bad timing.” He kept his expression deadpan.
“Yeah? Wait till you see my timing with a towel flick.”
She held the towel by one corner and twisted her hand in the air, coiling the towel on itself.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he warned her.
“Lucky you’re not me, then.”
She flicked the towel at him, but he was ready for her, his hand flashing out to grab the end before it could connect. She gave a war cry, securing her grip on her portion, refusing to relinquish her weapon as he tried to tug it free. He laughed and began hauling her toward him instead, using the towel to reel her in.
“I warned you,” he told her.
Despite her laughing efforts to dig her heels in, she was soon within reach.
“Give up yet?” he asked.
“Do you give up?”
“Never.”
He gave one last, hard yank, jerking her forward a final step so that there was less than a foot separating them.
“Now what do you say?” he asked, looking into her eyes.
“That you play dirty.”
“Do I?”
His gaze drifted over her face—her neatly arched eyebrows, her upturned nose, the delicate shape of her jaw. It came to rest on her mouth, where it had wanted to be all along.
She was smiling, and the urge to lean forward and taste her happiness was like a hand in the middle of his back, pushing him forward. He didn’t move, and the smile slowly faded from her lips. “I guess this is going to keep happening, huh?” she said.
He recognized it as a fundamental truth. Immutable. As long as there was air in his lungs, he would be attracted to Mackenzie, and he would want to kiss her and touch her and get naked with her. It was as simple and basic as that.
“I’m having a hard time remembering why I shouldn’t kiss you again,” he said.
“If it helps any, I’m all for it. I’d even go so far as to say that I am an enthusiastic advocate of more kissing. Not to mention any ancillary benefits that might flow on from said activity.”
How was he supposed to resist this woman? Especially when he didn’t even want to try.
His gaze found her mouth again. She tilted her face toward him. He leaned forward, and so did she. She tasted clean and good and sweet and he angled his head, wanting more. The towel fell to the ground between them as they stepped into each other’s arms. He made a satisfied noise as her breasts pressed against his chest and his hand slid onto the curve of her backside.
It wasn’t long before kissing wasn’t enough. He slipped his hands beneath her top, filling his palms with her breasts. Mackenzie freed the stud on his jeans and made short work of his fly. He groaned against her mouth as she found him, her hand gripping his erection firmly before stroking up and down his shaft. Only the knowledge that he didn’t have any condoms stopped him from throwing her to the floor there and then. That, and the awareness of her physical limitations. He settled for sliding a hand past the waistband of her yoga pants. His fingers glided over soft skin and silken hair before sliding into wet heat. She made an inarticulate noise, her hips curling forward to welcome his touch. He found her with his thumb, small and perfect and hard for him, and started teasing her.
She clenched her hand around his erection as she strained toward him. She broke their kiss, pressing her cheek to his, her body taut as a bowstring as she panted with need. He slipped a finger inside her and she groaned, the sound vibrating through her body and into his, an expression of pure need. He could feel how close she was and he backed her against the table and bent his head to her breasts, suckling her through the thin fabric of her T-shirt.
Her hand slipped from his pants to grasp his hip, her other grasping his shoulder. Her whole body trembled as she hovered on the edge of release.
“Come on, baby,” he urged her.
Her breath came out in a warm rush as she climaxed, her fingers biting into his shoulder and hip as she lost herself in pleasure. After long seconds, her grip loosened. He drew back enough to see her face.
Her eyes were tightly closed, her lips rosy from his kisses. She was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling. Slowly she opened her eyes.
Something hard and irrevocable hit him in the chest as he looked into her eyes. He had the odd sense that for a split second, the world stopped. There was only him and her and the sweetness of her climax and the hazy pleasure in her eyes and the need to be inside her....
Then she closed her eyes again and let her head fall forward against his chest.
“This is crazy,” she said, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.
It was. They’d only just met. They lived in different parts of the country. They had too much going on in both their lives.
But when he was with her, he wanted to touch her. He wanted to make her shudder with need, and he wanted to make her laugh, and he wanted to be challenged by her, and he wanted to ask questions until he knew all there was to know about her.
Maybe it wasn’t smart. Maybe it wasn’t even rational or remotely explainable. All he knew was that he’d spent nearly twenty-four hours freaking out over something that had made sense to him only when he set his mouth against hers again.
This was happening, whether they liked it or not. And right this second, it felt unstoppable and absolutely inevitable.
He leaned forward and laid his cheek against hers. Closing his eyes, he inhaled the scent of her perfume and shampoo and the warmth of her skin.
“I don’t know about you, but crazy is feeling pretty bloody good right now.”
He felt rather than saw her smile. Easing away, she dug her hand into a hidden pocket in her pants and pulled out a small foil pack, pressing it into his hand.
“Just in case,” she said with a butter-wouldn’t-melt smile.
“Have I mentioned I love how organized you are?”
She took his hand and towed him toward the door. “Tell me later.”
She didn’t say anything more as she led him to the bedroom. The moment they got there, he pulled his sweater over his head, then his T-shirt. Her gaze went to his chest before dropping to his crotch. He savored the gleam in her eye. She wanted—needed—this as much as he did.
He pushed his jeans down, stepped out of them. Mackenzie started to undress, quickly catching up to him as she flung her yoga pants to one side and stripped off her top. She was wearing plain cotton bikini panties with an equally plain bra and she slipped both off as he pulled the sheets back. They met in the middle of the bed, legs tangling.
They kissed and stroked and teased each other until Mackenzie pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips. Her sex pressed against his erection and she gazed at him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes smoky with desire. He cupped her breasts, flicking her already-tight nipples with his thumbs. She arched her back, pushing her breasts more firmly into his hands.
She started to move, stroking her sex along his erection, hands planted either side of his shoulders. He could feel how wet she was and how hard he was and he got even harder. She closed her eyes, an intent expression on her face as she concentrated on the slide of their bodies.
After a minute she opened her eyes again. She locked gazes with him before collecting the condom from where he’d left it on the bedside table. She tore the packet open with her teeth before stroking it onto his erection with firm, sure hands. Then she rose to her knees and took him in hand. His hands found her hips as she sank onto him.
“Mackenzie.”
She started to move and it was all he could do to stop himself from coming on the spot, she was so damned hot and tight and wet.
Mackenzie rode him with her eyes closed and her head tilted back. Her breasts rose and fell, rose and fell as her movements became increasingly urgent. He watched her through half-closed eyes, his hands gliding over the warm silk of her skin, fighting the growing need to grab her hips and thrust into her soft, yielding warmth.
Finally it was too much for him and he gave in to instinct, driving himself into her, need an urgent tattoo in his blood. She gave a small, inarticulate cry, her head dropping forward, her hands clutching at his shoulders. He felt her pulse around him...and was gone.
For long seconds there was nothing but the pleasure of release, then Mackenzie slid off him and dropped to the pillow next to him. He grabbed a tissue from the box beside the bed and took care of the condom before pulling up the covers and stretching out an arm. Mackenzie took the cue to rest her head on his shoulder, curling her body into his side.
He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy the perfect simplicity of the moment. Her body warm from the exertions of their lovemaking. The thud-thud of her heart close to his own. The hush of her breath across his chest.
A feeling welled inside him, almost painful in its piercing sweetness. It took him a moment to recognize it as happiness.
Mackenzie rose onto one elbow, her blue gaze traveling over his shoulders and chest before scanning his face. She reached out and ran her fingers across his chin.
“Don’t think it to death, okay? We’ve both had a shitty time. Let’s just enjoy some good stuff for a change.”
There was only one possible response to her suggestion.
“Okay.”
She ran her fingers across his chin again, her gaze following the action.
“Your whiskers are like glitter. Gold and bronze and chestnut.”
“Glittery whiskers. I’ll add that to my Facebook profile.”
She smiled faintly. The sheet slipped off her shoulder, exposing her upper arm and the curve of her breast.
“You’re the first man I’ve slept with who has longer hair than me, you know that?”
“Is that a fact?” He tugged on her fringe.
“I used to have long hair. Before the accident.” She said it wistfully.
“It suits you short.”
“Does it?” She didn’t sound convinced. “Every time I look in the mirror I feel like I’m looking at a little boy.”
“Trust me, there’s nothing boyish about you.” His gaze shifted to the curve of her breast.
“You talking about these little ladies?” she said, glancing at her chest.
“I believe I was. Among other things.”
She pushed herself up so that she was kneeling beside him. “You like them, huh?”
The covers pooled around her waist as she slid her hands onto her breasts, plumping them for him.
“I do. Quite a bit, actually.”
“You don’t think they’re too small?” She considered her breasts and almost absently ran her thumbs over her nipples.
He grinned, well aware of what she was doing but more than happy to go along for the ride.
“I think they’re about right. They say more than a handful is a waste.”
“But you have pretty big hands.” She pinched her nipples this time and he watched as they hardened into pale pink peaks.
He was getting hard again. Such was her power over him.
“Your breasts fit perfectly into the palm of my hand.” He demonstrated, cupping her warm flesh.
“Huh. I guess they do.”
There was a mischievous glint in her eye as she noted the tent his erection made beneath the covers.
“You’re a vixen. A wanton, lascivious vixen,” he said.
“I think you’re supposed to sound more disgusted when you call me names like that.”
“Are you kidding me? Wanton, lascivious vixens are my favorites.”
She slid her hand beneath the covers and wrapped her fingers around his erection. “I can feel that.”
She’d only brought the one “just in case” condom, so they drove each other crazy with their hands and mouths instead, taking their time, learning each other’s sweet spots. Afterward, she sprawled across his chest, limp and sated, her cheeks a rosy-pink.
“Wake me if I get too heavy,” she murmured as she drifted into sleep.
He was on the verge of sleep himself, but he smiled as he thought about the way she’d teased him, the sass of her, the way she made him feel.
This was good. He knew it in his bones. It might be too soon, he might be too messed up, but it was happening and he wasn’t about to throw it away. As Mackenzie had said, they’d had enough shit in their lives. Why shouldn’t they enjoy some good stuff for as long as it lasted?
The voice at the back of his head wanted to pick a fight with his logic, but he didn’t want to listen. Right now, he was happy, and it felt good. It seemed to him that only an idiot would question that.