Chapter TWELVE
MACKENZIE WOKE ALL AT ONCE, aware that something was wrong. It took a moment to work out that it was because she wasn’t in her own bed. Again.
So much for her “dodging a bullet” game plan.
Tentative, she reached toward the other side of the bed and found a warm, solid back. Oliver hadn’t retreated to the kitchen this time, then.
Or, he hadn’t retreated yet.
The thought made her belly tight. Granted, they’d agreed that they would accept this for what it was—whatever that may be or may become. Still, she didn’t want to feel like an unwanted guest twice in as many nights. If Oliver felt the need to create some space for himself again, it would be kinder to both of them if she simply offered it to him. She should slip from the bed and quietly get dressed and leave as though it was her choice.
She didn’t move. She told herself it was because the bed was warm and the night was cold, but she knew it was a lie.
She didn’t want to leave. Didn’t want to walk away from the way Oliver made her feel.
Beautiful. Sexy. Wanton.
Not once in any of their encounters had he said or done anything or indicated in any other way that her scars even registered on his radar. She knew that couldn’t be true, but she was everlastingly grateful for his low-key acceptance. Unless he was the best actor she’d ever met, the only conclusion she could draw was that her scars and the limitations of her body simply didn’t matter to him. He wanted her, scars, dodgy hip and all. On top of all his other charms and attractions, it was pretty heady stuff.
She weighed the demands of her still-fragile vanity against her heartfelt desire to avoid a repetition of last night’s debacle. It was a titanic struggle, but after a tense few minutes her pride won out.
Moving quietly, she slid to the edge of the bed. She stood, blinking in the dim light, trying to work out which of the dark shapes on the floor were her clothes. She bent to pick up the first indeterminate shape and quickly worked out that it was her yoga pants. She did a slow circuit of the bed, adding items of clothing to her haul as she identified them. She was on Oliver’s side, bending to pick up her bra when a large, warm hand wrapped around the back of her thigh. She gave a small start and nearly dropped her bundle.
“What are you doing?” Oliver asked, his voice a husky murmur in the dark.
“Getting dressed so I can go home.”
There was a small silence, then he curled his hand more fully around her thigh and tugged her backward.
“Come back to bed.”
She hesitated, and he tugged on her leg again.
“Come back to bed and I’ll give you a foot rub.”
She smiled, even though she was pretty sure he couldn’t see it in the dark. “How do you know I like having my feet rubbed?”
“A good guess.”
She let her clothes fall to the floor and allowed him to pull her onto the mattress, shaping her body to match his as he made room for her on his side of the bed. She tried not to read too much into his actions beyond the fact that he wasn’t ready for her to go home yet.
He smoothed a hand down her back, his fingers stopping here and there to knead the small muscles either side of her spine. “Tell me about Mary De Garis,” he asked idly.
She was so surprised by his request she sat up to stare at him, even though she could only see the outline of his head against the pillow.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I went searching for my De Garis project files this morning. Talking about it with you yesterday gave me an idea for a new take on it. A sort of modern twist to make it more relevant.”
“Ah. That must be why I’m getting such strong Mary De Garis vibrations off you.”
She nudged him with her elbow, amused despite herself. “Do not pretend you’re suddenly psychic.”
“I could be.”
“And I’m Zsa Zsa Gabor.” She settled in again. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you want to know about her?”
He turned his head to look at her. “Because you said she was your passion project.”
He said it as though it should be the most obvious thing in the world that what interested her naturally interested him. But she’d been married to a man who put his own needs and wants first, second and third. It took her a moment to get her head around the idea that Oliver was prepared to invest his time and energy in something simply because she was fascinated by it.
In that second it hit her that she was navigating very shaky, dangerous ground with this man. He was so lovely and sexy and sweet, it would be very, very easy to slip from liking and lusting into some far more life-changing emotion, despite all the little warnings she kept issuing herself along the way.
“I’ll get you started. Mary De Garis was a woman, and she wanted to be a doctor....” he said encouragingly.
It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him he didn’t really want to know, that he wasn’t really interested. That was how well her ex-husband had trained her. She caught herself, however, and decided to take Oliver at his word.
“Okay. She was born in 1881 in Charlton, and she was one of the first thirty-five women to graduate from medicine at Melbourne University....”
She sketched Mary’s life for him in broad strokes, answering his questions, filling in details when he wanted more information. When she’d finished he wanted to hear about her new idea, so she told him about that, too, this morning’s excitement bubbling up inside her again.
“How long will it take you to make it?” Oliver asked.
“To do it properly, probably two years. Maybe three, so we can get a true sense of the women’s journeys through med school. These kinds of documentaries are long-haul, big-commitment projects.”
“Well, have at it. The sooner you get started, the sooner you’ll be giving your acceptance speech. ‘I’d like to thank the Academy for recognizing this film....’”
“Can I have a kilo of your faith in me, delivered fresh to my door every morning, please?”
“What’s wrong? Don’t think you can go the distance?”
She knew he was playing devil’s advocate, deliberately goading her, so she didn’t bother rising to the bait. “There’s no money in it, for starters. I’d be living on the smell of an oily rag. And if I ever want to jump back into drama production I’ll have to start kissing ass at the bottom of the ladder all over again.”
“How much money do you need?”
She thought about her lifestyle, about her apartment and the beach house and her European car. She’d been paid well in her career—of course, she’d earned every penny—and everything she owned was hers free and clear. If she wanted to, she could live frugally without sacrificing much. After all, there was only her and Mr. Smith to provide for.
“Correct answer,” Oliver said very softly, and she knew that he’d guessed what she was doing in the privacy of her own head.
She rolled onto her belly and rested her chin on her folded hands, contemplating his profile.
“How did you get so wise?” she asked quietly.
“Am I wise? I don’t feel it, I can tell you. I only know that life is short and time passes anyway, so you might as well do something you believe in as something you don’t.”
“Does that mean you’re going to do something with that song you recorded this morning?” she asked.
It took him a moment to answer. “Maybe. I need to see if there’s more where that came from first.”
“Then?”
“Maybe I’ll record an album. Stick it up on the internet to see if anyone wants to listen to the midlife-crisis ramblings of a nineties pop star.”
“Me, me, pick me,” she said, holding her hand in the air like a child in class. Inside, she was deeply pleased to hear that he’d been doing a little stargazing of his own. It was good to move forward. Good to dream.
He started to say something, only to be interrupted by the ferocious growl of her stomach.
“Wow,” he said.
“Lunch was a while ago.”
“It was.”
“And being on top is strenuous work.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Do you have anything to eat?”
“A couple of pieces of slightly stale bread?”
“That’s not going to cut it.”
He slipped an arm beneath her, encouraging her to roll on top of him. “I had a feeling you were going to say that. We could send the dogs out for pizza.”
She settled on top of him, loving the feel of his hair-roughened legs against hers. “There’s a reason why dial-a-dog pizza didn’t take off, you know. The dogs always eat it before it gets home.”
She kissed him again, then rolled off him and threw back the covers.
She heard the rustle of sheets as he leaned across and flicked the bedside light on. “Where are you going?”
“To my place, where there is food in abundance.”
“Huh.”
She glanced at him over her shoulder as she began collecting her clothes again.
“You’re invited, in case you were wondering.”
“Why didn’t you say so?” he said, rising with flattering alacrity.
They dressed hurriedly and gathered the dogs, then raced next door where she turned the heating up high before making them scrambled eggs and ham on toast. Later, they showered together, then Oliver made good use of the stash of condoms in her bedside drawer.
Afterward, she kept waiting for him to make noises about returning to his place, but he seemed content where he was, taking up more than his fair share of her bed, his big body sprawling across the mattress.
Gradually it sank in that he wasn’t going anywhere. She knew she should be alarmed by the notion—or at the very least wary—but she wasn’t. She was, simply, glad.
* * *
“IT’S THAT ONE. Number sixty-five,” Mackenzie directed.
Oliver turned into the spacious parking spot, stopping his wagon in front of a large storage cage that looked as though it was filled to the brim with boxes.
“Tell me that’s not yours,” he said, even though he already knew it was. This was the allocated parking spot for her apartment, and it made sense for the locker to be hers, too.
“Don’t be a chicken. It’s perfectly manageable.”
Her tone was serious, but her eyes were laughing with him. It had been a week since they’d cleared out his shed, a week full to the brim of Mackenzie, and he’d had enough of her to know he could never have enough.
She was no walk in the park. She had a temper, and she was impatient. She loved a good debate, and she was competitive, as he’d discovered to his detriment when they played chess last night.
She was also incredibly smart and sharp, and she knew how to laugh at herself and the world, and she was strong, with an inner resilience he was slightly in awe of. He found her face captivating and her small body more so, and when they were in bed—or the living room, or the kitchen, or the shower—he gained enormous pleasure from making her crazy.
In short, he was hooked. And despite his initial misgivings, it didn’t feel like a bad place to be. It felt right. As though it was meant to be.
“It’s probably worth checking the apartment first,” Mackenzie said as she opened the car door. “There’s another filing cabinet in my home office.”
“You have a lot of offices,” he said as he exited the car.
“That’s because I used to work a lot. Early starts. Late finishes. There’s always more to do on a TV production. Auditions to watch, rushes to assess, story lines and scripts to read over. Time and Again is pooh-poohed by some of the more high-brow one-hour dramas, but we produce the equivalent of a feature film every week. Those are no small apples.”
“No, they are not,” he said, nodding, his face serious to let her know he understood the import of what she was saying.
She laughed. “Did I just have a too-many-coffees moment?”
“Not at all. Please, tell me about your plans for world domination.”
She rounded the car and grabbed a fistful of his sweater, pulling him close and kissing him.
“The only thing I plan to dominate around here is you. If you’ll let me.”
“Consider this my white flag,” he said, pulling her into his arms.
He kissed her more thoroughly, his hands slipping beneath her coat. He loved her breasts and he palmed them, teasing her nipples through the thin wool of her top. She gave a small moan, her hips pressing forward.
The sound of a car starting had her stepping back. She gazed up at him, her eyes cloudy with need.
“How do you keep doing that to me?” she asked.
“You started it.”
He was only half-joking. She had only to look at him in a certain speculative way and he could feel himself growing hard.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she said, throwing him just such a look.
He smiled to himself and beeped the car locked, following her to the elevator. She swiped her security pass through the card reader to the right of the control panel, then punched the button for her floor.
The lift transported them smoothly, the doors opening seconds later to reveal plush charcoal carpet and a discreetly lit corridor. He knew enough about Melbourne to understand that South Yarra was a very desirable suburb, situated as it was a stone’s throw from the city center, and he’d already guessed from the exterior of Mackenzie’s building that this was a classy, glossy, expensive place.
A funny little tickle of something he couldn’t quite name itched behind his breastbone as she led him to a shiny black door. She unlocked it, and he followed her into a small foyer that led into a huge, open-plan living and dining area. He took in the sculptural modern furniture, the pieces of art, the bold colors and, most importantly, the view—a no-holds-barred, untrammeled panorama of the Royal Botanic Gardens, lush and green and beautiful—and admitted to himself that he was more than a little intimidated. He’d never doubted for a second that Mackenzie was good at what she did, but this apartment was something else.
“You want something to drink? There’s no milk, but I could make you a black coffee and there should be some mineral water.” She entered the kitchen, a severely modern creation in black granite and stainless steel that opened onto the living area.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
He crossed to the freestanding wall unit that created a screen between the living and dining sections of the room. It was filled with books, their spines a kaleidoscope of colors. He pretended to scan them as he absorbed the fact that it was likely Mackenzie could buy and sell him twice over. He caught himself doing a mental tally of his net worth—the house, his car, his investments, the royalties from the band, his share of the studio and his aunt’s place—and gave himself a mental slap.
So what if Mackenzie had more money in the bank than he did? It didn’t change who she was or who he was. In fact, her success was very much a part of who she was. Integral, even.
His gaze ran over a bold, abstract painting on the wall and it occurred to him that one of the reasons he was feeling so disconcerted was that this place was nothing like Mackenzie’s beach house. This apartment was all hard edges and bright colors, a sophisticated inner-city pad. The beach house had crinkly linen couches and soft, neutral colors and the warmth of wooden floors. He’d met Mackenzie there, grown to know and like and admire her there, but this place made him feel as though he didn’t know her at all. Or, at least, that he only knew a part of her.
“Wow. I used to drink a lot of coffee.”
He glanced to where Mackenzie stood in front of a floor-to-ceiling pantry. Half-a-dozen glossy black blocks of vacuum-sealed coffee beans marched along the top shelf.
“The working-life equivalent of Dutch courage, right?” he said.
She nodded, but she was frowning. He continued to watch her as she opened the fridge to assess the contents. He could see bottles of Diet Coke and a few jars of olives, as well as what looked like either vodka or gin.
“I used to drink a lot of Coke, too. And martinis, apparently.”
She sounded as though this was news to her. As though she was inspecting some other Mackenzie’s apartment.
“When was the last time you were here?” he asked.
“Nearly four months ago. I stayed here for a week after I got out of rehab, then I moved to the beach house. So I guess it’s been nearly a year since I’ve lived here, really. Although my cleaner has been giving it the once-over every month for me.”
She sounded a little bewildered. He followed her as she left the room, traversing a short hallway that opened onto two rooms, the doorways opposite one another. A quick glance to the left told Oliver it was the study, complete with frosted-glass desk and formidable-looking ergonomic chair. He guessed the other room was her bedroom, a guess that was confirmed when he followed Mackenzie inside. A large king-size bed sat beneath a broad, wide canvas made up of gray swirls, the whole set against a severe white wall. The carpet was snowy-white, and one wall was nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows, exposing the room to the world.
It was stunning, but he couldn’t help wondering how a person got undressed at night, since there didn’t appear to be any curtains or blinds.
“How do you...?” he asked, and she flipped a switch next to the bed.
The windows instantly became an opaque gray, utterly impenetrable.
“Ah. Fancy.” And also a little sterile for his tastes.
But, hey, he didn’t have to live here.
Mackenzie walked to an opening to the left of the bed. He assumed it was the doorway to an en suite bathroom—there was no way this apartment didn’t have an en suite, and he bet his worker’s cottage in Newtown that it was dripping with marble—and when he ducked his head around the corner he saw that he was both right and wrong. It did lead to a bathroom, a gleaming white marble space, but it was also a walk-through closet, complete with a shoe display worthy of Imelda Marcos.
Mackenzie was contemplating the shoes, a faintly wistful expression on her face. She selected a pair of deep purple suede shoes with a wicked-looking heel, her hands smoothing over the leather almost reverently.
“Can’t wear any of these anymore.”
He scanned the shoes again and realized they all sported varying degrees of high heels.
“Maybe that will change,” he said, because he understood that women were funny about shoes. It was a thing, and he didn’t fully get it, but he knew enough to tread carefully.
“Nope. My orthopedic surgeon told me that if I wanted to end up in a wheelchair by fifty, wearing high heels was a surefire way to get there. I’m pretty sure he wasn’t yanking my chain.” She put the shoe back, giving it one last pat. “Which means these guys are all going to have to find new homes.”
He moved to her side and slipped his arm around her shoulders. She gave him a faint smile.
“Guess we should start looking for that file, huh?”
“There’s no rush.” They’d already agreed to stay the night in the city. The dogs were keeping each other company back in Flinders, ably assisted by two big, juicy bones and a local dog walker who had agreed to look in on them a few times. There was no schedule to adhere to. Not today, at least, although a part of him was constantly aware that his stay in Flinders was drawing to a close. The freelancer covering his workload at the studio was contracted till the end of July, which meant he had only ten more days before he was due home. He could push to extend the contract, of course, but Rex wouldn’t be happy, and Oliver wouldn’t blame him. He’d been covering email and bouncing things back and forth with Rex, but there was no denying that his partner had made a huge concession, allowing him this downtime to get his shit together.
All of which meant his time with Mackenzie was drawing to a close. Something neither of them had addressed, even obliquely.
“You know, you don’t have to actually help with the search. You could head into the city, check out the sights, leave me to it while I burrow through my boxes.”
It was a genuine offer, but he wasn’t about to take her up on it. He’d rather be with her, sorting through files, than wandering around the city on his own.
“This may shock you, but I have been to Melbourne before,” he said.
“It does shock me. Most Sydney-siders never bother. Which is why they remain safe in the delusion that Sydney is the better city.”
He grinned. The Melbourne-Sydney rivalry had been alive and well for centuries, and he wasn’t about to fall down in his duty to do his bit to preserve it.
“You’re so right. A handful of rattly old tramcars and some graffiti-covered laneways are more than a match for Sydney Harbor, the bridge and the Opera House.”
They continued to trade playful insults while they searched through the boxes in the study. When they had no success there, they descended to the parking garage and began a systematic search of the storage locker.
Two hours later, they were both dusty and hungry and speeding rapidly toward being done with searching—and the research still had yet to be located. Oliver was about to suggest they stop for a break when Mackenzie swore and pushed the box she was looking through away from herself.
“You okay?” he asked.
“No. Why on earth did I keep all this stuff? When will I ever need the scripts from a show that isn’t even on air anymore? Or a contract from ten years ago? Or my dental X-rays from 2005?”
She looked very cute, sitting there with dust on her cheek, frustration pleating her forehead.
“I think we have to face the fact you’re an administrative hoarder. It happens. It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said.
She made a rude noise but her mouth kicked up at the corner. “You think you’re so funny, don’t you?”
“I don’t think, I know.”
The strident ring of a phone interrupted whatever response she was about to make and they both reached for their hip pockets at the same time.
“Me,” Mackenzie said as she slipped her phone from her jeans. Her smiled faltered as she checked the caller I.D.
“Who is it?”
“My boss. My ex-boss, I mean.”
Only yesterday he and Mackenzie had been discussing the fact that even though she knew beyond a doubt that her role had been handed to someone else, she had yet to hear the news from the powers that be at Eureka Productions. A fairly typical scenario in television, Mackenzie had told him. Now, apparently, her boss had found time in his busy schedule to destroy Mackenzie’s hopes. Big of him.
“Hi, Gordon.” She answered the call, crossing an arm over her body, bracing herself for what she knew she was about to hear.
Oliver moved closer, resting a hand on her shoulder. He could hear someone talking, but couldn’t distinguish the words.
“Thanks, but I’d already heard the news,” Mackenzie said crisply.
He smiled faintly, understanding that she wasn’t letting her boss off the hook easily. Oliver squeezed Mackenzie’s shoulder. Good on her for giving the bastard a hard time, even if it wasn’t going to change the outcome.
More talk came down the line. Mackenzie shifted her weight impatiently.
“I understand that, Gordon, but I’m won’t pretend I’m not disappointed. You know how much I put into that show. I wouldn’t even have been on that road if I hadn’t been driving to a location shoot.”
Gordon spoke again and Mackenzie’s body tensed beneath Oliver’s hand. She glanced at him, surprise in her eyes.
What? he mouthed.
“That’s very generous of you,” Mackenzie said slowly. “You’re aware I wouldn’t be able to start for at least another three months, right? And I’d need time to build up my stamina to work a full schedule again.”
She listened intently, her gaze focused on the wall.
“Well. That’s a very attractive offer. I’ve got to admit, you’ve caught me on the hop a little. I thought you were going to fob me off with a game show.”
There was a new light in Mackenzie’s eyes as she wound up the call, promising to get an answer to Gordon in the next few days. She bit her lip as she slipped the phone into her pocket.
“They offered you something else?” Oliver guessed.
“Yeah. A new drama series they’re developing. A one hour. They just got the green light from the network.” She seemed a little dazed.
“One hour is good, yes?”
“One hour is the next step. What I was hoping for after I’d paid my dues long enough on Time and Again.”
“So this is a good thing?”
“I guess.” She didn’t looked thrilled or excited, though. She looked...confused.
“You don’t want it?” Now he was confused. This opportunity seemed perfect for her—or at least the Mackenzie who lived in that stark apartment upstairs.
She sat on the nearest box, her expression troubled. “If you’d asked me a month ago, I’d have leaped at this opportunity and held on with both hands.”
He suddenly understood why she was torn. Over the past week, she’d dusted off her old dreams and reinvested in them. She’d written up ideas and phoned industry friends and put out feelers. She was excited about her Mary De Garis project.
“You don’t want to give Mary up?”
She pulled a face. “That’s stupid, though, right? I mean, Gordon is offering me a gold-plated opportunity. I’d be an idiot to walk away from it. He even said that they know it will take a while for me to get up to speed, but they’re happy to do whatever it takes because they want me on this project.”
“Pretty flattering.”
She laughed, the sound incredulous. “I cannot tell you what I would have done to hear him say those words twelve months ago.”
“Could you do both? Mary on the side, this other thing during the week?”
She thought about it for a moment. “Before the accident, yes. No question. Not now, though. I’d struggle with managing full-time work on its own, to be honest. Even if a one-hour drama is less demanding than a soap, it will still get crazy at times.” She glanced at her hands where they rested in her lap. “How strange that I even have to think about it.”
“You don’t have to decide now. He’s given you a few days, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So, use them. Weigh the pros and cons.”
Her eyes wrinkled slightly at the corners as she considered him. “You’re being wise again.”
“I have my moments.”
He dusted his hands on the seat of his jeans and glanced around. “You want to take a break and come back to this or keep plowing on?”
She checked her watch. “Shall we go another half hour then find somewhere to grab lunch?”
“Sure.”
He returned to the box he’d been working with, once again flicking through its contents. He’d become so habituated to flicking past things he almost missed the envelope tucked in between two dog-eared folders.
“This disc we’re looking for...would it be with an envelope full of pictures of a woman with scary eyebrows?”
Mackenzie was on her knees pawing through another box, but her head snapped up. “That’s Mary. You found her!”
She came to his side and inspected the portrait he was holding. The woman in it was very young, her face soft, her hair escaping from it’s neat updo.
“Those eyebrows aren’t scary. They just haven’t been airbrushed or plucked because Dr. De Garis had better things to do with her time.” Mackenzie beamed at him. “Thank you.”
She slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him. She smelled good, and he encouraged her onto his lap. They kissed long and lazily, enjoying each other. Then Mackenzie shifted against him and instantly kissing wasn’t enough. He slid his hand onto her breast, teasing her nipple with his thumb.
“Don’t start something you don’t plan to finish, Oliver,” she murmured against his mouth.
He pinched her nipple firmly enough to make her squirm.
“Sorry, did you say something?”
She retaliated by sliding a hand between their bodies, stroking him through his jeans. He let her taunt him for a few minutes before lifting her bodily off his lap.
“Let’s go check out your view again,” he said.
They kissed in the lift going up, and when they entered Mackenzie’s apartment she started to strip as she made her way to the bedroom. Her top, her jeans, her socks and shoes, until she was wearing nothing but silky dark green panties and a balconette bra as she entered her bedroom.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he said, unable to take his eyes off the rounded curves of her backside.
She didn’t say a word, simply gave him a Cleopatra smile before unbuttoning his shirt and pulling it off his shoulders. She tackled his belt next, then pushed his jeans down his hips. His erection sprang free, and she sank to her knees to push his jeans the rest of the way down. She looked up at him, a wicked, knowing glint in her eye, and he barely had a chance to appreciate the picture she presented before she pressed a kiss to his belly and inhaled audibly.
“You smell so damn good.”
She pulled back, focusing on his erection. He grew harder as she licked her lips, running her fingers through the springy hair at the base of his shaft. She was enjoying teasing him, and he was enjoying being teased.
She wrapped her fingers around his shaft and guided him into her mouth, teasing his head with her tongue before taking all of him. Sensation assailed him—heat and moisture, the knowing flick of her tongue, the firm grip of her hand.
She drew back, licking the length of him.
“You taste good, too. Like clean skin and hot man.”
He was beyond speech. It was all he could do to remain standing as she went to town on him, using her hands and lips and tongue to drive him wild. He could feel his climax building, could feel the heat of it in his belly. He wanted to come like this so badly, but he wanted to be inside her, too, giving her as much pleasure as she was giving him.
Even though it almost killed him, he eased away from her. She looked up at him, slightly dazed, her mouth wet and pink.
“Get on the bed.”
He didn’t need to ask twice. She blinked, the dazed look leaving her face, then she stood and shimmied out of her panties and bra. She lay down on the bed and lifted her hips obediently when he slipped a pillow beneath her backside. They’d discovered that the small increase in height made it comfortable for her when he was on top, something he’d been more than happy to exploit to the full. He was all for equal opportunity, but sometimes a man just needed to be in charge.
Mackenzie watched as he smoothed on a condom, then welcomed him home when he stretched out on top of her.
As always, the first slide of his body inside hers was transcendent. The rightness of it, the sense of connection. Then the insistent, greedy ache of his arousal required that he start to move, and before long he was lost in the rhythm of it and the tidal pull of desire.
She came quickly, her breath coming in choppy pants, and even though he was close, he held on, his teeth gritted. He kept stroking into her, then he stroked her with his hand, a counterpoint to the thrust of his hips inside her. She came a second time and finally he let himself go, his face pressed into her neck as his body shuddered into hers.
Her body was damp with sweat and he paused to lick between her breasts before withdrawing from her. She gave a small shudder, shifting her hips restlessly.
“Want to hear something funny?” she said as he stood and headed for the bathroom to lose the condom.
“What?”
He padded to the bed, stopping in his tracks when he realized that instead of opaque glass he was staring out at the view.
“I forgot to blank the window,” Mackenzie said.
“No shit.”
The glass went opaque as he returned to the bed and Mackenzie gave him a sheepish smile.
“Sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve already thought of a way you can make it up to me.”
She smiled drowsily. “Let me guess.” She rolled onto one elbow and lazily smoothed a hand over his chest. Her gaze grew thoughtful and he knew without asking that she was thinking about the call from her boss.
“How’s that list of pros and cons going?” he asked.
“I think I’m still freaking out. This little voice in the back of my head keeps telling me what a great opportunity it is and asking how I could possibly not take it. But the new ideas I have for Mary are so clear in my mind, I can practically see how this documentary is going to look.”
“You want to talk it through?”
She considered for a beat, then met his gaze. “Not just yet. I need to process a little more. Get past the shock and my first panicky reaction to grab on to what Gordon’s offering, no matter what. Is that okay?” She looked worried, as though she though he would be wounded because she wasn’t discussing it with him.
“Of course.”
Her expression softened. “Thanks. For everything. For finding Mary and being so great about searching through all those boxes—”
“Not to mention for being so awesome in bed.”
She laughed, her breath warming his chest. “I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned that, like, a million times already. Very remiss of me.”
He trailed a hand down her side. “Did I mention I’ve already thought of a way you can make that up to me?”
She allowed him to draw her closer. “I seem to have a lot of making-up scheduled.”
“I know. Better get started.”
They fooled around a little, teasing one another. After a few minutes he nuzzled a kiss into her neck, then lifted his head. “Where did you want to go to dinner?”
“Right. Dinner.” There was an odd note in her voice that caught his attention.
“What’s up?” he asked.
“How would you feel if we didn’t stay the night in the city and we went back to the beach instead?”
“Sure. If that’s what you want.” He wasn’t invested either way, and it would be no hardship to say goodbye to this apartment.
Her gaze scanned his face, worried. “You really don’t mind? You didn’t have your heart set on a big-city meal and bright lights?”
“Nope.”
She looked relieved. “Good. Because I really don’t want to spend the night in this place.” She glanced at him. “Does that sound nuts?”
She’d surprised him. This was her place, after all. Her primary place of residence. “Why don’t you want to stay?”
“It just doesn’t feel...right. I can’t explain it any better than that. The coffee, the Coke, the shoes. This carpet, that window. I feel as though they belong to another life. To another me.” She made an embarrassed noise. “That really does sound nuts, doesn’t it?”
She was frowning and he reached out to smooth her brow.
“You haven’t lived here for a while, that’s all.”
“I guess. Although, when I look around, I wonder if I ever lived here. I was always so busy working. Those books out in the living room—I’ve probably read about ten percent of them. I think I’ve used the oven only half-a-dozen times. When I bought this place after the divorce, I thought it would be great for dinner parties, but I was always too snowed at work to host any sort of party.”
She sounded bemused, and he was reminded, again, of what a profound impact the accident had had on her life.
“Maybe you can have a dinner party when you move back.” He felt an odd pang as he imagined Mackenzie hosting a party in her fabulous apartment at some unknown future time. It was a million miles away from the world they shared together at the beach.
“Yeah, maybe.” Her gaze was troubled as she looked at him. She started to say something, then shook her head.
“What?”
“Nothing.” She shifted to the edge of the bed. “If we leave now, we should be home in time for dinner.”
She stood. He watched as she started to dress, turning away to pull on her jeans. The bumps of her vertebrae looked incredibly fine and fragile as they marched down her back. He wondered what she’d been about to say, and why she’d chosen not to say it.
Something about her apartment or Gordon’s job offer, maybe?
Something about him?
Oliver knew he should ask, but he wasn’t ready for what she might say if it was the latter. Not yet.
There was still time yet. Ten more days.
Following her lead, he started to get dressed.