Hopefully.
She and Mac had fallen into a routine the last few days. They’d return to the motel, shower, and then make love before she fell asleep with his warm body curled behind her. Mac had slept peacefully since the tornado, no nightmares, no calling out, and because of that, she’d awoken each morning still wrapped in his arms. She’d gotten used to it. It would be weird being back in the real world, with he over at Lance’s and she at her own home.
It was better that way, though. Mac was getting under her skin in a major way, and her time with him was ticking down. If she didn’t watch herself, she was going to be in for one hell of a rude adjustment when he left.
Too bad those reminders didn’t stop her falling straight back into his arms every time he touched her. She loved having him touch her. Anywhere. Everywhere. Loved how her body responded whether they were taking their time or going at it like two people who were never going to fuck again.
Her nipples tightened thinking about how he took her—over and over. She couldn’t remember a time when her body anticipated a man the way it did him. Was ready for him as soon as he walked into a room.
Maybe it was her age.
She’d heard the older a woman got the more her libido went into overdrive. And, damn, her libido was definitely in overdrive for that man.
She tugged her small suitcase up the stairs, went into her room and straight into the bathroom. After turning on the faucet and adjusting the water, she made her way into the kitchen and poured a glass of wine. Wandering back to her bedroom, she put her iPod into the deck and sifted through her song collection until soft classical music filled the air. She really wasn’t in the mood for lyrics right now.
As she slipped into the claw-foot tub, the hot water welcomed her. Sighing, she leaned her head back against the rim and closed her eyes.
No thinking. No memories. Just the symphony of Canon in D soothing her as it always did. No matter how negative a mood she was in, the opus of violins swept it away with peace and calmness. After her family died, she’d spent months listening to it repeatedly, not understanding why it seemed to be the only thing that helped. It wasn’t until her grief became manageable that the reason had hit her. Every night for as long as she could remember, Pachelbel’s Canon had played softly in the background during family dinner. Listening to it made her feel connected to them—still to this day.
The classical piece had played four times before she got busy shaving her legs and scrubbing her body. Feeling truly clean for the first time in days, she belted a terrycloth robe around her and started to go back downstairs. Halfway down, a delicious scent made her mouth water.
He hadn’t.
A small smile threatened and she bit her bottom lip, trying to keep it from blossoming. As she crept toward the kitchen, the aroma became stronger. When she stepped inside, she found a freshly showered Mac standing at her stove, cooking away. The sight was beautiful. His face was drawn in concentration as he flipped something in a pan. She leaned against the doorjamb, watching him. If he was as masterful in the cage as he was in the kitchen, he must surely win every fight. She looked forward to watching him in the cage one day.
He’ll be gone before you get the chance.
The reminder stung but, knowing the truth of it, she pushed off the frame and moved closer to him. This thing between them was temporary. She’d been lucky to get even this much. He’d completely shut her out before the chase; at least now she was getting to spend time with the man.
And she was used to temporary. Comfortable with it. She would enjoy all the stuff they shared, right up to the end.
“Mmm, nothing hotter than a man cooking.”
He sent her a half-cocked smile. “You like this, huh?”
“You better watch it, handsome, or I’m going to make sure you burn whatever it is you’re concentrating so hard on over there.”
“Hard is right. But not over the potatoes.”
When she reached his side, he turned his body toward her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. The evidence of his arousal pressed into her belly. “Oh. Yes. Very hard,” she whispered.
“Woman, you’re going to be the death of me.” He gave her a swift kiss and smacked her ass. “Go away. I can’t focus when you’re so close. I need to feed you first.”
She sashayed around the counter and did his bidding. “What are we having?”
“We’ve had nothing but crap for the last week. So, I thought a good home-cooked meal was in order tonight.”
“Handsome, the last thing you cook is home-cooked meals. Julia Child couldn’t whip together the meals you make.”
He grinned. “Go ahead and continue stroking the ego. I don’t mind.”
She waggled her brows. “That’s not all I’d like to stroke.”