Seven
“Holy—” Mac didn’t finish the end of the curse as he took her in his arms and dropped back onto the rug, taking her with him.
Poised above him, Olivia welcomed the crush of Mac’s mouth and the heat of his body against hers. It had been so long, almost ten years since she’d been touched like this, felt a man’s lips on her, his warm breath mingling with hers. The delicious hard angles and clean scent of his skin thrilled her, and she pushed away any thoughts of how wrong the situation might be.
She threaded her fingers in his hair and gripped his scalp as he changed the angle of his kiss. Soft, hot, drugging kisses. All she wanted was to get closer to him, feel a new kind of heat, forget who she was for a few minutes, forget what he was after.
In one easy movement, he flipped her onto her back. The warmth of the fire made her sweetly dizzy and she arched against him. Sensing her need, Mac explored further. His hand moved down, under her shirt, and she felt his palm on her belly. Little zaps of fear warred with the almost desperate urge she had to feel his fingers brush over the skin of her breasts, hear his breathing change when he cupped them and felt the weight of them, feel the lower half of him grow thick and hard as his thumb flicked back and forth over her nipple.
Mac dragged his hand up, over her ribs and along the side of her rib cage. She arched and tilted her body toward his hand, silently begging him to go there, put her out of her misery or show her exactly what misery felt like again as he gave in to her fantasy.
He was no fool, he knew what she was asking for and he delivered with the utmost care. As he applied teasing kisses to her lower lip, his hand drifted from her ribs to her breast, and slowly—so slowly—he began to roll the hard peak between his thumb and forefinger. Olivia shuddered, and released an anguished sigh. Oh, such sweet torture. She felt as though she had just been plunged into a deliciously hot bath, and God help her, she never wanted to step out of it.
But somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she knew if she didn’t, she was going to drown.
He left her mouth and dipped his face into her neck, kissing and suckling her rapid pulse as the speed of his fingers on her nipple quickened. Back and forth, faster and faster.
Her legs were shaking now, almost uncontrollably, and she knew if he didn’t stop touching her, she was going to climax. Right then and there without him even going near the hot, wet place between her thighs. And she couldn’t do that—not now, not for him.
She pushed at his chest and sat up, her breathing as labored as if she’d just outrun a hungry animal.
“Why are you stopping?” His voice was ragged.
“You know why,” she uttered softly.
He raked a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Liv, there’s nothing wrong with being together like this, taking what you need when you need it.”
She looked down at him, her body warring with her mind. “From you, there is.” He looked so sexy lying there in the light of the fire with his hair tousled and a light shadow of beard around his full mouth. “From a guy who’s just using me—”
“You’re using me, too,” he uttered darkly. “Don’t pretend you’re not. I could feel every moment you’ve denied yourself in your touch, in your kiss, the way your hips pushed against mine. You’re starving, Olivia, and you want to feed so badly you’re still shaking with it.”
“I’m cold.”
“Bull. It’s hot as hell in here right now.”
His words startled her. She did want him, but she wasn’t altogether sure why. Was it to use him? Was it to make up for lost time and to finally feel a release in her body and a release of the past? Or was it because she was actually starting to like him?
Her body still hummed from his touch, but she ignored it and said softly, “I’m going to go back to your room now. Alone.”
“Is that really what you want?”
Of course it wasn’t, but she needed to step back and gain some perspective here. “Yes.”
“All right. But if you get cold—”
She stopped him right there and stood. “A little cold might be a good thing right now.” And without another glance in his direction, she left the room.
Mac woke up to the sounds of a snowplow and his doorbell chiming. Looked as though the streets were clear and his furniture delivery had arrived. He pushed himself out of his chair and stretched, the kinks in his back protesting. As he walked to the front door he wondered if Olivia was still asleep in his bed or if she’d slipped out at dawn.
He raked a hand through his hair. What kind of trouble would he be in if, after he let the furniture guys in, he went to wake her up, started at her ankles and worked his way up? He grinned, the lower half of him tightening at the thought. She might kick him out of bed—but maybe not.
Mac was still very deeply ensconced in that fantasy when he opened the front door. But when he saw who was on the other side, all softness and desire vanished, and his fangs came out. “Hell, no. It’s way too early for this.”
Owen Winston looked ready to murder him. “Where’s my daughter?”
“You have a helluva lot of nerve coming here.”
“Where is my daughter?”
Mac leaned against the doorjamb and raised one eyebrow. “In my bed.”
The older man’s eyes bulged out like a tree frog’s and he lunged at Mac.
Eight
Olivia walked down the hall, an aching stiffness in her bones that came from sleeping in a chair for most of the night. If she’d had the day to herself, she might grab a massage and a whirlpool bath at the local spa, but she had a full plate today and a good soak in her bathtub when she got home tonight was about the best she could hope for.
When she got to the stairs, she heard voices below in the hall. “Oh, that’s my cab,” she called to Mac. “The tow truck company said they should be pulling out my car later this afternoon, so you don’t have to—” She stopped talking. The voices she heard were angry and threatening, and she recognized them at once. One belonged to Mac, and the other, she was pretty sure, belonged to her father.
She raced down the hallway, but when she got to the entryway, all she could do was stare. There was her father, his back against the wall, looking like he wanted to kill Mac with his bare hands. And Mac, who was standing in front of him, only inches away, looked just as menacing.
“What the hell are you two doing?” she demanded. When neither of them answered, she walked over and stood in front of them, her hands on her hips. “Mac,” she said evenly, trying to bring some sense of calm to the situation, and to the two fire-breathing men before her. “Take a breath and back up.”
His jaw flickered with tension, but he didn’t look at her when he muttered hotly, “Yeah. Sure. As long as your father here doesn’t jump on me again.”
“What?” Olivia turned to her father. “Jump on you?” When Owen didn’t look at her, she put a hand on his shoulder
