and had woken up to see a boat a few miles off shore—a boat she knew in her gut she wasn’t going to be able to flag down.
She broke the connection first.
“Until tomorrow then,” he said evenly.
She watched him walk out of the kitchen and down the hall, the edges of his wool coat snapping with each stride. Yes, it had been a long time since she’d met a man who affected both her mind and her body, and it was pretty damn unlucky that he happened to be an enemy of her father’s.
Thankfully, she had become quite good at denying herself.
Four
Mac had hoped Olivia Winston would be moderately attractive. After all, it would make his goal a little easier and more pleasant to achieve if the woman he was going to seduce was decent-looking. Unfortunately this woman was miles past decent—circling somewhere around blistering hot. She was also intelligent and passionate and pushed sugar. And if he had any hope of seeing his plan through to the end, whenever he looked at her he was going to have to force himself to remember the he and her father were at war. And that her unhappiness and disappointment and permanent scarlet letter would be his justice.
He slowed his car to a comfortable seventy miles per hour as he exited the freeway. But seeing her as an enemy to be taken down wouldn’t be easy. Damn, the way she’d looked at him with those fiery coffee-colored doe eyes, as though she couldn’t decide if she was intrigued by him or wanted to follow her father’s advice and toss him right out on his ass. Mac turned onto Third Street, Minneapolis’s restaurant row. Eyeing the line of cars in front of Martini Two Olives, he backed into an open parking space with one effortless movement. Light snowflakes touched down on his windshield as he spotted a tall, cool blonde through the window of the packed restaurant.
She smiled warmly at him as he walked through the doorway. Mac gave her a kiss on the cheek, and above the din of celebratory restaurant patrons, he said, “Hello, Avery.”
“Well, Mac Valentine, it’s been way too long,” she practically purred.
They took a table at the bar and ordered drinks. When a scotch neat was set before him, Mac asked, “How’s Tim? You two still in love?”
Avery blushed and smiled simultaneously. “Blissfully. And planning on starting a family next year.”
Mack leaned back in his chair and took a healthy swallow of scotch. “I’m a damn fine matchmaker. My best buddy and my firm’s geeky ex-lawyer.”
“Hey, watch it with the geek stuff. That was years ago. I’m a knockout now.”
He grinned. “Yeah. You’re all right.”
She laughed. When her laughter eased, she grew serious, her pale blue eyes heavy with sincerity. “You are a great friend, and you did a good thing. We owe you.”
“Yeah, well, I never thought I’d have to collect on that debt, but times are a little…unsure.”
“Tim mentioned something…”
“He always sucked at discretion.”
“What do you need? Anything at all.”
“Do you still represent the DeBolds?”
She nodded. “My favorite clients.”
“I’ve heard they’re shopping for a new financial firm, and I’d like to show them what I have to offer.”
Her fingernails clicked on her glass. “They might’ve heard the rumors, Mac…. And you know how they are about family, or lack of. They don’t want to deal with—”
“I know, I know. That’s why I’m planning to be everything they’re looking for and more.”
She looked unconvinced. “Five-star restaurants and over-the-top gestures won’t impress them. If you really want them to take the firm seriously, you’d need to do something—”
He put a hand up to stop her. “Let me tell you what I have in mind, then you can decide to set it up or not.”
“All right,” she said and lifted the glass of red wine to her lips.
Given the kind of man he was, Olivia had expected Mac Valentine to live in a sleek, modern type of home made of glass or stainless steel or something impervious to warmth. So it came as somewhat of a shock to find that the address he’d given her belonged to a stately, though charming, mansion on historic Lake of the Isles Parkway.
After parking in the snow-dusted driveway, Olivia darted up the stone steps and rang the bell, noting with a smile the lovely way winter’s ravaged vines and ivy grew up one side of the house in a charming zigzag pattern. The wintry November breeze off the lake shocked her with a sudden gust, and she was thankful when the door opened. A tall, thin man in his late sixties ushered Olivia inside. He explained that he was the handyman, then told her Mac would be down in a minute. Then the man disappeared down a long hallway.
Olivia stood in the spacious entryway of Mac’s home, staring at a beautiful, rustic banister and staircase, and wondering why it felt only slightly warmer inside the house than out.
“Good morning.”
Coming down the stairs like Rhett Butler in reverse was Mac Valentine. He was dressed simply in jeans and a white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms. Awareness stirred in her belly. She liked forearms, liked the way the cords of muscle bunched when a man gripped something, or someone.
“Find the place all right?” he asked when he reached her.
“Perfectly,” she said, noticing that not only did he look good, but he smelled good, too. As if he’d showered in a snowy, pine forest or something. Realizing her thoughts had taken an idiotic turn, she flipped on her professional switch and said, “Shall we get started?”
His eyes lit with amusement, but he nodded. “Come with me.”
As Olivia followed him through the house, she noticed that each room she passed was more warm and inviting than the next, with wood paneling, hewn beams and rustic paint colors on the walls. But there was a glaring problem that Mac didn’t mention as they walked—every room, from bathroom to living room to the fabulous gourmet kitchen, was bare as bones. There were no furnishings, no artwork, no tchotchkes—no nothing. It was the oddest thing she’d ever seen. It was as though he’d just moved in.
“I’m sensing a theme here,” Olivia said with a laugh as they stopped in the kitchen. “You, Mr. Valentine, are a minimalist of the first order.”
“Not totally.” He gestured to a massive stainless steel contraption on the counter. “I have an espresso machine.”
Two perfect cups of steaming cappuccino sat on the counter beside it. Olivia took one and handed the other to him. “And that’s a good thing, but it barely strikes the surface of a family home.” Her hands curled around the hot cup, feeling warm for the first time since she left the car. “I have my work cut out for me. What’s up with all this?”
He shrugged. “I never got around to buying furniture.”
It was more than that, she thought, studying him.
