Free Falling (15 page)

He wanted her as he had never wanted anything
or anyone else in his life. The need to have her bordered on
obsession.

How could he want her so badly?

Mac scrubbed at the frown lines that seemed
to have permanently etched into his forehead since arriving in
Huntsville. Free Renzetti had done nothing but drive him crazy from
the very first day they’d met. And even then, he had wanted
her.

His groin tightened and his breathing slowed
as images and sensations replayed in his mind. Free’s soft, warm
lips against his. Her body molding to his in all the right place
and—

“Mr. McFerrin, there’s a call for you on line
one,” Paula, his secretary announced.

Mac jerked to attention. A groan almost
escaped him before he swallowed it back. “I’m sorry, Paula, what
did you say?” Apparently the conference was over. The knot of
employees that had been seated around the conference table only
moments ago were filtering out the door.

“A call, line one,” Paula repeated.

Mac nodded and picked up the receiver.
“McFerrin,” he said automatically.

“Mac, this is Roy Nelson.”

Nelson, Roy, site supervisor. Mac sorted the
information and visualized a face to go with the name. “Yes, Roy,
what can I do for you this morning?”

“I just stopped by the Chenille Street house
for a final look-see before demolition on Monday.” He paused. Mac
didn’t like the way his gut clenched during the short silence
before Roy continued.

“The house hasn’t been touched. If the
salvage company plans to take anything, I’m surprised they haven’t
started already. Should I give the owner a call to make sure
there’s been no misunderstanding?”

Concern followed immediately by irritation
burned through Mac. If Free thought falling behind on her schedule
would delay his, she was wrong. Anger flared when he considered
that she, too, should have been on the job instead of spending the
day frolicking in the woods yesterday.

Same goes for you, McFerrin
, an inner
voice chastised.

“No, Roy. Thanks but I’ll handle it
personally.”

Mac slammed the phone down and rounded his
desk. He grabbed his jacket and strode out of his office. “Paula,
call Free Renzetti and have her meet me at the Chenille Street
site,” he ordered on his way across the outer office.

“Shall I ask if she’s available before you
leave, Mr. McFerrin?” Paula asked, already dialing the number she’d
located in the Rolodex.

Mac stopped and turned back to her before
walking out the door. “No,” he said brusquely. “I’m not
asking.”

Mac ignored Paula’s startled gaze and stalked
away. Free might send his hormones into orbit, but this was
business.

And absolutely no one came between Connor
McFerrin and business.

~*~

Free spread the quilt before the old
fireplace. She sighed as her gaze lingered on the cold hearth. It
had been a very long time since a fire had burned there. Such a
shame, such a waste. Free shook her head. If Alex’s idea didn’t
work and they couldn’t convince Mac’s investors to reconsider, this
lovely old place would be a goner in a mere four days.

She glanced around the large parlor, admiring
the detailed molding and wainscoting. She was taking a risk by not
salvaging the numerous things the house had to offer, but it was a
risk Free felt compelled to take.

Her thoughts turned to Mac as she stationed
the picnic basket on one corner of the old wedding ring quilt. He
had twice accused her of being psychic, and yesterday was one time
she had wished it were true. For one fleeting instant when Mac had
twined his fingers in her hair, Free had felt a connection with
him. An almost tangible link that somehow had something to do with
how he pictured his future.

Free shuddered with the longing that
blossomed inside her each time she allowed the memory of Mac’s
kisses to replay inside her head. Never before had she been hit
with such a case of lust.

Why him? Why now?

She sighed again, which she seemed to be
doing a lot of lately, and smoothed a hand over her yellow cotton
dress. She had planned to show up at Mac’s office at noon, picnic
basket in hand, but his secretary had called and said that Free
should meet him here.

She surveyed the deteriorating parlor again
and wondered why. The bright July sun filtered in through the dirty
panes of antique glass, and dust motes shimmered in the golden
shafts of light. She fought back her uncertainty. Mac hadn’t known
she intended to go by his office today, so it couldn’t be lunch on
his mind. The only other possibility made her even more uneasy than
Alex’s skirting-the-edge-of-legality plan.

What if Mac wanted to take up where they’d
been forced to leave off yesterday—before Mr. Gilliam’s
interruption?

What if he didn’t? What if Mac suspected she
was up to something?

Free shivered. Which would be the lesser of
two evils? Would she be able to look him in the eye and lie about
what she wanted or how she felt? She shoved her hair behind her
ears and passed a hand over her face. Mac had come to mean entirely
too much to her. She closed her eyes and scolded herself mentally
for allowing it to happen. But he needed so much. More than even he
knew.

Free shook her head at the irony. By his own
admission, the man had always gotten whatever he wanted, but Free
could see past all that. Mac had never been offered the simple
pleasures of life, or even his father’s love in the true sense of
the word. Sure, his father had provided well for him, but Mac had
never felt loved, that was clear. He didn’t know how to let anyone
or anything close.

He wanted, needed, and took at will. But he
never, ever gave of himself on an intimate level beyond the
physical. Mac McFerrin kept himself separate, apart. Free would bet
everything she owned that the man had never been in love—and she’d
win. She knew it as well as she knew the sun would rise in the east
come morning.

Free stood, brushed the dust from her hands
against her thighs, then padded across the wood floor and through
the swinging door that led to the dining room. The ability to
love—to give—came from the heart. It had to be learned by personal
experience. A person learned by example or discovered by
experience, but either way, it was an individual accomplishment.
You couldn’t lead a person to it. Everyone had to find his or her
own way somehow.

Free had learned from Thomas Styles, who had
been a father to her, though briefly, in every sense of the word.
He had shown her how precious life really was, and from him she had
discovered the absolute wonder of each day. Every day should be
special, whether good things or not-so-good things happened.

She peered through the dining room window at
the overgrown driveway. She smiled when her eyes lit on Mac’s
Explorer. He was here. Why that should give her such pleasure still
baffled her. She turned and flew across the room. She shoved at the
swinging door only to be brought up short when it bounced back hard
against her palms.

A colorful phrase, not meant for delicate
ears, hissed through obviously clenched teeth on the other side of
the door. Free bit down on her lower lip and eased the door forward
more slowly. She edged around it and into the parlor to find Mac
guarding his face with his hands.

Free started to apologize but Mac’s glare cut
her off. She snapped her mouth shut and dampened her dry lips with
a quick swipe of the tip of her tongue. His gaze followed the
movement, but quickly shot back to her eyes. It took every ounce of
bravado she could muster to stand up to that deadly glare. The man
was truly furious.

His hands dropped to his sides and fisted
there. He drew in a long, deep breath, his nostrils flaring with
the effort. “I don’t know what it is you think you’re doing, Free,
but I warn you, I don’t tolerate game playing when it comes to
business.” His voice was low and tight, laced with the anger
blazing in those blue eyes.

“This house falls on Monday. This”—he leaned
toward her, giving more import to his words—“is Thursday. I don’t
see any signs of you and your assistant having salvaged anything
from this house.” He scanned the room in one long motion. “Unless
Liberty Salvage and Restoration is much more solvent than it seems,
I don’t understand why you would buy the salvage rights to a house
and then neglect the job.”

Free sucked in a deep breath, hoping it would
bolster her waning courage. Mac couldn’t possibly know or
understand what she was up to, but he instinctively knew something
wasn’t as it should be. Work was what he did, and he did it well.
He was smart and Free knew it. What cold she say to him that
wouldn’t be a flat-out lie? One that he wouldn’t see through at
that?

She met his expectant gaze and dodged the
question with a half-truth. “Sometimes I just don’t see the point.”
She laced her fingers behind her back and forced a smile. “How’s
Oliver?”

He frowned, his gaze searching hers.
“Oliver’s fine. He eats, he pees, he poops. What do you mean you
don’t see the point?”

She shrugged and gestured vaguely at their
surroundings. “I mean, why bother? It’s like no one cares. Why
should I?” Free turned away from him then, afraid he might somehow
see the lie in her eyes. She crossed the room, putting some
distance between them, then faced him again. She blinked, startled,
when he moved in her direction. “Why should I work so hard to save
little pieces of history from this house or any other that no one
seems to care about anymore? Why not just tear it all down and
leave it in one sad heap?”

Surprise flickered across his handsome face
for a moment before irritation replaced it. He pivoted, a flash of
navy Armani, and strode toward the double doors leading to the
entry hall. Unsure of what he intended to do, she followed.

He surveyed the hall, then jammed his hands
at his waist and pinned her with a steely look. “What about this
handrail?” He glanced at the staircase and then to Free, his gaze
ultimately going back to the stairs. “It’s a veritable work of art.
Exquisite detail,” he added distractedly. “And those doors.” His
gaze shifted and he moved back toward the parlor, admiring the
sliding pocket double doors of rich mahogany. The beauty of the
wood still shone through despite the years of neglect.

Free silently trailed him. Her heart bumped
against her ribcage with a fierceness that was matched only by the
smile that threatened her lips. She couldn’t believe her ears. Mac
was actually looking at the house as if its irreplaceable interior
had real value.

“This mantel is gorgeous,” he said, more to
himself than to her. His hands traced the intricately carved wood
while his gaze roamed the room. “The detail of the molding is some
of the best I’ve ever seen.”

Mac started forward again and caught himself
just before he tripped over the picnic basket. “What’s this?” he
asked, that intense blue gaze settling on her.

She shifted under his scrutiny. “I had
planned to bring lunch to you at the office when your secretary
called.” She shrugged and waved a hand toward the basket. “I
thought we could have lunch here and…” Her explanation drifted into
silence. She flushed with the humiliation rising inside her. He no
doubt thought she was foolish.

Why had she done something so stupid? He was
already upset with her over the puppy and missing a day’s work.
Tomorrow she intended to set him up so Alex’s plan could be put in
motion. Free silently called herself what she was: a liar, a
betrayer. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled a shuddering breath
into her lungs. How had she allowed things to go this far?

Before she even knew he’d moved, his hand
closed around her arm, then slid down to envelop her trembling
fingers. Free opened her eyes to find Mac staring down at her,
concern in his eyes.

“I got a little carried away,” he murmured.
One side of his mouth quirked upward in a half smile. He blinked
and looked down at their joined hands. Free watched the play of
muscle as he swallowed hard. “I asked you to meet me here to find
out why you haven’t completed your work at this site.” His gaze
lifted to hers. All the fierceness was gone now, leaving the
intense blue staring back at her. “I shouldn’t have gone off like
that,” he offered by way of apology. Uncertainty warred with the
need she saw in his eyes.

Free smiled, but her lips trembled and tears
threatened to snap her tenuous grasp on composure. “I’m sorry I
whacked you with the door,” she said, her voice nothing but a
whisper. “You know I didn’t mean to.” Needing to touch him, she
reached up and caressed his jaw, her thumb sliding over full lips
and a perfect nose. Regret overwhelmed her then. “I shouldn’t have
badgered you into taking Oliver home. I shouldn’t have pushed you
into spending the day with me. I shouldn’t have gotten you thrown
into jail, and—”

He cut off her next words, taking her lips
with his own. “Free,” he murmured her name, the sound lost in the
kiss.

She tried, God help her, she tried, but she
just couldn’t push him away. She wanted him too much. The feel of
his hard body against hers as he edged closer. The strength of his
arms around her waist, pulling her nearer. And the taste of him as
he devoured her mouth.

Free slid her arms around his neck and gave
in to the desire, to the need. She didn’t care what happened
tomorrow or the day after that. She only cared that Mac wanted her
and she wanted him. There would plenty of time for regrets
later.

His erection pressed against her, sending a
thrill of anticipation through Free. Heat pooled at the juncture of
her thighs, readying her body for his possession.

Then they were moving. Mac stumbled slightly
as he made his way to the wall without breaking the kiss. Free
clung to him. They groaned simultaneously when her back hit the old
plaster, allowing their bodies to mesh fully together. She caressed
his thigh with her own, up and down.