Free Falling (17 page)

“Are you sure you can do this?”

Alex’s voice interrupted Free’s silent
epiphany. She blinked, then met Alex’s concerned gaze. “I’m fine,”
she lied.

Alex studied her for a moment. Free quickly
masked the hurt and uncertainty she worried might be in her eyes.
Her feelings could wait until this was done. She scanned the
expectant faces from Chenille Street. These people were counting on
her.

Free turned back to Alex. “Let’s do it.”

Alex nodded. “Okay. Mr. Towery, you and your
friends wait here.” She leaned around the corner where the hall did
a ninety degree angle to the right and pointed. All eyes followed
her gesture. “Keep an eye on that door. When Free leads Mac out of
the conference room, you make your move.”

“What about Mr. Larsen?” Towery asked.

“I’m going back down to the lobby,” Alex
explained. She turned to Free. “I’ll call Jake. Tell him I have an
emergency. Once Jake is taken care of, you get Mac out any way you
can.” Alex shifted her attention to Mr. Towery. “That will leave
only the investors for this project and a local McFerrin employee
named Batson. Ignore him,” Alex added. “No matter what Batson says,
you just keep talking.”

“Can do,” Towery affirmed.

“Twenty minutes, Free,” Alex reminded her.
“We’ll need as close to twenty minutes as you can give us.”

Free took a deep breath, gave Alex and the
group a nervous smile, then turned the corner and strode toward the
double doors of the conference room. Free clenched her teeth and
ignored the secretary who bounded out of the office across the
hall.

“Miss! Miss! You can’t go in there!”

~*~

Mac shifted in his seat at the head of the
conference table and forced himself to pay attention to Roger
Batson’s summation of the Chenille Street project. Roger was a good
man. Mac felt lucky to have him here in the Huntsville office.

Mac locked his left knee to prevent the
rhythmic and irritating bounce of his heel. He clasped his hands in
his lap to quell the urge to drum his fingers and focused on the
cost projections Batson enumerated. Without sparing the document a
glance, Mac followed suit when the group seated around the table
flipped to the next page in their presentation packet. He already
knew those figures backward and forward.

His roving thoughts went automatically to
Free. Brutally, Mac squashed the vivid scenarios playing out in his
head. Just as quickly and forcefully, the lust-arousing-images
recreated themselves in his imagination. Taking Free on the
conference table. Her smooth, creamy skin pale against the deep
mahogany surface. All that silky hair spread around her head. Her
dusky pink nipples straining for his attention as her slender back
arched, thrusting her full breasts upward.

Mac couldn’t recall having ever been with a
woman so responsive to him. Her body had come alive in his hands.
And she’d been so hot and tight, virginal almost. Mac tugged at his
neckline. She’d actually climaxed before he’d even gotten inside
her. Mac swallowed tightly and shifted again, a raging erection
making any position he chose uncomfortable. He glanced quickly from
side to side. What would these people, his business associates,
think if they knew he couldn’t keep his mind off one lovely gypsy
long enough to conduct a business meeting?

Damn.
Mac passed a hand over his face
and directed his attention back to Batson’s monologue. Mac forced
his body back into submission. He blew out a breath and massaged
his forehead with his fingertips until he had cleared his thoughts
of anything even remotely related to Free Renzetti.

Paula’s shouts from outside the door had Mac
frowning. The woman was usually the picture of decorum. He couldn’t
imagine what—

The conference room door flew open and banged
against the paneled wall. Free strode through the open door,
followed by a frantic Paula.

Red.
Mac saw red. A skin-tight, very
short, candy-apple red dress. A rose tattoo. And strappy red high
heels. As Free crossed the room, Mac’s gaze traveled back up those
unbelievably long legs, a body to die for, and paused on a face
made for an angel. Her hair bounced and flowed over her shoulders
like a cape of sensual silk.

Mac blinked. What the hell was she doing
here?

“Free, what’s going on?” he demanded.
Complete silence fell over those assembled. Mac didn’t have to look
to know that all eyes were riveted on him. And on the woman
standing over him, hands on hips, eyes shooting daggers. He shook
his head and admired her scantily-clad body once more. “And why are
you dressed like” Mac gestured magnanimously “like that?”

“I can’t believe you!” Free raged. “You…you
took advantage of my…of my giving nature!” she stammered.

Panic surged through him. What had he done to
upset her so badly? Hell, he knew what he had done. Mac shot to his
feet, determined to head off an embarrassing scene. “Maybe we
should discuss this—”

“No!” she shouted. “I won’t let you take
advantage of me again!”

“Free—”

“Mr. Larsen!” Paula called from somewhere
near the door.

“Yo,” Jake answered, obviously reluctant to
draw his attention from the developing scene.

“You have an emergency all from your firm.
Would you like to take it in Mr. McFerrin’s office?”

“Sure.” Jake hustled past Mac, then turned to
take the last few steps from the conference room backwards. He gave
Free a slow once-over and shook his head wistfully. Mac glared at
his retreating friend, jealousy twisting his gut.

“You just do whatever makes you happy with no
consideration for the consequences!” Free snapped, drawing his
attention back to her.

Her breasts rose and fell with every outraged
breath she drew. The movement mesmerized him. Mac’s heart skipped a
beat when his gaze shifted to her face and zeroed in on those lush,
red-painted lips. He tried to swallow, but couldn’t. His brain
wouldn’t work with no oxygen flowing to it. He could only stare at
the woman in front of him, every muscle in his body growing harder
by the second.

Free flung her palms up in exasperation.
“There’s no point in trying to talk to you. You’re hopeless!”
Giving him one last acid glare, she whirled around in a flash of
red and stormed out of the conference room.

Mac just stood there, his gaze fastened on
her swaying hips, his mouth hanging open like an idiot’s.

“Mr. McFerrin, would you like me to
continue?” Roger Batson asked hesitantly.

Mac jerked to attention, then blinked to
focus. “Carry on,” he said distractedly, his thoughts still on
Free. “I’ll—I’ll be right back.” He all but ran from the conference
room, leaving a half dozen important investors to think what they
would do. He had to catch up with Free, to find out what her
tantrum was all about.

He found her just outside the conference room
adjusting the flimsy strap of one high heel. “Free, what the hell
is going on?” He still couldn’t believe his eyes. To say she looked
stunning in that red dress would be a vast understatement. Mac had
the sudden urge to cover her so no one else could see.

Free glared at him, smoothing her palms over
the stretchy material clinging to her hips. “I don’t want to talk
about it.” She turned sharply and started down the hall.

Mac frowned. For Pete’s sake, what was wrong
with her? “Wait,” he called, double-timing to catch up with her
long strides. “I want to know what’s going on, and I want to know
now.”

This time she didn’t spare him a glance. She
just kept walking straight down the hall. Toward the elevators, he
presumed, but if that was her intended destination she was going
the wrong way.

“This is ridiculous!” Mac huffed, tossing her
unyielding profile a hard look.

“Go back to your meeting, Mac. You’ve already
gotten what you wanted from me,” she said curtly.

Mac stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

Ignoring him, Free disappeared behind the
next door on the right.

Dumbfounded by her words, Mac slowly walked
toward the room she entered. He glared at the sign that read
“Ladies” and wondered how he had allowed this to happen. He had
never once permitted anything to interfere with his professional
life. In fact, he had never allowed anyone close enough to evoke
this kind of reaction in him. Yet, here he stood, looking like a
fool, contemplating what it would take to make her happy again.

Mac clenched his jaw and pushed through the
swinging door. By God, one way or another he intended to find out
what the hell was going on in that pretty little head of hers.

Free whirled from the mirror and pierced him
with a steely gaze as he approached her. “You can’t come in here,
this is the ladies’ room,” she protested.

Mac crossed his arms over his chest and
leaned against the counter next to her. “I own the building. I can
do anything I please.” He kept his tone low, tight,
threatening.

She narrowed her eyes to intense slits and
planted her hands on those gorgeous hips once more. “Is that a
fact?”

“That,”—he leaned forward, encroaching on her
personal space—“Ms. Renzetti, is a fact.”

“You think just because you own the place you
can treat people any way you want?” The fierceness in her eyes
wavered as did the certainty in her voice.

“Why don’t you tell me what—”

The rush of water in a flushing toilet cut
him off. A young woman, wide-eyed and quite obviously flustered,
sidled out of a stall and dashed past them. Mac swore under his
breath.

“You, Connor McFerrin,”—Free stabbed him in
the chest with her forefinger—“are a self-centered, narrow-minded
pig!”

Mac scowled, looking from her now vengeful
expression to the blood-red nail jabbing him in his chest. All
signs if vulnerability had vanished from her pretty face. Mac
backed up a step when she closed in on him and poked his chest even
harder.

“A spoiled rich guy,” she accused.

“That’s a fine way to talk about someone you
made love with not twenty-four hours ago,” he snapped, then winced
when she poked him again.

“What would you know about making love?” she
demanded. “Love doesn’t enter your way of thinking.”

He backed up three more steps before he could
think of an appropriate comeback. “And I suppose you know all about
the subject,” he challenged.

She took a step, he backed up. There was
something about the look in her eyes that made him certain that he
didn’t want her close enough to make any sudden moves, especially
with her knees.

“More than I want to,” she retorted, a note
of regret tingeing her voice as she took another step closer.

“Well, I—”Mac stumbled backwards through an
open stall door and lost his balance. He grappled with the slick,
painted sides for an endless second before plopping down on the
toilet, slamming his head against the wall behind him. Fortunately
for him, the toilet lid was down. Unfortunately for him, that
didn’t stop the teeth-jarring blow to the back of his head.

“More than you’ll ever dream of knowing about
emotions, period,” Free added tersely. She edged between his spread
thighs, closed and locked the door behind her, then turned on him
again.

Mac suddenly felt trapped and started to
stand. “I don’t think this is the appropriate place to discuss the
issue.”

“Sit down, Mac,” she ordered. Free placed a
hand on each shoulder and pressed him back onto his seat. “This is
the perfect place. After all,” she glared at him “You’re so full
of—”

“Look,” he said, cutting off her tirade. His
patience had just run out. “I don’t know what the hell the problem
is, but I’ve had enough.” He jerked at his tie and released the top
button of his shirt. A man could only take so much. He had a
conference room full of important clients waiting for him. “Either
tell me what the problem is, or—”

“Is your phone out of order?” she demanded
dejectedly. “You didn’t call me last night like you promised.” The
fire was gone from her voice, it trembled.

Mac’s head shot up in surprise. She looked on
the verge of tears. “Is that what this is all about?”

“You said you’d call.” Free folded her arms
over her chest and pouted, and Mac felt a twinge of conscience.

“I…I had to work,” he stammered, suddenly
tongue-tied. “It was after midnight when I got home, and that
damned mutt—”

“Oliver,” she corrected. Her lower lip
quivered.

Mac licked his lips and swallowed. The
shallow rise and fall of her breasts made him ache. “Yeah, him,” he
relented. “He…distracted me.” The subtle fragrance of roses
enveloped Mac, sinking into his awareness, tightening already rigid
muscles and drawing him into a vortex of pure need.

“Is he okay?”

Mac plowed his fingers through his hair and
tried to make sense of her question, but all he could do at the
moment was absorb every minute detail of her. This close, he could
clearly see the outline of her budded nipples. Sweat formed on his
upper lip as he resisted the urge to pull her close and suckle one
pointed peak and then the other. The fabric clung to her every
curve, the rise of breasts, the slope that narrowed into a tiny
waist, then gently flared into womanly hips. And that small rose
tattoo winked at him from the beneath the hem pulled taut over her
shapely thighs.

“I have to know,” he blurted. “Where did you
get that dress?” His gaze lifted to hers and the breath went thin
in his lungs. Desire, the desire raging inside him, burned in her
wide eyes.

“It belongs to Alex,” she murmured, backing
away as far as the stall door would allow.

“Remind me to thank Alex,” he said with a
lopsided grin that probably looked as stupid as it felt.

The longer Free stood in front of him in
their close quarters, the more nervous she appeared. Seeming as
fragile as glass, she looked ready to burst into tears at any
moment. Finally, Mac worked up the courage to get to the point.
“You’re this upset because I didn’t call?”