Mac's Angels: The Last Dance: A Loveswept Classic Romance (7 page)

Mac was beside her instantly, sliding his arm around her waist and supporting her faltering steps as she made her way to her bedroom.

“You may be right,” she managed to say as she reached her bed. “Just let me sit down and I’ll be fine.”

“And you intend to sleep in your clothes? I don’t think so. That dress, it’s so clingy. It’s bound to be uncomfortable, not to mention those—stockings.”

“I can take care of myself,” she repeated, and reached for the back zipper in her dress, thinking he would be forced to leave. The zipper caught in the fabric and refused to budge. Her hand dropped weakly back to her lap.

“Please, Sterling, let me?” He swung her around, reached up, and, before she could protest, caught the zipper at the back of her neck and gave it
a jerk. The dress slipped down and puddled at her feet.

“Mac!”

“Don’t panic, Sterling, I’ve seen women undressed before. I’m in the rescue business, remember?” He caught the half-slip and peeled it down, then lowered her to the bed and covered her with the robe lying at the edge of the mattress. “I’ll get your nightgown.”

From the time Sterling had looked into the eyes of the man who’d shot her, she’d felt as if she were in a bad dream. But never had her dreams—even the good ones—taken her to a bedroom in a mountain fortress where a man like Mac took off her clothing as if he did it every day.

She felt as if she were standing outside herself, watching, as he returned with a long-sleeved flannel garment.

“Well,” Mac said, “I’ll have to speak with Elizabeth. Betty Rubble might sleep in something like this, but not Moneypenny. I have it on good authority that 007’s Moneypenny wears nothing at all.”

“You do?”

“Of course,” he said as he gently threaded the nightgown over her head. “Why do you think Bond is the perennial bachelor. He may play, but he always goes home, doesn’t he? I think I’m going to have to update your wardrobe.” Beneath the gown, he deftly unhooked her bra.

She managed to slide the bra off her shoulders, but her attempt to put her arms in the sleeves was an
exercise in futility. At a time like this her spinal cord failed her, pinching off the muscles and nerves that controlled her movements. Mac watched for a moment, then took one arm at a time and inserted it into the proper sleeve.

“Shall I remove your stockings?” he asked.

“No! No, I’ll … I’ll do it.” But when she leaned forward, her spine creaked a protest louder than her own choked-back moan.

“What you’ll do, Sterling, is lie down.” He removed her shoes and lifted her, placing her head on the pillow and her legs on the bed. He sat down beside her and reached for the hem of her gown.

“Please, Mac. Don’t.”

“Close your eyes, Sterling. Just this once don’t try to be Superwoman. This is simply one individual caring for another. That’s what I’ll expect from you at some point. That’s what angels do. Will you let me?”

She closed her eyes, trying desperately to breathe evenly so that Mac wouldn’t know the wild desire that his touch caused her to feel. Since she’d been released from the hospital, the only man who’d touched her so intimately had been her therapist and that had lasted only as long as it took for her to find a woman to replace him.

Until she’d been shot, she’d considered her body physically desirable. That’s what her fiancé had said, and she’d believed him. She’d lain in his arms after they’d made love and planned a future of togetherness. He really had tried to feel the same after her
injury, but he hadn’t. There came a time when he couldn’t touch her anymore and they’d both known that whatever they’d shared was over.

Mac’s fingertips moved lightly up her legs, to her hips, following the seam of her panty hose. He peeled them down, lifting one hip, then the other to remove the dark filmy hose. She tightened her muscles, trying to conceal the trembling that his touch set off.

What was happening here was wrong. Mac had deliberately not mentioned this Jessie he spoke of earlier, and she’d delayed asking about her. She couldn’t justify this deliberate oversight, nor could she deny the strong desire to wrap her arms around this man, hold him close as he—

She swallowed hard. “Mac?” Her voice sounded shaky. She tried again. “Mac, thank you. I know you’ve gone out of your way to make me feel safe. But I think it’s time for you to go.”

He picked up her feet and completed his task of removing the hose, which he then rubbed between his thumb and forefinger. “These are very sheer. It must be like wearing moonlight.”

“Moonlight?”

He laughed. “I know. I’m hopelessly romantic about some things. Sometimes, at night, when everything is quiet, I look out at the moonlight on the mountain peaks. It’s like glass, shimmering, transparent.

“Sorry. Don’t listen to me. I get punchy when
I’ve overdosed on the company of a beautiful woman. Good night, Sterling.”

He leaned closer, pulled up the spread, and, as if he were tucking in a child, planted his lips on her forehead. “Sweet dreams.”

Long after he’d gone she felt the heated circle his kiss had left and the echo of his words.
Moonlight
. This man definitely might be compared with Bond, but he wasn’t Bond. He was a poet.

He was a lonely man.

A lonely man who loved a woman named Jessie.

Sterling didn’t think she’d sleep, but she did. Deeply and restfully, without the nightmares she’d dreaded. When she woke the next morning, she was alone. But her clothes had been laid out for her, and there was a tray holding a silver coffee carafe and lovely English scones.

Gingerly, she sat up, uncertain about the aftereffects of her flight from the senator’s aide and the trauma of her evening with Mac. She didn’t know which had been harder on her body. Both had pushed her to limits she’d avoided for ten years.

Not too bad. She flexed her knees and felt a stab of pain radiate down her leg from her hip to her ankle. At least she could feel it. Pain was more reassuring than the numbness that sometimes made it impossible for her to walk. She nibbled at a scone, then made her way into the bathroom and turned on the water in the shower. Leaving the flannel nightgown
in a heap, she stepped inside, raising her face to the stinging pellets of hot water.

Five minutes later she stepped out and dried herself. She hoped that Mac had a big enough hot-water heater to fill the needs of his mountain occupants. She’d used more than her share.

Finally she dressed in a pair of rose-colored sweats and matching soft slippers, leaving her damp hair to dry untouched. It would turn into a mass of curls, but somehow that freedom appealed to her this morning. The only thing she missed was a window. The absence of it reminded her that she was inside a wall of rock, a prison that kept the bad guys outside. But it also kept the good guys inside.

A newspaper had been left on her tray. She unfolded it, searching for a reference to an incident at the New Orleans airport. There was none. Apparently the senator’s arrival had been kept secret.

It was just like it had been before. If she didn’t tell, she might die. If she told, nobody would believe her. Except Conner.

And Mac.

After she finished her coffee, she became restless. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so adamant about looking after herself. Elizabeth would at least have been company.

“Where is everyone?” she called out. But no one answered.

She pushed her chair down the corridor toward where Mac had told her the pool and the man-made solarium were located. Just as she reached the end of
the hall, the door opened and a slim figure wrapped in a beach towel dashed through, heading toward Sterling, colliding forcefully with her chair.

“Rats!”

It was a young woman, beautiful, tanned, and shapely in a skimpy suit. The girl slung her wet hair back and studied Sterling. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Sterling Lindsey.”

“You aren’t supposed to be up here.” She backed slowly away. “Do they know you’ve escaped?”

Sterling rolled her chair backward. She tried a smile. “Escaped? I suppose I did. But Mac—Mr. McAllister—gave me permission to explore.”

She nodded. “Mac brought you
here
?” Strong disbelief stopped her flight.

“Are you okay?” Sterling asked, noticing her pale cheeks and colorless lips. The girl’s breathing was fast and shallow, almost as if she were on the verge of a panic attack. She’d nearly frightened her to death. “You’ve been for a swim. I thought I might try out the pool a little later. Swimming is about the only exercise I can handle.”

“The pool is through those doors. I’m the only one who uses it.”

“Would you mind if I join you sometime?” Sterling asked.

She shook her head, but that wide-eyed look never changed.

“Shall I call Mac?” Sterling asked, beginning to worry.

“No! Don’t do that. He’ll just—I’m fine. Really,
I’m fine. I just have these panic attacks when I’m startled.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was just looking for … company.”

“That’s okay,” the girl said, trying to pull herself together. “I just didn’t expect to see you. There’s never anyone here. Who did you say you are?”

“Sterling. Sterling Lindsey. And your name is?”

She raised doe-brown eyes and attempted a wan smile. “My name’s Jessie.”

It was Sterling’s turn to be speechless. This was Jessie, the woman Mac loved.

“All right, Conner,” Mac said into the phone. “Here’s what I know. Vincent Dawson checks out, at least on paper.” He gave Conner the rundown about his undergraduate degree and law-school education.

“Then he went to Washington, latched onto the congresswoman and became—what? Her gigolo?” Conner asked.

“That’s the assumption her children made when Abby died,” Mac explained. “The judge ruled in favor of the children and took the estate away from Vince. Fortunately, the children got what was rightfully theirs.”

Conner tapped his fingernails against the receiver. “So where does that leave us? Tell me what you want me to do. I’ve got to get back to Virginia and do something about replacing Sterling, at least temporarily. After that I’m yours.”

Mac glanced at his watch, then out the window of his secluded office. Purposely, he’d left Sterling on her own this morning. She’d demanded privacy, assuring him that she could take care of herself. He figured it was time to let her find out how lonely a person could be in Shangri-la.

“I don’t know yet, Conner. But don’t tell Sterling she’s being replaced. She’d be even more insistent that I take her home. What about setting up a computer here for her? We could tie it into yours and nobody would know she wasn’t in the office.”

“That could work,” Conner agreed. “And it would leave a channel open for Vince to contact her.”

“I’ll get that set up right away. Call me when you get back to the office and we’ll make the transfer.”

“Back to Vince. What else have you found out?”

“I haven’t checked it out yet, but I’m guessing that Washington didn’t beg Vincent to stay when the congresswoman retired or to come back when she died. He had to get there another way.”

“And?” Conner prompted.

“He joined Senator March’s staff as a fundraiser. Our boy is charming and successful. When March got elected he rode his coattails back to the Capitol. Now he’s a force to be reckoned with.”

“So where does that leave us?”

“I’m not sure yet. For about a year after Abigail’s death Vince disappeared. The rest all checks out. But there’s something not quite right about all this.”

“Well,” Conner observed, “we know that he’s a
killer and a thief. I’m a little hazy on my political history. Connect Mr. Dawson’s rise to power with some dates. Would that missing year happen to be ten years ago?”

“Bingo!”

“So our boy’s career goals suffered a sudden halt when he lost Abby’s money. He had no job, no mansion, no fortune. What would that do to a man like Vince?”

“I’d say it would make him desperate.” Mac frowned. “And desperate men do desperate things.”

Conner nodded. “What do you want me to do?”

“First, tell me about the wedding.”

“Very plantation–’Lawsy Miss Scarlett–Southern. Montana was beaming from ear to ear, and Katie was about the prettiest bride I ever saw.”

“Outside of your Erica, you mean.”

Conner’s voice dropped. “You got that right. By the way, you missed our news.”

“Oh? What news?”

“Looks like there’ll be another little Shadow arriving in about eight months.”

“That didn’t take long.” Mac felt a knot in the pit of his stomach.

“Are you there, Mac?”

“Congratulations, Conner. I’m happy for you. But that brings up another problem. This Vince is dangerous. He saw Sterling. By now, he knows where she is and he knows that she recognized him.”

“So? He can’t get to her there, can he?”

“No, but he’ll find out that Sterling works for you. And that could put Erica at risk.”

There was a long pause.

Conner finally spoke. “You don’t think he’d—”

“At this point I don’t know what to think. But we’d better be prepared. Why not bring Erica out here?”

“I’ll try. But she’s got her heart set on overseeing the new house we’re building. I don’t think she’s gonna give that up. She’s a woman with a mind of her own.”

“Like Sterling,” Mac said softly.

“I take it you believe Sterling’s story about the murder. I hoped you would. She had a pretty rough time convincing the police that she wasn’t somehow involved.”

“Did you ever look into it, Conner?”

“Yes, I did. When I saw Sterling in that rehabilitation center, I just had to get into the investigation. But there were absolutely no leads then. And Sterling had been through too much to pursue anything. She just burrowed in and pulled the business around her like a shroud. Look after her, Mac.”

“You be careful, too, Shadow. This could get a little messy.”

“I will. By the way, Mac, about that quilting business you have going. Erica would like a pattern for a baby quilt.”

“Quilting business?” Mac cringed. “How’d you find out about that?”

“The airport police interviewed that couple on
the plane. They thought it was a hoot, you running a quilting business from your home so the guys at the gym won’t know what you’re doing. That’s while you’re tending little Conner—thanks, Dad—and Rhett and Erica. Next time make up a better story.”