Secrets and Seductions (11 page)

“Where’s your car?” she asked.

Mac levered the garage door open.

Inside the garage wasn’t the fire-red Ferrari she expected, but a sleek gray Mercedes, top of the range and obviously expensive, but sedate compared to the exotic beauty.

“I swapped it,” he said.

Leah’s brows creased. “Swapped? Why?”

He nodded toward Charlee.

“You changed your car because of my daughter?”

“You can’t get a child’s car seat in a Ferrari, and I have more than one car. It doesn’t matter which one I drive.”

Leah’s jaw dropped. “How many cars do you have, exactly?”

He shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. What we need to do is get home, get cleaned up.”

“You don’t have a car seat.”

“But you do,” he answered. He strode to her battered pickup and tried each door in turn. They were locked, and the keys were more than likely a puddle of molten metal and ash by now, but Mac was a man on a determined mission. He checked the ground either side of him, kicking at smoldering bits of wood until he found what was looking for. Grabbing a rock, he tossed it up and down a couple of times as if gauging its potential, then aimed it at the rear side window of the vehicle. It shattered first hit, and he reached in and unhooked Charlee’s car seat, shaking any shards of glass off it as he strode back to Leah. “We have one now.”

Within minutes, the car seat was installed, and gathering Charlee in his arms, he placed her in the car and then secured the seat belt. He turned to Leah and offered to help her in.

Leah wanted to decline, but even saying no took too much mental and physical effort, so she just climbed into the passenger seat. Once she was in, he closed the door and took his place behind the steering wheel.

“We’ll be home in thirty minutes,” he declared as he fired the engine.

His
home. Where was it? Leah struggled to think, to remember, and then realized she didn’t exactly know where “home” was. In fact, she knew very little about this enigmatic man who had bulldozed his way into her life.

The hubbub of Auckland, the City of Sails, with a harbor known as sparkling waters because of the way the sunlight shone over its lapping waves, welcomed them as Mac drove them toward the downtown. Even now, as night gave way to the earliest rays of dawn, its nickname seemed entirely appropriate as the jewel-like stars glittered above its inky blackness.

Yet none of its beauty captured Leah. All she could think about was her home and what she was going to do now. Answers to the unspoken questions crowding her brain, however, remained elusive throughout the drive, and while Charlee slept as only a child could after such an event, Mac’s omnipotent silence doused everything.

Then they were home.

“But this is the Mackenzie International building,” Leah said, sitting up and finally taking notice of her whereabouts.

“That’s right. I live in the penthouse.”

“The penthouse?” she parroted.

“Yep. Top floor. Not scared of heights, are you?” he asked, offering a tiny smile.

The slight inflection in his voice sent a row of goose bumps along her spine, and she swallowed back a bout of nerves.

“If you are, I promise I’ll hold your hand.”

“I might take you up on that.”

“Promise.”

“We’ll see,” she said, realizing that his teasing humor was Mac’s way of calming her down after the horrendous events of the last few hours.

“I guess you don’t think wildcatting and penthouses go hand in hand.”

For a moment, she wasn’t sure if he was joking or not. “They do seem complete opposites.”

“Just like you and me,” he responded. But this time he didn’t look her way, and Leah had no idea of his intention.

“Like I said,” he continued, “wildcatting was a stepping stone.”

“Some step.” Leah exited the vehicle, but before she had time to reach for Charlee, Mac scooped her daughter up in his arms. He made it seem so natural, murmuring soft words to soothe the little girl as she stirred. A lump closed off Leah’s windpipe, but her emotions weren’t closed off. Seeing Mac with her daughter, an imitation of father and child, she felt her eyes glisten with tears once more. How she had wished for a real father for Charlee—something Curtis had denied his daughter.

But Mac?

Leah shook her head. Stupid. Stupid dream. What if the brothers were alike…?

He strode in front of her, leaving her no choice but to follow.

Hah! Choices. That word again. She had no choice. Not now. Not yet. But soon… Soon she’d pay him back, and then she could choose. The fire hadn’t touched the olive grove, and somehow tomorrow she’d have to find a way to carry on with the season and her work; otherwise it was all lost, and she wasn’t prepared to let that happen.

The elevator proved silent and swift, the height of luxury with its three padded walls and one chrome-and-glass feature.

Leah screwed up her nose when she sighted herself in the mirror.

Black soot-covered and bedraggled. And homeless. She and Charlee had the pajamas they wore, and that was all. No clothes. No…nothing. Photos. Furniture. Just thinking it caused a wave of panic to threaten.

The sudden touch of Mac’s hand covered hers, warm and comforting as it soothed her nerves, and a sigh eased from her chest.

“It’ll be okay, Leah. I promise.”

They said dreams were free. Were wishes too? Because if so, she really wished she could believe him.

Within seconds, they reached the thirty-first floor and Mac’s home.

She stepped through the wide double door entrance and came to an immediate halt. Windows encased the far wall from ceiling to floor, offering a spectacular view, from the pink-washed building of the sugar refinery set amidst its lush park-like grounds on the city’s northern shore, and spread out across to Rangitoto Island, rising up in volcanic splendor in the Hauraki Gulf.

Mac came up beside her, still cradling Charlee. One broad hand smoothed across her sleeping daughter’s tangled curls. Leah watched the action, almost hypnotized, and suddenly wished it was her that Mac caressed.

“Betty, my housekeeper,” he said, snapping Leah back to what she should be thinking about, “is away for a few days. She lives in, though it’s more in-building than in-house. She has a private suite two floors down. Your rooms are this way.” He nodded toward a row of closed doors at the far end of the grand room. Feet silenced by the velvety-thick carpet, she once more found herself following him. He opened the door farthest away from the windows and flicked on a light. A sparkly chandelier graced the ceiling with shimmering dots of light above a bed dressed all in white.

Murmuring soothing words to a dozing Charlee, he placed her on the bed and stepped back.

Just then, Charlee stirred. “Uncle Mac, will Santa know how to find me now the house has burned down?”

For a breathless minute Leah just looked at Mac, wondering what he would say.

He bent down to Charlee, smoothing a damp curl from her forehead. “Sure he will. You know, my secretary’s little boy has written Santa a letter. How about we do that tomorrow night after I get home from work, then I’ll post it. That way you can be doubly sure Santa won’t get lost on his way here.”

“Really? Do you think he’ll get it?”

“Well, it’s a long way to the North Pole, but heck, I heard they’ve got a special Santa mail box these days.”

Charlee’s eyes widened. “Wow!” She looked at her mother. “But what about our decorations and tree and…” Charlee’s eyes glistened, tears about to fall.

“Now don’t you worry about that, we can sort it out. Santa wouldn’t dare miss this delivery,” Mac said as he levered himself from the bed and stood. He gave Leah a lopsided grin. “I’ll leave you to it. Come and join me when you’ve finished.”

As the door closed behind him, Leah finally exhaled a long-held breath, grateful with the way Mac had handled Charlee’s disappointment. Working quickly, she removed Charlee’s wet clothes and settled her drowsy daughter beneath the covers and tucked her in. But instead of heading back to the grand room and Mac, she could only stare down at her beloved daughter and wonder “what if”.

What if she had died?

What if
they’d
died?

Guilt clamped around her heart. She should have fixed the wiring. Should have…

Hadn’t.

And what now?

She wanted to collapse and give way to the uncertainty that gnawed in her gut, the horror of the fire, but she couldn’t. She had a child to care for, a business to somehow keep afloat, and a debt to repay.

She brushed a kiss across Charlee’s forehead and decided on a shower, then sleep. She needed a clear brain to get herself out of this mess.

Tiptoeing from the room, she pulled the door closed and walked back into the expansive lounge, only to find the room empty. “Mac?”

The distinctive sound of running water echoed from one of the other nearby rooms.

A shower.

Heat stole across her cheeks as images of Mac beneath the water rampaged through her brain. Hot. Sexy. And…naked.

She shook her head. “What’s wrong with me?” She’d never seen the man naked, for goodness’ sake.

Yeah, but imagination is a wonderful thing!

It had to be the shock of everything, these thoughts. Stress made people irrational, made them think irrational thoughts, didn’t it? Her silly thoughts had to stop.

Suddenly, the watery echo ceased, and she heard the faint click of a shower door closing. Leah scampered across to other side of the room, as far away from a naked body—and her darn thoughts—as she could.

Minutes later, Mac stepped out of his bedroom wearing only pajama bottoms. Tiny droplets of water slicked his bare chest.

Oh lordy!

He looked up, and a fleeting glimmer of surprise colored his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, mouth tugging with that tiny little flick he did. “I thought you’d still be with Charlee.”

“She’s asleep.”

“I guess that’s the luck of the young—sleep can cure anything. Would you like a drink…or something?”

“Something?” Leah swallowed back the sudden ache in her throat. “A…um, shower would be good.”

“I bet. Your bedroom is next door to Charlee’s,” he said. Next door to his too, but he didn’t say that. Didn’t need to. She thought it loud and clear.

“There are towels and, well, not much else, but we can get new clothes in the morning.”

Leah stiffened. “I’ll pay for my own things.”

“I never thought otherwise, as long as you let me sort out Christmas.” About to protest, Leah witnessed something soft and caring in Mac’s eyes.

“Pretty please,” he said.

How could she say no to that? Believing retreat would prove best, she headed back to her own room and the small side bathroom next door to take a shower. The therapeutic pulse of the jet spray shower was like manna from heaven as it washed away not just the stench of smoke and destruction, but thankfully went some way to eradicate the horror of the night as well.

Shame it couldn’t wash away her heated thoughts of a naked Mac too.

With no other clothes or bedclothes, she wrapped herself in a toweling robe she’d found hanging on the back of the ensuite door. In her bedroom, she glanced at the illuminated bedside clock. Sleep would be elusive, despite her exhaustion. Too many dreams lay waiting. Her fractured nerves had returned full-force, and the tide of emotions crowding in on her brain was uncontrollable. Impulsively, she walked to the closed bedroom door, but her hand stilled on the handle, and she cocked an ear toward the living room on the other side and listened.

Silence replied.

Confident she wouldn’t have to face Mac, which went a tiny way to bolstering her flagging spirits, she opened the door to be greeted by darkness and, surprisingly, something akin to disappointment. She chided herself for being stupid. She didn’t want to see Mac. The man disturbed her, unsettled her with his testosterone-filled ego.

She walked across the grand lounge and stood in front of the panoramic view, glorying in both the darkness and stillness of the ocean, yet entranced by the glittering light show of a city unable to sleep. Just like her.

Taking respite from the chilly windowpane, she rested her forehead on the glass, one finger tracing the shadow of Rangitoto in the distance. The island rose as if a protector of the harbor, towering over all it surveyed, and yet it was in fact a dormant volcano, waiting to pounce.

The island. Mac Grainger. Both protectors. Both predators.

In the distance, the muffled wail of a fire engine echoed, and Leah’s heart skipped a beat, her body stiffening. She wanted desperately to block the sound out, but it drowned everything, even the roar of her heart, until all she could hear was the wail of the siren, screeching, warning, bleeding her dry.

“Leah? Leah?”

A voice clawed at her subconscious, a strong, confident voice, and a hand on her shoulder. Her eyes sprang open.

Mac!
He was here. Holding her safe.

“It’s okay.” He ran a hand the length of her back, murmuring soothing words in her ear.

“No, it isn’t.” She pulled away, shaking her head. “It will never be okay again. I heard a fire engine. There’s another fire.”

With his free hand, he tilted her face up so that she looked at him. “Sweetheart, there’s no fire here.”

The heat of Mac’s touch burned through her robe, stealing across her flesh. Dark eyes stormy with desire held hers in an unspoken embrace. Unthinkingly, she brushed the tip of her tongue across her lips.

He clasped her face between his hands, the flat pad of one thumb brushing across her mouth. Her lips parted. She wanted to taste him.

“If you do that again, I’ll have to kiss you,” he growled out.

“Is that a warning?”

“A promise. But then again,” he murmured, “I really don’t want an excuse not to.”

Chapter Six

Did kisses have memory DNA?

Mac’s lips on hers proved it to be true. Leah remembered every nuance of the taste of him, the sweet and gentle touch. She savored it, giving back willingly, unable to refuse him or herself as her hands found their way around his neck, fingers threading through his still damp hair.