FREE FALLING

Debra Webb

A note about the author: Though Debra Webb has earned a reputation for outstanding
romantic suspense, she began her career with nearly a dozen sassy and spicy
romances. For the first time these heartfelt romances are now available worldwide in
e-book format. Previously published as a Kensington Precious Gems, available only
in Wal-Mart for one short month, Debra is proud to present her beloved tales of
romance.

HERE TO STAY
FREE FALLING
TEMPTING TRACE
UP CLOSE
BASIC INSTINCTS
KEEPING KENNEDY
TAMING GI JANE
GOING TO THE CHAPEL

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales
are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the
author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or
dead, is entirely coincidental.

Copyright 2011, WebbWorks, LLC
First Printing: March 2000 Kensington Precious Gems

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or
given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please
purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book
and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to
Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of
this author.

FREE FALLING

Debra Webb

Chapter One

“Just look at those biceps.” Alex breathed the words as she peered through the parlor

window.

“He’s beautiful,” Emily agreed dreamily, resting one shoulder against the sash opposite

Alex.

Free Renzetti cut a skeptical glance from Alex to Emily, both of whom wore the same

awed expression. Free perched her hands on her hips and leaned forward between her two
housemates to get a good look at the man moving in next door.

“So, we’re finally getting the new neighbor,” she commented, her nonchalance

suddenly taking considerable effort as her gaze swept over impossibly wide shoulders. The
man bent to pick up a box and Free took a moment to admire the cutest butt she had ever
seen molded into a pair Levi’s. When the owner of that amazing backside straightened and
turned around, her own eyes widened. “Holy smokes,” she murmured.

“My sentiments exactly,” Alex muttered.
He wore his shoulder-length brown hair in a ponytail. Strong, chiseled features lent a

rugged quality to his remarkably handsome face. Broad, broad shoulders tested the seams of
his nondescript white T-shirt. His skin was tanned, his arms muscled. A slim waist and
narrow hips flowed into long legs that filled out his jeans particularly well. And that butt…
Free sighed. It was just right—not too much, not too little.

“Does anybody know who he is or where he came from?” Emily asked, tugging at the

prim neckline of her button-up blouse, then fanning her flushed face with one fidgety hand.

Free nodded, then realized all eyes were still riveted to the hunk’s every move. “His

name is McFarlan or McFerrin, something Irish anyway. He’s in construction.”

“Construction.” Alex folded her arms over the tailored lines of her chic suit jacket and

nodded knowingly. “That would explain the gorgeous body.”

Free couldn’t get used to the idea that someone else would be living in the widow

Lassiter’s house. In the three years since Free had moved to Magnolia Blossom Drive, Mrs.
Lassiter had proven a good neighbor and dear friend. The elderly woman had died eleven
months ago, but her house had not sold until recently. She had only distant relatives, none of
whom who lived in Alabama. The last Free had heard the house and contents had been sold
to a man who worked for some construction company.

She hoped their handsome new neighbor understood how lucky he was to live here.

Magnolia Blossom Drive was lined with beautifully maintained Victorian and Colonial
houses that dated back more than a century. Magnificent magnolia and oak trees dotted the
meticulously cared for lawns. The entire neighborhood prided itself on carrying on the legacy
of Southern history in one of its grandest forms—home, sweet home.

As Free watched the new guy move one box after another to the porch from the carrier

hooked to the back of his Ford Explorer, an uneasy feeling stole over her. Maybe it was just
the unexpectedness of having such an unbelievably handsome man move next door, she
rationalized. Not that Huntsville didn’t have its fair share of good-looking men, but this one
was much more than merely good looking.

He was…he was—coming over. Her eyes widened as she watched his long, sure

strides. Before comprehension could transform fully into awareness and trigger the
appropriate responses, her new neighbor had directed the chimes of her ancient doorbell into
a reluctant symphony.

“He’s at our door!” Emily shrieked. She quickly smoothed a hand over her eye-

stretching blond chignon and pushed her glasses higher on her nose.

“Well,” Free said as she squared her shoulders, “let’s see what he wants.”
“Twenty-four hours of tantric lovemaking, I hope,” Alex suggested in a low purr.
“Alex!” Ever the prim schoolteacher and minister’s daughter, color bloomed more

deeply on Emily’s pale cheeks.

“Girls, we want to make a good impression. This is our new neighbor, not the

centerfold of this month’s Playgirl,” Free scolded as they walked in unison across the parlor
and down the wide entry hall. Oscar, Free’s golden Lab, was already at the door, sniffing and
wagging his tail in expectation.

“You’re absolutely right, Free,” Alex agreed, then grinned. “He’s leagues ahead of this

month’s centerfold.”

Free flashed Alex a warning gaze. “Sit,” she told Oscar and then pulled the door open

to meet Magnolia Blossom’s newest resident. She managed a pleasant smile and looked up
into the most striking blue eyes she had ever seen. Sky blue—no, electric blue. Her gaze
dropped lower then, to firm, full lips. His smile was relaxed, confident, and totally masculine.
One hand was braced against the doorframe, the other rested casually on his hip. Her startled
gaze swept over the cotton T-shirt that molded to sculpted pecs and stretched taut over wide,
wide shoulders.

“Hi.” He straightened, then extended his right hand. “I’m Connor McFerrin, I just

moved next door.”

Free gave her hand the order to move a full three seconds before it responded and

accepted the one he offered. His fingers were strong and callused, from his work, she
surmised. The brisk handshake was over far too quickly for her to analyze the myriad
sensations his touch sparked.

“Free Renzetti,” she said, then inclined her head in turn to the women on either side of

her. “Alex Carlisle and Emily Parker.”

“Welcome to the neighborhood, Mr. McFerrin,” Alex said and offered her hand next.
“Call me Mac.” He gave Alex a quick but heart-stopping smile, then moved on to

Emily, gracing her with the same.

“If there’s anything you need—or…or we can do, don’t hesitate to…to ask,” Emily

stammered.

“Actually, there is one thing.” He turned his attention back to Free. “Does the truck

parked near the back of the house belong to one of you?”

“It’s mine.” Free wondered what interest he could possibly have in her old Chevy

pickup.

“If you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to move it until the tree service is finished. I

wouldn’t want to risk it getting damaged during the removal process.”

Free’s eyebrows drew together in bewilderment. “Removal process?”
A loud rumbling sound in the street drew Mac’s attention in that direction. “They’re

here.” He looked back at Free just long enough to dazzle her with one last smile. “You’ll
need to move the truck right away. Just to be safe.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand why I have to move my truck.”
“I’m about to have that annoying magnolia cut down,” he explained. He shot her a

quick smile and turned to go. “I should get over there and supervise. Thanks,” he called over
his shoulder as he took the steps two at a time.

Free could only stare after him in disbelief. Cut down the magnolia? Shock flooded her

system, bringing outrage hot on its heels. The man was about to destroy one of the most
beautiful trees on Magnolia Blossom Drive. A part of what distinguished this historic
neighborhood from several others in Huntsville. An irreplaceable monument to nature and
the elemental value of mother earth.

Cutting it down would be a crime.
She had to stop him.

~*~

Mac couldn’t believe his eyes. The three women from the house next door had formed

a human chain around the trunk of the magnolia he had hired Woody’s Tree Service to
remove from his otherwise streamlined yard.

“No way I can top that tree with those women standing under it.” The burly man

named Woody announced the obvious. “Can’t bring her down without topping her first,” he
added.

Mac assessed the threesome with mounting annoyance. He stalked toward the mini

group of protesters. Woody the tree trimmer followed. Mac would have expected this sort of
behavior from a woman named Free, but the other two just didn’t seem like the type to get
radical over a cause. The tall brunette named Alex looked too cool and polished to be a
martyr to any cause. And the plump little blond, Emily, personified the blushing Southern
belle. Yet there they were. Wrapped around that tree trunk like decorations at Christmas,
only it wasn’t Christmas—unless it came in July in Alabama.

“Look.” Mac leveled his most intimidating boardroom glare on Free Renzetti. “This is

my tree and I intend to cut it down. Now, if you’ll kindly remove yourselves from my
property…”

She lifted her defiant chin and glared at him with those stormy blue eyes. “No.” The

one word encompassed more emotion than the litany of protests he had expected.

“May I?” Without taking his eyes off the infernal woman, Mac reached for the cell

phone Woody clutched in one beefy hand. With a nod of agreement, he slapped the phone
into Mac’s open palm. “Thanks.” Mac flipped it open and entered 911. His gaze still locked
with Free’s, he asked the operator to send the police to remove the trespassers from his
property.

He snapped the phone shut and handed it back to the owner. Mac lifted one eyebrow

and glared at Free in triumph. “You could leave before the police arrive and save yourself the
trouble.”

“I’m not leaving until he does,” she said, tossing a disdainful glare at Woody.

“Same here,” Alex affirmed when Mac shifted his glower in her direction.
Mac walked around to where Emily had stationed herself. “And how about you,

Emily,” he asked. “You want a ride to the police station, too?”

“You’re not cutting down this tree,” the blond insisted with surprising conviction.
Mac completed his circle and came to a stop once again in front of the ringleader. “Do

you always get your friends into trouble like this, Ms. Renzetti?”

“You’re a Scorpio, aren’t you, Mr. McFerrin? I should have recognized that angry,

arrogant aura.” She all but spat the words at him and then looked away. Her glorious mane of
brown hair tumbled over the creamy skin bared by her off-the-shoulder sleeves—if you could
call the strappy things sleeves. Tiny, barely there streaks of gold highlighted the deep, rich
brown. Mac couldn’t recall ever having seen hair quite like hers, a thick, seductive mass of
loose curls and tempting contrasts.

Had this beauty just called him an insect? Mac put the two comments together and

realized she was spouting astrological mumbo-jumbo. “I don’t know anything about auras,”
he told her dryly, “but I do know a deciduous tree when I see one, and I have neither the time
nor the inclination to attend to such a nuisance.”

That stormy blue gaze collided with his once more. “You want to destroy this

magnificent tree because it sheds a few leaves?”

Mac gave her the full-body once-over for the first time. His inspection was slow, bold,

and he knew from her icy glare that she hated every second of it. In spite of himself, he
almost smiled in appreciation. Free Renzetti wore a long, flowing skirt of vibrant green that
covered most of her long legs. Delicate ankles ornamented with thin silver bracelets, bare
feet and brightly painted toenails were all that the voluminous fabric revealed. A striped
blouse engineered in some sort of tight, ribbed material snuggled against full, unrestrained
breasts. An uncharacteristic yearning tightened his stomach and he frowned. She looked for
all the world like a gypsy. A very sexy gypsy.

Instantly, he recalled his wayward thoughts and adopted the no-mercy attitude for

which he was famous. “That’s precisely my intention,” he stated. Mac turned to Woody.
“Make whatever preparations possible. I want this job started the moment the police have
removed”—he shot a look at the women draped around the tree as he walked away—“these
ladies from my property.”

Woody shrugged. “Whatever you say, Mr. McFerrin.”
Mac leaned against the side of his house and watched Woody back his rather large and

noisy truck closer to the unfortunate tree. The three women stood statue still. Mac glanced at
his watch and then down the street. Surely the police would arrive soon and put an end to this
nonsense. Several other residents had wandered into their yards to watch the show.

Great. Bad publicity was about the last thing he needed his first day in Huntsville. He

blew out a puff of frustrated air and sagged against the porch rail. He’d been under the
impression that all the residents on this street were much older and certainly not inclined
toward disturbing the peace. Maybe this was his longtime friend and attorney, John
Whitaker’s idea of a joke. Buying this old house certainly hadn’t been Mac’s idea of a wise
investment. He hated old houses. John would think this entire situation hilarious. Mac
surveyed the threesome once more. He didn’t find it a damned bit funny.

The police arrived. Mac straightened and moved toward the cruiser that came to a stop

in his drive. A stocky middle-aged man emerged and settled his cap onto his gray head.

“Mr. McFerrin?” he asked, sizing Mac up as he approached.

Mac stuck out his hand. “Connor McFerrin. Thank you for coming—” Mac flicked a

glance at his badge “—Officer Gerard.”

“What seems to be the trouble, Mr. McFerrin?” Gerard gave Mac’s hand a quick shake,

assessed the small crowd now gathering in the street and then the unsightly truck parked
further up the driveway.

“I contracted these gentlemen” Mac gestured toward the truck “to remove a tree from

my property and some of my neighbors have staged a protest of sorts.” He shoved his hands
into his pockets and wondered of the whole scene looked as ridiculous as the story he’d just
told sounded.

Officer Gerard pushed up his cap and scratched his forehead. “Well, Mr. McFerrin, if

this is your property, then that’s your tree. Why don’t you direct me to the protesters and I’ll
send them on their way.”

Mac smiled, relieved. “This way, Officer.” In his peripheral vision, he watched

Gerard’s face as they walked around the truck and to the tree. He clenched his jaw to prevent
the grin that came naturally at the sight of the man’s astonished double take when he saw the
women, backs to the bark, encircling the tree.

“Good afternoon, ladies—”
“Phil?” Free Renzetti stepped from the opposite side of the tree, smiling with relief.

She hurried as fast as her bare feet would take her to the officer’s side.

“Free? What the hell is going on here?” the officer asked.
“Phil, you’ve got to do something,” she pleaded and clutched his arm.
Mac shook his head and plunked his hands on his hips. “I don’t believe this.” She knew

the guy? Perfect.

“This…this” Free glowered at Mac “zodiac misfit intends to cut down our beautiful

tree.”

“Our? I have every right—” Mac started, but Officer Gerard halted him with one

upraised palm.

“This is Magnolia Blossom Drive,” the gypsy beseeched, “he can’t cut down this

ancient tree—it would be a sacrilege!”

The crowd of neighbors had moved from the street onto Mac’s lawn now. He could

hear them murmuring behind his back. “This is outrageous,” he snapped. “This is my
property and I’ll damn well dispose of that tree if I want to.”

Offer Gerard cut him a warning glance. “Go on, Free,” he said patiently.
“There just has to be something we can do to stop him,” she said, her big blue eyes

bright with tears.

Oh hell, as if things weren’t bad enough, the woman was going to cry now. Mac rolled

his eyes and forced the roar of protest that tightened his chest. He was at this cop’s mercy,
and the cop was obviously her friend.

Gerard patted her arm kindly, making Mac grit his teeth. “Free, if Mr. McFerrin wishes

to cut down this tree, there isn’t a single thing I can do about it unless his actions somehow
posed a threat to you or your property.”

“What if the tree is on the property line?” Alex asked from her post. The cut of her

pricey business suit showed off her slender figure well. Everything about the woman
screamed money and influence. Her confident bearing and professional appearance struck
Mac as odd, considering her current actions.

“The tree is on my property,” Mac ground out. How dare the woman imply that he

didn’t know the boundaries of his own property. He was an architect, for Pete’s sake. Lines
and angles were his business.

“Perhaps we need to have second opinion on the survey,” Alex suggested. She stepped

forward then, arms folded over her chest. Mac didn’t miss the calculating gaze she allowed
him, or the timid peek Emily took around Alex’s shoulder.

“I can’t believe you aren’t going to put a stop to this,” Mac said to Gerard, his tone

leaving no questions as to the extent of his unhappiness with the officer’s response.

“Now see here,” Gerard began. The grumbling in the crowd grew louder as they closed

in on the ridiculous scene.

“Phil, don’t let this egotistical tree-hater speak to you that way,” Free put in, her blue

eyes shooting daggers at Mac.

“I’ve got your number, lady.” Mac narrowed his gaze and took a step closer to Free. He

stabbed an accusing finger in her direction. “You’re trying to shift the focus from the real
issue here. This is my tree and I damned well intend to cut it down.” He punctuated his final
words by shaking his finger in her pretty face.

Big mistake.
The next thing Mac knew, Free had grabbed his hand and clamped down on his finger

with her pearly whites. He belted out a string of profanities.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Mac roared. He clenched and unclenched his hand,

trying to relieve the throb her teeth had generated. She glared at him as if she might bite him
again. He jerked his head in Officer Gerard’s direction. “Did you see that? She bit me!”

“Free, you just can’t go around biting people when—”
“When they act like jerks,” Free finished for him, her gaze knifing straight through

Mac.

“Lady, you’re dangerous!”
Another big mistake.
She kicked him in the shin, hard. Mac cursed again. The din behind him increased. He

rubbed the spot she’d kicked. It hadn’t really hurt, just humiliated him further. Mac derived a
great deal of pleasure from her pained yelps. She had evidently forgotten she was barefoot
when she kicked him. She nursed her right foot in her hands, the action revealing a lot of one
shapely thigh. And something that looked like a birthmark or…tattoo! She had a rose tattoo
on her left thigh; Mac had the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to reach out and touch it,
but had no intention of risking further violence to his person.

“If you two are through assaulting each other, we’ll get on with this,” Gerard said

impatiently.

They responded in unison, with the same fierce hostility.
“This is entirely her fault!” Mac insisted. Free asserted, “This is all his fault!”
Befuddled, the officer just sort of stared at them.
“Why aren’t you doing something, Phil?” Free poked Officer Gerard in the chest with

her index finger.

“Yeah,” Mac added. “Why don’t you get this crazy woman off my property?”
She turned on him then, outraged. “Who are you calling crazy?” She jabbed Mac in the

chest, her neon-green nail making him feel like a pincushion. “You’re the one who wants to
cut his magnificent tree down!”

Before she could jab him the second time, Gerard grabbed her wrist and slapped a

metal bracelet around it. Her eyes rounded in surprise.

Mac grinned in exultation, but his victory died a swift death as the officer manacled his

wrist and locked the other half of the handcuffs in place. “What the hell are you doing?” Mac
demanded.

“Hauling both of you downtown,” Gerard answered succinctly.
Mac’s gaze collided with Free’s and for one instant something electrifying passed

between them. Then it was gone, leaving Mac struggling to regain his equilibrium. The next
thing he knew, Officer Gerard was ushering them into the backseat of his cruiser.

~*~

“I can’t believe this,” Free muttered. She surveyed the small holding cell Phil had left

them in more than an hour ago. How could he do this to her? She and Phil went back a long
way. He probably knew Free better than anyone else in the world. Understood her better, too.
But this? She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I just can’t believe it.”

“Believe it,” Mac growled in response.
Free snapped her eyes open and glared at her cellmate. And to put them in the same

holding cell…that was just wrong.

“This is your fault.”
“My fault?” His eyes sparkled with indignation. He moved his head slowly, solemnly

from side to side. “Lady, you are one piece of work.”

“You—” Free started to point an accusing finger, but the weight of his hand stopped

her. She stared down at the metal bracelets that joined them. “I know this isn’t right. He
should have removed these when we got here,” more to herself than to the man standing
before her.

“Well, if you hadn’t poked him the chest with that deadly weapon,” he glared at the

offending hand now cuffed to his “we might not be here right now. Do you have any idea of
the consequences of assaulting an officer of the law?”

Free jerked her hands to her hips, pulling him nearer in the process. “If you hadn’t tried

to kill that wonderful old tree—”

A muscle flexed repeatedly in his handsome jaw. “It’s my tree,” he ground out. “I can

kill it if I want to.”

Free was really angry now. She had thought the humiliation of being pushed into a

police car and brought to the police station had quelled her rage, but she’d been wrong. It hit
her full force now. She leaned in dangerously close to Mac the Magnolia Murderer. “Just try
it, buster, and I’ll be on top of you like—”

His blue gaze connected with hers and the rest of the statement stalled on her lips. His

nostrils flared. He was so very close. Closer than she had expected, closer than he should
have been, and still not close enough. All strength of conviction suddenly whooshed out of
her, along with the air in her lungs. Long fingers from the hand cuffed to hers closed around
her waist and tugged her even closer. His breath feathered across her lips. His scent assaulted
her senses, making her week-kneed.

His unrestrained hand came up to her face, and he traced gentle fingers down her neck.

“Now that,” he murmured, his lips threatening and promising a kiss, “is an interesting
proposal.”

“Free! Oh my God, Free, are you all right?”
Alex. Free and Mac jumped apart as far as the cuffs would allow, both looking

anywhere but at each other. Free gave herself a mental shake to clear the haze that had settled
inside her head. She smiled with relief when Alex reached the cell and peered through the
steel bars.

“I’m fine, Alex,” Free assured her friend when she saw the fear in her eyes.
“Phil is on his way to get you out of there right now. Honey, I’m so sorry it has taken

so long, but he refused to release you until McFerrin’s attorney” she arrowed a piercing gaze
at Mac “had been contacted.”

“Mac, I got here as soon as I could.” The voice came from a tall, good-looking man

who walked up behind Alex.

Alex whirled to face him. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The man smiled. “Why, I’m representing my client, of course.”
Alex looked from him to McFerrin and back. “Since when are you representing this

man? I’ve never see his name on any of the files at the firm.”

He arched one dark, unabashed eyebrow. “Since John Whitaker, his attorney in

Atlanta, asked me to.” The man stepped around Alex and extended his hand through the bars
toward Mac. “I’m Jake Larsen.”

Mac took his hand, a wide grin splitting his face. “Thanks for coming, Jake. John told

me all about you.”

Alex laughed derisively. “Well, it couldn’t have been good.”
Free drew her eyebrows together in bewilderment. “Alex, do you know this man?”
Alex sighed mightily. “It’s him,” she said sarcastically. “Father’s future partner at the

firm.”

“Oh,” Free said knowingly. So this was the guy Alex lived to hate.
“I have the distinct impression that what you’ve heard isn’t flattering, Ms. Renzetti,”

Jake suggested in a sexy drawl that made even Free shiver.

“Let’s just say that it doesn’t bear repeating,” she told him politely.
“This situation represents a stark breach of ethics,” Alex said coolly.
“I don’t see how,” Larsen countered.
“No one ever accused you of being quick on your feet, Jake. This is a definite conflict

of interest. We’re both from the same law firm and our clients are on opposing sides.”

Alex’s reply made sense to Free, but then she wasn’t legally inclined.
“Well, I suppose if you have a problem, Alex, you’ll just have to bow out.”
“I don’t think so.” Her tone was icy.
“In that case, I say we get this disagreement negotiated.”
“There’s nothing to negotiate,” Mac interjected brusquely. “It’s my property. I have

every right to ct down that tree if I so choose.”

“Over my dead body,” Free retorted, meeting his steel-melting gaze with lead in her

own.

“That can be arranged,” Mac muttered.
Jake held up his hands to stop them. “There’s got to be some way we can

compromise.” He turned to Mac. “What exactly is your problem with the tree?”

“Magnolias continually loose their leaves and I don’t want to deal with the mess.” He

shrugged. “I like things a certain way and that tree doesn’t fit into the plan.”

“You’re not cutting it down,” Free stated simply.
“What if,” Alex said slowly, seeming to consider her words carefully before she

continued, “you leave the tree standing—”

“No way.” Mac shook his head. “The tree goes.”
“Just hear me out, McFerrin.”
Several tense seconds ticked by before Mac finally relented with a slight nod.
“You leave the tree standing as long as Free agrees to rake up the leaves, blossoms, and

the seed pods on a regular basis.”

“That would work,” Free chimed in. “The tree would be safe and you wouldn’t have to

worry about the mess.”

“I don’t know.”
“Sounds like a good compromise, Mac,” Jake said and then added, “and if at any time

Ms. Renzetti fails to live up to her end of the bargain, you could still cut down the tree.”

Free held her breath as she waited for his decision, fingers and toes crossed. Bare toes,

she noted. Phil hadn’t given her time to get her shoes.

Mac sighed long and deep. He looked from the two attorneys to Free, his gaze

lingering on her for a breath-stealing moment. That odd awareness passed between them
once more.

There was something about him, she decided. Something she couldn’t quite separate

from the anger and arrogance he radiated.

“All right, I can live with that if she can.”
“I can,” Free said quickly. Her smile faded as uneasiness stole over her for the second

time that day. An uneasiness that felt suspiciously like attraction. What on earth made her
think that she could live with any solution that involved seeing more of this man?

Chapter Two

Free rubbed the thick, sticky residue of paint and remover from the intricately carved

nineteenth-century mantel. The mahogany beneath the numerous layers of paint would finish
out beautifully and would replace the badly damaged mantel in the parlor of the LeMont
house. Mrs. LeMont had been thrilled when Free was able to find an exact match to the other
four mantels in her sprawling Victorian mansion.

Refinishing these old pieces gave Free almost as much pleasure as finding them did.

Thomas had taught her to relish the hunt and savor the restoration. Free sighed and laid her
steel wool aside. She removed the protective gloves and tossed them onto the worktable as
well.

Thomas. She missed her old friend so much. It still hurt sometimes.
Free turned around slowly in the huge garage-turned-workshop that claimed a full

corner of her large backyard. Thomas Styles had turned this old garage into a heaven for
forgotten architectural treasure. Liberty Salvage and Restoration had been his idea. Free’s
love of antiques and the need for a means by which to support herself had spawned the
concept.

Though Thomas had taken her in when she had no place else to go, Free had refused to

allow him to continue providing for her financially once she was on her feet. She intended to
make her own way. Free had loved him like the daughter he had never had and he had loved
her like the father she had never known. In the end, Thomas left her everything he had to
give. Gossip had been hot for a while, but eventually it died down. Free had survived and

Liberty Salvage and Restoration had flourished.

Every antiques dealer in town respected her discriminating eye and restoration ability.

Most of the owners of Huntsville’s historic homes knew Free by name. She worked hard,
although she would never get rich. But Free didn’t care. She loved her work and that was all
that mattered. Lance, the wayward son of a local antique dealer, helped Free part-time,
although she would need his assistance full-time for the next few weeks. They worked well
together and he had a strong back, her only requirements for the position.

“Daydreaming?”
Free spun around to find Alex striding across the stained and cracked concrete floor.

Free smiled and massaged her stiff neck. She had stayed bent over that mantel entirely too
long.

“You’re home early today.”
“Jake hasn’t left the office all day and I’d had all I could stand of his Martian

mentality.”

Free inclined her head and studied her friend more closely.
“You didn’t tell me how handsome your father’s soon-to-be partner was.”
“Looks aren’t everything,” Alex supplied dryly.
“Ha!” Free tossed her an incredulous look. “This coming from the woman who eats

men alive with her eyes.”

“He’s definitely not my type,” Alex stated, her tone brooking no argument. “Speaking

of handsome, have you seen the write-up on the new guy?” She waved a copy of the
Huntsville Times.

Free frowned, perplexed. “Who?”
“You know, Mac the Magnolia Murderer.”
Free flashed Alex a disgusted look and tugged her gloves back on. She never wanted to

think about him again. Nor did she want to think about that little trip downtown to the city
jail. She still shuddered when she relived that nightmare. She’d seen more than enough of
that place for a lifetime. “No, I haven’t seen the article.” She tried to sound casual. “Why is
he in the paper? Not that I care.”

Alex shifted the newspaper toward her. “He’s the CEO of McFerrin Enterprises, a

multi-million dollar progressive construction firm based in Atlanta.”

Free studied the picture of Connor McFerrin. “If he’s the CEO, what is he doing in

Huntsville?” That uneasy, restless feeling plagued her again, the same one that had
shuddered through her the first moment she’d laid eyes on the man.

“His firm was contracted to complete several rather large projects in our area over the

next three years.” Alex pointed to a list in the half page article. “Starting with this one.”

Bower Street Medical Tower. Free swallowed tightly. Liberty Salvage and Restoration

had one the salvage contracts on that parcel of property. At the corner of Bower and L&N
Streets, three houses dating back to the late 1800s were to be torn down and replaced by a
sleek, futuristic-looking medical building with accompanying parking lots.

Free scanned the remaining projects listed. The next two were hers as well. She hated

to see those beautiful old homes demolished. Two of the houses were beyond repair, but one
had potential. Of course, that was neither here nor there. Free had a job to do, and anything
worth salvaging was hers to take. From floorboards to window sashes to punched tin
shingles, she would rescue as much as possible before the houses were destroyed.

“If McFerrin is like most of the contractors I know,” Alex continued, “he’ll keep a

close eye on his projects to ensure that everything stays on schedule, especially since he’s the
boss. So, I suppose you’ll run in to him from time to time on the job site.”

“I suppose,” Free admitted reluctantly. The possibility held no appeal whatsoever.

Well, almost no appeal, she amended when warmth heated her insides at the very thought of
his handsome face. That kind of appeal she didn’t need—or want.

Alex tucked the folded newspaper under one arm. “Just watch out for yourself.” She

frowned and brushed at the shoulder of her expensive suit. “I don’t trust any man who looks
that good.”

Free snatched up her steel wool and gave Alex a steady look. “Don’t worry. I’d never

trust a magnolia hater.”

Alex paused before she turned to go and smiled, her green eyes suddenly shining with

affection. “By the way, I’m having dinner with Dad tonight.”

“Tell him I said hello,” Free called to Alex’s retreating back. Alex was lucky to have a

father who loved her so dearly. It was such a shame about his health.

Free forced her attention back to the still-sticky mantel and set to the task. She had

never known her own father. Her mother had been a flower child, moving from place to place
with a different relic from the sixties each time. After her mother’s death, when Free was
fourteen, she had spent four years in foster homes before setting out on her own. Life had
been extra rough at times.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Renzetti,” she muttered. “You had Thomas…

eventually.” Thomas had been the father she had never known. He had saved her.

Free scrubbed with renewed purpose. She had to get this step of the removal process

finished so she could move on to her other work. Julius Faraday expected her to deliver his
wainscoting this evening. And Julius didn’t like to wait.

~*~

Mac pulled into the drive, shut off the ignition and simply sat for a while. He scanned

the vulnerable two-story house he called home for the present. It wasn’t exactly his idea of
efficient living quarters. Though he had to admire the detail and craftsmanship of these old
places, they represented the past and Mac preferred progress. His townhouse in Atlanta in no
way resembled this place. It was modern with smooth lines and dramatic architecture,
conveniently close to work and anything else he might need. Why John had set him up in this
place he would never understand.

At least it was only temporary. The Huntsville merger had been finalized, and

McFerrin Enterprises now owned Falkner Engineering Consultants. Once all the major
projects were well underway, by early September thereabouts, he would go back to Atlanta.

He wondered if expanding wasn’t at times more trouble than it was worth. But without

expansion there would be no growth or security. In this business, a company either moved
forward or it lagged behind. There was no standing still. McFerrin Enterprises would keep
moving forward as long as he was alive and kicking. And he would keep his eye on the
bottom line every step of the way.

John’s warning flitted through his mind. What happens when you’re gone, Mac? No

wife, no heirs. Are you building all this for nothing? You sure as hell can’t take it with you.
Mac shook off the unsettling thoughts and got out, shoving the door shut with his elbow. He
noticed the newspaper lying on his front lawn and decided to retrieve it. Maybe he would

have time to glance at the financial section after he had reviewed the blueprints and contracts
tucked under his arm. He stopped to snatch up the paper and expertly slid the rubber band off
and around his wrist. He opened the paper to read the front-page headlines as he slowly
crossed the yard to his front door.

Something squashed beneath his right shoe and Mac looked over the paper at the grass

to determine the source.

“Damn,” he hissed from between clenched teeth. Dog doo oozed around the soles of

his Gucci loafers. Too bad he hadn’t visited a site today—he’d have had on his work boots.
Reciting every vile curse in his vocabulary, Mac scrubbed the sole and sides of his shoes
against the grass until he had removed most of the excrement. This is exactly why he didn’t
own a dog. Dogs ate, dogs barked, and dogs really messed up lawns.

Folding the newspaper and tucking it under his arm with his blueprints and contracts,

Mac made a quick survey of the neighboring yards for a possible four-legged culprit. His
gaze locked on an overgrown Labrador sprawled next to a lawn chair in Free Renzetti’s yard.
“I should have known.”

No doubt Huntsville had a leash law and by God he intended to see that Free Renzetti

kept that animal properly restrained. If he wanted a dog fertilizing his grass, he’d get one of
his own. The Lab lifted his head and thumped his tail as Mac stalked past, but didn’t bother
to get up and give him a sniff. The beast probably ate his weight in kibbles. Why would
anyone own something so totally useless?

Before Mac made it to the porch, a loud thud drew his attention to the truck backed up

to his flighty neighbor’s garage. He caught a glimpse of the top of Free’s wild mass of brown
locks as she entered the wide open doors of the large structure. Mac altered his course and
headed for the garage. He noticed as he passed the annoying magnolia that not one leaf
littered the ground. At least she was holding up her end of that agreement.

He walked around the old truck, and the newly refinished wainscoting stacked in the

bed caught his eye. What would she be doing with that? Remodeling?

Mac stepped through the open doorway and assessed what appeared to be a plain old

garage from the outside. The inside was anything but. Wood staining products and a variety
of cans and bottles lined several shelves along one wall. Mantels, columns, moldings of all
types, window sashes, and other odds and ends filled the place. The air reeked of the pungent
odors of solvents and varnishes, and a distinct mustiness mingled with the chemical smells.
The garage was a veritable hodgepodge of old stuff—junk, in Mac’s opinion.

He scrutinized the place once more. This setup was much too elaborate and there was

too much inventory for mere do-it-yourself home repairs. This had to a business of sorts. He
wondered if his unconventional neighbor was in violation of zoning. Probably, he decided
with annoyance. But why should he care?

He wasn’t going to live here long enough to complain about what people in this

neighborhood did in the privacy of their garages.

A shuffling sound drew his attention to the left and his curiosity climbed another notch

or two. A wall of sorts, fashioned with propped-up antique doors, formed a barrier between
him and the sound. Maybe he’d just see what Ms. Renzetti was up to, Mac decided as he
proceeded quietly around the obstruction to find the source of the noise. He found Free
hefting several long strips of wainscoting onto her shoulder. Mac drew his eyebrows together
in question. Why was she doing that? Loading lumber was a man’s job.

“Need a hand?” he asked, the words tumbling out automatically at the sound of her

frustration when her load almost slipped. Mac’s protective instincts surged.

Startled, Free whirled around, the wainscoting slammed into the side of Mac’s head.

He stumbled sideways from the blow. Instinctively, he tightened his hold on the blue-prints
and papers under his left arm as brilliant white points of light swirled in his field of vision.
She’d hit him. His right hand shot up to inspect the damage and massage his throbbing
temple. He shook his head to clear it and then stared at his wide-eyed assailant. Mac blinked
to eliminate the momentary double image.

“Oh my God!” she shrieked as if she’d only just realized what she had done. The

wainscoting fell from her arms.

Still dazed, Mac didn’t move quickly enough to prevent his right foot from catching the

brunt of the load. With an ear-scorching curse, he pulled his foot from beneath the pile of
lumber. Free covered her mouth with gloved hands, her blue eyes round with horror.

“What the hell are you doing? Trying to kill me?” His foot ached inside the soft leather

that had afforded no protection at all.

“Oh my God,” she repeated and then stepped gingerly over the wainscoting, coming

closer. Mac retreated a half-step in fear of what might happen next. “I can’t believe I did
that,” she cried as she stripped off her cotton work gloves.

He rubbed his temple hard and scrunched his throbbing toes. “You should come with a

warning label, lady.”

She frowned. “My name is Free, not lady,” she said and pulled his hand away from his

face to survey the damage. She studied him intently, concern etched in her distractingly
attractive features, wincing when he flinched. “Are you all right?” she asked as she slid the
pad of her thumb over the ridge of his cheekbone. The action sent a shaft of desire piercing
through him.

“I’m fine,” he said tersely. Mac tried his level best not to notice how unbelievably sexy

she looked in baggy overalls with nothing visible underneath but a cut-off T-shirt. A wide
expanse of midriff was exposed on each side where the overalls dipped down past her waist.
The moisture evaporated from his mouth and throat when his gaze traveled back up to her
face and he allowed himself to admire those rose-kissed lips, flushed cheeks, glittering blue
eyes, and all that impossibly sensuous hair piled atop her head. She was gorgeous. Desire
struck him again, hard and low.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” she asked, worry creasing her delicate forehead. She

tilted her head in question, the movement drawing his attention to the pretty tendrils of hair
clinging to her neck.

Mac wrapped his fingers around her small wrist and pulled her hand from his face,

slower than he should have, but far faster than he wanted to. “It’s nothing,” he croaked. “I’ll
live.” Her skin felt incredibly soft beneath his fingers.

“You startled me and I just…” her voice trailed off with a slight quiver as his thumb

automatically traced the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. She sucked in a sharp
breath, blinked rapidly, and tugged her hand from his.

Mac ignored the need welling inside him. Get this over with and get the hell out of

here, he told himself. Being alone with this woman bordered on masochism. “Your dog left a
deposit on my lawn, which is now stuck to my shoe,” he informed her.

She blinked again. “Oh,” she muttered, then licked those lovely lips. His groin

tightened. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again. Oscar is usually very careful about…about
where he goes.” She smiled tentatively. “I’ll clean it up.”

Her smile did strange things to his ability to breathe. He retreated a step. He had to get

out of there. “Good. I’ll just” he motioned the way he had come “see myself out.” Mac spun
around to make a hasty retreat and smacked headfirst into a dusty antique door. Both hands
flew to the new source of pain radiating from his body, as the blueprints and other papers
fluttered unimpeded to the floor.

Free gasped. “Oh, my gosh! It’s so cluttered in here! Are you all right?”
His humiliation complete, Mac faced her. His nose wasn’t broken or even bleeding for

that matter, but it hurt like hell and he felt like a damned fool. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’m
fine.” He bent to retrieve his papers.

“Let me help you!”
She stooped, he reached and heads cracked. Yelps and curses followed. Mac snatched

up his blueprints and stood. Free straightened, clutching several papers in one hand and
massaging her forehead with the other. He plucked the papers from her and eyed her warily.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her face flaming as scarlet as his own must surely be.
“Don’t move,” he commanded when she would have taken another step in his

direction. Mac glanced over his shoulder and then back to her. “Just stay right there until I’m
out of here.”

“I said I was sorry,” Free repeated contritely. She bit her lower lip and shoved her

hands into the deep pockets of her overalls, and stared at the floor.

When Mac had cleared the makeshift wall of antique doors, he jetted toward the exit.

He had to get away from this woman while he still could. She was definitely dangerous.

In more ways than one.

~*~

Free pushed aside the lace panel and peeked out her kitchen window. His lights were

still on, but it was almost ten o’clock. It wouldn’t be neighborly to bother Mac at this time of
night. She glanced at the homemade apple pie on her counter. It had cooled enough to handle
by now. She really should take it to him and get it over with. Especially after what she had
done to him earlier that evening. Free cringed when she remembered the scene in the garage.

She wasn’t usually so clumsy, but being around him seemed to bring out the klutz in

her. And worse. She had never bitten or kicked anyone in her entire life! She still found it
hard to believe that she had actually done it. But she had. And wound up in the pokey
because of it. Alex and Emily had laughed until their sides hurt a dozen times over in the past
twenty-four hours.

It had to be the Scorpio influence. As a Libra, Free loathed conflict. Mac’s naturally

aggressive personality and tendency toward conflict disturbed her inner peace.

But they were neighbors and somehow Free had to learn to deal with his forceful

nature. A lack of balance and harmony would disrupt her serenity. She had to find common
ground with the man. She had to keep Oscar off his lawn and she had to remember to rake up
after the magnolia. Whatever it took to keep him calm and happy.

Free blew out a breath and tucked her wild hair behind her ears. It was now or never.

She carefully picked up the pie, snagged the gift bag she had saved and started for the door.
Oscar padded up behind her, his soulful eyes begging for permission to accompany his
master.

“Stay, boy,” she commanded. The big dog dropped his head and ambled back to his

favorite spot under the kitchen table. Free twisted the knob and walked out the back door
before the second thoughts brewing inside her head could stop her.

The air was still and smelled of magnolia blossoms and crepe myrtle blooms. Free

glanced heavenward to admire the stars. The grass was damp with an early dew and tickled
her bare feet. She adored the sultry Southern summer nights. The concerto of crickets crying
for rain was like music to her ears. Free considered putting the pie aside and whirling around
the yard a time or two. She loved to dance. People had always told her that rhythm was in her
blood. She could feel the beat of any kind of music more deeply than most. And nights like
this were made for dancing outdoors.

Another kind of dance suddenly leapt to mind, filling her head with visions of two

bodies tangling in a rhythm as old as time. Desire sparked and she immediately dismissed
that line of thinking. Connor McFerrin was her neighbor, and definitely off limits—no matter
what Alex thought.

Besides, he wasn’t the kind of guy a woman like her should get involved with. He was

controlling, intense, and much too good-looking. Mating for life had probably never entered
his analytical mind. Connor McFerrin –Mac, she reminded herself—was a mover and a
shaker. Free Renzetti lived a simple, uncluttered life. She was air, he was water. Opposites in
every respect. But perhaps they could live next to each other in some semblance of harmony.

On his moonlit back stoop, Free paused to take three deep, calming breaths before she

knocked. Long, awkward moments after the second knock, the door swung inward. Her gaze
traveled up the length of him, from his long, well-formed feet, well-fitted jeans, and a bare
chest to die for, two shoulders so wide they filled the doorway. His hair hung loose around
his shoulders, the way she liked it. Free almost frowned, but caught herself just in time.
When had she decided she liked his hair—down or pulled back in a ponytail?

“If you’ve come to try and finish me off, at least give me a chance to defend myself,”

he said wryly, a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

Free’s frustration dissolved and she smiled. He seemed to be in a good mood tonight—

considering the way she had accidentally whacked him. She offered the pie. “A peace
offering,” she said hopefully.

He eyed the dessert skeptically. “It’s not laced with anything lethal, is it?” The smile

won the tug-of-war, drawing his lips into a beautiful curve.

Free shook her head, breathless from the sheer beauty of his smile. “Just the usual.

Sugar, butter, fresh apples, cinnamon.”

He rubbed a wide hand over his incredibly lean and marvelously rigid abdomen.

“Apple pie is my favorite.” That blue gaze connected with hers and static crackled between
them. “How’d you know?”

“Either I’m psychic or just a good guesser,” she teased.
“My money’s on psychic,” he said then stepped aside for her to enter. “Gypsies always

have that sixth sense.”

“Who says I’m a gypsy?” His description hit a little too close to home. Her spirit had

always been a wanderer…it was only her body that never got to go anywhere. She strolled
across the threshold and into his kitchen as if coming to this house was the most natural thing
in the world for her. She had visited her elderly neighbor many times in the past—but this
wasn’t little old Mrs. Lassiter. Free watched Mac watch her as he closed the door. This was a
man who exuded sexuality. A man who attracted her on some elemental level she didn’t quite
understand yet.

He hooked his thumbs in his front pockets, cocked his head and made a slow circle

around her, appraising every square inch. Free moistened her lips and then chewed her lower
one as he continued his unhurried study.

When he finally stopped, he pursed those full lips and set one hand on a lean hip.

“Let’s see,” he began, stroking his square jaw thoughtfully. “Bare feet, a long flowing skirt, a
peasant’s blouse.” He flicked one silver bracelet on her wrist. Free shivered when his
fingertips brushed her skin. “Bangles,” he added and lifted one dark eyebrow in punctuation.
“Big earrings, and lots of long curly hair.” He crossed his arms over his broad chest and
nodded. “A gypsy, all right. You didn’t bring a spell in that bag, did you?”

She told herself to relax, smiled, enjoying this stress-free side of him. “Maybe. What

good’s a gypsy without a few spells and potions?”

Content that her plan to set a more pleasant tone between them was a success, she

padded across the huge kitchen to the long, wooden trestle table. She nudged some of the
paperwork scattered across it aside, and deposited the pie and bag on the space she’d cleared.
“What’s all this?” she asked, scanning the array of papers and drawings.

“Homework,” he said with a sigh. “It’s taken me all evening, but I’ve finally gotten the

final touches on these blueprints and contracts.” He ran a hand through his hair and shrugged
lightly. “Another hour, tops, and the planning part of this project will be over.”

“Do you work like this every night?” Free looked up at her new neighbor and for the

first time noticed the lines of fatigue marring his handsome face. He worked too hard, pushed
himself too far, she knew as surely as she knew her own name.

Ignoring her question, Mac peeked inside the bag. “Any ice cream in there? I love

vanilla ice cream on apple pie.”

Free batted his hand away and shouldered between him and the bag. “No ice cream,”

she told him as she reached inside to retrieve a blueberry candle, its holder and a box of
kitchen matches. Mac quietly observed her every move, the heat from his body burning
through the thin layers of her clothing. She managed not to squirm beneath his intense gaze
or to bump his bare chest with her elbow—though it was mighty tempting to do just that. The
man had an awesome chest. She arranged the candle in its holder and then lit it. After
dropping the matches back into the bag, she pulled out a small package of chamomile tea.

“It’ll help you relax,” she told him when he made a disparaging sound at the back of

his throat. Frowning, he studied the box. “Lot’s of people drink it,” she offered when his
frown deepened. “And the fruit-scented candle is relaxing as well.”

“You think I need to relax?” That intent study focused on her face now.
She shifted nervously and searched her brain for an excuse that wasn’t quite a lie or too

telling. “Stress gets to all of us at one time or another. Look, after what happened yesterday
and in the garage today, I thought you could use a little comfort food.” She sucked in a much
needed gulp of air and congratulated herself on the quick thinking.

His scowl softened a bit as he rubbed his right temple. “You do pack a wallop.”
“My point exactly.” Free skirted the table to make her way to the antique gas stove.

She shook the copper kettle to see that it contained enough water before she set the flame to
low beneath it. With slow, deliberate steps, Mac joined her at the stove.

“I mean, if a guy works hard all day, he should be able to relax at night,” she added,

her voice rising to meet her heart rate. She was rambling.

“Wouldn’t a shot of bourbon accomplish the same thing without all the fuss?”
Unnerved by his nearness, she moved to the opposite counter and reached for the

cupboard to the right and above the sink, where Mrs. Lassiter had always stored her cups and
glasses. “No, that wouldn’t be the same at all,” she said without looking back at him.
“Alcohol pollutes your body.” Free tightened her grip on the old tarnished knob. Aware of
the old door’s tendency to stick, she yanked hard to open it at the same instant Mac chose to
lean against the counter beside her. The rough edge smacked him square in the face. He
grunted a colorful expletive.

Free winced in empathy, the cup she’d automatically reached for clutched in her left

hand. She bit her lip as she slowly closed the door and looked at the man she’d just whacked
once more. His eyes were closed and both hands covered his nose. How could she have
clobbered him again?

“I am so sorry,” she offered guiltily.
“It’s okay,” he said, his voice muffed behind his hands. He didn’t open his eyes and

Free had a bad feeling that she had really hurt him this time. Maybe she had broken his nose.
There wasn’t any blood, but she didn’t know if that meant anything. Could you break a
man’s nose without shedding blood?

She touched his hand softly. “Would you like me to—”
“No!” he cut her off. His eyes snapped open and he held up one hand to halt any

further assistance from her. “No. I’m fine.”

His sharp tone hit an already exposed nerve. “I said I’m sorry,” she groused. “You

don’t have to get all bent out of shape. It’s not like I meant to break your nose or anything.”

He gingerly traced the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. “I’m

beginning to think the competition hired you to do me in.”

“Can I help it if you keep getting in my way?”
Mac aimed a look of annoyed disbelief at her. “In the future, remind me to stay out of

your way.”

Free’s gaze suddenly locked on the cup she held in a death grip. White bone china with

a rose pattern and gold trim…Mrs. Lassiter’s china. She frowned, then surveyed the room as
a whole for the first time. Everything was just the same. The furniture, the rugs on the floor
and the bric-a-brac adorning the cabinet tops and wall. “Didn’t they take anything at all?” she
asked, her voice barely a whisper. She had known the furniture had stayed. But every last
thing?

“What?”
Free shook her head. She set the cup down at the counter and all but ran from the room.

Hardly believing her eyes, her gaze traveled over the long hall. She stuck her head briefly
into the dining room, then moved on to the parlor. Everything was just as it had been the day
Mrs. Lassiter died. She paused at the door to the parlor and stared at the fireplace on the other
side of the large room. Everything except the lovely old portrait above the mantel. She
padded across the thick carpet that graced the shiny floor and stared up at the unfaded square
of wallpaper where the painting had been. Had they taken only the painting?

~*~

Mac stood in the doorway and watched Free Renzetti wander around the cluttered

parlor. He had never seen so many knickknacks. The house was chock full of trinkets.
Obviously the former owner had been sentimentally attached to everything she had every
purchased in her entire life.

“I can’t believe this.” Free shook her head and wandered across the room. “Didn’t they

want any of her stuff? Didn’t they care that these things were near and dear to her heart?”

Mac drew in a deep breath and walked slowly to where Free had stopped by an

occasional table near the front window. She seemed more than a little upset and he didn’t
really know what to say. “I only know that when John bought the place, all this” he swept his
arms outward in an expansive manner “was included.”

Free lifted one delicate shoulder in a semblance of a shrug. “At least they took her

picture.” She gazed again at the bare wall above the mantel. “She was eighteen in the
portrait. And very beautiful.” Free smiled as if recalling some pleasant memory. “Loretta
Lassiter in Paris.” She turned to Mac, her eyes wide with excitement. “She grew up in
Europe, you know. Her father was a political attaché or something like that. She used to tell
me stories about the parties and the traveling.”

“You’ve never been to Europe?” he asked, knowing the answer already. Her childlike

awe gave her away.

Free shook her head slowly. She picked up a snow globe and turned it upside down,

then watched the glitter fall around the Parisian scene depicted beneath the glass and water.
“Someday I’m going to Paris, though Mrs. Lassiter told me so many stories about the place I
feel as if I’ve been there already.”

“It’s not that big a deal.”
Her eyes were shimmering blue pools, wide with amazement. “You’ve been there?”
Mac felt suddenly all-knowing and powerful because of the admiration and awe now

directed at him, not to mention excited as hell. “Several times,” he said nonchalantly.

Free plopped the snow globe back on the table. “Well, tell me! Tell me everything!”
Mac opened his mouth to speak but the shrill sound of the whistling kettle cut him off.

“Just a minute,” she blurted, then dashed toward the sound.

Mac picked up the snow globe and walked unhurriedly back into the kitchen. What was

it about this flighty woman that made him want to throw her across the nearest piece of
upholstered furniture and have his way with her? He sighed mightily. She just turned him on
—physically, anyway. On a mental level, Mac knew that she was the total opposite of what
he liked in a woman. Maybe that was the attraction.

Maybe he’d burned out his last brain cell, or maybe he had let John’s well-meant

warning about being alone the rest of his life get to him. Whatever the case, getting involved
with Free Renzetti bordered on insanity. Just knowing her for this short while had gotten him
thrown in jail, and his body sported more bruises than when he’d played high school football.

No way was he getting mixed up with a fruitcake like her, no matter how gorgeous she

was. Precisely at that moment, Mac’s gaze came to rest on her. She placed a steaming cup of
tea next to the pie on the kitchen table. The scent of blueberries tickled his nose. Blueberry
candle? Chamomile tea? Apple Pie? Whatever it was, it was irresistible.

She spun around to face him and all that hair swirled around her shoulders, the hint of

gold catching the light. She smiled and his heart stumbled, once, twice. Mac shook the snow
globe and watched the tiny flecks flutter down around the little Eiffel Tower. Anything to
keep his eyes off her.

“Your tea is ready, but first you have to tell me about Paris,” she urged breathlessly,

drawing his gaze back to her. The excitement in her eyes lured him two steps closer than he’d
intended to go.

“I went, I came back. What exactly do you want to know?”

“Did you visit Montmartre? Did you walk the halls of the Louvre? Did you take a boat

ride on the Seine?” Her eyes grew wider as her anticipation mounted with each question.

He thought for a moment, then said, “Yes, yes, and yes.”
“Mac!” she scolded.
“What?” He was enjoying her frustration way too much.
“Details, I want details. Did you take someone there with you or did you meet someone

while you were in Paris?”

“Ah.” He dipped his chin and raised a speculative eyebrow. “Now we get to the heart

of the matter. You want to hear a romantic story. Did the old lady tell you romantic stories
about the City of Lights?”

Free planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. “Just answer the question, Mac,

your tea is getting cold.”

“Okay.” He edged closer, directly in her personal space now, but she didn’t seem to

mind. Hell, if the woman wanted to hear a romantic story, he might as well get intimate. “I
did meet this woman on one particular trip.” He paused, then leaned closer and dropped his
voice to a more seductive level. “She was French, of course, and beautiful. We took a long,
slow ride down the Seine. It was a perfect day, warm and sunny.” Free’s eyes never left his,
she didn’t as much as blink. If she even breathed, he couldn’t tell. Hell, he was hardly
breathing himself. Every muscle in his body was tense and growing harder by the moment.

“What did she look like?”
Mac blinked. “She…she had…” His train of thought derailed as his gaze lingered on

Free’s hair. The woman had the most amazing hair. It looked so soft, and the way it caressed
her skin and curled around her cheek and chin—he sucked in a harsh breath. “Can I…” He
met her expectant gaze and went as hard as a rock. “I need to touch your hair.”

When she didn’t protest, he slowly lifted his hand, giving her ample opportunity to stop

him. He swallowed hard and his senses whirled with expectation. Silk, pure silk, wrapped
around his fingers when he tangled them in the mass of soft, seductive curls. Simply touching
her hair was the most powerfully erotic sensation he had ever experienced. Desire coursed
through his veins, urging him closer and closer until his face was so near to hers that he could
feel her shallow, rapid breaths as they feathered across his mouth.

She touched his chest with one tentative hand and it was all over. Mac thumped the

snow globe down on the table behind her and wrapped one arm around her waist. He pulled
her hard against his body and covered her lips with his own. She tasted like cinnamon. Hot,
sweet cinnamon. And he wanted more.

He traced her lips with the tip of her tongue and she opened for him. He thrust into the

warmth of her soft mouth and need gripped him with such force that he shook from it. He
wove his fingers more deeply into her hair and cradled the back of her head, holding her in
place while he thoroughly explored her sweet mouth. Free moaned softly and he held her
more tightly. Her soft sounds of pleasure sent renewed desire as well as a feeling of
protectiveness surging through him.

She pushed against his chest, and he groaned in protest. He didn’t want to stop. Mac

wanted to ease her bottom onto the edge of the table and make love to her right here, right
now.

“Wait,” she murmured raggedly.
“What’s wrong?” Mac nipped at her full bottom lip. God, she smelled so good. Like

cinnamon and roses. He wanted to taste all of her.

“Do you smell something?” she asked, dodging his mouth as he tried to capture hers

once more.

“Only you, gypsy woman, only you.” Mac buried his face in the curve of her neck and

planted a kiss on that sensitive flesh. The faint essence of roses lingered on her skin and
made him crazy with want. How could she know all the scents and tastes the drove him mad?

She pushed at his chest again, harder this time. “I’m serious. I smell something.

Something burning,” she said slowly.

Free turned in his arms, then screamed suddenly. The sound shattered the haze of

passion enveloping him. She jerked out of his hold and flew toward the sink. What the hell?
She ducked beneath the sink and retrieved something from the cabinet.

Then he smelled it, too. His glazed eyes focused on the table. The gift bag was on fire.

Flames licked over the plain brown paper as if it were soaked in gasoline. Mac realized then
that he had knocked the bag over with the snow globe. It had fallen on the lit candle. The bag
was burning and soon the rest of the papers on the table would be as well.

A smoke detector somewhere in the kitchen wailed and reality slapped him in the face.

His blueprints, his contracts, hours of work were about to go up in flames.

“Son of a bitch!” Mac reached for the Armani shirt he’d left hanging on the back of a

chair to smother the flames and in the process knocked the cup of tea over. He cursed again
as the brownish liquid flowed onto his papers. The flames engulfing the bag suddenly flared
higher as the box of matches ignited with a whoosh. At that same instant Mac saw Free in his
peripheral vision wielding a bucket. “No!” he shouted, but it was too late.

He watched in horror as she drenched the burning bag and his blueprints and his

contracts with water. All his hard work was utterly ruined.

And for what?
One kiss from the lips of a gypsy.

Chapter Three

Free maneuvered her truck onto the driveway that was more grass now than gravel. She

shifted to park and cut the engine, then sighed as she peered up at the old house that had once
been the picture of Southern beauty. A grand Victorian painted lady. Now her coat of paint
had faded, chipped and peeled, leaving her wood siding to face the harsh challenge of
Alabama weather. Hand-turned spindles were missing or broken in the railing of the wrap-
around porch, and one side sagged as if the weight of time now rested solely on that one end
of the porch. Several panes of float glass were broken, the sashes boarded up to keep out
trespassers.

Free emerged from the shade of the truck’s cab into the hot July morning sun. She

pushed the truck door shut with one denim-clad hip and tugged on her baseball cap, pulling
her thick hair through the gap in the back. She glanced at the quiet, deserted street,
wondering where Lance was this morning. Her assistant had promised to meet her here at
eight sharp, and it was now five past eight.

She sighed again, grabbed the duffel bag that doubled as a tool bag and trudged

through the ankle-deep grass toward the house. A vehicle pulling into the drive got her
attention but she knew before she looked over her shoulder that it wouldn’t be Lance. He

drove a big, loud Harley.

A black and white police cruiser parked behind the truck and a spit-polished, all-smiles

Phil Gerard stepped out. Despite Free’s firm resolve not to be mad at him, irritation made her
scalp tingle and her stomach tighten. She manufactured a smile and forced her rigid muscles
to relax.

“Morning, Free.” He approached her slowly, rotating his hat in his hands, remorse

evident in the strained expression on his weathered face. “You doing all right today?”

“Good morning, Phil.” She shifted her tool bag to the other hand. “I’m doing just fine,

but I do have a long day ahead of me.” She regretted the coolness in her tone the instant she
spoke.

One corner of Phil’s mouth hitched up into a sad smile. “Well, I won’t keep you. I just

wanted to make sure you were okay.” He stared at the ground for a long moment then shifted
his gaze back to hers and said, “I’m sorry about the other day. I didn’t stop to consider how
that little trip downtown might make you feel. I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted you and Mr.
McFerrin to see how foolish you were behaving.”

“It doesn’t matter, Phil,” she told him, trying her best to sound reassuring. “You had to

do something and the situation had gotten completely out of control. It was no one’s fault but
my own that I ended up in a holding cell. I knew better than to behave the way I did.”

“But still,” he persisted soberly, “it had to bring back a lot of bad memories for you and

I’m real sorry I caused you to relive the old days.”

Free plunked the duffel bag onto the ground and massaged the back of her neck. Her

muscles still felt stiff from hunkering over that mantel for so long yesterday. “Phil, you did
your job. Sure it rattled me, but I got over it. Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

He shook his head and stared at the ground again. “I can’t. I promised Thomas I’d look

after you and I’ve let you both down.”

Free covered the three steps that separated them, she pulled the hat from his hands and

threw her arms around his neck. “You didn’t let anyone down, Phil. You’re the best cop I
know and a good friend.”

He hugged her tight and heaved a relieved breath. “You know how I worry about you,

girlie.” He drew back and looked into her eyes, his own suspiciously bright. “Thomas wanted
you to be happy.”

Her smile was real this time. “I am happy. You shouldn’t fret about that.”
He pulled a worried face. “Are you really? You work too hard and I’ve yet to see you

on the town with a beau.”

The memory of Mac’s kiss slid across her senses; his scent, his taste, the feel of his

skin. Free laughed tightly as heat crept into her cheeks. “I don’t need a beau to be happy,
Phil.”

He lifted one gray eyebrow and eyed her skeptically. “Oh? I noticed some mighty

heated sparks flying between you and that new neighbor of yours.”

Free felt the color in her cheeks deepen. “Those were parks of anger.”
Phil waggled his bushy eyebrows knowingly. “Seemed like a little more than anger if

you ask me.”

Free shoved his hat back at him and set her hands at her waist. “It was more than that.

He was going to kill that tree!”

“Whatever you say.”
Free gave him an indignant look. “Phil, you’ve been a cop too long. You’re reading too

much between the lines.”

He settled his hat back into place and grinned. “I didn’t have to read anything, young

lady. You and that McFerrin fella were shouting it to the rooftops.”

Exasperation hissed through her clenched teeth and she glared at him. “I have to get to

work, Phil.”

“All right, all right. I can take a hint.” He shook his index finger at her. “Just

remember, Thomas wanted you to be happy.”

Free threw her hands up. “I am happy!”
Phil crossed his arms over his chest, which meant only one thing to Free. He was about

to say his final words on the subject. She silently thanked God, then gave the older man her
full attention.

“I didn’t live to be sixty without achieving a complete understanding of what makes

people happy in this life, girlie. Sharing your life with someone who loves you, having
children of your own, those things make you happy. That’s the way God intended it and
that’s the way it is. You won’t ever make me believe you’re happy living alone in that big
old house.”

She shook her head, though she knew it was a lost cause. “I’m not alone. I have

housemates. Don’t forget Alex and Emily.”

“They don’t count. You need a man,” he informed her in his best I’m-the-law-and-

you’d-better-listen voice.

The rumbling sound of a Harley touched Free’s ears. She smiled when Lance came into

view. “Why would I need a man?” she said sweetly. “I already have one and there he comes
right now.”

Phil shot a disgusted look at the hunk of black and chrome Lance straddled. “He sure

as hell don’t count.”

Lance shut the noisemaker off and flipped the cigarette he’d finished. Tall and lean, he

made a fairly imposing figure in faded jeans, tattered T-shirt and leather biker boots. The
numerous tattoos lent a definitely intimidating quality to his image. He rubbed a hand over
his cropped blond hair as he sauntered across the unkempt yard. Twenty-one, Free mused,
and full of himself.

“What up, bro?” Lance slapped Phil on the back, removed his mirrored sunglasses and

winked at Free.

She bit her lip to prevent the smile that struggled to surface. “You’re late,” she

informed him flatly.

Lance hinted at a shrug, “What can I say? I had a long night.” He grinned sheepishly,

then reached for her tool bag.

“I have to get going,” Phil put in quickly. He didn’t much like Lance and made no

bones about it. He glanced back at her briefly before he took off. “I almost forgot. We’ve had
some reports of vagrants hanging around these old houses. You watch out for yourself. Most
of ‘em are harmless, but you never know.”

“We’ll be fine,” Free assured him.
Lance draped an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t sweat it, Officer Gerard, I’ll take

real good care of her,” he said suggestively. Free jabbed her helper in his ribs. His answering
grunt satisfied her flare of irritation.

“Somehow, Lance, that’s not reassuring at all,” Phil said bluntly. “One more thing.” He

focused back on Free. “If you run into any of those vagrants, don’t give them any money.

Hell, you’ve given away a fortune in the last three years. Think about yourself for a change.”

Free saluted stiffly. “Yes, sir!” She giggled when Lance followed suit.
Phil shook his head and rolled his eyes. “God bless the simple-minded and foolish,” he

said, casting a long-suffering look in Free’s direction. He opened his car door, then paused.
“I guess I didn’t see your helmet, Lance.”

Lance stiffened. “I…ah…took it off while you weren’t looking.”
“Yeah, right.” Phil shook his head before settling behind the wheel of his car.
When he had driven away, Lance turned to Free. “Where did you want me to start, boss

lady?”

Free batted his hand away when he tugged at the bill of her cap. “I’ve told you not to

call me that.”

“Sorry, honey,” he offered.
Free drew herself up to her full five foot six inches and still she was nearly a foot

shorter than this lanky kid. She folded her arms over her chest and arched one eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”

“Just kidding,” he said quickly. “Where did you want me to start?” he repeated.
Free thought about that for a moment. She and Lance had already taken what little

could be salvaged from the other two houses. She had completed her inventory of what this
last place had to offer a few days ago, and it really wasn’t that much either. All they had to
do was remove a few items and load up.

That part always made her sad. It reminded her of the old movies she had watched

where some high-ranking officer would strip the rank off the sleeves of some unfortunate,
wrongly accused soldier. She shuddered inwardly. Oh, well, it had to be done. Better to be by
her than someone who didn’t care.

“Oh, shoot!” Free rubbed the ache beginning in her forehead. She had completely

forgotten to drop off the last of Julius’s wainscoting. How had she forgotten those final
pieces? Mac’s handsome mug flitted through her mind briefly. It was a miracle she
remembered anything after what happened between them. But Julius had made sure Free
realized her mistake. The man had worked until the wee hours of the morning to put the
wainscoting up. When he’d run out of material before reaching the final corner, he had called
her to let her know—at two a.m. He wouldn’t be pleased about having to wait for the
remaining pieces this morning.

“Lance, I forgot to drop the last of the wainscoting at Mr. Faraday’s house. Could you

run it over and I’ll go ahead and get started here?”

He shrugged. “Why not? Pay’s the same.”
“Great.” Free took the tool bag from him. “Hurry back. I won’t be able to do much

without you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered as he ambled toward the truck.
She hurried into the house, dropped her bag on the floor in the long entry hall and

crouched next to it to retrieve her inventory pad. The phone call from Julius hadn’t really
disturbed her. She’d hardly slept at all last night. In fact, the call had actually been a relief.
Free had spent the entire night regretting her visit to Mac’s house. How could she have been
so utterly stupid? He had kissed her and she had let him. Let him? Ha! She had participated
—enthusiastically!

Free closed her eyes and banished the memories to some dark corner of her mind. Mac

McFerrin stood for everything that Free thought was wrong with this world. All he cared

about was his next conquest and making more money. The man had no soul—no attachment
to anything but his work. He’d all but had a stroke last night over a few blasted papers.

All that aside, there was simply something about him. Every time they were together,

this feeling came over her and—

A hand touched her shoulder and Free shot to her feet, fear rushing through her veins.

A scream died in her throat when a leathery palm clamped over her mouth. “Hush, missy, it’s
just me,” a rusty but familiar voice said close to her ear.

Free slumped with relief. She twisted around and glared at the old man. “Sarge, you

scared the bejesus out of me.”

“Sorry, Free.” Hs gaze dropped to his worn boots. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on ya.”
A frown creased her brow as she recalled Phil’s words. “You shouldn’t be in here,

Sarge. They’re going to tear all these houses down on Monday.” She gave him a knowing
look. “And Phil said there had been a report of…of vagrants.” No matter what anyone said,
she would never be able to call Sarge that. Around fifty, Sarge had spent half a dozen of
those years serving his country, and those years had shattered his life.

He ran a hand over his scraggly beard, then straightened his ragged, camo shirt. “I’ve

been sleepin’ here a long time. I kinda like this old place.”

Free’s heart ached for the old soldier. According to what she’d been told, like many

other soldiers who’d served in Afghanistan, the man hadn’t been the same since. Free knew
he wasn’t all there, so to speak, but he was a good person and she hated to see him live the
way he did. But he refused treatment from the VA hospitals, and he refused to go to a shelter.
Said he’d been taking care of himself for as long as he could remember and he’d damned
sure do it now.

“When’s the last time you ate?”
He regarded her suspiciously. “I’ve eaten.”
Free moistened her lips and tried another tactic. “Sarge, my truck’s been acting up a

little. Maybe you could come by this evening and take a look at the engine?”

He ducked his head between his shoulders and shuffled his feet. “Sure, I could do that.”
Free pulled out the twenty dollar bill she had in her overalls pocket and stuffed it in his

shirt pocket. “I’ll just pay you now. That way I won’t forget,” she said softly.

He nodded without looking up and muttered, “Okay.”
“Over on Chenille Street there’s a house on a corner lot that’s in really good shape. It

isn’t up for demolition for about six weeks.”

He looked at her then, his gaze awash in gratitude. “I know the one.”
“If you’d start a preliminary inventory for me, I’d really appreciate it.”
He nodded, light returning to his eyes. “Be glad to, Free.”
She smiled and patted his arm. “Good. And if Phil or anybody like that questions you,

you tell them to call me. Okay?”

“Okay. I’ll just get started on that right now,” Sarge said and then shuffled toward the

door. He paused before stepping outside. “Oh, I almost forgot.” His weathered face broke
into an uncharacteristic but bright smile. “Gilliam’s mutt had pups last month.”

“Again?” Free matched his smile. Olivia, Mr. Gilliam’s Lab, was Oscar’s mother. That

would make the new puppies Oscar’s siblings. “I’ll have to get by to see them.”

Sarge nodded, then disappeared. Free’s smile drooped and she blinked back the sudden

tears that burned behind her lids. It was difficult for him to accept her help, but somehow
Free always managed to sound as if he had earned it and that made the difference. She

exhaled wearily. Why did life have to be so unfair? The image of Mac resurfaced in her
mind. Why did some people have it all while others had nothing?

She exhaled heavily, hoping to lift some of the weight from her chest. This wasn’t

getting her work done. She decided to start in the kitchen. Putting Sarge out of her mind, she
made her way down the hall and took the first door to the right. She shoved the door inward
and let it swing shut behind her.

Free deposited her pad and pen on the nearest counter and surveyed the big, dust-laden

room. Some of the knobs on the cupboard doors were in excellent condition. She could start
there. Free turned to go back for a screwdriver, and pushed against the door—but something
stopped it midway. She frowned and shoved harder. A harsh curse froze her in her tracks.
She’d know that grunted expletive anywhere.

Mac.
She’d just hit Mac.
Again.

~*~

Mac staggered backwards, holding his nose. His forehead, which fortunately for him

had taken the brunt of the blow, throbbed in time with the ache in his nose. He blinked away
the stars and tried to focus on the image before him.

Free.
Who else?
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled. “Is that your Harley out there?” He

couldn’t picture Free on that macho crotch rocket. He stared at the gypsy before him. Then
again, maybe he could.

“I’m…” She started toward him, then stopped and jammed her hands into the pockets

of her overalls. Color crept into her face and she quickly swiped the back of one hand across
her cheek as if she could erase the darkening blush. She drew in a deep breath and settled her
dazzling blue gaze on his. And Mac was definitely dazzled. His body reacted instantly to her
presence and the response annoyed the hell out of him.

“I suppose you’re still upset about your papers.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Upset isn’t the word you’re looking for, Ms. Renzetti.”

He had worked since three o’clock that morning at the office to duplicate the papers she’d
ruined in a matter of seconds. He glowered at her. “You didn’t answer my question. What are
you doing in this house?”

“I’m Liberty Salvage and Restoration.”
Mac frowned. Liberty Salvage and Restoration. He knew that name. The salvage

contracts. Damn. She couldn’t be in charge of that company. Chaos was her constant
companion; she was a disaster waiting to happen. This woman belonged on the demolition
team. “You?”

She nodded. “Me.”
Forgetting his aching head and throbbing nose, Mac stormed down the hall and into the

parlor. She followed so quietly he wouldn’t have known she was there except he could sense
her. Every nerve ending in his body had gone on alert. He scrutinized the large room. “What
do you plan to salvage?” He gave her an impatient look. “This is Friday and demolition
begins bright and early Monday morning.”

Free moistened her lips. “A few window sashes, a mantel. The crown molding from

this room. Some knobs and…” She drifted into silence when her gaze moved back to his.

Her eyes were huge and liquid. She looked very young in those big overalls and that

silly baseball cap. With her hair pulled back, her delicate features were more apparent.

High, exotic cheekbones, long, thick lashes, and a perfect, straight nose. And that

mouth. A wide, generous mouth with rose-colored lips. That vivid recollection of how her
mouth had felt beneath his sent Mac’s heart racing. Damn. He was already semi-aroused
from just looking at her. No other woman had ever aroused him by simply gazing innocently
into his eyes. That damned protective feeling welled in him again, suffocating him with its
intensity. He closed his eyes and willed himself to relax. He would not feel this. He would
not want this woman.

“I’ll be finished on time. I have an assistant,” she said, challenge rising in her tone.

“The Harley belongs to him.”

Mac opened his eyes and resolutely crushed the emotions whirling inside him. This

was business—his business. No one came between him and business. No one. “Where’s your
assistant now? Why isn’t he helping you get this job done?”

Her chin had a defiant set. “He’s running an errand. He’ll be back any minute. You

don’t need to be concerned, Mr. McFerrin. We will be finished before Monday.”

“Good.” Mac pivoted and headed for the door. He absolutely would not hang around

and lust after this woman. Nor would he take a chance on getting himself bashed in the head
again. Since she lived next door to him and apparently also had the salvage contracts on
several of his projects, he might have to see her now and again, but he didn’t have to interact
with her. Hell, he hadn’t intended to stop here at all today. But he’d seen that damned Harley
and decided to investigate. He had a meeting in—he glanced at his watch—twenty minutes.
He’d be late, but they would wait—he was the boss.

“You don’t see any of this, do you?”
The question jerked him to a stop halfway across the room. He whipped around and

glared at the annoying female. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“This.” She extended her arms outward and turned around slowly in the middle of the

big, empty room.

“I’m already late for a meeting, Ms. Renzetti.” He tapped his watch. “What exactly is

your question?” He tugged at his tie and wondered why he bothered to ask. If he worked at it,
he could convince himself that what she thought meant nothing to him.

“What do you see when you look at these old homes?”
Reaching past his defenses, that searing blue gaze touched him deep inside, tugging at

feelings too long neglected. Feelings that he had never allowed to grow. He tensed, steeling
himself against the intrusion.

“I don’t understand the question,” he said without conviction. He understood too well,

but he didn’t want to answer. She was not going to get to him this time.

She shifted that searching gaze from his and slowly surveyed the room, both awe and

respect clear on her face. “This home is our history. It tells us where we’ve been.” She
looked directly at him then. “And connects us to the past, to each other, and our future. It
shows us who we are.” She stepped closer, a smile playing about her lips. “People lived,
loved, and died in this house.”

Mac shoved back the sides of his jacket and planted his hands at his waist. “The point

to this lovely story is?”

“Close your eyes, Mac,” she commanded.
He harrumphed and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t have time for games, lady.”
Free advanced another step closer. “I told you not to call me lady.” She paused. “Now

close your eyes.” She tempered her command with a pulse-tripping smile.

He muttered a curse under his breath, but he closed his eyes just the same. He had to be

crazy to go along with this woman. She would probably use this moment of weakness to
whack him with something. The thought almost made him flinch.

“Without opening your eyes, tell me what you saw in this room,” she instructed.
Free had moved closer—he could feel the heat from her tempting, feminine body. God,

how he wanted to touch this woman. He ached to kiss her again. He silently cursed himself
for the fool he was.

“Tell me,” she persisted softly.
Mac exhaled in frustration. “Dust, dirt, cobwebs, missing floorboards and broken

glass.”

Free sighed. “Keep your eyes closed and look again,” she commanded. “Concentrate.

Don’t you see the tiny blue flowers in the wallpaper? The indigo Duncan Phyfe sofa that may
have once stood in the middle of the room? The hand-carved crown molding? What about the
children sitting on the Persian rug reading stories? Can’t you hear them laughing?”

Mac snapped his eyes open. “Yeah, I hear them laughing…at me, for playing along

with this game.”

Free jerked off her cap and tucked it into one deep pocket. That mane of glorious hair

fell around her slender shoulders. “You’re hopeless,” she said. “You don’t connect with the
past at all. Don’t you feel anything?” She glared at him, her eyes glowing a brilliant blue
with anger now.

“All right, then, if you’re so in tune with” Mac flung his arms outward in exasperation

“whatever, you close your eyes and tell me what you see.”

Free clasped her hands behind her back and lifted that defiant chin. “All right.” She

closed her eyes, those unbelievably long lashes dark against her porcelain cheeks. Damn,
he’d made a big mistake. Mac didn’t care what she saw, he only cared about what he could
see. One wide strap had fallen over her shoulder, revealing more creamy skin. This time
instead of a T-shirt, she wore a neon pink Lycra tube like top beneath her baggy overalls. The
taut material hugged her breast, revealing delicious contours. Mac’s throat constricted and his
breath came in half measures, too shallow and too fast.

“I see warmth. I see…home.”
She smiled, the image soft and sweet, and more tempting than anything he’d ever laid

eyes on. Fire and fragility, that’s what she was. His lower anatomy tightened and grew
heavier.

“I see a place where the walls have absorbed several lifetimes of love and laughter.”

Her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took. “I see a crackling fire in the fireplace and
a man and a woman making long, slow love on a wool rug in the leaping shadows of the
flames. I see people who’ve spent their lives in this home, conceiving and bearing children,
sharing hopes and dreams. Holding dear their past and cradling the future in their arms.”

Mac couldn’t move, couldn’t take his eyes off her beautiful face. The sensation of

arousal her words conjured inside him ripped the breath right out of his lungs. He had never
truly wanted a woman this much in entire life, but in the farthest reaches of his soul he
wanted Free. He wanted to touch her the way she touched him. To lose himself inside her

and forget everything else, the commitments, the stress and pressure, for just a little while.

No more able to stop himself than he could have stopped the earth from turning, Mac

reached out to touch her. With the first graze of his fingertips against her cheek, her lids
fluttered open in a heart-stopping show of blue. She searched his eyes for answers he
couldn’t give. He didn’t understand this crazy attraction himself, he only knew that he had to
touch her. To kiss her or die.

Using both hands, he tangled his fingers into those silky curls. Waves of pleasure

cascaded down his body at the first touch of their lips. “You’re a good storyteller, gypsy,” he
murmured, then brushed her lips with his own once more.

She drew back just far enough to look at him. “I know a few things,” she whispered.

She skimmed his lapel with her fingers, then stroked his jaw in a long, smooth caress. “I
research the history of the houses I work on and the people who lived in them. I can sense a
lot about them by what they left behind.” She ran her fingers into his hair, smiling as the
strands sifted through them. All conscious thought evaporated for Mac.

Free tiptoed to press her lips against his and he groaned in response. He traced the

seam on her lips with his tongue and she opened, inviting him inside. Time vanished as he
explored the heat and softness she offered.

“Whoa! Excuse the hell out of me!”
Mac jerked back from the kiss that had consumed him with its intensity. A tall, lanky

young man lurked in the parlor doorway. Tattoos marked his bare, muscled forearms. From
his blond head to his biker boots, he looked like trouble. Right now he also looked ready to
rip Mac’s head off and spit down his throat.

“Lance,” Free said, her voice unnaturally high. She raked a shaky hand through her

hair. “This is…this is Mr. McFerrin. His company is dong the reconstruction on this site and
several others we’ll be salvaging from.”

Lance leaned against the doorjamb, folded his arms over his chest and crossed his

booted feet at the ankles. “Oh. The magnolia hater,” he said archly.

Anger shot through Mac. If this was Free’s helper, she needed her head examined. This

guy looked like the poster child for Criminals-R-Us.

“Lance,” Free scolded, “Mr. McFerrin is my neighbor.”
“Delighted, I’m sure,” Lance muttered.
“I have a meeting.” Mac pushed past Mr. Leather-and-Tattoos and strode toward the

front door.

Free caught up with him on the front porch. “Lance is really a good kid. He’s just a

little overprotective.”

“Kid?” Mac whirled on her. “That’s no kid, Free. And I wouldn’t trust him with my

grandmother, much less with—” He snapped his mouth shut. Instantly he recognized the
strange emotion twisting his gut: jealousy. He was jealous of this guy’s relationship with
Free! But Mac had never been jealous of a woman in his life. Shock, followed swiftly by
fear, raced through his veins, making his heart pound harder. “I have to go.”

“You never got a chance to me tell me if you could see—”
Mac glared at her, cutting her off midsentence. “I didn’t see anything, but an old

rundown house that lost its purpose a long time ago.” With that, he stormed away, trying his
level best to forget the look of sadness on her sweet gypsy face.

~*~

Free sat in the dark on her back steps and watched the lighted windows of Mac’s

house. Now and then she would see him pass the window as he moved about in the kitchen.
Every night for the past week she had watched his house. And it was always the same. He
never had company and he worked until midnight or later. If she stood on her tiptoes on the
top step and leaned to the right, she could see him huddled over the mass of papers spread
out on the kitchen table.

Even on Sunday, he had done the same.
On Monday, Free had watched from the next block as the Bower Street houses were

tore down. She had struggled with her tears, but the salty drops had streamed down her
cheeks anyway. She had sat in her truck in the hot morning sun and watched another part of
the past destroyed.

Free wasn’t foolish enough to believe that progress was bad, but did it have to destroy

everything more than a few decades old? It just didn’t seem right to tear down all those
beautiful old homes. How long would it be before her own neighborhood was viewed as
obsolete?

Maybe people like Mac were right. Maybe she was fooling herself. Maybe her salvage

work didn’t make a difference.

No! It did. People like Mrs. LeMont and even Julius Faraday understood. The past did

have a place in the present. And no one would ever make her believe otherwise.

Chapter Four

“Mac, are you listening to me at all?”
Mac jerked his attention back to the present and wheeled around. He had been staring

out the wall of windows behind his desk at the sleek office buildings that made up Enterprise
Drive and hadn’t heard a word Jake said. Mac frowned and tried to recall the thread of the
conversation. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”

“If you have other things on your mind, we can discuss this issue later,” Jake offered.

He rose from his chair on the other side of Mac’s desk.

Mac shook his head briefly. “No, no. Stay. We need to get this ironed out. I don’t want

to begin the work week with the Chenille Street issue hanging over my head.” He kicked his
abandoned chair from his desk, and sank into it. Jake settled back into his chair.

“I was just saying that the residents on Chenille Street are still pursuing landmark

status for that house. They’ll never get it, of course. The fact that some obscure historical
character stayed there when he passed through Huntsville umpity-ump years ago won’t be
sufficient. And, of course, all our permits are in order. Legally speaking, it’s a done deal. My
concern is the stink the opposition can stir in the media.”

Mac’s frown deepened. “We don’t want that if it can be prevented.”
“I got a call this morning from a fiend at the Times. They’ve gotten three letters to the

editor on the issue. He has to print at least one of them. I asked him to hold off until next
week, to give us a few more days to resolve it.”

“Good thinking,” Mac agreed. John had known what he was doing when he’d selected

Jake Larsen as McFerrin Enterprises’ legal representation in Huntsville. “I plan to check out

that site again today. Maybe I’ll up the demolition date. Get the work done before it becomes
a public issue.” He shook his head. “I just don’t see what’s so great about those old places.
Termite traps, most of them.”

Jake nodded in agreement. “I’m with you.”
Mac’s thoughts strayed back to Friday before last and his gypsy neighbor’s silly

stories. Tell me what you see in this room. A man and a woman making long, slow love.
Free’s words echoed inside his head. Mac hadn’t seen a damned thing but a dilapidated old
house that needed to be torn down before it became a safety hazard. But she had seen more,
much more. She was like the people on Chenille Street, stuck in the past. Mac wanted
nothing to do with the past. He wanted to keep moving forward—straight into the future. He
didn’t let anything tie him down or slow his progress. The preservationists on Chenille Street
wouldn’t change his mind, nor would his bewitching neighbor.

“I’ve lost you again,” Jake said, his words bringing Mac once again to the

conversation.

Mac blew out his frustration and massaged his right temple. “Sorry. I just can’t seem to

concentrate.”

“I know that symptom all too well myself.”
Mac stilled. “What symptom?”
“Lack of ability to concentrate,” he said flatly. “With guys like us it can be attributed to

only one thing—a woman.”

Mac straightened in his chair, the leather complaining almost as loudly as his

sensibilities. “There is no woman at the moment and even if there was, I never allow my
personal life to interfere with business.”

“Now you’re insulting my intelligence,” Jake said. “I saw you and Free Renzetti

together, remember? It was impossible to miss the attraction between the two of you.”

Mac narrowed his gaze at his new associate—and friend, if truth be told. He didn’t

make friends easily, but Jake just seemed to slide into the part without any effort. “And you
think I’m having difficulty keeping my mind off my strange neighbor?”

“Are you denying the charge?” Jake countered with complete self-assurance.
Mac shot out of his chair and paced back and forth between his desk and the credenza.

“Yes, counselor,” he growled. He rubbed his temple again and arrowed Jake an irritated
glare. “No,” he conceded reluctantly.

Jake grinned, then stood and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Don’t feel too badly.

I’ve got the same problem myself.”

Mac stopped pacing and stared at Jake. “What do you mean?” Had Free drawn Jake

under her spell as well? When had the two of them been together other than at the jail that
one time? Jealousy flowed swift and hot through his veins. Mac scrutinized Jake’s lean,
rugged appearance. He supposed that women would find a guy like that appealing. His heart
pounded in time with the anger that crashed against his skull.

“Alex,” Jake told him to answer the question Mac refused to ask. “She’s been driving

me crazy for months. Her father hired me last year when the partner he’d had for thirty years
retired. Alex graduated from law school right after that and came to work for the firm,
expecting to fill her father’s shoes eventually. Things had been going great until then.” Jake
shrugged as if he didn’t care. “She hates me. The woman lives to make my life miserable.
She’s all but begged her father to get rid of me. In three more months my name is supposed
to go on the office stationary right next to Carlisle. Making partner in this firm has been my

dream for a long time. Alex is trying every angle to make sure it doesn’t happen.”

“What does her father say?”
“He pretends the situation doesn’t exist. To him everything at the office is just hunky-

dory.” Jake sighed. “Since he was diagnosed with cancer, I’ve been pretty much running the
office.” His gaze connected with Mac’s. “The cancer’s terminal. Alex will be hell to live with
when he’s gone. Mr. Carlisle is the only person who can keep her in line.”

Mac leaned against the credenza and crossed his legs at his ankles. “Sounds like a

tough situation.”

“It is, but I can handle it. The only reason I shared this unsavory business with you is

because I thought maybe you could use some advice on how to handle your situation with
Free.”

Mac eyed Jake warily. “I don’t see the connection.”
“Well, let me spell it out for you,” Jake said patiently. “Although Alex and I fight

constantly and, to all appearances, hate each other’s guts, the sexual attraction between us is
mind-boggling.”

“So, how are you handling that?”
“I’ve decided to take an alternate approach.” He rocked back on his heels and grinned.

“Instead of fighting her, I’m going to keep her happy. I agree with everything she says, and
I’m so nice she can’t possibly find any fault with me. When I’m finished, she’ll be following
me around like a long-last pal.”

Puzzled, Mac asked, “You want her to follow you around like that?”
“Just until the partnership contracts are signed. Then she’ll have to learn to live with

the real me again.”

Mac shook his head. “What’s the moral of this story for me?”
“You’re only going to be in Huntsville for a short time. Why not make the most of it?

If Free sends your libido into warp speed, why not get to know the lady better? That way you
can stay on top of her work schedule if you’re worried about her getting behind on the
salvaging. Plus, you won’t have to worry about any more feuds with your neighbor.” He
shrugged. “She’s beautiful and she’s nice. A little romance might make your stay in Alabama
a lot more pleasant. Besides, if you’re going to be mooning over her all the time, you might
as well do something about it.”

Mac bit back the colorful phrase he wanted to hurl at Jake. “I don’t want to have an

affair with the woman. I want to forget about her,” he said harshly. “Hell, I can’t sleep at
night for thinking about her. I can’t concentrate on my work. I can’t even eat without
remembering how she tastes.”

Jake looked surprised. “It’s worse than I thought. You’re already infatuated, huh?”
“I kissed her,” Mac hissed through clenched teeth.
“Just once?”
Mac gripped the edge of the credenza with both hands. “No—twice.”
“That settles it then.” Jake crossed his arms over his chest. “You’ll have to have her or

you’ll never be any good around here.”

“I don’t want to have her!” Mac snarled.
“Hey, buddy, I’m on your side. But I promise you, now that you’ve kissed her, you’ll

never stop thinking about her if you don’t have her. But once you’ve had her, you’ll realize
that she’s just like any other woman, and all will be well in your world again.”

Mac exhaled noisily. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Jake’s smile widened with genuine confidence. “Oh, it’ll work all right. I’ve never met

a woman yet, no matter how intriguing she appeared, that wasn’t just like all the rest when
you got down to the nitty-gritty.”

Mac had to admit that the idea of making love to Free Renzetti was more than a little

appealing. She did seem just as attracted to him as he was to her. “Do me a favor, will you?”

“Name it,” Jake offered without hesitation.
“I don’t usually get involved with women I know nothing about,” he began, then

exhaled in frustration. “Under normal circumstances I prefer career-oriented women with
whom I have similar interests.” He shrugged. “Or common goals. I don’t know anything
about her past.”

“I have a source who can do an informal background search, if that’s what you need,”

Jake suggested.

Mac nodded. “That would be good.”
Maybe that was the answer. Maybe he would succumb to a brief affair with his gypsy

neighbor. Maybe if he had her, just once, he could get her out of his system and then he could
get back on track. That, Mac decided wearily, was a hell of a lot of maybes.

~*~

Free stripped, dropping her clothes at her feet. She pinned her hair haphazardly atop

her head and stepped gingerly into the deep, claw-footed tub. A moan of satisfaction vibrated
inside her as the hot water and frothy bubbles enveloped her. After a hard day’s work there
was nothing in the world like a long, hot bubble bath. Today, like all Mondays, had been a
killer. Everybody wanted everything now on the first day of the work week. Free leaned back
against the smooth, porcelain surface and closed her eyes in ecstasy.

Slowly, she concentrated on relaxing her muscles. First, her tight, achy neck; next, the

tired, strained shoulder muscles. The tension and stress of the day dissolved as the warmth
eased her body. The neck-deep water caressed her skin like a lover’s touch. Free’s languid
thoughts drifted to that day in the Bower Street house when Mac had kissed her. The memory
of their first kiss in his kitchen joined the vivid mental pictures. A wave of desire tightened
her feminine core, creating another kind of heat inside her. The man could definitely kiss.

Free moaned softly again at the sensations stirred by the memories as she recalled

every passionate moment she had spent in Mac’s strong arms. Though they had nothing in
common, their bodies didn’t seem to notice. Free responded to Mac as she had to no other
man. He made her ache in places she had never ached before; he made her yearn for things
she had decided she would never need. His powerful, muscled body beckoned to her on a
very elemental level. She wanted nothing more than to spend a night locked in his arms
making long, slow love. Another wave of desire washed over her, making her breasts tingle.
And Mac’s desire for her on both occasions had been in abundance as well. It would have
been difficult to miss that hard ridge of male flesh pressing against her.

Free slid her right foot over the rim of the cool porcelain tub and focused inward on her

image of Mac’s perfectly sculpted body. She could just imagine touching that taut, tanned
skin, running her fingers over every plane and ridge. A smile tugged at her lips as she rubbed
her foot over the contrasting coldness of the faucet. Her toes played over the old, rough
spout. Her mind centered on Mac—Mac as hard as the steel beneath her sensitive toes, only
he was molten steel, hot and alive. She slipped her foot down to catch the warm water

dripping from the old, leaky spout. In the private theater of her mind, Free stood on tiptoe
and planted a kiss square on Mac’s lips. She thrust her tongue inside his mouth and tasted his
warm, unique flavor. Her tongue, thrusting and retreating, as her arms entwined around his
neck, her body begging to be taken by him. She kissed him harder, longer, and deeper. Her
soul needing to be one with his. And then his tongue thrust inside her mouth.

Free’s eyes popped open. She sat up straight in the tub and stared at her foot, her eyes

widening in horror. She tugged gently and panic seized her. Her big toe was stuck in the
spout. She tugged again, a little harder, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Oh, God.” Her heart thudded against her ribcage. She’d gotten carried away with all

that thrusting and retreating and…”Oh, God,” she repeated.

Free gripped the rim of the tub with both hands, bit down on her lower lip and pulled

her foot harder. Nothing happened. Fear coursed through her veins. Stuck. The cold steel
spout gripped her toe in an awkwardly bent angle. How could she have been so stupid? An
occasional droplet managed to slip around her toe, slid over the top of her foot and down
around the arch. Quickly she scanned the bathroom for anything that might aid her in
disengaging herself. Nothing. No telephone to call for help. No blowtorch to cut herself loose
—which is probably what it would take.

“Oh, God,” Free chanted once more. How would she ever get out of this mess, short of

summoning the fire department? Adrenaline surged, renewing her fear.

“Okay, okay, don’t panic,” she told herself. Emily or Alex would be coming home

anytime. Free hadn’t shut the bathroom door. If she yelled when she heard someone come
into the house they would definitely hear her. The front door was open, but she would hear
the screen door when it slammed. All she had to do now was relax and listen for one of her
housemates to arrive. And pray one of them came home before she shriveled into a human-
sized prune. Draining the water was not an option since it provided the only cover for her
naked body.

~*~

The knock that rattled the old screen door startled Free from the doze she had slipped

into. She jerked to attention, then shivered as her surroundings, cool water and all, pervaded
her consciousness. She had no way of knowing how long she had been in the water, but
judging by the throb in her toe and the temperature of the water, it had been awhile.

The screen door rattled again. Someone was at the door, but it wasn’t Alex or Emily—

they wouldn’t knock. Maybe Lance had forgotten something in her truck. Free shivered again
and decided she would just have to take her chances. She couldn’t risk spending any more
time in this predicament.

“Hello! Who’s there?” she shouted. Her bathroom was the second room on the left past

the staircase. Whoever stood on her porch at the moment would hear her. Free grimaced and
tried to support her cramping leg by propping the other one beneath it.

“It’s Mac.”
She cringed as the deep, masculine sound of his voice echoed down the hall. Damn!
Why couldn’t it have been anyone else? Damn!
The Girl Scouts selling cookies? Lance, Phil, anybody? Double damn!
She glanced down at herself and shivered again. At least the slowly dissolving bubbles

afforded her some protection. Just to be sure, she wiggled her foot from side to side and

tugged hard. It still didn’t budge. She swallowed her pride and did what she knew she had to.

“Mac, the door is open,” she called out. She moistened her lips and sucked in a

bolstering breath. “I need you to come in and help me. I’m stuck.”

“Stuck? What do you mean stuck?” His voice was louder now. Free could picture him

at the door, his face pressed to the screen.

“Please, just come inside and help me.” She closed her eyes. “You’ll see when you get

in here,” she muttered more to herself than to him.

She heard the creak of the screen door’s hinges and then the slap of wood against

wood. She told herself that she should be thankful, but somehow she couldn’t manage the
emotion. Mac’s footsteps thudded in the hall.

“Where are you?” he asked cautiously.
“Second door on the left.”
Free checked the bubble level once more, then gripped the sides of the tub as she

watched the doorway. This had to be the most humiliating experience of her life. Heat
climbed up her neck and spread across her cheeks in anticipation of the inevitable. Mac
McFerrin was about to see her naked, save for some strategic bubbles, with her toe stuck in a
faucet. She blanched at the cold, hard reality.

When he stopped in the doorway, his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in

surprise. He blinked twice and then looked again. Instantly he spun around, giving Free his
back.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. “I didn’t realize…damn,” he finished, the words almost too

low for her to hear. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “What exactly is the
problem?”

His tone sounded strained, with the effort of hiding his surprise, she supposed. After

all, how often did a man walk into a bathroom to find a naked woman—a stranger,
practically—in a tub demanding his assistance? “I’m stuck,” she groused, her humiliation
complete.

His hands went to his waist in that take-charge stance she’d seen him in on more than

one occasion. “You’re going to have to be a bit more specific. Exactly what part of you is
stuck?”

“My toe,” she murmured, tugging once more in a last-ditch effort to get loose. She

winced at the flash of pain that shot across he top of her foot and up her aching leg.

Mac turned around slowly, his gaze connecting with hers. “Your toe?” he echoed,

disbelief claimed his features.

Free nodded.
He smiled, then rubbed his jaw to hide his widening grin. “Your toe?” he repeated.
“That’s what I said. Are you deaf?”
Mac looked down and shook his head, obviously trying valiantly not to do or say

anything that would humiliate her further. Then it came. Real belly-busting, side-splitting
laughter rumbled from his throat.

Free’s eyes narrowed and she glared at him, too embarrassed to speak at this point. She

felt like a total idiot.

Mac licked his lips and drew in a big breath, then shrugged. “Okay,” he said, barely

suppressing his laughter, and stepped toward the tub. His gaze traveled from her face to the
only other part of her which protruded from the water. His brow knitted in puzzlement as he
opened his mouth.

Free cut him off. “Don’t ask,” she warned. “Just get me loose.”
A forced seriousness in his expression, Mac stroked his chin with the fingers of one

hand as if considering the best approach. “I’ll give it my best shot,” he finally said flatly.

Though he didn’t sound optimistic, she breathed a sigh of relief. The water was getting

colder by the minute, her bubbles were disappearing entirely too fast, and her skin felt tight
and wrinkled.

He took off his tailored suit jacket and hung it on the doorknob. Despite her current

circumstances, she noted again how oddly out of place his ponytail seemed. Silk shirts and
ties, elegantly tailored suits and long sexy hair. What a combination.

He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves, all the while keeping his gaze

focused on the faucet. She watched as he shoved aside her clothes and knelt next to the tub,
then hesitantly reached for her foot. She shivered when one big hand clasped her ankle and
the other closed around the arch of her foot. The warmth and slight roughness of his hands
made her tender flesh tingle. He tugged gently but her toe remained lodged inside the ancient
fixture. When he pulled harder, Free couldn’t stifle the gasp.

His gaze sought hers, concern clear in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
She shook her head and fought the sting of tears. “Of course I’m not okay. My toe is

stuck. I am freezing and my skin looks like I belong in a group with the California Raisins.”
She hated the way her voice climbed into a full-fledged whine, but she couldn’t help it. If
Mac couldn’t get her loose, crying would be the next indignity.

He surveyed the situation again and sighed. “Removing the spout is out of the

question.” He looked over his shoulder and scanned the old pedestal sink. “What we need,”
he began, his searching gaze roaming over the room, “is a lubricant and maybe some Q-
Tips.”

A lubricant? What did she have? Oh, yeah! “There’s something in the medicine

cabinet. It’s old, but it should work.”

Mac stood and opened the mirrored cabinet above the sink. “What am I looking for? A

bottle, a jar?”

“A tube, I think.” Free craned her neck to see each item he examined. “That’s it!” she

exclaimed when he picked up the old tube.

He twisted at the waist to look down at her, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “KY

Jelly?”

Heat flooded Free’s face. Why couldn’t it have been anything but that? Murphy’s Law,

she decided. “It’s not—never mind,” she muttered. Why bother explaining that the probably-
out-of-date product didn’t belong to her? “The Q-Tips should be there, too.”

A wry grin hitching up one side of his mouth, he turned back to the cabinet and located

the other item he needed. Free closed her eyes and exhaled in disgust. Why did crazy things
always happen to her whenever this man was around? It was as if fate had decided to throw
the two of them together in bizarre situations.

“I’ll need to drain some of this water.”
His raspy baritone snapped her out of her self-pity session. He was on his knees at the

side of the tub again. “What?”

“The water,” he repeated. “I need to drain some of the water.”
“No way!” She glared at him. The water and ever-diminishing bubbles were the only

things allowing her any shred of decency.

“The tub is so full that we’re going to make a hell of a mess if we don’t.”

“I don’t care. The water stays.”
He shrugged. “Whatever you say, it’s your bathroom.”
She shot him another heated glare and he promptly set to the task of using Q-Tips to

shove jelly into the spout around her toe. What if this didn’t work?

It had to work. She wasn’t about to involve anyone else in this fiasco. If Mac couldn’t

get her loose, she’d just stay here until she dissolved.

When he had injected as much lubricant as he deemed necessary, he grasped her foot

again and worked her toe back and forth. Water splashed over the edge of the tub. His
sleeves and shirt front were soaked, but he didn’t seem to notice. After adding more
lubricant, he wiggled her foot again, then repeated the process.

“You know,” he said, as he poked and prodded with the Q-Tip, “if you’d get rid of this

prehistoric faucet, you wouldn’t have to worry about this sort of thing.”

“This is a perfectly good faucet,” she protested. She loved the curving shape of it, she

didn’t want a new one. She just wouldn’t ever stick her toe in the spout again.

“I’ll bet it drips,” he countered.
“Lance works on it from time to time.”
Mac shot her a look. “Does he stop the drip?”
Free lifted her chin a notch. “Pretty much.”
He shook his handsome head. “That’s what I figured.”
Finally, her toe slipped out. She cried out in relief and cradled her foot in her hands and

inspected her reddened toe, then wiggled it and winced at the soreness. Immensely, grateful,
she lifted her gaze to Mac’s and for the first time noticed just how close he was. Close
enough that she could smell the intriguing scent of his cologne. Close enough to kiss his
gorgeous mouth. How could any man be so undeniably, irresistibly handsome?

“Thank you,” she managed rather breathlessly.
“You’re welcome,” he answered, just as breathlessly. That electric blue gaze was no

longer on hers, but had latched onto her mouth. His full lips parted just enough for him to
lick them, and the movement sent a spear of heat diving through her. Desire followed hot on
its heels.

She watched, mesmerized, as his gaze moved even lower. Down her throat, over the

slope of her shoulder, then lower still to the slowly dissolving bubbles that barely concealed
her breasts. His knuckles were as white as the porcelain rim he gripped.

“Would you hand me my robe, please?” she asked tentatively.
His gaze jerked back to hers, his pupils wide with desire. “Sure.” He pushed quickly to

his feet. “Where is it?” He glanced around, spotted it hanging on the back of the door and
carefully removed the old terry-cloth robe from its hook. He held it at arm’s length.

Free smiled as she reached for it. The knowledge that he didn’t trust himself to come

closer again made her feel a little giddy. He looked anywhere but at her now. A moment of
awkward silence passed before he had the presence of mind to turn his back. Her smile
widened at his uneasiness. Scorpios were reputedly hard to rattle, but Mac was definitely
rattled at the moment. But then, so was she.

Free stood, the cold water and remaining bubbles slipping down her naked body. Mac

visibly stiffened at the sound of water sloshing in the tub. She stepped onto the wet floor and
pulled on her robe, then tightened the sash at her waist. She touched his rigid shoulder and he
turned to face her.

“Oh, my,” she said when she saw how wet his clothes had gotten. “You need a towel.”

Free reached past him for a towel stacked on the antique dry sink she used for storage. She
offered the towel, but he made no move to take it. His eyes were fixed on her left shoulder,
the one bared by the carelessly donned robe.

She shrugged the robe into place and produced an apologetic smile. “You’re all wet,”

she reminded him as she held the towel against his damp chest. His white silk shirt had
become transparent, clinging to every contour of his awesome chest. Free knotted her hand in
the fluffy towel to prevent the natural impulse to more closely examine that muscled terrain.

“It’s okay,” he said hoarsely. “I should go.” He started to back up before the words

were out of his mouth. “I have work to do and—” The doorframe stopped him. He banged
hard against it.

Free winced in sympathy. “Thanks again for rescuing me.” She hugged the towel and

followed his backward movement through the doorway.

Mac paused, then swallowed, his throat work extra hard with effort. “It was no big

deal.” He shrugged stiffly. “You’re…you’re welcome.”

Not quite allowing herself to act out her earlier fantasy for fear of losing control, she

tiptoed and placed a light kiss on his tense jaw. It was during that brief moment when she
pulled away, that almost imperceptible pause, that she realized just how much she wanted
this man. The pull of attraction was so strong, so overwhelming that it took every ounce of
restraint she could muster not to press her lips to his. He stood absolutely still, waiting to see
what she would do next, she assumed. His eyes never left hers.

Free couldn’t turn away. She was blind with desire, crazy with passion, hot with need.

Even if Mac McFerrin was all wrong for her. They were too different. And he was, in effect,
her boss. She knew business and pleasure didn’t mix. The only thing they could possibly
hope to have together was a casual affair and Free didn’t do casual affairs.

Mac lowered his head, his lips tempting hers. His warm breath tantalizing her mouth.

This will never work! She screamed silently. Electricity zipped through her when his firm
lips brushed hers. She jerked back before he swept her into that whirlwind of sensation.

“I’ll get your jacket.” Free spun around and propelled herself in the direction of the

bathroom. She dropped the towel and grabbed his jacket. She had to get him out of here
before she did something truly stupid. Somehow he had regained his own control during her
brief absence. He accepted the jacket and hurried toward the front door. Free followed, still
dizzy from the close encounter of the too intense kind.

Once outside on the porch, he paused and turned back to her. “I almost forgot. We had

to do some rescheduling. Demolition of the Chenille Street project had been moved up to
next Monday.”

Free felt her eyes go round in disbelief. He couldn’t do that! She rubbed at the frown

creasing her forehead. Of course he could do it, she reminded herself. Mac was the boss.

Sarge! She had to get word to Sarge.
“Is that a problem?” he asked when she made no response.
“No,” she lied. “Lance and I will adjust our schedules.”
He nodded. “Good.” Without looking at her again, he strode away.
Good, he’s said. Free could think of a great many ways to describe that announcement,

but good wasn’t one of them.

Chapter Five

At half past nine on Tuesday night, Free paced her crowded parlor waiting for Alex’s

return. From his position against the doorjamb, Lance cracked his knuckles, punctuating the
murmuring from the Chenille Street Preservation Committee. Free shot Lance an annoyed
look. He shrugged and ran a hand over his close-cropped hair. Free felt immediately contrite
for taking her frustration out on Lance, but tension had frazzled her nerves.

Sarge and two of his friends were huddled with the group. Their perpetual murmuring

and frequent glances at her added to Free’s escalating uneasiness.

She desperately hoped she was doing the right thing. The way she saw it, Mac hadn’t

really left her much choice. His revelation last evening that he intended to move up the
demolition date by more than a month had put things under a serious time crunch. Since the
Chenille Street residents wanted so fiercely to save at least one house, Free had assumed that
they had control of the situation, but historical status had been denied.

Mac could tear down the house and build a new, modern structure at will. Why

wouldn’t he work with what was already there? The house was structurally sound, and plenty
large enough to turn into medical offices. He could renovate the grand old home into a state-
of- the-art clinic while maintaining the neighborhood’s antebellum atmosphere.

But no. Mac wanted to destroy the past one house at a time. Free shuddered. If only she

could make him feel just a little of her love for history, for life in general. Hadn’t the man
ever heard of stopping to smell the roses?

What was she thinking? Mac didn’t seem to care much about the here and now. Why

on earth would she expect him to have any attachment to the past? The man seemed to be
rootless, and maybe even heartless.

She shook her head. She wouldn’t believe that. Instantly she chastised herself. Why not

believe it? Just because the man was sexy didn’t mean he had a heart in that sense of the
word. She tossed her hair over her shoulders and retraced her path across the room. None of
this felt right.

“I’ve got it!” Alex announced as she breezed in, all eyes focused on her willowy form

as she strode toward Free.

Free moistened her lips and drew in a deep breath. “Will it provide us with the right

opportunity?”

“Do bears sh—”
“Alex!” Emily exclaimed from amid the group of preservationists. She glowered at

Alex in a spiritually superior manner. “These are respectable people,” she said primly, as if
her housemates weren’t.

Alex rolled her eyes and sighed. She crossed her arms over her chest and focused on

Free. “McFerrin has a meeting with the investors for the Chenille Street project on Friday at
ten a.m.” She surveyed the assembled group much the way she would a jury, pausing for
added emphasis, and then continued. “I thought I noticed his name on Jake’s calendar, so I
checked to be sure. The meeting will be held in the executive conference room on the sixth
floor across the hall from Mac’s office.”

“Okay.” Free met Alex’s triumphant gaze with more than a little uncertainty. “Do you

have a plan?”

Alex’s eyes narrowed, adding to Free’s tension. She turned back to the group when she

spoke. “If you’re serious about putting a stop to the demolition, then you may have only one

opportunity and that’s at the meeting on Friday. If you can convince his investors that your
plan is better than the one McFerrin Enterprises is offering, you might have a chance.”

“And how do we get into this meeting without getting thrown out of the building first?”

Free shifted restlessly. She had a very bad feeling about what Alex might have in mind.

Alex smiled, one of those sharkish, barely-a-cut-above-sinister kinds of smiles. “We’ll

need a distraction.” She turned to Mr. Towery, who was hovering over the coffee table he
had pulled his chair next to. “Mr. Towery, are your plans in order?”

The elderly man tapped the blueprints spread out on the table and nodded. “All I need

are cost projections.”

Alex nodded. “I have a friend who’s in construction. I’ll ask him to crunch those

numbers with you.” She scanned the group once more, then braced her hands on her hips
with a dramatic flourish. “What makes sense to you or looks like the right thing to do won’t
be enough. You have to present a cost-effective plan that will appeal to the needs of these
people, i.e., will it be profitable?”

Free watched as Alex moved to Mr. Towery’s side. She hoped he could deal with the

pressure—after all, he was eighty-five. During the 1940s, Towery had been considered one
of the southeast’s most prominent architects, and today he lived in one of the lovely
antebellum homes on Chenille Street. From the moment the plans to build a new medical
center in his neighborhood had been announced, Towery had worked with the Historical
Society as well as with McFerrin Enterprises to try and come up with a feasible alternative
that would leave the ambiance of the street intact. But his efforts thus far had been futile.

Free frowned as the full impact of Alex’s response to her question hit her. “What do

you mean we’ll need a distraction?”

Alex straightened from her perusal of Towery’s work. “Mac and Jake will be in that

meeting. We won’t be able to accomplish anything while those two are in there.” She re-
crossed her arms and seemed to consider the problem for a time. “I can distract Jake,” she
announced, leveling her gaze on Free’s. “But you’ll have to take care of Mac. Once we have
those two out of the way, Mr. Towery and company” she waved her upturned palm to
indicate the assembled group “will take over.”

Free tensed. She liked the sound of this less and less. “And just how am I supposed to

distract him?”

Alex’s knowing smile made Free cringe. “Oh, we’ll think of something, sweetie.” She

tapped her forearm with one long, perfectly manicured nail. “I have a feeling that where
you’re concerned, Mac the Magnolia Murderer is easily distracted.”

~*~

Free slumped on the cushioned window seat and stared out at the steady drizzle. Its

sweet, cleaning scent drifted into the room, and mingled with the lingering smells of freshly
baked chocolate cake. Chocolate relaxed her, and right now she desperately needed to relax.
After an evening of conspiracy against her unsuspecting neighbor, she felt stressed to the
max.

She sighed in an effort to release some of the tension and watched the occasional fat

raindrop splat against the window ledge. The rain would be a tremendous relief to farmers
and gardeners alike, but it only added to her depressed mood. This entire scheme to save the
Chenille Street house had put her in an awkward position. Free had committed herself to

preserving as much of the past as possible, but her main concern was always for the people.
And in this instance the people wanted the house to remain. But Mac had his own agenda…
and investors he had to answer to.

What a mess. She felt torn. Part of her yearned to make this right, but part of her

wanted nothing to do with anything that might hurt Mac.

If only he hadn’t moved next door to her. She would never have known him, would

never have come to care about him. Free stilled. Did she care about Mac?

Yes. She did. She couldn’t help herself.
The old grandfather clock counted the hour as midnight. Oscar lifted his head from his

post under the kitchen table and peered at Free with big sad eyes. She chuckled, the sound
lost to the low, rhythmic pulse of the music wafting from the radio.

Why did life have to be so unsettling sometimes? She had thought that hers had

reached an even keel these days. After years of struggling to survive, the last four had been
happy. Except for Thomas’s death, of course.

Free pulled her knees to her chest and rested her chin on top of them. Thomas Styles

had been so good to her. How had she been lucky enough to find someone like him? Emily
would call it Divine intervention. All Free knew was that Thomas had come along in the nick
of time and managed to save her. To say she had hit bottom would be an understatement.
Thomas had given her a real home and the chance she needed to have a real life.

Free had escaped foster care and gone out on her own at the ripe old age of sixteen. She

had worked at odd jobs, some odder than others, everything from dog-sitting to being a
human billboard, to make her way. Never had she allowed anyone to take care of her. You
had to trust to do that, and Free hadn’t trusted anyone. Between her pathetic excuse for a
mother and half a dozen common-law stepfathers, Free had learned early on not to trust.

Unfortunately for her, she had been blessed—or cursed, depending on the way you

looked at it—with a big heart. Even when things couldn’t have gotten worse for her, Free
wouldn’t turn away anyone in need. It was her one fatal flaw. She would part with her last
dime for a friend and champion the underdog to her own detriment.

She had unwittingly stumbled into a life of crime by the time Thomas had come along.

She shuddered at the unsavory memories. Twice she had been in the wrong place at the
wrong time, helping a friend in need, and gotten busted for solicitation. Police weren’t
interested in whether she was guilty or not, only that she was with two known prostitutes. At
least she had been of legal age by then and hadn’t been thrown back into the foster care
system.

But she would never forget the hurt and humiliation of being thrown into jail for

something she hadn’t done. And being treated like a lesser life form—that was the worst.

The third time, when Free had taken a beating intended for her friend, Liza, Phil Gerard

had been the arresting officer. It seemed Liza’s pimp didn’t like the idea of one of his ladies
getting pregnant. If Free hadn’t stepped in, Liza would have certainly lost her baby after such
a beating. Free had spent two days in the hospital with a concussion as a result. That time
when she got arrested, it wasn’t for solicitation, it was for assault. Liza’s pimp had pressed
charges against Free! It still didn’t make sense to her. One minor detail had proven
satisfying, however. The pimp had done time in the hospital as well, with a broken jaw and
cracked ribs. Free hadn’t wielded the baseball bat, Liza had, but Free never told.

She shook off her bad memories. She had survived. And after that Liza had gone

straight and raised a beautiful baby girl. Phil had taken Free under his wing and introduced

her to Thomas Styles, who became her court-appointed attorney.

Thomas had given Free a new life. He taught her to take the time to smell the roses. To

appreciate life. That appreciation and understanding of just how precious life really is had
changed everything for her. Most importantly, he taught her to trust someone besides herself.
She had trusted Thomas completely, and he had given her everything he had to give.

Free released another beleaguered sigh. If only she could teach that to Mac. But he had

to want to change to learn. And by all accounts Mac McFerrin had no desire to change. He
had no intention of trusting whatever heart he had to anyone or anything but work.

The tempo of the music emanating from the FM station shifted, and a sultry, jazzy tune

throbbed from the speakers. Free’s body reacted instantly. She felt herself swaying subtly
with the sensual rhythm. Her mind began to clear, allowing the music inside, pushing away
everything else.

She stood and stretched languidly. The music tugged at her, teasing, inviting her to

dance. She smiled. She hadn’t danced in a very long time. Therapy. Dancing is good therapy,
that’s what Mrs. Lassiter had always said. Free smiled again as she recalled the beautiful,
precise moves the fragile old lady had taught her. Loretta Lassiter had learned to dance in a
school in Paris.

Paris. Free probably wouldn’t ever make it to Paris, but she could close her eyes and

envision all the vivid details her elderly neighbor had shared with her. And she could forget.
Right now she really wanted to forget. To forget Mac and how he made her feel. To forget
Alex’s plan.

Free closed her eyes and allowed the music to move her, to take her away. Slowly her

muscles relaxed and swayed with every beat, every ebb and flow of the tempo. And then, all
else disappeared.

~*~

Mac sat in the near darkness on the steps of his back stoop. The gentle pattering if rain

combined with the jazz tune drifting from Free’s open windows relaxed him. He closed his
eyes and rested his head against the railing. He hadn’t taken the time to just sit back and
unwind in a long time. His routine consisted of working until he exhausted himself and then
falling asleep, sometimes on top of his work.

Maybe John was right. Maybe he did work too hard. Maybe he needed a break. But

what would he do?

Instantly, the image of Free Renzetti popped into his head. That luscious mane of hair

falling around her shoulders, all silk and curls. And, God, that body. Of course he hadn’t seen
that much of her body. Between those long flowing skirts and baggy overalls, she managed
to keep everything pretty much covered. But Mac knew she was voluptuous beneath all that
cloth. If he’d had any doubts, yesterday’s little bubble bath episode had cleared them up.
Though the bubbles had kept him from admiring certain areas of interest, her gently rounded
curves had been obvious.

Free was all woman. Soft and sexy. And Mac wanted her more than he had ever

wanted anyone in his life. His body tightened just thinking about her. And she seemed so
innocent about the real ways of the world. Mac smiled, an unfamiliar sensation. Sexy,
innocent, and gorgeous as hell. What a rare combination.

She might not be innocent, sexually speaking, but she definitely looked at life through

rose-colored glasses with a naïveté that made him wince. Free thought the world was still
worth saving. She trusted so completely, automatically assuming that there would be
goodness in all. A girl with a dream of saving the world and maybe going to Paris. So sweet
and so giving, she made him ache to take what she offered.

But there was no sweetness in him. Mac’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t give anything.

He had business associates, he didn’t need friends. He had money, he didn’t need family.
And she as hell didn’t need some gypsy turning him inside out.

Mac didn’t care what John or Jake recommended, he intended to stay clear of

emotional entanglements in general—one with Free Renzetti in particular.

The screen door on the back of Free’s house slammed and Mac’s gaze darted in that

direction. Free, wearing a log, billowy white dress, drifted outside. She paused on her bottom
step and lifted her face to the rain. Her eyes closed as she seemed to relish the feel of the cool
moisture against her skin.

Striking a pose that took his breath away, Free waited a beat and then glided across the

wet grass like a graceful ballerina, moving precisely with the rhythm of the music. Every
muscle in Mac’s body hardened as he watched her slow flowing movements. She whirled
around the yard, seemingly weightless and completely oblivious to his presence.

The bright glow from her kitchen windows and doors reached into the darkness like

spotlights, highlighting her sensuous movements. Her dress, dampened by the drizzle,
became sheer and gauzy. The moisture evaporated from Mac’s mouth as he watched the play
of light over her lithe body.

When the final notes of the melody floated through the air, Free slowed to a perfectly-

poised conclusion. Unable to stop himself, he stood and applauded. She whirled around to
face him, all that amazing hair clinging to her shoulders and breasts.

Mac couldn’t hold back his smile at her surprised expression. “Breathtaking, Ms.

Renzetti.” He gave her one more round of enthusiastic applause. “Absolutely breathtaking.
You missed your calling, you should have been a dancer.”

Free approached him purposefully, her hands resting at her waist. “I don’t usually

perform for an audience, but I’m glad you enjoyed it, Mr. McFerrin.”

Never in his life had Mac seen a woman so utterly sexy. Wanting to be closer to her, he

moved down one step. “Oh, I enjoyed it all right.” Another step disappeared between them,
and he watched as she moved closer. “Maybe not as much as yesterday’s bubble bath, but I
definitely enjoyed it.” His smile widened into a grin when her cheeks flushed. He took the
final step down, then asked, “Do you always dance in the rain?”

“Don’t you?” she returned.
Free stood right in front of him now. The cool rain pelted his bare chest and back, the

wet grass spiked between his toes, but Mac didn’t care. His gaze was glued to the translucent
material clinging to Free’s breasts. Her dusky nipples strained against the thin, damp fabric.

When he found his voice, he stammered, “I…ah…no, I’ve never danced in the rain.”

His gaze lifted to hers, she smiled, and his gut twisted with need.

“Well,” she reached for his hand “there’s no time like the present.” Free tugged him

toward the center of the yard just as a slow, sultry melody flowed from the depths of her
kitchen.

Mac stiffened, halting her progress. “I’m not much of a dancer.” He couldn’t remember

the last time he had danced. He wasn’t sure if it had even been in the current decade.

“It’s not that hard,” she insisted, tugging him forward one more step.

“Maybe not for you,” Mac muttered, but things were pretty damned hard from his

prospective.

“Nonsense.” Free moved closer to him. “It’s easy. You just put one hand here.” She

placed his right hand on her left hip. “And the other one here.” Her arms went around his
neck and her chin against his chest.

Mac’s pulse kicked into overdrive. She must have heard his ragged exhale. “Just

relax,” she told him. “Close your eyes and let the music guide you.”

Free moved in his arms, her body swaying gently to the music. Mac inhaled the fresh

scent of her rain-dampened hair, closed his eyes and followed her slow, sensual movements.
She wasn’t quite as relaxed as she led him to believe, though…her body trembled slightly in
his arms. Automatically, his arms tightened around her waist, drawing her nearer. Her breasts
flattened against his chest, making his breath catch. Need welled inside him with such force
that he wasn’t sure he could contain it. He ached with longing. Desire pumped heat through
his veins.

Her lips accidentally brushed his throat. Free tensed, an almost imperceptible

tightening, but Mac felt it. His eyes popped open and he bit back a desperate groan. How
long had it been? Too long, obviously. That had to be the explanation. He had simply waited
too long for sex. It couldn’t be anything else. Couldn’t be.

The next touch of her lips was no accident. Free took her time, planting lingering kisses

all along his throat. Mac squeezed his eyes shut and fought the impulse to drag her to the
ground and take her right there in the rain.

Unable to live another moment without responding, he nuzzled the crook of her neck,

tasted the shell of her ear. “Do you know what you’re doing to me?”

She drew back and looked into his eyes. “I’m sorry…I couldn’t help myself.” She

looked as surprised by her actions as he felt. That startled innocence pulled at something
deep inside him.

Mac made his decision right then and there, staring into her eyes with the rain falling

around them. “Don’t be sorry,” he whispered as he took her mouth with his own. “Don’t ever
be sorry.” He breathed the words against her mouth, then tugged on her lower lip with his
teeth. He swept his tongue over that sensitive area behind her lip, teasing, seeking access.
She opened and he dipped inside. Her arms tightened around his neck, and pressed her body
against him. He slid his hands over her bottom and pulled her against him. She moaned, then
stroked his tongue with her own. Her body felt firm and hot beneath the damp dress. He
wanted her out of it, to feel her skin melding with his.

“I want to take you inside,” he murmured.
Her eyes met his, that deep blue glittering with desire, rain slipping down her cheeks.

She nodded her approval.

He took her hand in his and they dashed across the yard. Her laughter echoed through

the night and his heart skipped a beat. How could anything sound that wonderful? He wanted
to hear her laugh again and again. They bounded onto the stoop, but he couldn’t wait until he
got her inside. He whirled her around and pressed her against the door, covering her mouth
with his. His hands were frantic now, searching, touching, learning her body. Free matched
his frenzy. She kissed him hard, touched him everywhere.

“Inside…we have to go inside,” she managed to say between kisses, her breath as

ragged as his.

Mac wrapped one arm around her waist and lifted her against him. He opened the

screen door and walked into his dimly lit kitchen, without ending the kiss. He pressed her
into the wall and intensified his assault. He wanted to be inside her. He thrust harder into her
mouth and ground his hips into hers.

“Not here, not like this,” she protested, her words hardly a whisper.
“Okay,” he rasped, clutching her to him once more and moving away from the wall.

His wet feet slipped on the slick tile. “Whoa!” Mac grabbed back his balance and steadied
himself. She didn’t seem to notice or care; she just kept kissing him—his face, his throat, his
chest.

He caressed her bottom, pressing her against him. Groaning her need, she wrapped her

legs around his waist and squeezed. Desire roared through him. He wouldn’t make it to the
bedroom. Maybe the parlor. He could make it to the parlor.

He stumbled into the parlor, bounced off a chair, Free’s tongue dueling with his in a

mind-numbing kiss. Staggering and crazy with want, he made it to the sofa and stumbled
onto it, Free still wrapped around him.

He had to touch her breasts. Now. His fingers twisted and tugged at the material, trying

desperately to undo the long row of tiny pearl buttons gracing the front of her dress. Her
fingers buried in his hair, she nipped at his chin, traced his lips with her tongue. Mac
alternately kissed her and struggled with the buttons. He couldn’t decide which he wanted
more, to kiss her or to feel her skin burning into his. When she arched against him, Mac lost
it completely. He cursed and abandoned the buttons. He covered one, rosy peak with his
mouth, sucking it through the gauzy fabric.

Free screamed her pleasure, the sound almost pushing him over the edge. Her hands

were all over him now, fumbling with his snap, then the zipper. His mouth latched onto the
other breast, teasing the nipple between his teeth. Her body bowed against his, the sudden
movement throwing him off balance. Desperately Mac clutched at the sofa, but it was too
late. He pitched over the edge, Free in tow. Mac slammed against the floor on his back, her
slight weight and the impact forcing the wind from his lungs.

“Are you all right?” Free asked raggedly, staring down at him from her perch astride

his hips, her eyes glazed with need.

“I’m fine,” he managed, then rolled her onto her back, putting him in the dominant

position once more. “We just have to get this dress off you before I lose my mind.” The wet
material just didn’t want to cooperate.

Free quickly joined his frantic efforts to release the buttons. The difficulty of the task

only intensified their desire. Mac growled in frustration when a button popped off instead of
releasing. Free’s hands suddenly stilled. Her beautiful blue gaze locked on his.

“Do you have protection?” she blurted out.
Protection? He swore. Of course he didn’t have any protection; he hadn’t expected to

need any during his short stay in Alabama. He rose up on one elbow and plowed a hand
through his hair. “No,” he muttered, hating to have to admit it and fearing her reaction even
more.

She sat up too quickly and their heads banged together. Free yelped, Mac cursed. When

he lifted his weight to one side to rub his aching head, she wiggled from beneath him and
scurried out of his reach.

“Wait!” He crawled on all fours to where she sat wrestling to close the buttons they had

worked so hard to undo. “I can go to the store…five minutes. I can be back in five minutes,”
he said in a rush. He cursed himself mentally for the pleading tone in his voice. He hadn’t

begged a woman since—hell, he couldn’t remember ever begging. But his need for this
woman was a palpable force, a desperate ache in his loins.

She scooted out of his reach again and struggled to her feet. “This wasn’t a good idea,”

she said, her voice unsteady. Her hands shook when she pushed her damp hair back. The
sheer dress lay plastered to her amazing body. The body he wanted to possess more than he
wanted to take his next breath.

“I should go, before we do something we’ll regret,” she added as she backed up a step.
Mac got to his feet, his whole body throbbing with unsated need. He reached out to her,

but she dodged his touch. “I thought you wanted this as much as I did.” He let his hand fall
back to his side. “I know you did,” he told her, leveling his gaze on hers.

Free licked her lips nervously and averted her gaze. “I…I didn’t mean to get so carried

away.” She gestured vaguely. “I don’t…don’t usually behave this way.” She lifted her eyes
to his again and they were suspiciously bright. “The truth is I don’t do casual sex.” She
swallowed tightly and sucked in a ragged breath, then muttered, “I’m sorry.”

Casual sex. That’s what this was. They didn’t really know each other and hadn’t even

been on a date.

Mac felt like pond scum. Lower than pond scum. Had he seduced Free? Hell, he

thought she seduced him. He passed a hand over his face and then through his tousled hair. “I
guess we both got a little carried away.” In a pathetic effort to redeem himself, he gave her
his best attempt at a smile.

Free nodded adamantly. “You’re right. Absolutely right.” She backed away two more

steps. “We should take things a little slower. You know—” she stumbled over a chair, barely
catching herself in her haste. Smiling self-consciously, she eased around the obstacle and
continued toward the door, apparently afraid to turn her back on him for fear he might grab
her from behind. “We could start with a date instead of—” The doorjamb halted her retreat
this time. Mac grimaced at the sound of her impact with the hard wooden surface.

Free rubbed her head and winced. “We shouldn’t…” Her voice trailed off as Mac

swiftly closed the distance between them. All wet and disheveled she looked much too
desirable.

Mac took her arm and turned her around. “Let’s try it this way.” Reluctantly, she

allowed him to guide her back to the kitchen and out the door.

Silently, they crossed the yard and paused at her steps. The rain had stopped and the

moon shone brightly on the glistening leaves of the trees and shrubbery.

“I’m sorry, Mac,” she said softly, then stared at the ground.
He lifted her chin and smiled at her, her breath caught and his heart stumbled at the

sound. “I’m not.” He lowered his head and kissed her gently.

Her eyes stayed closed for a long moment after he ended the kiss. His body tightened

all over again at the vulnerability he saw on her sweet face. When her eyes fluttered open,
something inside him shifted and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk away.

“Mac, would you spend the day with me tomorrow?”
He blinked once, twice, then stared at her. “Spend the day with you?” he echoed. It

wasn’t exactly the invitation he’d hoped to hear, but at least she wanted to be with him again.

“You work so hard all the time—you deserve a day off. I’d love to show you some of

my favorite leisure activities,” she said quickly, as if she feared losing her nerve at any
moment.

“I have a lot of work to do, people depending on me,” he protested halfheartedly.

“You employ competent people who know their jobs. Surely they can get by without

you for one day,” she insisted.

“I’m not sure I can do that,” he argued without conviction. He wanted to. Oh, he

definitely wanted to, but he couldn’t. It wasn’t the way he did things.

“You’re the boss. Of course you can!”
If he hadn’t allowed himself to look into her eyes one last time, he could have said no.

The word was on the tip of his tongue. But he looked. And those big blue eyes had melted
whatever willpower he had. He couldn’t say no. If his life had depended upon it, he couldn’t
have said no.

“All right,” he croaked. “I’ll spend the day with you tomorrow.”
Free smiled widely, then tiptoed to press a chaste kiss on his lips. Before he could react

she had disappeared into her house.

Mac stood there for a long moment, dazed. What had he done? He had never taken a

day off from work to spend with a woman.

Never.
But this gypsy had cast her spell and he was helpless against it. For the first time in his

adult life, he felt completely at the mercy of another person.

And he didn’t like it.
He didn’t like it at all.

Chapter Six

Mac crammed his hard hat on his head and drew in a deep, resolute breath. This was

the right thing to do. Spending the day with Free was not. Was not, he repeated.

He had beaten himself up all night over his moment of weakness. He could not, would

not go down that road. Jake was wrong; Mac didn’t need to have her. She made him feel too
much.

She made him want too much.
Mostly she confused him.
Mac slipped his cell phone into his shirt pocket, then grabbed his rolled-up blueprints

and headed for the door. He did not want to want the things Free Renzetti made him want.

No. No. Absolutely not.
He could call her later in the morning and tell her that something had come up. It

wasn’t that big a deal anyway. After all, it wasn’t even technically a date.

Date. Mac grimaced.
He had to get out of here. He opened the door and pushed out into the bright morning

sun. The only reminders of last nights’ rain showers were a small puddle on the sidewalk and
a thousand glittering droplets on the leaves and grass. Had her dancing in the dark, in the
rain, been a dream? Free had glided around the yard as if on air. The rain had plastered the
thin white dress to her body. No, it had been real.

Too damn real.
He didn’t need that kind of distraction.
Mac clenched his jaw. The business was all he needed. It was all he had ever needed.

He had learned at a very young age to focus on one goal and one goal only, survival. Work

equaled survival in his book. He had to work. Work defined him.

An engine cranked and then sputtered to life. Mac looked up just in time to see Free

turning her truck around and heading in his direction. He muttered two oaths and then
clenched his jaw. Why couldn’t he have gotten on the road before she came out?

“Good morning,” she said, all smiles.
“Morning,” he managed.
Free bounded out of the truck, her long blue skirt flowing to cover everything to mid-

calf. A shiny silver bracelet encompassed one delicate ankle. And barefoot! Did the woman
ever wear shoes? He suddenly pictured her barefoot and round with child. He jerked, wide-
eyed and shaken to the core. Damn. This woman made him think about things he didn’t want
to think about.

“Perfect,” she said after examining him from head to toe. “But” she reached up and

snatched off his protective headgear “the hardhat is overkill.”

Before he could protest, she had seized the blueprints from his hand and confiscated

the cell phone from his pocket, then added, “You won’t need these either.” She left him,
mouth gaping, and returned the necessities of his life to his back door.

“Let’s go,” she enthused as she swept around the corner of the house.
Mac found his voice. “Wait a minute. I can’t go,” he said tersely, steeling himself for

her protests.

She smiled, Mac’s stomach clenched. “Don’t be silly. Of course you can go.” She

looked up at him with those gorgeous baby blues. “You said you would.”

Mac let go a frustrated breath. This was hopeless. How could he say no? But how could

he go? It was crazy. He shouldn’t have agreed to this. “I know I said I would, but—”

“Not buts, Mac,” she interrupted, her tone final. “A promise is a promise.”
A promise. Mac closed his eyes for a second to collect his crumbling resolve. He didn’t

make promises; he negotiated agreements, proposals, contracts, but he absolutely did not do
promises.

Free didn’t wait for him to answer; she stepped around the hood of the truck and

opened the driver’s side door.

Feeling like he’d just been hit by a train, Mac yanked the passenger-side door open too

quickly and whacked himself in the head. Stifling a dozen scorching expletives, he rubbed
his forehead and slid into the dilapidated old truck. The ache in his head pounded in time
with the waves of irritation at his own stupidity washing over him. He would regret this, he
knew he would. But for the life of him, he just couldn’t say no.

Mac had built a career on being tough. On making the buck-stops-here decisions no

one else wanted to make. He was ruthless in business. He could probably look the president
himself on the eye and deny him any request. But he couldn’t say no to one sexy gypsy.

He was doomed.
He turned to ask Free where exactly she planned to take him. He found himself eyeball

to eyeball with Oscar, Free’s overly friendly Lab. The beast gave him a big, sloppy kiss from
chin to forehead, then promptly settled his head on Mac’s lap.

“Oscar, you behave,” Free scolded and buckled her seat belt. “Buckle up, Mac,” she

added, giving him a melting smile.

Oscar lifted his head and gazed at her for abut two seconds before reclaiming his

chosen spot. Mac tried to shift from his reach, but the door stopped him.

“Sorry. He’s still a puppy.” Free shrugged, then shifted into gear and pulled out of the

driveway.

Biting back another expletive, Mac wiped his damp jaw on his shirt sleeve. No dog this

big could be considered a puppy, he argued silently as he snapped the old seat belt into place.
He shot the animal a disgusted look and then stared at Free. Without preamble, his body
tightened. Gold and brown tendrils curled around her face, silky curls cascaded over her
shoulders. Her profile was soft and irresistibly appealing.

Mac’s gaze roamed down her bare forearm, then bounced back up to her firm breasts.

The matching blue tank top she wore didn’t dip low enough for cleavage display, but it clung
to her shape like a second skin. The woman never wore a bra, apparently. His heart rate
accelerated and his throat tightened with yearning. Those tight buds straining against her
blouse taunted him. How would he love to taste that sensitive flesh and tease those perky
nipples with his teeth—this time, mouth to naked flesh.

He could still vividly recall the subtle scent of roses that lingered on her skin. How

could she know how much that particular fragrance appealed to him? Mac swallowed hard
and averted his gaze. He shifted restlessly in his seat, his jeans suddenly too tight. Oscar
looked up in obvious irritation.

Mac glared at the animal, willing him to move, but he merely dropped his big head

back into Mac’s lap. Mac promptly moved the dog’s head aside, angled himself away from
the beast and then propped his elbow on the open window.

The landscape changed from city streets to country roads in a few short minutes. Free

described in detail anything he deemed worthy of mention, which amounted to most
everything they passed. Mac tried to ignore her enthusiastic chatter, but her animated features
made it impossible.

He was mesmerized.
Every gesture, every look, every smile drew him. Lost in an intimate world of their

own, nothing else mattered.

Free turned onto an old dirt road that resembled a wagon trail more than an actual road.

Oscar leaned first one way and then the other to regain his balance as they bounced over the
rutted passage. Finally, Free stopped at a gate that crossed their path.

Mac squinted at the sign posted on the gate.
No trespassing?
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked when Free opened her door to

get out. He looked at her and then their heavily wooded environment, concern creasing his
brow. This was backwoods Alabama, where folks shot people for trespassing.

“It’s okay. I come here all the time,” she assured him before trotting off to open the

gate.

Mac rolled his eyes. That certainly wasn’t any comfort. She hopped back in and drove

the truck through the open gate and then jumped back out to close it. There had to be a reason
for the gate, and the fence, he thought, after taking another long look around. Cattle, maybe?
He scanned the woods again. No, probably not cattle.

Oscar solemnly surveyed the situation. Dogs, then, Mac decided. No, there wasn’t any

barking. Couldn’t be dogs—dogs barked.

Uneasiness slid through him and he found himself asking, “Are you sure it’s okay to be

here?”

“Positive,” she said with a wide smile.
Mac shrugged off the niggling uneasiness and rested his arm across the back of the

seat. Two inches, he realized with a secret smile. If he leaned in her direction just two inches,
his fingertips would make contact with those silky strands. His breathing changed in
anticipation of how it would feel to touch Free again. Oscar abruptly turned and stuck his
cold nose to Mac’s jaw.

Damn. Between this mutt and his wayward thoughts, Mac felt ready to explode.
Free stopped the truck in a wide clearing that cut into the woods on either side of a

meandering stream. The canopy of trees above them had parted, allowing the sun to sparkle
on the reflective water.

The uneasy feeling returned, but it had nothing to do with no trespassing signs and

everything to do with being out of his element. Mac didn’t enjoy nature much—or hiking or
bird-watching or any of that other environmentally correct stuff.

He needed commercial carpet under his feet, fluorescent lights glowing overhead, and

the smell of ink on his fingers.

“Out, boy,” Free commanded.
Mac jerked to face her, then realized she’d been speaking to Oscar. He exhaled and got

out. He could do this. It didn’t take camouflage pants, tobacco in his lip, and a buzz cut to be
an outdoors kind of guy. Common sense, that’s all he needed; nature would take care of the
rest.

“Grab that basket and blanket,” Free told him. She reached into the bed of the truck and

brought out what he recognized as two fishing poles and a bucket. “The stream runs into a
large pocket of water not too far from here. The fishing is usually pretty good this time of
year.”

“Okay,” Mac replied and did as she had asked. The basket weighed a ton. That was a

good sign, since lunch would be in the basket. And since he hadn’t eaten breakfast, he was
very interested in lunch. He hefted the goods and started after Free. Oscar followed, stopping
frequently to investigate his surroundings.

Yeah, Mac decided, this would be a piece of cake. Heck, when you got right down to it,

a guy could do anything he set his mind to.

~*~

Mac couldn’t do anything.
Free sighed as she watched him try again to bait his hook. She had done it for him the

last two times he’d lost his bait. The man had never been fishing. For the love of Mike, what
father didn’t take his son fishing at least once in his life? She shook her head.

“You know,” she began, distracting him from his intense concentration on the hook. “I

think I’d like to take a walk now.”

Mac frowned. “What about the fish?”
She had to bite her lip to prevent pointing out that he’d made so much noise and

plopped his line in and out of the water so many times that he’d scared away any self-
respecting fish within a mile. But she didn’t. Instead, she said, “They’re not biting.”

She stripped the bait from her hook, wrapped the line around her pole and set it aside.

Studying her closely, Mac followed suit. He tried, she’d give him that.

Free stood and patted her thigh. “Come on, Oscar.” She reached for the Frisbee in the

picnic basket, then tossed it down the wide trail that weaved alongside the shallower water
upstream.

Oscar barked furiously and darted after the bright orange disk. Free clapped and

cheered when he came running back with it. She and Mac walked side by side for some
distance without speaking, the silence broken only by Oscar’s barking and Free’s praise of
his retrieving skills.

“Here.” She thrust the Frisbee at Mac. “My tossing arm is tired.” It was a lie, but she

wanted Mac in on the fun, too.

He stared at the Frisbee as if it were a foreign object. “Okay,” he said slowly.
In the khaki shirt and faded blue jeans Mac appeared at home in these surroundings,

but Free knew he was far from comfortable. Mac tossed the Frisbee and Oscar bounded after
it, then proudly pranced back with it in his mouth to be praised. Over and over Mac repeated
the process. Free watched the slow, subtle metamorphosis. First his posture changed and Mac
relaxed in near imperceptible degrees. The grim lines on his face dissolved. Then he even
smiled. Free’s heart beat a little faster.

Vivid snatches of memory flashed in her mind. Mac holding her in his arms in the rain,

the sultry, jazzy throb of music urging their bodies into a natural rhythm. His body moving
against hers. His mouth finding hers, his hands seeming to be everywhere at once. Free
closed her eyes and allowed the sensations to envelop her. The heat, the need, the absolute
madness.

She snapped her eyes open. Thank God she’d had the good sense to stop. Good sense,

hell! More likely it had been her innate sense of self-preservation that had kept her from
going further. What would have happened if—No! They had stopped and that’s what
mattered.

As much as her traitorous body wanted to, Free just couldn’t help Mac that way.

Reaching out to him beyond the bounds of friendship would be a mistake. A costly mistake.
She had to learn to protect herself—to say no.

She hadn’t learned to do that very well yet. But she was determined to teach herself.
“I’m starved,” she announced before Mac could toss the Frisbee again. “Let’s head

back and have lunch.”

Mac flashed her an uncharacteristically charming smile. “Sounds good. I’m starved

too.”

Free didn’t look at Mac as they leisurely walked back to where the picnic basket and

blanker waited. That smile he’d flashed her had stolen her breath and left her lightheaded.

How could a mere smile from the man wreak such havoc with her senses?
She spread the blanket and forbade herself to think about white-hot kisses and hard,

rigid muscle a moment longer.

“Chicken?” Sitting cross-legged, Mac examined the contents of the picnic basket. “I

love cold fried chicken. I’m beginning to think you really are psychic,” he said without
looking up. A groan of pleasure rumbled from him. Free shivered at the sound. “And apple
pie,” he said, elated.

“And potato salad, green peas, and rolls,” Free told him as she swatted his hands away

from the food. She quickly spread their lunch and serving utensils out on the blanket and set
the basket aside.

Mac poured iced tea from the Thermos into the two glasses. “With all this I may not

make it to the pie,” he teased, his eyes glittering in a way that made Free a little nervous. But
just as quickly as the smile had appeared, a frown replaced it. Mac glanced at the woods and
then back the way they had come. “Where’s Oscar?”

Puzzled, Free studied his concerned expression. “He’s probably exploring in the

woods.” She filled a delicate bone china plate for Mac. She always used her best. Life was
much too short to save anything for a special occasion. Every day should be special. “Oscar
always shows up in time to gobble up the leftovers.”

“Oh.” He still didn’t look convinced.
Free set her plate containing much smaller portions aside. “Mac, haven’t you ever

owned a dog?”

The question brought him up short. He stared, startled. “No.”
“Not even as a child?”
He shook his head before biting into a drumstick. Free rearranged the food on her plate

with her fork. “I thought all little boys had dogs at one time or another,” she prodded. Of
course, she also thought that all little boys had been fishing at least once.

Mac swallowed. When he spoke he didn’t meet her eyes. “We moved around a lot. Dad

worked long hours. We didn’t have time for the distraction.”

What kind of father considered a family pet a distraction? “What about your mother?

She didn’t—”

“She died when I was five,” he said quickly, cutting Free off. Mac dropped the

drumstick onto his plate, then crumpled his linen napkin in his hand. Finally he lifted a
carefully masked gaze to Free. “I barely remember her.”

“I’m sorry.” The words came out automatically, a rushed whisper.
He shrugged, his attention captured once more by his plate. “It’s difficult to miss

someone you never really knew.”

Free didn’t believe Mac for a minute. She had very vivid memories from when she was

five. He just didn’t want to remember; it obviously hurt too much. “Your father never
remarried?”

“No. He was busy with building McFerrin Enterprises.”
Mac focused on eating, but his movements were strained with tension. He didn’t want

to talk about himself, Free knew, but she wanted—needed—to know more.

“So who took care of you?”
He stilled, slowly lifted his head and met her inquiring gaze with defiance in his own.

“I took care of myself.”

Free choked out an odd sound that she prayed would pass for a laugh. “But you were

only five years old!”

“Not for long,” he said bluntly.
Free absorbed the impact of that statement. During the silence that followed, she forced

herself to at least attempt to eat. The tension grew heavier by the moment, but she felt
reluctant to cross the imaginary line Mac had drawn. He didn’t want to answer any more
questions. Free scolded herself for pushing. This was supposed to be a fun day, not an
inquisition. She couldn’t let her curiosity ruin the day for Mac.

“What about you?”
The coldness in his tone more than the words jerked Free’s gaze to his. “What about

me?”

“I suppose you always had a dog and a white picket fence to go with it.”
Free flinched at the harsh tone. “Most of the time I had some sort of pet, a dog or cat. I

had a bird once.” She watched his expression grow more distant. “But there was never a
white picket fence.”

“What about your mother?” He threw her own words back at her. “She didn’t provide

for you?”

“She died.” Free let go a heavy breath. “I’ve been on my own since I was sixteen.”
His face changed instantly; warmth and curiosity claiming his features, but no

sympathy. “Father?” he asked more softly.

Free found the lack of sympathy she normally encountered when people learned about

her past a bit unusual, but oddly comforting. Of all people, he would definitely understand. “I
never knew my father,” she finally told him. Before he could say anything, she quickly
added, “Have you and your father always been close?”

Mac thought for a long while before he answered. “Close might be too personal a

description. I started going to his office after school when I was ten, could do better freehand
drafting by the time I was twelve than most of the architects who worked for him.” He
shrugged. “We’ve worked together ever since, until two years ago anyway.”

“What happened? Did he get sick?”
His gaze wandered somewhere past his shoulder. “No, nothing like that. He just got

bored. I’d been running the company for a while and he no longer felt” he searched a
moment for the right word “challenged. So he took off to redesign devastated cities around
the globe with one of his semi-retired colleagues.”

Free had a sudden vision of Mac thirty years in the future. Bored with the business he

had built his life around, he would travel the world in search of an unobtainable sense of
fulfillment. But that wasn’t fair. She didn’t know his father. Another realization dawned on
her with vivid clarity. “Is that why you’re here, Mac, because you’re bored with the day-to-
day routine at the corporate office? Surely you have people who could have set up your new
offices and projects here in Huntsville without your personal attention.”

Free knew she had hit the nail on the head when she saw the flicker of surprised panic

in his eyes. He didn’t like anyone recognizing what he didn’t want to admit himself.

“I am a hands-on CEO,” he offered by way of explanation. “Nothing unusual about

that.”

Free smiled and shook her head ruefully. “Scorpions have no sense of balance in their

lives. They always need the final word.”

“Who says I’m a Scorpio?” he protested, frustrated at being examined so closely.
“When’s your birthday?”
Mac shifted and sighed impatiently. “I don’t believe in that nonsense.”
“Just answer the question.”
“November nineteenth.”
“I knew it!” Free smiled triumphantly. “And I’ll just bet the party gets bigger every

year. Scorpios don’t do anything halfway.”

That remote look returned. “I don’t bother with birthday parties,” he said flatly.
“You’re kidding, right? I mean, it’s not against your religion or something, is it?” All

signs of certainty had vanished from her voice. Heat crept up her neck and across her cheeks
at the possibility that she had committed a major social blunder.

“Why waste the energy on a party? My father has one of his assistants pick up

whatever I want. On my last birthday he gave me complete control of McFerrin Enterprises. I
never needed parties, I always got whatever I wanted.” He pushed his plate away. Free
wondered if the subject matter had caused his sudden loss of appetite. “I don’t have time for
parties.” He plowed his fingers through his long hair and continued to stare at anything but

her. A muscled flexed rhythmically in his handsome jaw. “I must have been out of my mind
for agreeing to this little outing.”

Images of a lonely little boy flooded Free’s mind. No wonder Mac concentrated so

intently on the future…he only had half a past. Nothing worth remembering. His life had
always been about working and shaping the future. His memories would all be alike—work
and more work. Sadness filled her and threatened to overflow. She blinked furiously to keep
the tears at bay. Tears for a lonely little boy who had grown up into an even lonelier man.

Free pushed her plate aside. Sitting on her knees, she inched closer to him. “Mac.” She

swallowed her uncertainty. “I want you to close your eyes.”

He jerked his attention back to her then and eyed her suspiciously. “We’re not going to

play that game again, are we?”

She smiled, remembering that day in the Bower Street house. “For a minute.” He

looked away, impatience marring his chiseled features. She simply wiggled closer, putting
herself in his space now. “Now, close your eyes,” she commanded. “And there’s only one
rule in this game. Whatever you say has to be the truth.”

Mac exhaled and reluctantly faced her. When that blue gaze collided with hers, Free

shuddered at the intensity of the feeling that shot through her. She quickly composed herself
and waited for him to obey. What seemed a lifetime later, he closed his eyes.

“It’s two years in the future, and you’re on vacation—”
“I don’t have time for vacations,” he cut in.
Free blew out a breath of frustration. “It’s two years in the future, Mac, and I’m telling

you that you’re on vacation.” She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him, for all
the good it would do her with his eyes closed. “Now, where would you go on vacation?”

He absently rubbed his forehead with the tips of two fingers as he thought. The

moment stretched into half a minute. “Aspen, The skiing is good there.”

“So skiing is one of your hobbies?”
His eyes snapped open. “I don’t have any hobbies.”
“Keep your eyes closed!” Free frowned at him and he relented. “If you like to ski, then

it’s a hobby.”

“Whatever you say.”
Free shot a look heavenward. God, the man was hopeless. “Okay.” She shifted to keep

her legs from going to sleep. “Now it’s five years down the line, and you’re married.”

He flinched. “Marriage isn’t in my five-year plan.”
“Take it easy, McFerrin. Remember, this is a game and I make the rules. It’s five years

from now and you’re happily married.”

“Fine. I’m married.” Mac scowled, then a startled expression stole over his features.
Free realized by the look on his face that it must have been a real shock to imagine

himself with a wife. “Can you see her?” Mac nodded and scowled again. She hoped that
scowl was no indication of how he pictured his future wife.

“Mac, the wife you would pick surely can’t be that bad.”
His eyes still closed, he laughed. “You have no idea.”
Free sighed. ‘”Okay. Your wife is about to give birth to your first child, a son.” She

wet her dry lips. The thought of Mac’s child parched her throat. She shook herself. “Can you
imagine that picture?”

Mac didn’t answer. He sat absolutely still as if in deep concentration. Good, she

decided, that’s what she wanted him to do—to think. To see something more.

“Can you imagine holding your son in your arms? Does he look like you or your wife?

A family is what you’ve always needed. Someone to make real memories with.” Her breath
hitched. She didn’t want to think of Mac with someone else. The realization slammed into
her with tremendous force. No! This was his future, not hers. She didn’t factor into any part
of his life. “Describe what you see,” she managed without wavering.

He snapped his eyes open and glared at Free. “I don’t like this game,” he growled.
“Don’t be a spoilsport, Mac.” Free passed a hand over his face, the feel of his skin

making her fingertips tingle. “Close your eyes.”

With a mighty sigh, he complied.
“Now, picture yourself with the family.” She watched his expression slowly relax.

“Good,” she encouraged. “Now, tell me what you see.”

His lips slid into a smile. “Hair,” he murmured, then opened his eyes, reached out and

wrapped a long strand of Free’s around his fingers. “Your hair is amazing.”

Free bit down on her lower lip to stop its trembling. “I’m glad you like it, but” she

moistened her lips again and shivered when his fingers stroked her hair “you’re changing the
subject.”

His lips parted but he didn’t speak. Instead, he leaned forward and tasted her mouth,

then murmured, “Am I?” His mouth took hers completely as his fingers threaded more
deeply into her hair.

He kissed her slowly, thoroughly. And Free wanted nothing more than for this one kiss

to go on forever. Her heart butted wildly against her ribs as if trying to escape its confines.
Her mind screamed out to her for her to put a stop to the kiss, but her body refused to
respond.

Cradling her head with both hands, Mac pulled her up and against him. From knees to

chests their bodies molded together, soft valleys and mounds to hard ridges and lean planes.
Her arms twined around his neck and a deep sigh of satisfaction echoed inside her. He
responded with his own groan of need. His hand slid down her back to support her at the
same time he began to lean her down onto the blanket. The picnic basket halted their
downward descent. With one wide sweep of his left arm, Mac cleared the way.

Desire sang through her veins. Liquid fire surged downward to pool at her center.

Reacting on pure instinct, Free arched against the muscled thigh resting between hers. Mac
lost control then. His kiss grew frenzied, his tongue thrust deeply into her mouth. Harder and
harder he kissed her, while rhythmically grinding his hips into hers.

Mac squeezed her breast and then flicked her nipple with his thumb. Free cried out

when his hot, hungry mouth started in that direction, leaving a trail of kiss-dampened skin.

“No,” Free moaned on a ragged breath. She drew his face up so she could look into his

eyes. “If you do that I’ll loose my mind.” Her nipples strained for his attention, rasping
against the cotton of her blouse. She searched his eyes, trying to see beyond the haze of
passion to the man beneath. “I still don’t have any protection,” she managed between gasping
breaths. “We have to stop. It would be a mistake.”

The fire blazed in his eyes and his firm grip on her body tightened. Mac shook his

head, his breath as ragged as hers. “No way,” he growled. “I want you too much.”

Anticipation thrilled through her at the sound of raw need on his voice. Mac bent his

head and Free’s greedy mouth rushed to meet his. His tongue thrust inside. He kneed her
thighs further apart and pressed his hard erection against her. Even the clothing they still
wore couldn’t disguise the heat and need emanating from both their bodies.

His mouth started that downward trek once more. This time she squeezed her eyes shut

and threw her head back, giving him complete access. She arched her shoulders and back, her
breasts straining towards his touch. At last his steamy tongue slipped beneath the fabric of
her blouse, sweeping over the rise of her breast. Free speared her fingers into his hair and
guided him lower.

When his mouth latched onto her nipple, she moaned her approval. Mac’s hands

became frantic, his mouth demanding. And then, suddenly, he stilled.

Panting for oxygen to feed her burning lungs, Free whimpered a week protest when his

mouth left her breast. She forced her eyes open to find Mac staring over his right shoulder.
Her gaze moved beyond his dark, tousled hair and upward to find what had captured his
attention at such a pivotal moment.

Free’s heart thudded to a near standstill when her gaze traced the long, black barrel of

the shotgun nuzzled against her would-be lover’s back. A shriek that came out sounding like
a wounded, high-pitched hiccup escaped her lips.

“Git up, boy,” a rusty voice bellowed.
Not taking his eyes off the man who’d spoken and despite their dishevelment, Mac

sprang to his feet with incredible speed and agility.

Free quickly righted her clothes and struggled to her feet behind Mac. His earlier

question came to mind. Are you sure it’s okay to be here? She’d been here hundreds of times
before.

“Mr. Gilliam?” Free peeked around Mac to see the man holding a bead on Mac’s chest.
“Do you know this man?” Mac muttered from the side of his mouth, giving her a look

that spoke of extreme uneasiness. Of course, staring at the business end of a shotgun tended
to do that to a man.

Free looked from hands-held-high-in-the-air Mac to poor-old-I-was-once-a-

moonshiner Mr. Gilliam. She almost grinned when she considered that this must look very
much like a scene from a bad slasher movie to Mac.

“Yes,” she muttered to Mac and then stepped around him.
“Mr. Gilliam, its’ me, Free Renzetti,” she said softly, urging him to recognize her.
“Do I know you?” The old man squinted at Free.
“Where are your glasses?”
“I don’t need them blasted spectacles!” he roared. “I can see just fine.”
“Please, Mr. Gilliam,” Free entreated. “I know you usually carry them in the bib of

your overalls. Put them on for just a second, okay?”

He growled and muttered the whole time, but eventually he dug the glasses from his

bib pocket and perched them at an odd angle on his nose. He glared at Free from behind the
thick lenses, then recognition flared in his watery gray eyes. “Well, I’ll be damned!” Mr.
Gilliam lowered his weapon and clamped a surprisingly strong arm around Free’s shoulders.
“Where you been keeping yourself, Miss Free?”

She heard Mac’s relieved exhale. “I’ve been too busy for much fishing this year, but I

thought I’d come out today and bring a friend of mine,” She turned toward Mac. “Mac
McFerrin, meet Jarvis Gilliam.”

Mac extended his hand. “Nice to meet you, sir,” he said in that deep baritone that Free

liked so much.

Mr. Gilliam eyed Mac warily, but manners overrode his caution enough for him to

accept the offered hand. “Healthy-lookin’ fella, Free, but he could do with a haircut.”

Free almost jumped out of her skin when Oscar stuck his cold nose into her hand. She

smiled down at her dog. “Hey, boy, it’s about time you showed up.” When she stopped to rub
his ears, Oscar presented her with a lavish doggie kiss. “You know,” she turned back to Mr.
Gilliam as a brilliant idea struck her “there’s something else Mac could do with as well.”

~*~

Mac glared at the yellow puddle he had just stepped in. He recited every swear word he

knew as he stormed across the kitchen his right foot held at an awkward angle so he could
walk on his heel. He snatched a wad of paper towels from the roll. A tiny whimpering groan
told him that the menace who’d left the puddle had waddled under the kitchen table. As soon
as he had cleared the mess, Mac got down on all fours to retrieve Oliver from beneath the
table.

Oliver. What kind of name was that for a dog? But Free had insisted.
Wide, frightened black eyes peered at Mac. He sighed with disgust as he reached for

the puppy. He couldn’t believe Free had done this to him. Apparently she had been aware
that Mr. Gilliam had puppies to give away and decided it was time for Mac to have a pet.

The nerve of the woman.
And to think that he had let her do it.
He’d been so dumbstruck he couldn’t even rally a protest. So, he had ridden home in

that dilapidated old truck of hers with the little beast shivering in his lap. Of course, Free had
insisted on stopping by a pet store for dog chow, food bowls, and other pet paraphernalia.

He had to be insane to have let the woman railroad him into accepting the pup. Well,

Mac amended, he hadn’t actually accepted it. He had merely stood there like a mute idiot
while the little gypsy had her way. He didn’t have time for a pet. Hell, he didn’t even know if
pets were allowed in his Atlanta townhouse.

Mac pulled the grunting, groaning baby black Lab from under the table and tried to

decide what the hell to do with him. The roly-poly little beast seemed more bear than Lab.

He glared at the animal and said in his sternest voice, “All right, it’s bedtime now so

don’t give me any grief.” Determined to prevent any more “accidents”, Mac carried Oliver to
the box Free had given him. He settled the puppy onto the old towel she had provided for a
dog bed. “It’s late and I need to sleep,” he said in a warning voice. “I’ve had two dozen calls
since I walked through that door this afternoon.”

He kicked himself mentally for missing work today. If he had been at work as he

should have been, Oliver would never have happened. Disgusted and exhausted, he flipped
the kitchen light off and headed for the stairs.

Thirty minutes later Mac knew that he was never going to get any sleep tonight. The

puppy scratched and whined, whined and scratched. He had tried covering his head with his
pillow. He had even gotten up and closed the door, but nothing helped. He could still hear the
critter howling.

How could one small animal make that much noise?
Cursing, he kicked off the sheet and got out of bed. He straightened his twisted boxers.

No point in putting off the inevitable. He would never get to sleep if he didn’t do something.

He stamped down the stairs and strode into the kitchen. He flipped on the light and

glared into the box. “What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t you know when to sleep?” Big
sad eyes gazed up at him. Mac blew out a breath and did the only thing he could think of—he

picked up the box and carried it to his room.

He set the box next to the bed and fell back into the tangled sheets. Sleep…he had to

sleep.

Another thirty minutes passed and he knew this was going to be a night he wouldn’t

soon forget. The lonely puppy continued to scratch and whimper. Nothing Mac said or did
made a difference.

Thoroughly ticked off now, he snatched the phone from the bedside table and punched

in Free’s number. After three rings, her sleepy voice came across the line. For two beats he
couldn’t speak. The picture of how she probably looked at the moment, tousled and flushed
with sleep, seared into his brain. The memory of seeing her in that too-vivid mental picture as
his wife, holding his child, more than confused him—it scared the hell out of him. It still
stunned him that his subconscious would give the role of future mate to a gypsy who had
done nothing but turn his life up-side-down from the moment he’d laid eyes on her.

“Hello,” she repeated.
“Free, this is Mac,” he growled. A lack of sleep and annoyance at his own body’s

reaction to the sound of her voice irritated him beyond reason.

“Mac? Is something wrong?”
“This damned dog won’t stop scratching and whining,” he bellowed. The puppy yelped

louder at the sound of Mac’s frustration. Impatience pounded in his temples. “What the hell
am I supposed to do?” He flung the covers back and sat up on the edge of the bed. “You can
come and get him, right now!”

“Put him in the bed with you. He’ll be fine.”
“What?” Mac roared.
Free stifled a yawn. “He wants to be next to a warm body. Put him in the bed with you

and he’ll settle down.”

“Is that your best advice?”
“Trust me, it’ll work. Good night, Mac.”
She hung up.
Mac glared at the handset before slamming it into the cradle. He fell back against his

pillows and stared at the dark ceiling.

Oliver scratched and howled.
Mac rolled to the other side of the bed and reached into the box. “All right,” he

groused. “You win this time, but don’t expect this special treatment again.” What was he
thinking? There wouldn’t be a next time. He would make Free take the puppy back to old
Mr. Gilliam first thing in the morning.

Mac scooted back to his side of the bed and closed his eyes. He would sleep. He threw

one arm over his head. Somehow, he would sleep.

He flinched when a cold nose pressed against his ribs, but Mac refused to open his

eyes. He would sleep if it killed him. Oliver waddled on shaky legs for a while, but
eventually burrowed against Mac’s side and went to sleep.

Mac’s last conscious thought was of regaining control over his life and getting Free

Renzetti out of it.

Chapter Seven

The morning status conference droned on and on, well past morning and into lunch.

Mac alternately zoned out and dozed off. He hadn’t gotten more than two hours of sleep last
night, and even that had been accomplished in snatches more accurately measured in minutes
and seconds than hours.

Oliver, the little beast, had cuddled and snuggled, groaned and grunted, rooted and

burrowed until Mac was ready to howl himself. He almost always slept alone. He rarely took
a woman home with him, preferring to go to her place. It was much easier to make an excuse
not to stay the night than to try and explain why he didn’t want an overnight guest.

The memory of touching Free, tasting Free, suddenly exploded inside his head. His

body reacted instantly.

The woman was everything he would never in a million years choose for a life mate.

She lacked any semblance of the glamour and sophistication that usually caught his eye. She
wasn’t career-minded or goal-oriented. She seemed happy just to be. And on some baser
level that had absolutely nothing to do with reason, Mac found Free Renzetti immensely
appealing. So damned appealing that he was at a loss to describe the full impact of the
attraction.

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.

The long fingers of one hand closed around her breast. Free gasped, drawing in his

warm breath. His thumb flicked her nipple, teasing the tight bud beneath the thin, soft cotton.
Free plunged her hands into his hair, reveling in the silky length. She slipped her tongue
inside his mouth and matched his frenzy, searching, teasing. The tip of his tongue swept over
her lips and then dipped inside once more. Free sucked him deeper, wrenching a low, primal
groan from Mac. He ground his hips into hers, pressing her into the wall. Free matched his
groan with a primitive sound of her own.

“I want you,” he growled against her lips, his gaze locking on hers. His breath raged in

and out with the growing force of his need. Free’s own breathing was as ragged as his. His
body felt so hot and hard against hers, it seemed to burn her through the layers of clothing.

“I want you, Mac,” she whispered in response.
Mac paused as if contemplating the next move, then suddenly he jerked off his coat and

tossed it onto the floor. His tie followed. Free forgot her inhibitions and began to unbutton
his crisp, white shirt. His hands moved to the thin straps of her sundress. He pushed them
down slowly, his eyes riveted to her breasts as the fabric lowered.

His mouth followed his gaze and latched onto one breast. Free arched into him and

buried her fingers in his hair. He suckled one breast until she writhed against the wall, then
he moved to the other. She almost screamed her pleasure when he pulled her hips hard into
the thickness straining against his slacks.

Reaching past her, Mac lowered his zipper. Slowly he dragged the dress down until it

pooled around her bare feet. His lips followed the material’s decent. His hands clasped
tightly around her waist and his tongue blazed a trial to her naval. Tension coiled tighter and
tighter in Free’s center as liquid heat sped through her veins. She felt ready to explode, but
need continued to build inside her. She’d never experienced such madness.

“Mac,” she pleaded. “Please.” Se begged him to do what she couldn’t name. Free could

only pray that he knew how to assuage this desperate ache building inside her.

He straightened. His mouth covered hers in a kiss so desperate, tears sprang to her

eyes. Free fisted her hands in his shirt and ripped it open, watching the remaining buttons fall
to the floor. She had to touch him, to feel the very strength and sinew of him. Free pushed the

shirt off his shoulders. He moaned low in her throat at the feel of his muscled shirt. Her
palms glided over taut, hot skin.

Mac stilled, save for his ragged breathing. He looked away and swore. Free flinched.

Her body throbbed with need, her heart pounded in anticipation. He couldn’t stop now. Not
for anything. “What’s wrong?” she gasped.

Mac plowed a shaky hand through his hair, his gaze moving to hers. “I still don’t have

any protection.” He uttered the words like a self-imposed death sentence, his eyes closing
with regret. “I can’t believe this,” he muttered with a shake of his head. He opened his eyes
to her and explained, “I haven’t had unprotected sex since I was a teenager.” A burst of
frustration blew past his lips. “You have me completely out of control.”

Free gulped on a breath. “Me either.” She managed a smile. “I mean I haven’t had

unprotected sex since I was a teenager either,” she clarified.

Mac pressed his forehead to hers. “If we’re both so careful, how did we wind up in this

predicament?” he lamented.

“I…I guess I’m out of practice,” Free offered. Her hands continued to caress his

beautifully sculpted chest. “It’s been a long time,” she added self-consciously and averted her
gaze.

His hand tightened on her waist. While the other threaded through her hair. Mac tilted

her head back, forcing her to look at him. His lips quirked into a smile. “How long?” he
teased.

“A very long time,” she admitted reluctantly.
He pressed her with his gaze, eyes twinkling with mischief that barely concealed the

raw lust beneath. “Be specific,” he prodded. “How long?”

Free ducked her head and mumbled, “Seven years.”
“Seven years?” he said incredulously.
She nodded without looking up.
“Seven years? But why?” he demanded, his disbelief a palpable force.
Free shrugged, still unable to meet his gaze. “I don’t know. It was just that one time,

and after that I—”

“One time?” he echoed, tipping her chin up so he could see her eyes.
Free blinked and tried to look away, but he wouldn’t let her. “It wasn’t that great,” she

admitted as if that explained it all.

His gaze held hers, all that twinkling mischief and intense lust melting into something

else. Something Free couldn’t identify, but it looked a lot like tenderness. Her heart
squeezed. Mac kissed her gently then bent to pick up her dress, drawing it back up around
her waist.

Suddenly, Free knew what she wanted to do. What she wanted more than anything in

this world. She pressed her hands against his forearms, halting his movements. “Make love to
me, Mac.”

He stopped trying to dress her. The fabric slipped from his fingers and the dress

puddled around her feet once more. Mac stood absolutely still, his questioning gaze
searching hers. Free wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers.
“Kiss me,” she demanded softly.

He obeyed.
Still kissing her, Mac lifted her against him and carried her to the quilt. He eased her

down onto the age-softened material and aligned his body with hers.

Slowly, he kissed his way down to her panties. Free shivered as he dragged the bright

scrap of yellow satin down her legs. He paused to deposit a lingering kiss on her rose tattoo.
He fingered the silver chain around her ankle, then smiled at her, stealing her already sparse
breath.

He stood, kicked off his loafers and, in one smooth motion, shed his slacks and boxers.

She felt lightheaded and giddy when her eyes roamed the length of him. He was beautiful.
Wide shoulders, sculpted chest, lean waist and narrow hips, muscular thighs. Free’s heart
fluttered wildly in her chest at just how generously endowed he was.

Her eyes widened. He was…he was…looking at her, she realized nervously. She tried

to conceal herself. It was all she could do not to scramble away when he knelt beside her. His
gaze moved over her with masculine appreciation apparent on his face. He leaned toward her.
His gentle smile and that slight tremor in his hands reminded her that she didn’t have to be
shy with him.

“Free.” He whispered her name against the shell of her ear, sending a thrill right

through her. “I want this to be special for you. Tell me how you want me to touch you.”

She moistened her lips and flattened her palms against his shoulders, just in case. “The

normal ways will be fine,” she murmured, keeping her gaze locked on his awesome pecs. She
drew in a breath that expanded her lungs and brushed her nipples against his bare skin. Mac’s
soft chuckle at her words ended on a shudder when her taut peaks grazed his chest.

“How about like this,” he suggested as he nibbled her neck.
“That’s”—Free’s breath caught—“fine,” she managed.
When his hungry mouth moved to her breast, she almost howled with delight. “Mac,

oh, God, that’s—”

“Better than fine?” he offered, his mouth tender against her sensitive flesh. She could

only nod. He moved lower, nibbling, suckling, kissing.

“Oo-oh!” she murmured when his mouth reached her pelvis.
Mac groaned with need as he pushed her knees up and bared the most private part of

her completely to him. The first thrust of his tongue sent her senses into overload. She
couldn’t speak, she couldn’t breathe. She could only pray that he wouldn’t stop loving her
that way. With his mouth, he aroused her almost unbearably, finding and paying special
attention to a certain spot. Waves of pure pleasure crashed over her. When her tremors began
to ease, she was vaguely aware of him moving over her, but she couldn’t open her eyes. Her
senses couldn’t take that kind of stimulation. She could feel him touching her, kissing her
body, murmuring sweet sounds. She tried to speak but couldn’t, so she simply smiled in the
aftermath of her very first climax. He opened her thighs and she responded instantly,
instinctively. Opening, stretching, molding to him as he filled her in one long, slow thrust.
She gripped his shoulders and screamed her pleasure and the delicious madness started all
over again.

A primal sound rumbled from Mac’s throat as he moved inside her. Slowly at first,

then faster and faster. Free forced her eyes open to watch what was happening between them.
Mac’s eyes were closed, his handsome face intent. His muscles were rigid, straining for
release. His hips flexed powerfully, filling her completely with each thrust, pushing her
toward the peak she now recognized and longed for with every fiber of her being.

Free arched up, matching his rhythm. That frantic pleasure burst inside her, an

explosion of sensations that carried her over that ultimate pinnacle. Mac followed her there.
Their bodies melted together, hearts pounding. He threaded the fingers of one hand into her

hair and kissed her gently, thoroughly.

Save for their ragged breathing, silence enveloped them. Long, golden beams of

sunlight moved across the floor, caressing their bodies with warmth. Their eyes met and
something shifted near Free’s heart. In that ethereal moment she felt closer to Mac than she
had ever felt to another human being. Connected…beyond the physical. And when he smiled,
he touched something deep inside her. Tears sprang unbidden and her chest tightened
unbearably.

Mac brushed a tendril of hair from her cheek and pressed a tender kiss there. When he

looked deeply into her eyes, Free saw more than the ebbing passion and sated need. She saw
a kind of sadness that tugged at her heart.

He managed a strained version of his previous smile and murmured, “How am I ever

going to break your spell, gypsy lady?”

Chapter Eight

“You’re sure this is the only way?” Free asked again as she surveyed the modern lobby

of McFerrin Enterprises’ Huntsville offices. Glass and steel formed the outer walls of the
immense structure. The veined marble floor inside echoed every footfall. Large green plants
and designer trees dominated the decorating scheme.

“It’s the only way,” Alex reiterated. She arched one dark eyebrow in question. “You’re

not chickening out on us, are you?”

Free smiled and surveyed the small group which had gathered. Mr. Towery, three other

residents from Chenille Street, and her assistant Lance peered at the architectural models
gracing elegant display tables as if they had never seen anything as interesting as McFerrin
designs.

“No,” Free admitted. “I just feel”—she glared down at the getup she was wearing

—“ridiculous in this outfit.” Not to mention, she was sore in certain private places. She’d
only been with one other guy and, like her, he’d been just a kid at the time. Free glanced at
Alex. Maybe later she could talk to Alex. See if all these intense feelings were par for the
course.

“You look great,” Alex gave Free a careful once-over. “You should dress like this more

often.”

Then again, Free decided, maybe not. Knowing Alex’s take on the independent female,

her friend would think Free old-fashioned for feeling anything but sexually satisfied. “Yeah,
right. It would do wonders for my reputation as a businesswoman.” Free sucked in a breath
and tried to hold it. The dress was too tight. Alex had a more slender figure. Free filled out
the spandex in ways that had never been intended by the designer.

Alex glanced at her watch. “Ten-fifteen. Time to go.” She nodded to Mr. Towery and

headed for the bank of elevators.

Free followed, balancing precariously atop the cherry-red stiletto heels. Her heart

hammered frantically. I can do this, she repeated silently.

Why did the first and only man she had ever truly wanted have to be all wrong for her?

Their lives were worlds apart. Mac didn’t want to share his life with anyone; and if he ever
changed his mind, he certainly wouldn’t want to spend it with her. Free’s soul ached with the

loss of something she’d never even had.

She forced her eyes to open and heaved a bone-weary sigh. How could she think for

one second that a man like Mac would be interested in a woman like her, for more than what
they’d shared on the floor of that old house anyway? He was sophisticated and intelligent,
and she was just a plain old country girl.

She had given him the only thing she had to give, and he’d hurried away at the first

chirp of his cell phone with a promise to call her later.

He hadn’t called.
Free stared down at her shiny red shoes as the elevator bumped to a stop. Oh, his

secretary had called to ask if Free would check on Oliver since Mac would be working late,
but nothing else. Later, around midnight, he had come home. Free had watched from the
darkness of her bedroom window as he trudged up the steps and into his house. She had
longed to run out the door and throw herself into his arms.

But she hadn’t.
Dressed in their Sunday best, the little group shuffled off the elevator. Free reluctantly

followed. Mac would be going back to Atlanta soon. Alex had told her that, according to
Jake, Mac had only come to Huntsville for a few weeks. Free should never have allowed
herself to fall for him like this. She was only going to wind up with a broken heart.

She paused in the wide, stylish hall. She did a quick inventory of all that she felt, and

winced. She was in love with him already. Lord have mercy, she loved Mac McFerrin.

“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?”

Free batted those long, thick lashes furiously. A protective feeling welled inside him.

He didn’t want her to cry. And he sure as hell didn’t want to be the one responsible for her
tears. She swallowed tightly, the effort visible along the delicate column of her throat.

“I guess I’m not used to this sort of thing.” Her watery blue gaze connected with his. “I

mean I…” She gestured vaguely and then re-crossed her arms, hugging herself. “You left and
didn’t call…or anything and I just…” Free sighed, the sound shuddering past her lips like a
sob.

Before he could remind himself of all the reasons he shouldn’t, Mac reached for her.

“Come here,” he murmured as he pulled her into his lap. He folded her into his arms and held
her trembling body against his chest. “I should have called.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.

God almighty, he’d never said that to a woman in his life.

Free’s breath hitched on another little sob. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m being silly, but this

has never happened to me before.” She snuggled deeper into his arms. “I’m not very good at
it,” she said sadly.

Oh, hell. Mac buried his face in the hair that drove him absolutely mad and inhaled the

soft essence of her shampoo. If she got any better, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. He tipped
her chin up and looked into her eyes, then smiled. His heart skipped a beat when she returned
the smile with a trembling one of her own.

Mac swiped a tear from her cheek, then traced the fullness of her lower lip. “Free?”
“Hmm?”
“I have to get back to my meeting. After that, we’ll go somewhere and…talk.”
“All right,” she mumbled as she smoothed her dress down over her thighs. “I’m sorry,

Mac,” she added as she reached behind her back to unlock the door. A single tear slid down
her soft cheek. Before he could form a response she spun around and slipped out the stall
door.

Mac got up, straightened his clothes and burst out of the stall. He caught a glimpse of

his reflection in the mirror and cringed. His shirt and slacks were wrinkled, his hair
disheveled.

Swearing profusely, Mac finger-combed his hair and made for the door. It swung

inward as he reached for it and a blue-haired lady froze like a deer caught in the headlights of
an oncoming vehicle. He opened his mouth to offer an apology and she shrieked like a
banshee. Pivoting on the crepe soles of her orthopedic shoes, she flew down the hall to the
nearest office. No doubt to call security.

“Hey, I own this building,” he shouted after her.
Shaking his head, he trudged back toward the conference room. Free was nowhere to

be seen.

Chapter Nine

Mac adjusted his jacket and tie, then squared his shoulders. He plastered an apologetic

smile on his face as he reentered the conference room.

His smile slid immediately into a frown. Everyone was gone—except Jake, who stood

on the other side of the room staring out of the wall of windows.

“What the hell happened? Where is everybody?” he asked as he crossed the room. His

growing sense on dread at the probable answer overrode his lingering irritation.

Jake glanced in his direction, then angled his head toward the window. “See for

yourself. Your investors have been shanghaied.”

Mac leaned over the window ledge to peer down at the parking lot. Several of his

clients, who had been in this very conference room only minutes ago, were boarding a
minibus, followed by Alex and a small group of strangers. Free’s assistant, Lance, all dressed
up in a three-piece suit, climbed in right behind them. Mac opened his mouth to swear as
Free bounded onto the bus just before it pulled away from the curb.

“We’ve been had, my friend,” Jake declared with an incredulous shake of his head.
Mac couldn’t recall ever having felt quite the way he felt at that moment. He imagined

that it was something like Wall Street brokers experienced the last time the stock market
crashed. A kind of shocked disbelief that numbed…just prior to panic setting in.

“What happened?” Mac asked again, his voice entirely too calm to be his own.
“I’m not sure.” he gave Mac a slow once-over. “But obviously you and I were

distracted while it took place. The only thing I know is that after I finished my call from
Alex, I came back in here to find the room empty except for Roger. He was raving about
some old man named Towery taking over his presentation.”

Mac’s frown deepened. “Towery?” He repeated the name silently until recognition

clicked. “Towery!” Mac scrubbed a hand over his face. “He’s the old man that’s been
heading up the Chenille Street protests.”

Jake narrowed his gaze. “Oh, yeah. I thought that name sounded familiar. So that’s

what Alex and Free are up to.”

The truth hit Mac with sudden clarity. The fact that Free hadn’t done any salvage work

on the Chenille Street house—and that she had done everything in her power to distract him
from work. The picnic and fishing, the puppy, the—Mac’s thoughts halted abruptly. He
shook his head in denial. No way. She wouldn’t have gone that far just to distract him.

“Look,” Jake said, interrupting Mac’s disturbing thoughts. “I don’t know exactly

what’s going on, but I have sneaking suspicion that we aren’t going to like it. Alex and Free
seem to have joined forces with Towery in an effort to stall the demolition on Monday.”

Mac’s forehead creased. “But why? What would either of them have to gain?”
Jake released a frustrated breath and slumped heavily onto the window ledge. “Alex

would do it just to get back at me.” He shrugged. “But Free, I don’t know.”

Mac thought about the way Free had been willing to go to jail to prevent the magnolia

tree from being cut down. “Maybe she’s one of those bleeding heart types,” he suggested,
unexpectedly feeling drained and wholly out of sorts.

“Mac, there’s something I need to tell you.”
“What?” He straightened, sensing that he wasn’t going to like whatever it was.
“That background check you asked me to run on Free.” Jake shifted restlessly for a

moment before he continued. “Well, I got the findings back and it’s…it’s not what I
expected.”

Apprehension flooded Mac. How bad could it be? He’d been around Free enough to

know that she was basically a good person. Sweet and innocent in many ways. “So what did
the report say?”

Jake leveled his gaze on Mac’s. “Six years ago, when Free was eighteen, she was

busted for solicitation.”

Mac stopped breathing, everything inside him went still. He blinked twice and

reminded himself to inhale. “And?” he prodded, knowing from the look on Jake’s face that
he wasn’t finished.

“During the eighteen months that followed that incident she was arrested twice.” Jake

swallowed. “Once more for solicitation, then for assault.”

“Assault?”
Jake drew in a heavy breath and shoved his hands into his pockets. “She and her…her

pimp—”

Mac flinched at the word.
“—got into a fight and they both ended up in the hospital when it was over. He claimed

Free took a baseball bat to him. She pleaded self-defense and a court appointed attorney got

her off.”

Mac took a long, slow breath. Prostitution. Every instinct that he possessed told him it

just couldn’t be. Free wouldn’t have lied to him like that. How could he believe such a thing?
That would mean that what they had shared was…

“You’re sure,” Mac pressed. Emptiness welled inside him. The report just couldn’t

possibly be accurate. He couldn’t be that stupid. He would have known if Free had…Christ,
he couldn’t bring himself to picture her with anyone else.

“I’m sure,” Jake replied quietly. He stared at the floor for a moment, then added,

“That’s not all.”

Mac felt the floor shift under his feet. “You mean there’s more?”
“Her court-appointed attorney was Thomas Styles.”
If the name should mean anything to Mac, it didn’t. He shrugged. “Do you know this

Mr. Styles?”

Jake shook his head. “No, he was an older man. He died a couple of years ago, before I

came back to practice law here. I vaguely remember that name. The point is, after he
represented Free…” Jake paused as if searching for the right words. “He moved her into his
house. They lived together until he died two years later. He left her his entire estate,
including the house on Magnolia Blossom Drive.”

Jake’s words hit Mac like a sledgehammer. Free, the woman he’d made love to—had

unprotected sex with—had been arrested twice for prostitution and had lived with an older
man until he died, leaving her everything. Mac had let her get to him, know things about him
that he never told anyone else. He’d allowed feelings for her that he never expected to feel
for anyone. His blood roared in his ears. He’d even pictured her in his future, having his
child.

How could he have been so damned stupid?
“You okay, man?” Jake asked sympathetically.
Rage erupted inside Mac. He didn’t need sympathy. Free Renzetti was the one who

would need it. She may have gotten to him for a time, but he was back in control now. His
body went rigid with the emotion twisting inside him. “I’m fine,” he snapped. Her turned and
started toward the door, his rage building with each step he took.

“Where are you going?” Jake called out after him.
Mac stopped and turned back to face him. “To find out what the hell is going on, and to

set Free Renzetti straight about who’s on charge of this project.”

~*~

Free heard Emily answer the front door. She would rather have locked it and never face

anyone again, but Emily would have no part of that. Free didn’t want to see anyone. She just
wanted to curl up and die. She sighed and stirred a teaspoon of sugar into her tea. She needed
to relax, to forget all that had happened over the past few weeks, including the time she had
spent with Mac.

Especially the time she had spent with Mac.
He would hate her now. She had purposely deceived him. But, she had done the right

thing, hadn’t she?

Unable to deal with anything else, Free had come straight home to change after the

episode at Mac’s office. She couldn’t bring herself to accompany Alex and some very

confused investors for the tour of the Chenille Street house. To stand in the very room where
she and Mac had made love.

She couldn’t do it. Free closed her eyes and shuddered.
Raised voices in the parlor snapped Free from her troubling thoughts. Her cup and

saucer rattled in her hands when she recognized one of the voices as Mac’s. She inhaled
sharply and, hands trembling, set the tea aside.

Knowing how upset Emily would be at having to face Mac’s wrath alone, Free

summoned her courage and forced her feet to carry her down the hall and into the parlor.

Mac and Emily paused mid-shout when Free entered the room.
“It’s okay, Emily, I’ll take care of this,” Free said in as strong a voice as he could

marshal.

Emily pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Her cheeks were flushed with

anger. She swatted at a stray hair that had fallen from her prudish topknot. “I don’t think you
should.” She glared at Mac. “The man is a bully,” she huffed, obviously indignant at his
raised voice.

Mac glowered at Emily, then at Free. She almost drew back at the rage and insolence

burning in his gaze.

Free produced a smile for her friend. “Really, it’s okay. You go have the tea I made,

I’ll join you in a little while.”

Emily didn’t look convinced, but she reluctantly conceded. She shot Mac one last firm

glower from the door. “But if I hear anyone shouting, I’ll be back,” she threatened.

Free shifted her attention back to her visitor, who was still staring a hole through her.

She braced herself for his fury. “I assume you came here to tell me what you think of me.”
She moistened her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. “Go ahead and get it over with.”

Mac looked ready to do battle, his feet wide apart, his fists clenched at his sides. He

took a long look around the room before he spoke. “You’ve got a nice place here, Ms.
Renzetti.” He turned a disdainful look on her. “It takes most people a lifetime of hard work to
earn a place like this,” he said bitterly.

Free couldn’t speak. She felt the color drain from her face as a wave of dizziness

threatened. Was he insinuating…? No, he knew nothing of her past. He couldn’t have meant
that statement the ugly way it sounded.

He moved closer to her, his fierce gaze never wavering. “Of course there are lots of

ways to come by material things.”

“Is there a point to this conversation?” she asked weakly, then swallowed back the

lump rising in her throat. Mac took another step in her direction. Fear trembled through her.
She wasn’t afraid of Mac, but intuition warned her that she should be fearful of what he
might be about to say. She didn’t know if her heart could take the hurt that would follow.

“Oh, no, not really. I just wanted to clarify a few things,” he said contemptuously.

“You know, we’ve been doing all that sharing the last couple of days. Me telling you about
my past, you telling me about yours.” He leaned close to her, close enough for Free to smell
her own scent where it still lingered on his white shirt. “Was there anything you left out?” he
asked on a snarl.

Free backed away a step. How took another, maintaining his intimidating proximity. “I

don’t know what you’re talking about,” she insisted.

“How did you earn a living before starting your salvage and restoration business?” he

ground out.

He knew. God, he knew. Humiliation and hurt washed over her. Would she ever be

able to live that lie down? “I did lots of different jobs.” Free met his reproachful glare. “All
of which were legitimate.”

He smiled. It wasn’t pleasant. “Really? Have you ever been arrested?”
Free drew in a harsh breath. “That’s none of your business.”
Mac held up his hands and laughed derisively. “You know, you’re right.” He pursed

his lips and shook his head. “It’s absolutely none of my business.” He pushed past her and
strode toward the door.

The air in Free’s lungs thinned. The whole world seemed to crash in on her at once.

She’d made a mistake. She’d hurt Mac. Was her passion for old houses that important? Had
she done the right thing by helping the Chenille Street preservation group?

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean for things to happen this way.”
Mac waited a beat at the door before he slowly turned back to face her. “Don’t sweat

it,” he said curtly. “I own the house on Chenille Street. The investors you took on that little
joyride today all signed contracts on this deal weeks ago. The house comes down on
Monday, Free. There’s nothing you can do to stop it.” His gaze turned ice cold, sending a
terrifying chill across the room and straight through Free’s heart. “What I don’t understand is
why you lied to me about your past. What did you hope to accomplish?”

Free blinked back the tears. She would not cry. “I didn’t lie, Mac. Everything I told

you was the truth.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. Once, seven years ago,” He shook his head. “You

know, what’s so pathetic about the whole situation is that I believed you. I honestly believed
you.” He plowed the fingers of one hand through his hair. “Hell, you even had me seeing
things your way—just a little.”

Despite her best efforts, one tear spilled past her lashes and slid down her cheek. “I’m

glad for that anyway,” she managed in a shaky voice.

“What did you get out of all this, Free?” Pain flashed in his eyes before he regained

some self-control. “Did you get some kind of thrill out of jerking me around? Was I some
sort of challenge?” he asked, his tone hard, cold.

Free shook her head, but couldn’t speak. Another tear trickled downward.
Mac stared at her for one more heart-twisting moment. “Well, I hope whatever it was,

it was worth it.”

Then he left.
Free closed her eyes and allowed the tears to fall. He would never believe anything she

said again. Nothing she could ever say or do would change his mind. Mac hated her.

And she loved him with all her heart.

~*~

Mac checked his watch again then stood. “Look, Jake, it’s five-thirty. I say we give it a

rest.”

Jake got to his feet. “Sounds good to me. I never liked to work late on Fridays.” He

followed Mac toward his office door. “It’s been a hell of a day, between the conference
fiasco and this afternoon’s damage control. What do you say we go out and have a cold
one?”

“Thanks, but I need some downtime.” The only thing that Mac wanted to do was get in

his Explorer and drive back to Atlanta. He didn’t want to even think about anything
connected to the state of Alabama until Monday.

The door to Mac’s office suddenly flew open and Alex stormed trough it. She looked

madder than hell and ready to act on it.

Mac braced himself for her verbal assault. She walked straight up to him and, before he

realized her intention, slapped him hard. The unexpected blow rattled him. He shook his head
and then rubbed his stinging jaw.

“Alex, what the hell are you doing?” Jake bellowed. Concern creased his brow, but

Mac couldn’t tell if it was for him or Alex.

“Shut up, Jake. This doesn’t concern you.” She turned her full attention to Mac. “You

are unquestionably the biggest jerk I have ever met in my entire life. And believe me, I’ve
met plenty.” She shot Jake a look.

Mac started to respond, but she cut him off.
“Shut it and listen,” she hissed. “I don’t know where you got your information, but

Free Renzetti is one of the kindest people on the face of this planet.” Alex balled her fists at
her sides. “Yes, she was arrested twice for solicitation six years ago, but the only thing she
was guilty of was being in the wrong place at the wrong time—trying to help a friend who
needed rescuing from a bad life. But like you, the cops were too stupid to see the truth. The
last time she tried to help that friend, the friend’s pimp almost beat Free to death. The friend
was pregnant, so Free took the rap for assaulting the creep to keep her out of jail.”

Mac shuddered as the thought of someone physically hurting Free. He stood stock-still

and listened to Alex’s words, not sure he could take a chance and go out any further on an
emotional limb. He’d done that already and look where it had gotten him.

“Thomas Styles cared about Free. He knew that she’d never had a break in her life and

he wanted to give her one. So he took her into his home.” Her gaze narrowed to emerald slits.
“He loved her, Mac. Loved her like a daughter. And she loved him like a father. Get it? Like
a father.”

Regret washed over Mac. The insinuations he’d flung at Free echoed in his ears. Beside

him, Jake shifted uncomfortably.

“She has used every cent he left her to aid one cause or another, mostly the homeless.”

Alex smiled. “She turned the top two floors of the house into apartments to help finance its
maintenance after she’d run out of money.” Alex pinned Mac with a deadly glare. “She gives
too much. She was even willing to go to jail over your damned magnolia tree.” Alex flung
her arms in exasperation. “Do you have any idea how difficult it was for her to do that after
the times she had been hauled in for something she didn’t do?” Alex swallowed visibly. “Do
you have any idea of how they treat women who are arrested for solicitation?”

Mac shook his head. “I didn’t know,” he offered, then released a heavy breath. “The

facts—”

“The facts are misleading,” Alex cut in sharply. “How on earth did you get your

information anyway?” she demanded.

Mac stalled.
Jake sighed mightily. “I ran a routine background check,” he admitted.
“You?” Alex glared at her colleague, her anger renewing itself a hundredfold.
“Me,” he muttered.
Before either of them had a clue as to what was about to happen, Alex slammed her fist

into Jake’s gut. He grunted and doubled over in obvious pain.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said, as she shook the hand she’d belted him with.

“You’re the biggest jerk I’ve ever met.”

Alex turned back to Mac and his abdomen clenched in anticipation of the same

treatment.

“I hope you appreciate how much it cost Free to allow you so close. Thomas was the

only person she’d ever let anywhere near her heart. He was the first solid thing in her life and
he died. She reached out to you, Mac, and what did you do?” Alex shook her head in disgust.
“You took what she had to offer and then threw her away.”

A muscle jerked in Mac’s tense jaw. “She tricked me. She lured me from my meeting

and made me look like a fool.” He swallowed tightly. Despite Alex’s revelations, the betrayal
still stung.

“Well, think about it, Mac. She did it for a cause she believed in. Would you have

invited her—or any of the Chenille Street Preservation Committee—to give our side of the
story?”

“Maybe,” Mac said under his breath.
Alex smiled sweetly. “I don’t think so. One more thing, Mac. You are a fool if you let

her go.”

Chapter Ten

Mac, with Oliver in tow, had spent the rest of the weekend in pure hell. He had driven

home to Atlanta and sulked for forty-eight hours. His townhouse no longer felt like home.
The clean, dramatic lines he had admired when he’d bought the place now seemed cold and
harsh. When he’d considered driving to the office to catch up on business there, he couldn’t
work up the enthusiasm to actually do it. He couldn’t sleep, he couldn’t eat. Finally, unable
to stand it any longer, he had gotten up at two a.m. on Monday morning to drive back to
Huntsville.

Mac parked his Explorer on the street across from the demolition site. He exhaled

wearily as he surveyed the group of protestors surrounding the Chenille Street house. Seven
in the morning and they were already there. Roy Nelson, the site supervisor, had obviously
called the police since several cruisers were parked on the street as well.

Mac opened his door and stepped out into the breezy morning. The radio weatherman

had said the temperature was unseasonably cool, but Mac knew it wouldn’t take long for
things to heat up around here. In more ways than one, he thought as he glanced toward the
crowd who were no doubt waiting for him to make a command decision. Mac settled his hard
hat into place, then crossed the street. Jake and Roy met him at the edge of the property.

“The demolition crew is in place, but I thought it would be best to wait until you

arrived since you were en route,” Roy said quickly.

Mac knew what he meant. Roy Nelson didn’t want to be the one to tell the police to

take the protestors away. Mac’s gaze flitted to the ringleader. He clenched his jaw when Free
met his gaze with challenge in her own. Her long, brown tresses shifted around her shoulders
in the gust of wind that kicked up. Mac’s fingers curled into fists with the need to touch that
silky stuff. Her ankle-length flowing skirt flapped around her legs, accentuating her shape
and reminded him of her dancing in the rain.

The memory of making love with Free, of just being with Free, had filled every minute

of every hour he had been away. He couldn’t imagine spending the rest of his life without
ever seeing her again. But Mac couldn’t fathom the concept of sharing his life completely
with another human being. His life had been so uncomplicated before coming here. He had
focused solely on work; everything else had remained secondary, unimportant in the overall
scheme of things.

Now nothing made sense. Even work didn’t appeal to him quite the way it had before.

That particular obsession was gone, replaced by a flame so strong and so hot that it
threatened to consume him. It burned deep in his soul and he didn’t know how to quench it. It
made him uneasy, restless. It made him want things he hadn’t planned to want at this point in
his life.

He couldn’t do it.
Somehow, Mac decided, he had to get things back in order. He had to regain control

over his destiny. And now was the perfect time to start. He walked straight up to Free and
looked down at her with as much indifference as he could muster. Her gaze turned wary.

“If you and your friends don’t leave peacefully right now,” Mac said pointedly, “I’ll

have to ask the police to escort you off this work site. Those who resist will be taken to jail.”

“Don’t do this, Mac,” she urged, a plea in her voice that touched something deep inside

him, made him want to hold her.

He pushed the feelings away. “It’s my job, Free. It’s what I do.”
“You’re an architect,” she argued. “You’re supposed to pay attention to the way things

are made. You’re supposed to care.”

Mac looked away, unable to bear the disappointment in her eyes. He turned to Roy.

“Do what you have to do,” he said. The crestfallen expression of the old architect, Towery,
caught Mac’s eye briefly. In that fleeting instant of contact something passed between the
two men. Something knowing and fiercely sad. The moment passed, but the feeling the
contact evoked didn’t. For the first time in his life, Mac had no desire to watch what was
about to take place. The only thing he felt was self-disgust. He didn’t want to see the
protestors hauled away. He didn’t want to see the grand old house fall.

He had to get away. Mac started in the direction of his Explorer with no intention of

looking back. The rumble in the crowd of protestors told him that the police had moved in.
Indignant shouts rang out behind him, but he forced himself to disregard them. Why was
preserving something old so important to these people? Important enough to be arrested
over?

A sharp pang of regret pierced him. Mac hesitated when something Free had said to

him echoed inside his head. This home is our history. It tells us where we’ve been. And
connects us to the past. The past had never meant anything to Mac. Why should it now? He
didn’t need the past.

“That’s too tight!”
The sound of pain in Free’s voice jerked him around. He saw the haunted expression

on her face, and then the proud lift of her chin as the policeman adjusted the handcuffs on her
delicate wrists. Mac winced, ashamed of himself. The thought of her enduring another trip to
jail, especially because of him, squeezed his chest. His heart pounded erratically when the
officer opened the door to the cruiser and prepared to usher Free inside.

“Wait!!” he shouted. In four swift strides Mac covered the distance between them.

“Take them off,” he demanded.

Bewildered, the officer shrugged and complied. With the metal bracelets removed, Free

gingerly rubbed her wrists, and glared furiously at Mac.

“Come with me,” he ordered tersely. He captured Free’s hand and all but dragged her

into the house.

In the middle of the parlor he released her, planted his hands on his hips and stared

down at her with as much uncertainty as anger. “Make me see what it is that’s so damned
important to you and your friends.”

Free moistened her lips and took a deep breath. “Close your eyes, Mac,” she said

softly.

Impatient, annoyed, and thoroughly wildered, Mac exhaled loudly, then closed his

eyes. He forced all thought aside. If he allowed himself to think now, he would realize that he
had certainly lost his mind. Mac never hesitated or second-guessed himself. Why in the hell
was he doing it now?

“Imagine this room beautifully restored. Its wood floors gleaming, adorned with

beautiful wool carpets. The reproduction furniture eye-pleasing and comfortable for the
patients waiting for appointments. The atmosphere warm and inviting, making the patients
feel safe, at home. Imagine the dining room transformed into a tasteful, yet efficient office.

“A fully equipped lab would replace the large kitchen. And the two large bedrooms on

this floor would become four good-sized examination rooms. The upstairs would include a
supply room, private offices, and an employees’ lounge. All retaining the look and feel of
history, and home.”

Free explained how Towery had discovered that the layout of the house was perfectly

suited for renovation to a medical clinic. The cost would be compatible to, if not less than,
new construction.

Mac listened quietly. When she had finished, he opened his eyes and walked out of the

parlor. He stood in the wide entry hall at the bottom of the staircase and noted again, with a
measure of reluctance, the exquisite craftsmanship of the old house. He could imagine the
elegant staircase returned to its former glory. Common sense told him that she was right. The
house would make a beautiful clinic.

But restoration wasn’t his style. McFerrin Enterprises didn’t do restoration. He and his

father had built this company into a multi-million dollar corporation by pushing into the
future, not dwelling in the past.

“That way the antebellum theme would be kept throughout the neighborhood,” Free

interjected when the silence continued. Mac turned to face her and she leveled those amazing
blue eyes on him. “It’s what everybody wants, Mac.”

He looked at her for a long time, unable to speak. She was so beautiful. And he wanted

her like he had never wanted anyone else. His arms ached to hold her. But it would only add
insult to injury. Theirs was a relationship doomed from the beginning. He knew it. And, most
likely, she knew it, too.

Mac turned away. How could he fight this? Admittedly, he had gotten himself into this

no-win situation. But how could he hurt Free?

For the first time in his life, Mac wavered about making a decision. Then the vivid

fantasy of Free holding his child in her arms flitted through his mind. Mac squeezed his eyes
shut and forced out the image. He couldn’t have that. He wasn’t the kind of man that could
make a woman like Free happy. She gave too much and would expect a lot in return. Mac
couldn’t ever match her emotional generosity. He gave his all to work—he didn’t have

enough left to make Free happy. But the one thing he could do was let her have her way on
this house. He could do that.

“Fine.” Mac met her hopeful gaze. “You win.” He turned and walked out. He could

feel her close behind him when he stepped into the bright morning sun, but he didn’t look
back. If he looked back, he might not be able to ever walk away from her. And he had to
walk away.

“The house stays,” he told the site supervisor as he passed. Mac ignored his questions.

He glanced at Jake. “Do whatever you have to do to work out the contracts.” Mac didn’t
qualify his orders. He didn’t want to think. He just wanted to get the hell out of there.

As he slid behind the wheel of his vehicle, Mac heard the cheers of victory from the

protestors. At least somebody had gotten what they wanted.

~*~

Free peeled off her work gloves and smoothed her hand over the door’s newly sanded

surface. The wood’s exquisite grain stood out, ready to accept the stain and varnish that
would restore its finish. It pleased her immensely that this project had turned out so well. She
smiled sadly. This would be the key to maintaining her sanity for a long time to come.
Staying busy would keep her mind off Mac and her broken heart.

Alex had told her that Mac planed to leave tomorrow. Free glanced at her watch. Nine

p.m. Obviously he didn’t intend to bother with goodbyes. She sighed. It had been three days
since Mac had made the decision to let the Chenille Street house stand. She hadn’t seen or
heard from him in all that time.

Her heart ached but there was nothing to be done. Mac had made his position clear.

Though he had apologized in a roundabout way for the things he had thought were true about
her past, it still hurt when she remembered that scene in the parlor. Mac hadn’t actually
apologized to her in person, but he’d sent the message by Jake. If Free could have seen his
eyes when he said the words she would have known if they came from the heart. As it was,
she would never know.

A light knock sounded at the door to Free’s workshop. Startled, she looked up. Mac

stood in her doorway, a white box tied with gold ribbon in his hand.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he said by way of greeting.
Free smiled wanly. “No, not at all.” She shoved handful of hair behind her ear. “Come

in, please.”

Mac spoke as he walked toward her. “I just came to say goodbye.” When he stopped,

he extended the white box in her direction. “And to give you this.”

Free’s heart thudded. Maybe he intended to make things right between them. She

immediately chastised herself for the thought and accepted the box. But she didn’t want some
dumb present, she wanted him! Free tamped down the urge to throw her arms around him
and beg him not to go. “Thank you,” she managed.

Mac watched, his blue gaze intent on her every move, as she set the box on the

worktable and untied the ribbon, making small talk in an effort to fill the charged silence. She
reached inside the box and touched a smooth, cool surface. From beneath the white tissue
paper she withdrew Mrs. Lassiter’s snow globe.

“Oh, Mac, thank you.” Tears welled in her eyes. She tilted the globe then watched the

tiny gold flecks fall around the Parisian scene. “I’ll cherish it always.”

“Free, I’m really sorry…” His words trailed into silence as their gazes connected.
His scent made her weak with want, the look of uncertainty in his beautiful blue eyes

made her want to weep. How she loved this man. If only she could reach him somehow,
awaken his heart in some way. But she couldn’t. He was leaving, he didn’t want to stay. He
didn’t want her.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. Because you’re leaving,” she said in spite of herself. Free

summoned a sad smile. “I’ll miss having you as a neighbor,” she clarified self-consciously.

He shrugged. “I’m not needed here any longer.”
He was wrong! She needed him, but she could never tell him. The snow globe felt

suddenly too heavy to hold. Free set it aside. “I heard you decided to take Oliver with you.”
She willed herself not to fidget now that her hands were empty. Why had she even mentioned
the puppy? She already knew the answer, Alex had told her. This was so pathetic. She just
wanted to hear his voice. “You’re sure you want to keep him?”

Only one side of Mac’s mouth lifted, as if a full smile were too difficult a task to

accomplish. “He’s kind of grown on me.”

“Do you…” Free bit her lip, then plunged ahead with her question. “Do you feel any

different about the past and what it has to offer the future?”

Mac exhaled and considered her question for a time. “I have mixed feelings,” he

confessed. Then he smiled, a true, breathtaking, heart-stopping smile. “I guess that means
I’m not a totally lost cause.”

Free forced her gaze to remain on his, though she wanted with all her heart to feast her

eyes on all of him, from head to toe. He looked so incredibly awesome in those snug jeans
and that soft white T-shirt. The blue casual jacket was the perfect icing on the cake. Mac was
more good-looking than any man, real or on a movie screen, Free had ever laid eyes on. And
he was so lonely. It hurt so much that she couldn’t be the one to change that.

“You are definitely not a lost cause,” she assured him.
A long, awkward moment passed while they stared into each other’s eyes. Mac

swallowed, then broke the silence. “There’s something else in that box for you,” he said
mysteriously.

She frowned and dug through the numerous layers of tissue paper, finally locating what

felt like an envelope. Free pulled it from the box. She fidgeted with the envelope and then
opened it enough to peek at its contents. Her breath stalled in her lungs. Quickly, she reread
the ticket to be sure. Tears stung her eyes and threatened to overflow. The envelope held a
round-trip airline ticket to Paris, France, as well as a paid-in-full reservation for a hotel the
name of which she couldn’t hope to pronounce.

“I can’t accept a gift like this,” she murmured, her whole body weak with disbelief. Her

nerves were on edge—on fire—from his nearness.

“I want you to have it. I want you to go to Paris.” He plowed a hand through his hair.

“It would mean a great deal to me if you accepted my gift.”

Free stared at the ticket for a long moment. “I’ve always dreamed of going to Paris. It’s

been my heart’s desire for so long.”

Mac nodded, then shoved his hands into his pockets. “I suppose I should go now.” He

turned and started toward the door.

“There’s just one problem,” Free announced, stopping him in his tracks. He waited for

her to speak, but didn’t turn around. “In my dreams, I was always accompanied by the man I
love.”

He turned around slowly, his expression almost unreadable. “I can get you another

ticket if you’d like,” he offered, the deep timbre of his voice slightly strained.

Free clutched the ticket to her breast and took the few steps that separated them. “Oh,

that would be great, Mac. I would really appreciate it.”

Something that looked a lot like jealousy flickered in his gaze. Free’s heart leapt in

reaction. “Do I know the guy?” he asked uncertainly.

“You know him, but not as well as I do,” she teased. Free walked her fingers up his

chest and then curled her arms around his neck. “He’s tall, dark, and incredibly handsome.”

Mac stood stock-still for a fraction of a second, then smiled as if he’d only just realized

who she meant. He slid his arms around her waist. “He sounds somewhat interesting.”

“Oh, he’s very interesting,” Free purred. She traced the tip of her finger over his full

lower lip. “If you’d like, I could help you get to know him better.”

Mac hummed a note of agreement. “I could be tempted.”
Free tiptoed to place a light kiss on his lips. “That would mean you’d have to spend a

whole week in Paris with me,” she suggested. “Who knows? Maybe even two.”

“I think I could manage that,” he replied, his hands moving sensually over her body.
“But what about work?” she asked, giving him the opportunity to back out. Her heart

seemed to hesitate as she waited for his response.

Mac grinned. “Have you forgotten, I own the business? I can do anything I want.”
She smiled with the happiness that bloomed inside her, then turned suddenly serious.

“Mac, are you sure this is what you want?” She searched his gaze. She had to know. Could
she make a man like him happy? “When you walked in here you were all set to say
goodbye.”

His grin widened. “That was only plan A.”
Free frowned. “Plan A?”
“Right.”
Even more bewildered, she asked, “What was after plan A?”
“Plan B, of course,” he said teasingly.
Really curious now, Free took the bait. “What’s plan B?”
“This.” Mac reached inside his jacket and pulled out another envelope exactly like the

one Free held. “I planed to follow you to Paris and win you back.”

She smiled at him, her heart bursting with joy. “You never lost me,” she murmured.
Mac kissed her then, his firm, warm lips applying just the right amount of pressure to

drive Free wild with rekindled desire. She leaned into the kiss, losing herself in the
sensations and tastes of the man she loved. He drew back all too soon.

“I love you, Mac,” she said softly, needing to gauge his reaction to what this really

meant to her.

“Good,” he whispered. “Because I realized that all these crazy mixed up emotions I’ve

been experiencing pointed to something I could no longer deny. Work isn’t enough. I need
more. I need you.”

Free’s heart swelled with emotion. Was he saying…?
“I love you, Free. Until the day I take my last breath, you will be my top priority.”

DEBRA WEBB, born in Alabama, wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at
thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the military behind the Iron Curtain

—and a five-year stint with NASA—that she realized her true calling. A collision course
between suspense and romance was set. Since then she has penned nearly 100 novels. Visit
her at www.debrawebb.com.

Thank you for selecting a Debra Webb story. If you enjoyed FREE FALLING be sure to
look for Debra’s other exciting Pink House Press releases:

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