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“Playing games,” she scoffed.
“Inventing new games,” he corrected. “New programs. New software.”
“That nobody’s interested in!”
She would never have been so harsh or so discouraging three years ago—she would have put his failures down to being ahead of his time and urged him to keep trying—but she was still bitter at the way Mack had killed her trust in him on that last traumatic night, revealing a side of him she’d never seen, and never wanted to see again.
“So little faith!” Mack sighed. He seemed amused rather than devastated, she noted in exasperation. “How you’ve changed, Suzie. You encouraged me once.”
“Until I realized you were just like my father…living on your dreams and never facing reality,” she retorted. Didn’t he even care? “You’re going to end up just like him, with nothing to show for your life.” And look what that had done to her father.
“Is that why you cut me out of your life as if I’d never existed?”
She avoided his eyes. She’d never told him the full extent of her father’s sins. She’d only mentioned his depression, his drinking and the frustrations of a brilliant artist with a tortured soul. Both she and her mother had always tried to cover up her father’s destructive gambling, to protect the self-esteem of the man they’d both loved to the end. Loved, hated and despaired of.
“I was only nineteen,” she defended herself. “I was still a student. I had my career to concentrate on. I—I didn’t want to get involved with—with anyone.”
“Especially not with me.”
“All right—especially not with you! And you were never really in my life, so stop twisting the facts. We were never together. We were just friends.”
“Do you kiss all your friends with the passion you used to kiss me?”
The memory of their passion—the wild, steaming passion that had flared between them every time they’d looked at each other, every time they’d touched, and especially when they’d kissed—brought a remembered heat to her body. She seized on anger to douse it.
“How dare you throw my adolescent mistakes back at me, today of all days! And it was only a few kisses. You make it sound as if it were a grand passion.” Damn it, it was once…to her. It could have been—if he’d been less like her father, if he’d been able to resist the temptations her father had succumbed to. She could still see the elated look in Mack’s eyes the night he’d come home from the casino rolling in money and reeking of whiskey. She blinked the bitter memory away.
Something shimmered in Mack’s dark eyes, but he said nothing, moving to a corner cabinet to extract a half-empty bottle of Scotch and two glasses. Suzie compressed her lips. So he still drank whiskey!
He poured some into both glasses and handed her one. “Here, sip this while I fetch you something to change into. I don’t possess a dressing gown, but I might have a tracksuit that’ll do. You’d better have a hot shower and get out of that wet garb before you get pneumonia.”
He strode from the room before she could argue.
She took a gulp of her whiskey and coughed. She hated whiskey and rarely touched it, remembering what alcohol had done to her father. And Mack could end up the same way, if he kept on drinking. But this, she told herself, was medicinal! She took another more determined gulp, taking comfort from the hot spirit as it coursed a fiery path down her throat.
Mack came back as she was about to take another reviving sip. He hadn’t wasted time changing and was still wearing his wet T-shirt and black leather pants.
“Here. This will have to do.” He handed her a gray tracksuit. “It has a drawstring waist, so you should be able to keep the pants up.”
She had a strange sense of déjà vu. Mack had been wearing a similar gray tracksuit—maybe even this one—the day she’d first met him. Like most things about Mack, their meeting had been dramatic and unconventional.
Her boss had sent her to a house in Mack’s street to deliver a new outfit to a client. She’d borrowed one of the company cars, which she wasn’t familiar with. Worse, it was a manual, not an automatic. As she was about to drive off after making the delivery, she’d reversed the car by mistake and had collided with Mack as he careered out of his front gate on his Harley—far too fast to stop in time, and looking in the opposite direction.
It was only a glancing blow, but Mack had come off his bike and crashed to the pavement. She’d jumped out of the car and rushed to him, her heart in her mouth, horrified to see blood all over his face. It was only a nosebleed, she’d discovered, but at first glance it had looked far worse. She’d insisted on taking him inside his house to tend to his wounds.
He’d been more apologetic than she had, berating himself for not wearing a protective helmet. He’d only been planning to ride up his street and back, he’d told her ruefully, to test some work he’d just done on his bike.
He’d been lucky. Very lucky.
So had she. Her stupid mistake could have killed him!
“Suzie?” Mack’s voice penetrated her musings, and she realized he’d just said something to her.
“Oh, sorry. What did you say?”
“I just said, you know where the bathroom is.” His dark eyes seemed to swallow her up, as if he were remembering their first meeting, too.
He turned away to pick up the glass of whiskey he’d poured for himself, tossing the contents down at a gulp, bringing a frown to her brow as the devil-may-care action reminded her of her father’s reckless drinking.
“I’ll change while you’re showering, Suzie,” he said as he led the way, “and then I’ll make us some coffee.”
She opened her mouth to tell him not to bother about coffee, that she wouldn’t be here long enough, but she snapped her mouth shut again. Where would she go? She couldn’t go home yet—her mother could be home by now, and she didn’t want to face her mother again tonight. She didn’t feel up to fielding questions or dealing with sympathy.
Mack certainly wouldn’t be offering her any sympathy.
He didn’t. His first words, after they’d settled into armchairs in the front room—she noted he’d removed the newspapers and magazines while she was in the shower—were, “What were you thinking of, Suzie, getting mixed up with a pampered pussycat like Tristan Guthrie? The jerk has no conscience and no backbone—obviously. And he’s never worked for anything in his life, as you must know—he inherited his money and his business success. He didn’t have to lift a finger.”
His voice dropped to a husky drawl. “As for passion—I don’t think he’d know the word, would he?”
As her breath caught, he leaned forward in his chair, his coffee mug cradled in his hands. He’d changed into faded blue jeans and a black polo shirt, which made him look marginally less tough than his black leather gear, while just as disturbingly masculine. But what he was saying was even more disturbing. She didn’t want to talk about passion!
“You must realize what an escape you’ve had, Suzie. Tristan Guthrie would have bored you to death. He’s far too weak and wishy-washy for a passionate—” he paused as Suzie’s eyes flew to his, sparking with hot blue fire. “—sorry…for an independent, strong-minded woman like you,” he amended.
“Is that why you checked up on him?” she snapped. “Because you thought he wasn’t right for me and you hoped you’d find some embarrassing skeleton in his closet?”
He didn’t deny it. “He struck me as too smooth, too smug, too picture-perfect. He didn’t ring true. I decided to dig around a bit and find out more about him.”
“You must have dug really hard…and deep…and low.” Her eyes told him just how low she thought him, for thinking of delving into her fiancé’s past in the first place—rightly or wrongly. Who did he think he was? Her keeper?
“I did. I checked records, spoke to people and finally found one of his fellow university students from ten years ago who mentioned this foreign woman he was with for a while. I delved a bit deeper and picked up rumors of overseas students marrying secretly to stay in the country. I thought it was worth following up. I examined marriage records, and bingo! Tristan Guthrie, large as life. But there was no record of any divorce.”
He settled back in his armchair with a satisfied smirk. Then, as if the whole sordid scandal was now explained, dealt with and behind them, he commented easily, “I’m glad to see you looking yourself again, Suzie. The curls, the natural face. You don’t need all that artifice and makeup. You’re beautiful without it. And I must say you look very fetching in my track-suit.”
Did she realize, he wondered, that it was the same tracksuit he’d been wearing when she’d knocked him off his bike on the day they first met? Not just off his bike—she’d knocked him off his entire axis. Through a whirl of stars, he’d found himself drowning in the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, eyes full of anxiety and compassion—for him. And when she’d opened her mouth to speak, his bedazzled gaze had settled on full, lush lips that had begged to be kissed—only he’d been in no position to kiss them, with blood pouring from his nose and a throbbing pain in his head.
Once she’d helped him inside, mopped him up and made him feel half-human again, she’d gone back to work—but not before he’d asked if he could call on her later to thank her properly. He still remembered the way she’d blushed and nodded.
Yeah, he’d been smitten all right. And not just by her looks. Young and innocent as she’d been, she’d possessed a maturity and a toughness beyond her years. He’d sensed hidden depths and hidden pain, yet her natural humor, her cheeky wit, kept bubbling to the surface.
Everything about her fascinated him. She was a heady mixture of mystery, allure, vulnerability, ambition and an awesome inner strength that he suspected had something to do with her home life, which he’d gathered had been pretty rough. She’d never liked to talk about it, though she’d dropped the occasional hint now and then—usually at times when she flounced out of his life, comparing him with her no-good father.
He and Suzie had had more breakups in the months they’d been seeing each other than he could remember. And just as many reunions—until she’d walked out on him for good, without a proper explanation.
And now here she was, back in his life again. Married to him, while it lasted. Whether it did or not could be up to him.
“Mm…very fetching,” he repeated, unable to take his eyes off her.
Suzie shivered under the hot sweep of his gaze. “Oh, sure.” She gave a snort, but she could feel her cheeks heating, her skin prickling under the gray fabric. “It’s about a mile too big and I’ve had to roll up the sleeves and the legs several times and they’re still too long. But at least I’m dry.”
“You look gorgeous. And naturally beautiful.” Suzie, baby, you’d look good in a sack, he thought, and found himself wondering what she’d look like in nothing at all. He quenched a sharp stab of desire and made an effort to steady his voice. “You’ll be much happier being yourself again, Suzie, not some untouchable ice maiden.”
Untouchable? Suzie’s heart jumped. What had made him say that? Did he know? She bowed her head over her hot coffee. Don’t be silly, how could he possibly know?
“I left my wedding dress on your bathroom floor,” she mumbled. Anything to switch the subject! “You might as well throw it out. It’s ruined now.”
“Well, it’s served its purpose. And knowing you fashion designers, you’ll want a new up-to-the-minute model if and when you ever decide to get married again…for keeps.” His dark eyes caught hers for a challenging second.
“At this precise moment, I can’t imagine wanting to be permanently married to anyone, ever,” she said fiercely, with a shudder.
Mack repressed a sigh. So, after all his efforts to save her from Tristan Guthrie and win her back, she still didn’t want to be married to him. At least not beyond tonight. But things could change. “Oh, you’ll want to be married one day, Suzie. You’re a woman who believes in marriage and happily-ever-afters. And children. And it will happen. When you find the right man.” When you realize you’ve already found him.
Suzie couldn’t look at him, afraid of what she might see in his eyes. Or afraid of what her own might reveal. “Please, Mack, I don’t want—” She stopped, taking a quick sharp breath. “What are you doing?”
“Just checking if your hair’s dry.” His hands were at her nape, his fingers threading through her curls. It was the lamest excuse she’d ever heard, but she didn’t immediately jerk away, a strange languor sweeping over her, her skin tingling under his touch. Tristan had never run his fingers through her hair.
“Don’t,” she whispered huskily, but she still couldn’t seem to move, or twist her head round to shake him off.
“He wasn’t the man for you, Suzie. Trust me.”
That made her jerk back away from him. “Trust you?” she breathed. “You’d be the last man I’d ever trust!”
She gulped in a rallying breath. He was waiting for her to crack, to admit that his presence disturbed her. Waiting for her to throw herself back into his arms and confess how she’d missed him and how badly she wanted him back in her life, regardless of his faults and failings.
Well, you’ll be waiting, she vowed hotly. She’d had a lifetime of pain and disillusionment to harden her heart against irresponsible charmers like Mack Chaney and her father. She’d watched her mother being worn down, day after day, and had sworn she’d never end up like her.
Mack looked pained. “I saved you from marrying a potential bigamist, didn’t I?”
She scowled. “I suppose you expect me to be grateful to you.” Her voice trembled. “Well, all right, I’m glad you found out in time. B-but you had no right to interfere in my life. You should have asked someone else to check up on Tristan.” Anyone else!
“I thought I had the right as a friend, Suzie. Friends look out for each other.”
“A friend?” Her eyes seared his. “We haven’t been friends, or even spoken to each other, since—” She stopped, shaking her head. Since the night he’d come round to her place boasting of his big win at the casino, thinking she’d be happy about his stroke of good fortune and congratulate him.
“Since the day of your father’s funeral,” Mack finished for her, reminding her that he’d turned up unexpectedly on that somber occasion, a few months after their abrupt parting.
Suzie took a gulp of her coffee. Her mother had kept her closely under her wing from the moment Mack had shown up, so that he would have no chance to speak privately to her, except to offer his condolences to both of them. She’d turned sharply away from him afterward, making it plain that she wanted nothing more to do with him.
Any man so like her father! It would be disastrous to get involved with Mack again. He’ll end up the same way as your father, one of these days, her mother had warned her over and over again, and despite the feelings she still had for Mack, she’d known that Ruth was right.
Mack had taken the hint and kept out of her life after that, and a few weeks later she’d heard that he’d gone off to travel round Australia on his Harley-Davidson—a trip that could have lasted months or years. She wondered when he’d come back. Just as well he had! Nobody else had thought to check up on Tristan Guthrie’s past.
“It must have been tough, finding out that your bridegroom had a wife already,” Mack conceded, his voice a warm, deep rumble, “but you don’t seem too heartbroken, Suzie, I’m glad to see. You know in your heart, don’t you, that Tristan was wrong for you?”
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