Actually, a cold drink sounded pretty good to her just then, considering that she’d been on the verge of overheating. She scooted several inches away from him and reached for her coffee. It annoyed her that her hand wasn’t quite steady when she picked up her cup. Just a kiss? Had she really thought it could be that easy with him?
Mac cleared his throat. “I should probably go.”
She glanced instinctively at her watch, not certain whether she was relieved or reluctant that he was ready to leave. “It’s still early.”
“Mmm. More time to get into trouble if I stay,” he murmured.
The glint of humor in his eyes made her smile, even as she felt her cheeks warm. He made it clear enough that he would have liked the embrace to go further. And she had to admit that deep down inside, she shared the sentiment. But as she had said, it was entirely too soon to be flirting with that sort of temptation.
She’d known Jerry for ages and hadn’t kissed him the way she had just kissed Mac. She hadn’t wanted to, for that matter.
“Besides,” Mac added, setting his half-emptied coffee cup on the tray, “it’s starting to rain.”
She hadn’t heard the rain until he said that. She hadn’t been aware of anything outside this room, actually. For the first time in a while, she remembered her brother. The thought was accompanied by a ripple of guilt that he’d been so far from her mind only moments earlier.
“I hope the fathers on the camp-out made plans for rain,” she murmured, looking toward the window in time to see a brief flash of lightning.
“They’re idiots if they didn’t. The forecasters have been predicting rain for days.”
His blunt tone made her smile again as they stood. “Do you always plan for every contingency, Mac?”
“I try.” He paused in front of her, reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her still-tender mouth. His expression was somber. “I didn’t plan on you.”
Her smile faded. She certainly understood that sentiment. Mac—and her unexpected reaction to him—had certainly thrown her for a loop. But some surprises were rather nice ones, she thought as he stroked her cheek lightly again.
Not quite knowing what to say, she walked him to the door. She started to say something about working up design boards for the Garrett house, but it seemed rather foolish to talk business now, to pretend there was nothing else developing between them.
“Thanks for the dinner,” he said as they paused at the door. “You were right, it was nice to eat a home-cooked meal for a change.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Next time I’ll remember about the strawberries.” She spoke without thinking, only then realizing that she had just implied there would be more evenings like this.
His mouth quirked into a slight smile. “For another dinner with you, I would even eat strawberries.”
Smiling back at him, she quipped, “And risk breaking out in hives? I’m flattered.”
“You should be. I hate to itch.”
Twisting her hands in front of her, she looked up at him, suddenly awkward again. “It sounds as if it’s starting to rain harder.”
A rumble of thunder underscored her words. “You aren’t afraid to be alone during thunderstorms, are you?”
“Just the opposite, actually. Would it surprise you to hear that I like thunderstorms?”
“It might have, earlier today. Now—no, it doesn’t surprise me at all.”
Since they’d kissed, he meant. Since they had created their own storm—and it had been very obvious that she’d liked it.
Another roll of thunder made her glance at the door. “You’ll get wet. Let me find you an umbrella.”
“I won’t melt.” He reached for the doorknob. “Good night, Sharon.”
“Good night, Mac.” It was becoming easier to say his name—perhaps because it would be ridiculous to call him Mr. Cordero now.
He hesitated with one hand still on the doorknob. He placed his free hand behind her head and tugged lightly, bringing her mouth to his for a brief, but still effective kiss. “I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, the words a promise. And then he was gone, disappearing into the night.
Sharon closed the door behind him, then sagged for a moment against it, her cheek pressed to the cool wood. So much for pretending there was nothing but business between them. Or that she even wanted it that way.
SOME COP HABITS were hard for Mac to break. Keeping detailed notes was one of them. Sitting at the shaky table in his motel room, he studied the yellow legal-pad pages spread in front of him. On one sheet, he had started a rudimentary family tree. At the top, he’d written the names Josiah McBride and Anna Mae Garrett. On the next line were the names of their three sons, Josiah Jr., Jonah and Caleb.