Cherie’s death had changed him. The loss of their child before he or she had seen the light of day had crippled him. But losing Cherie had been indescribable. All he really knew was he couldn’t face that again. The guilt at not realising what was happening still ate at him, demanded a price be paid. Staying single and focused on helping as many folk as possible through his career was that price, and one he was comfortable with.
So Kelli. He was more than okay with helping her out as long as he kept his mind-set in front. Mac swallowed the bile at the back of his throat. Irony was a bitter pill. He’d offered to be Kelli’s fiancé for the weekend. For longer if that was what it took to sort out Jason. But he couldn’t take on the role for real. As tempting as it might become. He would not. That meant opening his heart wide, letting Kelli in to everything that made him tick, risking hurt.
Kelli was pushing away from the table. ‘Time I headed home. See you tomorrow.’
‘Not so fast.’ Mac was upright, the tab in his hand. ‘I’ll get this then give you a ride home.’
Ride. That damned word again. When Kelli had used it earlier his brain had not been picturing her sitting in his four-wheel drive, that was for sure.
Nor had hers if that cute shade of pink pouring into her cheeks was an indicator.
‘I don’t need you running around after me.’
‘So you said last night, and I’m giving back the same reply. I am giving you a—lift.’ Better, not perfect, but one degree up from ride. ‘I heard you tell your mother your car is in the workshop until tomorrow.’ Sensible talk might abate the growing need to touch this tantalising woman, to hold her close and feel her skin against his, and kiss her until his world spun. Might. Didn’t. His world was already spinning. He wanted a hug and kiss. He wanted the whole nine yards. With Kelli. The sex nine yards, not the commitment nine yards. Which made him a heel. Not who he was or wanted to be.
‘Tomorrow I’ll pick you up for lunch as repayment,’ Miss Independence muttered.
Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow his head and body would be back under control and he’d be able to talk sense. Tonight he was all out of any kind of sense. ‘Let’s go.’
The sooner they hit the road, the sooner he’d be on his own and able to loosen off the tension gripping him in unexpected places. This was only a fleeting problem.
CHAPTER FIVE
‘HI, MUM,’ KELLI answered her phone. ‘How’s your day going?’
‘From bad to worse. I can’t make lunch, my girl. Those imbeciles at the catering company say they can’t get crayfish for the entrée. Something about an order not going through. I can forgive them that, everyone makes mistakes.’
Huh? Can I have whatever it is you’re on, Mum? ‘But?’
‘They’ve done nothing about coming up with a suitable replacement dish. The wedding’s only three days away. What’s wrong with these people?’ Her distress poured through the ether.
‘Take a breath, Mum. A big one.’ Think, Kelli, think. Find a solution. Mum needs a solution. ‘Do you know where the caterers were getting the crayfish from?’
‘The caterers said the Kaikoura region but supplies are intermittent from there since the earthquake so you’d think they’d have outsourced further afield.’
‘You could have a chicken entrée. A vegetarian one.’
‘Wash your mouth out, my girl. This is me you’re suggesting that to. The queen of organising events does not take a soft option when something goes wrong.’
How true. Mum hated to be wrong-footed.
So think of something. Someone. Ah.
‘Jack Harris. You know, Andy’s mate from university. He runs a fishing company in Milford Sound. Lots of crayfish down there. Get Andy to call him asap.’
‘Kelli, darling, you’re a gem. Why didn’t I think of that? Jack’s coming up for the wedding, too.’
Kelli let out a relieved sigh. ‘He can bring cartons of live lobsters under his arm.’
‘Have you got an answer for my next problem?’ Mum asked. ‘I’ve learned this morning that one of the bridesmaids gets seasick and airsick.’
‘The helicopter will be a lot faster than the ferry. Fill her up with travel pills but don’t overdose her as she’ll need to be fully compos once she’s on Waiheke.’
‘My thoughts exactly. Guess there’s really no other way round this one. I’ll go talk to my friendly pharmacist.’
‘You’ve got a busy morning, Mum.’
‘I’m sorry to cancel lunch. I’ve got too much to sort out. And your father’s busy with his Sydney counterpart.’ Not a lot of conviction in Mum’s voice about Dad being unable to do lunch. That was definitely an add-on. ‘Friday will have to be it.’
‘Sure, not a problem.’ The relief at her reprieve just wasn’t coming. Instead disappointment was the dominating emotion. She wanted her parents to meet Mac? Today instead of Friday? Not making sense here, Kelli.
Mac was a temporary fix, not a lifelong commitment. Commitment? Didn’t she mean decision? Commitment? No way. He was a sexy hunk, an intelligent man with a sense of humour that he occasionally let out of the bag, but commitment material? When she wasn’t ready to commit to anyone? Hadn’t completely laid the past to bed? Mac never hesitated saying she looked good, which gave her hope and relief and some happiness. But... But she wasn’t one hundred per cent certain she could trust herself in believing him. She’d once believed Steve loved her and look how that ended.
‘You still there, Kelli?’
‘Friday night it is.’ When there would be a crowd of family to dilute the impact on Mac and hopefully not scare him away until after the wedding.
Next she called Mac. ‘Lunch’s cancelled. Mum’s got problems to sort for Saturday.’
‘Let’s go anyway. I’ll still pick you up a little after twelve.’ Click.
Thought I was picking you up.
This was a bit like a date. No, it was a date. Possibly a backhanded one, but she and Mac going out. She needed to get a wriggle on and collect her car, then go get her dress from the dry-cleaner’s. Then make sure she looked perfect for her ‘date’. With Mac. A smile lifted her mouth and warmth crept in under her skin. That skirt and the blouse with three-quarter-length sleeves she’d created for autumn were about to get their first outing.
Stop it. You’re getting too keen on the man, and there are no guarantees he won’t hurt you.
If only she could drop the mantra. Learn to accept who she was and demand everyone else do the same.
* * *
Mac held open the four-wheel drive’s door, his gaze fixed on her thighs. ‘You look stunning. Is that skirt new?’
Kelli automatically ran her hand down the soft leather of her short black skirt, one she hadn’t had any opportunities to wear, what with being away in Fiji since the weather had begun to cool into autumn. It fitted perfectly and the red top made to hide her large breasts wasn’t too shabby either. But stunning? ‘You say the nicest things.’
‘Kelli,’ Mac growled. ‘I mean it. I am not trying to suck up to you by uttering niceties for the sake of it. If I hadn’t liked the effect I’d have kept quiet.’
That took her breath away, along with the ability to reply. Mac believed she looked stunning. Those butterflies started up behind her ribs, flappity flap. He was way more than a quick fix to her weekend problem. With an abrupt nod she concentrated on pulling her seat belt into place. Her fingers weren’t as steady as they should be, and those butterflies had relatives beating in her tummy. Stunning. Might be an exaggeration, but she could live with that. Enjoy it, grab it and pretend it was true—until proven otherwise. How’s that for standing strong?
Mac pulled out onto the street. ‘Will the booking at Cardo’s still be available?’
‘Yes.’ Cardo’s always had a table available for her family or
any Barnett family business meals. ‘Are you sure you want to go there? I don’t mind if you change the plan.’
‘And miss out on the best seafood ravioli in the city? I don’t think so.’
‘You frequent Cardo’s?’ The man had taste. What was there not to like about him? Like? Try adore. Something stronger? L-lo... No. No. Please no. Her mouth clamped shut.
‘I wouldn’t say frequent, but I go there occasionally when I can’t be bothered to make my own pasta, or I need to get out of the apartment for a few hours because I’m sick of my own company.’
The clamp slipped. ‘You make your own pasta?’ This man just kept on getting better and better. He wasn’t only a very good doctor and a good-looking hunk at the gym. He made pasta. Please, not the L word. That would wreck everything.
‘Beats the packet stuff any day.’ Mac smiled. Or was that a smirk?
‘Who’d have thought it? Where did you learn to do that?’
‘Mum’s parents came out from Italy to Wellington sixty years ago.’
‘So you grew up on Italian food. I’m so jealous.’