“Have a good time?” George asked Deacon when he got home.
Thank God George loved to read fat novels and play video games with faraway friends, because lately Fran had been out a lot. Deacon too.
“Sure.” Deacon tossed his car keys into a bowl by the front door. He’d hardly used the car at all since he’d been in Charleston.
“That doesn’t sound too good.” George kept his eyes on his book.
“It was fine.” Deacon ignored all the Corgis at his feet. He threw himself down on the sofa and then realized for the umpteenth time there was no TV in the living room, only in his bedroom. So he was forced to talk. “Penelope’s a great person. We’re just friends, and she knows that’s all I want. I’m not here for long, and even if I was, it would never get past the friend stage.”
“You sure Penelope knows that?”
“Positive.”
“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about.” George shrugged and kept reading.
Deacon watched him for another minute. “Except we saw Macy at the restaurant we went to,” he finally said. “And she looked at me like I was the worst person on earth. I could tell she thought Penelope and I were on a date.”
George finally looked up. “Uh-oh.”
“Yep. It was pretty bad.”
“Not really. Not if you and Macy are kaput.”
“We never even got started.”
“So who cares what she thinks?”
Deacon looked at the clock on the mantel. “Ten thirty.”
“Yep.” George yawned.
“I can’t believe Aunt Fran is still out. And I’m at home.”
George squinted at him. “Maybe you like Macy. Maybe you want to go see her. Maybe you’re just being a stupid lunkhead.” He shrugged and went back to his book.
“Shut up.” The foul mood Deacon had felt coming on grew worse.
A few minutes passed in silence, except for the Christmas music George kept on and the sound of the Corgis snorting and whining because nobody was paying attention to them.
George slammed his book shut. “Nothing’s stopping you from going over to see her.”
“I know that.”
“In fact”—George’s expression brightened—“I made a particularly delicious banana bread. Two loaves. You could bring her one.”
“Take it over yourself.”
George tsked. “You’re such a bear when you ignore the obvious.”
Deacon stood. “I’m going to bed.”
“Suit yourself.”
Deacon paused. “But first—” He didn’t wait to finish the sentence. He just walked to the door and grabbed his keys.
“Good plan,” said George.
“There is no plan.”
“Even better.” George smiled at him. And there wasn’t an ounce of insincerity in it. “Have fun.”
“Okay, Dad.” Deacon opened the door a crack. Any more and Corgis would get out.
“Dads don’t usually advise their sons to woo the girl next door. Not unless your intentions are honorable.”
“Come on. I’m only here until New Year’s Day.”
“You’d better stay with me, then.” George stared him right in the eye. “I like Macy too much for her to be considered a mere dalliance by anyone. She deserves better.”
“George?”
“Yes?”
“Finish your book,” Deacon said as he pulled the door shut behind him. Then he texted Macy. Coming over.
All right, she texted right back. No hesitation.
He looked at his calendar. December 21. The winter equinox. He’d forgotten.
* * *
She had to walk out her front door and down the length of her piazza to open the door to the street. Deacon didn’t know what he was going to say. He did know why he was there. He got the feeling she did too.
But maybe she didn’t know that he was coming to sweep her off her feet and take her to bed. On the other hand, maybe she did.
But if not, he had no strategy. He felt at the mercy of the tides that pulled and pushed between them.
When she opened the street door, he saw she wore no makeup. Her lips were pale pink. Her eyelids, translucent. She was in gray pajamas with little gold pineapples all over them and a soft pink fuzzy bathrobe. She looked fresh and natural and gorgeous.
“I appreciate you seeing me.” Deacon wondered why he sounded so stiff and formal. Not the best voice for seducing someone.
“Come in,” she replied. She sounded formal too.
He’d done this a lot—he was single, after all—but he was in new territory somehow.
He’d go with it. He was where he wanted to be.
In fact, just walking in beside her was nice. He got to look at her bare feet padding across the cold wooden floor of the piazza. No toenail polish. And he smelled that flower smell in her hair.
She’d left the front door open, and when they crossed the threshold, she stopped in the foyer. He stopped too. Their eyes met and held.
“My family enjoyed talking to you tonight,” she said.
He couldn’t help but smile. “I enjoyed it too.”
A late-night gull cawed from the Battery wall. And like a stealthy thief, a wall of cold, outdoor air intercepted the heat-baked air inside the house and swiftly moved up the stairs.
“You’re not wearing slippers,” he said.
“You’re not wearing a coat.”
He pushed the door shut behind him. And then he wrapped his arms around her fluffy robe, reveling in the weight of her body against his, and kissed her.
Sweet Jesus, did he kiss her!
It was the only thing—the only thing—that mattered. It was why he had come to Charleston. Even if he hadn’t know it at the time.
This kiss.
With this woman.
She grabbed his hand and pulled. “Come on.”
He had to walk slightly behind her up the narrow stairs. And then he was in her bedroom. It was just like he imagined it would be. Very feminine. But practical too, with shelves of books and a desk that looked well used, paper notecards with her monogram engraved up top stacked neatly on the surface, a pen nearby.
And there was Oscar on the bed.
He looked balefully up at Deacon.
“That’s right,” Macy said. “You’ve got to go.”
Oscar didn’t even need a push. He went, his tail slightly puffed up as he raced from the room.
“Sorry,” Deacon murmured, and pulled a lock of her hair back from her face.
“Nothing to be sorry about.” She smiled. “He had it coming. He’s been terribly unsympathetic company.”
“You need sympathy?”
“Not anymore.”
They started slow. There was some talk. Some laughter. No rummaging for protection. She had some. He came prepared too. And before he knew it, Deacon was above her, both of them stripped naked and ready.
But he made her wait, with her legs wide open, her hands flung on her pillow, her hair swirled about her face. He went low. He took his time. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was.
“Wow,” she said on a long sigh when the arch of her back flattened again into the mattress.
“Yeah. Wow.” She was so beautiful.
“And this is only the beginning.” She pulled him on top of her.
It was amazing how they were together. The heat. The passion. The tenderness.
Not that Deacon would ever tell. No. It was between him and Macy. She enchanted him.
Their spent bodies were entwined.
“Do you have any mermaid blood?”
She laughed softly.
“You live on the harbor,” he said, “a hundred feet from the water. You’re gorgeous. Charming. Sexy. I’ve got this feeling you’re going to slip away at a moment’s notice”—he lifted her chin for a kiss—“and I might never see you again.”
She rolled away from him and faced her bedside table and lamp.
He stroked her silky-smooth back. Admired the curve of her hip.
“I love the old legends,” she murmured, “about the ladies of the sea bewitching sailors.” She sounded so relaxed.
He felt relaxed around her, as if a big knot in his chest had untied. He kissed her between the shoulder blades. “Your wish is my command.”
She laughed and rolled back to face him.
“You’re ticklish,” he said.
“Just a little.”
She ran a languid hand over his chest, and he almost gave in to the temptation to close his eyes. But he’d rather look at her.
“So all I have to do is text?” she asked him. “And you’ll come over?”
So fast he’d burn a trail up the stairs. And be naked by the time he reached the top step.
“You bet,” is all he said. Had to be manly. Stoic.
“I like that.” She smiled, and her eyes crinkled at the corners.
He wanted to anoint those corners with kisses. Run a fingertip down her nose. Part her lips just so with his own and taste her mouth again. “This is the winter equinox, by the way.”
“You’re right.” She chuckled.
“It’s a potent time.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“Hopefully, not too potent,” she said wryly.
He gazed into her eyes, today the color of the harbor. “We’d better not waste it. We only have about twenty-three hours to go.”
They made love one more time, slowly, tenderly, until the fierceness overcame them and the bedframe creaked and thumped, creaked and thumped, while they each made their own primal sounds that mingled into an erotic song. When it was over, he kissed her with everything he had in him. Well, almost everything. But more than he’d ever shown another woman. So that was saying something.
She pulled back. “This was awesome.” Her eyes were warm. “And fun.”
“It sure was.”
It was her turn to push some hair from his forehead. “I’ll see you soon. Okay?”
Ah. He was getting the boot. “Sounds good.”
She blinked and sat up, and in a matter of a second, Macy the lover was gone. In her place was Macy the matchmaker.
“Deacon…” she started.
He stood, grabbed his boxer briefs and his pants from the floor. “Your timing is really bad.”
“I know, but—”
“Seriously bad.” He was panicked. He knew it, and it wasn’t like him. “I already know what you’re going to say, that this wasn’t a good idea.”
“It’s not that black and white,” she said as she watched him dress. Her rapt attention was flattering. “We were done with each other”—she smiled up at him, and he felt a flash of hope—“for good reason. It was a matter of trust lost. On both sides. I totally get why you were mad at me for ignoring your wishes. And I hope you understand where I was coming from, that I was only trying to do my job.”
“I did understand. Yes.”
“But this new sexual relationship between us makes things very complicated.”
“It doesn’t have to. It can be a new start.”
“Okay. But if it is, we need to clear some things up. I know it might feel awkward to do that, especially because we just had so much fun—”
“You’re stark naked.” He ran his gaze over her breasts. “We definitely had fun.”
She laughed and wrapped her arms around her knees. “So … this thing with Penelope.”
“Yes?” The panic kept pushing at him. He wasn’t sure what it was about. He didn’t like Penelope that way—so it wasn’t like he was hiding anything.
“You like her.”
“Sure I do.” He couldn’t read her expression. “But we’re just friends.”
“I’m glad.” She bit her lip.
“What’s on your mind?”
“So, what about us then? Is the only thing between us sexual attraction?”
Thunk. So they were there, at the point of no return. He didn’t know what to say. When he looked inside himself, everything was quiet, dark, slumbering. “I never said that.”
There. That should be enough.
“Then what exactly is between us?”
It scared him to see her look so earnestly at him. “We’re friends, aren’t we? Really good friends.” The panic kept pushing.
“Yes,” she said. “We are good friends.”
He relaxed a little more. “And hell, there is the sex.”
“True.” She shot him a sweet smile.
His panic receded. He was doing well. “And I like you a lot,” he added.
“I already know that.”
Maybe he wasn’t doing so well. “Yeah, but I think about you when you’re not there.”
“That’s nice,” she said. He thought so. “Is that all?”
The point of no return again. They were back. He made an instantaneous decision. “That’s pretty terrific, don’t you think?”
She leapt up, picked up the pink fluffy robe from an armchair, and quickly donned it. “Since that’s about all that’s between us, maybe I should find you some more dates before you leave. I can’t be the only woman in town willing to hang out with you until you leave.”
“No. Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Hah.” She swept past him and down the stairs. “Sleeping with you was a mistake. But you can bet it won’t happen again.”
He hated to see her so upset—his heart knocked against his chest wall in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a kid—but he followed at a leisurely pace. He sensed an imminent throw-out. It had happened to him plenty times before—because he was a “cad,” a term his aunt was fond of. Why shouldn’t Macy hate him? She’d asked what she meant to him—and he’d given her nothing.
But it was better to piss off a woman than be a fool and give her his heart on a platter. That was his motto, and he was sticking to it. It had worked for him up until now … and he didn’t have a replacement plan.
She’d already thrown open the door. “Go hang out with Penelope.”
“Don’t bring her into this.”
“Why not?”
“She’s an innocent bystander. Are you jealous of her?” He hoped she was jealous. He really did.
“Oh, please.” Her eyes filled. “Why are you doing this? You’re being plain mean.”
He paused before he crossed the threshold onto the piazza. “I’m not trying to be. I honestly want to know. Is there something about Penelope that rankles? As your client—”
“Former client.”
“Fine, as your neighbor—”
“Not really. Fran is my new neighbor.” Her face was pale. Something more than anger was going on.
What was it?
“As your friend, then,” he said gently, “and your most recent lover, could you please share with me if there’s something about Penelope that bothers you?”
She stood still, her face a picture of hurt, and stared unblinking at his upper chest. “Why do you care?”
He took his time, despite the freezing air swirling around them. “I won’t see her again if you don’t want me to.”
He meant it. But he couldn’t say more. He simply couldn’t. He wasn’t sure what that “more” was. It was lodged somewhere in his chest. Deep. And he liked keeping it there, in the place where he didn’t have to feel it.
All the fight seemed to go out of her. “No,” she said quietly. “Keep seeing Penelope. She’s a good person. A very good person. You couldn’t date a finer woman. That’s not only my professional opinion, it’s my personal one.”
His heart sank. He walked out the door onto the piazza and turned back around. “I’m sorry I let you down again.”
“Apology accepted,” she said in a thin voice. She even tried to smile, but she couldn’t quite manage it.
He put his hands in his pockets. “See you around.”
“Okay.” She shut the door gently. Polite to the end.
Because it was most certainly the end.
Not that he thought he’d been starting something with her. He lived in the moment. They’d had a short Christmas fling while he was on vacation.
And now it was over.