He raised a hand to acknowledge her words as he disappeared through the door. “C’mon, Fred, we need to talk.”
She giggled, hiding her face in her pillow again. The scent of him came back to her, of them together. Giddiness collided with sadness. She was experiencing the highest of highs since those terrible days two years ago.
Well, she’d wanted something to balance her: an opposite to merely existing.
In Mac, she’d gotten way more than she’d bargained for; she’d sort of known that, though.
It wasn’t until she was standing under the hot spray of the shower, feeling every tested muscle, smiling at the aches, she realized despite the past twelve hours plus of vigorous sex, tender as it had been at times, nothing had changed between them. This marathon of sex, his sincerity, was his mission of mercy to see her through these couple of days. And she was grateful for it; for him.
Without him, she would have no doubt cried and drunk herself into a stupor. Maybe she would have taken a run toward the lake; it was anyone’s guess. But she didn’t have to worry because he had stepped in; he had somehow known about her anniversary even though she knew she hadn’t mentioned it.
That meant something, right?
On the heels of that thought came the cautioning reminder of his initial concern about getting involved with her, and she recognized he had been correct. Because despite everything—what she knew about him, where she was mentally, her ongoing commitment to Elijah—there was a softening toward Mac. An… intrigue. Of course, there always had been a curiosity, since the moment he predicted this moment when he’d approached her in the Trading Post.
“Stop it, Cassidy,” she mumbled to herself.
Just sex. It was just sex.
They were using one another for a distraction; she couldn’t get carried away with it.
And Mac was one hell of a remarkable and addicting distraction.
Who came to her when she needed it.
What indifferent person did that?
And he’d spent the night with her. Sometime in the dark, well before their morning staring contest, she had indeed been awakened by a gentle coaxing heat between her legs enveloping her in a cocoon of ecstasy as his tongue and mouth had brought her to wakefulness. She’d climaxed upon gaining awareness, writhing and panting. She had never been awakened so delightfully before. No sooner had she brokenly evoked his name into the room than he had covered her with his body, speeding her toward another orgasm. Afterward, he cradled her in his arms and urged her back to sleep, apologizing with a most unapologetic grin for waking her.
He, himself, hadn’t slept, something she hadn’t discovered until finding him on the porch in the pre-dawn hour, his lids dragging against fatigue as he surveyed the foggy lake. He wouldn’t explain it, avoiding her question and eyes, urging her to go back to bed.
She’d refused to do so unless he joined her, which he did with reluctance, and insisted that Fred be in the room. He’d slept miserably, fitfully. Cassidy knew he fought against it because he jerked himself awake every time he started to drift off, which would bring her back from the brink of rest. She’d eventually pushed him onto his side—under protest—and curled up against his back, pressing herself against him and wrapping an arm around his waist.
She’d kissed his nape as she held his rigid body, his breathing disjointed. He lifted his head more than once to ensure Fred was in the room.
Why, he wouldn’t explain.
After more than an hour, his natural exhaustion had taken over, and he dozed off restlessly. He’d twitched, tossed, and groaned. Cassidy scooted away from him and watched him. Holding on to him at that point had been difficult. Her heart ached for his turmoil, his inability to gain peace when he closed his eyes.
She allowed herself to relax when his mind appeared to find a lull. Hugging the pillow to herself, she’d closed her eyes, listening to his deep, uneven breaths.
She remembered thinking it wasn’t weird at all, sleeping in the same bed as Mac. Smiling to herself, it had been funny to wake up to his puzzled response to her zombie-like quirk. She could get used to such mornings.
Cassidy physically smacked herself in the head before she rinsed the shampoo out of her hair.
Dressing in a pair of denim shorts and a white V-neck cotton T-shirt, she padded in bare feet to the front room. She couldn’t hold back her smile as she recognized the scent: macaroni and cheese. It was the only thing she had to eat, thanks to Jason, who’d sent five boxes of it to her after hearing about her post-jogging incident meal.
But she stopped short when she noticed the massive bouquet of red and white roses in a silver vase on the coffee table. She gave Mac a quizzical look. He was leaning back against the counter next to the stove, arms folded over his chest, a resigned look on his face. He’d put on his jeans but was shirtless. He saw her, noticed the confusion on her face, and slid his dark gaze to the flowers.
Cassidy’s stomach clenched. Flowers on this date didn’t bode well. She also hated the closed expression on his face; there was a coldness there. “Where did these come from?”
“Delivered while you were in the shower,” he answered, eyes shifting back to her in a fixed stare.
Hugging herself against the slight frostiness in his gaze, she refused to let the massive display draw her attention. It made her nervous, and it made Mac… upset? Keeping an eye on the monstrosity that must have set someone back several hundred dollars, she continued toward the kitchen. “Found my stash, I see.”
He was quiet as she approached the bar, then answered, “You have the cupboards of a college student.”
“At least you know how to prepare my mac-n-cheese,” she pointed out.