Tears leaped to her eyes. Hot and cold, this man; the heat of sexual promise that was downright fiery but ice-cold when it came to trying to connect on any human level. He made gestures she interpreted as kind and then shut her down seconds later. Chastised, feeling sensitive, she shoved at her cheek as she dashed past him toward the door.
Mac turned with her, his arm snaking out and catching her around the stomach. She let out a startled yelp when he pulled her back against him. She tried to shy away, more aware now of how badly she must smell when his head dipped to rest next to hers, his lips against her ear. Her breath caught; her tummy flipped. It was the first time he’d touched her, and full-body contact at that; she wasn’t supposed to be so aware of him. She pushed at his arm, although her strength would never be a match for his.
“Cassidy.” There was an urgent seriousness to his voice, no sarcastic undertones. This, she assumed, was his real voice. The voice he used when he wasn’t putting up a front. She realized this might be the first real moment between them; she stilled.
“You okay, sweetheart?”
Her throat closed, the sincerity and concern in his voice tapping into her emotions. More tears sprang to her eyes. She managed to nod as she pushed at his arm again. What she wanted to do was turn and take comfort from him, hold on to him; this slip of his, this moment of tenderness, spoke to her desperately aching soul. It was like a drop of water in the desert, and she wanted to bathe in it; she needed it.
But when he released her, she bolted for the door, pausing to look back at him. His eyes moved from her muddied legs to meet her gaze, the cocky sneer back in place.
He didn’t want her seeing his vulnerable side any more than she wanted him to see hers. They were the same except she wasn’t as good at hiding her weaknesses. His wall was constructed of sex, beer, and sarcasm, and until the earth-shattering moment when he reached for her, she could have easily believed that that was the totality of the man. His eyes were shuttered now, his jaw tense as he stared back.
She’d seen the crack in his armor, though; had heard it.
Mac’s eyes narrowed. “Eat something.”
The critical directive motivated her out the door. She didn’t bother to see if Fred was following her; she just turned and fled, being more careful in her return so she wouldn’t slip again in the mud. Tears fell down her cheeks, confusing her.Heconfused her. Everything that had happened in the past few minutes had her confused.
Reaching her house, she turned back to see if he was watching her. He wasn’t. At least, not that she could see. Fred had followed her soundlessly and was looking up at her. Ushering him inside, she finally did what she had resisted the urge to do earlier and lifted the collar of the T-shirt to her nose, inhaling deeply as she ducked inside.
Something about Mac Boyer held her attention more than it should; she could acknowledge the fact. Logically, she knew she reacted to his innuendo, his words, as though they meant something. Logically, she could admit she was attracted to him. Logically, people found each other attractive all the time. It wasn’t a big deal.
Except mentally, he had her confounded.
Mentally, she berated herself for allowing him to do so.
Mentally, she despaired the amount of time she kept thinking about Mac instead of Elijah.
“And this is why they call it going mental,” she mumbled to herself. The door shut behind her, her first order of business was to clean herself despite the tempting scent of brewed coffee.
The morning would be long enough as she made her round of apologies. She couldn’t stand to be unbathed a second longer.
After her shower, she made her apology calls. Marge and Silas understood. Darlene had begrudgingly accepted her apology, but what other choice did she have? Tell a grieving widow she wasn’t allowed her moments of depression? Tell her to snap out of it? As it was, the apology tour was over far quicker than the obsessive worrying about making the phone calls.
Sitting at her kitchen island counter, sipping her coffee, she rubbed the material of the shirt Mac had given her between her fingers. Now dressed in a green romper, her hair pulled back into a ponytail, she had his folded shirt before her.
Mac. What to do about him? Ignore him? She certainly wasn’t going to run over there today, not after this morning.
Absently bringing the shirt back to her face, she breathed in again.
“What the hell am I doing?” Cassidy muttered to herself. She tossed the shirt aside.
Chapter twelve
Cassidy
WHAT'S YOUR PLEASURE, SOLDIER?
Darleneleanedbackagainstthe bar, watching her prepare a gin and tonic. Despite the customers waiting, Darlene didn’t seem interested in taking drink orders. Instead, she cocked an eyebrow. “Where is he, do you think?” she asked.
Cassidy gave her a blankly startled look as she passed the drink to the waiting patron. “Who?”
Darlene jerked her head toward the crowd behind her. “Baby girl, don’t tell me you aren’t looking for Mac. I can set a clock to the fifteen-second interval of you scoping out the place—starting with the door.”
Cassidy laughed her off, taking the twenty the man handed her. “He’s my neighbor; if I wanted to see him, I’d walk next door.” She tapped in the drink order, and the register popped open. “That was an ‘if,’ and I don’t.”
“Come to think of it, he hasn’t been in since you fell out of commission.”