handle on my own.” He didn’t want to go into a long explanation, so he ended the call, strode out of the office and took the elevator to the basement, where he crossed the alley to the parking garage next door.
After climbing into his car, he turned right, heading for the quiet street in Ellicott City where Jamie lived.
She probably wouldn’t want to see him at three in the morning, but she’d called the office, and she must have had a reason.
He couldn’t think about Jamie without a familiar mixture of desire and guilt.
Her husband, Craig, had been his friend, one of his colleagues at the Light Street Detective Agency. The moment Mack had laid eyes on Craig’s new girlfriend, Jamie Wheeler, he’d wished to hell he’d met her first. Because he wasn’t going to cut in on a good guy like Craig, he’d kept his relationship with Jamie polite and distant, before she’d married his friend and after. Yet he’d had the feeling that she knew there was more to his interest in her than a bit of superficial conversation at office parties.
He’d kept an eye on Jamie. Just watching her with Craig, he’d known the marriage was good. The two of them were perfect for each other. And Craig had told Mack how happy he was. They’d bought a house, talked about kids, lived in the present and made plans for the future.
It had all blown up in Jamie’s face ten months ago when Craig had gotten hit by a car that sped away, leaving her a widow. All of the Light Street men and women had rallied around Jamie, making it clear that she was still part of their extended family, and they were there for her.
He’d told himself it would be all right to let her know he was interested in being more than just friends. Only he’d never been able to do it because he couldn’t let go of the notion that Craig should still be around. Not that he’d caused his friend’s death, of course. Or even wished that Craig would disappear from the picture. But there was no denying the awkwardness between himself and Jamie. Whether it was because she was attracted to him and couldn’t admit it or because he didn’t know how to reveal his feelings for her, neither one of them had bridged the gap between them.
WHEN THE PHONE RANG, Jamie jumped. Who could that be at this time of night, she wondered.
Anticipating more trouble, she wiped her hands on a dish towel and picked up the receiver.
“Hello?”
“It’s Mack. I’m outside. I didn’t want to startle you by ringing the doorbell.”
She glanced at the clock on the stove, then swallowed hard. “Like you didn’t startle me with the phone?”
“Less threatening.”
“What are you doing here?”
“You know I wasn’t going to just let you hang up when I knew you were worried. Can I come in?”
She wanted to say no, but she knew he’d driven all the way from downtown Baltimore to see if she was all right.
“I’ll open the door,” she answered instead.
When she turned on the porch light, she saw him striding up the walk. A tall, attractive, well-built man dressed in jeans and a leather jacket, he looked like he owned the place, and in the darkness, he could have been Craig coming home late from an overtime assignment.
Except that Craig had been blond and green-eyed. Mack had dark hair and dark eyes. And probably dark stubble on his chin at this hour of the morning. Annoyed with herself for thinking of that, she stopped cataloging Mack’s features and switched back to Craig. He was never coming home, and she’d better remember that.
She opened the door but didn’t say, “Come in.”
Taking the gesture as an invitation, Mack stepped into the front hall, then closed and locked the door behind him.
As he took off his coat and hung it on the antique hall tree, she felt emotions well up inside her. Emotions she didn’t want to feel. He’d come here because he was worried, and she wanted to lean on his strength. At the same time, she wanted to tell him she was just fine on her own. But she’d proved just the opposite by making that call an hour ago.
When he turned back to her, tears sprang to her eyes, and she didn’t know exactly where they came from. Maybe she didn’t want to know.
“Sweetheart, what is it?”
She couldn’t speak, couldn’t resist when he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. She should duck away. Instead, with her eyes closed, she leaned against him, breathing in his scent, absorbing his strength. His hands stroked her back, her hair. It felt so good to be held after so long. And not because it’s Mack, she told herself.
When his hands began to knead her tense muscles, she sighed and dropped her head to his shoulder. After Craig died, she’d worked hard to be self-sufficient. That resolve seemed to melt away as she nestled into the strength of Mack’s arms.
Despite herself, she let a little fantasy play through her mind. If she lifted her head, he’d lower his, and their lips would meet. She could imagine what they felt like. Imagine what he tasted like.
The two of them swayed together, and she wondered if he was sharing a similar fantasy. If he—
She stopped her wayward thoughts and summoned the resolve to ease away.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
Instantly, his hands dropped to his sides.
Taking a step back, he dragged in a breath and let it out as he stood looking at her. While she tried to figure out what his expression meant, he said, “Tell me what’s wrong.”
Could she?
Talking to Jo had seemed like such a logical move. Talking to Mack didn’t have the same appeal.
To keep from blurting anything right away she said, “Let’s have a cup of tea.”
“Okay.”
He followed her into the kitchen and looked around in surprise at the flour, sugar and other ingredients spread around on the counter. “You’re baking?”
She flushed. “After we talked, I knew I wasn’t going back to sleep, so I started making some of those baking jars we’ve been selling in the Lobby Shop.”
“I see,” he answered, though she was pretty sure the gift items weren’t on his radar.
“They were selling so fast before Christmas that Sabrina asked me for some more,” she answered. “She’s paying me up front for the ingredients and giving me a commission on every sale. Maybe we can make them into a feature at the shop.”
When she realized she was babbling, she stopped. Instead she asked, “What kind of tea do you want? Or would you prefer coffee?”
“Don’t go to the trouble of making coffee. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”
“You’re into green tea flavored with ginger?”
“Maybe not. You got any… Earl Grey?”
There was a moment of silence when they both remembered that Craig had liked Earl Grey.
Turning quickly away, she filled the kettle and set it on a burner, then got tea bags out of the pantry and put them into mugs. As she waited for the water to boil, she finished up the jar she’d been making, then started putting away the rest of the supplies, aware all the time of Mack sitting at the kitchen table watching her. He didn’t sit in Craig’s chair, she noticed. Probably he knew which one to avoid.
As she wiped spilled flour from the counter, he said, “You’ll feel better when you tell me why you called the office.”
“Probably not.”
“Give it a shot.”
The kettle whistled, and she snatched it off the burner, then poured water into the mugs.
“Sugar?”