you chop wood,” she said, picking up a pot from the sink. “But even if you did it would take a lot more than watching you to make me think that you’d be a good husband.”
“Why are you so angry with me?” he said finally. “I could sense it the moment I walked in. You look damn pretty, but clearly pissed off.”
“I’m not angry!” she shouted, snatching a dishtowel off the counter.
“What is it? Have a conversation with your father today?”
“Listen, buddy,” she said sourly. “I don’t need to talk to my father to get fired up about you.”
“Fired up?” he repeated, amused.
“That’s right.” She put the pot on the stove top. “I am fully capable of forming my own opinions about you.”
He stepped forward, making her step back, her hips pressing against the granite island. “And what have you come up with?”
“That you’re a man who likes women—”
He chuckled. “Damn right.”
“You didn’t let me finish.” Her voice was low, as intense as her gaze. “So much so that you can barely remember their names five minutes out of the relationship.”
“I don’t have relationships, Olivia.” He wondered if kissing her right now was a bad idea or a brilliant one. But she never gave him the chance.
“Are you proud of the way you’re seen by other people?” she said. “Someone who jumps out of one bed only to charm his way into another?”
“That’s the question of a woman who is in desperate need of a man in her bed.”
She stared at him, her cheeks red and her dark eyes filled with irritation, then she dropped her dishtowel and walked out of the kitchen. “It’s getting late.”
“I’ll walk you out,” he said, following her to the front door.
“Don’t bother.” She grabbed her coat and hat and gloves and purse and opened the door. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
Then Mac saw the snow and remembered his drive home. “Wait. It’s really coming down out there.”
“Good night, Mr. Valentine.”
“The roads are pretty bad.”
She stepped out the door and went down the path, calling back, “I’m a Minnesota native, Mr. Valentine. I’ve driven in worse than this.”
“Damn it to hell!”
Olivia glanced over her shoulder and winced when she saw that she’d backed over Mac’s mailbox. There it was, stretched out in the snow, a sad, black pole with a missing head. What a fool she was thinking that just because she had four-wheel drive and an SUV she could avoid the realities of Mother Nature. She’d just wanted to get away from that man, out of his house and the questions about how others saw him, how he had jumped from one bed to the next and all of that crap that she’d tossed at him—questions she was really asking herself.
She put her car in gear and stepped on the gas. A sad whirring sound was followed by rotating tires.
“Damn snow.”
She slammed the car back into Park. This job had gone from a leap of curiosity to just plain complicated. Never had she acted so unprofessionally, and even though Mac’s motives for hiring her were questionable at best, her job was to execute without getting personal, without allowing her fears to drive her actions. Well, from this point on she was going to make sure that happened.
She cranked up the heat, then reached for her cell phone and dialed information. But before the automated operator picked up, there was a knock on her window. Startled, she turned to see Mac, in just his jeans and shirt, and she pressed the button for the window.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“I’ve killed your mailbox, I’m stuck in the snow and now I’m calling a cab.”
He cursed, the word coming out in a puff of breath. “You’d do better to call a tow truck. No cab’s coming out in this. I could brave it and try to get you home, but I don’t think that’d be very smart.”
“No, it wouldn’t,” she agreed. “You should go back inside.” She rolled up the window, then reached for her cell phone and dialed the operator once more.
Mac knocked on the glass, hard this time. Again, she rolled down her window. “What?”
“You’re going to freeze.”
“Only if you keep making me roll down the window. Now, go in. You’re the one who’s going to freeze in that getup, and I refuse to be responsible for your getting pneumonia or hypothermia or something.”
“You’re acting like a child. Come inside.”
“I’m not acting any way. I’m being sensible. It’s not a good idea for me to go back in there tonight. Things got too heated earlier.”
“True, but I think we could use a little more heat in that house.”
“It’s too cold for jokes.” She sighed. She just wanted to get home, into the tub and have a hot soak, maybe watch a few reruns of Sex and the City.
But that wasn’t going to happen.
“It’s your choice,” he said, his teeth chattering now. “Nice warm fire or freeze in the car.”
She heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll come inside…but I’m going to call for a tow truck.”
He helped her out of the car, and she followed him through the drifts of snow to the walkway, then up to the front door.
“If the tow truck can’t get to you tonight,” Mac said as he opened the door, “you are welcome to stay in my room.”
She stopped inside the entryway. She wanted to scowl at him, but instead she laughed. “Are you insane?”
“Actually I thought I was being pretty gentlemanly.” He turned back and grinned. “And that’s a rare thing for me.”
“Can I use your phone? My cell doesn’t work very well in here.”
“Sure.” He took her coat and hung it up, then covered her hands with his and slipped off her gloves. A shot of awareness moved through Olivia, from the hair on her scalp to the backs of her knees, and she looked up to find him watching her, his dark eyes intense. He took off her gloves so slowly it made her belly knot with tension, and when her fingers were finally released from the warm leather, he took her hands and squeezed them into his cold palms.
“You’re freezing,” she said.
“And you’re warm.” His fingers laced with hers, and her muscles tensed. “I don’t think I’m going to let go.”
Sadly, she didn’t want him to, but she wasn’t about to give in to herself or to him. He was using her, and she’d allowed herself to be used too often in the past.
Olivia pulled her hands away. “I’m going to make that call now.”
“You’re not getting your car out tonight, Liv,” Mac said evenly. “Now I’m going to be bunking in one of the leather chairs by the fire since all the rest of the bedrooms haven’t been furnished yet, so if you do stay, take my bed—or don’t take it. Either way, I won’t bother you.”
She didn’t know if she believed him, but what could she do? She needed the shelter for tonight. “Thank you.”
He nodded. “Good night.” Then he walked in the direction of the den.
Six
The guy at the first tow truck company hung up on her, the guy at the second tow truck company actually laughed when she’d asked if he