Keep On Loving you (16 page)

He cut off the rest by pressing his fingers to her mouth. Then he touched his forehead to hers. “What I see is you,” he said. “What I know is you.”

What I want is forever with you.

There. It was said. Out in the open, at least in his own mind.

* * *

M
AC
SAT
WITH
her elbow on the table at Mr. Frank's, her chin in her hand, while Stuart went to the bar to get second drinks for them. She was thinking of how she could break it to him, and gently, that while he was welcome to attend Shay's wedding with her she didn't want him getting the wrong idea that it was a
date
date. Then fingers wrapped around her wrist and pulled her out of her chair.

Blinking, she looked up to see Zan. When had he arrived? “What?” His gaze was intense and she wondered if he might be a little drunk.

“Dance,” he said.

Drunk seemed more definite. “You don't like to dance.”

He hadn't attended his high school prom. Neither had Brett. Instead of tuxes and corsages, that night they and a knot of buddies had broken into the school's office and stolen all the caps and gowns, stored there in preparation for the upcoming graduation.

Upon detecting their absence, the administration had threatened to cancel the ceremony and then the missing items had been “mysteriously” returned, the whole plastic-wrapped lot of them crammed in the cafeteria's refrigerator.

Well, she didn't know for certain that Zan, Brett and their buddies had done such a thing, but it was exactly the kind of thing they
would
have done. She and everybody else assumed it had been their prank, with Zan the mastermind.

Without another word, he now towed her to the small dance floor and took her in his arms. The dance music was exclusively ballads on weeknights. On the weekends, there'd be a mix, including some line-dancing tunes, but tonight it was straight up love songs.

She sighed. “Lay Me Down” by Sam Smith. Great.

They had gone together to
her
high school prom. It had been held at the ritzy yacht club on Blue Arrow Lake. She'd worked for months making stars and moons out of tagboard covered with aluminum wrap. It had taken hours to hang them from the ceiling. Zan had helped her and the rest of the decorating committee, he'd brought her a gorgeous wrist corsage to match her dress—thanks to the hints dropped by her sisters—and he'd shown up wearing a black tuxedo that she knew for a fact he owned and hadn't rented.

Weeks before, she'd driven down the hill for prom dress shopping with her girlfriends, and the gown she'd found on sale had probably cost less than his socks.

But she'd felt beautiful.

When she was with Zan, everything was beautiful...until he left. At that thought, her spine stiffened and she moved to put more inches of space between them.

He tried pulling her closer. Though some traitorous part of her wanted to press her cheek to his chest and melt against him, the older and wiser Mac forced her head back to catch his gaze with hers. Something was up. “Explain the dancing,” she demanded.

“If I sat at your table, your friend Stuart would join us and then we couldn't have a private conversation.”

“A private conversation about what?”

“The other day.”

She'd managed to almost wipe yesterday out of her memory banks. But now it flooded in, the uncertainty she'd felt about the Zan situation, the solution she'd come up with to deal with it. How the cards-on-the-table, bravado-laced discussion she'd imagined having on the subject of becoming sex buddies hadn't taken place because she'd knocked his family's photo album off the desk.

And then she'd taken off.

“Are you okay?” she couldn't help but ask, her voice low.

“I was fine. I am fine.”

He said both sentences with a flat inflection and a blank-paper expression.

“Still,” she said. “You could talk to Brett—”

“I never talk about that.”

It was true. All that she knew about his family tragedy had come from other people. “The Walkers have suffered loss, too, Zan,” she couldn't help but remind him.

“Yeah. But the Walkers still had their siblings and this whole place, the mountains and the lakes,” he said.

She wanted to tell him he could have had them, too. The Walkers, the mountains and the lakes. Her. For always.

Danger!

“But like I said,” he continued, “I don't want to talk about that.” Then he pulled her tight to him, so close their thighs brushed and she could feel his belt buckle against her middle. At that sensation, her breath caught and her skin tingled. A shiver rolled down her back.

Zan's voice went quieter. “I want to talk about you and me being sex buddies.”

Her gaze jumped back to his. Sex buddies had been her mature solution to the problem that was the sparking and spitting chemistry that erupted whenever she and Zan were in the same airspace.

It was simmering between them now, their thigh-to-thigh and belt-buckle-to-belly friction kindling a full-body heat that made her breathe high in her throat. Just the thought of him brushing his lips against her sensitive skin made her want to whimper.

Her proposal was common sense, really, because she'd known that day, just as she knew right now, that it was inevitable they'd both get naked...and then things would really ignite.

But his ultimate leave-taking wouldn't break her as it had before if she gave it parameters, certain and rigid lines, designed entirely to keep the relationship a shallow one.

So...sex buddies.

A twinge of pleasure spasmed between her legs just saying the words in her head.

“If we do this thing,” Zan continued, “it has to be exclusive.”

Her jaw dropped. “Exclusive?” Did he think she was collecting sex buddies like pearls on a string?

“Yeah, exclusive. You'll have to get rid of Stu. Whoever else.”

That heat in her belly now kindled to a fire that shot through her blood. But this wasn't the sweet, pleasurable kind of fire. This was the kind of fire that was anger, that made a woman do drastic things like make a bonfire out of a collection of postcards or change her hair color or change her hair color
and
get one of those severe cuts with the pointy sideburns.

“Stu and whoever else,” she repeated, between clenched teeth.

“Yeah.”

Zan must be blind not to see the temper on her face. “Stu and whoever else,” she said a third time. “You know what?”

His expression turned wary. Finally. “What?”

“Your mention of ‘Stu and whoever else' is really rich coming from you, considering you left town but not before leaving a warning to all the males in my age group that I was off-limits
because I belonged to you
.”

It didn't seem he grasped the exact depth and breadth of her anger, because now the wariness fled and a small grin overtook his face. He looked more than a little pleased. “Hot damn. I remember you mentioning that the day I got sick. Did it really work?”

“Do you think that's funny? Giving out the idea that I'm taken or something? What did you think it might do to my ego if the men around here listened to you and nobody ever asked me out or expressed an interest?”

“You only had to look in the mirror to restore your ego, Mac,” he said. “You've always been the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.”

She wasn't going to let the compliment soften her up. Since learning of this little stunt of his a few months back, she'd been stewing about it. And he wasn't taking the offense seriously! “I'm done with you.” Her hand tried sliding out of his.

His clasped it tighter. “We're not done.”

That's when she realized he'd somehow dance-shuffled her out of the bar portion of Mr. Frank's and had dance-shuffled her down a dim hallway that led to an empty events room. Part of her was happy about this, because she was sure the patrons had been noticing the heavy conversation between she and Zan and that would cause rumors racing up hill and down dale. Another part of her felt bad due to the fact there was an entirely different man she'd made arrangements to meet that night.

“I have a date who has to be wondering where I am,” she said.

“And you'll get back to him just as soon as we finish working this out.” He'd quit moving because he'd backed her into a wall, and now one of his hands was planted against it and the other was cupping the side of her face. “Sex buddies. Exclusive. Until I head down the hill.”

While she was happy he didn't want to go around the mountains being indiscriminate sex buddies with other women while being sex buddies with her, this whole thing was getting too clinical by the moment.

Isn't that the way you wanted it?
a little voice asked.
Devoid of emotion and drama? Merely shallow and surface?

“I think I've changed my mind about this whole thing. I'm not comfortable with it.”

Zan studied her face, his gaze roaming over it as if he was puzzling something out. “Mackenzie Marie,” he finally said. “How many sex buddies have you ever had? More specifically, when was the last time...”

Her body stiffened, anger spiking again. Could it be, could he truly be insinuating that she hadn't had a lover...
maybe since he'd left ten years before
?

Talk about ego...how about
egotistical
!

He continued, his voice contrite, an expression of concern on his face. “Sweetheart, I really would feel bad if—”

“Don't even finish that sentence, you jerk!”

“So you haven't been pining—”

“Do not say that word!” It was the word she feared that everyone she knew used when it came to her and how she felt about Zan. It was the reason why she'd asked three different men to be her date to three different weddings in the space of a few weeks. She did not
pine
.

“Okay. So you haven't—”

“No. I definitely haven't spent the last ten years inconsolable over the loss of you.” She tore free of him and slammed her hands to her hips. “As a matter of fact, Zan, I've been engaged.”

His eyes widened in surprise.

“That's right,” she said. “Engaged to be married.
Three times
, to
three separate men
.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

L
ATE
AFTERNOON
S
UNDAY
, Zan knotted and unknotted his tie half a dozen times, considering and reconsidering whether to attend Shay Walker's wedding. When it was either leave or be inexcusably late, he adjusted it for a final time, grabbed his suit jacket and left his grandfather's house. Mac might not want to see him, but he'd told her sister he'd see her married.

A promise was a promise.

Mac didn't seem to feel that way. She'd texted excuses about coming to his grandfather's all week, but given the upcoming important day, he'd let that go.

Maybe he'd have to let go of everything that concerned Mac.

Shoving that thought from his head for now, he made his way to a swank ski lodge higher up the mountains. He shuffled behind a large throng filing into the place, realizing it was going to be quite a crowd. Shay Walker must have emptied every home in the area for the evening.

While he didn't mind being alone, he wasn't a fan of feeling like an outsider, so he told himself he'd do the bare minimum in attendance time and then book. Once back at his grandfather's, perhaps he'd even start packing up himself, something he'd left untouched since Mac's defection.

Shay looked lovely in a white satin gown, the only embellishment some beading around the hem. The bridesmaids wore a similar shiny fabric, but in silver. Their dresses were sleeveless, with beading around the neckline and with intricately tied sashes that left most of their backs bare. The Walker sisters stood up with Shay, along with her almost-stepdaughter and Brett's wife, Angelica.

As a group, they were all beautiful. He didn't allow his gaze to linger on anyone but the bride.

During the ceremony, the bride and groom stood centered before a huge glass window that offered incredible mountain views. After the vows were exchanged, the guests moved into another room set with round tables. A bar was open at one end, and already servers were moving about with trays of hot hors d'oeuvres.

Zan asked for a beer, then stood before another window to enjoy the stupendous vista it offered, snagging a few of the appetizers as they passed by. When it was time to take a seat to be served dinner, he found his designated place. Guests had taken to theirs before him and he discovered the two at his left were still empty. That gave him the idea to sneak off, back to his car, but then the person who had the place to his right—a young, very pretty woman—introduced herself.

Tilda Smith, he discovered, who worked for Mac.

Zan decided to stay for the meal.

After telling her his name, he discovered that while Tilda Smith might be a new person in his acquaintance, she knew more than a couple of things about him. “At the high school, the theft of the caps and gowns is still talked about every year before graduation,” she shared. “The administration now locks them up in the room with all the expensive music equipment.”

Zan knew how to break into that room, but he didn't share it with Tilda.

“And the prank on the ski lift—”

“That was dangerous,” he hastened to say. “I hope nobody ever tries to do that again.” Just recalling the incident made him want to go over to the head table at the other end of the expansive room and thank Brett for saving his life.

But the two of them weren't on particularly good terms and he was the outsider, so he stayed where he was.

That didn't mean he couldn't get some inside scoop. “Do you like working for Mac?” he asked, forking up some prime rib.

Tilda's brows rose. Her plate held chicken in some good-smelling wine sauce and she paused in cutting a bite. “I'm studying for a degree in biology.”

“You're probably getting a good learning experience in bacteria and molds then, as one of the Maids by Mac.”

Her mouth curved in a smile, so pretty and bright he bet she'd been breaking hearts since she was five. “I'm going to think of it exactly like that,” she said. “As part of my education.”

“But what I actually was asking about was, uh, how you like your boss.” He told himself not to let his gaze drift Mac's way. “She can be kind of...prickly.”

Tilda's gaze slid to her plate, then slid back to him, obviously considering. Then a small smile curled her lips. “In her left bottom desk drawer is a pile of postcards from all over the world.”

Before he could process why she'd told him that and how he felt about the fact Mac held on to them, a woman with short blond hair was tugging at his arm. “Zan Elliott!” It took him a minute.

“Glory? Glory Hallett?”

The man at her side he found out was her man, and he wasn't from the mountains, so Zan didn't have to feel bad about not recognizing him. Then the pair took the empty seats beside his and their plates were served.

“We ran into traffic,” Glory explained, “so we missed the ceremony.” She craned her neck to take a gander at the head table. “Was it wonderful?”

“Sure,” Zan said, smiling at her enthusiasm.

“Shay had plans to get married at those cabins the Walkers own, but Jace didn't want to wait for warmer weather,” the woman said. “So she caved and agreed to a winter wedding.”

Zan hung on to his smile, even though guilt tugged at the corners of his mouth. Thank God for the date adjustment. By summer Shay would have known those weren't the Walker cabins any longer. He would have been happy for her to have the wedding there, of course, but something told him there would have been a change in venue.

Then Glory's spine snapped straight. “Oh, my God.” Her eyes widened. “Mac's here with Stuart?”

This time, Zan couldn't keep the smile.
I've been engaged. Three times, to three separate men.

Since the night at Mr. Frank's bar he'd been avoiding thinking of that statement and why Mac had never married. As Glory babbled on about the portent of that particular pair attending the wedding together as well as the possibilities of a Mac-Stuart bright future, Zan felt for his keys.
Time to go.

Then Tilda, on his other side, leaned close. “Stuart's just a friend,” she whispered, then went on. “And she has that drawer full of postcards and those sweet little Russian nesting dolls lined up on her desk during the day. Every night, she nests them again and takes them home.”

Zan stared at her.

Tilda's cheeks turned pink. “Oops,” she said. “Maybe too much information? Definitely too much champagne. And the fact that this wedding has made me feel a little bubbly, too.”

He remembered now that he'd seen her hand in hand with Ash at Mr. Frank's the other night. Maybe the girl had romance on the brain.

He felt for his keys once more and started to rise.

“What the hell!” a new voice boomed out. “Zan Elliott. Prodigal son of the mountains. I thought you were the adopted king of some native tribe in Antarctica!”

The voice, it turned out, belonged to Skylar, aka Skeeter Jenks, a satellite member of Zan and Brett's teenage posse. Long on brawn, short on brains, Zan had thought then, and didn't see a need to revise his opinion now.

“And Bitcoin,” Skeeter said. “You invented that, too, right?”

Heads had turned at the man's loud voice, and after that, Zan learned there were more than a few people in the room who remembered him, all endeavoring to postpone his escape. Old acquaintances arrived to greet him. Glory dragged him to another table, where he exchanged a few friendly words with her parents and some of their contemporaries.

He was forced to set the record straight about not being the king of anything, the founder of Bitcoin, nor the star of a circus act. Very weird.

“There are some strange stories circulating around here,” he murmured to Tilda when he retook his seat. But before she could comment, a distinguished-looking gentleman arrived at his elbow. “Mr. Chen,” Zan said, fighting an old urge to slink down in his chair. “Good to see you, sir.”

Then he shook hands with his former high school principal, who not only welcomed him back, but who talked to him on a variety of topics: Zan's late grandfather, the upcoming documentary that Zan worked on and the education foundation that supported the local K–12 students. Recalling the cap-and-gown incident and a handful of other misadventures from his formative years, Zan ended up pledging a substantial donation in his grandfather's name.

Mr. Chen beamed and told Zan it was a pleasure to see him again.

When the older man went back to his seat, he found Glory smiling at him. “What?” he asked.

“I've got a life down the hill now,” she said, “but I can see this is a happy homecoming for you.”

Happy? Homecoming? “I just got squeezed by our old high school principal,” he said. Then he glanced around the room and noted the many people he'd interrupted his meal to speak to. “And I made an appointment with Skeeter for a complete car wash and detailing, I have a complimentary half-dozen doughnuts card from Olivia Tiller at the bakery, and your mom wants me to stop by the hardware store to check out some hand-painted frames she has for sale by the front register.”

Glory's smile widened. “She takes classes.”

“I don't need hand-painted frames. I'm trying to get rid of frames.”

“They're folding you in,” Glory said. “And who doesn't like doughnuts?”

Zan had just decided again it was time to take his leave when an older woman across the room caught his eye. She elbowed the lady next to her, and they both waved. Not knowing what else to do, he waved back at the woman who used to cut his hair and the librarian who had shushed him every time he made a visit to the stacks in order to “study.”

Despite doughnuts and friendly waves, “folding in” wasn't going to happen. He wouldn't be around long enough for that, but it was...nice not being anonymous, either, he decided, as an unanticipated yet comfortable warmth rolled through him. Usually it was the new places, new people, new challenges that quieted the ghosts on his shoulder, but now it seemed familiarity could do the same.

The thought was interrupted by someone standing up to a mic and beginning the usual wedding reception toasts. Those were followed by the obligatory bride and groom first dance. With that good feeling still running through him, Zan leaned back in his chair and watched little Shay Walker, all grown up on her big day.

Then the general dancing began, and he saw Stuart Christianson pull Mac onto the floor. When Glory gave out a delighted squeal at the sight, Zan's pleasant feelings evaporated and his gut knotted. This was not his place. These were not his people.

He might as well have been alone on an ice floe.

As the song wound down, he found himself standing up.

“Where are you going?” Glory asked.

Zan ignored the question and stalked across the room, his eyes on Mac, who was returning to the head table. It was time to start wrapping up his time in the mountains, and the way to do that was to get Mac to follow through on the contract they'd made.

He didn't question the near-desperate need to address that now; he only knew he had to get Mac back into his grandfather's house so he could get out of the mountains ASAP.

Steeling himself for her reaction to his presence, he came up behind her. Her hair was softly bundled at the back of her neck, with just a few tendrils allowed to curl against her cheeks. The style allowed him an unfettered opportunity to touch one of her bare shoulders. She spun, her eyes going wide.

Then she grabbed his hand, her fingers biting hard, and she went up on her toes to stage-whisper in his ear. “Get me out of here, quick!”

His head jerked back. “What?”

“Are you my friend?” she demanded.

“Uh...yes?” What the hell?

“Then you'll save me, like, right now.” With that, she strode off, taking him along with her. Four feet into her escape, she linked her arm in his and gave another order. “Put an expression on your face that says we have pressing business that
cannot wait
.”

Fighting to hold off a sudden grin, he did his best to comply. He glanced over at Mac, enjoying the hell out of getting a glimpse of the old her. A Mac who was fiery but not flinty, a Mac with determination, not wariness in her eyes.

They found an alcove off the lodge's foyer. It held a pay phone and a house phone and a couch was concealed by a half wall and a big potted plant. Mac dropped onto the cushions.

Zan followed suit. “What's all this about?”

“They're changing up the schedule, and I think Stuart's in on it.” Her eyes flashed. The silver color of her dress made their pale blue stand out like frosty jewels.

“Um...schedule?”

“I have refused to go along with the bouquet toss, so they're trying to sneak it in so I can't sneak out before it happens.”

“You don't want flowers?”

“I don't want to participate in a tradition that makes me look desperate for a husband, and my sisters find it ‘high-larious' fun—to use Poppy's ridiculous term—to trick me into it.”

“Maybe they just want to see you happy like they are, Mac.”

“Via marriage? Pfft.” She waved one hand in clear disgust. “Not counting on that.”

I've been engaged. Three times, to three separate men.

And because he didn't want to consider that any longer, nor the reasons behind her clear aversion to marriage, Zan bowed to impulse and the desire for her that always dogged him. He snatched Mac close to slam his mouth against hers. It was the most direct route he knew to not thinking, and it worked like a charm. There was a quick stiffening of surprise, and then she moved into him, practically crawling into his lap.

He speared his tongue into the hot sweetness of her mouth and ran his hands over the warm, silky, bare flesh of her back. Her fingers went to his head, and she forked her fingers in his hair, held on.