Читать книгу In Hot Water - Mary Baxter Lynn - Страница 13

Despite the cloying early-morning heat, the garden was lovely. Maci could always count on the flowers to boost her sagging spirits. Today was no exception.

After inhaling the sweetly scented air deep into her lungs, she sat down on a wrought-iron cushioned chair. She took two sips of her cup of hazelnut flavored coffee while her gaze tracked a butterfly whose wings were lavender and black. It amazed her that such a delicate creature could spread its wings and mindlessly fly, fly, fly. Only after it flew away did Maci take a breath, realizing she’d been mesmerized by the butterfly’s actions.

She hadn’t slept much last night, and she felt listless and tired, not at all like herself. Before Seymour’s arrest, her energy level had been unending. Now the drastic changes in her well-ordered life had robbed her of any spare stamina.

Jonah’s fussiness had continued into the night, and he’d wanted her, not Liz, to rock him. That was exactly what she’d done, and didn’t regret one minute of it. Still, she had a lot on her plate today, and if she didn’t snap out of her doldrums, she wouldn’t get anything done. She was due to spend the day with her friend Bobbi, working on her house.

Maci sipped her coffee. In the past the thought of plunging into her work would have sent a rush of excitement through her. In fact, she would have been hustling to grab a bite to eat before meeting a client. That sense of excitement had diminished along with her energy.

Damn Seymour.

Guilt descended over Maci. She should be backing her husband, not condemning him. But after their conversation last evening, Maci’s feelings were more confused than ever. She wanted to believe Seymour, that what had happened on the operating table had truly been an unavoidable accident, that he had gone exactly by the medical book, and that despite all his efforts the patient still hadn’t lived.

But she couldn’t ignore that he’d been under the influence. Letting Seymour touch her in an intimate way after she glimpsed his arrogant denial was repugnant to her. Her rejection had angered and hurt him, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. If she had it to do all over again, she would do the same thing.

A shudder went through her as she pictured Holt’s face. She trembled at the thought that his presence in the house could have had anything to do with her reaction to Seymoure.

No, of course, it hadn’t, Maci reassured herself, swallowing the knot of panic in her throat. Holt Ramsey’s appearance was simply a bad nightmare that had raised its head to haunt her again.

Yet she hadn’t been able to get him out of her mind. She’d gone upstairs with his features etched in her mind, and there they had remained all night.

Shock.

That was what it must be. The shock of seeing him again and under such bizarre circumstances was rattling her clear-sightedness. Anyone would react the same way. Still, Maci knew that as long as Holt was in the picture, nothing would be the same.

“Mind if I join you?”

Maci nearly jumped as she swung around and saw Holt sauntering toward her. Of course, I mind, she screamed silently. If she had wanted to utter those words, she couldn’t have. His unexpected appearance this morning was almost as big a shock as seeing him last night.

He paused, a hand resting on the chair across from her. For a second, her gaze fell then lingered on the slender, tanned fingers, fingers that had touched her so intimately. A tiny earthquake struck the center of Maci’s being. “Would it make a difference if I said no?”

A brown eyebrow quirked as his hand seemed to tighten around the iron. “Are you saying that?”

“No, I mean—” Maci’s voice played out when she realized she sounded like an idiot or worse. Her stomach did a somersault. She wanted to react to that, but the urge not to let Holt know he unnerved her was stronger so she sat in stoic silence and stared at him as he yanked out a chair.

The scraping sound invaded the quiet. At least the noise would drown out the heart she could almost hear thumping in her chest.

Holt was dressed in much the same attire as last evening, with the exception of his choice of pants. Khaki Docker slacks had replaced the causal shorts that had displayed his tanned thighs and legs to perfection. The T-shirt was the same, only yellow instead of beige. Made of a clingy knit fabric, it wrapped around his broad shoulders, raised biceps and six-pack abs as if it had been glued on.

“Mmm, coffee smells good,” he said in his low, raspy voice, his gaze turning to an extra cup on the tray. Too bad Annie had added an extra cup.

No doubt, he was hinting for an invitation to join her and would probably help himself.

“What if I don’t want company?” Maci forced the words through her cotton-dry lips.

“You should’ve spoken sooner,” he said, the hard glint in his eyes pinned on her. She fought the urge to squirm like a bug under a microscope. But she didn’t. Again, she refused to let him know that he unnerved her.

“Fancy us meeting like this,” he said, his tone sarcastic. “I see it as one of those meant-to-be things.”

Before she could find a suitable comeback, he latched on to the empty cup and filled it with coffee.

Maci glared at him. For a second she felt like slapping his hand like an errant child. She’d be damned if she was going to let him stroll down memory lane. Their past was off-limits.

“Yes, fancy that.” She heard the defiant note in her tone as their eyes met.

The effect was galvanizing.

Maci sucked in her breath, and he cursed. Later, she didn’t know who turned away first. At the time she didn’t care. For her own self-preservation, she couldn’t have looked at him another second.

“So how did you and dear old dad hook up?”

His tone now tainted his smile.

She swung her head back around but refrained from looking directly at him. “That’s none of your business.”

His smile burgeoned into a grin. “You’re right, it isn’t.”

“Look, I know this…us is awkward, but—”

“I thought about trying to find you.”

Her heart skipped several beats and she tried to avert her gaze but found she couldn’t. “Holt—”

“Holt, what?” His tone thickened. “Don’t say what’s been on my mind for two years.”

“Stop it,” she muttered tersely, leaning closer as though fearing someone would hear their conversation. “I told myself I wouldn’t let you dredge up the past.”

“Too late, honey. The past has slam-dunked us both.”

“We can pretend it never happened.”

“Sure we can.”

She flushed and looked away.

Seconds passed.

“You’re right, this isn’t about us.”

She swung back to face him. “You’re right, it isn’t. It’s about your father.”

His features darkened.

“You despise him, don’t you?”

He snorted.

“I know you blame him for your mother’s death, but—”

“I don’t want to discuss my mother with anyone,” he interrupted harshly. “Least of all you.”

Her flush deepened, partly from anger and partly from embarrassment.

“This isn’t going to work, is it?” he asked, his voice weary.

“No, it isn’t,” Maci responded. “All the more reason for you to leave by the same door you came in.”

“And miss out on all the fun of watching you play out your role as the money-grubbing little bitch—”

Maci launched to her feet, her eyes firing. “How dare you say that to me?”

“I dare say anything I want.”

She ignored his rebuttal. “You don’t know anything about my and Seymour’s relationship.”

He shrugged. “You’re right, I don’t. But I know what I see.”

“And just what is that?” she lashed back, then regretted the question. But it was too late to take it back. How had this happened? She’d had no intention of entering into a verbal slinging match with him. Yet that was exactly what she was doing.

“A younger woman who married an older man for his money.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, really. Why else would you marry a man so much older than you—a good-looking woman like you? You could have any man you wanted.” Holt paused as if to let his words penetrate. “We both know you’re not frigid.”

“Enough!”

He merely shrugged.

“This isn’t going to work,” Maci said more to herself than to him.

“Are you telling me to leave?”

“What if I am?”

He rose. “Suits me. I’d much rather be on a boat sailing into the wild blue yonder, than defending my father.”

“Then tell Seymour you’re out of here.”

Holt laughed without humor. “Not on your life, sweetheart. If you want me gone, then you tell him.”

“You bastard. You know I can’t do that.”

“Sure you can,” Holt drawled, then paused as if to make a point. “If you’re prepared to answer questions as to why you want me to pack.”

Maci quelled the urge to smack him again, then was appalled by the depth of her feelings toward this man.

“And we both know you’re not prepared to do that.”

Sparks flew from her eyes. “Don’t bet your life on that.”

“What I’m betting is your husband’s.”

This time she flinched, then whispered, “Why are you doing this?”

“What?” he asked with childlike innocence. “Making you face the truth?”

“Acting as though you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” he countered with ease. “I don’t have any feelings toward you one way or the other.”

“That’s a bald-faced lie.” Maci refused to back down. “But since I really don’t care how you feel, I’m going to let it slide.”

“That relieves my mind.”

Ignoring him, she continued, “Look, I don’t want Seymour to know about us. To do so would serve no purpose. Surely you can understand that.”

He seemed in no hurry to respond which fueled her anger even more. He was enjoying himself at her expense. He enjoyed watching her on the hot seat.

“What’s it worth to you for me to keep my mouth shut?”

Maci sucked in her breath, reeling against the pain that shot through her. “You bastard,” she spat, then turned and walked off, praying the tears that blurred her vision wouldn’t cause her to stumble.

Would he ever learn to control his tongue? Holt wondered. He had been baiting his father’s young wife, intentionally jerking her chain, and he’d enjoyed it. Or so he’d thought. But now that she’d stormed off, he was having second thoughts. He felt like kicking himself for acting like the bastard she’d called him.

More than that, he wished he could start the conversation all over again. His demeanor and choice of words would certainly be different.

Sweat dotted his upper lip and forehead. Frowning, he pushed the half-drunk cup of coffee aside and peered at a blue sky that seemed as never ending as Maci’s long legs.

A groan split his lips. Still, the image of her wouldn’t go away. When he had walked outside on the veranda and seen her, he’d frozen for a moment and simply watched her, lapping up her beauty just like he would a scoop of homemade vanilla ice cream.

In the dancing sunlight, her dark hair had shone like new money, all short and stylishly tousled. Her sleeveless peach-colored dress was also short, nowhere near reaching her knees, thus exposing those incredible legs. Sexy but classy. Even clothed, she could melt his insides as if he had just stepped in hot asphalt.

With her sitting there, drumming one perfectly manicured hand on the table, another around the cup, staring off into space, it was all he could do not to leap on her. Face it, he told himself, he still had the hots for this woman.

Yet he hated the sight of her. He hated himself more for wanting her.

He had to stop thinking about her as a woman he’d made love to once upon a time. That wasn’t going to be easy, especially when unbidden snapshots of her naked on the sand, her breasts, plump and juicy in his hands, her legs spread, welcoming his throbbing erection, suddenly flashed through his mind.

Shaking his head, Holt lunged to his feet, muttering several expletives.

She was his father’s wife, and he’d best remember that or stop threatening to get the hell out of Dodge and do it. He was tempted more now than he had been last night.

His head pounded like someone was using it as a punching bag. He got up and made his way to his vehicle.

The sooner he took care of business for his mother’s sake, the sooner he could sail away. That was the day he was living for. Starting right now, he would count the days.

The hell with that; he’d count the minutes and the hours.