Keep On Loving you (22 page)

Zan was ordered to bring in groceries from Poppy's car that she'd bought to stock the fridge. He mock-saluted her, then opened the door to the garage, only to find Mac standing there, juggling an armful of market totes.

They stared at each other.

He'd been avoiding her since that night they'd traded regrets. To earn her eternal gratitude, when she arrived to work at his grandfather's house, he would leave and only return once she was gone.

The words she'd said in her sister's kitchen were in an endless loop in his mind.
I think you should do something to really annoy me.
It was because of that attraction, he knew, the chemistry that burned and spit like solar flares whenever they were together.

She scowled at him now. “What are you doing here?”

So much for eternal gratitude.

Still he stepped forward. “Let me take those from you,” he said, reaching for the groceries.

“I've got them,” she said, as she made to step around him.

But she misjudged the distance or her hold on the bags was tenuous, because just as she moved past his body her elbow brushed his arm and all the groceries came crashing down, cans rolling, chip bags scattering, oranges and apples taking off for parts unknown. She stared at the mess, her expression so crestfallen it looked as if she'd lost her pet kitten.

“Mac.” Zan touched her back, and she jerked away from him, kneeling to gather the items again.

He mirrored her movements.

“I've got this,” she mumbled.

“Are you okay?”

“Just peachy.” She glanced up at him. “I didn't expect to see you today.”

“London somehow got my number. I was invited to the welcome party.” He hesitated. “Would you rather I leave?”

She shrugged a shoulder and tossed a stack of bagels into a bag. “Do what you like. I can't stay long, anyway. Big date later.”

That set him back on his heels. Literally. Stupid, really, that the news would bother him so. “Anyone I know?” he asked, hoping it sounded polite instead of prying.

“No,” she said.

He winced. It must have sounded as if he was prying. “Well, you look very nice,” he said, taking in her outfit as she rose to her feet. She wore a sweater and a short skirt. Patterned tights covered her legs until meeting her ankle-length boots. Some guy was going to be happy to be out with her that night.

Some other guy.

“Thank you,” she said, stepping close to swipe up an orange that had rolled near his foot.

He caught her wrist before she could move away.

“What?” Her frosty blue eyes widened.

“What” was that he couldn't help but play with fire. Without letting go of her, he got to his feet. He could smell her perfume now, a fragrance that she'd stroked or sprayed onto her skin for
some other guy
.

“Look nice. Smell nice,” he muttered, then bent his head, getting his mouth close to hers.

She didn't jolt away this time. Instead, her gaze stayed glued to his. “I...” He saw her swallow. “What's this about?”

Jealousy, maybe. Need. Possession. Or perhaps it was something less tempestuous, just the desire to make peace with her, the last Walker who carried a chip on her shoulder when it came to him.

Yeah, as if making peace with Mac would include kissing the hell out of her.

“I thought we decided,” she said, a thread of uncertainty in her voice.

“You decided,” he countered. “While I—”

“Hey, Zan.” Brett came around the corner, catching his hand on the wall to stop his movement as he caught sight of them close together. “Oh, shit,” he said, eyes moving from one to the other.

Zan instantly released Mac's wrist.

She stepped back. “‘Oh, shit' is right,” she said, gesturing toward the remainder of the spilled groceries. “Come help pick these up, would you?”

When Brett bent to grab a couple of cans, Zan mumbled some excuse and made himself scarce. He supposed the other man's forgiveness wouldn't extend to being thrilled Zan was starting something up with Mac again when his intentions weren't the least bit honorable...or lasting.

His attendance at the event wasn't lasting, either—he didn't stay much beyond the moment the happy honeymooners arrived home.

His next chance to bask in the family's company arrived the following evening, when Poppy asked him to her place. The first time Brett had brought Zan home to the Walkers, their big brother referred to Poppy and Shay as the “ankle biters.” But the little girls had smiled and charmed their way into his affections, and he'd always gone marshmallow around Poppy in particular. From an early age, that girl's sunniness had been beyond engaging.

When a beaming Poppy ushered him in he thanked her for the invitation.

Her expression turned serious. “We all missed you, Zan. A lot.” Then she put her hand on his sleeve. “Did you know Ryan lost a son?”

He nodded. “I did. It was tragic.”

“My lesson from that is not to take for granted having the people I love in my life. I try to enjoy every moment they're with me.” Her smile returned. “So now I'm enjoying you.”

He thought of how he'd left this wise soul and the rest of her family behind. His chest ached. “Pop...”

“And maybe I have an ulterior motive, too,” she said, smile turning to a grin. Rubbing her palms together, she winked at him. “A master plan.”

He frowned in mild alarm.
“Pop...”
But she was already dashing farther into the house, forcing him to follow behind.

In the kitchen, Shay, London and Angelica sat at the kitchen table surrounded by twine and pieces of tagboard and tiny bottles of sand lined up like soldiers. They smiled and waved.

Their pleasure at seeing him wrapped him like a hug.
I might not deserve this
, he thought,
but I'm taking it, anyway
.

“We're making place cards for the reception,” Poppy explained.

“Is this part of your master plan? I'm not very crafty,” he warned.

She wouldn't meet his gaze. “The master plan is something else altogether. Tonight your job is Mason-wrangler.”

On cue, the boy came racing into the kitchen in his stocking feet. He slid the last bit of distance, causing Zan to catch him by the shoulders to prevent a tackle. “Zan!”

“Mace!” he echoed, in the same enthused tone. “What's up?”

“Duke's down the hill for the night, so Mom promised you'd play cards with me.”

Now Poppy gave Zan hopeful eyes. “Please?”

A goner, he tugged on the ends of her hair. “If I can line up a single lady or two, is strip poker okay?”

“Don't be bad,” she said, pushing at his chest just as Mac strolled into the room.

Her jeans were tight, her long-sleeved V-neck T-shirt clung to her curves. The color of the thin material, something between cotton candy and berry, matched her lush mouth.

He wanted a taste of it. Desperately.

Don't be bad.
At the echo of those words in his head, he felt a gaze on him and glanced over to see Poppy watching him with satisfaction in her gaze.

He frowned again, but then Mason's voice drew his attention away.

“Auntie Mac's a single lady,” the boy said, indicating the new arrival.

Her brows came together. “Uh, yeah. What's this about?”

“A new card game. You wanna play strap poker with me 'n' Zan?”

“
Strip
poker,” Shay corrected.

“Strip poker,” Mason repeated, obligingly.

Mac lifted both hands, pointing one index finger at Poppy and one at Zan. “Handle this,” she ordered, then flounced over to the table and took a free chair.

Zan shot another look at Poppy, then slung an arm around the boy's neck. “Let's go talk appropriate card games in the other room.”

Zan would be better off away from the temptation that was Mac, that was sure.
Keep the peace
, he reminded himself.
Keep away from Mac.

If he got her alone, he'd likely do inappropriate things like demand to know about her date. How it ended. If she'd stripped.

Shit.

Keeping his distance meant keeping Mason entertained with card games, then a kid version of dominoes, and then they played another game that involved dismantling a tower of wooden blocks. “You Walkers,” Zan said in disgust when his latest movement caused the whole thing to come tumbling down. “Your uncle Brett beat me at this every time, too.”

Mason grinned, looking so much like his mother that Zan just had to ruffle his hair. “Good going, kid.”

“Let's play ag—”

“Nope,” Poppy said, poking her head into the room. “It's time for Mason to go to bed and Zan to have a well-deserved beer.”

He didn't protest, though Mason did. It took a few minutes to get the kid up the stairs, and then Zan was fridge-bound. In the kitchen, he didn't see Mac with the others, and he told himself it was just as well that she'd slipped away before he was free.

Yeah, since he was still picturing all the ways her date could have ended, it was better for her to be gone if he wasn't going to jeopardize his standing with the Walker clan.

Beer in hand, he was directed by Shay to find himself some chips in the separate pantry around the corner. It was a tidy room, holding shelves of foodstuffs...and Mac.

She whirled when he walked in. He could see she'd just stowed a box of finished place cards in an open space. Inhaling a breath, he took in a hint of her perfume and his chest tightened.

Her tongue came out to lick her lips.

Zan took another step closer.

“These place cards,” she said, talking as if that might keep him from her. “I told Poppy to pay a professional to make the damn things. Ryan couldn't care less about the expense. But she keeps saying she wants their event to have a personal touch and I keep saying not one guest is going to give a hoot whether we tied that stupid twine or someone else did.”

“Give a hoot?” he questioned, when the toes of his boots were an inch away from the toes of her sneakers.

“It's an expression,” she said, hunching her shoulders and then tucking her hands under her arms as if to make herself smaller...or to stop herself from touching him.

Because her eyes were eating him up.

Their chemistry sizzled and hissed.

Or maybe that was Mac.

Still, Zan set his beer on the shelf above her head.

Mac's eyes were their usual frosty blue, but her body was hot. He could feel her heat reaching out to him. He could see the flush on her cheeks and the rapid beat of her pulse in her throat.

“Mac...” he began, thinking of how to ask this.
How was your date? How did it end? Did you strip?

And then he said none of those things, because he went completely nonverbal as his mouth slammed down on hers.

She instantly moved in, going on tiptoe to make the fit tighter. Deeper. Better. Her hands moved to grip the sides of his shirt.

He slid his hand around her waist, then down to her ass, tilting it to bring her belly against the jut of his hardening sex. Then, with her pressed tight to him, he slid his fingertips beneath the low-slung waist of her jeans to cup his palm over one round cheek.

She moaned against his tongue.

“Hey, Mac,” London yelled from the other room, not more than four feet away.

Zan froze as Mac went stiff in his arms.
Fuck.

“Where'd you hide the scissors?”

The moment was lost. The mood broken. Mac tore out of his arms, sent him an unreadable look, then rushed away. “Coming,” she called.

Releasing his frustration, he breathed out a sigh of relief instead. To keep in Walker good graces meant keeping things cool with Mac.

A vow that was challenged again a few days later when he made his way to Walker mountain to join the family. It had snowed the day before, the flakes drifting down slow and thick like winter fairies parachuting from the sky. The Walkers, en masse, were planning on an afternoon of snow play, using one of the cabins for rest and warm-up. To Zan, who'd been knocking around a huge house that felt emptier than his heart, the invitation was impossible to refuse.

Second thoughts settled in when he got there to find the group in a spirited discussion about the future of their property. Voices were excited. Poppy bragged about the website she'd been working on with the help of a friend and teenager London.

Damn.
He was really beginning to hate keeping that secret. He'd been thinking on it, trying to come up with ways to handle the situation that would appease Mac as well as himself. As soon as she gave him the go-ahead, he was going to present the papers and facts to Brett and the others and together they'd find a solution.

But in the meantime he'd made that promise to the girl with the dark hair and frosty eyes...

Inside the cozy bungalow where a fire was blazing, Zan's gaze sought Mac. But her attention was directed out the window and when he strolled toward her—maybe he could persuade her to tell all now—she zipped up her jacket and stepped outside. By the time he reached the porch she was already trudging up the hill with Mason, a sled under her arm.

Avoiding him.

Which she did the rest of the afternoon—and he told himself he was glad about it—slipping away to the snow or back into the cottage whenever he appeared anywhere nearby. Despite the secret he was really getting antsy about keeping, he ended up having a good time during the moments he could forget his subterfuge.

The snow was powdery. The selection of food and drink they laid out delicious and designed to take out the chill. He almost felt like a kid again when he captained one snow war team and Jace the other. Years of experience with the Walkers let him know the best picks for his team. Shay had a trick for packing a mean snowball. Poppy's sweet disposition made the opposing team members feel like bullies if they picked on her, so she went about her business virtually unscathed. He took a chance on Ryan, and London turned out to be both stealthy and ruthless.