Enchanted (10 page)

Hopefully Kathleen didn’t notice his discomfort. He loosened his tie and unfastened the top button of his shirt. Again, he raised the bottle to his lips
,
but Kathleen caught his hand and took the bottle from his grasp. “I think you’ve had too much to drink.”

So, she had noticed after all. “You’re right” He sighed and shook his head, totally disgusted with himself and with what was happening. “I’m sorry, Kath. I was in college the last time I drank too much. I thought I’d learned my lesson.”

“Tonight hasn’t been easy,” she said, and he appreciated the way she seemed to make amends for his behavior.

“I don’t usually sit in bars waiting for women.”

“What about placing personal ads?”

“No, this was the first, and the last. But what about you? Why did you answer?”

Kathleen looked at the holly in his lapel, then back into his eyes. “I had to know what kind of arrogant, insecure man could write such an ad.”

“Arrogant? Insecure? Not me.”

“Yes, Mac. You.”

He laughed. “You know, I haven’t laughed, I mean really laughed, in a very long time. It feels pretty good.” And then he realized that was the only thing that felt good. His head ached. His stomach churned. When had he last eaten? Early that morning? He rubbed the back of his neck. It was cold and damp.

“Is something wrong? You look ill.” Kathleen’s concern sounded in her voice.

“I’m fine. Just fine.” He tried to look alert, in control. Never in his life had he passed out and he’d be damned if he’d pass out in front of Kathleen.

Beads of perspiration formed on his brow. How could he wipe them away without calling attention to his distress? The room was insufferably hot. He unfastened another button on his shirt. A gust of cool air blew out of the air conditioning vents and across his face. It revived him, if only for a moment.

“It’s too hot in here. Would you like to go somewhere else? I’m starving. Maybe we could get some dinner?”

“So, you intend to make this a real date?”

He nodded slightly, afraid if he did anything else he’d fall out of his chair.

He caught the waiter’s attention, calling him to the table. “Thanks for all your help tonight,” Mac said, his words slow, almost slurred.

“It’s been a pleasure serving you, sir.”

Mac stood, reaching into his pocket for his money clip. He pulled off a
couple of
bill
s, guessing that was more than enough
. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you.” The waiter examined the
crisp currency
with a satisfied smile. “I hope to serve you again, sir.”

Mac took Kathleen’s hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He had every intention of escorting her, but he had the uncanny feeling she held him more than he held her. The oppressive warmth of the June evening stifled him. Exhaustion and drink took hold of his legs, his arms, the neck that tried to hold up his head. A dizzying wave of nausea seemed to overpower him, a feeling he couldn’t shake.

“You were right. I’m not feeling well. Do you think we could get a room here? Maybe order room service?”

Kathleen stopped abruptly. “A room here? What kind of date are you proposing?”

“I swear, Kath, my intentions are completely virtuous.”

“Okay, but don’t get any ideas.”

Mac leaned against the desk while the clerk obtained the
card
key to one of the penthouse suites. He felt as if he had been riding on a merry-go-round for hours at a dizzying rate of speed and had just stepped off. His mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with cotton.

“Your key, sir.”

Why did the desk clerk look at him so strangely? Why did Kathleen have her arm wrapped so tightly around him? Why did he feel people staring at him?

Alone in the elevator, he thought they would never reach the top. He took off his coat, pulled off his tie. Warm air blew out of the elevator’s ventilation system. Stuffy; very, very stuffy. He pulled his shirt loose from his trousers and unfastened the buttons. He needed cool air. He needed to lie down.

He heard the bell; felt the elevator stop, the doors open. “I think it’s the door on the right,” he said, but felt Kathleen steering him to the left.

“What did you do with the key?”

He heard her
soft and
sultry
voice
. He wanted to sleep, but he wanted her with him. When he woke up, would she be in his bed?

“I think it’s in my pocket.” His head pounded. He dug his fingers into his temples, trying to push away the pain. If both of his hands were busy rubbing his head, why could he feel a hand in his pocket? Why did it feel so good?

Kathleen opened the door and led him inside. He dropped
his coat and then his
tie. Warm arms surrounded
him
. He felt the softness of her breasts against his chest. She led him to the bedroom, to the bed. She pulled back the covers. He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms. Then everything became blurry.

“Come on, Mac. Let me take you to bed.” Kathleen felt his dead weight come alive at her words, felt him moving under his own power rather than hanging so heavily on her shoulder, as they went to the bedroom.

“Oh, Kathy. Oh, Kathy,” he mumbled, the nonsensical words issuing from his mouth as he wrapped his strong muscular arms around her.

Oh, Kathy, my eye!
Kathleen thought he was out of his mind—and if she had been a blackmail aficionado, after this night she’d be able to get anything she wanted from Mr. McKenna O’Brien.

She tried to push him away, hoping his stupor would shove him into sleep. Instead, a moment of lust prevailed upon his senses. His fingers traced the length of her spine, his hands reaching lower to caress her bottom.

All the while he fondled, she skillfully led him to the bed, trying to escape his hold. She found herself caught in his embrace, and as they plummeted to the bed, he rolled her beneath him. His fingers ran through her hair, pulling, tugging, pushing it away from her neck so his warm, moist lips could explore the sensitive spot below her ear.

Did she really want to get away? At first her hands pushed, then they touched, her fingers hesitant, wanting to know every inch of the body that pressed against her, but unsure of the rights and wrongs of her emotions.

She tossed all uncertainty out of her mind and let her fingers roam. Sliding her hands under his shirt, she kneaded the muscles of his broad shoulders, reveling in his strength.

Shivers ran through her, not from the cool, air-conditioned room, but from the warmth of his mouth moving slowly from her ear, down her neck, to her shoulder blades.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered and skillfully balanced the huge length of his body above her. She grazed her fingers through the light sprinkling of hair on his chest, over the rippling muscles of his flat, hard stomach.

He lowered himself until their bodies met—their legs, their hips, their chests. Every possible sensation coursed through her body. Lust, desire, need.

His
mouth
, which had tasted for one brief moment the valley between her breasts, eased their way toward her lips. His eyes opened, those smoky blue eyes that had stared at her for years but had never been so close. They closed, his lips lightly brushed her cheek, her ear. She felt his head on her shoulder, the nuzzling of her neck, and then the heaviness of his body pressed hard against hers.

His breathing grew deep, resonant. His mouth fell open and he snored.

How in bloody hell could he have the nerve to pass out now?

She pushed against him, wiggling her body out from under his. She wanted to pound his chest, yell and scream. He had excited her, and she damned him for falling asleep just as her senses skyrocketed.

Sometimes life was totally unfair.

oOo

Kathleen stretched out on the sofa with the room-service menu, contemplating what she should order. Mac
had
invited her to dinner. Did it really matter that he had passed out on the bed, snoring loud enough to wake the dead
and
the living?

She looked at the crystal clock on the coffee table, realizing she had half an hour before room service closed. She’d give Mac a few more minutes, and if he didn’t awaken, she’d order and eat without him, or find some way to revive the slumbering giant.

From the moment she sat on the couch, she relived every second of the escapade that took them from lounge, to lobby, to elevator, to bed. When had she felt the first sensation? Perhaps it had been when she stuck her hand in his pocket to retrieve the room key. Putting her hand in a man’s pants pocket seemed such a personal, intimate thing. Warm. Tight. Close. Perhaps it had been ten years before when she had seen him on the cover of
Fortune.
Had there ever been a time when her senses hadn’t been aroused by a mere look, a word, a smile from Mac?

Did he mean it when he said she was beautiful? Yes, he had been drunk. Yes, he had made advances he might not have made at any other time. The great McKenna O’Brien had lost his control. It bothered her, but not in a negative way. She liked seeing his vulnerability. It made
him
human. But she suspected not everyone would see it that way.

How had the people reacted who saw them in the lobby, Mac’s arm slung over her shoulder for support? Had she really seen Reginald Morgan, the “Prince of Porn,” walking by? And what about Annabella Adams, the syndicated gossip columnist? Would she soon be reading about McKenna O’Brien’s exploits at the Plaza, with a mysterious woman, in all the tabloids—legitimate ones and the not-so-newsworthy?

Enough musing. Her stomach growled and she wanted
to
eat. She picked up the receiver and punched in the number for room service. It rang only twice before being answered.

“I’d like to place an order.” She listened to the helpful voice at the other end of the line.

“Let’s see.” She ran her finger down the menu. “The tray of chilled lobster, crab, and shrimp sounds good. And . . . no, that’s not all. We’ll have fettuccine Alfredo. Hot rolls and butter. A tray of pastries. I prefer chocolate. What? Oh, just the two of us. We’ll also need a pot of hot coffee, milk, and how about a few Diet Cokes, and a bucket of ice. I guess that ought to do it. Yes. Thank you. You have a nice evening too.”

Now to wake Mac.

She hadn’t closed the bedroom door just in case he called out in his sleep. She didn’t hear his snoring as she approached the room. The dim light of a lamp lit the bed. Mac sat, his head resting on his arms, which were folded across bent knees. His hair was mussed, his shirt discarded.

“Hello.” She leaned against the doorjamb, smiling at the man whose touch still burned her skin.

“Dinner sounds interesting.” A faint amusement tinged his voice. He attempted to smile.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like so I ordered a little of everything.”

“Did you think I’d feel like eating?”

“I wasn’t sure. I hoped I wouldn’t have to eat it all by myself.” Kathleen crossed the room and sat on the end of the bed. She wanted to stay out of his reach, even though she knew he wouldn’t try anything now. He probably didn’t remember the earlier episode.

“Do you feel any better?” she asked, running her fingers through her hair, pushing it behind her ears, only to have it fall right back against her cheeks.

“Not really. I feel like an ass.” He swung his legs to the side of the bed and stood, cautiously. His legs wobbled, but only for a moment. “I didn’t do anything stupid, did I?”

Kathleen hesitated a second too long.

“What did I do?”

“Nothing worth mentioning.” She didn’t want to discuss it, didn’t want him to pry an answer out of her. She’d never let him know what he’d done and how much she had enjoyed it, right up to the point where it ended all too soon.

Kathleen’s eyes fol
lowed Mac to the bathroom. “God,
I hope there’s a toothbrush in here,” he said, sorting through a basket full of odds and ends until he found the items
he
wanted.