Fiancee for Hire (17 page)

Grant shook his head. “You’re such a dumbass sometimes.”

“What?”

“You know her. Better than you know yourself, it looks like. You can figure out where she went. The question is, do you have the balls to go to her?”

“You’re starting to piss me off with this shrink act.”

“Good. It’s about goddamn time you showed a little emotion.”

Grant stared him down for a moment, arms folded over his chest. Mac stared back, trying not to let his brother’s words get to him. At last Grant turned and opened the front door. He stepped inside, casting one last look over his shoulder.

Mac hesitated, part of him wanting to follow. To just go upstairs, crawl into bed, and pretend the whole goddamn thing never happened. No fake engagement, no sex games, no confessions or expectations.

No sunny laughter or whispered conversations or bright turquoise eyes looking straight into your soul
.

“Fuck you,” Mac said, as much to himself as to his brother.

“That’s the spirit.”

Mac shook his head. Then he pushed past his brother and stalked into the house.

His fists were still clenched when he got to the master bedroom, and he made a conscious effort to uncurl his fingers.

Her suitcases were packed and piled up beside the door. He scanned the room, looking for any trace of her. On the dresser, he spotted a large manila envelope. He walked over and picked it up, expecting a letter from her telling him what an asshole he was. How he’d let her down, betrayed her trust, proven himself unworthy and unreliable.

She’d be right
.

But the envelope wasn’t addressed to him. It bore her name, in handwriting that looked a lot like his brother’s. Pushing aside the voice that told him he shouldn’t be snooping, he opened the flap on the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of notebook paper. More jagged handwriting he recognized as Grant’s. He frowned down at the page and began to read.

Kelli,

Thought you might like to keep some of these. If my brother ever pulls his head out of his ass, maybe they’ll come in handy.

Love you (but only like a sister, so don’t get creeped out),

Grant

Mac frowned and set the paper aside. He reached back into the envelope, and pulled out a handful of five-by-seven photos. It took him a moment to register what he was seeing.

Kelli on the beach laughing up at the sky.

Kelli twirling in the sand, curls spilling into the sunshine around her.

Kelli with a perfect, white seashell in the palm of her hand and a sparkle of sunlight in her eyes.

Kelli up close with a look of love so intense, Mac felt his lungs seize.

He flipped to the next photo and stared.

It was a picture of the two of them, faces touching, eyes locked together, lips so close he could swear he felt her breath against his cheek. Mac’s hand was on her face, and Kelli looked at him with that same spellbound expression in the other photo.

But it was the look on his own face that slayed him.

Love. Admiration. Lust. Adoration
.

All of it wrapped up in one simple, stupid, love-struck smile. He’d never seen himself look at anyone that way before.

You’ll never see it again, either. Not ever. Not with anyone else
.

His hands began to shake, and Mac set the photos down. He swallowed hard, at a loss for what to do next. Something else caught his eye on the dresser. He reached out and picked it up.

“The ring,” he said aloud, turning it over in his hand. The diamond sparkled, and the rose gold seemed warm to his touch.

She’d taken it off. He couldn’t blame her. He’d abandoned her, just walked away like a total jackass. In one fell swoop, he’d hit her with the two things she feared most: falling in love, and being abandoned.

Congratulations, asshole
.

Mac curled his fingers around the ring, clenching hard enough to feel the stone biting into his palm. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the look on her face in that photo. The look on his own face. The kind of love that didn’t hit people upside the head every day.

He opened his eyes again and shook his head. There were no guarantees. No certainty he could keep her safe or that he wouldn’t screw up again. No assurance she’d always be safe from danger.

He looked at the photo again, at the look of love on her face. On his.

Maybe there was one guarantee…

He turned and stormed out of the room.

Chapter Eighteen

There was something peaceful about lopping off testicles at three in the morning.

Kelli finished tying off the spermatic cord of a mangy-looking tabby and peeled off her surgical gloves. Her heart felt heavy, but at least her hands were busy.

“Your days of being a ladies’ man are over,” she informed the unconscious feline. “You may find yourself developing an overwhelming interest in handbags and cooking shows.”

She moved to the sink and scrubbed her hands, then dried them carefully on a paper towel. Her thoughts drifted back to that warehouse. Back to the moment she’d said the words she could never take back, not ever.

I love you.

How fucking stupid could she be?

They’d both promised not to fall. That emotion would never come between them, no matter what. Mac had held up his end of the bargain. He’d been a man of honor, a man of his word.

She was the one who’d changed.

Okay, so she’d screwed up. She’d fallen in love against her better judgment. It would go away, wouldn’t it? Surely there was a pill she could take or a few therapy sessions or something. Love was basically a disease, so there had to be a cure for it.

“Never again,” Kelli ordered herself as she pulled on a fresh pair of gloves.

She turned back to the operating table where another feline was stretched out unconscious, his marble sack awaiting her ministrations.

“At least that’s one thing I can still do right.”

She sighed and picked up her scalpel.

The clinic door banged open. She jerked her head up, expecting one of the three bodyguards who’d insisted on stationing themselves outside, guns in hand. But it wasn’t a bodyguard standing in the lobby with disheveled hair and wild eyes and hands balled into fists at his side.

“Mac,” she said, dropping the scalpel. It barely missed her foot, and she cursed her own clumsiness. While she was at it, she cursed Mac, too. She cursed his stupid good looks and his idiotic sense of honor and his ridiculously beautiful eyes and the fact that just staring at him now made her fall for him all over again.

She looked away, her eyes on the floor, on her scalpel.

“Kelli, look at me. Please.”

She took a shaky breath.

You can do this
.

She pasted on a cheerful expression. “I’ve got three more neuters and six spays to go. If you’re going to be here, you’ll need to scrub in.”

“Scrub in?”

“Sink’s over there. Gloves are right beside it. Could you grab that scalpel first and stick it in the autoclave?”

Mac blinked at her, then nodded once and followed her orders. Gathering her wits, Kelli moved to the second operating table and assessed a skinny black cat who was missing half his left ear. She got busy plucking the fur around his junk, grateful her hands were steady despite Mac’s unsettling presence.

He stepped into place beside her, his warmth unsettling her even more. She focused on her work, tugging out the fur in soft little clumps. She reached for the antiseptic and began to swab, trying to keep her breathing even.

“I’ve been thinking—” Mac began.

“Could you hand me that fresh scalpel over there?”

Mac shook his head. “You’re not going to make this easy on me, are you?”

“It’s fine, Mac,” she chirped. “Everything’s fine. Scalpel? Careful not to touch anything when you unwrap it.”

He frowned and reached for the tool. He peeled back the wrapping, making sure his fingers didn’t contact the sterile blade. His hand brushed hers as he handed her the scalpel, and Kelli fought the urge to cry.

Mac cleared his throat and tried again. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking—” He stopped, shook his head, and tried again. “I’ve always been thinking. That’s really the problem, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“I’ve only been thinking, not doing any actual feeling for a really long time. Not until you showed up.”

Kelli could feel the lump forming in her throat, and she held the scalpel poised above the cat’s scrotum, waiting. For what, she couldn’t say. Mac fell silent, either gathering his thoughts or completely finished with what he’d come to say. She dared a glance at him and felt her heart dissolve into a big, stupid puddle.

No! Control this. Stop it now
.

She took a breath and made the incision.

“Oh, Jesus,” Mac groaned. “Okay, wait—I need to tell you some things.” His voice was rushed and a little shaky, but Kelli kept her eyes on her work.

Mac began to pace.

“My first kiss was a girl named Sadie when I was in the second grade, and we held hands afterward on the school bus,” he said. “I love cherry popsicles but hate the grape ones. I’ve never owned a dog because I can’t bear the thought of having it die someday. I am deathly afraid of snakes, even though I try to pretend I’m not. I sometimes miss the military, but I love working for myself and I desperately want my parents to be proud of me. The last time I cried was six years ago at a buddy’s funeral. I am hopelessly turned on by smart, competent women, even when they’re cutting off a cat’s testicles while I do my damnedest to profess my love.”

Kelli looked up, startled. “That’s how you profess your love? By telling me about popsicles and snakes?”

Mac nodded and raked his hands through his hair. “I’m new at this. I’m trying to let you in and be vulnerable and open and all that other shit I’m not very good it.” He swallowed, and Kelli looked back down at the cat. She slipped out the testicles and began tugging to break up the ligaments.

“Holy shit!” Mac gasped. “Look, I want to get better at it. I’m just scared, okay? I’m scared of feeling. I’m scared of not feeling. I’m a big, fucking chicken.”

Kelli focused on her figure-eight technique with the hemostat, tying off the spermatic cord like she’d done a thousand times before. “You killed Zapata, didn’t you?”

He was quiet a moment, and Kelli kept her eyes on her work.

“Yes.”

“How can a man who faces down terrorists without blinking be so terrified of his own goddamn emotions?”

“I blinked,” he said. “At least twice. And after I shot him and threw his body off a cliff, I went back to his house.”

“You what?”

Mac reached into his pocket, the rubber gloves making his hands look blue and alien. “Your necklace,” he said, drawing it out of his pocket. “I knew how much it meant to you and I wanted to get it back.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them back and grabbed her scalpel.

“Christ,” Mac hissed as she sliced off the testicles.

She set them aside and felt Mac move behind her. Her breath caught in her throat as he fastened the necklace in place.

“I’ll never be good at the emotional stuff,” he said. “I’m going to screw it up—lots of times—and I’m probably going to be a jackass to you on more than one occasion. But I want to try to do better. I want to learn.”

Kelli let the spermatic cord retract back into the incision, amazed how steady her hands were in spite of everything. “Why?”

“Because I love you.” His voice cracked on the
you
, and he tried again, more forcefully. “I love you. I didn’t realize it because I’ve never been in love before. Not once. And I know I freaked out and handled it badly, but I want to make it up to you.”

Kelli set down the scalpel but kept her eyes on the table, digesting his words. “You love me,” she said, looking up at him. “How do you know?”

“Because the thought of losing you makes me want to rip out my own testicles with a sharp object.” He grimaced. “So to speak.”

“So to speak.”

“I don’t know how it happened, and I’ll admit it’s scaring the shit out of me—more than watching you cut the nuts off that cat—but I can deal with that. With all of it. Because I love you and want to be with you.”

He dropped to one knee, and Kelli gasped. He started to reach for her hand, then stopped, frowning at it. He turned his palm up, displaying the beautiful diamond ring that had graced her hand just a few hours ago.

“I’m guessing those gloves are sterile, and I’m not sure this ring would fit over them anyway,” he said. “But I want you to have it. The ring and the promise that goes with it. I will always be there for you. I’ll always watch over you. But most of all, I’ll always love you.”

He stayed there on the floor, eyes fixed on hers as her heart pounded in her ears. She swallowed, watching him kneel there, feeling his words sink into her soul as the ring lay heavy on his gloved palm. Her hands were shaking now, and she wasn’t sure whether to reach for the ring or for him or for her scalpel.

He stood up, his expression endearingly unsure. He reached out, and for a moment she thought he was going to cop a feel. Instead, he tugged the edge of the breast pocket on her scrubs and dropped the ring inside. He pressed his hand over it, holding it in place over her heart. Over her boob, too, but mostly over her heart.

Kelli swallowed again not sure what to say, but knowing she couldn’t hold back the tears much longer. She nodded stupidly, not trusting her own voice.

“I’m abysmally bad at this,” he continued. “I’ll probably be an insensitive prick more often than you’d like. I’m a slow learner and a control freak and a bossy, anal-retentive—”

“You’re right about one thing.”

He swallowed. “Which one?”

“You’re abysmally bad at this.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled as a single tear plopped down her cheek. “So am I. I’m terrified of commitment and petrified of love and a mess of fucked-up ideas left over from a shitty childhood.”

Mac shook his head. “How did two of the most dysfunctional, broken people end up falling for each other?”

Kelli felt her smile get wider, and she peeled off her gloves to wipe away the tear. Then she reached into her pocket for the ring. She held it a moment, studying it. Then she slipped it on her finger and met his eyes again.

“Maybe between your broken pieces and my broken pieces, we can find a way to fit everything together and make something whole.”

Mac nodded. “That sounds good. Also a little dirty.”

She laughed and looked at him—really looked at him this time, not through the haze of a childhood crush or the blur of adult lust, but through the lens of reality.

He was big and powerful and sexy as hell, and everything she’d fantasized about for years.

But he was also shaken and rattled and unsure, which was not what she’d pictured in all her years of imagining him.

He was better.

“Okay,” she said, stepping forward so they were almost touching. “I’m in. Let’s give this a shot.”

Mac grinned and pulled her into his arms, kissing her with a fierceness that took her breath away. Kelli kissed him back, twining her fingers around his neck as she stretched up on tiptoe and he bent low and somehow, they met in the middle.

She wasn’t sure who broke the kiss first, but it was Mac who glanced at the operating table. “Not to kill the mood, but could you maybe do something about those cat nards?”

Kelli grinned and looked down at her unconscious patient. “That’s not your idea of romantic?”

“Actually, I guess it is,” he said. “Any happily-ever-after with you is going to involve balls.”

She laughed and stretched up to kiss him again. “Yes it is. It definitely is.”

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