His Christmas Virgin (13 page)

Did it really matter which, as long as he accepted that she wasn't going to sell the warehouse?

Mac straightened. ‘I really do have to go now, Jonas.'

His expression was remote, those eyes a cold, remorseless blue as he nodded. ‘Have a pleasant evening.'

Have a pleasant life, he might as well have said, Mac realised achingly.

Because she knew that after today he wanted no part of her or her life. Just as she knew it wasn't specifically her he wanted no part of; it was simply that the very idea of emotional entanglement with anyone was complete anathema to him.

Mac couldn't even imagine what it must be like to live without love in your life. The love of parents. Of family. Of friends. Of that certain special someone that you loved and who loved you.

Although, after today, Mac was going to have to learn to live without the last one herself…

‘You too,' she muttered before turning and hurrying up the staircase, her hand shaking slightly as she unlocked the door before going quickly inside and closing it firmly behind her.

Without hesitation.

Without so much as a single backward glance.

Because she dared not look at him again. Knowing that if she did she wouldn't be able to stop herself from launching herself into his arms and agreeing to continue their relationship—that emotionless relationship that
was all Jonas could ever give any woman—to its painful conclusion…

Mac lingered only long enough on this floor to drop her keys and helmet on the breakfast bar before hurrying over to switch on the lights to the floor above and ascending the spiral staircase up to her studio.

The canvas she had been working on the last few days still stood on the easel near the glassed wall, the thin cloth Mac had placed over it when she'd brought Jonas up here yesterday evening still in place. After last night she had stayed well away from her studio today, reluctant to see—to be—where the memories of that lovemaking with Jonas were so strong.

Mac crossed the room slowly now to stare at that blank cloth for several seconds before reaching out and removing it.

The background of the painting was there already in shades of blue, but the focus of the painting was only a pencilled sketch at the moment. Strong, abstract lines that nevertheless caught perfectly the wide brow, intensity of light-coloured eyes, high cheekbones either side of an aristocratic slash of a nose, and the mouth sculptured above that square and determined jaw. Jonas.

Mac rarely painted portraits, and had no idea why she had felt compelled to do this one of him when those hard and handsome features were already etched deep, and for ever, into her soul. As was the love she felt for him.

Painfully.

Irrevocably.

Tears filled Mac's eyes as she continued to stare at that hard and beautiful face on the canvas.

And she wondered what she was going to do with this portrait of Jonas once it was finished.

‘C
OME
on, Dad, if you don't hurry we're going to be late,' Mac encouraged her father laughingly as the family gathered in the hallway of her parents' bungalow on Christmas Eve to put on their warm coats and hats and scarves in preparation for going out into the cold and snowy evening. ‘And you know how Mum hates to be late—' Mac abruptly broke off her teasing as she opened the front door and saw the person standing outside on the doorstep, one of his gloved hands raised as he prepared to ring the doorbell.

Oh, my God, it was Jonas!

Mac felt the colour drain from her face beneath the red woollen hat she wore. Totally stunned as she stared up searchingly into the grimness of Jonas's face. At the scowl between his brows, the guarded blue of his gaze as it met hers, his mouth and jaw set challengingly.

What on earth was he doing here, of all places?

‘Jonas.' Mac's gloved fingers tightened painfully on the door as she moistened dry and slightly numbed lips.

He gave a slight inclination of his head before glancing at the people crowding the hallway behind her. ‘I realise you weren't expecting me but—am I in time to join you all at church?' he asked huskily.

‘I—yes. Of course,' Mac answered haltingly, her thoughts racing as she tried to make sense of Jonas being here at all.

Apart from the man sent by ‘the boss' to collect her Jeep and have the windows repaired almost two weeks ago, Mac hadn't seen or heard from Jonas. Nothing. No telephone calls. No sitting on her metal staircase waiting for her to come home. Just an empty…nothing.

If it hadn't been for the continuous ache in her heart, and the vivid memories she had of their lovemaking, Mac might almost have thought that she had imagined him!

Or perhaps she was just imagining he was here now?

Hallucinating might be a better description!

After all, Jonas was sitting on a beach somewhere on a Caribbean island drinking tall drinks adorned with fruit and pretty coloured-paper umbrellas, possibly with a beautiful blonde at his side. Wasn't he?

‘Get a move on, darling, or we're— Oh.' Mac's mother came to an abrupt halt beside her to stare up at Jonas with open curiosity.

Not a hallucination, then, Mac acknowledged with a nervous fluttering in her stomach. Jonas really
was
standing on the doorstep of her parents' bungalow at eleven o'clock at night on Christmas Eve!

 

The look of total disbelief on Mac's expressive face when she had opened the door and found him standing there might have been amusing if Jonas weren't already feeling so totally wrong-footed himself. If he hadn't already been deeply regretting his decision to come to Devon with the stupid idea of surprising her. But as he was feeling both those things he didn't find
that look of embarrassed horror on Mac's face in the least reassuring!

‘Mrs McGuire.' He extended his hand politely to the woman who, with her short bob of glossy black hair and smoky-grey eyes, bore such a startling resemblance to Mac that she couldn't possibly be anyone else but her mother. ‘Jonas Buchanan,' he explained. ‘I hope you don't mind my just turning up like this and joining you all for Midnight Mass? I'm—'

‘A friend of mine from London,' Mac put in quickly as she moved to stand at Jonas's side before turning to face her family, linking her arm lightly with his as she did so, and looking very festive in a long white overcoat over a red sweater and black jeans. ‘I'm so glad you could make it, after all, Jonas,' she assured huskily. ‘Mum, Dad, this is Jonas Buchanan. Jonas, my parents, Melly and Brian.'

To give the two elder McGuires their due, they showed no surprise at finding a complete stranger standing on their doorstep at eleven o'clock at night on Christmas Eve, the tall and still-handsome grey-haired Brian moving forward to shake Jonas's hand warmly. ‘The more the merrier,' he assured with genuine heartiness. ‘I'm afraid we're already late so we'll have to make all the other introductions later,' he added with a rueful smile at the numerous members of Mac's family milling about in the hallway obviously ready to leave for church.

‘I can take three other people as well as Mac in my car if that's of any help,' Jonas offered smoothly as Mac's family tumbled outside into the snowy night.

‘Perfect,' the beautiful Melly McGuire accepted warmly. ‘I won't have to drive the second car now and
can have a glass of mulled wine with my mince pie after the service!'

Jonas was preoccupied for the next few minutes helping Mac settle three of her elderly aunts into the back of his car, but conscious all of that time of her puzzled gaze as it rested on him often.

Mac paused out on the icy road. ‘Jonas, why aren't you sitting on a beach somewhere on that Caribbean island?' she prompted softly. Good question.

One that Jonas felt required the two of them being alone when he answered it…

‘Never mind,' Mac dismissed as she saw Jonas's hesitation. ‘All that matters is you're here.'

He winced slightly. ‘Is it?'

‘Yes,' Mac answered firmly as she saw that her father had already reversed his car out onto the road and was waiting to leave. ‘We had better go,' she said ruefully as she moved to sit in the passenger seat of Jonas's black Mercedes.

Surrounded as they were by so many members of Mac's family, there was absolutely no opportunity for a private conversation between the two of them as they drove the short distance into the village itself, attended the service in the church surrounded by berry-adorned holly and lit by dozens of candles, and then lingered afterwards to chat and enjoy that anticipated mulled wine and those mince pies.

But that didn't mean that Mac wasn't aware of Jonas's presence at her side for that whole time. That she didn't burn with curiosity to know why he was here. And if he intended staying. That her initial uncertainty at seeing him again hadn't begun to turn to hope…

That uncertainty returned with a vengeance once
she and Jonas were finally alone in the sitting-room of her parents' bungalow a little after one o'clock in the morning, the rest of Mac's family having gone to bed. Her mother had already offered the suggestion, ‘The small boxroom is empty if Jonas would like to stay for the rest of the Christmas holiday…'

‘I did try to warn you,' Mac murmured ruefully as Jonas looked about the sitting-room with its numerous glittering Christmas decorations and enormous and heavily adorned tree with its dozens of presents beneath.

‘It's wonderful,' Jonas murmured huskily, his gaze slightly hooded as it came back to rest on Mac as she stood across the room, her hands tightly clasped together in front of her. ‘As is your family. I— Mac, I wanted to thank you for my Christmas present,' he said abruptly.

Ah.

Mac smiled a little. ‘You didn't have to drive all the way to Devon on Christmas Eve to do that.'

‘No.'

Mac shrugged. ‘Besides, I had to somehow say thank you for all the help you gave me by having the warehouse painted and the windows on my Jeep fixed. I thought perhaps you might like to hang it in your offices somewhere? In the reception, maybe? A portrait of the head of Buchanan Construction,' she said offhandedly.

‘A Mary McGuire portrait of the head of Buchanan Construction,' Jonas corrected softly.

‘Well…yes,' she acknowledged awkwardly. ‘Just think, if you ever fall on hard times, you'll be able to sell it!' she added jokingly.

Jonas had been surprised when the huge wooden crate was delivered to his office two days ago, stunned when he removed all the packaging and saw the portrait
inside. Even so, he hadn't needed to look at the signature in the bottom right hand side of the painting to know it was Mac's work. The style and use of colour were unmistakable.

It was why she had painted it in the first place that Jonas wanted to know…

The last two weeks had been long and…difficult, for Jonas. For numerous reasons. Yvonne Richards. His parents. But most of all, because of Mac.

He hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. Not for a single moment of that time. Her beauty. Her laughter. Her warmth. Her smooth and satiny skin. Her perfume.

This past two weeks Jonas had remembered and relived every single moment he had ever spent with her.

As he had always known would happen, memories of Mac had filled his days and haunted his nights!

‘I'm not sure I can allow you to give me such a valuable gift,' he told her gruffly.

Her cheeks flushed. ‘I think that's for me to decide, don't you?'

And her temper, Jonas acknowledged ruefully; he hadn't forgotten that fiery temper. How could he, when she had been annoyed or angry with him about one thing or another since the moment they'd first met?

‘Yes,' he acknowledged huskily.

Mac's eyes widened. ‘Are you actually
agreeing
with me, Jonas?'

He chuckled softly at her obvious incredulity. ‘Yes.'

‘Well, there's a first!'

Jonas sobered. ‘I'm agreeing with you on the understanding that I be allowed to give you something in return.'

Mac eyed him frowningly. Even dressed casually in a dark blue sweater and faded jeans, Jonas was still the most devastatingly handsome man she had ever met. Several other women in the church earlier tonight had obviously thought the same thing as they had eyed him covetously. Admiring glances that Jonas had seemed completely unaware of as he'd stood attentively at Mac's side, his hand resting lightly beneath her elbow.

She shook her head. ‘I already told you, the portrait is a thank you for the way you helped me a couple of weeks ago.' It was also a way for Mac to avoid having Jonas's portrait hanging in her studio as a day-to-day reminder of the man she loved but who would never love her in return…

His mouth tightened. ‘Help you wouldn't have needed if—'

‘We really don't need to talk about that now, Jonas,' Mac rushed in.

‘If you wish.' He gave an abrupt inclination of his head.

‘I wish,' Mac confirmed firmly. ‘What sort of thing are you giving me in return?' she asked warily.

Jonas thrust his hands into his jeans pockets as he shifted uncomfortably. ‘I need to explain a few things first.' He frowned. ‘I— You told me when we last met that I needed to confront the problem I have with my parents. That the feelings I have for them were—damaging, to me. That—'

‘I seem to have made rather a lot of personal remarks that perhaps I shouldn't!' Mac interrupted uncomfortably. ‘I was upset when I said those things, Jonas. You really shouldn't take too much notice of me when I'm upset. I inherited my Irish grandfather's sentimental temperament, I'm afraid.'

Jonas gave a twisted smile. ‘The truth is the truth, whenever or however it's said.'

‘Not if it's in the heat of the moment—'

‘But you were right to say those things to me, Mac,' Jonas insisted softly. ‘I
have
allowed my parents' disastrous marriage, my unhappy childhood, to affect the man I am now.' He looked her in the eye. ‘I've been to see both my parents during the past two weeks—'

‘You have?' Mac gasped.

He nodded. ‘I've also met my stepfather and stepmother. I still have nothing in common with any of them,' he continued ruefully. ‘But I was with them all long enough to know that both second marriages are happy ones. To learn that my parents no longer feel any animosity towards each other.' He sighed. ‘I decided that if they can forgive each other for the past then surely I can forgive them too.'

Mac blinked back the tears that threatened to fall. ‘I'm so glad, Jonas. For your sake.'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘Of course, I consider it completely your fault that this reconciliation has now presented me with another set of problems,' he added dryly.

‘My fault?' she echoed. ‘How?'

‘I now have the diplomatic problem of avoiding offending either of my parents. For example, both sets of parents duly invited me to spend Christmas with them,' he drawled ruefully. ‘To have accepted one would have insulted the other.'

Mac repressed a smile. ‘So as it's my fault you thought you would come here and bother me instead?'

Jonas looked at her consideringly from beneath hooded lids. ‘Am I bothering you, Mac?'

Of course having Jonas here was bothering her! Especially as, avoiding offending either of his parents
aside, Mac still had no idea why Jonas had chosen to come here tonight of all nights.

Why he had attended church with her family. What he was still doing here…

She moistened her lips nervously. ‘You could always have gone to that beach in the Caribbean,' she reminded him huskily.

‘No, I couldn't,' he denied quietly.

‘No?'

‘No.'

‘Why not?' Mac breathed softly, the sudden tension between them so palpable she almost felt as if she could reach out and touch it.

‘The only reason that matters,' Jonas murmured.

‘Which is?'

He drew in a ragged breath, yet his gaze was clear and unwavering as it met hers. ‘The only person I want to spend Christmas with has assured me that under no circumstances would she ever spend Christmas sitting on a beach anywhere!'

Mac couldn't breathe as she stared at him incredulously.
‘Me?'
she finally managed to squeak.

Jonas gave a genuine smile. ‘You.'

Mac stared at him with wide eyes. ‘You want to spend Christmas with
me
?'

‘And your family. If you'll allow me to,' he added uncertainly. ‘Mac.' He crossed the room in two long strides so that he was now standing only inches away from her. ‘I know that I'm— Well, I appreciate that my track record for long-term relationships is—'

‘Non-existent,' she put in helpfully as a tidal wave of hope began to build inside her.