The Other Side of Us (Harlequin Superromance) (16 page)

She fell across his chest afterward, her face pressed into his
neck. She could smell his deodorant and something she suspected was simply him
and she nuzzled closer as her body slowly came down to earth.

His hands smoothed over her arms, her back, her hips, a steady,
calming, hypnotic caress. She felt warm and sated and safe and she let her
eyelids drop closed. After a few minutes he pressed a kiss to her temple and she
slipped off him, allowing him to do something with the condom before pulling the
covers over them both. He encouraged her onto her side facing away from him,
then curled his body around hers, one arm sliding around her rib cage. The last
thing she registered before drifting into sleep was the brush of his lips at the
nape of her neck.

* * *

I
T
WAS
DARK
when Oliver woke with
the sweet scent of vanilla surrounding him. A warm, soft body was curled into
his side, a slim leg tangled with his.

Mackenzie.

God, Mackenzie.

She’d been incredible. So hot and tight and ready for him. The
way she’d launched herself at him when he’d opened the door, pushing him against
the wall and sliding her hand inside his jeans...

And when she’d taken him into her mouth...

It had been all he could do not to disgrace himself on the
spot. Ever since he’d met her a part of him had wondered what she’d be like—what
they’d be like together. And now he knew.

Unforgettable. Undeniable.

Tightness stole into his chest as he blinked at the ceiling.
Mackenzie stirred beside him, her lips pressing briefly against his shoulder, a
small, unconscious gesture of affection that made his armpits prickle with
sudden, clammy sweat.

She was incredible. Sexy beyond his wildest fantasies, earthy
and lusty and so damned responsive... One part of him wanted to lose himself
inside her all over again—and the other part was freaking out for exactly the
same reason.

He’d had one-night stands before, a long time ago in his band
days. This was not how a one-night stand felt.

Because what had happened with Mackenzie had been about more
than sex. It had been about connection and affection and true intimacy. It had
meant something. It had been real.

His heart thumped against his breastbone as flight-or-fight
adrenaline pumped through him. Suddenly the quilt felt too heavy, Mackenzie’s
weight against his side a burden. Moving carefully, he eased away from her
before standing and exiting the room. He found his jeans in the hall and pulled
them on before making his way to the kitchen.

The power button for the kettle glowed softly in the darkness
and he used it to orient himself while his eyes adjusted. When he could make out
the dim outline of the cupboards and the fridge, he hit the button to bring the
water to boil and found the tea bags and a cup in the cupboard. Then he sat at
the kitchen table, hands wrapped around the hot mug, trying to get a grip.

He shouldn’t be feeling this way about anyone so soon after the
breakdown of his marriage. Edie was still so much in his head. There was still
so much to deal with. He didn’t have the mental real estate available to take on
something big and important and significant right now.

Something he maybe should have thought about before he pushed
Mackenzie’s bra off her shoulders and pulled one of her small, tight nipples
into his mouth. Definitely something he should have thought about before he’d
lost himself inside her sleek, strong body.

But he hadn’t. He’d gone along for the ride when she’d barreled
over the threshold because he’d wanted her, hadn’t stopped wanting her, from the
moment he’d first met her. Even when he’d decided she was rude and beyond
redemption, a part of him had been mentally undressing her. She fascinated him.
She compelled him. She aroused him. And now he’d touched her and kissed her and
held her and tasted her and swallowed her cries of release and felt her body
arch against his own... And he was pretty damned sure he would never be able to
forget any of those things for as long as he lived.

It had been that good.
She
had been
that good.

He shoved the mug away.

This was crazy. He was a mess. A liability to any woman right
now, but particularly to Mackenzie, who was dealing with her own crap. The last
thing she needed was some crazy, unstable guy in her life. She needed someone
rock steady and solid as she navigated the next challenging phase of her
recovery, as she redefined who she was and what she’d do with her career. She
didn’t need a guy who woke in a cold sweat and snuck out because he couldn’t
handle the intensity of what he’d experienced in her arms.

Dude. Take a deep breath and a big step
back. You had sex with the woman. You didn’t sign a bloody marriage
certificate. You didn’t enter into a binding agreement. She hasn’t asked for
anything from you, and you haven’t offered it. It was just sex. Great sex,
yes, but still just sex. Get. A. Grip.

His rolled his tight shoulders. Maybe he was getting too far
ahead of himself. Reading too much into one experience, racing ahead to imagine
a disaster that was unlikely to ever occur. Mackenzie hadn’t indicated by word
or deed that she wanted anything more from him than a good time. Not that there
had been much time for rational discussion after she’d pushed him against the
wall and pressed her body against his, but still. She was a smart, sophisticated
woman, and she’d come to him knowing that his life, his business, was in Sydney,
and that his personal situation was messy and complicated right now. It stood to
reason that she wouldn’t be expecting or demanding anything from him.

He waited for the tightness in his chest to ease. In vain. It
took him a moment to understand that it wasn’t Mackenzie’s expectations or
assumptions he was worried about managing, but his own.

He’d recognized something in her, something fundamental and
special. He was drawn to her, in every possible way—and he knew, in his gut,
that he was in no fit state to handle the intensity of his own feelings.

They were too overwhelming, too confronting, when he was only
now recovering his equilibrium after Edie’s betrayal.

Shit.

He put his head in his hands. He shouldn’t have slept with
Mackenzie. Shouldn’t have let the genie out of the bottle.

“Hey.”

He lifted his head. Mackenzie stood in the kitchen doorway.
There was enough light for him to see that she was dressed, her shoes dangling
from the fingers of one hand.

“I wanted to let you know I was going home. So you didn’t think
I was sneaking off or anything.”

“You don’t have to,” he said, more because he felt he should
than because it was how he honestly felt.

“Smitty needs his dinner.” She hesitated. “And you look like
you could do with some space.”

He opened his mouth to deny it, but he didn’t want to lie to
her.

“I don’t know that I’m a great bet at the moment,” he said.

He could tell by the look on her face that she understood he
was talking generally and not only about tonight.

“I guess that depends on what a person is looking for.”

He stared at her, unable to separate what he wanted from what
he needed.

“It’s okay, Oliver. I get it. You live in Sydney, I live in
Melbourne. You’re here trying to put your life back together. And so am I, I
guess. There are no strings or obligations between us.”

It was exactly what he wanted to hear, but his chest remained
tight. She entered the room properly and came to his side. Her hand was warm as
it landed on his shoulder. She leaned down and dropped a kiss onto his
forehead.

“Thank you for a great time.”

He watched in tense silence as she disappeared through the
door.

“Mackenzie. Wait.”

She was waiting for him in the darkness of the hallway. He
could smell the vanilla sweetness of her and the urge to pull her into his arms
was almost undeniable.

He resisted it, leading her silently to the front door. She
rested a hand on the door frame for balance as she slipped on her boots, Strudel
sniffing around her ankles with interest.

“Will you be okay getting home?” he asked awkwardly as she
straightened.

She laughed. “Yeah, I think so. Good night, Oliver.”

She made her way down the stairs, then she was swallowed by the
darkness of the night. He listened to the crunch of gravel beneath her boots and
didn’t shut the door until he heard hers close.

Strudel was already waiting on the bed when he returned to the
room. He pulled off his jeans and slipped between sheets that smelled of
Mackenzie and sex. He rested a hand on Strudel’s soft head and closed his eyes
and told himself that everything would look clearer in the morning.

With a bit of luck.

* * *

M
R
.
S
MITH
WAS
WAITING
by the door when Mackenzie let herself in.
She gave him a small smile and waited patiently while he did his happy dance,
giving him a reassuring pat. He trotted after her as she walked to the kitchen
to put out some food for him. She propped her hip against the counter as she
watched him eat, trying not to think about the scene she’d walked away from next
door.

Oliver, sitting in the dark at his kitchen table, head in his
hands, shoulders hunched.

It had taken every ounce of pride she possessed to make a
gracious exit from his house. And then some.

Thank God he hadn’t been beside her when she woke up. She’d
been so warm and sated and pleased with herself, there was no telling what she
might have said.

That he was a wonderful lover, powerful and intuitive and
generous.

That he made her feel beautiful and sexy and happy and
wild.

That his easy, casual acceptance of her flawed body had felt
like a benediction and the most precious gift she’d ever received.

Thank God, also, that she’d chosen to dress before she went
looking for him. The thought of having to pull on her clothes after that chat in
the kitchen made her toes curl in her shoes.

Mr. Smith gave his bowl one last, snuffling lick before sitting
on his haunches and looking up at her.

“Outside, little guy?” she asked, crossing to the French doors
to let him out.

No lights were on next door and she guessed Oliver had gone to
bed. Now that the coast was clear.

Don’t. Don’t do it to yourself. You knew
going in what it was. Like you said to him, you knew it wasn’t forever. It
was just sex. It doesn’t matter how he reacted afterward. You’re not in a
relationship. It’s nothing to do with you.

Except it was. Of course it was. It was everything to do with
her. Something had happened when they were skin to skin. Something intense. At
least, it had been intense for her. Intense and tender and funny and hot and
mind-blowing, all at once.

Not what she’d expected, by a long shot. Not what she’d been
looking for, either. But it had happened. For her, anyway.

Oliver, apparently, had had a very different experience. The
kind that induced a man to retreat to the coldest, darkest room in the house and
put his head in his hands.

Mr. Smith bounded up the deck steps and trotted into the house.
She locked up and made her way to her bedroom. She stared at her bed, thinking
of that other bed next door, the one where Oliver had made her come twice and
then held her so lovingly afterward. He’d even kissed the nape of her neck
before she’d drifted into sleep. She hadn’t imagined that.

I don’t know that I’m a great bet at the
moment.

Oliver’s words came to her, along with the troubled, guilty,
confused expression in his eyes. Some of her regret and hurt drained away as she
saw past her own feelings and put herself in his shoes. Oliver was such a good
guy, so rational and laid-back, it was easy to forget that a mere handful of
months ago his life had been turned inside out by the one person he should have
been able to trust above all others.

He might put on a good show, but he wouldn’t be human if he
wasn’t raw and hurting and confused right now. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind
that she was the first woman he’d slept with since the breakup with Edie. Was it
any wonder, really, that he’d retreated to a quiet space to try to get his head
together? If his experience of their time together had come even close to being
as intense as hers, Mackenzie could forgive him for feeling overwhelmed. Hell,
she
felt overwhelmed. She’d isolated herself
here on the coast in an attempt to win her life back. She hadn’t expected to
find Oliver. She absolutely hadn’t expected it to feel so...
right
when she’d given in to their mutual attraction.

So. Maybe she wouldn’t make an excuse to avoid helping him
tomorrow, as she’d half planned on the walk home. Instead of avoiding him and
protecting herself, maybe she would take a chance—another chance!—and show
Oliver that while last night had changed some things, it hadn’t changed
everything. They still liked each other, after all. It was possible that the
sex, as spectacular as it had been, had been a mistake, but she refused to write
off their burgeoning friendship because they’d made the mistake of falling into
bed at a shitty time in both their lives.

She liked him that much. She really did.

It had been a night for revelations, apparently.

Feeling infinitely better, she began her preparations for
bed.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

S
HE
WOKE
FROM
A
DEEP
SLEEP
with a single, vivid image in her mind’s eye—two women standing side by side,
one dressed in the sober, neck-to-ankle garb of a hundred years ago, the other
in the clothes of today. The first woman was Dr. Mary Clementina De Garis, the
second more amorphous and ill defined. It took Mackenzie a moment to understand
she was simply a placeholder, a representative of the young women who aspired to
be doctors today.

A buzz of excitement fizzed in her belly as she pieced together
the fragments her subconscious had revealed overnight.

The old and the new. The trailblazer and the women who followed
in her footsteps. An engaging, challenging examination of past and present
culture.

She would find a young female medical student. Maybe even more
than one. And she would follow them as they completed their training. She would
contrast their experiences with those of Mary De Garis, who had had to fight
every step of the way for acceptance and credibility. Mackenzie would look at
the milestones for women in medicine. She would examine female medical
achievements.

Her gut told her it was a good idea. It made her old project
less of a dry examination of a woman’s life and more an exploration of women’s
roles in Australian society over the span of a century. It gave Mary De Garis’s
life context, shining a light on her achievements by showing how much things had
changed.

Perhaps most importantly, it made Mackenzie’s passion project
commercially viable because suddenly she had a hook. She threw the covers back
and almost bounded out of bed, she was so energized by her re-visioning of her
old project. Shoving her feet into slippers, she made her way to the study,
stopping only to let Smitty out for his morning ablutions.

She dragged open the filing cabinet, searching through the
neatly labeled files there for the backup she’d made of her old computer hard
drive several years ago. The De Garis project had been with her so long it had
been stored on floppy discs before she’d converted it to CD a few years ago. At
the time, she’d felt foolish, preserving old research and ideas that she’d long
since given up on. Now she blew a kiss to Past Mackenzie. She’d had good
instincts, it turned out.

The file wasn’t there, and she turned to the cupboard and
considered the half-a-dozen file boxes stacked in there. She’d brought all this
stuff to the beach house when the storage locker in the underground garage
beneath her apartment had reached the overflowing stage. There were many more
boxes like this in Melbourne, and it was only when she’d rifled through those
stacked in the cupboard that she accepted that the De Garis file must be among
them. Damn.

She would have to make a trip up to Melbourne to retrieve them.
Not the end of the world, but she dearly wanted to look over what she had in
order to start planning her first steps forward with this new project, and she
wanted to do it
now.
She grinned, wiping her dusty
hands on her pajama pants. It had been a long time since she’d felt this
stimulated and excited about a creative project. Wait until she told Oliver that
his back-to-basics songwriting technique had borne fruit.

The thought gave her pause, but only for a second. Last night
had been awesome and awkward in equal measures but she’d already decided she
could live with that. She was standing by the decision she’d made in the small
hours: Oliver was a friend worth having, even without benefits.

She fed Smitty and herself and dressed in cleaning-out-the-shed
clothes—yoga pants, a sweater and sneakers—and headed next door, Smitty leading
the way double-time. If she was going to be spending hours in Oliver’s yard,
there was no reason Smitty should miss out on some quality time with his
favorite girl.

She was approaching Oliver’s porch when she heard the mellow
tones of an acoustic guitar. Oliver, of course, playing a lovely, rolling melody
that made her want to hum along. Her steps slowed as he began to sing in a
pleasing, slightly raspy baritone.

“Left town ’cause of her, couldn’t leave me behind. Drove
through the country, regret on my tail. Looking for a place to work out why we
failed...”

The song washed over her, sad and hopeful in equal measures.
She knew, absolutely, that this was an original composition, something he was
still creating. She had to blink away tears when he reached the chorus.

“I thought she was the best of me, now I know she set me free.
I’d rather look life in the eye than live a quiet suburban lie. It’s true what
the wise men say, tomorrow is another day. Another day, yeah...another
day...”

She waited until the guitar fell silent before climbing the
steps. She knocked, and a few seconds later the door swung open. Oliver stood
there in his jeans and sweater, his face bristly with stubble, his hair
bed-messy, his guitar in one hand.

“Morning,” she said.

She knew from the expression on his face that he’d guessed
she’d heard him playing. She smiled.

“I like it, for what it’s worth. Reminds me of Ben Harper.”

His eyes were very steady on hers. “I didn’t think I’d see you
today. You’re a brave woman.”

“Not that brave, really. Are Smitty and I too early? We can go
for a walk and come back.”

“I just need to grab a shower. If you don’t mind
waiting...”

She had a flash of him standing naked beneath the shower spray
and had to blink a couple times to get rid of it. That kind of thing wasn’t
going to help anyone with anything.

“Sure. I can wait. No big deal.”

He stood aside to allow her to enter before leading her into
the living room. The fire glowed in the grate, a fine layer of ash on the logs,
and a crumb-strewn plate and coffee mug rested on the small side table.

“Been up for a while,” Oliver said, obviously interpreting her
expression.

A laptop was open on the sofa, a complicated-looking software
program filling the screen. She knew enough from sitting in on sound mixes that
she was looking at a recording program.

“Oh, good, you got it down,” she said without thinking.

His smile was endearingly shy. “Yeah. Very roughly.” He
shrugged.

“I mentioned it was good, right? Thoughtful and a bit sad but
mostly optimistic.”

He stared at her for a long beat, a muscle in his jaw
flickering as though he was working to contain strong emotion.

“Last night meant something to me, Mackenzie. I want you to
know that.” His voice was all gravel and bass.

Any lingering misgivings she’d been hanging on to dissolved.
How could she regret having been naked with this man?

“Me, too.”

His smile broadened. Maybe it was her imagination—her ego—but
he looked relieved.

“I’ll go grab that shower.”

“I’ll be waiting.”

“Help yourself to toast or coffee. Sorry, tea.” He started
toward the kitchen, as though he was going to make her a cup himself.

“Shoo. I can make myself tea. You go make yourself presentable,
you reprobate.”

He glanced down at himself, one hand rubbing his bristly
jaw.

“Fair enough.”

He left the room, Strudel following him into the hall but
stopping short of trailing him to the bathroom. Clearly the poor girl was torn
between two loyalties—the man who fed her and the boy dog who captured her
attention.

“I know which way I’d be leaning, Strudel,” Mackenzie said as
she wandered into the kitchen and made herself tea. She looked out over the lawn
as she drank it, pretending that her mind was not alive with images of Oliver
naked in the shower.

Water cascading down the strong column of his spine. Bouncing
off his firm, muscular ass. Sleeking down his flat belly.

She tipped the dregs of her tea down the drain. There was no
point getting herself all worked up over something that wouldn’t happen again.
Because that was what the little conversation in the living room had been
about—Oliver drawing a line under what had happened politely but firmly, and her
agreeing.

Her newly reawakened libido might regret the decision, but her
head and heart didn’t. Who in their right mind set themselves up for almost
certain disaster? Not her. She had enough good sense to dodge that bullet.

The shower stopped with a groan of the pipes. Oliver would be
out any minute now. Composing herself, she went into the living room to wait for
him.

* * *

O
LIVER
SHRUGGED
INTO
a T-shirt and topped it with a sweater before
pulling on jeans, very aware that Mackenzie was waiting for him. He hadn’t
expected to see her today. Not after last night. He wouldn’t have blamed her for
giving him a wide berth, either. Yet she’d still turned up, ready to fulfill her
part of their bargain.

If he didn’t like her a hell of a lot already, her classy,
honest actions this morning would have sealed the deal.

He took his boots into the living room to put them on and found
Mackenzie ministering to both dogs, who were offering her their bellies for
rubbing.

“Got you hard at work, I see,” he said as he donned the
boots.

“No rest for the wicked. Hadn’t you heard that?”

“I’d heard a rumor.” He stood and gave her an assessing look.
“Do you feel okay after yesterday’s workout? Because we don’t have to do this
today if you’re not up to it.”

She blinked a couple of times and it hit him suddenly how he
must have sounded—as though he was checking if she was able to function normally
after a few hours in his bed.

“Because of the yard work,” he quickly tacked on. “I meant
because of the yard work. Obviously.”

She bit her lip, then gave up trying to hide her smile.

“I’m okay, on both counts. But thanks for asking.”

His face burned with embarrassment. Which served him right for
being such a yokel.

“Maybe we should get started before I have to have my foot
surgically removed from my mouth,” he said, heading for the door.

They walked through the overgrown grass to the shed, the dogs
disappearing into the thicker vegetation toward the rear of the lot.

Mackenzie stood to one side as he wrangled with the rusty bolt
before opening the door wide. She joined him on the step to inspect the
contents.

“Okay. That’s a lot of old furniture,” she said.

“It is. Feel free to back out if you’re freaking out right
now.”

She gave him a look. “What do you think I am, some kind of
wimp?” She pushed up her sleeves. “How do you want to do this?”

He couldn’t help grinning. She was small but feisty. A true
force to be reckoned with.

“Bet you gave those doctors hell when you were in
hospital.”

“I was a model patient—once we’d all agreed that no one was
going to tell me what I couldn’t do.”

“Poor bastards.”

She punched him in the arm. “You’re supposed to be on my
side.”

He fought the urge to sling his arm around her and drop a kiss
onto her lips.

“I am.”

She made a noise to signal she wasn’t so sure, but he knew she
wasn’t really pissed. Just as he knew what her body would have felt like against
his if he’d given in to the urge to kiss her.

It occurred to him belatedly that maybe there were worse things
than Mackenzie avoiding him after what had happened between them—like spending
quality time with her and having to keep his distance now that he knew exactly
how soft her mouth was and how round and perky her breasts were and how silken
and tight she was—

He turned away, aware that he was already half-hard. He’d made
his decision where Mackenzie was concerned. He wasn’t messing up her life with
his own confusion. No matter how attractive he found her.

Between them they decided to carry each piece of furniture onto
the lawn so they could assess and photograph it for potential listing on eBay or
valuation by a dealer. He did everything he could to minimize Mackenzie’s
workload, assigning her the task of cataloging and photographing their finds,
but she insisted on helping him shift the bulkier items.

“You’re pretty strong for a girl,” he observed as they set down
a chunky Edwardian-era card table. Especially for a girl who had been put back
together again by surgeons.

“Rehab, baby.” She pulled up her sleeve and flexed her biceps
for him. It was noticeable and he gave an appreciative whistle.

“Few more inches, you might actually be dangerous,” he
said.

“I’m dangerous now. You just don’t know it.” She threw him a
challenging look as she walked toward the shed.

He had to agree with her—she
was
dangerous. To his peace of mind, as well as his resolve. The tight bounce of her
bottom, the gleam in her eye. The arch of her slim neck, the tilt to her
mouth.

She was sexy and smart and real, and a part of him wanted to
snatch what she offered—pleasure and desire and distraction and laughter—and
hang on for grim life.

But he hadn’t forgotten that sense of panic from last night.
The feeling that he’d grabbed a tiger by the tail. Until he had his head on
straight, he had no business even looking sideways at Mackenzie.

They worked until midday, talking and laughing, sharing stories
from their working lives and childhoods. He learned that she’d tortured her
brother when they were younger by throwing her least favorite vegetables under
his chair at the dining-room table when their parents weren’t looking, letting
him take the blame for the failure to eat. He told her about the time he and
Brent wrote a stream of outraged letters to the purveyors of X-ray glasses,
complaining that despite having handed over a significant sum of pocket money,
they were unable to see through walls.

At lunchtime, Oliver and Mackenzie drove into town to buy
sandwiches and vanilla cakes from the local sweetshop. Mackenzie insisted she
was happy to keep working into the afternoon, pointing out they were very close
to finishing. She was right—the clock hit two as they photographed the last
piece and returned it to the shed.