Vision in White

  Her eyes flashed open. What was she thinking? What was she

  doing? The morning? Hours and days? The quick kick of panic had her jolting upright.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “What? Oh, nothing. Nothing. What could be wrong?”

  He sat up with her, all kinds of rumpled and sexy until her heart and hormones threatened rampage.

  She had to get out. Get out now. Back to reality. Back to sanity before she did something stupid like fall in love.

  “I just . . . God, look at the time! I have to go.”

  “Go? But—”

  “This was great. Everything . . . really great.” Jesus, Jesus, she was wearing nothing but boots. “I really lost track of the time. It’s late.”

  Obviously baffled, he looked at the clock. “Not especially. Don’t—”

  “School night,” she said, trying desperately to keep it light while she hunted for her underwear and panic galloped inside her like wild mustangs.

  Where was her bra, where was her bra?

  The hell with the bra.

  “I’ve got a million things left to do. I have to get started really early tomorrow.”

  “I’ll set the alarm. I’m up by six anyway. Stay, Mackensie.”

  “I really wish I could. Really.” How many times could she say

  really in five minutes? She was about to beat the standing record. “But, well, duty calls. No, don’t get up.”

  Please, please don’t get up, she thought as he got out of bed.

  “Stay,” he said, and touched her cheek as she dragged on her shirt. “I want to sleep with you.”

  “We checked that one off the list, big-time.” She added a big, bright smile.

  “Sleep.”

  “Oh, that’s really sweet, Carter. I’d love that—another time.

  Three events, presentation. Busy, busy.” She gave him a quick kiss. “Gotta run. Thanks for everything. I’ll call you.”

  And fled.

  OH, SHE WAS A TERRIBLE PERSON. A CRAZY PERSON, MAC thought as she drove home. She was probably going to hell, too. She deserved it. But she’d done the right thing, the only thing. For herself, and for Carter.

  Absolutely for Carter, she told herself.

  Going to hell? Ridiculous. She should get a medal—they should erect a damn statue for her, for doing the right thing.

  She’d done the right thing, and that was all there was to it. Now everything would be fine. Everything would be okay.

  Perfect, in fact.

  She saw the lights on in the main house and thought: Thank God. Parker and Laurel would agree with her. They’d support her actions. That’s what she needed, she decided as she squealed to a stop in front of the house. Just a little affirmation from friends so her stomach would untwist.

  She rushed into the house, tore up the stairs, shouting for Parker.

  “We’re all up here.” Parker came into the hallway. “God, what’s the matter? Was there an accident?”

  “No, it was all on purpose. Or maybe not. There was a list.”

  “Okay. You’re obviously not hurt. We’re in my parlor, just going over some last details since we were all up.”

  “Emma, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good, good, that’s even better.”

  She dashed by Parker and into the parlor where Laurel and Emma sat with cookies, tea, and files.

  “Hey. We figured you for the walk of shame in the morning.” Laurel tossed down a pencil. “We were thinking of setting up a video camera.”

  “How was dinner?” Emma asked her.

  “I left. I just left.” Eyes a little wild, Mac dragged off her coat. “You’d have done the same.”

  “That good, huh?” Laurel picked up the plate. “So, have a cookie.”

  “No, no. He had a rehearsal on Tuesday. Can you imagine that? And tonight this wonderful meal with candles and wine reductions.”

  “Wine reductions.” With a little hum, Parker took a seat. “Thank God you got out alive. We should call the police.”

  “Okay, wait, you’re not seeing the whole picture.” Trying to steady herself, Mac took a few careful breaths. It didn’t seem to help. “He went to so much trouble, and it was, well, lovely. And fun. Bob made a list.”

  “Who the hell is Bob?” Laurel demanded.

  “Doesn’t matter, but Carter was so embarrassed. It’s so cute. The tips of his ears blush.”

  “Aww,” Emma said.

  “I

  know. What can you do? I’m all stirred up. I had to go to bed with him.”

  “I know when a guy’s ears blush, I start tearing my clothes off.” Since Mac didn’t appear to want one, Laurel helped herself to another cookie. “So you had sex.”

  “We didn’t have sex. We had the most amazing, world-bending, melt-your-brain-cells sex in the history of the planet.”

  “Now it’s getting interesting.” Crossing her legs, Parker settled in. “Would that be tender, soft-focus, angels-weeping sex, or jungle-drums, swinging-from-the-chandelier sex?”

  “It was . . . No one’s ever made me feel that way, or felt that way about me.” She sat on the arm of Parker’s chair, staring into the fire as she tried to find the words. “It’s like knowing you’re the focus, the only thing he sees. Nothing else but you. And it’s tender and hot, it’s terrifying and amazing. There’s this person who doesn’t see anyone but you. When he touches you, there’s no one but him.”

  There were three humming sighs, and a moment of reverent silence.

  “Why aren’t you snuggled up in bed with him?” Emma asked.

  “Well, Jesus!” Mac’s head snapped around so she could stare at Emma. “Haven’t you been listening?”

  “Listening, imagining, envying.”

  “I had to leave. I wanted to stay so I had to leave.” Gesturing wildly, Mac pushed back to her feet. “I wanted to stay curled up there with him. I wanted to

  live in that damn bed, so I had to get out.”

  “You panicked,” Parker prompted.

  “Of course I panicked. Who wouldn’t? He’s all sweet and sleepy and satisfied, and with that little fencing scar.”

  “Carter fences?” Emma demanded.

  “No, never mind. Off topic. I’m telling you, it was like I was hypnotized, or drugged. I had to get out of there. And . . . oh, God, I acted like a guy.” As it replayed in her head, Mac covered her face with her hands. “The kind of guy who rolls off you after, gets up and says, ‘That was great, babe. Got an early day tomorrow. I’ll call you.’ ”

  “Oh, Mac, you didn’t.”

  Mac jabbed a finger at Emma. “I

  had to. It was self-preservation. And Carter-preservation, too. I was supposed to

  de-lust after we had sex. Not go all gooey. It’s too much for me, that’s all. He’s too much for me. He’s sweet and funny, he’s smart and genuinely kind. He’s sexy and he’s got those glasses. He’s got the ear-blush thing happening. He loves teaching. I watched him lead a class, and it’s . . . It gets everything stuck right here.” She rubbed a hand between her breasts. “All this feeling and need clogged up.”

  She picked up the nearest cup of tea and downed it. “He pays attention. He listens, and he

  thinks about what I say. He makes me think.”

  “Clearly he must be stopped.” Laurel shook her head. “Mac, honey? You’re in love with him.”

  “That’s just not an option. Why do you think I left the way I did? It’s like being sucked into quicksand. Only really soft, warm, pretty quicksand. I’m not built for this. I don’t believe in this kind of thing. It doesn’t last. It’s the moment, or the series of moments until it goes south, or it erodes, fades. God, how many weddings have we done that are the second time around? Hell, we’ve done a few where for at least one of the parties involved, it was the third go. Who needs that? I know what it’s like when it falls apart. It can’t be worth it.”

  “Let’s whittle this down,” Laurel suggested. “You’r
e afraid to be in love with a man you’ve just described as the Mary Poppins of men. Practically perfect in every way,” she explained when she got blank looks all around. “You panicked and ran after you had what appears to be sex as a religious experience, with this guy you respect and admire and have the hots for, because your mother’s a big ho.”

  “Laurel!”

  “No.” Mac shook her head at Emma. “That’s fair. My mother is a big ho. But she doesn’t see herself that way, which is part of my point. She sees herself as eternally searching for love. It’s more about money, status, and security, but she’d swear it was all about love. My father strolled away from her, for which I can’t blame him, and from me—for which I damn well can—because it just wasn’t worth the effort.”

  “They’re not you, Mac,” Parker said quietly.

  “No. I know. And maybe it’s cynical to believe they’re not so much the exception as par. But that’s how it strikes me. And I like the way my life’s working out, I’m comfortable with the direction of it.”

  A little calmer, she sat again. “Carter’s a serious man. Under it all he’s a serious man with a traditional mind-set. He’s got a major crush on me, that’s what it is. A crush that’s been flickering in there for

  years. If I let this escalate, he’s going to start thinking about hiring us for the event. He’s going to end up asking Parker where he should buy the ring. I can’t do that to him. I was right to leave. It’s better to cut it off now than to—”

  “Risk being happy with someone who’s crazy about you?” Emma suggested.

  “Okay, when you put it like that . . . yes. From where I’m standing that’s about right.”

  “Can I have him?”

  Mac glared at Laurel. “That’s not funny.”

  “No, it’s really not.”

  “You know what it’s about right from where you’re standing?” Emma studied Mac with her big, dark eyes. “Because nobody’s ever been crazy about you before, not in a way that matters, that’s solid and real. And you’ve never felt it for anyone. That’s what I know because I’m in the same place—I’d say all of us are. The difference is, with me, I’m always hoping it’ll happen.”

  “Hence, the serial dating.”

  “Knock it off, Laurel,” Parker told her.

  “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m being a smart-ass because I’m jealous. Right down to my bones. Nobody’s ever seen only me.”

  “But he’s seeing me through the filter of an old crush.”

  “I don’t know him as well as you, in the biblical sense or otherwise, but he strikes me as smarter than that.”

  “Love and smart don’t go hand in hand.”

  “No, they don’t.” Laurel lifted her arms toward Mac. “And here stands living proof of that. You’re stupid in love with the guy.”

  “You’re not helping. Parker?”

  “You’re afraid you’ll crush him. That because he is, at the core, a nice guy, you’ll walk all over him on the way to breaking his heart and leaving him shattered.”

  “That’s a little dramatic, but yes. Basically.”

  “And you’re determined to believe yourself incapable of sustaining a mature, committed relationship. Of not only seeing yourself as not worthy of love, but doubting you’ve got the backbone and balls to work at maintaining it.”

  “That’s a little harsh, but—”

  “I think you underestimate him, and yourself.” She rose, walked to the mantel for a photograph framed in silver. “Remember this?”

  Mac took the photo of Parker’s parents, caught in a laughing hug, their eyes full of delight, of life, of each other. “Of course, I do.”

  “You took that, just a few months before they died. Of all the pictures I have of them, this is my favorite. You know why?”

  It made Mac’s eyes sting to look at it. It always did.

  “You can see how much they loved each other,” Parker continued. “How happy they made each other. They fought, and they argued, and I imagine there were times they each got thoroughly sick of each other. But they loved anyway. For half their lives, they made it work. You captured that in this picture. Because you saw that. You recognized that.”

  “They were exceptional.”

  “So are you. I don’t waste my time on friends who aren’t exceptional.” She took the photo, set it back on the mantel. “Take a breath, Mac. Love’s scary, and sometimes it’s transient. But it’s worth the risks and the nerves. It’s even worth the pain.”

  SHE WASN’T SURE. HOW COULD ANYONE BE SURE? BUT MAC knew the single thing she could do, had to do, was put it all aside for work. Her partners, her business, their clients depended on her doing her part. So she had to settle down and respect priorities.

  A good night’s sleep, she determined, an early start. And a complete and professional focus on her clients’ needs.

  She spent a restless night arguing with herself, then thought—bitterly—that she hadn’t lost a night’s sleep over a man since she’d been sixteen.

  She brewed coffee so strong it all but stood up and howled. But it smothered fatigue under a buzz of caffeine. Because the box of Pop-Tarts seemed to indicate she had the appetite and the emotional stability of a six-year-old, she prepared what she thought of as an adult breakfast of yogurt, fresh fruit, and a muffin she’d stolen from Laurel’s stash.

  Dishes dutifully washed, she reviewed her notes for the day’s event, checked her equipment. A relatively small event, she mused as she selected what she needed. A single attendant serving as MOH. The client wanted intimacy, simplicity.

  The bride, she knew, had opted to wear a tea length gown in blue, and a very smart hat in lieu of veil and headdress. She’d carry a trio of white gardenias, the stems wrapped in satin ribbon.

  Good choices all, in Mac’s opinion, as this was a second marriage for both.

  See?

  “Don’t get started on that,” she muttered.

  FOB would walk the bride down the aisle, but they were skipping the “giving away” part. Because, hello, already did that once before.

  With her gear, the event schedule, and her notes in place, she checked the time. Plenty of it left to do a quick check on e-mail.

  She toggled over, scanned and homed in instantly on an unopened from

  MaguireC101. She pushed away from her work station, paced around the studio.

  She stalked back to the kitchen for another cup of brutal coffee.

  She didn’t have to open the e-mail now. In fact she shouldn’t open it now. She had to keep her mind on work, didn’t she? That was the responsible thing to do. The grown-up thing, like yogurt and fresh fruit.

  It couldn’t be urgent. He’d have called if there was anything important to tell her. Or to discuss.

  Like, why did you blow me off after I got you off?

  Not that he’d ever say anything so crude.

  The thing to do was go upstairs, shower, dress, then go over to the main house for the review and setup. She didn’t have time for any personal . . .

  “Oh, please, who are you kidding?”

  She walked back to the computer, clicked open Carter’s e-mail.

  Mackensie,

  I got this address from your business card. I hope it’s all right to contact you this way. Knowing how busy you’d be today, I didn’t want to call and disturb you.

  I wanted to say, first, how much I enjoyed last night. Every minute with you. My house seems brighter and fuller today because you’ve been in it.

  “Oh God. Carter.”

  Also, on behalf of Bob, his wife, and their unborn child, I should express my relief that I won’t be required to murder him. He owes you.

  Lastly, in case you’ve been looking for it, I found one of your gloves on the floor of the closet. It must’ve fallen out when you got your coat. Initially, I thought to ask if I might keep it as a token, such as women in medieval times bestowed on their knights. However, on reflection that seemed a little scary, even for me.
/>   I’ll get it back to you.

  Meanwhile, I hope your event today goes well. Best wishes to the happy couple.

  Carter

  “Oh, man.”

  Thinking Carter Maguire was like a drug in her system, she read the entire e-mail through again. Then, feeling foolish, she printed it out. She took it upstairs, tucked it away in a drawer.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  BY SATURDAY MORNING, MAC FELT SHE’D FOUND HER BALANCE again. Friday’s event had not only gone off without a hitch, but Vows had secured another client. The parents of the groom booked the works for their wedding anniversary the following November.

  Added to it, she’d dealt with a cheerful, nerve-free bride who’d photographed like a dream.

  The buzz had kept Mac working with the prints until well past midnight.

  And she’d only read Carter’s e-mail twice more before dropping dreamlessly into bed.

  It was all about focus, she reminded herself. About knowing yourself, your strengths, your weaknesses, your goals. She just had to turn it down a few notches with Carter, make it clear where both of them stood—and the boundaries outside that. Then they could enjoy each other and nobody would get hurt.

  She’d overreacted; she could see that now. A little space, a little distance, a little time, and everything balanced out. The manic weekend and today’s minefield of a wedding were the perfect antidote. In a few days, maybe a week, they’d have a talk. He was a reasonable man. He’d understand it didn’t make sense for this

  thing between them to get out of hand.

  He’d been hurt before in a relationship, she was certain, by the mysterious Corrine. Surely he didn’t want to repeat the experience. In fact, she decided he probably felt exactly the way she did, and he’d be grateful she’d brought it all to the surface.

  Friendly, rational, straightforward. Those were the tickets.

  And, on the professional front, she and her partners would be vigilant so today’s minefield would be negotiated. With no casualties.

  She chose a pearl gray suit with just a hint of sheen, and low heels dressy enough to suit the formal affair and comfortable enough to respect the feet she’d be standing on most of the day.

  As she packed her tools for the day, she ran through her notes and impressions. The dress was a showpiece, she remembered, glittery strapless bodice and miles and miles of skirt. She remembered, too, the bride was a workout fanatic, and beautifully toned. And the couple, college sweethearts, were of a traditional bent.