But she wasn't a child anymore. And wasn't the whole point of her research to make sure that her future husband never walked away from her?
Striding into the bedroom, she studied her clothes. She was going to go manhunting all right. And she wasn't going to give up until she had tried every single bit of her research on Lucas Wainright III.
She was reaching for a short red leather skirt when the doorbell rang. Sophie. Tightening the knot on her towel, she raced down the hall and opened the door.
For one moment she couldn't speak. The joy was sharp and bright, the panic racing behind it fast and fierce.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Lucas asked as he stepped into the room and slammed the door behind him. "You couldn't know who was knocking. You just threw open the door, dressed in practically nothing."
He was angry, she noted as he began to pace. Furious. She watched his legs eat up the length of her living-room floor in four paces. She sensed the same leashed violence in him that she'd felt that morning at the Wainright Casa Marina when he'd discovered she'd lied to him about Sophie. Her stomach sank as he whirled to face her.
It was only then that she noticed how tired he looked.
Nerves jumping, she said, "Would you like something to drink? Wine? Coffee? I have a very nice brandy that Sophie gave me for my birthday."
She was babbling. She had to stop and think.
"Brandy."
She had to move past him – close enough to catch his scent, feel his heat. It was enough to make her knees weak, so weak that she wasn't sure how she made it to the kitchen. It didn't help one bit that he dogged her steps.
"I came to clear up some matters between us."
Her stomach sank to her feet. He was tying up loose ends. She didn't feel it at all when the brandy snifter slipped out of her hand and splintered on the floor.
"Don't move. Where do you keep your broom?"
She didn't say a word as he opened a closet and found what he was looking for. Instead, she drew in a deep breath, unfastened the towel she was wearing, and let it slip to the floor.
The moment Lucas turned around, he felt as if he'd been poleaxed. Her skin had the milky, translucent look of fine porcelain, and the glass shards at her feet glinted like diamonds. But it was her eyes that drew him. In them he saw the same mixture of hope and fear that he was feeling. In them he saw his future.
"Don't move," he said again as he dropped the broom and moved toward her. Gripping her hips, he lifted her onto the counter.
But she didn't obey. Even as his hands moved over her, she was busy, pulling at his belt, loosening his slacks. Then her mouth moved on his, teeth nipping, tongue probing, as her fingers closed around him.
"Now," she murmured, inching closer and wrapping her legs around him. "Right now."
It took him only seconds, an eternity, to free himself and push into her, to feel her flesh part then pulse and tighten around him. For a moment he was sure his heart stopped. It was like coming home.
Then she arched against him.
"No, don't," he managed to say as he gripped her hips and held her still. His voice sounded hoarse, strange. His whole body was straining to move, to drive himself into her. "Do you know how long I've been waiting to do this?"
"Seven days, three hours, and… If you'd let me move, I could check my watch and tell you the minutes. Not that I've been keeping track."
Lucas grinned. And though he didn't know how in the world it was possible in his present position, he felt some of his tension ease. It was the first time he'd smiled in seven days too. She never said what he expected. She never did what he expected. Was he ever going to get used to that? He used one hand to tip back her head so that he could see her eyes. "I wasn't talking about the sex. I've waited all my life for you."
He watched her eyes widen.
"I just didn't know what I was waiting for. I didn't even fully realize how empty my life was until…" No, he wasn't going to spoil this by thinking of what might have been. "I love you, Mac."
Her eyes went even wider. "Lucas—"
"No, let me finish. I know that it's too soon. I know what we agreed on. No strings. I had a strategy all mapped out. I was going to call you tomorrow and ask you out on a traditional date – flowers, champagne, dancing under the stars. I figured after a month, I'd propose."
"Propose?"
The stunned look on her face sent a bolt of panic shooting through him.
"Lucas, you don't even know me. I'm just beginning to know myself."
"We'll work on it together, over a lifetime. I'm not going to take no for an answer. I'll hound you until—"
"Yes."
Feelings tumbled through him. Joy. Relief. He barely had time to absorb them before she was tightening her grip on him with her arms and legs and the hot, moist inner part of her.
"There's just one condition."
His eyes narrowed. "And that would be?"
Her lips curved. "That I get to start moving now."
He felt the laughter bubble up. It might have broken free, but she wasn't waiting for his permission. Her mouth was on his again, her body arching. He thought his brain might just evaporate into steam.
"Now," she murmured over and over until it became a chant in his blood. Not that he needed any encouragement. Still, he struggled to keep his rhythm under control so that the pleasure could stretch out and build. Each time he sank into her and felt that slick, wet grip pull him deeper, he knew that he was losing part of himself, gaining part of her.
"Quick. Now." Her voice was breathless, her body agile.
He started to move then, hard and fast. He felt the moment that her climax tore through her; it was more than enough to draw him with her into a dark vortex of pleasure.
Afterward, they clung, trying to catch their breaths. He could feel hers, tickling his neck. "I love you, MacKenzie Lloyd."
"I love you too."
He didn't know until she said it how much he'd wanted to hear the words from her.
"I have a secret to tell you."
She drew back then to look at him. "I hope you're not going to tell me that you have a crazy wife hidden away in the attic."
With a quick chuckle, he rested his head against her forehead. "No. Not that. This is something that you can add to your research. I've just discovered what my favorite sexual fantasy is."
Her eyebrows arched. "And that would be?"
"Coming home from work to find a naked woman in my kitchen."
"No problem," she said as he lifted her and started down the hall in search of the bedroom. "But I'm going to change that."
"You think?"
"I know," she assured him. "You're going to love being wrapped in plastic wrap."
They were both laughing when they tumbled together onto the bed.
Epilogue
Lucas let himself into his house, smiling at the spicy scent of cinnamon and … apples? It had to mean Mac was cooking. In his bachelor days, he'd rarely used the kitchen, preferring instead to eat out or order food brought in. Since their wedding three months ago, Mac had insisted on fixing dinner at least three times a week.
Wives should know how to cook, she'd insisted. After all, how hard could it be? Surely not more difficult than one of her experiments in the lab.
His smile widening, Lucas set down his briefcase and began to loosen his tie as he strode down the hall. "Mac the chef" was just one more delightful personality that was part of MacKenzie Lloyd. She cooked with the same total focus and precision that she did everything else. The food was … getting better. Coming home to find his wife elbow deep in pots and bowls and finding a way to lure her off task, well, that was quite simply the best.
His wife. Just thinking the word sent a wave of joy through him. And this was the first night she'd cooked all week because she hadn't been feeling up to par. Each night they'd ordered in from a different restaurant, but nothing had tempted her. She must be feeling better.
Perhaps well enough to create his favorite fantasy? He quickened his stride, but when he entered the kitchen, there was no naked woman waiting for him.
There was no sign of Mac either. The room was pristine clean except for the items lined up on one counter. The moment his gaze swept over them, he began to smile again. A bowl of thick whipped cream, a tall squeeze bottle of chocolate syrup, a large economy-size roll of plastic wrap and a string of pearls.
A very long string of pears. Lifting it, he drew it out to its full length – nearly three feet. Lucas felt himself grow hard just imagining…
The bell on the microwave dinged. Opening it, he discovered a glass mug with a cinnamon stick in it. Hot spiced apple cider?
He knew the moment she entered the kitchen, and he slowly turned to face her. Three months of marriage and he still wasn't used to the shock of pleasure that moved through him when he saw her in his house and realized that she was his to keep, to cherish. "You're not naked."
And she wasn't. She was wearing one of his shirts, opened just enough to let him know that she was wearing nothing underneath it, and she'd knotted a black tie loosely around her neck. Her hair was mussed and her feet were bare, the toenails painted a pale shade of pink. Desire speared through him.
"I thought I would dress for dinner tonight."
He glanced at the counter, surprised at the effort it took not to go to her and to take her where she stood. But three months of marriage had taught him that sometimes it was better to give over control and go along for the ride.