She was filling the glass carafe when Mack came up behind her so quietly that she didn't hear him. When she turned, she bumped into him, and water slopped over the rim and onto the floor. He steadied her, his hands firm on her shoulders. "Sorry," he said lightly, and his lips brushed the bridge of her nose. "I didn't mean to make a mess."
His voice seemed to vibrate through Wendy's body. She looked up at him, mesmerized by the warmth of his hands and the way his breath stirred the hair at her temple.
"We'll make the best of the situation," he said softly. "Maybe there'll be a little time for you to show me the city."
Perhaps he really did want her to come with him, for her own sake and not simply because of the loose ends to be taken care of.
Realizing that she was staring at his mouth, Wendy tried to look away in an effort to shatter the spell that held her. But her gaze locked with his, and she couldn't break free.
"I'd like that." Her voice had a throaty edge.
"Would you, Wendy?"
His lips touched hers very softly, like the caress of a soft spring breeze, and she hesitated for one second. She should pull away, but she didn't want to. Did she dare let herself kiss him as she longed to do? What if Mack realized, from the way she reacted, what she was feeling? What if he guessed at the secret she had so recently discovered for herself? No, it was too dangerous.
But before Wendy's mind had sorted through the implications, her body had already answered the question. Her lips softened and opened under his. Mack urged her slightly closer, one arm slipping down from her shoulder to encircle her waist and hold her steady against him.
The world seemed to revolve faster than usual, and Wendy couldn't quite keep it in focus. Her eyelids fluttered and closed. It was heaven to be so close to him, and to dream that he was feeling the same magic.
She raised her hand, intending to slip her arm about his neck and insinuate herself even closer. But she had forgotten the carafe. It tipped as she raised it, and cold water cascaded down Mack's chest, streaking his silk tie, drenching his shirt, and flooding the front of her sweater.
Wendy's eyes widened in shock; she couldn't have been any more stunned if she'd been dropped in an icy river, so she could imagine how Mack was feeling. He sputtered a little and held her a foot away from him. Wendy groped for a dish towel and thrust it at him.
In the same instant, the housekeeper spoke from the back door. "Excuse me for intruding. Shall I just sit outside with the groceries for a while?"
Mack shook his head with a rueful laugh. "No, the kitchen is all yours, Mrs. Morgan." He left the room.
Wendy, too, retreated in disarray. But she stopped as she heard Mack running lightly up the stairs, obviously going to his room to look for a dry shirt. She'd have to apologize some other time.
She turned back to the housekeeper, feeling the need to exert her authority before the situation got further out of hand. "Mrs. Morgan, I'd like you to babysit on Saturday night, please. I don't know the exact hours yet."
Mrs. Morgan was looking at her rather oddly. "That doesn't matter. I'd be happy to help."
Wendy plunged on. "And next week Mr. Burgess and I will be out of town for a few days. We won't be taking the baby, but if you don't feel up to keeping her, we can leave her with... Is there something wrong, Mrs. Morgan?"
"Not at all. Of course I'll keep her."
"Thank you." The strange look hadn't gone away. Wendy decided it must just be a touch of shock; no doubt Mrs. Morgan wasn't used to walking in on her employers in a clinch in her kitchen. Wendy shivered a little; her wet sweater was clinging uncomfortably close to her skin. "I'll be in my room if you need me."
"Mrs. Burgess," the housekeeper said hesitantly.
Wendy turned back from the hallway door. "Yes?"
"Are you planning to make coffee, or are you just sentimentally attached to the pot?"
Wendy looked down. She was still clutching the empty carafe. She retraced her steps across the kitchen and put it back in place, her head high. She would have been fine if she hadn't happened to look straight at Mrs. Morgan, but the twinkle in the housekeeper's eyes was the final straw.
How ridiculous they must have looked, she thought, and a bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat. How grateful she was that the housekeeper had interrupted. It was bad enough to have thrown herself at Mack like that – but then to lose control so completely that she hadn't even remembered the water... No wonder the poor man had run for cover at the first opportunity.
But her laughter was very close to tears, and though she went upstairs for a dry sweater, she didn't bother to look for one. She threw herself down across the tapestry bedspread and indulged in a hearty cry instead.
What kind of fool was she, that it had taken her so long to understand what was going on inside her head? An innocent one, of course, so caught up in Rory's troubles that she had never let herself think beyond that.
Or had she? Wendy forced herself to analyze the question. Consciously, at least, she'd never considered anything more than the legal partnership Mack offered – she was absolutely certain of that. But subconsciously, had she known all along that she wanted more? If so, was that why she'd been so doubtful about the wisdom of marrying him?
On Christmas Eve, when Mack had told her he wanted to adopt Rory and marry in order to form a family for her, Wendy had made a split-second decision not to ask for the right to visit the child. It had taken her only moments to convince herself that it was in Rory's best interest to leave her to bond with her new family in peace, without interference.
But hadn't Wendy known, deep inside, that her reason really had nothing to do with Rory? If she came back to Chicago to visit the child, she would have to see Mack in the midst of a new family, and that was more than she could bear. To see Mack married, happy – without her – would have hurt too much.
Now it wasn't hard to understand why she had been so upset on the first night of their marriage when Mack came into her bedroom. She had been startled, but she had also been pleased that he had come to her. And she had wanted him to stay, wanted him to desire her as she had unconsciously desired him. When, instead, he had left her, she had been hurt.
He had asked her for loyalty, no more. He had sworn to her that his commitment to Rory came first before all other things and all other people, and that it would always be that way. And Wendy had assured him that she felt the same.
But that was no longer true. Much as Wendy loved and valued the child, Rory was not the most important thing in her life any more. Mack had taken that spot. He had crept into her heart while Wendy wasn't looking, and now there was no rooting him out.
Subconsciously, she had used the baby to get what she wanted – Mack. And even though her action had in no way hurt Rory, a tinge of guilt sprang to life deep inside Wendy's mind.
Now she had everything she had set out to gain. She had Rory, of course. She was Mack's wife – even if only in name. She had his promise that she would remain his wife for the foreseeable future. Even if his vow was more to Rory than to Wendy, his word was still a binding contract. For the present, she would have to be content with that.
In the future, anything might happen. Mack had enjoyed that kiss, right up to the moment when she'd drenched him. He wasn't naturally cold, and she didn't think he found her completely unappealing. Surely with time, as they got to know each other better, friendship, and affection, would grow.
She told herself not to hope for anything more than that, but she couldn't help remembering that love had sneaked up on her. Perhaps the same thing might happen to Mack, given the right climate. If she was very, very careful.
*****
Walking that line was the most difficult thing Wendy had ever done. It would have been easy to overwhelm Mack with affectionate gestures. That sort of thing came naturally to her where the people she cared about were concerned, and she constantly had to remind herself that Mack might not be charmed. So she tried to think out every move, looking at all the implications and interpretations before she did anything at all.
Sometimes she thought she caught a bit of puzzlement in his eyes. She wasn't surprised at that; sometimes she herself thought she sounded like an idiot, incapable of making a quick response.