The Only Solution(34)

But the phrase was no more than polite, and his voice was level and courteous and distant.

As if the kiss they had shared that morning  –  in this very room  –  had  never happened. As if every bit of closeness she had treasured over the  last few days had existed only in her imagination.

As if he was a stranger.





CHAPTER ELEVEN



While she was brushing her hair, Wendy's tears started to fall, silently  cutting hot streaks down her face. Why hadn't she had the wit to keep  her brilliant ideas to herself?

That was easy; it was because she'd been in the habit of asserting  herself for so long, particularly in the business world. It wasn't at  all like her to play the part of the mutely adoring little wife, and if  that was what Mack wanted  –  well, he was doomed to disappointment.

But that couldn't be what he wanted, for all this time he'd encouraged  her to speak up. Why, suddenly, would he have gone silent just because  she'd said what was on her mind? Was it because her notion hadn't been  brilliant, it was ridiculous?

She knew hardly anything about the concept, the research, or the  company, and yet she had put herself forward as knowing the best way to  market a brand-new product. That must have been what Mack meant about  her idea being obvious  –  if she'd known a little more about the whole  thing, she might not have been so quick to assume that the problems were  easily solved. If that was what they'd been working on all day...                       
       
           



       

But the president had been delighted at the idea of large-scale taste  tests. Surely that meant her idea was reasonable, at least. Why had Mack  been so standoffish?

Of course, such an approach would be very expensive, but in the long run  it would pay off. If the product was as superior as everyone seemed to  think, the customers might just be holding out for the best price before  committing themselves, and a little encouragement might take care of  the problem. The first thing Wendy would want to know, if she was  running this campaign, was what the customers were really thinking.

But she wasn't in charge. It was none of her business, and the sooner she forgot about it, the better off they'd all be.

In the meantime, however, if shedding a few quiet tears eased her pain just a little...

Snapping off the lights, she climbed into bed and buried her face in a pillow.

She didn't hear Mack come in until he sank down on the edge of the bed,  his palm resting warmly on the nape of her neck. "Don't cry,  sweetheart," he whispered. "Please don't cry."

He sounded as if she were Rory's age, and that made her want to howl all  the more. Why had he chosen this night, anyway? He'd said goodnight  already, and he hadn't come to her room in days  –  so long, in fact, that  she'd felt perfectly safe to indulge herself. She pushed herself up  from the pillow, but she didn't look at him. "I'm such an idiot."

"No, you're not." He bent to kiss a tear from her cheek. "It's all right. We'll make it all right  –  you'll see."

Gentle as the caress was, it sent waves of longing through Wendy's body,  and the warm comfort of Mack's voice helped a great deal to ease the  ache in her heart. She still didn't know what he'd been thinking, or why  he'd been so quiet  –  but surely if he was angry he wouldn't be here  now. And if in his heart he agreed that she was an idiot...

Wendy smiled a little. If he thought that, Mack wouldn't have hesitated to tell her. "Hold me," she whispered.

He put his arms around her. Wendy released a long sigh of contentment,  and a moment later when his lips brushed her temple, she turned her face  up to his and relaxed into his warmth.

He kissed her long and luxuriously, and Wendy basked in the glorious  glow that spread slowly through her veins. Eventually, however, he  stopped kissing her and laid his cheek against the top of her head.  "This is not very wise." His voice was a husky whisper which seemed to  vibrate through her. "I want to do more than hold you, Wendy."

On their wedding night, when he had come to her bedroom, she had been startled. She had pushed him away, and he had gone.

But she hadn't been frightened of Mack; she hadn't shied from his touch  that night because she couldn't bear to sleep with a man she didn't  love. She had already known, deep inside the secret spaces in her heart,  that she did love him; she simply hadn't admitted it yet. In truth,  she'd sent him away because she couldn't bear to sleep with a man who  didn't love her as she loved him.

But now she knew that love could come in many forms and infinite  degrees. If desire and tenderness were all she could have, then she  would make the best of it  –  and she would remember that she held enough  love in her heart for both of them.

"I know." she whispered. She reached up to link her arms around his  neck. Mack hesitated for a moment which seemed to stretch into forever,  as if he thought she didn't fully comprehend what she was doing.

Wendy kissed him with all the fire and passion she had kept so carefully  leashed until that moment, and repeated what he'd said a few minutes  ago. "It's all right, Mack. We'll make it all right."

Mack gave a low groan, and caught her close.

Every caress, every kiss, every whisper, felt so natural that she  realized she must have practiced making love with him in her dreams. The  anticipation served to heighten each sensation, and she gave herself up  to the joy of loving him  –  an excitement like an incoming tide which  rose higher with each wave until ultimately its strength was spent and  no more energy was left.                       
       
           



       

Luxurious exhaustion spread through her body. She could barely exert  herself to raise her fingertips to his face, to trace the beloved lines  of his jaw, his cheekbone, his eyebrows.

Mack kissed her long and lazily  –  all traces of passion had vanished  from him as well  –  and tucked the blanket around her. Wendy nestled  close and enjoyed the strong beat of his heart and the soft rise and  fall of his chest. No wonder Rory liked to be rocked, she thought  sleepily. There was something very comforting about the rhythmic motion.  It made her feel so soft and sentimental that she wanted to cry a  little more  –  not the sort of tears she'd shed earlier, of course, but  warm and happy ones.

A moment later she was asleep, exhausted and too satiated to think about anything at all.



*****



Wendy heard Mack stirring around the room, but she was so deliciously  sleepy that she couldn't bring herself to move. It was too early yet.  She'd keep her eyes closed for just a few more minutes, and soon he'd  come back to her  –  to share a cup of coffee, or to say goodbye before  his day began, or perhaps to make love once more. What time was it,  anyway?

The distant click of a door closing roused her to full consciousness and she struggled to sit upright. "Mack?" she called.

There was no answer.

She scrambled out of bed and grabbed her robe. By the time she reached  the sitting room, only the vague scent of aftershave in the air hinted  that Mack had been there at all. There was no room service tray, no  morning newspaper, no note.

He'd been in a rush, no doubt  –  too hurried to read the paper or order  breakfast, so obviously he hadn't had time to write her a note.

Or he hadn't wanted to. It took only a moment to write a note.

Besides, Wendy didn't think the president was the kind to be a stickler  for appointments  –  if anything, under these circumstances, he'd be  worried about keeping Mack waiting, not the other way around.

Once admitted to her conscious mind, the doubt stuck to her as firmly as  a bramble, and was just as annoyingly prickly. If Mack had wanted to  leave her a message, he would have done so, no matter how late he might  have been because of it. And since he hadn't...

What did you expect, Wendy asked herself. A rose on your pillow? Welcome to the real world!

Her eyelids were still puffy from her bout of tears the night before,  and her eyes stung a little. But she was tired, that was all. Once she  got to the apartment and plunged in, she'd feel better.

The mess which greeted her when she stepped into the apartment caused an  odd mix of feelings. Even as she made a gloomy face because so much  remained to be done, she felt her spirits lift, because as soon as the  work was behind her, she could be truly free to take up her new life  with Mack. He had encouraged her to do this, to cut the last ties and  move the important things from her past into the new home they would  make together. Surely that sort of thoughtfulness  –  that confidence in a  long, shared future  –  was more important than notes, or roses on  pillows!