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."