Playboy's Ruthless Payback

He pulled into the dry haven of his garage and shut off the engine. For a moment, he just sat there. He’d left the homes of many women before, but never had he come home to one. Yes, Olivia was an employee so it should have made the situation feel less domestic, but it didn’t. He found her too pretty, too passionate, too smart to be just an employee.

When he entered the house a few minutes later, he heard the clanging sound of pots and pans being put away, and walked the short distance to the kitchen. His body instantly betrayed him as he spotted Olivia bending down, stacking pan lids on a shelf inside the island. Her dark hair was pulled back in a girlish ponytail and her pale skin looked flushed from all the activity. She wore a red sweater that hugged her breasts and waist, and jeans that pulled deliciously against her firm, round bottom. Devilish thoughts went through his head…like how good it would feel to be there when she stood up, to wrap his arms around her waist, to feel her backside press against him, to slip his hands under that soft wool sweater and feel her skin, her bones and her nipples as they hardened.

She turned then, caught him staring at her and gave him an expectant look. There was nothing new in it, she sported this look quite often, but today there was something more in her eyes, as though she seemed to be silently accusing him.

He dropped his briefcase and keys and walked into the room. She’d done wonders. The space was perfect, homey, yet surprisingly modern with its green, gray and stainless steel accents. She had actually created a family kitchen for him, based on his tastes. She was damn good at what she did, and he couldn’t wait to experience the aspect of the job were she had the most skill: the cooking.

“Well, Ms. Winston,” he said, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re going to make some man a great wife.”

But the joke was lost on her. Her brows drew together in an affronted frown. “That was an incredibly sexist remark.”

“Was it?”

“Yes.”

“Why? I was giving you a compliment. The room looks amazing.”

“So, only a husband can appreciate it?” she said, holding an incredibly large frying pan in one hand. “This is my job because I love it, not because I chose something stereotypically female. Okay?”

“Sure.” He eased the fry pan out of her hand and put it on the counter. “This is not a weapon.”

She stood a foot away, looking altogether too attractive, even in her ire. “I don’t need stainless steel to do harm, Valentine.”

He nodded. “I believe you.” He reached up and brushed a stray hair off of her cheek. Her skin was so soft it made him ache to keep touching her. “Tell you what, when I go out back later and chop firewood you can say that I’d make a fine husband.”

Not even a hint of a smile. He had no idea what he might have done to make her so mad at him, but he knew he was in trouble.

“I doubt very much that you chop wood,” she said, picking up a pot from the sink. “But even if you did it would take a lot more than watching you to make me think that you’d be a good husband.”

“Why are you so angry with me?” he said finally. “I could sense it the moment I walked in. You look damn pretty, but clearly pissed off.”

“I’m not angry!” she shouted, snatching a dishtowel off the counter.

“What is it? Have a conversation with your father today?”

“Listen, buddy,” she said sourly. “I don’t need to talk to my father to get fired up about you.”

“Fired up?” he repeated, amused.

“That’s right.” She put the pot on the stove top. “I am fully capable of forming my own opinions about you.”

He stepped forward, making her step back, her hips pressing against the granite island. “And what have you come up with?”

“That you’re a man who likes women—”

He chuckled. “Damn right.”

“You didn’t let me finish.” Her voice was low, as intense as her gaze. “So much so that you can barely remember their names five minutes out of the relationship.”

“I don’t have relationships, Olivia.” He wondered if kissing her right now was a bad idea or a brilliant one. But she never gave him the chance.

“Are you proud of the way you’re seen by other people?” she said. “Someone who jumps out of one bed only to charm his way into another?”

“That’s the question of a woman who is in desperate need of a man in her bed.”

She stared at him, her cheeks red and her dark eyes filled with irritation, then she dropped her dishtowel and walked out of the kitchen. “It’s getting late.”

“I’ll walk you out,” he said, following her to the front door.

“Don’t bother.” She grabbed her coat and hat and gloves and purse and opened the door. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”

Then Mac saw the snow and remembered his drive home. “Wait. It’s really coming down out there.”

“Good night, Mr. Valentine.”

“The roads are pretty bad.”

She stepped out the door and went down the path, calling back, “I’m a Minnesota native, Mr. Valentine. I’ve driven in worse than this.”

“Damn it to hell!”

Olivia glanced over her shoulder and winced when she saw that she’d backed over Mac’s mailbox. There it was, stretched out in the snow, a sad, black pole with a missing head. What a fool she was thinking that just because she had four-wheel drive and an SUV she could avoid the realities of Mother Nature. She’d just wanted to get away from that man, out of his house and the questions about how others saw him, how he had jumped from one bed to the next and all of that crap that she’d tossed at him—questions she was really asking herself.

She put her car in gear and stepped on the gas. A sad whirring sound was followed by rotating tires.

“Damn snow.”

She slammed the car back into Park. This job had gone from a leap of curiosity to just plain complicated. Never had she acted so unprofessionally, and even though Mac’s motives for hiring her were questionable at best, her job was to execute without getting personal, without allowing her fears to drive her actions. Well, from this point on she was going to make sure that happened.

She cranked up the heat, then reached for her cell phone and dialed information. But before the automated operator picked up, there was a knock on her window. Startled, she turned to see Mac, in just his jeans and shirt, and she pressed the button for the window.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“I’ve killed your mailbox, I’m stuck in the snow and now I’m calling a cab.”

He cursed, the word coming out in a puff of breath. “You’d do better to call a tow truck. No cab’s coming out in this. I could brave it and try to get you home, but I don’t think that’d be very smart.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” she agreed. “You should go back inside.” She rolled up the window, then reached for her cell phone and dialed the operator once more.

Mac knocked on the glass, hard this time. Again, she rolled down her window. “What?”

“You’re going to freeze.”

“Only if you keep making me roll down the window. Now, go in. You’re the one who’s going to freeze in that getup, and I refuse to be responsible for your getting pneumonia or hypothermia or something.”

“You’re acting like a child. Come inside.”

“I’m not acting any way. I’m being sensible. It’s not a good idea for me to go back in there tonight. Things got too heated earlier.”

“True, but I think we could use a little more heat in that house.”

“It’s too cold for jokes.” She sighed. She just wanted to get home, into the tub and have a hot soak, maybe watch a few reruns of Sex and the City.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

“It’s your choice,” he said, his teeth chattering now. “Nice warm fire or freeze in the car.”

She heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll come inside…but I’m going to call for a tow truck.”

He helped her out of the car, and she followed him through the drifts of snow to the walkway, then up to the front door.

“If the tow truck can’t get to you tonight,” Mac said as he opened the door, “you are welcome to stay in my room.”

She stopped inside the entryway. She wanted to scowl at him, but instead she laughed. “Are you insane?”

“Actually I thought I was being pretty gentlemanly.” He turned back and grinned. “And that’s a rare thing for me.”

“Can I use your phone? My cell doesn’t work very well in here.”

“Sure.” He took her coat and hung it up, then covered her hands with his and slipped off her gloves. A shot of awareness moved through Olivia, from the hair on her scalp to the backs of her knees, and she looked up to find him watching her, his dark eyes intense. He took off her gloves so slowly it made her belly knot with tension, and when her fingers were finally released from the warm leather, he took her hands and squeezed them into his cold palms.

“You’re freezing,” she said.

“And you’re warm.” His fingers laced with hers, and her muscles tensed. “I don’t think I’m going to let go.”

Sadly, she didn’t want him to, but she wasn’t about to give in to herself or to him. He was using her, and she’d allowed herself to be used too often in the past.

Olivia pulled her hands away. “I’m going to make that call now.”

“You’re not getting your car out tonight, Liv,” Mac said evenly. “Now I’m going to be bunking in one of the leather chairs by the fire since all the rest of the bedrooms haven’t been furnished yet, so if you do stay, take my bed—or don’t take it. Either way, I won’t bother you.”

She didn’t know if she believed him, but what could she do? She needed the shelter for tonight. “Thank you.”

He nodded. “Good night.” Then he walked in the direction of the den.

Six

The guy at the first tow truck company hung up on her, the guy at the second tow truck company actually laughed when she’d asked if he could come out and excavate her car, and her third call had gone straight to a machine.

Olivia had known it would be somewhat of a long shot to get home tonight, but after the way her body had reacted to Mac’s touch earlier—a very simple, not that overtly sexual a touch—she was really hoping.

She sat on the edge of Mac’s king-sized bed, her shoulders drooping forward. She was tired and cold, and disappointed in herself for caving in and taking his room. A better woman might have stuck to her guns about not bunking in Mac’s sparse, octagon-shaped room, maybe grabbing a few extralong towels from his bathroom and cuddling up on the carpeted floor of one of the empty guest rooms. But she was a wimp that way. She liked her creature comforts. She’d always wondered about people who liked camping. Strange noises and bugs for bunkmates…what was the attraction? Anyway, she was sleeping in Mac’s bed tonight. She just hoped he’d keep his word and wouldn’t venture out of the den to find her.

She pulled the comforter off the bed and wrapped it around herself. Then again, why would he leave such a lovely, warm spot by the fire? Olivia blew out a puff of air to see if she could see her breath. It was cold as hell in Mac’s house, a ridiculous kind of cold that sank deep into your bones and could only be relieved by a hot bath. She didn’t know what that handyman did around here, but first thing tomorrow, she was calling in a professional heating technician. Forget all the warm, family friendly furnishings. If the house felt like an igloo, the DeBolds were going to head straight for the nearest five-star hotel.

Olivia thought about lying down and trying to sleep, but when nature called, she threw off the comforter and dashed into the master bathroom. And there she saw it—surrounded by beautiful pale brown tumbled stone was a massive box of glass with a rain showerhead above and four body sprayers along one wall. Oh, she wanted to cry it looked so inviting.

Did she dare? Maybe just a quick one? Just to get warm.

Feeling a sudden burst of happiness at the thought, she flipped on the water and turned the temperature knob to the equivalent of “hotter-than-hell.” After closing the door to keep all the beautiful heat contained, she got undressed. She was just about to step inside the shower when she heard a knock on the bedroom door.

Her heart dropped into her stomach. No, no, no. Not now. Why was he here? Did he have radar or a sixth sense that told him when there was a naked woman in his room or something?

She snatched a huge white bath sheet and wrapped herself in it, then she opened the door and walked out into the frigid air.

He was knocking again. “Olivia?”

She opened the door just wide enough to accommodate her head, but hid the rest of her from his view. “Yes?”

“So you took the room?”

“Yes. I took the room. Can we not make a big deal out of it?”

“Of course.” He grinned. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just tired.” And cold. “What’s up?”

He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he was trying to assess the situation as he spoke. “I put a frozen pizza in the oven if you’re interested.”

She shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m not very hungry. Just tired. Very, very tired.”

“All right. Good night, then.” Olivia thought that he was about to leave, that she was about to finally get warm, but then he paused and cocked his head to one side. “What’s that?”

“What’s what?” she asked innocently, as if she didn’t know.

“Is that water running?”

“No.”

His mouth twitched. “Are you taking a shower?”

“Not at this precise moment,” she said with irritation, which caused him to grin, full-on and slightly roguishly.

“Taking advantage of my steam shower, are you?”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake.”

“Hey, I don’t blame you, the thing is awesome.”

“Well, good…then I’m going to go—”

“Have all the towels you need?” he asked.

“Yes.”

She looked expectantly at him. Time to leave, Mr. Valentine. What more was there to say? After all, he’d humiliated and humbled her, what could be left? But he didn’t leave, he just stood there looking sexy in his black sweater and pants.

Olivia let out a frustrated breath. “I’m freezing, okay? I need a way to warm up.”

His grin widened, his gaze dropped. “No, too easy.”

“Good night, Mac,” she said through gritted teeth. “Enjoy your pizza.”

He chuckled and pushed away from the door frame. “All right. Enjoy your shower. But,” he said as he turned to walk away, “if you find that you can’t sleep or you get hungry, you know where to find me.”

“That, I can promise you,” she called after him, “will never happen.”

Mac put another log on the fire, then rescued his bottle of beer from the rutted mantel before dropping back into his chair. The book he was reading was pretty dull, but he was halfway through it and he wasn’t a quitter. Just as he was about to find out why early man and an anthropoid ape had almost the same number of cranial bones and teeth, he heard footsteps behind him.

“You suck, Valentine.”

Mac chuckled and turned around. “Now why would you say something like—” The words died on his lips as he caught sight of her, practically glowing in the firelight. From the moment he’d seen Olivia Winston, serving up brownies and attitude in her office kitchen, he’d found her incredibly attractive. Tonight, however, she was breath-stealing.

Her white blouse was untucked and rumpled, and resembled a man’s shirt with the cuffs falling loose about her hands. Her long, black pants seemed a little too big without the heels and belt, but it was her face and hair that had his pulse running a race at the base of his throat. With no makeup, she looked fresh, delectably soft, her flawless skin glowing a pale peachy color. Her long, damp, dark hair swung sexy and loose, and reminded him of a mermaid. It took every ounce of control he had not to take her in his arms and kiss her until she realized just how perfectly their bodies would fit together.

She walked over and dropped into the chair beside him. “My hot shower wasn’t so hot.”

“No?”

She tossed him a look of mock reproof. “And it’s all your fault.”

“I did inadvertently ask if you wanted me to join you,” he reminded her, taking a swallow of his beer.

“That’s not what I mean.”

“No?”

“You made me stand at the door talking to you so long the hot water was almost gone by the time I got in there.”

“I’m sorry,” he said sincerely. “Let me make it up to you with a never-ending fire and a cold slice of pepperoni.”

She looked unconvinced at first, then she shrugged. “Okay.” She took a piece of pizza from him and practically attacked it. “Oh, the fire feels so good. Your room is freezing, Valentine. This house is freezing.”

“It can get a little cold, I guess.”

“You sound like you don’t mind turning into an ice cube every time the sun goes down.”

“I hardly notice. I’m really only here to sleep.”

“Well, first thing tomorrow I’m calling a heating technician. The DeBolds may sell ice, but they don’t want to sleep in it.”

He grinned at her. “That was funny, Liv…clever.”

She shrugged. “I have my moments,” she said, reaching for a second slice of pizza.

Mac grabbed another bottle of beer from beside his chair, opened it and tipped it her way. “Something to drink?”

“Sure, why not?” She took the cold bottle from him. “Thanks.”

“You bet.”

“Sitting in a freezing house in front of a fire eating cold pizza and even colder beer—this night couldn’t get any stranger, could it?”

He sipped his beer, then said, “How about if I tell you that when I was around nine or ten I thought—well, I’d hoped—I’d grow up to be a comedian.”

She turned to stare at him. “That would be stranger.”

“Hard to believe, I know. I’d put on one of my foster father’s suits and tell incredibly awful jokes to these three crazy dogs they had. I was really into toilet humor at nine.”

“You grew up in a foster home?” Her tone had changed from cute sarcasm to barely disguised pity in a matter of seconds.

He hated that, and rarely told anyone about his less-than-ideal beginnings to avoid hearing just such a reaction. He didn’t know why he’d just blurted it out to her. Inadvertently, yes, but still… Maybe he needed to ease up on the beer. “I lived in a few foster homes. No big deal.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“My mother died when I was two, and my father was never really in the picture.”

She bit her lip. “That’s tough.”

He shrugged. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Was the foster father you borrowed the suit from a good guy at least?”

“He wasn’t awful. Although he did come home early one night to see me knocking around in that suit and he was pretty pissed off.”

“What did he do?”

“Went for the belt.”

Olivia’s mouth dropped open. “What a bastard. What a cowardly piece of trash. If I had been there I would’ve kicked his—”

Mac’s dark laughter cut her off. “It was no big deal. It happened.” Even though he said the words with cool casualness, he appreciated her passion and protective nature. “You know, twenty-five years ago, there wasn’t this push for fathers to be loving and gentle. ‘Hands-on’ had a different meaning.” He took a healthy swallow of beer. “Every kid got boxed by their dad, foster or not, once or twice while they were growing up.”

She sat forward in her seat, and looked at him with a strange mixture of sadness and care in her eyes. “No, they didn’t.”

Sure, he’d had a few beers, but he understood exactly what she was saying, and who she was saying it about. His jaw twitched. Owen Winston may have disciplined with words, but he was certainly no saint. “Well, I learned my lesson,” he said tightly. “I never touched his suits again.”

They were both quiet for a while after that, both drinking their beer and staring into the fire. Mac’s ire subsided, and he was close to sleep when he heard her say his name.

He turned his head. “Yeah?”

“What happened to the career in comedy?”

He chuckled. “Ended shortly thereafter.”

She smiled. “Bummer.” Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the fire and she looked really beautiful.

“Or a blessing—depending on how you look at it.”

Yawning, Olivia curled deeper into the chair. “Well, feel free to try out any new material you’ve got on me.”

His body stirred with her words, but he said nothing. He wasn’t going to push things. Whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not, she was growing interested in him, attracted to him, and someday soon he would have her in his bed. It wouldn’t make nearly the impact if he took what she wasn’t ready to give. Owen Winston needed to know that his sweet, innocent little girl had come to Mac all on her own.

Mac heard her breathing grow slow and even, and after a few minutes, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to sleep, too.

Olivia woke up in a daze. In front of her the dying fire crackled softly. For a moment, she thought it was morning, but with a quick glance to the windows to her left she saw that the inky blackness of night had yet to turn to the steely gray of dawn.

“Hey.”

She looked over at Mac, who was sitting forward in his chair, his dark eyes seductive and hungry under heavy lids. “What time is it?”

“Around three.”

She blinked a few times, feeling foggy. “I should go back to bed.”

“But it’s cold in there.”

“Yeah.” But she didn’t move. She just stared at him.

Mac got out of the chair and went to her, sat on his heels in front of her. The hot flicker in his gaze made every bit of Olivia’s tired limbs feel on edge and alive.

He reached up to touch her face. She grabbed his wrist, that hard, thick, oh-so-masculine wrist, and he stopped and stared at her. Her heart thudded in her chest as he leaned in, his gaze hungry, his mouth so close. Looking back on that night, Olivia had wanted to blame the foggy tiredness in her brain or the cold and snow for what she did next. But she knew exactly why she went temporarily nuts. All the frustration she felt at her attraction to Mac, and all the years of pushing aside her feelings of need and desire, just seemed to explode in her face at that moment.

Her hand snaked around his neck and she pulled him down for a kiss. And not a peck kiss, either, but a full-blown, lip-nuzzling, teeth-raking, breath-stealing kiss.

Seven

“Holy—” Mac didn’t finish the end of the curse as he took her in his arms and dropped back onto the rug, taking her with him.

Poised above him, Olivia welcomed the crush of Mac’s mouth and the heat of his body against hers. It had been so long, almost ten years since she’d been touched like this, felt a man’s lips on her, his warm breath mingling with hers. The delicious hard angles and clean scent of his skin thrilled her, and she pushed away any thoughts of how wrong the situation might be.

She threaded her fingers in his hair and gripped his scalp as he changed the angle of his kiss. Soft, hot, drugging kisses. All she wanted was to get closer to him, feel a new kind of heat, forget who she was for a few minutes, forget what he was after.

In one easy movement, he flipped her onto her back. The warmth of the fire made her sweetly dizzy and she arched against him. Sensing her need, Mac explored further. His hand moved down, under her shirt, and she felt his palm on her belly. Little zaps of fear warred with the almost desperate urge she had to feel his fingers brush over the skin of her breasts, hear his breathing change when he cupped them and felt the weight of them, feel the lower half of him grow thick and hard as his thumb flicked back and forth over her nipple.

Mac dragged his hand up, over her ribs and along the side of her rib cage. She arched and tilted her body toward his hand, silently begging him to go there, put her out of her misery or show her exactly what misery felt like again as he gave in to her fantasy.

He was no fool, he knew what she was asking for and he delivered with the utmost care. As he applied teasing kisses to her lower lip, his hand drifted from her ribs to her breast, and slowly—so slowly—he began to roll the hard peak between his thumb and forefinger. Olivia shuddered, and released an anguished sigh. Oh, such sweet torture. She felt as though she had just been plunged into a deliciously hot bath, and God help her, she never wanted to step out of it.