“I can’t read.”
His expression emptied of emotion as he repeated himself. “At least not well enough to give a speech in front of a crowd. I’m dyslexic.”
He jerked his head back like a boxer greeting his opponent then doubled down on a grim squinty stare. “Not so impressed now, are you?”
“It’s not about being impressed,” Mac snapped.
“Sure it is. That’s why I’m here.” He held up and spread his arms as if holding up a banner. “Oliver Kelly. Co-owner of BARKS, successful business entrepreneur and well-regarded SAR K-9 handler.” His hands dropped to his sides. “Only they wouldn’t have invited a wanker to speak if they knew the truth. I’m bloody stupid.”
“People with dyslexia are not stupid.” Mac was a little surprised by the anger in her voice, but she didn’t pause. “You’ve got a learning disability. Everyone knows that’s not the same thing.”
He lowered his head like a fighter absorbing a blow. “Not everyone.”
That gave her pause. He was Australian. But every country was aware of this learning problem for kids. She’d recently run across a blog about a new clinic-based program opening in Nepal. There were many new helpful approaches to dealing with dyslexia being developed all the time.
Yet the frustration, anger, and pain pouring out of Oliver was real. It came at her like a tidal wave, leaving her shaken. He’d not been one of the lucky ones.
Jackeroo, too, reacted to the pheromones pouring off his handler. He erupted in barks and leaped on him, trying to draw his attention for comfort.
Oliver shushed him with a single hand movement. The dog immediately sat. But he never took his eyes off his handler, riveted to his human’s every move.
For better or worse Oliver’s attention was on Mac, and he looked ready for anything.
She gave a palm-up gesture. “Look. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s none of my business.”
“You made it your business, didn’t you?”
The accusation stung. “By trying to help, maybe.”
“It’s not your job to rescue every damn stray you come across.”
“Stray? I’ve never met anyone less helpless in my life.”
He grunted. “You don’t know me.”
Macayla subsided on the edge of the bed, her full concentration on the man in front of her. He was right. She’d been so busy being intimidated by his sexiness that she’d nearly missed knowing the man. “Talk to me.”
He rubbed the scruff of beard along either side of his chin, obviously debating whether to answer. She couldn’t blame him. They were strangers. Would probably never see each other after this day ended.
Perhaps he was thinking that, too, because he gave a little nod and sat back in the chair. Was it wrong that she wished he’d put his shirt back on? Irrelevant, but she’d concentrate better.
“I grew up on a station fifty miles from a real school. My brothers and I attended what they call School of the Air. I was behind from the first. My parents tried but for me, reading was like learning to write with only thumbs. I was terrible. After the doctor’s assessment of dyslexia, my father said it didn’t matter about my getting an education. I’d run the station when I was older.”
“That was well meant, I’m sure.”
“No. He said I’d run it. He didn’t say I’d own it. I couldn’t read contracts or keep the ledgers. I could run the operation with our cattle and sheep. My younger brothers would inherit the station.”
She could see what it was costing him to admit to what he saw as a deficiency in his father’s eyes. “My mother wanted to ship me off to Sydney to a boarding school that said they could help. But Da said it wasn’t a good use of money.”
“What did you do?”
“Took off as soon as I was able. Joined the army at sixteen and half. Dad signed the papers. Bit of luck there.” He smiled. “Turns out I’m not quite as stupid as everyone thought. I could memorize anything after a few times of someone reading it to me. I was able to join the special operations command and work with dogs, as I’d always been good at training our sheepdogs. Dogs don’t seem to care that I can’t read worth a fuck. I’m good to them and they are good to me. Two dumb animals. A natural fit.”
Mac knew better than to play into his self-pity. He would not thank her for it. Best to keep him talking. “Why didn’t you make the army your career?”
He reached down and stroked Jackeroo. “I got some special help in the service. Enough to read simple stuff, when I’m on my own. But after I’d done my stint, I wanted to see something more of the world. I traveled around looking for the type of job I thought I could handle, and met Kye. We worked SAR for other companies for a few years and then decided we could do better on our own. Here we are.”
“Impressive story. Maybe you should share that in your speech.”
He scowled at her. “You need to give that up.”
“Then how about telling the crowd that there are ways around obstacles if you keep looking for solutions? Look where you are. Partner of an internationally recognized company. You told me yesterday your parents are proud of you. Or was that just about the stripper thing?”
“No. It’s real. The family moron made good. But I won’t talk about myself like I’m a poster child for some cause.”
“Fine. Then just talk off the cuff, like you’re doing with me.”
His blue gaze swam with doubts. “What if I freeze up like a bloody Popsicle? What if I hurl all over the podium?”
She couldn’t answer those questions with empty reassurances. She wanted to reach out and touch. But she held back.
He was silent a long time, as if he had retreated to another time and place. Finally, he looked up, his distant gaze returning slowly to the confines of the room. “Wish you could give the speech. You’re good at this.”
“Almost everyone is good at talking about things they’re passionate about.”
“What are you passionate about, Macayla?”
“Finding missing pets.” But the way he looked at her he knew he was asking a more personal question.
“What’s your pet’s name?”
Mac blinked. “What?”
“You don’t have one, do you? Why?”
Mac wet her lips. How did this conversation turn into one about her? “I’m too busy. I can’t chase dogs and cats all day with a pet on board. I’d have to leave it home alone all day. That wouldn’t be fair to the animal.”
He stood up and came slowly toward her. “You could have a cat or a gerbil. Or a goldfish.”
Mac suddenly felt very nervous. “Yes. I suppose. I hadn’t thought about that.”
“Liar.” He stopped before her, looking down into her face. “You’re not a coward, are you, Macayla?”
She loved the way he said her name, every time. But he was scaring her all the same.
“I watched you yesterday. And while what you did and said sometimes didn’t make sense to me, you have a reason for everything you do. So there’s a reason, not the logical one you just gave me, why you don’t have a pet.”
“What difference does it make to you?”
He reached out and touched her face, fingers skimming her cheek. “You know what I thought the first time I saw you?”
Mac smirked. “Bag lady.”
“The loneliest person I’d come across outside a crisis zone.”
Mac backed up, feeling as if he’d touched some intimate part of her. “That’s a bit dramatic. And sad.”
“Sad. Yeah.”
“Oh no you don’t. You don’t get to turn the tables on me, to make me feel vulnerable just because I learned your secret. I’m not going to betray you to anyone. You don’t have to threaten me.”
He looked puzzled. “How would owning a dog threaten you?”
Mac bit her lip. She needed to turn this around. Fast. “You want a secret from me? Fine.” She looked him in the eye. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since the first moment I saw you. Wanted to climb right up that magnificent body of yours, wraps my legs around your hips, and kiss you until I was drunk with your taste. Enough truth?”
She expected him to make a joke, or at least laugh. He’d done that a lot in the hours she’d known him. But he was staring at her now with all the amazed intensity of a man who had just struck gold.
Feeling suddenly exposed and desperate to escape his scrutiny, she backed up a step and reached for her purse. “I’ve got stuff to do.”
As she turned toward the door, he wrapped a hand around her upper arm to halt her exit. She swung back and glared at him, not sure if she’d made things better, or worse.
He was smiling. “That’s not news to me. We’re both grown and know how to read the signals of the opposite sex. So you know I’ve wanted to kiss you, too.”
Well, actually, she hadn’t. She’d been so absorbed in the novelty of her own responses that she’d completely overlooked that possibility.
He tugged her arm. “Come on, Macayla. Let’s do it. It’s just a kiss.”
She sensed a trap in there somewhere, but she couldn’t resist the invitation. Probably just what she needed to get her atta girl up and running again. So far, it had been a tough two days.
He slipped her beach tote off her shoulder, moving slowly as he kept his eyes on her. “I like your hair down.”
“I like yours, too.”
A smile jerked up one corner of his mouth as he reached up a hand and pulled off the elastic band that held his bun in place. He shook his head once as the cascade of hair slipped free, and it fell in a perfect tumble onto his shoulders. The man had serious hair moves. Anyone who watched shows about Vikings, or pirates, or historic Scotsmen knew that there was nothing but testosterone pride in his display.
It was only natural that her gaze strayed away from his face to his biceps, where the Aboriginal kangaroo stood proudly. Did he have other tattoos? From what she could see on view they’d have to be hidden behind his trousers. Uh-oh. Better not to speculate at this moment about what his pants contained.
It was more of an issue as she glanced back and up at his mouth, framed by his mustache and short beard. She’d never kissed a man with a beard.
Mac swallowed the excitement she felt building inside her. She’d kissed dozens of men. Had several boyfriends. But the past six months had been a deliberately chosen dry spell. She’d been too busy to think about romance. At the moment it was front and center and all-consuming. But it wasn’t a good idea.
“Not a good idea.”
“Why? Because I’m defective?”
Mac hadn’t realized she spoken until she heard his reply. The look on his face didn’t help the situation one bit.
She rolled a shoulder in annoyance. “I liked you better when you didn’t try to get by on pity.”
“You think I want you to kiss me out of pity?” He smiled then, and she felt as if he’d handed her a prize. Her only reaction to that smile was lust, pure and urgent.
She leaned up on tiptoe and balanced her hands on his bare chest. There was only one problem. He was a foot taller than she, and even in four-inch heels she couldn’t close the distance.
She pretend-scowled up at him. “I could use a little help here.”
He picked her up with ease, hands at her waist as he hauled her up onto his chest. The fierce strength and sheer size of him made her feel small. Growing up, she hated reminders of how diminutive she was. In high school, boys were always trying to show off by picking her up to prove how strong they were. Several got a sharp elbow in the ribs for their efforts.
But with Oliver it felt amazing. He scooped her up hard against him, all the heat of his bare chest radiating through her blouse into her skin. “This enough help?”
“Show-off.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled his head down.
He had a good mouth, wide and full, but not too wide or too full. And he knew how to use it. His kissed her softly at first, just a touching of lips that did not ask anything. But she felt a zing through her body as his beard grazed her face.
Kissing Oliver Kelly for the first time was easy and friendly. And just provocative enough for her to want to linger, learn more, feel more.
It happened by degrees. Her hands turned from holding on to his neck for support to gripping him as she sought fuller, deeper kisses. She felt him slide a hand lower and scoop it under her butt to hold her more firmly to him. So, naturally, she brought her legs up, straddling his waist. Kisses were like that, at least kisses with Oliver were. She couldn’t put a finger on another makeout session quite like this one.
That was it. Kissing Oliver was like an old-fashioned makeout session where both parties knew nothing more was going to happen.
Even if she was locking her ankles behind his back like he was the pole and she was the dancer.
Mixed images. But he did that to her. Sweet and sinful man.
A groan escaped beneath her mouth and then he gripped her tighter, two hands palming her butt. She heard herself sigh, falling, slow-spiraling, ever more deeply into the sensation of his mouth moving on hers. The stroke of his tongue on hers excited and weakened her. Very soon they were no longer sighing but murmuring with the urgent sounds of two people ready to connect.
She grabbed fistfuls of his hair. He swung her around and up against the wall, using his weight to pin her there while one freed hand went roaming. First, his hand went under her shirt at the back, where he dragged his fingers up the side of her torso from her waist to the edge of her bra. He nudged it up, fingers seeking her warm round flesh. But the band was too tight.
Mac lifted her mouth from his to suggest that he undo it, but he was ahead of her. He’d shifted her weight back onto his chest while his hand skimmed up her waist to find the hooks. She wasn’t sure how he did it but they all came free at the same time.
“God. You feel beautiful.”
Feel beautiful. She’d never heard that phrase before. But then she was yanked away from thought as he rolled a nipple between his fingers. “I want to taste you, Macayla. Everywhere.”
“Uh-huh,” or sounds to that effect, was all she could muster. Not particularly sexy foreplay. But her eyes were rolling back in her head in ecstasy. Just from the action of his hand at her breast. Not a lick. Or a suck. Just his magic Aussie fingers teasing and pulling and rubbing her to mindless lustiness.
“You’re so easy, Macayla.”
She tried to surface through the waves of lust beating on the shore of her desire. Wasn’t sure that was a compliment. Easy often had bad connotations where women were concerned.
“You like my touch. Your body is so open and warm and responsive.”
You have no idea, she thought. He was still delving into her bra, as if there were goodies he hadn’t yet sampled. Oh yeah. Her right breast. Found it.
She was melting, sliding into the warm sexual pool of desire. Would he be shocked when he eventually found the love sea below?
She giggled. Oh my god. She giggled.
“What?”
She leaned her head against his chest, groping for words. “You’re bad for me.”
“I’m damn good for you. We needed this.”
We. At least he hadn’t said you need this.
“Macayla?” He was breathing hard against her ear, his beard like a muffler against her neck.
“Hm?” She made the sound against his mouth when his returned to kiss her, and got a little buzz effect that went to her head like champagne.
“We’d have more fun horizontal.” His voice was no more than a growl.
What happened to just kissing? They were quickly moving past it—
“Oh!” He’d slid a hand under the edge of her lace shorts and skimmed his thumb over the seat of her panties. Not much that she could say in protest. Not when she had her legs wrapped around his waist like a pretzel.
“Can we at least be in a position where I have use of both hands? You’ll like me having both hands available.”
“Okay.” She shivered in anticipation. He was bad. Or that good. Maybe both.
The thumb moved, this time with deliberate intent to skim her most sensitive parts. Definitely, he was that good.
What was she thinking? This wasn’t what she’d come for. Or stayed for. But it was, at this moment, all that she wanted.
She unlocked her ankles and slid down his body. He lowered her slowly, letting her feel every solid warm inch of them touching through their clothing. Her clothing. He was bare to the waist. Feeling a little dizzy when her feet hit the ground, she pressed her face into his arm, meeting his kangaroo eye-to-eye.
“Hi.” She slid a finger down that curved surface as she traced that animal spirit. Just a second, in just second she’d have her equilibrium back.
But he was back-walking her toward the bed and she was two-stepping her way with him. Her knees hit the back of the mattress, and then he switched positions, sitting on the end of the bed and pulling her into his lap.
She saw his eyes as he lowered her onto his lap. His sea-blue eyes contained warm tropical currents that enveloped her. She was ready to ride those currents—no, him—as long and a hard as she could—
The jolt of an electrical current at her crotch sent her scrambling off his lap. She stared wide-eyed at his lap. “What was that?”
“Shit.” Crazed by lust, Oliver gazed down as something buzzed his erection a second time.
Phone. On vibrate.
He snatched it out of his pocket, intending to hurl it across the room until he saw Kye’s picture. He swiped to answer. “What the fuck?”
“Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” He stood up. Raking a hand through his tousled mane he listened hard to his quietly angry friend telling him in short, terse sentences why Oliver was going to give a speech tonight. End of subject.
“Done.” It was the only word Oliver spoke before hanging up. He took a quick breath before turning to Macayla. One look was enough to halt his thoughts. She looked beautiful. Disarranged by his hands and mouth, a job he badly wanted to finish. But he couldn’t. He could see in her expression something that had always scared the shit out of him. In her gaze he saw tomorrow.
Yeah. She was that kind of woman. So not his type.
“Problem?” How pretty her voice sounded. It made him want to snag her by the waist and drag her back onto the bed to finish what they’d started. She wouldn’t mind. He saw that much in the trusting smile she offered him.
And that’s why he couldn’t. At least, not with what he needed to ask her hanging over the moment.
“I want you to come with me tonight. Up on that stage.”
Mac frowned. “I can’t do that.”
“It’s the only way it will work.” He came toward her, one hand out to touch her face. “You said it earlier. You ask me questions and I’ll answer. But not on paper. I can only do this if I’m looking at you. Just you.”
He could see her thinking about it. “But that wouldn’t be a banquet speech. That would be an interview.”
He grinned and hauled her in to hold her against him. “Your idea. Your fucking great idea.”
Her arms tentatively slid around his waist. A sign she was considering it. “What if the conference people say no?”
He looked down and brushed back that hair tangled in her lashes. “My show. They do it my way.”
She bit her lip, the lush lower one he’d been sucking on earlier, and his dick twitched. “But everyone will wonder who I am. I have no credentials. No part in search and rescue. I’m a nobody.”
“Oh, so you can self-shame but I’m not allowed to be stupid.”
“I don’t have anything nice to wear.” Every woman’s lament.
“Wear nothing. The men in the audience won’t hear a thing I have to say. Hey, that’s got possibilities.”
“Not on your life.” She pushed back out of his arms and he let her go. He’d done all he was going to do to coax her. “How formal is it?”
“You won’t catch me in a tux, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You’d look good in a tux.”
“I look good in anything. But you’re saying yes, yes?” He grabbed her. “Crikey! We’ll show them how it’s done Aussie-style.” He kissed her. “Then maybe I’ll show you how other things are done Aussie-style.”
Mac laughed. “What happened to your wounded ego?
“Oh, I know my worth. Where I fail and where I excel. Modesty was never an issue.”