But he hadn’t wanted her to go. She was the first woman who didn’t pretend that his shit didn’t stink—which was exciting. And sexy as hell.
Then there was her confidence. Hell, he’d started to question his own freaking chords. “Hold up a second, Trouble. I don’t want to look like an ass. Well, at least a bigger ass than I already am. Show me what you mean.”
She’d shoved her notepad into the V of her top, securing it under her bra strap—her black lacy strap—and held out her hand.
He’d offered up his guitar, but when she grabbed for it, he didn’t immediately let go. “What’s the magic word?”
“That would beasshole, remember?”
He’d laughed. Cocky twentysomething Hunter knew jack shit about women. But he knew there was more to Mackenzie than a pretty face and smart mouth.
Without asking permission, she’d taken the guitar and cradled it close to her body, balancing it on her knee. Her familiarity with the instrument said she’d put in a lot of hours strumming. And when her hands glided over the strings with grace and patience, Hunter had known she’d been playing her whole life.
She’d strummed a few chords before her fingers came to rest and she closed her eyes, blocking out her audience, and transitioned effortlessly into the song he and the band had been hashing out all morning and the better part of the afternoon.
“Well, shit.” Confident, sexy,andtalented.
She’d played the entire riff from memory, chord for chord. Her beautiful voice had hummed the melody as she played the chorus then stopped, hitting him with a pair of double-barreled dimples that stirred up all kinds of trouble south of his buckle.
“See? Way too flashy,” she’d said. “With your voice, you don’t need to go allAmerican Idol. It takes away from your talent. It would sound better like this.”
Mackenzie played a more complex combination of notes that called for rooted singing. Her version ended up landing them their first paying gig at a bar by the university.
The unexpected connection that hummed between them that night had been so intense and so right it was unlike anything he’d ever felt before. Then he’d discovered she was nineteen—a little too young for his twenty-eight-year-old self—and put her firmly in the friend zone. And by the time Mackenzie was old enough to be an option, she was so ingrained in the band and such an important person in his life he was afraid to go there.
Hunter didn’t have the greatest track record when it came to women. And he didn’t want to risk screwing things up and losing her. Only she’d left anyway.
But she was back. And that chemistry he’d done his best to ignore over the years? Yup. That was back too. A blast of heat strong enough to take him out at the knees.
Lust wasn’t the only emotion humming through his veins. There was plenty of anger and frustration pumping, a lethal combination that had him dialed toshit just got real.
Hunter knew Mackenzie was a loner. Had learned that she’d rather go it alone than rely on anyone else. One of the many cruel lessons life had taught her early on. So yes, he understood her obsessive need for independence. But to disappear on him when all he’d ever done was care for her?
Yeah, there was a serious come-to-Jesus meeting headed their way. It wouldn’t be fun, but Hunter needed answers. Long-overdue answers.
He stepped past the threshold into the office, and Mackenzie whipped around. Placing a startled hand on the back of the chair, she rose and faced him.
Hunter put on what he hoped came across as a fancy-meeting-you-here smile but didn’t bother to hide any of the worry or heartache she’d caused. Those green pools hit his, and not an ounce of recognition registered on her face. No regret, no shame, not a single glimmer of apology was aimed his way.
Nope, she stood there, arms at her sides, shoulders back, eyes wide with confusion. As ifshewas the offended party.
And, okay, those wide eyes weren’t aimed at him, per se. It was more like she was staring off into space. Collecting her thoughts for some BS explanation or whatever. So Hunter crossed his arms too, determined thatshewould be the one to do the explaining.
“Brody?” she asked. “Is that you?”
Hunter didn’t know what pissed him off more. That she was still playing some fucking game or that in less than six-tenths of a second her sweet drawl settled right in his chest.
He was about to tell her that he wasn’t pussy enough to be confused with Brody when Mackenzie took a hesitant step forward, her foot catching on the leg of the chair. For a solid heartbeat, he froze as she stumbled. Her second step wasn’t much better, and she pitched forward, thrusting her hands in front of her to break what would have been an epic fall.
Only she didn’t fall. Before Hunter could move, a dog shot out from behind the chair and placed itself under her, maneuvering his big body into the perfect position and bracing himself like he’d done this a million times before. Even more shockingly, Mackenzie grabbed on to the dog’s back and avoided toppling over.
She let out a frustrated breath, then straightened. With her eyes closed and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Mackenzie reached down to pat the enormous dog, who was anchored to her side. The furry savior was also wearing a leather harness with a green vest.
The dog’s eyes locked on to Hunter’s—friendly but fiercely protective. The same expression Hunter had worn wheneverhe’dbeen around Mackenzie.
“That was close,” she said with a self-conscious laugh, her hand on her heart and her breathing labored. “You’re a good boy, Muttley.”
For a solid heartbeat, everything stilled. It was as if a freight train were coming straight at him. He could feel the floor vibrate, smell the truth as it careened right into his chest.
Then it stopped. A full stop. His breathing, his heart, his anger. It all stopped and refocused with a single thought. Mackenzie couldn’t see his anger or his worry.
Mackenzie couldn’t see a fucking thing.
