“No, no. It’s not anything like that. He’s an art expert and quite smooth, if you ask me, and he’s been calling, trying to persuade me to sell my father’s impressionist art collection.”
“Really. Who is he?” Macy asked.
“His name is Marcus Price. He’s from Waverly’s.”
“Oh, wow. I’ve met him. Ann Richardson introduced me to him during our negotiations for my mother’s auction. He’s pretty dreamy looking, if you like tall, confident men with attitude.”
“I’ve spoken with him once,” Avery said. “To tell him no thank you, but he keeps calling. I’m dodging his calls and emails.”
“Would you ever consider selling, Avery?”
“No. I won’t even think about it. That collection is the only thing I have left of my father. He was the only one in my family that showed me any love. I adore those paintings because they were his. He nurtured them and added to the collection year after year. I can’t…I truly can’t part with them.”
Macy had the impression that Forrest Cullen hadn’t been the kind of father that Avery needed. He’d been distant at best, though he loved her and now, her dear friend was clinging to his memory with an art collection that her father had treasured.
“Well, if you’re adamant about it,” Macy advised, “why not meet with Marcus Price one time to give him your answer in person? Trust me, you’ll appreciate his good looks. And you can make your position crystal clear to him.”
Avery hesitated then released a deep sigh that carried over the receiver. “Maybe, I will. Thanks for listening. So, tell me, what’s happening over there with your Wild River cowboy?”
Macy wasted no time launching into an explanation of the latest events of her life, including her misguided attempt to help bring Carter close to his father. “I’m sure I’m not Carter’s favorite person right now. And, Av, he’s been so good to me while I’ve been here. We’ve…gotten closer.” Macy paused. The image of his stone-cold expression when he’d walked in and spotted her at his father’s place flashed in her mind. He’d seen it as a betrayal, plain and simple. “I might have ruined everything.”
“Maybe not. Why not talk it out with him?”
“Carter is pretty stubborn. I don’t think talking is going to work. Not this time. And he’s told me before…uh-” Macy cringed as she revealed the truth to her friend “-that it’s none of my business.”
“Then apologize to him. If he’s a good man, he’ll accept it.”
Macy couldn’t apologize to Carter. She still felt she was right. Carter shouldn’t give up on his father. But she was afraid that, by pressing her point, she’d destroyed their budding relationship. “I don’t know. I’ll think of something, Av.”
After she bid her friend goodbye, Macy sat on her bed, deep in thought. Her frank conversation with Avery made her realize how deeply she cared about Carter. Aside from finding him sexy and gorgeous, she liked him. More than she’d liked any other man who had come before him. While living at Wild River, she’d managed to keep her emotions on an even keel. Barely. Because she didn’t really believe in love anymore and because Carter McCay owned the Love Curse Diamond. He’d already fallen victim to the bad fortune that ring symbolized, and Macy would be a fool to think a relationship with Carter would turn out any differently.
While her heart said other things, her mind steadied those thoughts with practicality. She wanted to be on good terms with Carter during her time here. She wanted to finish the project she’d started and see it through to the end. She didn’t want an argument about Carter’s father to taint her days here at Wild River.
She was going to fix that.
Soon.
The pool was cool and refreshing against Carter’s skin as his arms sliced through the water with even, steady strokes. Moonlight reflected on the water’s edge. He took a deep breath and ducked his head, swimming with finesse and efficiency. He’d mastered the technique from swims in Wild River as a young boy. Back then, it was all for fun, a way a poor boy had to enjoy himself on a hot summer day. He and his friends would jump off tree branches that overhung the rushing river. They’d yell and holler and hoot with laughter, sometimes egging each other on, sometimes daring each other.
Nowadays, swimming wasn’t so much recreational as it was a means to an end. He swam laps to burn off excess energy. He swam laps when he needed to clear his head for business. And he swam laps to simmer down his rising temperature.
Carter’s temper had skyrocketed this afternoon when he’d found out Rocky had disappeared. After speaking with Fargo, Carter had gone straight to his father’s house, certain the dog would be there. And he’d been right, but he hadn’t expected to find Macy there. That had come as a complete surprise. If Fargo knew Macy was there, he’d given him no indication.
Macy wasn’t held hostage on the ranch-she could go wherever she wanted-but butting in to his personal affairs was another matter, and she’d crossed a line today. He was angrier at her than he was at his father. Why in hell was that? And why in heaven’s name did he feel so damn betrayed?
Macy had good intentions, he reminded himself. But his anger didn’t ebb. Instead his strokes became more deliberate, more intense as he cut through the water.
After a good thirty minutes in the pool, Carter climbed the steps and got out. Water dripped from his body as he reached for a towel on the chaise longue. The midnight air was cool against his heated body, his pulse beating hard from the vigorous swim. He dried himself off and wrapped the towel around his waist then headed inside the house.
Macy should be asleep by now, he thought. It didn’t stop him from pausing behind her bedroom door. He sighed heavy and shook his head. He wasn’t ready to forgive her. He wasn’t even close. Part of him hadn’t wanted her getting involved in his dealings with his drunken father, and another part of him hadn’t wanted Macy to see how shabbily he’d grown up. Shame and humiliation were difficult things to overcome. Even though Carter had become successful and wealthy, that house and that man represented a scarred and painful childhood. He hadn’t wanted Macy to witness that. To see how pathetic his young life had been.
He forced himself to move on, to take the steps that led to his own bedroom. Once inside, he showered and put on his boxer briefs. Climbing into bed, he grabbed the remote and turned on the television. Maybe, by the grace of all things holy, there would be a taped-delay baseball game on.
Five minutes later, a soft knocking sounded on his door. He clicked off the television, rose and went to the door. When he opened it, Macy stood before him in a tight spandex skirt and a sheer white tank top. It was sexier than a thousand-dollar silk negligee. His heart pounded and raw desire bolted through his system. He took a swallow and looked into her gleaming violet eyes. They glistened with so much emotion, he couldn’t turn away.
He offered his hand, palm up, letting her make the choice. “It’s just about sex tonight, Hollywood. I’m still madder than hell at you.”
Eleven
Macy knew what she wanted. An angry Carter was better than no Carter at all. She didn’t want to spend the night alone and wake up in the morning with an awful sense of loss and guilt. She didn’t want awkward moments between them when they saw each other on the ranch. Carter’s anger was evident on his face and the stony set of his eyes, so if it meant a Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Ma’am night, it would still be the better alternative.
She gulped past a lump in her throat and placed her hand in his. His hand closed over hers instantly and he tightened the hold. A warning shone in his hard eyes and then his brow rose in challenge, but Macy didn’t back down. Carter looked ready to devour her whole, but Macy didn’t fear him. Instead, excited shivers tingled up and down her spine. Carter’s wrath could be thrilling. She knew he’d never hurt her physically, so tonight he would be in charge. He would make love to her, and it would be about raw, hot-blooded, unabashed sex.
He entwined their fingers then led her to the bed. He sat down first, and as she stood above him his gaze bore into her with intense scrutiny. Those steely eyes were not caressing, but rather a pillage of her most private body
