Page 290 of On A Manhunt: Complete Series

GEORGIA

“Mac?” I asked, blinking at the sexy man standing in the doorway.

The delicious scent of hot dogs wafted out from behind him making my mouth water.

Or was it Mac himself that was so enticing?

He hadn’t changed since I saw him at the airport not two hours earlier.

Nor had the fact that he’d seen my underwear on the baggage claim floor as well as my vibrator.

My vibrator! I was confident enough in my sexuality to use one, to pack one to accompany me on a work trip.

But it had been safely tucked in my suitcase in complete privacy.

Why didn’t the small box of tampons tip out instead?

Sure, that had been mortifying, but Andy pretty much shouted about my toy submarine.

While my attraction to the single dad with the nice father and adorable son had been undeniable, I couldn’t wait to flee the airport and never see him again out of embarrassment alone.

Yet, not even two hours later, it seemed I was in front of him once more.

What were the chances?

Mac’s eyes were probably as wide as mine. “Georgia? What are you–”

“I’m sorry, I must be mistaken,” I said quickly, glancing around trying to figure out where I messed up. “I’m looking for Andrew MacKenzie.”

Out of habit, I reached up to touch my hair and quickly lowered my hand. My hair was fine. I checked in the car mirror after I parked at the curb. Reapplied my lipstick, too.

I looked at the house number beside the door, then back at him. Yes, this was the place. Then why was he, of all people, answering the door? Although, if he was the one-man welcoming committee for every step of my trip, I shouldn’t complain.

Except… he knew what my sex toy looked like.

He knew I liked them big, vibrating and made of silicone.

If my mother ever heard about the baggage claim fiasco…

well, I didn’t even want to think about how she’d react.

Worse than the time I had the back of my plaid skirt tucked into my tights when I was five or the first pageant disaster.

Or the second. She had a list of times I’d embarrassed her. It was long and it went way back.

Awareness lit his dark eyes. “That’s me. Andrew MacKenzie, but I go by Mac. Too many Andrews in the family.”

It didn’t take me long to figure it out. “Right. Your dad’s–”

“Drew,” he replied.

“–and Andy’s–”

“Andrew MacKenzie II.”

“Well, Mac, I’m here for the carriage house?”

“The carriage house, right.” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “Well, that’s what’s listed online to sound fancy, but it’s the apartment over the garage. Out back.”

He thumbed over his shoulder in that general direction but kept his gaze on me.

“Oh. Good.” But I didn’t want to be a complete klutz. Twice. “Well. Um, I’m your renter.”

If it was possible, he looked even more surprised. “You?”

I nodded. “Yeah, small world, huh?” I gave a little laugh and offered him my patented Georgia Lee Gantry pageant smile. “I’m here in Hunter Valley with James Corp for a stretch, so they, well, Bradley, put me up here.”

“James Corp? Figure they’d put you up at their inn.”

I shook my head. “No room. That place is booked solid.”

“Good for them. I know the James brothers, Theo especially.”

“I’ve never met them. I just started with the company.

” I’d never even been in the James Corp office in Denver.

Bradley was my cousin and told me about the contract PR job here in Hunter Valley.

Eager to get the hell out of Calhan… I submitted my resume.

Amazingly, I got the job and now I was here for a few weeks helping out on a short-term assignment.

James Corp had offered up a resource on a local fundraiser, hoping an expert might be able to take the event from having successful results to being amazing.

Every time I thought about it, I got nervous because I was supposed to be the expert.

But Bradley knew me, knew my background and thought I was the woman for the job.

I didn’t argue with Bradley, HR who hired me, or the fact that it got me here.

Realizing I was frowning, I smoothed out my face.

Mac might know the personal contents of my suitcase, but I wasn’t giving him the sad details of my life.

Like the fact that being in Montana was practically saving my life.

Well, that might be a little drastic. Saving my mental sanity definitely.

I’d stuck with a loser for too many years.

Went along with him when he’d said he wasn’t ready for kids. Strung me along until it was too late.

Now, I was divorced with a barely-ticking biological clock while Art was remarried with a baby on the way.

Him. A baby.

I guess I just didn’t want one with you, he’d said, emphasizing the “you.”

How did the song go? Me. I was the problem. It was ME.

Because Art was back in Calhan with his pregnant new wife picking out a minivan and taking birthing classes. I was in small town Montana alone with my vibrator, so I didn’t have to live–even temporarily–with my mother a second longer.

He stared.

I stared back.

“Right,” he said finally, snapping out of it. He grabbed keys from a glass dish on a side table and stepped outside, closing the door behind him. “Let’s get you settled.”

I stepped out of the way, then followed him down the driveway that ran along the side of the house.

Calhan in April was full-on spring. Leaves on the trees.

Flowers blooming. Sundresses and sandals.

Here? The air was clean and crisp. Cold.

Really cold. I could see my breath. There was even snow on the ground in places.

The rental car agent advised me to get an SUV since snow didn’t stop until the end of May.

It hadn’t even snowed once in Calhan this winter.

Hopefully, I packed the right clothes. I only brought one suitcase, and my wheeled carry on, and my huge purse, which for me was going light.

Mac’s house was in what appeared to be the older part of town, close to Main Street.

The house was two stories, a mix of stone and, from what I could see in the dark, light wood siding.

Motion sensors had exterior lights coming on, illuminating our way to an unattached garage at the back corner of the lot.

A tire swing hung from a large tree that probably shaded the entire backyard in the summer.

A deck was bare except for a large, manly grill by the back door.

A pergola extended over it. I imagined it was a perfect place to hang out in the summer.

Mac stopped and I almost bumped into him. “Where’s your luggage?”

“In the rental car,” I said, thumbing over my shoulder.

Back at the airport, after I shoved everything back in, Mac had quickly shut my suitcase and wrapped his belt around it, buckling it closed.

At the same time, Andy and his grandfather’s bag appeared on the conveyor.

With bags claimed and no reason to linger, we said our goodbyes and parted ways.

Andy offered one last look back and a little wave before I was left to get my rental car, find some dinner and make my way to Hunter Valley.

I was due to start the public relations job in the morning and wanted to settle in.

I never imagined it would be over Mac’s garage.

“Right.”

I followed him up the outside staircase that was on the yard side of the garage, which had me enjoying the view of his very toned, very round butt on the way up.

Even though it was about forty degrees out, I wasn’t cold. Who needed a coat to stay warm with that view?

He unlocked the door, pushed it open, reached in and flipped on the light switch.

“Go ahead in. I’ll get your bags from your car.”

He turned, squeezed past me on the narrow steps. I could feel the heat from his body and the lingering scent of soap or man or aftershave or… him. Yeah, not cold at all.

I stepped inside, took in the space. It was one large room with sloping ceiling on both sides.

A king-sized bed took up most of the space.

Across from it was a TV, set on a stand with an electric fireplace built in.

An oak dresser was tucked in a corner and an overstuffed reading chair by the window that overlooked the backyard.

A small kitchenette was by the door with a mini-fridge, sink, electric kettle and a microwave.

There was a door that led to the bathroom.

I could see the pedestal sink and a night light plugged in beside the mirror.

I doubted Mac was the decorator–because he didn’t seem the type to put up a framed landscape photograph–but the room’s colors were soft tans and navy. Masculine, but the small space was cozy and warm. It was really nice.

Mac’s heavy footsteps signaled his way up the steps. My bags bumped into the doorframe as he came in, and he set them down off to the side.

He sighed, ran a hand over his hair. Caught his breath. “I’m not much of a welcoming committee. I admit, I’m new to this whole rental thing. You’re my first guest, in fact. Towels are on the rack above the toilet. Thermostat is by the door. Oh, here’s the switch for the fireplace.”

He flipped it on the wall and the fake flames kicked on.

“That should heat this space better than the furnace if you need to make it warmer, but it’s not too cold out now so I’m not sure if you’ll use it.”

The fireplace glowed in all its fake glory, but I could already feel the warmth the little fan was putting out and it didn’t need any logs or cleanup. On, off. My kind of fire.

“This isn’t too cold?” I questioned.

He grinned and my pussy clenched. Cold night, cozy room, huge bed. Fire. Hot man.

“Welcome to Montana.”

Right. I was his guest, not his lover. I glanced around, then looked to him. “This is lovely. Thank you.”

“The fireplace was Dad’s idea,” he said, as if trying to come up with something to say. “This was all boxes and junk, but we figured it might be a great way for some extra income.”

“Smart.”

“Yeah. As long as the guests aren’t assholes.” He winced, rubbed his neck. “Shit, not that you are.”

I smirked. “No, not an asshole.”

We were alone. No Andy. No father. Mac wasn’t a huge man, but he made the place seem small. I felt small and we were making ridiculous small talk. It was him, me, a room with a big bed.

I mentally slapped myself because why would Mac want to carry me to the bed, press me into the soft bedding and make me shout Hallelujah and praise Jesus more than a Southern Baptist on a Sunday morning.

If I lost a few pounds or hadn’t shown him that I was so lonely and desperate for dick that I carried around a vibrator, maybe, just maybe, he’d have naughty thoughts about me.

“I’ll, um, unpack and be sure to get your belt back to you,” I said, finally looking away.

He grinned and just like that, my nipples hardened. He stepped closer.

Wait. Was he going to kiss me? Oh my stars in heaven.

Another step. I swallowed hard.

His gaze dropped to my mouth.

Lord, another step.

I licked my lips.

He raised his hand to cup my neck.

No, not to cup my neck. To dangle a keychain between us.

Oh. My pussy wept with shame and disappointment.

“Your key,” he said, his voice gruff. “Unless you need help with anything else.”

My mind went into the gutter. Yes, I had many things he could help with. Me out of my clothes, for one. Me with a man-made orgasm was another. He’d already seen the vibrator, so he knew my expectations when it came to dick size.

I was thirty-five. I wasn’t sacrificing again after Art. No small dicks. No selfishness. I had to hope one of Mac’s rules for being a gentleman was ladies first. Then he could give up being nice.

Sometimes a girl wanted a good pounding. Right? Hard. Rough.

His dark eyes held mine, then dropped to my mouth, eyeing it as if he wanted to kiss the lipstick right off. Lord have mercy, he was intense.

I swallowed. Hard. My panties were wet, and I couldn’t help but squirm.

Maybe I took too long to reply. Maybe he wasn’t referring to the different ways he could sexually satisfy me. Maybe he actually wanted to know if I needed help with anything else in the garage apartment.

Whichever option it was, I took too long because he said, “I go to work early so my dad will be here with Andy. He’ll get him ready for school then drop him off.

When Andy finds out in the morning you’re staying here, be prepared.

He’ll probably want you to be his show-and-tell at school instead of the Mickey Mouse hat. ”

I wasn’t worried about a six-year-old. Andy was sweet and bright and filled up the huge hole I had in my heart for a child of my own. It was his father who I thought was definite trouble.

Big, burly trouble.