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She let out a slow breath. It was a nice fantasy, but she wouldn’t. She’d just act calm and unconcerned, as she always did, and pretend the slings and arrows didn’t touch her.
Seizing the plates, she strode into the dining room. She set one in front of Mac and the other at her place opposite. He didn’t so much as glance at the food, but he did glare at her. Was he going to spend the entire week sulking?
What fun.
She stared back, refusing to let him cow her. She’d expected the shouting and the outrage. After all, he wasn’t known as ‘Mad Mac’—television’s most notorious and demanding celebrity chef—for nothing. The tabloids had gone to town on him after the accident, claiming it would never have happened if ‘Mad Mac’ hadn’t been so intimidating.
She bit back a sigh. It was all nonsense, of course. She’d had the inside scoop on Mac from Russ. She knew all of that onscreen TV shouting had been a front—a ploy to send the ratings skyrocketing. It had worked too. So it hadn’t surprised her that he’d donned that persona when she’d stormed in on him earlier. But the sulking threw her.
‘What?’ he bit out when she continued to stare.
She shook herself. ‘For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. Amen.’ She picked up her cutlery and sliced into a meatball.
‘You’re religious?’
‘No.’ The prayer had just seemed a convenient way to handle an awkward silence. ‘I mean, I do believe in something bigger than us—whatever that may be.’
Mac didn’t say anything. He didn’t even move to pick up his cutlery.
She forged on. ‘One of the guys on the mineral exploration camps was a Christian and we all got into the habit of saying Grace. It’s nice. It doesn’t hurt to remember the things we should be grateful for.’
His frown deepened to a scowl. ‘You really think that’s going to work? You really think you can make my life seem okay just by—?’
She slammed her knife and fork down. ‘Not everything is about you, Mac.’ She forced her eyes wide. ‘Some of it might even be about me.’ Couldn’t he at least look at his food? He needn’t think it would taste any better cold. ‘Your attitude sucks. You know that? Frankly, I don’t care if you’ve decided to self-destruct or not, but you can darn well wait until after Russ has recovered from his bypass surgery to do it.’
‘You’re not exactly polite company, are you?’
‘Neither are you. Besides, I refuse to put any effort into being good company for as long as you sulk. I’m not your mother. It’s not my job to cajole you into a better temper.’
His jaw dropped.
And he still hadn’t touched his food.
‘Eat something, Mac. If we’re busy eating we can abandon any pretence at small talk.’
A laugh choked out of him and just for a moment it transformed him. Oh, the burn scars on the left side of his face and neck were still as angry and livid as ever, but his mouth hooked up and his eyes momentarily brightened and he held his head at an angle she remembered from his television show.
It was why she was still here. Earlier this afternoon he’d fired up—not with humour, but with intensity and passion. He’d become the man she’d recognised from the TV, but also from Russ’s descriptions. That was a man she could work with.
Finally he did as she bade and forked a small mouthful of meatball and sauce into his mouth. When he didn’t gag, a knot of tension eased out of her.
‘This isn’t bad.’ He ate some more and frowned. ‘In fact, it’s pretty good.’
Yeah, right. He was just trying to butter her up, frightened of what she might tell Russ.
‘Actually, it’s very good—considering the state of the pantry.’
She almost believed him. Almost. ‘I’ll need to shop for groceries tomorrow. I understand we’re halfway between Forster and Taree here. Any suggestions for where I should go?’
‘No.’
When he didn’t add anything she shook her head and set to eating. It had been a long day and she was tired and hungry. She halted with half a meatball practically in her mouth when she realised he’d stopped eating and was staring at her.
‘What?’
‘I wasn’t being rude. It’s just that I haven’t been to either town. I was getting groceries delivered from a supermarket in Forster.’
‘Was?’
He scowled. ‘The delivery man couldn’t follow instructions.’
Ah. Said delivery man had probably encroached on Mac’s precious privacy. ‘Right. Well, I’ll try my luck in Forster, then.’ She’d seen signposts for the town before turning off to Mac’s property.
He got back to work on the plate in front of him with... She blinked. With gusto? Heat spread through her stomach. Oh, don’t be ridiculous! He’d had his own TV show. He was a consummate actor. But the heat didn’t dissipate.
She pulled in a breath. ‘I’m hoping Russ warned you that I’m not much of a cook.’
He froze. Very slowly he lowered his cutlery. ‘Russ said you were a good plain cook. On this evening’s evidence I’d agree with him.’ His face turned opaque. ‘You’re feeling intimidated cooking for a...?’
‘World-renowned chef?’ she finished for him. ‘Yes, a little. I just want you to keep your expectations within that realm of plain, please.’
She bit back a sigh. Plain—what a boring word. Beauty is as beauty does. The old adage sounded through her mind. Yeah, yeah, whatever.
‘I promise not to criticise your cooking. I will simply be...’ he grimaced ‘...grateful for whatever you serve up. You don’t need to worry that I’ll be secretly judging your technique.’
‘I expect there’d be nothing secret about it. I think you’d be more than happy to share your opinions on the matter.’
His lips twitched.
‘Is there anything you don’t eat?’ she rushed on, not wanting to dwell on those lips for too long.
He shook his head.
‘Is there anything in particular you’d like me to serve?’
He shook his head again.
There was something else she’d meant to ask him... Oh, that’s right. ‘You have a garage...’
They both reached for the plate of garlic bread at the same time. He waited for her to take a slice first. He had nice hands. She remembered admiring them when she’d watched him on TV. Lean, long-fingered hands that looked strong and—
‘The garage?’
She shook herself. ‘Would there be room for me to park my car in there? I expect this sea air is pretty tough on a car’s bodywork.’
‘Feel free.’
‘Thank you.’
They both crunched garlic bread. He watched her from the corner of his eye. She chewed and swallowed, wondering what he made of her. She sure as heck wasn’t like the women he was forever being photographed with in the papers. For starters she was as tall as a lot of men, and more athletic than most.
Not Mac, though. Even in his current out-of-form condition he was still taller and broader than her—though she might give him a run for his money in an arm wrestle at the moment.
Her stomach tightened. He was probably wondering what god he’d cheesed off to have a woman like her landing on his doorstep. Mac was a golden boy. Beautiful. And she was the opposite. Not that that had anything to do with anything. What he thought of her physically made no difference whatsoever.
Except, of course, it did. It always mattered.
‘You’ve shown a lot of concern for Russ.’
Her head came up. ‘Yes?’
He scowled at her. ‘Are you in love with him? He’s too old for you, you know.’
It surprised her so much she laughed. ‘You’re kidding, right?’ She swept her garlic bread through the leftover sauce on her plate.
His frown deepened. ‘No.’
‘I love your brother as a friend, but I’m not in love with him. Lord, what a nightmare that would be.’ She sat back and wiped her fingers on a serviette.
‘Why?’
‘I’m not a masochist. You and your brother have similar tastes in women. You both date petite, perfectly made-up blondes who wear killer heels and flirty dresses.’ She hadn’t packed a dress. She didn’t even own a pair of heels.
He pushed his plate away, his face darkening. ‘How the hell do you know what type I like?’ He turned sideways in his chair to cross his legs. It hid his scarring from her view.
‘It’s true I’m basing my assumption on who you’ve been snapped with in the tabloids and what Russ has told me.’
‘You make us sound shallow.’
If the shoe fits...
‘But I can assure you that the women you just described wouldn’t look twice at me now.’
‘Only if they were superficial.’
His head jerked up.
‘And beauty and superficiality don’t necessarily go hand in hand.’
No more than plain and stupid, or plain and thick-skinned.
He opened his mouth, but she continued on over the top of him. ‘Anyway, you’re not going to get any sympathy from me on that. I’ve never been what people consider beautiful. I’ve learned to value other things. You think people will no longer find you beautiful—
‘I know they won’t!’
He was wrong, but... ‘So welcome to the club.’
His jaw dropped.
‘It’s not the end of the world, you know?’
He stared at her for a long moment and then leaned across the table. ‘What the hell are you really doing here, Jo Anderson?’
She stared back at him, and inside she started to weep—because she wanted to ask this man to teach her to cook and he was so damaged and angry that she knew he would toss her request on the rubbish heap and not give it so much as the time of day.
Something in his eyes gentled. ‘Jo?’
Now wasn’t the time to raise the subject. It was becoming abundantly clear that there might never be a good time.
She waved a hand in the air. ‘The answer is twofold.’ It wasn’t a lie. ‘I’m here to make sure you don’t undo all the hard work I’ve put into Russ.’
He sat back. ‘Hard work?’
She should rise and clear away their plates, clean the kitchen, but he deserved some answers. ‘Do you know how hard, how physically demanding, it is to perform CPR for five straight minutes?’ Which was what she’d done for Russ.
He shook his head, his eyes darkening.
‘It’s really hard. And all the while your mind is screaming in panic and making deals with the universe.’
‘Deals?’
‘Please let Russ live and I’ll never say another mean word about anyone ever again. Please let Russ live and I promise to be a better granddaughter and great-niece. Please let Russ live and I’ll do whatever you ask, will face my worst fears... Blah, blah, blah.’ She pushed her hair back off her face. ‘You know—the usual promises that are nearly impossible to keep.’ She stared down at her glass of water. ‘It was the longest five minutes of my life.’
‘But Russ did live. You did save his life. It’s an extraordinary thing.’
‘Yes.’
‘And now you want to make sure that I don’t harm his recovery?’
‘Something like that.’
‘Which is why you’re here—to check up on me so you can ease Russ’s mind?’
‘He was going to come himself, and that didn’t seem wise.’
Mac turned grey.
‘But you don’t have it quite right. Russ is doing me a favour, organising this job for me.’
He remained silent, not pressing her, and she was grateful for that.
‘You see, Russ’s heart attack and my fear that he was going to die brought me face to face with my own mortality.’
He flinched and she bit back a curse. What did she know about mortality compared to this man? She reached across to clasp his hand in a sign of automatic sympathy, but he froze. A bad taste rose in her mouth and she pulled her hand back into her lap. Her heart pounded. He wouldn’t welcome her touch. Of course he wouldn’t.
‘I expect you know what I’m talking about.’
Mac’s accident had left him with serious burns, but it had left a young apprentice fighting for his life. She remembered Russ’s relief when the young man had finally been taken off the critical list.
