Navy Seal Dad. Metsy Hingle
Grant the minister’s daughter, who always followed the rules. She’d broken every rule she’d been taught and believed in about abstaining from premarital sex, about the need for love and commitment. And she’d broken them without regret, without shame. Until Mac had told her he was leaving, that there could be no future for them.
His expression softened. “I meant what I said, Rach. I really have missed you.”
The words were like knives through her heart, resurrecting old feelings, old dreams, old hurts. “What am I supposed to say to that, Mac?”
“I was hoping that maybe you missed me, too.”
Missing didn’t come close to describing how she’d felt when he had left. She’d felt lost. Alone. Dead inside. Until she’d found out about P.J. Discovering she was pregnant with Mac’s baby had been all that had kept her going those first few months. And now here Mac was again, back in New Orleans for a week or two, he’d said. So he’d decided to look her up.
“I guess I can’t blame you for not believing me, but it’s the truth. I never forgot you, Rachel.”
“Really? Is that why I haven’t heard from you in over two years? No phone calls, no letters. Not even a postcard to say you were still alive.”
His mouth tightened. “I never led you on, Rachel.”
“No, you didn’t,” she admitted, and the admission left her almost as raw now as it had two years ago. “You made it clear when you left that it was over between us. I shouldn’t have been surprised not to hear from you. But I was surprised.” And hurt, she admitted silently.
“Rachel.” He said her name softly, reached out to touch her face.
She turned away, not wanting him to see the pain in her eyes. Steeling herself against the feelings he stirred in her, she said, “You’ll have to forgive me, if I find your claim about missing me somewhat convenient.”
“Convenient?” he repeated, genuine puzzlement in his voice. “Just what is it you’re accusing me of?”
Having regained some measure of control over her emotions, Rachel turned around to face him again. “I’m not accusing you of anything,” she told him evenly. “I’m simply saying that after all this time without a word from you, you find yourself back in New Orleans and decide to look me up and tell me how much you’ve missed me.”
“It’s true.”
“Is it? Or maybe you thought it was a good line and you’d use it to talk your way back into my bed. After all, I was pretty accommodating the last time you were in town,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. “So I guess I can understand why you might think I’d be interested in picking up things where we left off. And maybe I would be if—”
“Don’t,” he said the word softly, but there was no mistaking the steel behind the warning. She caught the icy glint of anger in those blue eyes. “I never used you, Rachel. Don’t cheapen yourself or me by pretending that I did.”
The truth of his statement shamed her. “You’re right, of course. You never used me, Mac. You didn’t have to. I allowed myself to be used.”
“Rachel.”
He reached for her, but Rachel stepped away. She turned her back to him, not wanting him to witness her shame. “You’ll have to forgive me. Having your lover tell you to forget him…to go find yourself a nice guy with a safe, nine-to-five job to fall in love with has a way of making a woman feel particularly stupid.” Hiking up her chin, she turned around to face him again. “But I’m a lot smarter than I used to be, Mac. Which brings us back to my question. Why are you here?”
“Because I didn’t follow my own advice.”
Rachel frowned. “What do you mean?”
He pinned her with hard blue eyes. “I mean I didn’t forget you. I haven’t been able to forget you—no matter how hard I’ve tried.”
Rachel blinked, caught off guard as much by his reply as by the dark heat behind it. Emotions surged through her like a storm. Pleasure. Hope. Fear. But it was the fear and the memory of all those long and lonely months when she’d prayed for Mac to contact her, to tell her he wanted to give their love a chance that kept her anchored now. She was no longer a naive woman who could be easily swept off her feet by the handsome Navy SEAL. She was a single mother with responsibilities. And she couldn’t afford to play emotional games with the likes of Mac McKenna.
“It’s true. There hasn’t been a single day in the past two years that I haven’t thought about you.”
Shaken, Rachel clutched the clipboard to her like a shield. “Why are you doing this?” she demanded, wanting to believe him, afraid to believe him. “What do you want?”
“You,” he said evenly. “I want you, Rachel.”
The breath stalled in her lungs. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut, striving to keep her emotions in check.
As the code came across the loudspeaker for her to report to the E.R., Rachel snapped her eyes open. “I have to go,” she told him, and started for the door suddenly glad for an excuse to escape. She needed time to think, time to figure out what she was going to do. The last thing she wanted was to read more into Mac’s words than he meant.
“What time do you get off?” he asked, following on her heels as she exited the employees’ lounge.
“Not until four o’clock.” She started toward the elevators with Mac matching her steps.
“I’ll pick you up.”
“No!” Rachel swallowed and, lowering her voice, said, “I…I have plans.”
He didn’t like it. She could see it in the set of his jaw, the way his eyes narrowed. “All right. When?”
“Tonight,” she said, praying Chloe would be able to watch P.J. for a few extra hours that evening. Mac followed her into the elevator and the doors slid shut, locking them in the confined space alone.
“What time?” he asked, looming over her so tall, so strong, so fierce. She’d almost forgotten how devastating Mac McKenna could be. No, that wasn’t true. She hadn’t forgotten. She’d simply tried her best to forget.
“Rach, what time?”
“Seven o’clock. Irene’s in the French Quarter?” she suggested and immediately kicked herself mentally for choosing the restaurant they had frequented as a couple.
“Irene’s is fine. I’ll pick you up at say six-thirty?”
The doors of the elevator slid open. “I’ll meet you there,” Rachel told him, and hurried out before he could object.
She wasn’t going to show, Mac conceded at half past eight that evening. He tossed back the last of his wine and motioned for the waiter.
“Another glass of merlot while you wait for your lady, Commander?”
“No thanks, Sergio,” Mac replied, still amazed that the man who’d been a fixture at the Italian eatery two years ago, when he and Rachel had frequented the place, actually remembered him.
“Then perhaps you will allow Sergio to bring you a small appetizer, just a little something to tide you over until the lady arrives.”
“Thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll just take the check.”
“But your plans for dinner…” he objected.
“Are off. It doesn’t look like the lady’s going to make it.”
“Ah, a pity,” the older man said with a frown that formed a crease between his brows that extended to his receding hairline. He placed the black leather folio with the bill on top of the table. “I am sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too.” After a quick glance at the check, Mac