The MacGregor Brides Read online

  "Does he have humor, intelligence, kindness?"

  "He's—" She remembered the way he'd held little Daniel. "Yes. It's just that we butt heads. He's very opinionated and stubborn."

  "Oh." Gwen didn't bother to suppress the laugh, just let it roll. "And of course you're so flexible and open-minded."

  "Compared to him, I am," Julia said defensively, then laughed at herself. "Okay, that's probably the root of the problem. We both know our own minds and have no problem pushing our opinions on others. He can be right occasionally. It's just that I'm right more." She leaned forward. "He's got these incredible hands. Wide and rough and really strong. I think about them a lot."

  "And you wish they were attached to the arms of a more amenable man."

  She started to agree, then debated with herself. "I'm not sure. I would have said so a month ago. Now I'm starting to find even the abrasiveness appealing. Sexy. I think I need to get away for a few days."

  "Well, that couldn't hurt. But I've never known anyone more sure of their own mind and heart than you. Or more willing to risk going after what she wants. If you end up wanting Cullum, I'd tell you to be careful, to protect yourself, but to trust yourself."

  "Good advice." Julia skimmed her hair back from her face. "It may be a good time for me to visit my parents in Washington for a few days. A little distance couldn't hurt. And there's some property down there I want to check on, anyway."

  "Be sure to give them my love. And—" she smiled wickedly "—be sure to keep me up-to-date on the Murdoch project." It was a good way to think of it, Julia decided as she pulled up in front of her house. The Murdoch project. She was an expert on projects, figuring the angles, the profit and loss, the effort and time.

  That was exactly what she was going to do, she thought. She would figure the angles, calculate what she could gain or lose, and how much effect Cullum Murdoch would have on her life.

  And she was going to do it from a nice, safe distance.

  She walked inside, gave an absent wave to some of the workmen, and headed upstairs to pack. It would be great to surprise her parents, to just drop in for a few days. She really hadn't spent any time alone with them in nearly a year. For the most part, they got together with most or all of the family. And that was more a riot than a visit. Tapping her foot, she contemplated her wardrobe. She adored the walk-in closet, the space and organization. To her, it was much more practical in this incarnation than it had been as a dressing room. She selected casual clothes, blazers, slacks, one basic dinner dress, and was carrying them toward the bed to the open suitcase when Cullum walked in.

  He lifted his brow. "Going somewhere?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes. And I don't believe I heard you knock."

  "You forgot to close the door this time."

  "Oh." She laid the clothes on the bed and walked back into the closet.

  He'd never known a single female to own so many clothes. And the shoes—didn't she have the standard two feet? But he'd already told her his opinion on this a couple of times and he felt it was likely to be a waste of time to repeat it.

  "Where are you going?"

  It was her turn to lift a brow. "Out of town."

  "For how long?"

  She brushed by him to take her choice of sweaters and blouses to the bed. "Excuse me, but why would you think that's any of your business?"

  "Because we're in the middle of a major rehab. I don't want you coming back and whining that something didn't turn out the way you wanted."

  "I don't whine." How could she possibly be attracted to someone so irritating? she wondered, and moved to her Duncan Phyfe bureau for lingerie.

  "Where can you be reached?"

  "I'll call in regularly."

  "Look, MacGregor—" He had to stop himself, pull back a step. He didn't know why the sight of her packing a few clothes sent him into a panic. He'd been wanting to get rid of her for weeks. "The kitchen cabinets are coming in next week. If you're not here to approve the delivery—"

  "I'll be back by then." Without a hint of embarrassment, she folded frothy-looking bras and panties into a silk lingerie bag. "If you must know, I'm just going to D.C. for a few days."

  "Something wrong with your parents?"

  She softened. There was no denying the quick and sincere concern in his voice. "No, they're fine. They don't even know I'm coming."

  "Then why can't it wait until the kitchen's wrapped? It's the biggest part of the project. If you start wanting us to tear out work—"

  "You have my tapes. I've made it perfectly clear what I want done, and if you'll recall, most of the kitchen remodeling is of your design."

  "Which is why I don't want to take the heat if you change your mind."

  "I do not change my mind once I've made up my mind." She slapped the silk bag into the suitcase. "Get off my back, Murdoch. I come and go as I please."

  He felt the snap in the air, all too familiar now. Slowly, he turned, shut the door.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Insuring some privacy." He studied her, objectively, he told himself. She was flushed with temper. Why that look suited her so well, why it made his blood swim, he didn't know. It just was. She had her hand clenched at her side, as if ready to do battle. Pretty colored rings glittered on it. Her hair was loose, tumbling over the shoulders of a dark green jacket that molded her curves. She always wore soft clothes, he mused. The kind that drove a man crazy, wanting to get under them. And there it was, he admitted. He still wanted to get under them.

  "Is this impromptu trip a way of running from that thing that went on a couple weeks ago?" Her head angled, her voice went regally cool. "I don't know what thing you could be referring to."

  "The thing where we nearly ended up naked on your kitchen floor?"

  "That was a lapse," she snapped, hating herself for wishing they had, just so that the tension in her gut would be gone. "We agreed."

  "We did. But was it?"

  "We agreed," she repeated stubbornly, then surprised herself by backing up when he stepped forward. "Stay away from me." For the first time in weeks, he felt an easy smile curve his lips. "Why? Nervous?"

  "I don't want you to touch me."

  "Who said I was going to touch you? I'm just asking a question. One thing I've never been able to fault you for is honesty. You always tell it like it is, so I'm asking. Was it a lapse for you?"

  "I don't know." She nearly shouted it, then whirled around to begin hurling clothes into the suitcase. "It should have been. I'm not running away from anything. I just want to have some distance, to see my parents, to get the hell away from you before we do something stupid."

  "Okay, that's honest. So I'll be just as honest. I don't mind getting away from you for a while, either. Seeing you every day is difficult." Her hands calmed, carefully smoothed out a wrinkled blouse. "Is it?"

  "More difficult than I figured it would be. I keep imagining what it might be like if we had another lapse." Because she'd never been a coward or a liar, she turned back to face him. He had such a strong face, she thought. All angles and planes set off by that firm mouth and compelling eyes. "I suppose I've wondered the same thing." Her lips curved upward. "What's wrong with us?"

  "Damned if I know." This time, when he stepped forward, she stayed where she was. "Do you still not want me to touch you?" She let out an uneven breath. "It's the middle of the day, what could it hurt?"

  "Let's find out." His hands slid up that cloud-soft jacket, then under it until they moved firmly up her back to draw her against him. "Eyes open this time, Jules."

  Though he hadn't meant it literally, they watched each other as their mouths met. She saw his eyes darken, saw herself trapped in that deepening green. Experimentally she changed the angle of the kiss. Their lips touching, testing now, hesitating, and with every second that passed, her heart picked up its rhythm.

  He ached, and the taste of her had the ache centering in his gut and radiating out to his fingers. He toyed with her mouth, taking his ti
me, though the blood was roaring in his head. Gradually, gradually, he saw her eyes cloud, her lashes flutter. And he swallowed the catchy sigh that slipped from her lips.

  "I need to touch you." Even as he said it, his hands skimmed over her breasts, cupped them, possessed. He knew he'd never felt anything more erotic than the way her nipples pressed hard against his palms through the thin silk. A strangled moan, a flood of need. Her head fell back in a limp surrender that staggered them both. "You have to… Oh, Cullum… You've got such hands."

  They were on her flesh now, her blouse open, the front hook of her bra flicked apart. With her heart pounding against his palm, he forgot the men working downstairs, the job needing to be done, the consequences of what he so desperately wanted to do.

  "Now." He savaged her throat, her mouth. "Right now."

  "Yes—No." Panic, excitement, desire, all twisted inside her. "Wait. What are we doing?" Shuddering, she pulled back, dragged the open blouse together. "We can't, here, like this. We just can't."

  He did his best to imagine a bucket of cold water splashed in his face, an icy waterfall raining over his head, anything to help him cool off. The best he could do was shove his hands in his pockets before they started ripping at her clothes.

  "Okay," he said as calmly as possible. "But, Jules, you'll have to admit that was a little more than a lapse."

  "I've got to stay away from you." She clutched her blouse tighter. Beneath it, her breasts were still tingling from his hands. "We need to take a break, then we need to decide, if this is going to happen—"

  "I think we've just answered that part of the question," Cullum said dryly.

  "All right, this is going to happen, so we have to figure out how to handle it. We'll go to our respective corners—so to speak—for a few days. You can outline what your thoughts on this are, and I'll do the same. When I come back, we can…"

  "Negotiate terms?" he finished for her.

  "In a way. We certainly have to have some groundwork here, so we know how we'll deal with… after." It was sensible, and it annoyed the hell out of him. "Okay, MacGregor, you work up your proposal and I'll work up mine. We'll have a meeting on it when you get back."

  "There's no need to get testy."

  He stared at her. There she was, he thought, her hair rumpled, her blouse undone, her mouth swollen from his, and she didn't think he should get testy because she was turning it into a business deal.

  "Have a good trip, MacGregor."

  "Cullum." She sighed once when he stopped with his hand on the door and shot her a fiery look. "I have a professional and a personal relationship with your father, and with you. It's important to me not to compromise it." He could think of nothing he wanted to say to that, and only nodded briefly and walked out. Alone, she sat on the edge of the bed and waited for her system to level. Unless she was very much mistaken, her Murdoch project had taken a sharp detour, and might very well already be hopelessly compromised.

  Chapter 25

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  Julia loved the elegant row house in Georgetown. She had started life there, then, after an eight-year residence at another Washington address, had spent the last of her teenage years in the lofty-ceilinged and airy rooms.

  She had no complaints about the time when she'd been able to play in the Rose Garden, or entertain her cousins in the private theater. Her parents, against all odds, had made that Pennsylvania Avenue mansion a home for their children. She'd been given the opportunity to travel all over the world and been taught a sense of responsibility for her neighbors, whether they lived next door or across an ocean. She could remember even now the warm rush of pride she'd felt when she saw her father man the desk in the Oval Office, or when she watched her mother rise to a thunder of applause before she gave one of a thousand speeches on human rights. She'd tolerated the omnipresence of the Secret Service, something that had become particularly smothering during her teenage years. She'd accepted the restrictions, the impossibility of just dashing off to shop with friends or share pizza and foolishness at some local restaurant. Her parents had done their best to provide areas of normalcy for Julia and her brother. But Julia had always known she came from greatness. And such miracles had a price.

  She remembered the day they had moved back into the home of her early childhood, how her mother had hugged them all, then grinned and told them that they were all going out for pizza and a movie.

  It had been one of the sweetest nights of Julia's life.

  Now she stood on the sidewalk as her cab drove off. The house still drew her, still comforted. She knew she bought and sold houses to give herself that comfort time and time again, and then to pass it on to others.

  Love needed a home to shelter it, and she had been so fortunate in hers.

  She hefted her bag and walked up the few brick steps, then rolled the bag behind her down the narrow walk. The fall flowers were fading, she mused. Their autumn brightness dulling as winter blew close. In a bit more than a month, the house would gleam with colored lights, a wreath would hang on the tall front door, and a fresh pine tree, laden with ornaments made by her family, would shine through the graceful front window.

  Memories such as those were welcoming.

  She knocked, using the brass crest of the MacGregors to thump on the door. The crowned lion eyed her fiercely and made her think of her grandfather.

  When the door opened, Julia beamed at the small, tidy woman who stood there. "Boxy, don't you ever change?"

  "Miss Julia!" Elizabeth Boxlieter threw her short arms around Julia and squeezed. Boxy had served a multitude of functions for the MacGregors over a fifteen-year period. Administrative assistant to Mrs. MacGregor had been her title during the White House era. But what she did was manage. Everything.

  Boxy drew back, and even though pleasure sparkled in her eyes, she wagged a scolding finger. "You didn't let anyone know you were coming, didn't give us a minute's notice. What if we'd been away?"

  "Then I'd have let myself in and felt very sorry for myself." With a laugh, Julia ducked down to kiss Boxy's cheek. "I wanted to surprise all of you. Mom and Dad are home, aren't they?"

  "As it happens." Boxy shut the front door. "Your father is just back from Camp David. I swear, they won't leave the man alone, always asking him to negotiate this, advise on that."

  "Well, someone has to keep the free world safe, don't they?"

  "He did more than his share. The man should be able to go off fishing for a month."

  "Dad doesn't fish."

  "What difference does that make? He's up in his office on an overseas call, and your mother is back in her workroom."

  "I'll interrupt Mom," Julia decided, "then we'll interrupt Dad. Don't carry that suitcase up, Boxy." she said as she started down the hall.

  "I'll take it myself in a few minutes."

  Boxy huffed. As if she'd leave luggage cluttering up the foyer. And, taking the suitcase, she went upstairs. Shelby MacGregor's workroom was a converted summer kitchen that offered space for her potter's wheel and kiln, her worktable and supplies. Throughout her husband's administration she had continued as a working artist, as much to satisfy her need to create as to make a statement on the human right to pursue a career.

  Now, the former First Lady was perched on a stool at her wheel, throwing a pot. Her hands were slicked with clay to the wrists, her forearms speckled. Her dark red hair was bundled messily on top of her head, and her smoke-gray eyes were dark with concentration. Music played in the background, a somewhat violent concerto. As Julia watched, the clay formed under her mother's clever hands, changing from a shapeless mass, elongating, slimming, becoming an elegant vessel. Julia leaned on the doorjamb and waited.

  "Not bad," Shelby muttered, rolling her head and working the kinks out of her neck as she stopped the wheel.

  "It'll be beautiful. They're always beautiful."

  "Julia!" Shelby popped up, and was halfway to her daughter before she stopped. "Oh, I'm a mess," she said with a laugh, ho
lding out her coated hands. "Here, you kiss me."

  Julia obliged, pressed her lips to her mother's cheeks in turn.

  "This is a surprise."

  "A good one, I hope."

  "The best. Let me wash up so I can hug you. Have you seen your father?" Shelby asked as she hurried to a sink to scrub the clay from her hands and arms.

  "No, Boxy said he was on the phone, so I came back to interrupt you first."

  "Well, he needs a break, so we'll double-team him." She dried off quickly, then turned around to throw her arms around Julia. "Oh, I've missed you. You'll have to tell me everything that's new and wonderful. How are your cousins, little Daniel, how's the house going? How long can you stay? Are you hungry? Answer any or all of the above questions in the order of your choice." Laughing, Julia walked arm in arm with her mother up the back stairs. "Let's see, the cousins are wonderful. Laura looks like a Madonna with young Daniel, and Gwen's glowing like an angel. I ate something remotely like food on the plane, and I can only stay a couple of days. The house… it's going very well."

  Shelby noted the hesitation, decided to probe its cause shortly. She turned toward her husband's office, gave what passed for a knock and opened the door.

  Alan MacGregor sat behind his desk. His hair had gone a rich silver, and the sunlight that poured through the window glinted off it. As always, Julia thought him the handsomest man in the world, and she watched as those lines of care around his dark eyes turned to lines of joy.

  The phone still at his ear, he got to his feet, held out his hand. "I'll consider it. Yes, seriously consider it." He wrapped his arm around his daughter, brought her close to his side. "I'm sorry, Senator, I'll have to get back to you. Something's come up here. Yes, I will." He hung up and, turning, gathered Julia close. "Something irresistible," he murmured, kissing the top of her head. Within an hour, Julia was stretched out in front of the fire in the family parlor, sipping an excellent white wine and more relaxed than she'd been for weeks. Her instincts in coming home had been right on target, she decided.

  "This is wonderful." She rested her head against the arm of her father's chair, all but purring when he stroked her hair. "Is Boxy going insane canceling your evening obligations?"

  "Only one dinner party," Shelby told her. "A really tedious one. I'm delighted to be able to stay home." She crossed her bare feet at the ankles. The quick glance she sent Alan was a signal. Picking it up, Alan ruffled Julia's hair.

  "Are you used to living on your own yet?"

  "I miss them," she admitted. "Laura, Gwen and I were a trio for so long. I still see them all the time."

  "But it's not the same," Alan finished for her.

  "No, it's not. In some ways it's better. They're so happy, it's a kick to see it."

  "Are you happy?"

  "Yes." She turned her head so that she could smile up at him. "Yes, I am. I love where I am and what I'm doing, how I'm doing it. Right now I'm having tremendous fun watching the house come together."

  There, Shelby thought, was her opening. "I can't wait to see it." She smiled at her husband as the conversational relay baton was passed smoothly. "How far along are you?"

  "My bedroom's finished. It was a priority for me. Of course, I had to butt heads with Murdoch over getting the subs in to paint and paper, but I am the one writing the check."

  "Absolutely." Not Mr. Murdoch, Shelby noted, but Murdoch. That would be the son. "Having some trouble with your head contractor?"

  "A bit. It's Cullum Murdoch I'm working with on this. His father's not quite well."

  "Michael?" Concerned, Alan straightened in his chair. "What's wrong?"

  "He caught a nasty summer cold, and it took him some time to shake it. He's on the mend, but Cullum's already hip-deep in the job, so…" She trailed off with a shrug. "He does excellent work. It's just that we… clash styles, I suppose. He wants it done his way, I want it done mine. Simple as that."

  Julia drained her wine a took a deep breath. "I'm thinking about becoming involved with him."

  "Oh." It was a quick little stab, just under the heart. Instinctively Shelby rubbed a hand over the ache. "But if you don't get along…?"

  "That's one level." Letting out a little sigh, Julia stretched out her legs. "On another level we appear to get along like gangbusters."

  "The physical level isn't enough," Shelby interjected, then fought to stem her panic as Alan sent her a warm, amused look.

  "It appears your mother is thinking about another lovely young woman who tried to convince herself she couldn't get along with a certain young man on a particular level." His dark eyes glinted when he grinned. "So I seduced her."

  "Alan." Caught between laughter and concern, Shelby shook her head. "This is our little girl here, and I don't think either one of us wants her seduced by a Murdoch."

  "Sounds more like the MacGregor than the MacGregor," Alan murmured to his daughter, and watched the warrior's light he loved flash in his wife's eyes. "I'd say that depended on the Murdoch," he continued. "And on Julia. You're a smart woman, Julia. You know right and wrong and what's right for you."