Chapter Fifteen

Maren

Whatever casual agreement we had before, tonight it's broken. I know this as Mac punches the gate code in at a driveway just down the street from where we were. He doesn't even ask to take me to his home, and I'm not arguing. Besides, I had no idea he lived this close. Ever since Nina introduced me to Naked Coffee Guy, the morning delight from our kitchen window, I thought he lived in her neighborhood. But of course he wouldn't. Why would he? Nina's house is nice, but it's not McMansion nice. And once Mac's house comes into view…

Fuck. The man is more loaded than I thought.

The house looks like it could have its own zip code with enough space to shelter a small school. For some reason, I think back to the days when I lived in my car as I'm about to enter this modern-day castle. My stomach does a slow roll as he parks in the driveway, and I'm not sure if it's nerves, excitement, or a warning that I'm about to puke.

"I don't feel so great," I manage to groan before I open my car door and dry heave on the asphalt. Thank goddess nothing comes up. I'm struck by the irony that his fancy Jag has been the setting for two puke events this evening. "The Huerta girls really know how to party, don't we?" I rasp out, capping it with a weak laugh as he reaches my side.

"You're exhausted." He takes my hand and helps me to my feet, then wraps an arm protectively around my waist. "And you've had an emotional evening. Let's get you to bed, all right?"

The way he says it, I know he has no ulterior motives, and I'm embarrassed that it's his wealth that's giving me a mild panic attack. The walk to the front door in the fresh ocean air helps ease my nerves, and once he ushers me inside, I'm feeling more myself. Drained, but no longer ready to spill the contents of my stomach across his tile floors.

Which are beautiful, by the way. I momentarily forget my aversion to wealth, along with my exhaustion, as I take a look around. A great room with ceilings that reach two stories high. A chandelier that has got to be twice as tall as Mac. A fireplace that takes up one wall, and floor-to-ceiling windows on another, overlooking the dark ocean outside. A second story that, when I crane my neck, reveals a wall of books and several closed doors. And the kitchen…

"You cook in this thing?" I ask, taking in the dozens of copper pans hanging above a massive center island, the grills and stove that line one wall to wall counter, the two refrigerators, the copper farm sink, the cabinets and pantry…the unreal amount of space. "I think I could fit my whole apartment in here." I say it before I have time to think, then I want to take back the words when I remember my apartment is probably reduced to dust by now.

Mac rubs the back of his neck, and I sense embarrassment. "What, you didn't choose this place?" I ask, offering a crooked smile.

"No, I chose it. But now that I live here, it does seem like an insane amount of space for just one person, and you haven't even seen the bedroom."

He leads the way upstairs and opens the door at the end of the hall. The size of his kitchen has nothing on the bedroom. His bed alone is about the size of my bedroom at Nina's house, which he sits on now, a smirk on his face.

"I know, it's obscene," he says.

"A little," I laugh. But I'm also in awe, especially as I peek through double doors to what I think is another room but ends up being a goddamn bedroom for his clothes. "Your closet could house a small classroom," I say, taking in the row of perfectly lined suits, the shelves of shoes, the dozens of drawers, with space to do a couple open arm spins in the center of the room.

Then there's the bathroom. My jaw drops at the shower alone, with nozzles at varying heights to get every body part clean…or something. I think of what a shower like that would have been like during my dry spells. I'd never have need for a man.

"Drought, be damned," I joke, not just referring to dry California. But something in my voice catches. I don't belong here, and just that realization alone invites my exhaustion to return. I should go home, forget all about this night, forget about my family, and forget about Mac.

"It's weird to me, too," he says, and reaches around me to turn on the water. I face him, trying to think up something to say to hide all these uncomfortable feelings I'm having. It's just money, I know this. But when you spent a whole year sleeping in your car, money has a different meaning to it.

"How is it weird for you? It's all yours. You earned this."

"Kind of." He starts removing my jacket, then my boots, which I step out of while holding his shoulder. "I mean, I chose all of this, and I like it. But sometimes I feel like…"

"An imposter?" I guess. He smiles and nods.

"Yes, like an imposter." He slips my shirt over my head, then kisses the tip of my nose. "My paycheck paid for this, and thanks to my brokerage, I can afford to keep this lifestyle. I've built my business from the ground up, and it's very lucrative. But I never would have gotten here if it weren't for Benji. It's his name that helped bridge connections when I was first starting out. If it were just on my name, I'd…" He looks around, then laughs, "Well, I wouldn't be here, that's for sure.

I'm reminded once again that Mac isn't some out of touch rich guy. He's an orphan, much like I'm an addict. We may look different on the outside—him with his fancy suits and luxury car, me with my guitar and paid bills—but inside, that younger version of ourselves will always feel like the real truth.

Mac finishes undressing me, his hands sliding over my body like he knows me better than just a few days. His touch is gentle as he takes off each layer, then guides me under the spray. I feel water come at me from all directions, the scent of eucalyptus surrounding me as I close my eyes and lose myself to the therapeutic waters.

"It smells heavenly in here. "

"It's the infusion system," he explains, "The scent comes through the water."

I hear the distinct sound of his zipper and open one eye as his expensive ass pants fall to the floor. His manhood stands at attention in all its glory. Goddamn, the man is well endowed. He joins me in the shower, and I raise my hands to his chest as I draw closer. But he captures my hands, stopping me at the pass.

"Just relax," he says, "let me care for you."

He turns me and I hear the click of the shampoo bottle cap. Then his hands are in my hair, kneading my scalp, making me weak in the knees as every part of my body relaxes under his touch. He takes his time, his fingers seeming to memorize every place he touches. A small moan escapes my lips, and I can feel his cock flick at my backside.

"Down boy," he mutters, making me laugh. I reach behind me and wrap my fingers around his shaft, and he utters a swift inhale before swatting my hand away. "There will be plenty of time for that later, but not tonight."

I groan in protest, but honestly, it's fine. I feel like I've been through the ringer tonight, and Mac's magic hands are lulling me into an ultra-sedated state.

He rinses my hair, then follows up with conditioner. His fingers work through my drenched locks, seeking every tangle. Each tug of my hair sends shivers throughout my body.

"Ever since I saw you, I've been dying to run my hands through your hair," he says.

"If I'd known it would feel like this, I would have showered with you that first night," I joke. I'm instantly reminded of the details from that night, of why I left so suddenly. I quickly push the thought from my head. He was just the agent. It's literally his job. It's not his fault some asshole decided to sell the place with absolutely no warning.

"Fuck, I knew I should have led with that," he teases back. He finishes rinsing my hair, then works at lathering my body. His hands touch every part of me, smoothing over my skin until I'm completely sudsy. Then he begins kneading my muscles, and my moan sounds almost orgasmic as it bounces off the tile.

"No, you should have led with this," I say, melting as he works out every kink in my body. He lingers at my core, his fingers glancing off my folds in a way that makes me feel like begging.

"Tomorrow," he whispers, and I bite my lip as he moves on to my hamstrings.

By the time he shuts off the water, I am complete mush. I stand still as he grabs a towel to dry my skin, then his own, and finishes with my hair. Then, before I know what's happening, he scoops me into his arms. I lay my head against his damp chest and feel his heart, counting the moments as he carries me to his bed. He lays me down gently on the silky sheets, and I sink into the most comfortable mattress I've ever laid upon. I had no idea beds could feel this way. I'm not sure I'll remember how to fall asleep in my own bed after experiencing luxury like this.

Mac turns off all the lights, then curls up behind me. The feel of his skin is so delicious, the way his body hugs mine, his arm draped over my waist, his legs tangled with mine. It's like I'm in a cocoon, which also includes a hard cock nestled between my thighs.

"Don't worry about him," he murmurs with a chuckle when I burrow against him. "He'll go to sleep soon, and so will I."

He nuzzles his face against the back of my neck, and I can feel myself sliding into sleep. For the first time in my life, I feel completely safe.

This is what it feels like to be cherished. As I fade from consciousness, I know I'll never be able to settle for less.

The light is streaming through the windows when I open my eyes a crack. It takes me a moment to gain my bearings, but the satin sheets are the first clue. I'm in Mac's bed. Alone.

I sit up and look around as if he'll come out of hiding. He's not here, but the ocean is—like right there in his backyard.

I slip out of bed, pulling a sheet with me to cover my naked body, and head to the window. The view is incredible. I recall all the ways I kind of turned my nose up at his wealth, and this view makes me want to take it all back. I would sell my soul for this. He basically owns his own cliffside, and the ocean stretches as far as the eye can see. There's not even a need for me to cover up because there is no one else to see. So I drop the sheet and spread my arms wide, feeling free and easy with all this nature around me.

"Now, that's a sight," Mac says from behind me. I look over my shoulder and shake my behind at him, and he rumbles a growl in response.

"Careful girl, I just might pounce on you before you get your first sip of coffee."

Just the mention of coffee awakens all my senses. I inhale the rich aroma, along with the breakfast he has on a tray—bacon, eggs, sourdough toast, and a bowl of fresh berries.

Then I realize it's a hell of a lot later than I thought.

"Damnit, I slept in!" I start to scramble for my clothes, but he takes me by the wrist.

"Calm down, I already called you out."

I stop at that, pausing as I make sense of his words.

"You…called me out?"

"Yeah. You're feeling awfully sick, so sick you couldn't even make it to the phone. So I had to call your work for you and let them know you won't be making it today."

"But how?"

Mac hands me my coffee, and I hold it but don't sip. "I've been to your work, Maren, and they have a phone. So, I called it."

"And they accepted that?" I have not called out in ages. None of us do since there really isn't adequate coverage. Plus, the few times I have, Susan gave me such hell it wasn't even worth the hassle. "Who did you even speak with?"

"Someone named Nina."

Oh, that explains it.

"And she didn't ask where I was?"

He laughed. "No, but I don't think she believed me either. She told me she got this, and that you're to text her as soon as you're feeling up to it."

I dive for my phone, half expecting to see a dozen calls from Susan. But there's only one text, and it's from Nina.

Nina: Good for you, finally getting some dick. Hope it's good !

I grin, tuck the phone away, and I finally sip my coffee—rather, a latte—and it's fucking phenomenal.

"Hold on," I say, lowering my cup. "Why did you go to Insomniacs if your coffee tastes like this?" I take another sip, then shake my head. "Ours sucks compared this. What did you do, roast your beans in your own private roastery?"

He snorts into his own coffee, the usual black I remember from the other day. I can't help wondering how many shots of espresso are in there. Judging by the bulge in his gray sweatpants…I'd say four. "Sure, right after I picked them from the coffee tree." He finally gets in a sip, then nods. "Yeah, that's good shit. I have it special ordered, plus I have a built-in espresso machine in the kitchen."

I roll my eyes. "Of course you do. But that doesn't answer my question as to why you'd buy overpriced crap coffee when you have the real thing at home?"

"Because you were there."

"And you knew this, how?" I grab a piece of bacon and start nibbling at it as I wait for an answer. He has a kind of boyish grin on his face, as if he's just been caught in the cookie jar and is going to eat the cookie anyways.

"Because there was a little blue Honda outside with a hand sized dent on the hood. I matched it up to my hand, and the dent fit. So I had to go inside to see if my Miss Charming was there."

Before I can react, he's swooped me back into his bed. "And you, my sweet thing, are driving me crazy with that hot little body of yours, all ready for the taking."

"But I haven't finished my breakfast!" I protest. He pulls away, then gives me a pointed look.

"Would you like to eat, or would you like to fuck and then eat?"

I take a long look at his muscular body, the way his chest tapers down to his lean belly, and a happy dusting of hair that leads to the bulge under his sweatpants. He has a delicious smirk on his bearded face, and it makes me want to lick him all over.

I don't answer him, but I do leap up and tackle him to the bed. This time, he doesn't play that whole alpha bullshit. We take turns taking each other, tearing up that huge, oversized bed as we explore each other the entire morning.

A few hours later—fully satiated on sex, coffee, and bacon—we lay in the tangled sheets while I lazily watch the ocean outside.

"You're probably so used to this," I say, unable to tear my eyes away.

"Not at all," he answers. I turn to face him, ready to learn more. We really don't know much about each other except for this crazy connection we can't avoid. He's given me his life story in bits and pieces, and I've held him at arm's length this entire time. But now I'm curious.

"You say this is all new to you. I know you were an orphan before, but surely this wasn't an overnight development. I mean, you've had to have lived a life of luxury for years now. You said Benji took you in at fifteen, right? And you're, what, thirty?"

"Thirty-five," he says, "So yeah, it's been twenty years since I've been a no-good thief."

I sit up, suddenly very interested.

"All right, Mac Dermot. Spill the beans. Tell me everything."

And he does—or at least, as much as he can in a short amount of time. I already knew that he lived in an orphanage then ran away. What I didn't know is that he cased and robbed houses to survive the streets.

"Back then I was this scrawny, toe-headed kid with a baby face who got caught up with a group of older boys ready to use me to their advantage. No one expected a thing. I'd go door-to-door selling magazine subscriptions, or so they thought. If a house looked interesting, we'd watch it for a few days, and if there was no obvious security system, we'd break in and grab what we wanted. It worked like a charm. That is until Benji."

Mac had gotten ballsy in the operation, since it was working so well. They all had pockets stuffed with money and a stash of other people's belongings still waiting to be sold. But Mac wanted more, and Benji's house on the top of the hill was his golden ticket.

"No one answered when we went to the front door. We watched it for an hour, and no one came. I got it in my head that it was abandoned, because it didn't make sense to me that someone who lived in a house like this would ever leave it. The other guys told me to keep waiting, that we should case it for a few days. But I didn't have a lot of patience and talked the guys into breaking in that day. We were inside for only ten minutes before someone's voice came on over the intercom, telling us to keep our hands where they could be seen until the cops got there. Those fuckers all ran, but I was too scared to leave."

"So what happened? Were you arrested?"

"Nah," he laughed, "no one called the cops. Instead it was Benji and a few of his bodyguards. They scared the shit out of me, though. The bodyguards were huge, especially to a twig of a kid like me. They pushed me around a little, threatened to break a few limbs, but then Benji called them off. He asked where the other guys were, then commended me for staying when I could have escaped. ‘You have guts, kid,' he told me. He asked about my story, if I had parents or anything. Something in me said to tell this guy the truth, so I did. I admitted I was in the system, but I'd been on the run for the past two years. I told him how I made my money. I also told him I was tired of running, which was the first time I ever admitted that to anyone."

Mac pauses, and I see something shift in his face—a shadow so brief, I almost miss it. "That's when he offered me a job and a place to live, and I've been under his wing ever since."

"So, all this is because of him? He gave this to you?"

Mac's expression darkens as he shoots me a sharp look. "I earned this on my own," he says.

"Sorry, I just—"

"No, I'm sorry," he says, taking my hand, "I'm not going to say that my connection to Benji hasn't opened doors. Without him, I'd probably have found adult ways to swindle people out of their money." He laughs then. "I guess I have, since I sell homes in this inflated housing market. But it's all legal, so there's that. But as far as my money goes, I earned it. I hit the books and got my license, I did my time as an agent and built my clientele, I invested in all the right things and learned the art of flipping houses, and I bought out a brokerage and built it up until it became what it is today. I used Benji's contacts to connect with the right people, but I did the work."

I believe him, but I'm having a hard time understanding how any of this is "new" to him, as he told me last night. "You've been with Benji for years, though."

"I lived in a small room in the back of his house, one meant for staff. I was a worker first, not a son, not even a ward. I was an employee. He made sure I went to school and graduated, but outside of school hours, I was working. I see now it was kind of a training regimen. He was keeping me in line by keeping me busy. I was too tired to get into trouble or to even fight it. I knew I couldn't fuck this up, because where else would I get this close to this kind of money?"

"You didn't think of stealing from him again?"

"Think of it? Sure. But I was too chicken shit to actually do it. I got to know his security detail really well and knew it was impenetrable. There was no way some smart-ass kid would be able to get past that. And for what? I had to work my ass off, but I also recognized there was future potential."

He looks around, then back at me. "I bought this house a few months ago. The car, it's also new. I'd been holding off for a while, even though I've been making good money. But when you grow up an orphan, that identity sticks to you. It felt fake to have things as nice as this when I also know there are kids like me still out there on the street, just wishing they could be here. But when you're rubbing shoulders with some of the richest people in this country, you have to be a part of the culture. Plus, I've never had nice things, and suddenly I could afford them without anyone's help. So I bought a house, a car, and built up my wardrobe of rich fuck clothing, and now I'm playing the part."

I rub his chest, my hand brushing against his beard. His hand covers mine, and I clasp his fingers.

"I get it," I say, "I wasn't always this rich either." I look up and flash him a grin, and his eyes laugh with mine. "For real, though, you know my story. You met my dad." I lay my head against his chest, lulled by his heartbeat. His fingers caress mine, and I continue. "I was homeless for a year, drugged out of my mind. If someone had it, I was on it. I didn't have money, but there were other ways…" I pause, not sure he wants to hear this. But then I realize we're sharing truths here, and I might as well share mine. "I made my money through rich, old, horny men. You wouldn't believe what these old guys will pay for a young piece of ass. It's probably why I hate money so much, because these guys were willing to drop a few hundred for an hour as if it were nothing, and I was barely scraping by." I utter a sharp laugh. "Well, I was actually wasting it on blow. Food, though? Shelter? Not a priority. I'd sleep in the gutter if I could get a good high. I was lucky to have my car, and lucky I was never arrested. But some fucked up things happened to me out on the streets, stuff I'll never forget. "

"So, what changed?" he asks.

I realize that he's still here. He's not repulsed by what I shared. I haven't even told Claire this much; afraid I'd shatter her vision of the world we live in. But Mac holds me as if I'm precious—fragile—as if he'll keep me safe.

I've always been my own savior. But for the first time, I wonder what it would be like to trust someone else with my life.

"Finn," I say, "my best friend's son and my unofficial nephew. When Claire got pregnant, she called me. I was coming down off a bender and had to fake sobriety really quick. But once I saw that kid, it's like the whole world opened up. I realized there was so much more to this life, and that if I wanted to be a part of this kid's world, I could not be the person I was. So I got help. I detoxed, entered a recovery program through state funds, moved into a sober house, got a job, and eventually moved into my own apartment."

I pause then, and I'm so tempted to tell him that I know he sold the building. I want to lay out all my feelings about it now, to just admit that this is why I disappeared that first night, and what I've struggled with ever since. I lift my head and look into his eyes, watching the sunlight dance off the gold flecks in his blue eyes.

"What are you thinking?" he asks, then kisses me lightly on my nose.

The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I can't seem to say them. I realize it doesn't matter, that in the grand scheme of things, it isn't important. He played such a small part in me losing my home. Besides, look where I am now.

In Mac's bed. Happy and safe.

I am not in danger, nor would I ever be. I was never going to be homeless, as long as I have Nina and Claire in my life—and now Mac, if things are going the way I think they're going.

Definitely not casual.

"I'm thinking we need to get out of bed before I turn into a jellyfish and stay here forever."

"I like the stay here forever part," he teases. He whips the covers aside. "But I'd also like to get out of this house and go do something."

"Yeah, let's blow this dump." I nudge him out of bed, then follow him straight to the shower where we spend another forty-five minutes before we finally make it out the door.