Chapter 5.
Mac's POV
Despite the tropical themes, the warmer climate and the beach that's practically outside our door, it feels like Christmas. There's this vibe in the air, a feeling like no other which brings me the peace I was seeking. The night before the big day is always filled with giddy anticipation and for some reason, I woke up feeling that something good would happen today.
My skin felt tingly and there's a flutter in my belly that isn't attached to any apprehension. I feel alive and happy as I slip out of my night wear and into a red bikini that only covers a wee bit more than the blue. I throw on a white cover up and step into the hall finding Harm's bedroom door open.
I followed the sounds of Christmas music and was surprised that Harm was up so early and that he was toiling over a pot of water fishing out perfectly poached eggs that he'd use for a Benedict. The man even made the hollandaise sauce from scratch and I wondered for the umpteenth time how a man like him is still single.
He's modest about his culinary skills and claimed that learning to 'boil some eggs' was no talent at all but, I know differently. Harm actually enjoys being in the kitchen and preparing meals that are tasteful works of art.
We have breakfast on the porch and when I ask him about our dinner plans, I'm informed that Harm's been marinating a small turkey breast since yesterday. I honestly thought we'd go out tonight and brought a cute red dress for that reason.
The rest of my clothing was appropriate for a beach vacation; casual, comfortable and consisting of shorts,t-shirts, two sundresses and three bikinis. It had been a little foolish to pack anything too dressy but the red dress made it into my suitcase anyway.
It was one of those articles of clothing we women buy on a whim and once I slipped it on, I instantly fell in love. Maybe it was a tad too dressy for dinner at home but Christmas Eve was meant to be celebrated properly.
The full length mirror with its whitewashed wood trim was made for these moments as I stare at my reflection making sure none of the straps are out of place. The dress is not immodest and certainly not the raciest thing I own but it makes me feel sexy. If I'm being honest, it's nice to get out of the restrictive uniform and see the body I work hard for.
Of course I'd wear red, it's Christmas and it's one of those reds that looks perfect with my newly sunkissed skin. The dress is sleeveless, with a deep U-shaped neckline that delicately accents my breasts. It hugs my waist, my hips, ending in a fluttery hem that matches the ruffled edging of the straps that cover my shoulders. The skirt is lower in the back, ending at mid-calf, while the front rises asymmetrically from just below my knee to mid-thigh. My favorite part are the three laces that criss-cross over my back, holding it all together.
I step into a pair of tan colored high-heeled sandals, touch up my lipstick and am about to step out of the room when something makes me stop. Maybe it's too much for dinner with Harm who's proven too prudish in the past for such a dress to matter.
The sad part? - I bought this for him. And I wore this because I'm curious if it would get a reaction. Just as I wore the tiny green bikini in Miami and the white nightgown in Russia, it was to get a reaction out of him. That truly makes me a pathetic woman and for that I flush from embarrassment.
"I can't do this." My hands grab the hem and pull up. Maybe it's better to wear something a little less festive? Only, I don't want to take this off and I'll be damned if another day goes by without telling him how I feel.
"Do you need help with something?" I startle Harm when I step into the kitchen. A slew of curse words and a finger in his mouth indicates something bad happened.
He stands, flips on the water with another curse and runs his hand under the stream. When he speaks again it's in incoherent phrases as he studies the inflicted finger that became swollen and bright pink.
"You okay?" I approach with caution. My heels clacking against the varnished floors actually sounds a little deafening. When I touch his shoulder, he jumps and whirls at me with a set jaw and a terse expression.
"Burnt my finger. Hurts like a bitc-" I expected him to say something nasty, the inclination was there but then his eyes dropped from mine to my chest and lower, following the contours of my dress. "Oh."
Harm POV
I'm not normally a jumpy guy. While my life was easier than most, the harrowing experiences I've lived through keeps me prepared for anything. Military men are not jumpy guys, period.
It's almost impossible to sneak up on me unless you're Mac. The woman has a knack of showing up like a Ninja, catching me off guard so that I look like a total idiot. Today is no different.
I was fiddling with the turkey breast in the oven, singing along with Bing Crosby about Hawaiian Christmas days and didn't hear her approach. My hand slipped out of the pot holder and one finger curled around the rack.
It hurt. It hurt like fucking hell and while I may have been angry at her at first and was prepared to hurl a snide insult, that feeling disappeared when a vision in red came to my side. "Oh."
I've seen her in a dress before and I've seen her in less but, there's just something about this dress that makes me temporarily forget my burnt finger.
It's red, sleeveless and the front presses her breast together so each orb is a little more pronounced. It hugs her waist and hips, ruffles at the bottom and when Mac turns away - she may have mentioned something about fetching a first aid kit and burn cream - I notice the back.
Oh my God. No woman has any business looking that good.
It's mostly backless. Mostly because there are tiny straps that cross from side to side and hold it together. When she moves, so does the dress that raises and lowers with each step and is wrapped around her so well, it accentuates the apple bottom cheeks of her six that I'd love to take a bite of.
I'm mildly aware that the sink is splashing water on my shirt and that my throbbing finger is nowhere near the stream. My mouth is hanging open and my brain is in the process of rebooting as it tries to prevent all my blood from rushing south.
We're sitting at the table with my hand in hers as Mac slathers burnt ointment over my blistered finger. "Ouch." I groan and she simply grins and shakes her head as if minding a small child.
"Try getting a chemical burn. Now that hurt like hell."
"Guess it's time to repay the favor?"
She smiles a little wider. The chemical burn had been hell. Although it's in the recent past she'd lost some feeling on three fingers and came close to needing a graft where the liquid penetrated her skin. "I guess so, Dr. Rabb."
For days I would care for her, treating and wrapping the burnt fingers because Mac couldn't do it on her own. She fussed at first and then let me play doctor; I might have been a little disappointed when they healed because I was no longer needed.
"There." Mac says, "All better." She motions to the kitchen and stands. "What do you need me to do?"
"It's all done, just need to pull out the turkey and set the table, but I can do both." Mac shakes her head, grabs the pot holder and heads towards the oven. "Hey, I got it, I promise."
"I know, but I want to help." She bends and the dress hikes up a bit showing more of those gorgeously tanned legs. I know I'm staring. I know I shouldn't stare but, I just don't care.
So what if I know she's caught me looking? I want to look because woman like her doesn't dress like that without a reason. "Mac, you're too beautiful for that. Don't ruin the dress."
I'm at her side, taking the soiled aluminum foil out of her hands and gently urging her out of the way. "But, I want to help."
She's being petulant and it's so damn cute it makes my stomach flutter. When she turns to look at me it's with those doe eyes that I can't resist. We're so close I can smell the scent of her perfume and shampoo and whatever else crafts that sexy MacKenzie smell that lingers wherever she goes.
"Harm?" The sound of my name is different, holding a sensuous tone that I'm ill equipped to deny. My eyes drop to her mouth and follow the tip of her tongue that moistens her lip. Christ, I want to kiss her, suck on her tongue and end this tension between us.
My bare feet and the height of her heels brings Mac a little closer to my level. She leans in and I follow her lead. I'm only a heartbeat away when there's a knock on the door that startles the crap out of both of us.
We jump apart like we got caught doing something wrong. "Shit. I'll get that."
I'm cursing Eric Matthews, the grounds keeper that stopped by to drop off a basket of fresh breads, fruits and an apple pie. The man is one of the kindest people you'd ever want to meet but I wanted to kill him for his terrible timing.
At least it gave me an excuse to shower and change into the only pair of 'dressy' clothing I'd thought to bring. I was in a t-shirt and swim trunks smelling of salt, the sea and whatever seasoning I had used to marinate the meat. It wasn't proper given how insanely good she looked.
"I hope you didn't get that finger wet." Mac chastices as I come down the hall. I'm wearing khaki chinos and a dark blue dress shirt with the first two buttons undone and rolled up sleeves. She tilts her head to the side, gives me a once over and by the smile on her face, seems to approve of my attire.
I hold up my bandaged finger. "It's still dry, Dr. MacKenzie." I'm staring at her again and noticing little details about her dress like the ruffle at the bottom. It makes me want to take her dancing and twirl Mac around the dance floor. I'd die of pride while other men would kill to have her in their arms.
"Something wrong?" Shit, I must have stared for too long because now Mac is looking down at herself, adjusting the waistline.
"It's not you, it's me." Yes, I realize how cliche that sounds. She frowns. I grimace; I'm usually smoother around women. "I feel underdressed."
"You're not. Here, let me. I bet it's a little difficult without all your fingers." Mac is pointing at my sleeve, the one that is bunched and uneven. She steps forward, takes my wrist and delicately folds the sleeve so that it matches the other.
It's sweet and domestic. Once done, she doesn't immediately let me go but keeps her hand wrapped around my wrist. "You look handsome. Maybe it's me? This dress is a little much."
"Oh no. It's perfect. You're ravishing."
The rubies on her cheeks are a gift that make me feel on top of the World. For some reason, my earnest compliments always make her blush and this time she's blushing all over. It looks damn good on her. "Thank you. I didn't know if we'd go out or stay in and I figured, why not?"
Why not indeed. Mac is not indecent by any means but when she lets go of my wrist and walks past me to adjust an ornament on the tree, I see her back again and notice the fabric hovers an inch above her backside. It makes me want to touch her and kiss her. As beautiful as she looks, I want to see that dress pool to the floor when I take it off her.
That tension between us is back in full force and the electricity is so palpable if you strike a match we'd go up in flames. I forget about dinner, ignoring the table she'd set and the basket of fresh goods on the counter top. She's standing by the tree, illuminated by Christmas lights wearing an expression that finally makes sense.
She wants me like I want her. She's been hiding and I've hidden too. I want to talk to Mac but the words aren't easy to come by until a sultry jazz number plays on the radio. "Dance with me."
"Okay." I expected a little hesitation, a little 'hard to get' but, Mac doesn't fight me. She slips into my arms and it feels natural to have her arms wrap around my neck as mine drop to her waist.
We move slowly as her body pressed against mine, daring me to feel all of her. The idle hands in her hips slide around to her lower back and Mac actually gasps at the contact. Her eyes are wide when they stare into mine and I wonder if I've gone too far too soon. "Mac. I-"
"I'm in love with you."
No one, no woman has ever said those words tk me before. There've been plenty of 'I love you's,' most of which were said in the heat of passion or during some maligned part of a relationship. But there's a difference between loving someone and being 'in love.'
For once, it all clicks and I understand the push and pull between us. I don't say the words yet because I don't want them to be a mere response to her affirmation; I've always been a man of action anyway.
My hands cup her face, holding her steady while I study her beauty. This time, when my head lowers to hers, there are no interuptions. Nothing disrupts the little bubble we're in as our lips meet.
I've kissed her before but not like this. It's overwhelmingly slow, passionate, intense and quickly goes from zero to Mach seven billion as we cling to one another. We're desperate for one another, touching and teasing. She presses into me and when the back of my fingers skim down her spine I'm reminded of the three straps that stand in my way. "I want you."
"I want you too. The strings," She breathless when she speaks, "Pull the last one." I do as told, slowly pulling the thin strap that loosens the dress somewhat. "Now, take me to bed, sailor."
"Aye, aye Ma'am." I'm too powerless to stop this. I don't want to.