Page 25 of Mac
“Men,” she muttered.
“No, Princess. Not men. Mac. Only me.”
“Fine. Mac.”
“There you go. Now, up.”
Slowly, she took one rung on the ladder, then another. They ascended a step at a time until she found herself on a solid landing. From there, a short, wide staircase led to the front door.
“Why a treehouse?” she asked, looking over the railing at the bike far below.
“It’s not my primary residence. I just come out here when I want to get away from dealing with the dumbasses of the world.”
“Still … Why a treehouse? Why not a hunting or fishing cabin?”
“Because I don’t hunt and I can’t stand fishing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I don’t know. There’s nature around here and I have met very few residents who take part in it other than to walk trails every so often.”
“Before you moved here and openedKatz, there was a lot of outdoor tourism, especially in the 80’s. A lot of floating down the river near the springs, but that sort of went away during the next couple of decades. I think we’ll see it come back to life, though.”
“You said, beforeKatzopened. Are you saying I had part in the decline of outdoor tourism?”
“No.”
“Okay, good.”
“Is this what you want to talk about? Really?”
“It’s safer.”
Mac sighed and took her hand. “I’m not here to hurt you.”
“I know.” She closed her eyes, hiding away from him. So, he leaned close and kissed her eyelids. One by one, until she opened them again.
He took her mouth in a slow, tentative kiss. Seconds ticked by and hours could’ve passed for all he knew. They stood together, lips locked, neither moving.
Then, her tongue … She touched the seam of his lips with the tip of her tongue and that was all the invitation he needed.
Mac wrapped his arms around her, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and angled her head just so. He plundered. He took. He stole her very breath from her.
She held onto him, her fists grasping at the front of his tee shirt.
He backed her up, shuffling his feet between hers until she was pressed against one of the large logs holding up the base of the treehouse. Before he lifted his head from the intoxicating taste of her, he had her arms wrapped around the log behind her.
“You have,” he whispered against her neck, “The right to remain silent.” His lips coasted up her throat to her perfect chin, then back up to her mouth again. “Anything you do say, can be used against you. By me.”
“I … I don’t think that’s how it goes.”
“No?” he asked, fake, playful confusion taking over his voice. “It’s not?”
“No.”
“Hmm.
