Messing With Mac

10

THEY WENT BACK to business only.

Then, the next afternoon, when Taylor had been forced by her cell phone to stand outside to get reception, Mac came through the yard, lost in thought with a set of plans in his hands. Without looking up, he brushed against her, his shoulder rubbing hers.

Did he even see her? As he walked away, he glanced over his shoulder at her, eyes hot enough to melt every bone in her body.

Oh yeah, he saw her.

An hour later he came through the entrance hall where she was studying paint samples, and ran his hand across her lower spine to make room for himself to pass.

Her entire body reacted.

Incidental contact?

Nothing with Mac was incidental.

He was playing with her, when he’d warned her not to do that very thing to him.

Payback time, she decided. The very next morning she acted first, and “accidentally” brushed her breasts against his arm when she leaned over to point something out on the plans.

He inhaled sharply.

She loved that, because it made it real, this thing he wanted to ignore. Whether he liked it or not, what they felt was real.

After that, she made sure it happened every time.

A touch, a look…

Mac never said a word about it, but he would reach out and brush his fingers over her hair, making her want to purr like a kitten and beg to be stroked.

While talking to her about concrete or wood, he’d drop his gaze to her mouth. If no one else was around, he’d lightly graze his knuckles over her jaw.

Once he ran a finger down her arm. She had the tingles for hours.

But they never spoke about it again, never spoke about anything other than the work.

And there was plenty of it. She had the second floor unit and the loft to color scheme in anticipation of the finished renovation and subsequent renting.

And there were also the two retail units down stairs. One for Suzanne, the other for…the sky’s the limit. An art gallery, or a unique little gift shop…maybe even a bookstore. She loved books.

But she knew what she really wanted. Just thinking about her storage unit, about all the antiques she had left, the precious commodities she’d collected over the years, made her heart sigh.

She’d gathered these things around her like her family over the years. They were her security blanket. She’d sold some, but not as many as she’d thought she’d have to.

Which led her to believe she really could do it, she could keep that second retail unit for herself, for her antique shop.

The more she thought it, the more she wanted it.

Her cell phone beeped. Looking down at the missed call made Taylor sigh again. As if her mother had been able to read her mind from across town, as if she knew her daughter was thinking of doing something crazy, she’d left a message.

Their relationship was pretty much a series of left messages, which made Taylor feel…sad. Sad enough that she actually returned the phone call.

But the moment she heard her mother’s cool voice, she hesitated. “Uh…hello, Mom.”

“Taylor! How lovely.”

“I’m returning your call.”

“Oh, of course. Well, I wanted to remind you I’m campaigning again. My people suggested I get a family portrait taken to circle around, you know, with you and your sisters.”

Right. She should have known this wasn’t a hi-I-missed-you call, but a I-need-something-from-you call. “Okay.”

“Really?” The mayor of South Village, and all-around superwoman, seemed genuinely touched Taylor would do such a thing without an argument.

It made her do that yearning thing again. Wanting to be close, close to someone, she said, “Yes, I’ll do it. But getting my sisters to agree might be more difficult.”

“I’ll get them.”

She’d probably offer a bribe, a monetary one. Taylor should have held out for that.

“So. What are you doing these days?” her mother asked, shocking her with such a personal question.

Was it possible she really wanted to know? Testing, Taylor said, “Actually, I’m thinking of opening an antique shop in Grandpa’s building.”

“What are you going to do with that college education then? Toss it out the window?”

“It’s what I want.”

“Well, it’s a bad idea.”

Taylor stuffed her immediate defensive response, listened politely for another few moments while her mother went on and on about the high hopes she’d had of Taylor joining her in politics someday-politics!-then found an excuse to hang up.

When she had, she buried her face in her hands. What had she been thinking, trying to open up? Trying to let someone in?

“Must be difficult, having the city’s most notorious tough lady as your mom.”

Mac, the man-the only man-with the supreme talent of finding her at her worst. He’d seen her without makeup, with said makeup running down her face, he’d seen her first thing in the morning and worst yet, crying.

Now this. “Go away.”

“Yeah. Sometimes my family makes me bitchy, too.”

She lifted her head at that, ready to snap his head off, but he wasn’t laughing at her. He wasn’t even smiling.

Instead he just stood there, his eyes filled with an understanding she wasn’t ready to face. “I am most definitely not bitchy.”

When he just looked at her, she sighed. “Okay, maybe just a little.”

His lips slowly curved, but unlike what she might have expected, he didn’t say a word.

He was good at that, she’d noticed, not saying a word and yet conveying so much. “Oh, leave me to my bad mood.”

“I have a better idea.” He walked into her room like he owned the place, in his customary Levi’s and T-shirt, a pencil behind one ear and a set of plans rolled up in his hands, looking tall, leanly muscled and tough.

She wanted to be tough, but just looking at him made her feel soft. Feminine.

“Come on.”

Startling her, he set the plans on her bed, took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

He had her halfway out the door before she dug in her heels, not that that stopped him. She tried a hand to his back, but that only electrified her with the heat and strength of him. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Mac-”

The look he shot her was pure male frustration. “Look, you need a break, I’ve got an errand to run, and if you come along like a good little girl, I promise to buy you a lunch that will make you sigh in bliss.” His whiskey eyes and rugged features crinkled into an enticing smile. “Okay?”

Smiling. He was smiling at her. Her tummy fluttered. “What’s the matter with you today?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve avoided talking to me about anything other than business, and you’ve avoided physical contact like the plague.”

“Not like the plague.”

“What then?”

“Maybe more like…a good tall frosty beer at lunch.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Sure it does. You know the cool brew is going to go down like pure heaven, but afterwards, it’s going to impair your judgment.”

She narrowed her eyes, not flattered. “Hmm.”

He laughed. Laughed. “Look, maybe I’m doing this because I don’t like to see you sad.”

“I’m not-”

“Aren’t you?”

She stared at him, disconcerted that he could see right through her in a way no one else did.

“You going to tell me what’s up?”

“No,” she said automatically, because he didn’t really want to hear she was lonely and needed to be held. But just in case he was astute enough to see it, she examined the manicure she’d given herself last night.

“Ah.” His eyes lit with pure trouble. “You broke a nail.”

“I did not break a nail, nor would I fret over it if I had.”

A big fat lie.

“Then you’re having a bad hair day,” he decided with just enough bite that made her realize damn good and well he was just trying to goad her out of her mood.

Sweet of him, really, but she wanted to be grumpy at the world.

She wanted to be grumpy at him, too, for reasons that didn’t bear examining too closely. “Do I look like I’m having a bad hair day?” she asked.

He grinned, a stunning show of masculinity that made her mouth want to fall open.

She closed it tight.

“Now that, Princess, is a trick question. It’s like asking a man if your pants make you look fat. Damned from the get-go, no matter what I say.”

“Which proves my point,” she said. “Men are idiots. You could just say ‘you look great, honey.’ End of discussion.”

“You look great, honey,” he said, eyes hot, all teasing gone, just like that. “End of discussion.”

“Mac-”

“Just give me an hour,” he said softly, and ran a finger over her jaw.

Her heart sighed in a way it wasn’t used to. It’d been a very long time since a man had made her heart want to. “An hour,” she repeated, and followed him downstairs and into his truck.

She had the uneasy feeling she would have followed the irresistible man anywhere.