Messing With Mac (5 page)

A spasm of pain crossed his face. “No. It didn't
work out. It didn't work out so much that I never intend to get serious again.”

“Never?”

“Never. Ever. Do you follow me?”

“I follow you. I even agree with you.” Her lips quirked in a mirthless smile. “Imagine that.”

Then, with her body still humming with desire, she took a step away. “Good night, Mac.”

“Good night, Taylor.”

 

M
AC WATCHED HER
saunter off, cool as rain, head high, and let out a slow, shaky breath. Holy shit, that had been some kiss.

Kisses.

He took a careful, long wobbly breath to even be able to see straight. Another to relax his entire body, which was quite…tense now, thanks to Taylor's hot, long, sleek bod that she'd plastered to his.

He'd lost himself in her, totally lost himself, when he'd promised himself he'd never do that again.

Well, he was going to have to be more careful than that next time she flashed those expressive, hurting eyes, wasn't he?

Much
more careful.

T
AYLOR WAS GRATEFUL
to have the entire weekend looming in front of her before the work of reframing and rewindowing began in earnest. Two days of no construction. No pounding, no people, no decisions to make, nothing.

And no Mac.

Two days in which to do as she pleased, which would include no thinking, no obsessing and no wasted regrets on what had happened between them on a dark night in the amazing gardens at the town hall.

On what
hadn't
happened, and why.

Being a logical thinker most of the time—though that logic had deserted her in Mac's arms—she had a stack of reasons. He was just too…strong. Strong-minded, strong-willed, strong everything. A good part of that strength came from a superb control.

But
Taylor
wanted to be the one in control. She liked that, a lot. When she chose to let a man in, she wanted to run the show.

She doubted anyone ran Mac's show.

Then there was the fact that he'd seen her at her weakest. No one ever saw her weak and lived to tell the tale, so she figured she'd lay low for the rest of the time they had to be near each other.

Problem solved.

It was only…at least two more months. Damn, that was a long time.

He'd loved his wife.
Loved her so much he couldn't bear to ever love again. Funny how that gave her heart a hard tug, even though she'd sworn the same thing about herself after she'd lost Jeff. Still swore that same thing.

That such a big, fierce, independent man could be laid so low by such emotion that she understood so much…well, she was quite certain that shouldn't make her want him all the more.

The sudden pounding on the front door of the building, which she'd locked, made her jump. It was a Saturday, an early Saturday. There was no reason for anyone to be here, so it was with a frown for her solitude that she went out of her apartment, down the stairs to the front door of the building, and looked out the peep hole.

Nicole and Suzanne stood on the other side holding up a tub of ice cream, three spoons and matching ear-to-ear grins.

With more joy than Taylor had felt all week she
yanked the door open. “You guys read my mind.” She reached for the ice cream but Nicole held her off.

“Not so fast.” She eyed Taylor carefully. “Yep, you were right,” she said to Suzanne. “Something's wrong.”

Now they both stared at Taylor, and she squirmed. “Don't be silly, I'm fine.”

But despite the claim, she was immediately enveloped in a bear hug that brought tears to her eyes.

Again.

“Oh, honey.” The lush, redheaded Suzanne pulled back, handed Nicole the spoons and held Taylor's face in her hands. “What is it?”

What, did the woman have radar? Taylor patted her hair, her clothes, but everything was in place. Everything was always in place. Her own little armor.

“Yeah, you look gorgeous as ever,” Nicole said in disgust. Nicole was an emergency room doctor who considered fashion and hairstyling a grievous waste of time. She was beautiful in spite of it. Now she looked Taylor over with that X-ray vision all doctors seemed to possess. “And let me tell you, it's disgusting how good you can look surrounded by drywall dust and destruction. Now spill it. What's the matter?”

“Nothing.” Taylor forced a smile. “Allergies, that's all.”

“Bullshit.” Nicole led the way up the stairs, back into Taylor's apartment, where they all sat on the bed and took a spoon. “Let's hear it. Long version please.”

Taylor dug into the double fudge chocolate, consuming a bazillion calories in one bite. “I told you, I'm fine.”

“You know, you never let Suzanne or I get away with telling you we're fine when we're not, so don't give it to us.” Nicole waved her spoon. “Now. Who's the asshole who put that look of misery on your pretty face?”

“There's no—” She looked into their expectant, worried expressions and let out a slow, shaky breath. For courage she inhaled another hundred calories, maybe two hundred. “Mac. His name is Mac. He's my contractor.”

“And?” Nicole lifted a brow. “I definitely hear an ‘and' at the end of that sentence.”

“And…” What the hell. “He kisses like heaven.”

Suzanne sucked on her spoon and smiled. “Ah.”

“Ah what?” Taylor demanded.

“You're falling for him.”

“Because I think he kisses like heaven?”

“Because you have stars in your eyes when you say it,” Suzanne said gently. “You're falling hard, sweetie.”

“Lust or love?” Nicole wanted clarified in her usual blunt way.

“Lust,”
Taylor said.

Nicole cocked her head. “You said that way too quickly.”

“I'm staying single, Nicole. No question.”

Suzanne reached for Taylor's hand. “Tell us why love is such a bad thing. Who hurt you?”

“Life,” Taylor said simply. She was not going into that now. Maybe not ever. “Look, I've tried love. It hurts, all right?”

“Not always,” Nicole and Suzanne said at the same time.

But Taylor wasn't interested. Wouldn't ever be interested.

 

O
N
M
ONDAY MORNING
Mac made sure the framing and window replacement was going smoothly, then sought out Taylor.

He found her sitting on her bed, and was utterly unprepared for how just the sight of her felt like a punch in the gut, and for how much he wanted to haul her up and back into his arms.

He'd figured he'd gotten her out of his system Friday night. Way out.

Apparently, he'd figured wrong.

She was looking more put together than anyone had any business looking at seven o'clock in the
morning. Her shiny blond hair fell loose to her shoulders, perfectly combed. She wore pale yellow trousers with a matching sleeveless top that screamed class. The top dipped down in front and back, just enough to give him a peek of creamy skin and curves, and make him need a drink of water for his suddenly parched throat. Her long, long legs were crossed, a sandal dangling off her big toe as she lightly swung her foot while she talked into her cell phone with those perfectly glossed lips.

She saw him immediately, and though she didn't so much as smile at him, the awareness in the room bounced off the walls.

She was talking to someone about the sale of an antique wine rack, her voice even and firm as she discussed money with a single-mindedness he figured he understood a lot better today than he had last week.

The woman could drive a hard bargain, and in spite of himself, he watched in awe as she wheedled what sounded like a mind-boggling price for her piece.

When she hung up the phone, her eyes were sparkling with triumph and…relief.

Which brought him to the reason he stood there. “Good morning,” he said.

“Morning.” She was all business—and avoiding his gaze. “You've got a crew here already, I can hear
them. I'll just get out of your hair.” She slipped her foot back into her sandal.

“I'd like to talk to you.”

“I'm…uh…” She looked around, probably for a handy excuse.

“Save it, Princess. You want to ignore me on a personal level after one kiss, fine.”

He had to give her credit, she didn't so much as sputter. “I'd already forgotten about that ‘one kiss,”' she said evenly.

“Really?”

She let out a long breath. “No.”

Just like that, his heart tweaked, good and hard. “If it's any consolation, you've pretty much kept me up all night for the past two nights running,” he admitted.

She lifted a shoulder as if she didn't care, but her eyes warmed a little. “It's some consolation, I suppose.”

“Look, Taylor…”

“I don't think talking about it is the right thing to do. Under the circumstances.”

“Circumstances?”

“That we're not going to let it happen again,” she said.

“Right.” But it bugged him that he knew why
he
didn't want it to happen again, but not why
she
didn't. “Look, I get it now, why you didn't move out.
You have nowhere else to go, no money, and you're stuck here until we're done.”

“Well, why don't you just spell it out,” she said with a mirthless little laugh.

“This isn't about your pride, Taylor. Bottom line, you're putting every cent into this building and don't want to waste it on paying for a place to live.”

She lifted her hands. “Caught me.”

Stepping closer, he watched her pupils dilate a little.

Because of their closeness? It was affecting him, too, he could smell her, some exotic combination of sweet and sexy, and he could see the pulse at the base of her neck beating wildly, a dead giveaway that she was not as calm as she wanted to be. “I'm trying to tell you we'll work around you,” he said. “We'll do this room last.”

“But you said you wanted to hit it all at once, so that you didn't have to get your subcontractors back through here again. You said that it was hard enough to—”

“I know what I said. I'm telling you I'll make the adjustments.”

“Why?”

“Does it matter?”

“To me, yes.”

“Because as my client, I want you to be happy with the job.”

“As your client,” she repeated, sounding a little…hurt?

Impossible.

“I'm just trying to do the right thing here,” he said.

“Because you feel sorry for me?”

“Hell, no. You're too ornery to feel sorry for.”

For a long moment she just stared at him, then a ghost of a smile curved those lush lips. “Okay, then. As long as it's not that. Oh, and Mac?” She climbed off the bed with the smooth grace of a sleek cat, no longer looking plastic. She would never look plastic to him again, and as she came close, he actually had to fist his hands to keep them off her.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He didn't want to contemplate what just that smile of hers did to his insides. Did she know? Probably not, or she wouldn't still be looking at him like that. They'd both agreed—nothing could, or would, happen. But he had to make sure. “Now, about the personal stuff.”

Her face closed up again and he had to laugh. “After all you're going through, I'd think a little kiss would be the least of your problems.”

“If it had been just one ‘little kiss,”' she said, shocking him with her boldness, “then it
would
be the least of my problems.”

Hell. At her sides, her own hands were fisted. Because she couldn't keep her hands off him either, or
because she wanted to slug him? “Tell me why you don't want this,” he asked quietly.

“Truth?”

“Truth.”

She lifted her head, so close to him now that they could have leaned in just a fraction and had their mouths meet. “I do casual,” she whispered. “I do casual real well. But not more than that, not ever more. And this…” She sighed, closed her eyes. “This feels like more to me, Mac, and it scares me to death.”

“Yeah. Look, I—”

“Mac.” One of his laborers stood in the doorway. “You're needed downstairs.”

Taylor turned away.

“We'll finish this later,” he told her slim back.

She lifted a shoulder.

“Taylor—”

“I don't think that's necessary.”

“Oh, it's necessary,” he said, watching her stiffen. He was sorry for that, but they worked together, would have to continue to do so.

They had to finish talking about this, they had to.

Then maybe he could stop thinking about it.

B
UT LATER NEVER CAME
.
Not that day and not the next, because Taylor did something Mac didn't expect. She avoided him. She avoided him good.

She avoided him through the installation of all the plumbing and electrical. Through the hanging and taping of the new drywall.

Which admittedly wasn't that difficult, as he used good subcontractors, and for nearly two weeks his presence wasn't required more than an hour here and there.

One morning he stood out front of her building with the hose, spraying down the tools they'd used to texture the new walls, lost in concentration, when a breathy female voice whispered “excuse me” in his ear.

Head whipping up, his gaze collided with…
a petite version of Taylor?
He'd have sworn Taylor Wellington was a serious one-of-a-kind, yet this woman had the blond hair, the same see-through green eyes, the matching cynical tilt to her head…but that's where the similarities ended.

She came barely to his shoulders, and where Taylor defined elegance and sophistication, this slightly younger version defined urban hip. She was dressed in painted on jeans and a little crop top that showed off a sparkling diamond in her belly button, and when she turned around in a circle with a little delighted laugh, he saw the rose tattoo rising above her belt line.

Now, why anyone would want a plant growing out of their butt boggled the mind, but having passed his thirtieth birthday almost two years ago, he'd discovered he was completely out of touch when it came to such things.

“I look a lot like her, don't I?” She grinned. “I'm Liza. Taylor's baby sister. And you're…”

“Mac.”

“The current boy toy?”

She actually batted her lashes as she asked this, and suddenly Mac saw another difference. Where Taylor's eyes and voice were soft at times, even giving, there was nothing soft about Liza. She was cold and hard, and had been around the block more than once. “Boy toy?” he repeated, scratching his jaw. “Uh…no.”

Liza laughed. “You're rougher than her usual type, which is usually way too…upscale for me.” A sideways look raked over his body, slowly. “But if
she put you in a well-tailored suit…oh yeah, baby, I can see her going for you.” Running her tongue over her bottom lip, she looked at him from beneath half-closed, sleepy, sexy eyes. “You're hot.”

It'd been awhile since a woman had come on to him so blatantly. In fact, he nearly looked behind him to make sure she was talking to him.

“I have to give it to good old sis,” Liza said. “She always did have great taste. Some advice though, just don't get attached. Taylor doesn't dabble with one man for long, not since Jeff.”

“Jeff?”

“Her one great love,” she said with overplayed dramatic flair, and stepping close, she ran a finger over his shoulder, down his arm. “Sis is under the mistaken impression that he was the greatest guy on the planet, and that her turn at happiness has come and gone. Stupid, huh? I mean there are billions of guys on this planet.” Her eyes went sultry, speculative. “So how about it, big boy? Are you playing with Taylor, or are you available?”

He caught her wandering finger just as it roamed down his chest toward his navel. “I'm the contractor.”

“Ah, the contractor.” Her eyes darkened as she looked up at the building. “Grandpa always did like her best.”

Mac figured the sisters weren't very close if even he knew better than that.

“So is she here?” She tossed her head, flipping her hair artfully around her face. “Or are we all alone?”

“Look…” He wracked his brain for her name. “Liza—”

“Uh-oh.” She affected a pout, and before he could stop her, she cupped his face in her hands. “You're scowling. Didn't your momma ever tell you that would give you wrinkles?”

Now she rested her body against his, making sure to rub up against the vee of his jeans like a cat in heat. “Or maybe you don't care about wrinkles. Men never do, they don't need to. Your laugh lines are sexy.”

Curling his fingers around her wrists, he pried her off him and held her away. “Okay, that's enough—”

“Liza!”

Liza didn't flinch at her sister's voice, just stuck out that lower lip even further as she turned to face Taylor, who came out of the building, looking sophisticated and elegant as ever, even with her eyes flashing.

“Hey, sis.” Liza sidled back up to Mac. “Look what I found.”

“Stop torturing my contractor.”

“Oh, Taylor, but he's so gorgeous. Can I keep
him?” Mashing her breasts against Mac's arm, she batted her lashes at Taylor, who looked immune. “Pretty please?”

“Knock it off.” She wore a loose and flowing white skirt, a bright red top and wide-brimmed straw hat. And looked good enough to eat.

Mac was suddenly starving. He separated himself from Liza, not an easy feat. Taylor was looking at him again, and he still didn't have a clue to what she was thinking.

“What do you need, Liza?” she asked her sister.

“You aren't going to even invite me in, show me around?”

“That's not why you're here.”

Liza tried sticking her lower lip out further but Taylor didn't budge or soften her expression. “Money,” Liza muttered. “I need money.”

“Try asking your mother.”

“She's your mother, too.”

Taylor just stared at Liza, not giving an inch.

“Well, she's so damn tightfisted, what's the point?” Liza muttered.

Taylor lifted a brow, apparently agreeing with that assessment, but she shook her head. “I have nothing to give you.”

“You never have anything to give.”

Taylor closed her eyes briefly. “I'm sorry about the
times I wasn't there for you when I could have been. But the truth is, now that I might want to help, I can't. I just can't.”

“Yeah, whatever. It's no skin off my nose.” With one last lingering look at Mac, she spun on her heels and stalked off.

“Liza.”

Liza didn't look back, just let herself out of the gate where she faded into the noon crowd on the streets.

Mac expected Taylor to spin on her heels as well, heading back into the building. Or toward her car. Instead, she just stood there, lost in her own world.

Eyeing her with wariness, he stepped closer. “Your sister is…interesting.”

She lifted her head and looked at him. Her eyes were filled with annoyance, temper and a good amount of heat. “She's the baby of the family, and I'd say a spoiled rotten brat, but what she really is, is a woman-child desperate for attention.”

“That was no child.”

“No, you're right, she's twenty-one, old enough to know better. Did she…bother you before I got out here?”

“No.”

“Did she…sexually harass you?”

Mac let out a bark of laughter at that. “Yeah. And I'm going to sue over my good honor.”

“I'm serious, Mac.”

“I'm going to live.”

“Yes, but…” She looked at him. Looked at the sky. Then back at him. “Mac…”

A disparaging sound escaped her. “I'm trying to say I'm…”

Mac cocked his head, studying the uncomfortable Taylor with curiosity. “You're trying to say…what?”

“I just wanted to…” She held her breath, then let out a huff and turned in a slow circle while Mac waited.

Something was sticking in her craw, but what, he had no idea. Unless…oh yeah. She was trying to apologize. What was so interesting about that was that she looked as if she might choke over it. “Problem?” he asked, suddenly feeling like smiling.

“No. I just wanted to say…”

“Yes?”

“I'm
sorry.
” She glared at him as if this was all his fault. “I'm sorry if Liza came onto you and made you uncomfortable. I'm sorry you had to deal with her on the job. It was unfair and…and…”

“And you're sorry.” He grinned now, because who would have known she could look adorable. “That was pretty tough, huh? Using the s-word?”

“It's even harder with you laughing at me,” she said, adding a look of daggers.

“Oh, no, I'm not laughing at you, I'm laughing
with
you.” But he kept on grinning, which pretty much made smoke come out her ears.

Her eyes were twin pools of fire. And her body language, hands fisted on her hips, shoulders back, head up… Battle ready, she was, no doubt.

Call him sick, but he liked it, he liked to see her temper flare, though he was quite certain he'd be risking certain death to admit such a thing to her. “I don't suppose you'd try to say it again, so I can watch you squirm some more?”

“You're a bastard, you know that?”

“Yep,” he told her back as she stalked off. “I've definitely heard that one before.”

Stopping, Taylor slowly turned back to face him.

She'd barely been able to resist the urge to put her hands on her hips and stomp her feet like a child at the sight of Liza snuggled up to him, but that would be churlish, even childish.

And certainly she had amused him enough al ready.

But nobody laughed at her, nobody.

And yet there he stood, hair blowing in the breeze, eyes lit with good humor—at her expense—his long, lean, rangy body relaxed as can be.

That even now she could look at him and feel a
spark, feel a need to launch herself against him and hold on tight, really burned.

“Watch your pretty sandals there, Princess,” he said, pointing to where she stood, which was next to his hose. The water had started to pool.

That it was still morning didn't matter in the summertime heat of Southern California. She hadn't even realized how hot she was until the chilled water lapped over her toes.

She eyed the hose. Eyed Mac.

“Don't even think about it,” he said in a warning tone that cooked her goose all the way to finish.

“Oh, I'm thinking about it.” She'd do more than think. Very carefully she set her hat down on the grass. She loved that hat and didn't want it to get wet like Mac was going to. He was going to get very wet.

“Taylor,” he said in that low, gruff, thrillingly sexy voice.

But not only did no one laugh at her, no one told her what to do.

Ever.

Before she knew it, she'd picked up the hose and turned it on him, hitting him full in the chest.

The water was cold, which, she supposed, explained his yelp. Or it might have to do with the fact she lowered her aim just a bit.

The sound that escaped him now was a definite growl, a growl that signified an upcoming battle.

Half horrified, half exhilarated, she continued to hold the hose on him and stepped closer.

It knocked him back a step, and a group of people who'd come out of the ice-cream shop across the street whooped and hollered.

Mac ignored them, grinning a wholly evil grin at her that made her hesitate a moment.

Which is how he tackled her to the patch of grass behind her, holding her down with his big, warm, strong body sprawled over hers.

She couldn't believe it, but he'd gotten the best of her. Her, Taylor Wellington, a woman no one got the better of, ever.

Thankfully the wood fence across the front of her property, while mostly decoration, was high enough to now block them from view of pedestrian traffic, so she didn't have to think about that humiliation.

Lifting his face, Mac smiled a little wickedly down into hers, water raining off him onto her skin. Then he gathered her hands in one of his and yanked them above her head. One strong thigh insinuated its way between hers, pegging her between the soft, cool grass and the not even close to soft, definitely not cool body of Mac.

“Get off me,” she hissed, wriggling, trying to free herself. “We're right out front, anyone could—”

“Could what? Could see this?
Good.
”

And eyes burning with intent, he dipped his head, covering her mouth with his.