Messing With Mac Page 12

  Still, he walked her in, even though it was nearly time for him to start work. He walked her up the stairs and into her apartment. He walked her all the way to her closed bedroom door.

  Then he lifted a hand and stroked his knuckles across her jaw in a heartbreakingly tender gesture. Fighting the urge to grab his hand and hold it to her face, she opened the door and went inside.

  More confused than ever.

  IN MAC’S OPINION, the problem had nothing to do with confusion. It’s just one could never be prepared to have your heart ripped open to another.

  It had to do with acceptance. Trust. Willingness.

  As in, was he willing to accept that Taylor was nothing like Ariel. Was he willing to trust that she would never, ever, try to destroy him the way Ariel had? Was he willing to open up and share himself, heart and soul?

  No. No, he most definitely wasn’t.

  No doubt, Taylor drew him, and on far more than a physical level. And yet he knew enough to understand that trying again with her, and actually doing it, were two different things.

  There could be no half-ass attempt here, he had to mean it. For Taylor’s sake.

  She’d been hurt by life, too, and he wouldn’t toy with her. No, if he ever decided to have another relationship, he’d give it his all.

  He just didn’t have his all to give.

  For two days, he didn’t see much of her. Not because he avoided her, but because she avoided him. She was good at it.

  On the third day, Suzanne came over with a chest of leftovers from a party she’d catered, and informed Mac that Taylor was at an estate sale, drooling over some antiques from France.

  “I can’t wait until she can open her store,” Suzanne said, popping open a Tupperware container. “She deserves it.”

  Moved by the delicious scent and the grumble in his empty belly, Mac unhooked his tool belt and let it hit the floor. “Store?”

  “She hopes to use one of the downstairs storefronts to open her own antique shop.” Suzanne shot him a look when his stomach grumbled loudly. Silently she handed him a napkin. “Mini quiches, if you’re not too manly to eat such a thing.”

  “I’m not too manly to eat anything smelling that good.” He nearly moaned at his first bite, then sank to the floor and did moan at his second. “You’re a genius.”

  “No, that’s Nicole. But I am good in the kitchen. Just like you’re good with your hands.”

  Mac stopped midbite and glanced up in time to see Suzanne blush. “I mean, you do incredible work,” she said, pointing to the wood floor molding and casing.

  “She told you about the other night.”

  “No.” She sat down next to him. “She didn’t tell me anything, she didn’t have to. Nicole and I had breakfast with her to discuss Nicole’s upcoming wedding plans and…”

  “And…”

  “And we guessed. She had this…glow about her, and she was…I don’t know…happier than I’ve seen her in awhile. Maybe happier than I’ve seen her ever.” Suzanne nudged his shoulder with hers. “She never talks about it, never complains, but we know she’s had it rough. We’re her best friends, Mac, and we only just met six months ago. Before us, she had no one. I hate to think about her like that, so alone, but even with us hounding her all the time, she holds back. But with you…” She let out a gentle smile.

  “Let’s just say we’re hoping she’s not holding back.”

  He thought of the night he’d spent with Taylor.

  The night he’d held her in his arms, the night they’d rocked each other’s worlds with what should have been a simple bout of healthy, recreational sex.

  And had really been so much more.

  He looked into Suzanne’s hopeful eyes and had to tell her the truth. “I don’t know what we’re doing, Taylor and I, but I doubt it’s going in the direction you’re thinking.”

  “Oh.” Her sweet smile faded some. “Really?”

  “Really,” he said regretfully.

  She took away his napkin, and then on second thought, took the quiches as well.

  “Hey—” His stomach growled in protest.

  “Sorry. Turns out I don’t have any extra.”

  MAC WENT HOME to more mail. Mostly bills, which he was making his way through, slowly, methodically, painfully. He tossed the entire stack to his table, toppling over the previous stack.

  And revealed a thick packet from South Village’s Town Council. Staring at it, he told himself if they’d turned down his bids, it would have been a nice little white envelope with a short letter saying thanks but no thanks.

  But then again, a thanks but no thanks could come with a stack of other projects to bid.

  Hence the thick packet.

  Heart pounding uncomfortably, he backed to a chair and plopped into it, his legs a little rubbery. Holding his breath, he ripped into the envelope and started reading.

  TAYLOR’S ARCHITECT, Ty Patrick O’Grady, was a tall, dark, gorgeous man with an Irish accent, flashing eyes and a roguish smile.

  Taylor happened to know who put that spectacular smile on his face on a daily basis. Nicole, who was going to marry Ty as soon as he convinced her to set an actual date.

  But for now, Taylor and Ty, who had some last minute things to go over, were in a meeting. A walking meeting.

  Ty grinned at her as they munched on soft pretzels and drank sodas, walking through the lunch crowd along a particularly swank street halfway between Ty’s home office and her building.

  Using what was left of his pretzel, he pointed at a new upscale lingerie shop. The window display was what had caught his attention. More specifically, the naughty looking black leather skirt, matching crop top, five-inch spikes and whip.

  Taylor knew she couldn’t so much as afford a pair of panties from the place. How times change, she thought with a sigh that didn’t really signify any wistfulness for the changes in her life. She loved where she was, and wouldn’t trade it for…well, for all the money in her grandfather’s estate.

  And yet a new outfit once in awhile would be nice. Yes, she had gorgeous clothes, but all of them—like the emerald green sleeveless dress, matching strappy sandals and wide-brimmed hat she wore today—were leftovers from another era.

  Those days were long gone, even if her clothing addiction wasn’t.

  “I should buy that outfit for Nicole,” Ty said around a huge bite. “What do you think?”

  Taylor laughed at the vision of Dr. Nicole Mann, out of her preferred jeans and doctor’s jacket, and into the leather. “She’d kill you.”

  “Yeah.” Ty’s fond grin didn’t fade. “Love that woman madly, I do.”

  At the utterly pathetically lovelorn expression on this big, tough, former bad boy’s Irish face, Taylor had to sigh. What would it be like to bring such a man to his knees with love?

  Hell, she reminded herself viciously. It would be hell, at least on the heart.

  She’d come close to forgetting that while lying in Mac’s arms, being driven crazy by his mouth, his touch, his voice. She’d come close to forgetting just about everything, including the fact he was never going to love her the way she secretly wanted to be loved.

  She’d avoided him. Mostly because she was weak.

  One look from his whiskey eyes and she’d leap right back into his arms and screw good pride. She’d take what she could get.

  Well, the hell with that. “So about my bath room…”

  “Yep.” Ty aimed that killer smile at her. “You can have that antique stand-alone bathtub on claws like you want. The floor will support it, and so will the plumbing. No changes required.”

  “And the window turrets? That won’t change the structure of the roof?”

  “It might piss off your contractor having to add trim now, but it won’t change anything major.”

  Hmm. Pissing off Mac so he was as unbalanced as she was did have its merits. “How about I let you tell him.”

  Ty, incredibly observant, cocked his head. “Is something wrong?”
>
  “Of course not.”

  “Mac working out okay?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Not fooled, Ty’s brilliant blue eyes narrowed. “I suggested him because even though he’s relatively new to this scale and scope of work, I’ve seen what he can do. The man is magic with his hands.”

  Taylor stuck her tongue in her cheek. Oh good God, was Mac magic with his hands. “I know.”

  “But something’s wrong,” he repeated, studying her closely.

  “No, it’s nothing.” She looked into Ty’s worried gaze and managed a smile. “Nothing. Everything is great, you should see it.”

  “Yes, let’s see it,” he said firmly, making her sigh. She’d learned there was nothing more protective than a man who was going to marry your best friend. “It’s blocks out of your way,” she protested, but Ty merely kept walking.

  “Well, at least slow down,” she grumbled after him. “I’m not doing a marathon in these three-inch sandals simply because you’re feeling overprotective.”

  “I wouldn’t be feeling overprotective if you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing!”

  “We’re just making sure, darlin’.”

  They passed by several restaurants that had such delicious scents wafting from them Taylor could only inhale deeply and dream. Her budget meant dinner tonight consisted of a can of soup.

  They turned the corner and passed three clothing stores that had her drooling, but the next shop, called Accents, had her wrinkling her nose in snobbery.

  The “accents” for decorating were all new, cheap and in her opinion, tacky.

  On her street now, right across from her building in fact, they came to a flower stand. Before they crossed, Ty touched a pot of daisies. He sniffed at the dozen wrapped roses, and smiled at the lilies.

  “Sentimental fool,” Taylor murmured, having to smile when he shot her an admitting grin.

  “Nicole has a soft spot for flowers,” he said.

  What the rough and tough, cool-minded Nicole had was a soft spot for this man. “Go for it,” she said, her heart sighing.

  He bought a dozen red roses and held them out to Taylor to smell.

  Instead she leaned in close to the man, who in her opinion smelled better than any flower. “You are the sweetest fiancé in town, you know that?” He looked so shocked, she laughed. “You are,” she insisted.

  “Sweet.” He laughed, too. “Well, that’s a new one.”

  “Trust me, these are going to get you very lucky tonight.” Then she kissed him, one quick smacking kiss on the lips.

  With a laugh, he wrapped an arm around her and squeezed her tight. “Aren’t I just?”

  He set her down, and Taylor put one hand on her head to steady her hat, and one on his chest to steady herself. Still smiling, she craned her neck and checked the street before crossing.

  And went utterly still.

  Mac stood out front of her building, looking right at her. Funny, how her heart leaped. Or maybe it wasn’t funny at all.

  He wore the Levi’s with the hole over the knees, a dark T-shirt and a scowl the likes of which she hadn’t seen since that very first day when he’d looked at her as if she were the bug on his windshield.

  She hadn’t seen him yet today, so she couldn’t be the cause of the scowl. Honestly, men…she had no idea what had crawled up his—

  Ty still had an arm over her shoulders as he peered past her contractor to the building behind him. “What a beauty she’s turning out to be. Wonder who your genius architect is?” Grinning, he set his cheek to hers.

  Mac’s scowl deepened, and with delightful understanding, Taylor grinned, too.

  Oh, yes, she’d just figured out that frown.

  Ridiculous as it was, the fool man was jealous.

  15

  MAC STOOD THERE out front of Taylor’s building, envelope in hand, watching the woman he’d rushed over to show it to hug and kiss another man.

  That he knew and respected that man and his work didn’t help. He didn’t care if Ty Patrick O’Grady was her architect or her trash guy, the impact of seeing them cozying up was the same.

  God, he felt like an ass standing there, when only a moment ago he’d been giddy, and hot as hell. He had figured he’d tell her the news, then start off by kissing her senseless, and from there talk his way right up the stairs to her apartment and her very frilly bed.

  They’d make good use out of all those ridiculous pillows she had, and burn off some badly needed tension while they were at it.

  And then afterwards, they’d go on their merry way as they had before, sated and relaxed, until the next time the tension got to be too much.

  In which case he’d gallantly offer his body yet again.

  It was a system that would work well for both of them, he had decided, and no one need get hurt. In fact, the only regret he had was wasting the past few days thinking instead of doing.

  Bottom line, Taylor had been hurt, too, and she, more than any other woman, understood not wanting to get hurt again. They could be together without really being together.

  All parties happy.

  Or so he’d thought. But that was before she’d moved on, and had climbed into another man’s arms.

  He understood, they hadn’t had anything exclusive. Hell, he’d made it crystal clear he hadn’t wanted exclusive, but damn, his bed was barely cold from the night they’d spent in it.

  He remembered everything. No doubt he still had the fingernail marks on his butt from her eager, demanding hands. She’d mewled and clung and cried out his name, and if memory served right—and he knew damn well it did—she’d woken him up, twice, with her own hungry demands for more.

  So it hadn’t been all him, damn it.

  Screw it. Since Taylor was still hugging Ty, Mac spun on his heel and went back to his truck. He got caught in traffic, which really topped off his mood, then stalked through his dark house and stared down at his bed.

  Unmade and lit by the moon, all he could remember when he looked at it was tangled limbs, breathless pleas and a pleasure so great it had been painful, physically painful, to let her go.

  It was still painful.

  HE WAS GONE. Taylor couldn’t believe it. By the time she crossed the street, Mac had left. She calmly finished her business with Ty, then went upstairs, because this was going to require a clothing change. She prepared herself with a sort of adrenaline rush she didn’t think she should be proud of. Amusement and fury.

  Fury and amusement.

  She would wear siren red because it suited her. The matching do-me shoes with the five-inch spiked heels were a bonus because she figured she could always take them off and hit the stubborn, idiotic lug over the head with them to make herself feel better.

  Oh, he had some nerve, shooting her that scathing look and then vanishing.

  She washed up, waxed, shined and polished, all the silly female rituals that usually made her feel better. Calmer.

  And pictured him suffering the entire time. She really shouldn’t be proud of the fact she wanted him to suffer.

  The sight of his truck in his driveway made her giddy with relief. He was home, and he would listen to her while she told him all the reasons she was mad at him, and then she’d walk back out to her car in her sexy little dress, picturing him cross-eyed with lust behind her, solid in the knowledge that she drove him as crazy as he drove her.

  She’d sleep well knowing he was lying awake staring at his ceiling, calling himself every kind of name for letting her walk out of his life.

  That’s right, she’d sleep well. Then she would wake up tomorrow and move on. And now that she knew her heart worked again, she’d go find a man who could appreciate that.

  And her.

  He didn’t answer her knock. The fury built back up. Ignoring her, was he? She knocked again, harder, determined to see this out.

  She simply had to share this anger, or she was going to blow up.

  She lifted her fist again, but
the door opened so unexpectedly she almost solidly rapped him on the nose.

  He didn’t even flinch, not this man with nerves of steel. No, he just cocked a brow and propped the doorway open with his shoulder.

  His naked shoulder, because all he wore was a… She gulped hard and struggled to maintain eye con tract.

  A damn towel. His entire body was pebbled with water drops. Given that, and the fact his hair was wet, too, and she realized she’d gotten him out of the shower.

  Her traitorous body quivered at the thought of his long, leanly muscled body in the steam, water cascading down his tanned, sleek skin, his head back, his eyes closed in ecstasy as the hot water beaded over him.

  Oh good Lord, now she could hardly breathe.

  His eyes, those light, light eyes, traveled slowly up her body. “Fancy meeting you here,” he said.

  “Fancy that.”

  “What is it you need?”

  “It’s…rather complicated.”

  “Is it? That’s a shame then, as I’m running a bit late.”

  “This can’t wait, Mac.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug. “But I’m going to get dressed.”

  She followed him down the hall to the very bedroom where he’d once upon a time rocked her entire world.

  Casual as he pleased, he dropped his towel.

  “What are you doing?” she croaked, but didn’t look away, not even to blink as he shoved those long, long legs and mouthwatering ass into a pair of pants.

  Turning to her as he zipped them up, she had a moment to wish he’d shifted around just a second sooner—

  “I’m dressing for my parents’ anniversary party.”

  A white dress shirt came next, covering that wide chest that hadn’t come from any gym, but years of hard labor.

  She struggled to maintain her composure and sauntered over to him, telling herself now, give it to him now, trying desperately to remember all the reasons why she was so angry. But instead of wrapping her fingers around his neck and squeezing, she slid them into his wet hair and pressed her body to his.