Messing With Mac

I don’t know why really, we’re just…different from one another I guess.”

“Not every family is super tight.”

“We’re not even in the realm of tight. Growing up, I was given the fanciest education. On Grandfather’s money. Every few years or so he’d come around and see how his investment was doing, but other than that, we didn’t have much contact. I always thought it was because I disappointed him somehow. Or that he just didn’t have much sentiment in him, but he seemed to enjoy my sisters’ company.”

“Taylor-”

“No.” Not wanting his pity, please God, not his pity, she didn’t look at him. “You know what? Just forget it.”

“You started it, finish it.”

It was amazing how private the veranda was for how many people were just inside. Maybe nobody but the two of them dared the evening heat and humidity.

Mac didn’t mention it one way or another, he seemed focused on her, and only her, and having that much man, all tall, gorgeous and listening to her, really listening, was…well, a fairly intense experience. “My grandfather died,” she said to the night. “And the will was rather…interesting.”

“How interesting?”

“Well, for one thing, he left me the building you’re working on.”

“It’s a beauty.”

“Oh yes,” she agreed. “And a money pit.”

He nodded.

“He…took away the funds that had always been available to me. Every penny. Gave it all to my mother knowing she’d never share.” She closed her eyes and admitted the last painful truth. “Leaving me flat broke.”

“Why wouldn’t your mother share?”

“She’s been saving for a rainy day all her life, she’s…frugal.” She let out a harsh laugh. “The richest frugal person you’ll ever meet.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s remarried. Lives in Europe, and I don’t see him very often.”

“They were talking about your mother as if she were there tonight.”

“She was,” she said. “She’s Isabel Craftsman.”

Mac’s eyes widened. “The mayor?”

“The one and only.”

“So you’re one of those Wellingtons.”

“That would be me. One of those Wellingtons.” It usually went one of two ways from here. Either the person would stare at her in awe, because her mother, cold and precise as she was, had done excellent things for the city, or the person would sneer, because let’s face it, her mother hadn’t gotten to where she was by making friends.

But Mac looked neither awed nor disgusted. “You really can’t go to her if you need help?”

“I could, but…”

“You won’t,” he finished for her, his eyes filling with something she hadn’t seen from him before. Respect. “What about your sisters?”

“Like I said, we’re not that close.”

“The building is worth a fortune.”

“If I sold it.” She opened her eyes and with fierce determination said, “Which I’m not doing. I’m not walking away from this. I’m not like them, Mac, those women in there, I’m not going to be like them if it kills me.”

“You’re not anything like them,” he agreed.

She’d wanted someone on her side tonight, she’d wanted blind comfort, and this man, her virtual opposite, the thorn in her side, was offering it.

No one had done such a thing for her since Jeff.

Just the thought of him now, with Mac right there, felt like a betrayal to his memory, a stab to her al ready wounded heart, but Mac was throwing her, re acting the way she’d expect Suzanne to react. A friend. A girlfriend.

Not a man.

But she didn’t need him to react this way. She’d learned to depend on no one but herself. She was all she needed, she’d always simply comforted herself, and-

Mac continued to stand there when she sniffed again, not running, not reacting to her tears with his own reasoning.

He simply opened his arms.

And she stepped right into them. Stepped into them and steeped herself in his giving heat and overwhelming strength. Then she did as she’d wanted to, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, deeply inhaling the scent of wood, soap and one-hundred-percent man.

Sinking his fingers into her hair, he lifted her face so he could look into it. She looked back, at the chiseled angle of his jaw, his slightly curved lips, his light golden eyes as they ran over her face before locking on hers.

Taylor felt the jolt of his gaze all the way to her toes. She didn’t know how it was possible, but in his arms her problems seemed to fade away, chased by equal parts awareness and a morbid excitement she couldn’t, wouldn’t, deny. Winding her arms around his neck, she pressed a little closer, absorbing the helpless growl of awareness that rumbled up from Mac’s chest.

A matching awareness combined with a heady female power that sizzled through her, because he felt it, too, whether he wanted to or not, he felt it, too. Proving it, his hands tightened on her, skimmed down her back, then slowly back up again, chasing any lingering chill with a blooming desire she hadn’t expected or wanted but wouldn’t deny. “Um…this might be a good time for you to tell me you’re married,” she said. “Or something.”

“I’m not married.” His mouth quirked. “Or something. I’m not anything with anyone.”

Chest to breast, belly to belly, she stared at him, and he stared at her right back. In that moment, he was the only person in her entire world. Her body felt overwhelmed by that, even as she leaned into him.

Around them, the air crackled, growing more in tense by the second in the hot, summer night, until she could hardly breathe. “Mac…”

“Yeah?”

She sighed.

“Taylor? What is it?”

“I want…” You, she thought. I want you.

Obeying the rampant need and invitation in her breathy voice, he bent his head and kissed her. Softly at first, but then she wrapped her arms around his neck, tight, so that the next kiss came hard, a rapacious, devouring kiss that was wildly carnal and full of erotic intent, and couldn’t have been more deeply intimate if they’d been entirely alone in the world.

“Is that what you were looking for?” he asked when he pulled back, his voice even rougher than usual.

“Yes.” Taylor was breathing hard, and was slightly gratified to see he was, too. For a long moment they just stared at each other, with Taylor’s brain not fully functioning because he’d just destroyed her with yet another devastating thought-she hadn’t lost herself in a man like that since…since.

She hadn’t wanted to.

She would have backed away then, and might even have started running, but his hands were still on her, still holding her securely against him. And in fact, hers were still curled around his neck, her body glued to his.

Of its own free will.

His eyes, locked on hers, were scorching, his body against hers rock hard, obviously aroused, obviously hungry for more. And yet he stood there, waiting.

Who would have expected patience from a man like Mac?

She could take him home. They could spend an energetic, adventurous evening exhausting each other. It would be hot and fast and good. But…and she couldn’t believe this, but…it wouldn’t be enough. For the first time since Jeff, casual sex wouldn’t be enough, not even with Mac.

“I’m going home now,” she said softly, and touched his granite jaw. “Alone.”

“Yeah.” Turning his head, he kissed her palm. “I know.”