Messing With Mac

“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.

8

TAYLOR GAVE one startled squeak, but then as sensations bombarded her-his hands on hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his deliciously big, hard, wet body holding hers down, his powerful thigh holding hers open-she melted against him like lava. Her fingers curled against his, her body arching up to meld to every inch of his. And his mouth… Oh, his mouth.

She hadn’t been able to think the first time they’d kissed, could barely think now, but he tasted like heaven. And now that she was thinking it, fully appreciating it, she realized something else. He knew just what to do with that mouth, knew how to nibble the corners of hers until she wanted to moan for more, knew to start out with little coaxing strokes of his tongue, then nip at her bottom lip with his teeth, soothing it over with a soft, sucking motion that whipped her into a desperate, impatient, wild thing, a wild thing with absolutely no shame, not to mention thoughts of rules or propriety.

Needing to put her hands on him, she flexed hers beneath his, and he let her go. Oh yes, she thought, mindlessly arching up to him, running her now free hands over his wet shoulders, down his wet spine, oh yes, this is what she’d needed this morning when she’d woken up so inexplicably…sad.

This. Him. Now.

With a little sigh of pure unadulterated pleasure, she hugged him even closer, and wanting to give back as good as she was getting, she sucked his tongue into her mouth.

She was rewarded by a ragged groan ripped from deep in his chest, and felt his hands slip beneath her, cupping her bottom in his hands so that he could more fully seat himself between her thighs. At the feel of his erection, she whimpered in helpless delight, and squirmed, trying to get more of it.

Then he slowly lifted his head, her lips clinging as they parted because she didn’t want it to end.

“Taylor.” His voice was satisfactorily thick. Raspy. And looking down into her pouting face, he let out a soft sound of desire and stroked her jaw. “God, you’re beautiful.”

The grass beneath her was cool, and damp. Above them the sun was warm and dry, chasing the chill away from their wet clothes. But now, without Mac’s mouth on hers, she could think again. Thoughts like her mascara was probably smeared, and that he’d eaten off all her gloss. That she was wrinkling, and probably staining one of her favorite skirts.

Or that she lay on her back, legs spread, heart wide open and vulnerable, to a man.

It was that last that made her close her eyes.

With a sigh, Mac rolled off her. On his back, staring up at the sky, he reached for her hand.

“What was that?” she whispered, eyes still closed, her breathing not even close to normal. But she let him entwine his fingers with hers, and gripped them back. “What the hell was that?”

“Whatever it was, it was damn good.”

“Yeah.” Turning her head, she found him studying the clouds floating overhead.

“There’s Bambi,” he said, and with his free hand pointed to a cloud.

Taylor had to laugh. “Bambi?”

“Yeah. There. And see that one? That long, sleek one to the right? A sailboat.”

“Mmm.” She was lying here with a rough and tumble man who saw shapes in clouds. “You always find things in the sky?”

“It’s relaxing, don’t you think?”