Messing With Mac

“Remind me in every word, in every look, that we have this…this…”

“Hard to put a finger on it, isn’t it?”

“It’s an attraction,” she said bluntly. “And for someone who claims not to want it, you sure bring it up a lot.”

“I never claimed not to want it, Princess.” He stepped closer, so close she could feel his breath warm her cheek. Then his fingers did the same as he stroked them over her skin. “It’s just that what we each want are two different things entirely.”

“How do you know?” She met his hot gaze. “When you won’t discuss it?”

“You want me to discuss it? Fine. I want you in that bed for one entire night-” He pointed to it. “I want you there, beneath me, legs and arms spread wide, head tossed back, screaming my name as I touch, kiss, lick and suck every inch of you. I want to sink into your body and lose myself. I want that so badly I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t do any damn thing. Any questions?”

Questions? She couldn’t remember, she was so lost in the image he’d just given her. She licked her dry lips, then jerked her gaze up to his when he let out a low and very soft moan.

“Have I mentioned you’re killing me?” he asked quietly, running those fingers down her throat now, and very lightly over her collarbone.

A shudder wracked her.

“Yes.” Her voice was a mere whisper. “You’ve mentioned.”

“Good.”

He turned to go, then speared her with one last searing look. “Next time you want to play with me, Princess, just remember what it is I want.”

She was fairly certain she would remember.

The moment he was gone, she sank to her bed, then fell to her back, gaze on the ceiling, fanning air in front of her hot, hot face.

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.