Eyes closed, breathing deeply, he didn’t budge.
But there was the matter of his thigh, which he’d thrown over her body and was acting as a weight to keep her in place. Wriggling, she managed to turn from her side to her back, but his leg still pinned her. From her back, she rolled again.
And fell off the bed with a thump loud enough to wake the people of China.
But not one Thomas Mackenzie.
Popping back up, she stared at him, but other than a little moan of protest at the loss of her body heat, he didn’t so much as flicker an eye.
She didn’t know whether to be insulted or grateful, but settled on grateful. Padding naked to the bathroom, she gazed critically into the mirror and tried not to wince. What was it about wild, screaming, sweaty sex that so ruined a good hairdo? She fixed that quickly enough, and did the best she could with water and soap-so rough on her skin!-to get rid of the mascara beneath her eyes.
Mac was still asleep when she came back out. Slipping into his shirt, she went to the window and watched the sun rise over South Village. It came in slow waves of brilliant orange, yellow and red, probably from the smog, but it still took her breath.
“Hey.” Accompanying this gruff, sexy voice came two nice and toasty arms, encircling her from behind.
“Hey yourself,” she said, trying not to sigh with pleasure.
“Maybe you somehow missed how early it is.”
She let herself go, closing her eyes, leaning back into the hard strength holding her. There was just something about a man’s voice in the morning that made her want to melt. “No.”
His mouth brushed her temple in a gesture so tender, so sweet, it made her want to cry. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he said quietly.
What was wrong? Only everything. And because of it, she couldn’t speak, she’d gone mute around the football-size lump in her throat.
His lips cruised to her ear while his hands criss-crossed in front of her to smooth up and down her arms. “Regrets already?”
God, she loved his touch. It was…comforting. He didn’t touch her breasts or between her legs, he didn’t thrust his pelvis against her butt. None of the things she’d have expected of a normal, hot-blooded male first thing in the morning, looking to get lucky.
And emotion swamped her, drowning her. She was deathly afraid it was
“Talk to me, Princess.”
She drew a deep breath and watched the sun bursting a myriad of colors on the blooming day. After the night they’d had, she should be sleepy, but she was wide awake.
And it had been quite a night. They’d had only that one condom, but it hadn’t mattered. They’d explored other options, pleasuring each other by touch, by mouth, leaving her little more than a sensory creature, fed on passion and hunger until they’d exhausted themselves.
Mac didn’t say anything, but he kept on touching her, lightly, sweetly, sharing his heat.
“I haven’t had a night like that since…well.” She sighed. “It’s been a long time.” She closed her eyes and admitted the truth. “I haven’t allowed myself to.” Then, knowing she needed to say it face-to-face, she turned, tipped back her head. “That wasn’t just comfort sex,” she whispered. “That wasn’t even just wild, screaming, sweaty sex.”
Emotion flickered in his gaze, too, but leading the pack of all of it was a sudden regret. “Taylor-”
“No.” She couldn’t handle hearing him say it, that for him it hadn’t been anything
That he said nothing only fed the knowledge she was in over her head. Way over her head. Throat closing, she backed out of his arms. “I have things to think about, and you have your ex-wife to get over.”
Shock filled his face. “What?”
“I’ve never felt the need to compete with anyone in my life, and I won’t do it now.”
“Ariel is not sharing my bed.”
Ariel. The ex-wife had a name. She swallowed hard. It didn’t escape her that she might be truly and completely over Jeff if she could feel this searing jealousy. God, she’d loved Jeff. But he was gone and she wasn’t. “I didn’t mean to drum this all up now. God.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “We’ve been intimate in bed, but that’s all. That’s all it’s going to be.”
“Yes,” he agreed softly when she opened her eyes and waited for a response. Her heart cracked, but what the hell had she expected him to say? He’d never been anything but brutally honest with her, and she had no one but herself to blame for getting in too deep now.
“You know what?” She managed a smile. “I need to go. Lots of stuff to do today.”
She figured the fact that he’d silently driven her home meant he was even less ready than she’d imagined.
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
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…”
