“Glad someone does,” Bruiser muttered.
“They sure have your number.”
“The cats or the family?”
“Both.”
“They’ve always had my number, and no insult is off-limits.” He pushed his seat back and tilted the steering wheel upward.
“I could see that. You must have pretty thick skin.”
It was Bruiser’s turn to snort. “Try elephant-hide thick.” He turned to her, and his frown deepened. “How’d it go with Brett?”
“Nice move deflecting the conversation from your family. He didn’t fill you in?”
“A little, but tell me your take.” He stared intently at her like a hungry restaurant reviewer eyeing a delectable menu, only she couldn’t be on that menu. Tonight or any other night. Even if a naughty part of her wanted to be.
“We had a nice time.”
“You don’t sound particularly enthused.” Bruiser almost looked happy at the thought.
“I like Brett, but—” Mac didn’t know how to articulate what she wanted to say. Brett was a great catch, and she was an idiot for lusting after the wrong guy? Yeah, that about summed it up. Idiot. Wrong guy. Lusting. Definitely all three.
“He doesn’t do it for you.” Bruiser read her mind. He’d done a lot of that lately, and his perceptiveness threw her off-kilter.
“Not really,” she heard herself admit.
“Not like I do. But then, who could blame you?” He shot her another lopsided, teasing grin, which didn’t conceal an underlying layer of pure male heat. If he kept that up, she’d be divested of her pride and her panties.
Mac smacked him on the arm. He didn’t even flinch. “That’s pretty arrogant of you.”
Bruiser shrugged. “Just telling it like it is. We’ve been dancing around each other ever since the barbecue.”
It’d been a helluva lot longer than that, but originally, she’d been dancing solo. “Looking for another notch on your dick?”
“Nah, quit notching it long ago. I prefer the bedpost.” His storm-cloud eyes tempted her, drew her in, promised her all sorts of naughty things, the kinds of naughty things a nice girl secretly lusted after.
“Ran out of room, did you?”
“I’d take you for a test drive if you were sitting on the lot.”
“Maybe I am.” Mac couldn’t believe she’d said that to him, but she had, and, dammit, she was going to own it, margaritas be blamed or not.
“Is that Mac or the tequila talking?” He didn’t take the bait even though he’d thrown the first punch.
“Both. I’m not drunk. Just a little tipsy.” Mac tugged on her skirt, which had hiked up to give Bruiser a good view of her bare mid-thighs. The seductress thing was new to her. Most women would’ve bared more thigh, but she figured less was more. Bruiser seemed to think so, too, if his scorching-hot gaze raking her legs was any indication.
“You sure you’re a consenting adult in your close-to-right mind?” His slow, sexy smile said it all. Bruiser, pretty boy of the NFL, wanted to jump her bones. Damn. She sure as hell had fantasized long enough about jumping his.
Mac lifted her head and met Bruiser’s steady gaze. “Oh, yeah, I’m consenting. I need to start living my life.”
“So, you want to live it now? In my Chevy?” Bruiser’s stormy eyes held her hostage.
“Yes.” She licked her lips and swallowed.
“Seriously?” He frowned, as if he wasn’t quite sure if he understood her.
“I thought— I mean— I— Oh, never mind. I read you wrong.” Mac’s face fell. She felt all kinds of stupid.
“It’s not that I’m not interested, Mac. I am. Damn, but I am. In fact, I haven’t been able to get you out of my mind for a few weeks now.”
“Since when? The party?” Mac blinked a few times, unable to imagine Bruiser Mackey lusting over her while he ran his morning miles.
“Actually, before that. I was lusting over the real Mac. The one pre-makeover.”
“Maybe this is the real Mac, but I’ve been hiding.”
“You looked great before. You look great now. Either one works for me, as long as you’re who you want to be—but you don’t need that crap to make yourself pretty.” He shrugged with a frown on his handsome face, even as his gaze did a slow journey down her body and up again.
“Pretty? You think I’m pretty?” God, she sounded so pathetic, like an orphan puppy begging for a little love.
There came that sexy, lopsided smile again. “Yeah, I do.” His eyes glinted like the sun bouncing off silver dollars in a fountain.
“You want me?”
“Is that so hard to believe?” He sobered for a moment. “But what about Brett?”
“There is no Brett. I wish he interested me, but he doesn’t. He’s a great guy, and he deserves a woman who doesn’t have her mind on other…pursuits.” Not as long as Bruiser lived in every one of her sexual fantasies. Fuck, she wanted those fantasies to come true.
“Still, he won’t be happy about this.”
“I wasn’t going to announce it to the whole team.”
A shadow crossed his face in a brief cameo appearance. “You sure this isn’t tequila talking?” Bruiser’s tight laugh betrayed the amount of restraint he currently exercised.
“Do you want me or not, buster?” Well, maybe the tequila did talk—somewhat—but Mac knew what she was doing.
“Fuck yeah.” He leaned toward her, and his scent filled her nostrils, intoxicating her more than any alcohol ever could. His warm breath tickled her neck, sending a shiver through her body. He trailed little kisses up her neck to her ear and along her jawline. Mac gripped the seat as if she’d rocket out of it any second.
In a moment of tequila-fueled boldness, she slid her hand up his thigh to his crotch to that impressive bulge in his pants. She stroked up and down, and he groaned, deep and guttural like an animal in dire need of doing the nasty. With a trembling hand, Mac put a hand on his fly, unbuttoned and unzipped his pants.
“Bruiser?”
“Yeah?” Bruiser lifted his head and watched her with heavy-lidded eyes.
“What I said about your size during the photo shoot in the barn…I was just
