Messing With Mac (11 page)

Craning his neck, he looked at her bare, very sexy toes. “I think it's because I'm heavy.”

But when he would have moved off her, she tightened her fingers, which were still embedded in his
butt. “Don't,” she whispered, hugging him tight. “Not yet.”

“You'll suffocate.” With a huge effort, he heaved himself up to his elbows and stared, a little stunned, into her face.

Her cheeks were rosy. Her lips were wet and slightly swollen from his kisses. Her eyes were soft, void of that usual cool haze, and smiling at him.

She was so beautiful it took his breath. “Taylor…”

She slapped his butt. “Anyone ever tell you you're pretty good at that wild, screaming, sweaty sex stuff?”

“
Pretty
good?”

The female smile turned quite smug. “Okay. Pretty,
pretty
good.” Her hips rocked, just a very little, tiny motion, but he felt it all the way to his toes.

Still hard within her, he thrust back.

Smugness vanished as she gasped.

He thrust again.

Her mouth fell open now, her eyes glazing over. “Mac? Again?”

“I have to upgrade ‘pretty, pretty good' to ‘mind-blowingly amazing,' don't I?”

Her breath caught when he dipped down and kissed a breast. “O-okay.”

Another slow, rocking thrust.

And then again.

Taylor arched up, tighter than a drawn bow, her nipples beaded in two hard buds, her skin glowing and damp as he watched her fight to take what he held just out of her reach. “Oh, Mac. Faster. Harder.”

He gave her harder but held back on the faster. Kept it slow until she was clutching at him, mindless again, on the very edge. “Mac!”

Just as it always had been, resisting her took every bit of control he had. “Is it pretty, pretty good?” he whispered.

“It's… Oh, Mac…”

“Easy,” he whispered, running hot, openmouthed kisses down her throat. “We're going to take it nice and easy this time.”

“No, I…
please
…it's…” She opened her eyes on his, and he could tell by the desperation and need warring on her face she couldn't remember what he wanted to hear.

“Mind-blowingly amazing,” he said, helping her. Then stroked a thumb right above where they were joined.

She bucked beneath him. “Mind-blowingly…oh, yeah, it is,” she managed as he slowly, slowly thrust into her. “Mind-blowingly amazing.” And when he stroked his thumb again, her thighs and belly went taut. She held him in a death vise, suspended for a long heartbeat…staring up at him with wide, pas
sion-dazed eyes as she let go, letting him watch her fall.

The honesty nearly killed him, and took him over, too. He let go, giving himself so completely he had no idea how he was going to ever get over it. Over her.

No idea at all.

T
AYLOR AWOKE
as dawn broke and discovered two things. One, Mac was a serious pillow hog, and two, he slept like the living dead.

That worked in her favor, as she needed a moment to digest things, and she couldn't do that with him wrapped around her like a cocoon.

Gently as she could, she slid out from the two strong, warm arms holding her captive against his chest. They must have been sleeping like that for awhile, as her face was stuck to his chest, her chest to his belly.

Lifting her head, she stared down into his face.

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
deep
emotion, and maybe even an emotion that began with the letter
L.

“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
but
those things. She already knew. “Last night I opened up to you, in a way that…” She let out a slow breath and tried to smile. “In a way that, quite frankly, terrifies me. I'm not ready for it, Mac. I'm not ready and I'm fairly certain you're not either.”

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.

 

I
N
M
AC'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
she
avoided him. She was good at it.

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…”

“And we guessed. She had this…glow about her, and she was…I don't know…
happier
than I've seen her in awhile. Maybe happier than I've seen her ever.” Suzanne nudged his shoulder with hers. “She never talks about it, never complains, but we know she's had it rough. We're her best friends, Mac, and we only just met six months ago. Before us, she had no one. I hate to think about her like that, so alone, but even with us hounding her all the time, she holds back. But with you…” She let out a gentle smile.

“Let's just say we're hoping she's not holding back.”

He thought of the night he'd spent with Taylor.

The night he'd held her in his arms, the night they'd rocked each other's worlds with what should have been a simple bout of healthy, recreational sex.

And had really been so much more.

He looked into Suzanne's hopeful eyes and had to tell her the truth. “I don't know what we're doing, Taylor and I, but I doubt it's going in the direction you're thinking.”

“Oh.” Her sweet smile faded some. “Really?”

“Really,” he said regretfully.

She took away his napkin, and then on second thought, took the quiches as well.

“Hey—” His stomach growled in protest.

“Sorry. Turns out I don't have any extra.”

 

M
AC WENT HOME
to more mail. Mostly bills, which he was making his way through, slowly, methodically,
painfully.
He tossed the entire stack to his table, toppling over the previous stack.

And revealed a thick packet from South Village's Town Council. Staring at it, he told himself if they'd turned down his bids, it would have been a nice little white envelope with a short letter saying thanks but no thanks.

But then again, a thanks but no thanks could come with a stack of other projects to bid.

Hence the thick packet.

Heart pounding uncomfortably, he backed to a chair and plopped into it, his legs a little rubbery. Holding his breath, he ripped into the envelope and started reading.

 

T
AYLOR'S ARCHITECT
, Ty Patrick O'Grady, was a tall, dark, gorgeous man with an Irish accent, flashing eyes and a roguish smile.

Taylor happened to know who put that spectacular smile on his face on a daily basis. Nicole, who was going to marry Ty as soon as he convinced her to set an actual date.

But for now, Taylor and Ty, who had some last minute things to go over, were in a meeting. A walking meeting.

Ty grinned at her as they munched on soft pretzels and drank sodas, walking through the lunch crowd along a particularly swank street halfway between Ty's home office and her building.

Using what was left of his pretzel, he pointed at a new upscale lingerie shop. The window display was what had caught his attention. More specifically, the naughty looking black leather skirt, matching crop top, five-inch spikes and whip.

Taylor knew she couldn't so much as afford a pair of panties from the place. How times change, she thought with a sigh that didn't really signify any wistfulness for the changes in her life. She loved where she was, and wouldn't trade it for…well, for all the money in her grandfather's estate.

And yet a new outfit once in awhile would be nice. Yes, she had gorgeous clothes, but all of them—like the emerald green sleeveless dress, matching strappy sandals and wide-brimmed hat she wore today—were leftovers from another era.

Those days were long gone, even if her clothing addiction wasn't.

“I should buy that outfit for Nicole,” Ty said around a huge bite. “What do you think?”

Taylor laughed at the vision of Dr. Nicole Mann, out of her preferred jeans and doctor's jacket, and into the leather. “She'd kill you.”

“Yeah.” Ty's fond grin didn't fade. “Love that woman madly, I do.”

At the utterly pathetically lovelorn expression on this big, tough, former bad boy's Irish face, Taylor had to sigh. What would it be like to bring such a man to his knees with love?

Hell,
she reminded herself viciously. It would be hell, at least on the heart.

She'd come close to forgetting that while lying in Mac's arms, being driven crazy by his mouth, his touch, his voice. She'd come close to forgetting just about everything, including the fact he was never going to love her the way she secretly wanted to be loved.

She'd avoided him. Mostly because she was weak.

One look from his whiskey eyes and she'd leap right back into his arms and screw good pride. She'd take what she could get.

Well, the hell with that. “So about my bath room…”

“Yep.” Ty aimed that killer smile at her. “You can have that antique stand-alone bathtub on claws like you want. The floor will support it, and so will the plumbing. No changes required.”

“And the window turrets? That won't change the structure of the roof?”

“It might piss off your contractor having to add trim now, but it won't change anything major.”

Hmm. Pissing off Mac so he was as unbalanced as she was did have its merits. “How about I let
you
tell him.”

Ty, incredibly observant, cocked his head. “Is something wrong?”

“Of course not.”

“Mac working out okay?”

“Absolutely.”

Not fooled, Ty's brilliant blue eyes narrowed. “I suggested him because even though he's relatively new to this scale and scope of work, I've seen what he can do. The man is magic with his hands.”