Messing With Mac (6 page)

T
AYLOR 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?”

“Well, it's not a relaxation technique I've used much.”

He let out a soft laugh. “Tell me, Princess, when
was the last time you laid in the grass like this and relaxed
period?
”

“Okay so it's not a relaxation technique I've used
ever,
” she admitted.

He tipped his head back, trying to catch as much of the view as possible. “It's always been cheap therapy for me.”

She rolled to her side and came up on her elbow so that she could look at him lying there, all sprawled out, looking so perfectly at home. He was long, lean. Wet. His clothes clung to his sinewy strength but that strength was far more than purely physical, because he had an inner strength as well. “What does a man like you need therapy for?”

“A man like me?” He turned his head toward her, smiling as he reached up and pulled a piece of grass out of her hair. “What does that mean, a man like me?”

“A man like you,” she repeated, her voice a little breathy at the way he was looking at her. “Strong. Intelligent. Your own boss. You run your own life the way you want, the hell with anyone else, so yeah, what does a man like you need from cheap therapy?”

“You'd be surprised.” He pierced her with a look she couldn't quite read. “Do you remember that night at Town Hall?”

How could she forget? “Yes.”

“The kiss. Do you remember the kiss?”

Only every living second.

“Yeah,” he said to her silence. “I thought so. Look, we both walked away that night telling ourselves that
that
was as far as this would go.”

“I know.” He was lying there, prone and wet, soaking up the sun, so close and yet so far, and for some reason she didn't want to think about too hard, she needed to touch him. She ran her finger over his shoulder, down his arm.

His eyes heated. “This wasn't going to happen again, we decided. Did something change for you?”

Good question. Beneath her finger his muscles leaped. “Well…I liked that water fight.”

“Fight? That was a massacre.”

“Yeah.” She smiled. “And it was so cathartic, I guess I'm feeling…reckless. I want to know more about you, Mac.” She was shocked, shocked to the core, to hear the words come out of her mouth and find that she meant them.

“Why?”

She understood the question. They'd both said this wasn't going anywhere. They'd agreed, she knew that, and nothing should have changed.

Except it had. She had this new desire…a desire to know him.

Mac grimaced and caught her hand in his. “Taylor…”

One look into his wary face and she knew. He didn't feel that same desire. Mortified, she tried to tug free. “I know, nothing has changed for you,” she said flatly, turning her head away.

“Wait—”

“No. You don't have to explain why you don't want me.”

His sigh conveyed volumes. “Could you look at me? Please?”

She blinked up into his intense gaze.

“No, I mean
really
look at me,” he said, his voice tight.

Not understanding, she ran her gaze over his body. Over his chest, his flat belly, his— “Oh,” she said faintly, catching sight of a very impressive erection straining the button fly on his jeans.

Her mouth went dry, while between her legs her body had the opposite reaction.

“I want you,” he assured her in that ragged, almost tortured voice. “I want you more than I want my next breath, but that's all it is. Physical. That's all it can be for me.”

“Because of your ex-wife?” She hated the needy part of herself that made her ask.

“Partly,” he admitted. “Mostly.”

It was a struggle but she managed to look like she hadn't just been kicked in the gut. She of all people understood a true, deep, abiding love. She understood how difficult it was to love again once it was gone, and she understood why someone wouldn't want to.

Until five seconds ago she would have said she was one of those people who wouldn't want to. She still thought of Jeff, still loved and cherished the memories of what she'd shared with him, but damn it, he was gone, and had been for so very, very long. She was tired of being lonely, tired of being alone and desperately tired of sex that only just barely scratched an itch.

Terrifying as it was, she wanted more. “She…left you?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Her heart cracked. “And you never recovered.”

“Recovered?” He considered that for a long moment. “No. I never recovered,” he agreed, and the cracks in her heart gave, breaking into pieces because she knew, she
knew
what he meant.

“How long ago?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Four years.”

“Do you still l—”

“Taylor.” He rubbed his eyes. “Maybe we could talk about something else.
Anything
else.”

“Like…?”

“Jeff.” His eyes softened when she gasped. “Your sister mentioned him. Said he was the love of your life.” He ran a finger over her jaw.

“Was,” she repeated quietly.

“What happened?”

“We were days away from eloping, and he…um, he died. In a car accident.”

Swearing softly, he used all his fingers now, sank them into her hair line. “I'm sorry.”

Sorry because he'd asked, or sorry because he was the first man to make her remember what it was like to feel a rush of so many dizzying emotions she could hardly breathe?

“Where does this leave us, Mac?” Leaning in, she rested a hand on his chest. “I need to know.”

“It leaves us hot and achy.”

She spread her fingers wide on his chest, touching as much of him as she could. “So we're not going to…” Her hand trailed to his belly button, and would have maybe drifted further south if he hadn't caught it in his.

A genuinely pained groan escaped him. “Are you
trying
to kill me?”

“I'm trying to feel better.”

In a move that brought tears to her eyes, Mac brought her fingers to his mouth. “Touching you,
kissing every inch of you, sinking into your body, that would most definitely make me feel better.”

Hearing the erotic words whispered with such sensual intent made her shudder. Yes. Yes, it would make her feel better, too.

Now, please.

“But what about after?” He stroked a finger over her shoulder. “This thing won't just go away with one trip to the bedroom.”

“So let's make it two,” she said recklessly.

“I'm serious.”

“It's not like you're moving to another planet after this job,” she said with a teasing smile that faded when he just looked at her, his eyes filled with both heat and regret. She forced a laugh past the lump in her throat, because for the first time
she
was making the move, putting herself on the line, and it was scary as hell, especially given she was about to be flatly rejected. “What? You're busy already?”

“Taylor.” God, the sound of her name on his lips, in that low, gruff, tortured voice.

And she knew. He was walking away from this before they even got started. Which, damn it, is exactly what she'd wanted, too. Until right now, right this very moment. “Don't. Don't say it, Mac.”

“I can't give you what you want.” His expression was a mask of torment. “I just can't.”

“I asked you not to say it,” she tried to quip, and failed utterly. To save maybe even an ounce of pride, she sat up.

While they'd been lying there watching the clouds go by and breaking her heart all over again, the hose had turned the grass into a slip and slide zone. Her shirt was drenched, and so was her skirt. God only knew what her hair looked like.

She was a mess, inside and out, and looking down at Mac, also wet, but looking all the more magnificent for it, she felt a surge of resentment.

Temper was good, she decided, staggering to her feet and grabbing the hose again. Temper bypassed desolation and misery. Temper gave her strength. And guts.

And it was temper that had her leveling the hose on Mac once more as he lay there all comfortable and cozy with his closed off heart and gorgeous body and incredible mouth that had left her aching.

When the icy water hit his prone body, he swore and lunged for her. She whirled to run but he was faster, knocking her feet out from beneath her, catching her as she fell.

Right on her hat.

“You're right,” he growled, squishing it flat beneath her with his weight. “That was damn cathartic.” He then tucked her body more fully beneath his,
and once again she found herself right where secretly she'd wanted to be.

Under him.

His smug smile faded as he looked down into her eyes, and indeed, all of her temper faded as well. Damn him, she thought, swallowing hard when he spread his hands on either side of her face. Damn him all over again because his mouth was lowering to hers, and all on its own, her mouth rose up—

“Oh, my,” came a shocked female voice as two sandaled feet came into view. Peach toenail polish and two silver toe rings.

Suzanne.

“Hmm,” came another female voice, not shocked, wearing black combat boots.

Nicole.

“Maybe we should go away,” Suzanne whispered, presumably to Nicole.

“Definitely going away,” Nicole agreed.

And not one of the four feet moved.

With a sigh, Taylor shoved at Mac. With one last stroke of his thumb over her bottom lip, he surged to his feet, bringing her up with him.

Indeed both Suzanne and Nicole stood there, gaping, Suzanne in one of her flowery, flowing sundresses with crystals in her ears, and Nicole in a black tank and camouflage pants.

Neither of her friends said a word, just looked at them both with shock.

Not that Taylor could blame them. Dry, Mac was a most amazing specimen of a man—tall, built and hot.

Wet, he was every woman's fantasy.

Especially hers.

Mac thrust out his hand as if he hadn't just been sprawled over the top of their best friend. “I'm Mac.”

“Nicole,” Nicole said slowly, eyeing him very carefully as she shook his hand. “And this is Suzanne.”

Mac shook her hand, too, smiling, looking totally and completely at ease even as water ran from his hair and down his face.

“I, uh…” Taylor looked at Mac, for the first time in her life utterly at loss for words. “We were…just…”

“I think we know what you were just,” Nicole said with a straight face.

Suzanne couldn't keep hers though, and she grinned. “You were making out. On the grass. With water. On your pretty clothes. You even squashed your hat. Oh, Taylor.” She laughed and clapped her hands together. “It's so wonderful.”