Jill Shalvis - Messing With Mac

Jerking free, she walked to the doorway, and then looked back. “I’m sorry we can’t share that. I’m sorry I drive you crazy. But most of all, I’m sorry you can’t move on after your marriage.” It didn’t escape her that she hadn’t easily moved on after Jeff. “For that I’m really, really sorry.”

“This has nothing to do with her.”

“Yes, it does. I’m ready for a ride back now, please.”

“Yeah. Fine.” He gestured her to go first.

The walk through the living room toward the front door was a long one, or so it seemed with him trailing after her. Silent.

Seemed it was the best he was going to do.

In the living room, on the green mantel, was a photograph of a much younger Lynn and Thomas Mackenzie. Standing between them was Mac, looking ridiculously young. She’d guess eighteen, given the graduation cap on his head. He’d been tall even then, though much lankier as he stood there with his arms around his parents, smiling a wide, cocky grin utterly void of his usual cynicism.

Her breath caught at how joyful he looked.

“That was a long time ago,” he said behind her.

“I was just wondering what it would take to put that carefree, happy-go-lucky smile back on your face.” She faced him. “I bet wild, screaming, sweaty sex would do it.” Then she walked out the front door.

When he came out a moment later, he climbed into the truck, stared straight ahead with his hands on the wheel, and let out a slow breath. “That was low, offering me wild, screaming, sweaty sex in a weak moment.”

“I wasn’t offering you anything.” She put on her seat belt and refused to look at him. “And you’ve never had a weak moment.”

“Baby, every moment I’m around you, I’m weak.”

She put on her sunglasses, lifted her chin. “You should have that fixed.”

“Let me guess…with wild, screaming, sweaty sex?”

“Whatever works.”

With a low laughing groan, he started the truck and took her home.

T AYLOR’S PHONE WAS RINGINGwhen she walked in her apartment. After getting dropped off by Mac, she’d spent the rest of the day at every estate sale within a thirty mile radius, and was suitably exhausted.

“Need ice cream?” Suzanne asked when Taylor answered.

She kicked off her heels, sank to her bed and sighed. “How did you know?”

“Falling in love is a fattening process, hon. I should know, I’ve gained five pounds since I fell for Ryan. I could be there in fifteen minutes with double chocolate fudge.”

“I’m not falling in love, and I’m not going to gain one ounce over a man, believe me.”

Suzanne laughed, but Taylor was dead serious. She’d learned a lot today, mostly that no matter what she thought she could feel for Mac, it wasn’t ever going to be a two-way street, so forget it. Especially given what he’d thought of her. He’d actually figured her as a…a gold digger!

He’d be lucky if she gave him the time of day. He’d be lucky if…

Damn him, but he’d done the one thing she’d told herself he couldn’t. He’d hurt her. She sighed. “I’m sorry, Suzanne. I’m just…tired.”

“You’ve been working too hard.”

“Nothing a good night’s sleep won’t cure.”

“Are you sure? The offer still stands, fifteen minutes.”

Taylor fell to her back on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. “I’m okay, but thanks.”

After she hung up, she fell asleep almost immediately, only to be abruptly awoken sometime later by the unmistakable and terrifying sound of someone trying to break into her apartment.

MAC LAY NAKED on his bed, sprawled on his back, hands beneath his head, watching time go by.

Midnight.

One o’clock.

Two o’clock.

Apparently sleep wasn’t going to come.

It was the look on Taylor’s face tormenting him-when she’d seen his parents, when she’d seen his place, when he’d been such an ass because she’d gotten so sappy over that picture of him.

He’d wanted her to be plastic. He’d wanted her to be after the family money. He’d wanted, over and over again, for her to reveal a nature he could hate.

Instead she’d been…well, Taylor. Passionate. Steadfast. And unfailingly, consistently, wonderfully behind him.

Even when he hadn’t been behind her.

When his phone rang in the middle of the dark, dark night, it startled him out of his thoughts, which was just as well, since he had no idea where he was going with them.

“M-Mac?”

He’d never heard her sound scared before, and he sat straight up. “Taylor? What’s the matter?”

“You, um, left your nail gun here, which actually turned out to be a good thing.” She let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Oh, Mac.”

He clutched the phone. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”

“Two guys broke in tonight to steal some tools. They found me instead.”

Mac’s heart stopped. “Did they-”

“No, I didn’t let them steal your tools, they’re all still here. The police said-”

“ You, Taylor,” he said through a throat nearly closed with fear. “Are you okay?”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m okay. I held them off with your nail gun.” She managed another laugh. “Thank God it was plugged in, because all I had to do was lift it and put my finger on the trigger. It was just like in Lethal Weapon, or was that Lethal Weapon II? You know the one where they-”

“Taylor.” He kept his voice even with real effort. “Are the police with you now?”

“They just left…”

Her voice quivered, and broke his damn heart. “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

“No. No, I’m fine-”

“Five minutes,” he promised, but drove so fast he made it in three.

AT 2:15 IN THE MORNING the traffic was light to nonexistent in South Village. There were the people emptying out of the bars, and a few other stragglers, but he still managed to get a spot right out front of Taylor’s building.

There was grim satisfaction in that.

He used his key and let himself in. “Taylor?”

The only concession to what had happened was that every light in the place was on.

Which by itself spoke volumes, as Taylor was fastidious when it came to wasting electricity.

“Taylor?” he yelled as he took the stairs.

He found her in her bedroom, sitting on her bed reading Cosmo and sipping iced tea, calm as you please. At her feet, on the pristine bed, lay his nail gun, the cord trailing to the electrical outlet. She was plugged in, ready to go.

Striding toward her, he grabbed the magazine and tossed it aside. He set the tea down on the floor and hauled her to her feet so he could look at her.

Not a hair was out of place. The blond strands fell neatly just past her shoulders. She wore makeup, including a see-through gloss that smelled like strawberries. On the body that had made him want to beg since the day he’d met her was a long column of pale peach silk that clung to her every curve, a ribbon of it tied beneath her breasts, pushing them up and nearly out.

There wasn’t a visible scratch on her, but that didn’t mean-

“You didn’t have to come,” she said. “I told you I’m f-”

“Did they touch you?”

“Of course not. I had them up against the wall. I even shot a few nails into the air to show them I meant business. They were scared spitless, the idiots.”

“So you’re not hurt.”

“I just said so.”

Oh yeah, she was still pissed at him from earlier. But so was he. He was pissed because she made him care. She made him want her, and it wasn’t just a physical ache, which really got him.

Then, as if there wasn’t enough steam coming out his ears, she said, “You can go now that you’ve seen for yourself I’m just fine and dandy.”