Messing With Mac Read online

  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 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.”

  MAC 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.

  TAYLOR’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?”