Messing With Mac

5

TAYLOR DREW A DEEP BREATH as she stepped into the hot, hot summer night, refusing to react. If she remained numb, then she wouldn’t feel her burning throat and eyes, or the ache in her chest. If she remained numb, she wouldn’t feel the fist around her heart, squeezing, squeezing.

It wasn’t just the pettiness that upset her, or that she’d thought of those women as friends.

She didn’t care about them. She didn’t care what they thought.

It simply all came back to that alone thing. And she felt so damn alone. Ironic, when she considered her own mother had been inside the party. Oh, they’d kissed hello, air kisses of course, not daring to wrinkle their clothes with a hug. They’d smiled and had made light conversation.

How are you?

Fine, thanks.

Oh, good. You look great.

Surface stuff that meant nothing.

The night was hot, the air thick with the humidity that hadn’t faded from the heat of the day, but that was good. She needed the warmth after the chill of the past hour.

The noises of the party followed her onto the veranda as she walked to the railing and looked down onto the gardens that were considered the most beautiful in all of South Village.

They were stunning, lovingly tended to by generous Historic Society volunteers. Volunteers not afraid of getting their hands dirty or their silk wrinkled.

Which meant a Wellington had never gotten on their knees and so much as pulled a weed in those gardens, including Taylor. Oh sure, she’d volunteered in other ways, by attending expensive charity functions and writing big, fat checks backed by her grandfather.

What kind of woman did that, got to the age of twenty-seven completely supported by someone else’s money? She deserved the pity she’d gotten from those women tonight, but not for the reasons they thought.

She’d never actually worked hard at anything.

Until now.

Leaning on the railing, she rubbed her temples, shedding her tough shell and half her makeup by swiping beneath her damp eyes. Poor little rich girl, she thought with loathing for the moment of self-pity.

Ex-rich girl.

Was it so odd that she’d wanted something from her own mother tonight, after all this time? A real hug? A real smile? Even a real touch? She shouldn’t have bothered coming, should have stayed home.

At the thought of what awaited her there, an empty building stripped down to the studs and a stack of bills so high it made her head spin, her eyes filled again.

God, she felt so alone. So damn alone.

“Taylor.”

At the low, gruff voice she was beginning to know all too well, she stilled. He had a terrible habit of coming up on her in the most vulnerable of moments. “Go away.”

“Yeah, about that.”

She heard his footsteps. Coming closer, damn him. “Mac-”

“You’d like me to vanish, I know. And believe me, I’d like that, too.

In direct opposition to those words, he came even closer. Then closer still, until he set a lean hip against the railing, facing her, his chest brushing her shoulder as he stared down at her while she did her best impression of someone desperately interested in the flowers.

“I wanted to leave before I even got here,” he said.

“So what’s holding you?” She wouldn’t look at him, couldn’t. No one saw her vulnerable and lived. She didn’t care how big he was, how warm- Oh God, he was warm. Heat radiated off him, and despite the hot, sticky night, she wanted more of it.

The need alone made her eyes sting all over again, and released a few of the tears she couldn’t blink back. And then, because she’d been holding her breath, she gave herself away with one horrifyingly obvious sniff.

“Ah, hell,” he muttered. His big hands settled on her bare upper arms as he turned her to face him, and for the life of her, she couldn’t look away. “What’s going on?” he asked.

What was going on? Only everything.

“Princess?”

Suddenly his pet name for her didn’t seem like an insult, not when uttered in the husky, slightly rough voice that was far softer than she imagined he could ever be. Unable to talk without making a bigger fool of herself, she just shook her head.

With the rough pad of his thumb, he stroked a tear off her cheek. She hadn’t worn waterproof mascara, so she probably looked like a raccoon, but even more worrisome than that was the way she reacted to his touch. His thumb continued to make lazy passes over her cheek, his other fingers sank into her hair, and she stood there fighting the most insidious need to sob her heart out.

Silent and strong, he waited, not rushing her, not freaking out because she was crying, not doing anything but waiting patiently for her to pull herself together.

And suddenly she didn’t want to pull herself together, she wanted to bury her face against his shoulder and let go. It was humiliating, appalling, and as if he could read her mind, he made a low, soft sound of empathy in his throat that completely undid her.

“Everything they said was true,” she whispered. “I grew up a spoiled brat.” She waited for some sort of recrimination but he said nothing.

His fingers on her temple were the most soothing touches she’d ever felt. And maybe because of it, or maybe because it was the dark, her mouth ran away with her good sense and she spilled it all. “My family…we’re not close. I don’t know why really, we’re just…different from one another I guess.”

“Not every family is super tight.”

“We’re not even in the realm of tight. Growing up, I was given the fanciest education. On Grandfather’s money. Every few years or so he’d come around and see how his investment was doing, but other than that, we didn’t have much contact. I always thought it was because I disappointed him somehow. Or that he just didn’t have much sentiment in him, but he seemed to enjoy my sisters’ company.”

“Taylor-”

“No.” Not wanting his pity, please God, not his pity, she didn’t look at him. “You know what? Just forget it.”

“You started it, finish it.”

It was amazing how private the veranda was for how many people were just inside. Maybe nobody but the two of them dared the evening heat and humidity.

Mac didn’t mention it one way or another, he seemed focused on her, and only her, and having that much man, all tall, gorgeous and listening to her, really listening, was…well, a fairly intense experience. “My grandfather died,” she said to the night. “And the will was rather…interesting.”

“How interesting?”

“Well, for one thing, he left me the building you’re working on.”

“It’s a beauty.”

“Oh yes,” she agreed. “And a money pit.”

He nodded.

“He…took away the funds that had always been available to me. Every penny. Gave it all to my mother knowing she’d never share.” She closed her eyes and admitted the last painful truth. “Leaving me flat broke.”

“Why wouldn’t your mother share?”

“She’s been saving for a rainy day all her life, she’s…frugal.” She let out a harsh laugh. “The richest frugal person you’ll ever meet.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’s remarried. Lives in Europe, and I don’t see him very often.”

“They were talking about your mother as if she were there tonight.”

“She was,” she said. “She’s Isabel Craftsman.”

Mac’s eyes widened. “The mayor?”

“The one and only.”

“So you’re one of those Wellingtons.”

“That would be me. One of those Wellingtons.” It usually went one of two ways from here. Either the person would stare at her in awe, because her mother, cold and precise as she was, had done excellent things for the city, or the person would sneer, because let’s face it, her mother hadn’t gotten to where she was by making friends.

But Mac looked neither awed nor disgusted. “You really can’t go to her if you need help?”

“I could, but…”

“You won’t,” he finished for her, his eyes filling with something she hadn’t seen from him before. Respect. “What about your sisters?”

“Like I said, we’re not that close.”

“The building is worth a fortune.”

“If I sold it.” She opened her eyes and with fierce determination said, “Which I’m not doing. I’m not walking away from this. I’m not like them, Mac, those women in there, I’m not going to be like them if it kills me.”

“You’re not anything like them,” he agreed.

She’d wanted someone on her side tonight, she’d wanted blind comfort, and this man, her virtual opposite, the thorn in her side, was offering it.

No one had done such a thing for her since Jeff.

Just the thought of him now, with Mac right there, felt like a betrayal to his memory, a stab to her al ready wounded heart, but Mac was throwing her, re acting the way she’d expect Suzanne to react. A friend. A girlfriend.

Not a man.

But she didn’t need him to react this way. She’d learned to depend on no one but herself. She was all she needed, she’d always simply comforted herself, and-

Mac continued to stand there when she sniffed again, not running, not reacting to her tears with his own reasoning.

He simply opened his arms.

And she stepped right into them. Stepped into them and steeped herself in his giving heat and overwhelming strength. Then she did as she’d wanted to, she buried her face in the crook of his neck, deeply inhaling the scent of wood, soap and one-hundred-percent man.

Sinking his fingers into her hair, he lifted her face so he could look into it. She looked back, at the chiseled angle of his jaw, his slightly curved lips, his light golden eyes as they ran over her face before locking on hers.

Taylor felt the jolt of his gaze all the way to her toes. She didn’t know how it was possible, but in his arms her problems seemed to fade away, chased by equal parts awareness and a morbid excitement she couldn’t, wouldn’t, deny. Winding her arms around his neck, she pressed a little closer, absorbing the helpless growl of awareness that rumbled up from Mac’s chest.

A matching awareness combined with a heady female power that sizzled through her, because he felt it, too, whether he wanted to or not, he felt it, too. Proving it, his hands tightened on her, skimmed down her back, then slowly back up again, chasing any lingering chill with a blooming desire she hadn’t expected or wanted but wouldn’t deny. “Um…this might be a good time for you to tell me you’re married,” she said. “Or something.”

“I’m not married.” His mouth quirked. “Or something. I’m not anything with anyone.”

Chest to breast, belly to belly, she stared at him, and he stared at her right back. In that moment, he was the only person in her entire world. Her body felt overwhelmed by that, even as she leaned into him.

Around them, the air crackled, growing more in tense by the second in the hot, summer night, until she could hardly breathe. “Mac…”

“Yeah?”

She sighed.

“Taylor? What is it?”

“I want…” You, she thought. I want you.

Obeying the rampant need and invitation in her breathy voice, he bent his head and kissed her. Softly at first, but then she wrapped her arms around his neck, tight, so that the next kiss came hard, a rapacious, devouring kiss that was wildly carnal and full of erotic intent, and couldn’t have been more deeply intimate if they’d been entirely alone in the world.

“Is that what you were looking for?” he asked when he pulled back, his voice even rougher than usual.

“Yes.” Taylor was breathing hard, and was slightly gratified to see he was, too. For a long moment they just stared at each other, with Taylor’s brain not fully functioning because he’d just destroyed her with yet another devastating thought-she hadn’t lost herself in a man like that since…since.

She hadn’t wanted to.

She would have backed away then, and might even have started running, but his hands were still on her, still holding her securely against him. And in fact, hers were still curled around his neck, her body glued to his.

Of its own free will.

His eyes, locked on hers, were scorching, his body against hers rock hard, obviously aroused, obviously hungry for more. And yet he stood there, waiting.

Who would have expected patience from a man like Mac?

She could take him home. They could spend an energetic, adventurous evening exhausting each other. It would be hot and fast and good. But…and she couldn’t believe this, but…it wouldn’t be enough. For the first time since Jeff, casual sex wouldn’t be enough, not even with Mac.

“I’m going home now,” she said softly, and touched his granite jaw. “Alone.”

“Yeah.” Turning his head, he kissed her palm. “I know.”

Not sure whether she was relieved or insulted-wasn’t he even going to try to talk his way into her bed?-she backed out of his arms.

What did she do now, thank him? The thought made her want to let out a laugh, but it would have been a slightly hysterical one, so she put her fingers to her mouth and swallowed hard. “I’m…I’m thinking that kiss might have been a bad idea.”

“Yeah.”

Now she did laugh. “You might have at least argued.”

“Taylor…was that a normal kind of kiss to you?”

Since her lips still tingled and her heart still pounded, she shook her head.

“No,” he agreed. “And that kind of connection is nothing to mess with.”

“You’ve been hurt, too,” she said quietly, surprised, and mad at herself for not seeing it sooner.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then sighed. “I was married. A long time ago.”

“Do you…have kids?”

A spasm of pain crossed his face. “No. It didn’t work out. It didn’t work out so much that I never intend to get serious again.”

“Never?”

“Never. Ever. Do you follow me?”

“I follow you. I even agree with you.” Her lips quirked in a mirthless smile. “Imagine that.”

Then, with her body still humming with desire, she took a step away. “Good night, Mac.”

“Good night, Taylor.”

MAC WATCHED HER saunter off, cool as rain, head high, and let out a slow, shaky breath. Holy shit, that had been some kiss.

Kisses.

He took a careful, long wobbly breath to even be able to see straight. Another to relax his entire body, which was quite…tense now, thanks to Taylor’s hot, long, sleek bod that she’d plastered to his.

He’d lost himself in her, totally lost himself, when he’d promised himself he’d never do that again.

Well, he was going to have to be more careful than that next time she flashed those expressive, hurting eyes, wasn’t he?

Much more careful.