Jill Shalvis - Messing With Mac

He was good at that, she’d noticed, not saying a word and yet conveying so much. “Oh, leave me to my bad mood.”

“I have a better idea.” He walked into her room like he owned the place, in his customary Levi’s and T-shirt, a pencil behind one ear and a set of plans rolled up in his hands, looking tall, leanly muscled and tough.

She wanted to be tough, but just looking at him made her feel soft. Feminine.

“Come on.”

Startling her, he set the plans on her bed, took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

He had her halfway out the door before she dug in her heels, not that that stopped him. She tried a hand to his back, but that only electrified her with the heat and strength of him. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“Mac-”

The look he shot her was pure male frustration. “Look, you need a break, I’ve got an errand to run, and if you come along like a good little girl, I promise to buy you a lunch that will make you sigh in bliss.” His whiskey eyes and rugged features crinkled into an enticing smile. “Okay?”

Smiling. He was smiling at her. Her tummy fluttered. “What’s the matter with you today?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve avoided talking to me about anything other than business, and you’ve avoided physical contact like the plague.”

“Not like the plague.”

“What then?”

“Maybe more like…a good tall frosty beer at lunch.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Sure it does. You know the cool brew is going to go down like pure heaven, but afterwards, it’s going to impair your judgment.”

She narrowed her eyes, not flattered. “Hmm.”

He laughed. Laughed. “Look, maybe I’m doing this because I don’t like to see you sad.”

“I’m not-”

“Aren’t you?”

She stared at him, disconcerted that he could see right through her in a way no one else did.

“You going to tell me what’s up?”

“No,” she said automatically, because he didn’t really want to hear she was lonely and needed to be held. But just in case he was astute enough to see it, she examined the manicure she’d given herself last night.

“Ah.” His eyes lit with pure trouble. “You broke a nail.”

“I did not break a nail, nor would I fret over it if I had.”

A big fat lie.

“Then you’re having a bad hair day,” he decided with just enough bite that made her realize damn good and well he was just trying to goad her out of her mood.

Sweet of him, really, but she wanted to be grumpy at the world.

She wanted to be grumpy at him, too, for reasons that didn’t bear examining too closely. “Do I look like I’m having a bad hair day?” she asked.

He grinned, a stunning show of masculinity that made her mouth want to fall open.

She closed it tight.

“Now that, Princess, is a trick question. It’s like asking a man if your pants make you look fat. Damned from the get-go, no matter what I say.”

“Which proves my point,” she said. “Men are idiots. You could just say ‘you look great, honey.’ End of discussion.”

“You look great, honey,” he said, eyes hot, all teasing gone, just like that. “End of discussion.”

“Mac-”

“Just give me an hour,” he said softly, and ran a finger over her jaw.

Her heart sighed in a way it wasn’t used to. It’d been a very long time since a man had made her heart want to. “An hour,” she repeated, and followed him downstairs and into his truck.

She had the uneasy feeling she would have followed the irresistible man anywhere.

MAC HAD NO IDEA what had made him do the Boy Scout rescue with Taylor, but here he was, driving along on his errand to South Village’s town hall to check on permits, with her sitting beside him. His only defense…she’d looked as if she’d had the weight of the world on her shoulders, as if she’d been unbearably lonely.

It had tugged good and hard on the heart he’d thought dead.

Sap.

Whipping the truck into midday South Village traffic, he decided the next time she turned those expressive sea-green eyes on him, he’d just turn around and walk away.

The hell with walking, he’d run.

“Look at all these people.” Her face was turned to the passenger window as they passed a bookstore, a theater and two packed sidewalk cafes… The sidewalks themselves were lined with the lunch crowd. People were walking, in-line skating, jogging. “Everyone seems so…focused.”

She seemed wistful, a little envious even, which surprised him. “You’re focused,” he said.

Turning her head, she looked at him. “You think so?”

“You’re renovating a historical building. That takes focus.”

“No, you’re renovating a historical building. I’m just funding it.”

“By buying and selling antiques.” He shook his head. “Your talent for such things is amazing.”

“Really?”

She seemed so genuinely blown away by his statement that he looked at her, then wished he hadn’t. It was the vulnerable Taylor again, the woman who had fears and doubts, and was so human he wanted to haul her close and never let go.

That was the Taylor he needed to stay away from.

But she leaned in close, giving him an up-front and personal view of her with that very private expression. She had a smattering of light freckles across her nose. He’d never noticed them before. In her ears twinkled tiny twin diamond studs.

Sweet sophistication.

Sexy as hell.

And the most determined person he’d ever met.

He’d never met a woman like her.

“You don’t have to baby-sit me,” she said. “I’m really fine.”

“You’re a good liar, is what you are.”

She leaned back in her seat and turned straight ahead, making guilt swamp him. What right did he have to pry when he didn’t want her to do the same back? “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. Sorry I’m in your truck.”

“Taylor-”

“You want to know what’s wrong with me?” she asked, her voice suddenly low and sultry, her eyes suddenly hot, hot, hot. “You want to know what would make me feel all better?” She leaned toward him again, and ran her tongue over her lush, glossed lower lip. “Do you?”

He could only shake his head. “Um…no-”

“Sex,” she whispered. “Wild, screaming, sweaty sex. That’s what would make me feel better.”

He tried to speak, but found he didn’t have a voice, and had to clear his throat. “Taylor-”

“Just in case you wanted to know.”

Just in case he wanted to know. Wild, screaming, sweaty sex. Images flitted in and out of his head. He was hard as a rock. “Let’s try this instead,” he suggested, and pulled up in front of the town hall.

The last time they’d been here together hadn’t exactly been a calm experience, but Mac tried to forget about that as he led her up the front steps. They took an elevator to the third floor, which housed the building department.

Taylor was silent until the elevator doors slid closed. Mac had never had this elevator all to himself, not once. He figured the fates were having a good laugh at his expense that he was alone with her now. A woman who wanted-

“I’ve never been turned down for wild, screaming, sweaty sex before,” she said.

Mac stared at the control panel, gritting his teeth.

“Yeah. It’s a first for me, too.”

She waited until the elevator dipped a little as it came to their floor. “Why?”

For a brief second he closed his eyes to the bafflement and hurt in her voice. “Because with you, Taylor, it wouldn’t just be wild, screaming, sweaty sex.

With you, it would be different. And God help me, but I can’t handle it.”

She stared at him, then slowly, as the doors opened and people waited politely to get on, she sighed. “Yeah.”

He had no idea if that was an admission that it would be more for her, too, or if she was just agreeing that he couldn’t handle it.

He practically ran out of the elevator.

“What are we doing here?” she asked as she followed him down the hall.

“Checking on permits.” They came to the right office. Without thinking, he put his hand low on her spine, leaning past her to open and hold the office door for her.

At the feel of her, he jolted, and so did she.

Looking at him from accusing eyes, she whispered, “See?” Putting her mouth to his ear, she let her lips brush against his sensitive skin. “Twitchy. We’re twitchy for S-E-X.”

Oh yeah, she was killing him. He’d been sporting an erection since she’d gotten in his truck, and there was no relief in sight.

They waited in line for three minutes and thirty-three seconds-not that he was counting-standing close, breathing each other’s air, arms brushing, until Mac was in such a state he couldn’t remember why the hell he’d thought being with her today would be a good idea.

It was a dumb idea. A really, really dumb idea.

Made even dumber when exiting the elevator on their way out of the building five minutes later-thankfully with a handful of other people this time-they ran into an older couple he knew well.

“Mac!” The woman, dressed to the hilt in a black suit and sensible heels, reached for him. “Oh, Mac!”

Taylor watched with interest as the very elegant woman hugged Mac, then pulled back to smile into his face. “What a pleasant surprise.”

The man hugged him too, complete with manly back slapping. “Hey, I was on the green yesterday,” he said. “Hit an 82, three under par. When are you going to join me?”

Mac winced. “I don’t play anymore. You know that. I haven’t played in years.”

“Four,” the woman said with a pointed expression. “You haven’t played golf in four years. Since-”

“I remember,” Mac said, a strained smile on his lips. “I’m just too busy these days.”

“Ah,” the woman said with that same pointed expression.

Mac looked at Taylor, and if she’d known better, she’d have sworn he looked rather adorably panicked. “Well, we’ve got to-”

“No, wait. We’re just heading off to lunch,” the man said. “Come with us. Both of you,” he said politely, eyeing Taylor with friendly curiosity. He had a look to him, and he reminded her of-

“Taylor.” Mac swiped at his cheek, which had the woman’s lipstick on it. “This is Assistant District Attorney Lynn Mackenzie, and her husband Judge Thomas Mackenzie.”

The assistant DA grinned. “Taylor, what a lovely name.” To Mac she said, “And you! You got yourself a girlfriend! Oh, Mac, and you never said a word.”

“Uh…” Mac avoided looking at Taylor. “No, I’m just working on her building.”

“Ah, a business relationship.” The woman lifted a teasing brow. “I get it.”

“No, really.” Mac shifted on his feet, which Taylor found fascinating. “She’s a client.”

Also fascinating, was the slight tinge on his tanned cheeks.

Mac was blushing.

“It’s just a business thing,” he said.

The assistant DA studied Mac closely, her eyes lit as if she was onto a scoop. “Are you just saying that so I’ll go away?”

“Absolutely not.” Mac still hadn’t looked at Taylor.

“Darn it,” the woman said forcefully, glaring at the man with her. “Darn it!”

“Now, Lynn, I’m sure he’ll come around one day soon, and-”

“No he won’t, he’s too stubborn.”

“Yeah, well…we’ve really got to go…” Grabbing Taylor’s elbow, Mac tried to back out of the circle. “Nice see you…uh…Judge.”

“Hold it right there, Thomas Ian Mackenzie.” The assistant DA put her hands on her hips. “Are you trying to hide the fact that we’re you’re parents?”

And though Taylor should have seen that one coming, her jaw dropped. She stared at Mac. “You’re the son of the judge?”

Mac sighed. “Yeah.”

“And the son of one of the assistant DAs?”

“That, too,” he admitted.

“You are kidding me!”

Lynn’s smile faded a bit. “Is this a problem?”

Taylor sighed. “No. It’s not a problem. It’s…um, lovely to meet you.”

Lynn crossed her arms. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“No, really.” Taylor eyed Mac, thinking she’d kill him later. “It’s just that Mac might have mentioned any time over the past few months he was the son of the judge and an assistant DA, sometime like…oh, I don’t know…maybe when I told him I’m Isabel Craftsman’s daughter.”

“Isabel Craftsman, the mayor?”

“Yes,” Taylor, said, staring at Mac, who was still avoiding her gaze.

“Hmm.” Lynn raised her eyebrows as she eyed Mac. “I think I see.”

“Mom-”

“Oh, now he calls me Mom.” Much more friendly now, Lynn shook her head at Taylor. “Honestly, Taylor, I’ve never seen this man before and he’s calling me Mom.”

Taylor had to laugh at the easy wit and charm, but she supposed she would have expected no less from whoever had raised Mac.