Jill Shalvis - Messing With Mac

“So why don’t the two of you join us for lunch?” his father asked.

Taylor looked at Mac, interested to see if he’d allow this.

“Sorry.” Mac kissed both his parents, then gripped Taylor’s arm. “We have to go.” And he dragged her out of there so fast her head spun.

“Smooth,” she said when they were both out on the busy street. “Making sure I couldn’t drill the parentals.”

“Hey, I was just making sure they couldn’t drill you. I love them, but believe me, they’re ruthless matchmakers.” He stopped at a hot dog vendor on the corner. “One or two dogs?” he asked Taylor.

She gaped at him. “This is the lunch you offered me? The one that is supposed to make me sigh in bliss?”

“One or two?”

South Village had nearly as many cafés and restaurants as it did people, and most of them were excellent. On weekends, 20,000 people from all over flocked to the streets to experience the food. It was one of her favorite things about living here, something she hadn’t been able to afford lately, and Mac, who had earned a good chunk of her money recently, was going to buy her hot dogs? From a street vendor? “Two,” she sighed, and made him buy her barbecue chips, too. She didn’t say a word as he took their food and started walking, she just followed.

Which brought her to another bone of contention. When had she ever followed a man?

They walked around the block to the back of the town hall, where the botanical gardens bloomed in vivid, vibrant colors. In the light of day, they dazzled in every shape and hue, and Taylor had to admit, just walking through on one of the brick trails, with the scents and sights, she sighed in sheer pleasure of being outside.

They sat down and he handed her a hot dog. “Ketchup?”

Shaking her head, she took a bite. It was heavenly. Damn, she hated when he was right. “So…why didn’t you tell me?”

Mac was suddenly very busy eating. “Tell you what?”

“That you come from the same kind of world I do?”

“We don’t.”

His parents had just about dripped elegant sophistication. “Of course we did, I just met-”

“You just met the two nosiest, bossiest, most interfering parents on the face of this earth, yes. And they love me, ridiculously so, but they never sent me away to schools for years on end, and they sure as hell never ignored me, not my hopes and dreams, not me as a person. Not once.” He nudged her arm with his, his eyes painfully deep. “That never should have happened to you either, Taylor.”

All her life she’d felt like a bug on a slide, people waiting for her to make a fool out of her family’s name, people waiting for her to fall on her face. And all her life there hadn’t been many to understand what that had been like. Only Jeff.

But Mac…he was looking at her with empathy, too. Because he understood. He understood her.

While thinking about this, she inhaled every last chip in the bag, and didn’t even flinch over the calorie content. “What I mean is,” she said, trying again.

“We both came from considerable wealth.”

Some of the warmth faded from his eyes. “I don’t consider myself that way.”

“Oh, come on Mac, I saw your mom’s shoes.

Prada,” she said with a sigh, licking mustard off her thumb. She started in on the second hot dog. “And the diamond earrings. Stunning. You can’t tell me they don’t pull down mind-boggling salaries.”

With careful consideration, he took his last bite of hot dog. Polished off his soda. Leaned back, away from her, he slid his sunglasses over his eyes as he viewed the incredible colors around them. “I suppose they do.”

“So all those times you called me a princess? Why didn’t you ever say anything about it?”

“And when should I have done that? When we first met and I needed your job?” He set down his drink and stood. “Or maybe when you were snubbed by those women at the historical society meeting? Yeah, maybe I should have told you then, when you were smarting over what they’d said to you.”

Shocked at his bitter tone, she rose, too. “I’m just saying, that as two people who share some of the same experiences-”

“No. That we haven’t done. We don’t share anything.” He dumped their trash and took her back to the truck.

She’d expected the silence. She didn’t expect him to drive in the opposite direction of which she lived. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“I don’t like surprises.”

“Well, then, chances are, you’re not going to like this,” he said grimly.

He turned into The Tracks. The streets here had gone through changes. Like many others in town, the buildings dated back to the turn of the twentieth century. But somewhere in the past fifty years, the neighborhood had started to go. Many of the houses had been declared off-limits due to dangerous conditions. Slowly, with the resurgence of neighbor hood pride and the Historical Society’s interference, some of that had started to change. Houses had been purchased, slated for rehaul, and were in various stages of renovation.

They made a left and ended up on a cul-de-sac.

Houses gleamed with the quaint and charming aura of the old redone.

Except for one.

The two-story Victorian, with its busted turrets, cracked paint and lovely but crooked wraparound porch hadn’t been touched, though there did seem to be signs of life. The lawn had been mowed. There was a potted plant on an upstairs windowsill.

Mac parked in front of it. “Home sweet home,” he said wryly. “Come on.”

The foyer had orange shag carpet. “From 1972,” he said, disgusted. “The idiots put it over hardwood floors. I’ll be restoring that soon as I can, before I go blind from the glow.”

The living room had an ornately carved fireplace, painted nauseous green. “The 1970s were a bitch on good taste,” he said. “Green and orange should have been outlawed. I’m going to restore that, too.”

The kitchen was a treasure trove of nooks and crannies, but there the cabinet doors had been removed, the edgings painted in black.

“Not sure what the hell year someone tortured this poor kitchen, but it’s so bad I’ll probably start here.” He looked at her from inscrutable eyes. “If I ever get out of debt.”

“Debt?”

His expression was grim, and definitely said “back off.” Fine. But she resented his obvious thought process-that because she’d seen his parents and knew his background, that she’d assumed he had money. “You’re an amazing talent when it comes to renovation,” she said slowly. “You need to get into some of South Village’s renovation projects. There’s lots of money there.”

“I plan to. After your building is finished, my resume is complete. I have several bids in with the town council, bids I’m staking everything on.”

“So I’m a stepping stone.”

“If you want to look at it that way.”

“A stepping stone, and apparently a gold digger as well.”

He winced and rubbed the day’s growth of beard on his jaw.

The sound of it made her belly quiver, but temper took precedence. “It’s true, isn’t it? You’re showing me all this to make sure I know you don’t have any money like your parents. That pisses me off, Mac.”

“Look, I sold everything I had to get into this place. I think I even promised the bank my firstborn child. I’m feeling a little protective.”

Which, she figured, was as much an apology as she was going to get.

“I’m not who you think I am,” he said.

She put her hands on her hips. “And just who do I think you are?”

“A man with a trust fund.”

“Well, isn’t that flattering.” Oh, she was so out of there. She got two steps before he grabbed her arm.

“Okay, listen,” he said to her back. “My ex-wife took just about everything I had in the divorce.

There’s nothing left for anyone to want.”

She struggled to contain her temper. And couldn’t.

“But even before that I didn’t have much. I walked away from all that right out of high school when I went into the police academy.”

That caused her to crane her neck and blink at him. “You were a cop?”

“Until four years ago. And there’s not a lot of money in that vocation either, trust me.”

“I don’t care about your money, Mac. And it’s damned insulting that you think I do.”

“I saw your eyes light up talking about my parents’ money.”

“What you saw,” she said through grated teeth, wondering how such a smart man could be so dumb, “was a woman thrilled to the bone to have met a man who could understand her. A man who came from a similar background, a man who in spite of it is going to make his own way.” She softened her voice because suddenly she couldn’t keep yelling at him with her throat burning. “A man who can see the potential in something, and want to make it right. God, Mac, don’t you see? I saw more of you today than you’ve ever let me see, and it should have been wonderful. It should have been a joy to realize we’re both doing the same thing, taking a piece of history and bringing it back. How you managed to suck the fun right out of that is beyond me, but you have.”

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.

TAYLOR’S PHONE WAS RINGING when 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.