by Jill Shalvis
“Thank you,” she said softly.
He didn’t want to contemplate what just that smile of hers did to his insides. Did she know? Probably not, or she wouldn’t still be looking at him like that. They’d both agreed—nothing could, or would, happen. But he had to make sure. “Now, about the personal stuff.”
Her face closed up again and he had to laugh. “After all you’re going through, I’d think a little kiss would be the least of your problems.”
“If it had been just one ‘little kiss,”’ she said, shocking him with her boldness, “then it would be the least of my problems.”
Hell. At her sides, her own hands were fisted. Because she couldn’t keep her hands off him either, or because she wanted to slug him? “Tell me why you don’t want this,” he asked quietly.
“Truth?”
“Truth.”
She lifted her head, so close to him now that they could have leaned in just a fraction and had their mouths meet. “I do casual,” she whispered. “I do casual real well. But not more than that, not ever more. And this…” She sighed, closed her eyes. “This feels like more to me, Mac, and it scares me to death.”
“Yeah. Look, I—”
“Mac.” One of his laborers stood in the doorway. “You’re needed downstairs.”
Taylor turned away.
“We’ll finish this later,” he told her slim back.
She lifted a shoulder.
“Taylor—”
“I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“Oh, it’s necessary,” he said, watching her stiffen. He was sorry for that, but they worked together, would have to continue to do so.
They had to finish talking about this, they had to.
Then maybe he could stop thinking about it.
7
BUT LATER NEVER CAME. Not that day and not the next, because Taylor did something Mac didn’t expect. She avoided him. She avoided him good.
She avoided him through the installation of all the plumbing and electrical. Through the hanging and taping of the new drywall.
Which admittedly wasn’t that difficult, as he used good subcontractors, and for nearly two weeks his presence wasn’t required more than an hour here and there.
One morning he stood out front of her building with the hose, spraying down the tools they’d used to texture the new walls, lost in concentration, when a breathy female voice whispered “excuse me” in his ear.
Head whipping up, his gaze collided with…a petite version of Taylor? He’d have sworn Taylor Wellington was a serious one-of-a-kind, yet this woman had the blond hair, the same see-through green eyes, the matching cynical tilt to her head…but that’s where the similarities ended.
She came barely to his shoulders, and where Taylor defined elegance and sophistication, this slightly younger version defined urban hip. She was dressed in painted on jeans and a little crop top that showed off a sparkling diamond in her belly button, and when she turned around in a circle with a little delighted laugh, he saw the rose tattoo rising above her belt line.
Now, why anyone would want a plant growing out of their butt boggled the mind, but having passed his thirtieth birthday almost two years ago, he’d discovered he was completely out of touch when it came to such things.
“I look a lot like her, don’t I?” She grinned. “I’m Liza. Taylor’s baby sister. And you’re…”
“Mac.”
“The current boy toy?”
She actually batted her lashes as she asked this, and suddenly Mac saw another difference. Where Taylor’s eyes and voice were soft at times, even giving, there was nothing soft about Liza. She was cold and hard, and had been around the block more than once. “Boy toy?” he repeated, scratching his jaw. “Uh…no.”
Liza laughed. “You’re rougher than her usual type, which is usually way too…upscale for me.” A sideways look raked over his body, slowly. “But if she put you in a well-tailored suit…oh yeah, baby, I can see her going for you.” Running her tongue over her bottom lip, she looked at him from beneath half-closed, sleepy, sexy eyes. “You’re hot.”
It’d been awhile since a woman had come on to him so blatantly. In fact, he nearly looked behind him to make sure she was talking to him.
“I have to give it to good old sis,” Liza said. “She always did have great taste. Some advice though, just don’t get attached. Taylor doesn’t dabble with one man for long, not since Jeff.”
“Jeff?”
“Her one great love,” she said with overplayed dramatic flair, and stepping close, she ran a finger over his shoulder, down his arm. “Sis is under the mistaken impression that he was the greatest guy on the planet, and that her turn at happiness has come and gone. Stupid, huh? I mean there are billions of guys on this planet.” Her eyes went sultry, speculative. “So how about it, big boy? Are you playing with Taylor, or are you available?”
He caught her wandering finger just as it roamed down his chest toward his navel. “I’m the contractor.”
“Ah, the contractor.” Her eyes darkened as she looked up at the building. “Grandpa always did like her best.”
Mac figured the sisters weren’t very close if even he knew better than that.
“So is she here?” She tossed her head, flipping her hair artfully around her face. “Or are we all alone?”
“Look…” He wracked his brain for her name. “Liza—”
“Uh-oh.” She affected a pout, and before he could stop her, she cupped his face in her hands. “You’re scowling. Didn’t your momma ever tell you that would give you wrinkles?”
Now she rested her body against his, making sure to rub up against the vee of his jeans like a cat in heat. “Or maybe you don’t care about wrinkles. Men never do, they don’t need to. Your laugh lines are sexy.”
Curling his fingers around her wrists, he pried her off him and held her away. “Okay, that’s enough—”
“Liza!”
Liza didn’t flinch at her sister’s voice, just stuck out that lower lip even further as she turned to face Taylor, who came out of the building, looking sophisticated and elegant as ever, even with her eyes flashing.
“Hey, sis.” Liza sidled back up to Mac. “Look what I found.”
“Stop torturing my contractor.”
“Oh, Taylor, but he’s so gorgeous. Can I keep him?” Mashing her breasts against Mac’s arm, she batted her lashes at Taylor, who looked immune. “Pretty please?”
“Knock it off.” She wore a loose and flowing white skirt, a bright red top and wide-brimmed straw hat. And looked good enough to eat.
Mac was suddenly starving. He separated himself from Liza, not an easy feat. Taylor was looking at him again, and he still didn’t have a clue to what she was thinking.
“What do you need, Liza?” she asked her sister.
“You aren’t going to even invite me in, show me around?”
“That’s not why you’re here.”
Liza tried sticking her lower lip out further but Taylor didn’t budge or soften her expression. “Money,” Liza muttered. “I need money.”
“Try asking your mother.”
“She’s your mother, too.”
Taylor just stared at Liza, not giving an inch.
“Well, she’s so damn tightfisted, what’s the point?” Liza muttered.
Taylor lifted a brow, apparently agreeing with that assessment, but she shook her head. “I have nothing to give you.”
“You never have anything to give.”
Taylor closed her eyes briefly. “I’m sorry about the times I wasn’t there for you when I could have been. But the truth is, now that I might want to help, I can’t. I just can’t.”
“Yeah, whatever. It’s no skin off my nose.” With one last lingering look at Mac, she spun on her heels and stalked off.
“Liza.”
Liza didn’t look back, just let herself out of the gate where she faded into the noon crowd on the streets.
Mac expected Taylor to spin on her
heels as well, heading back into the building. Or toward her car. Instead, she just stood there, lost in her own world.
Eyeing her with wariness, he stepped closer. “Your sister is…interesting.”
She lifted her head and looked at him. Her eyes were filled with annoyance, temper and a good amount of heat. “She’s the baby of the family, and I’d say a spoiled rotten brat, but what she really is, is a woman-child desperate for attention.”
“That was no child.”
“No, you’re right, she’s twenty-one, old enough to know better. Did she…bother you before I got out here?”
“No.”
“Did she…sexually harass you?”
Mac let out a bark of laughter at that. “Yeah. And I’m going to sue over my good honor.”
“I’m serious, Mac.”
“I’m going to live.”
“Yes, but…” She looked at him. Looked at the sky. Then back at him. “Mac…”
A disparaging sound escaped her. “I’m trying to say I’m…”
Mac cocked his head, studying the uncomfortable Taylor with curiosity. “You’re trying to say…what?”
“I just wanted to…” She held her breath, then let out a huff and turned in a slow circle while Mac waited.
Something was sticking in her craw, but what, he had no idea. Unless…oh yeah. She was trying to apologize. What was so interesting about that was that she looked as if she might choke over it. “Problem?” he asked, suddenly feeling like smiling.
“No. I just wanted to say…”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry.” She glared at him as if this was all his fault. “I’m sorry if Liza came onto you and made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry you had to deal with her on the job. It was unfair and…and…”
“And you’re sorry.” He grinned now, because who would have known she could look adorable. “That was pretty tough, huh? Using the s-word?”
“It’s even harder with you laughing at me,” she said, adding a look of daggers.
“Oh, no, I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing with you.” But he kept on grinning, which pretty much made smoke come out her ears.
Her eyes were twin pools of fire. And her body language, hands fisted on her hips, shoulders back, head up… Battle ready, she was, no doubt.
Call him sick, but he liked it, he liked to see her temper flare, though he was quite certain he’d be risking certain death to admit such a thing to her. “I don’t suppose you’d try to say it again, so I can watch you squirm some more?”
“You’re a bastard, you know that?”
“Yep,” he told her back as she stalked off. “I’ve definitely heard that one before.”
Stopping, Taylor slowly turned back to face him.
She’d barely been able to resist the urge to put her hands on her hips and stomp her feet like a child at the sight of Liza snuggled up to him, but that would be churlish, even childish.
And certainly she had amused him enough al ready.
But nobody laughed at her, nobody.
And yet there he stood, hair blowing in the breeze, eyes lit with good humor—at her expense—his long, lean, rangy body relaxed as can be.
That even now she could look at him and feel a spark, feel a need to launch herself against him and hold on tight, really burned.
“Watch your pretty sandals there, Princess,” he said, pointing to where she stood, which was next to his hose. The water had started to pool.
That it was still morning didn’t matter in the summertime heat of Southern California. She hadn’t even realized how hot she was until the chilled water lapped over her toes.
She eyed the hose. Eyed Mac.
“Don’t even think about it,” he said in a warning tone that cooked her goose all the way to finish.
“Oh, I’m thinking about it.” She’d do more than think. Very carefully she set her hat down on the grass. She loved that hat and didn’t want it to get wet like Mac was going to. He was going to get very wet.
“Taylor,” he said in that low, gruff, thrillingly sexy voice.
But not only did no one laugh at her, no one told her what to do.
Ever.
Before she knew it, she’d picked up the hose and turned it on him, hitting him full in the chest.
The water was cold, which, she supposed, explained his yelp. Or it might have to do with the fact she lowered her aim just a bit.
The sound that escaped him now was a definite growl, a growl that signified an upcoming battle.
Half horrified, half exhilarated, she continued to hold the hose on him and stepped closer.
It knocked him back a step, and a group of people who’d come out of the ice-cream shop across the street whooped and hollered.
Mac ignored them, grinning a wholly evil grin at her that made her hesitate a moment.
Which is how he tackled her to the patch of grass behind her, holding her down with his big, warm, strong body sprawled over hers.
She couldn’t believe it, but he’d gotten the best of her. Her, Taylor Wellington, a woman no one got the better of, ever.
Thankfully the wood fence across the front of her property, while mostly decoration, was high enough to now block them from view of pedestrian traffic, so she didn’t have to think about that humiliation.
Lifting his face, Mac smiled a little wickedly down into hers, water raining off him onto her skin. Then he gathered her hands in one of his and yanked them above her head. One strong thigh insinuated its way between hers, pegging her between the soft, cool grass and the not even close to soft, definitely not cool body of Mac.
“Get off me,” she hissed, wriggling, trying to free herself. “We’re right out front, anyone could—”
“Could what? Could see this? Good.”
And eyes burning with intent, he dipped his head, covering her mouth with his.
8
TAYLOR GAVE one startled squeak, but then as sensations bombarded her—his hands on hers, his tongue sweeping into her mouth, his deliciously big, hard, wet body holding hers down, his powerful thigh holding hers open—she melted against him like lava. Her fingers curled against his, her body arching up to meld to every inch of his. And his mouth… Oh, his mouth.
She hadn’t been able to think the first time they’d kissed, could barely think now, but he tasted like heaven. And now that she was thinking it, fully appreciating it, she realized something else. He knew just what to do with that mouth, knew how to nibble the corners of hers until she wanted to moan for more, knew to start out with little coaxing strokes of his tongue, then nip at her bottom lip with his teeth, soothing it over with a soft, sucking motion that whipped her into a desperate, impatient, wild thing, a wild thing with absolutely no shame, not to mention thoughts of rules or propriety.
Needing to put her hands on him, she flexed hers beneath his, and he let her go. Oh yes, she thought, mindlessly arching up to him, running her now free hands over his wet shoulders, down his wet spine, oh yes, this is what she’d needed this morning when she’d woken up so inexplicably…sad.
This. Him. Now.
With a little sigh of pure unadulterated pleasure, she hugged him even closer, and wanting to give back as good as she was getting, she sucked his tongue into her mouth.
She was rewarded by a ragged groan ripped from deep in his chest, and felt his hands slip beneath her, cupping her bottom in his hands so that he could more fully seat himself between her thighs. At the feel of his erection, she whimpered in helpless delight, and squirmed, trying to get more of it.
Then he slowly lifted his head, her lips clinging as they parted because she didn’t want it to end.
“Taylor.” His voice was satisfactorily thick. Raspy. And looking down into her pouting face, he let out a soft sound of desire and stroked her jaw. “God, you’re beautiful.”
The grass beneath her was cool, and damp. Above them the sun was warm and dry, chasing the chill away from their wet clothes. But now, without Mac’s mouth
on hers, she could think again. Thoughts like her mascara was probably smeared, and that he’d eaten off all her gloss. That she was wrinkling, and probably staining one of her favorite skirts.
Or that she lay on her back, legs spread, heart wide open and vulnerable, to a man.
It was that last that made her close her eyes.
With a sigh, Mac rolled off her. On his back, staring up at the sky, he reached for her hand.
“What was that?” she whispered, eyes still closed, her breathing not even close to normal. But she let him entwine his fingers with hers, and gripped them back. “What the hell was that?”
“Whatever it was, it was damn good.”
“Yeah.” Turning her head, she found him studying the clouds floating overhead.
“There’s Bambi,” he said, and with his free hand pointed to a cloud.
Taylor had to laugh. “Bambi?”
“Yeah. There. And see that one? That long, sleek one to the right? A sailboat.”
“Mmm.” She was lying here with a rough and tumble man who saw shapes in clouds. “You always find things in the sky?”
“It’s relaxing, don’t you think?”
“Well, it’s not a relaxation technique I’ve used much.”
He let out a soft laugh. “Tell me, Princess, when was the last time you laid in the grass like this and relaxed period?”
“Okay so it’s not a relaxation technique I’ve used ever,” she admitted.
He tipped his head back, trying to catch as much of the view as possible. “It’s always been cheap therapy for me.”
She rolled to her side and came up on her elbow so that she could look at him lying there, all sprawled out, looking so perfectly at home. He was long, lean. Wet. His clothes clung to his sinewy strength but that strength was far more than purely physical, because he had an inner strength as well. “What does a man like you need therapy for?”
“A man like me?” He turned his head toward her, smiling as he reached up and pulled a piece of grass out of her hair. “What does that mean, a man like me?”
“A man like you,” she repeated, her voice a little breathy at the way he was looking at her. “Strong. Intelligent. Your own boss. You run your own life the way you want, the hell with anyone else, so yeah, what does a man like you need from cheap therapy?”