Messing With Mac by Jill Shalvis Page B

taken to circle around, you know, with you and your sisters.”
    Right. She should have known this wasn’t a hi-I-missed-you call, but a I-need-something-from-you call. “Okay.”
    â€œReally?” The mayor of South Village, and all-around superwoman, seemed genuinely touched Taylor would do such a thing without an argument.
    It made her do that yearning thing again. Wanting to be close, close to someone, she said, “Yes, I’ll do it. But getting my sisters to agree might be more difficult.”
    â€œI’ll get them.”
    She’d probably offer a bribe, a monetary one. Taylor should have held out for that.
    â€œSo. What are you doing these days?” her mother asked, shocking her with such a personal question.
    Was it possible she really wanted to know? Testing, Taylor said, “Actually, I’m thinking of opening an antique shop in Grandpa’s building.”
    â€œWhat are you going to do with that college education then? Toss it out the window?”
    â€œIt’s what I want.”
    â€œWell, it’s a bad idea.”
    Taylor stuffed her immediate defensive response, listened politely for another few moments while her mother went on and on about the high hopes she’d had of Taylor joining her in politics someday— politics! —then found an excuse to hang up.
    When she had, she buried her face in her hands. What had she been thinking, trying to open up? Trying to let someone in?
    â€œMust be difficult, having the city’s most notorious tough lady as your mom.”
    Mac, the man—the only man—with the supreme talent of finding her at her worst. He’d seen her without makeup, with said makeup running down her face, he’d seen her first thing in the morning and worst yet, crying.
    Now this. “Go away.”
    â€œYeah. Sometimes my family makes me bitchy, too.”
    She lifted her head at that, ready to snap his head off, but he wasn’t laughing at her. He wasn’t even smiling.
    Instead he just stood there, his eyes filled with an understanding she wasn’t ready to face. “I am most definitely not bitchy.”
    When he just looked at her, she sighed. “Okay, maybe just a little.”
    His lips slowly curved, but unlike what she might have expected, he didn’t say a word.
    He was good at that, she’d noticed, not saying a word and yet conveying so much. “Oh, leave me to my bad mood.”
    â€œI have a better idea.” He walked into her roomlike 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.
    â€œCome 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?”
    â€œYou’ll see.”
    â€œMac—”
    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?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œYou’ve avoided talking to me about anything other than business, and you’ve avoided physical contact like the plague.”
    â€œNot like the plague.”
    â€œWhat then?”
    â€œMaybe more like…a good tall frosty beer at lunch.”
    â€œThat makes no sense.”
    â€œSure it does. You know the cool brew is going to go down like pure heaven, but afterwards,