Messing with Mac. Jill Shalvis

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      He kept loading until the wheelbarrow was full to bursting. Slowly he straightened, then eyed her with that light brown gaze, completely inscrutable now, without a trace of that intense sexual speculation.

      Had she only imagined it?

      “I didn’t think twenty-four hours would make any difference to you,” he said. Tossing the shovel aside, he grasped the handles of the wheelbarrow and lifted. Muscles strained. Tendons corded.

      Taylor tore her gaze away. “I needed this last day before the hell of the next three months of construction and renovation. You’ve ruined it.”

      He swiped a forearm across his forehead, looking tired, sweaty and temperamental. “I think that phone call ruined it.”

      Deep within her, a pesky lone hormone quivered. “I’d really like you to go and come back tomorrow.”

      That got his attention. “You’re kidding, right?”

      “No.”

      “You need to be alone bad enough to disrupt the start of your own renovation?”

      “I do, yes.”

      “Fine.” Dropping the wheelbarrow, he propped his hands on his hips. “Have your way, Princess. Tomorrow it is, but don’t even think about pulling this again. I’m not going to postpone this job further, no matter what kind of day you’re having.”

      Princess? Had he just called her Princess? She’d show him princess! Reaching up, she yanked off her wide-brimmed hat, which once upon a time had cost her—make that her grandfather—a bundle. She’d die before explaining that her fair skin required she protect it from the harsh summer sun, especially since he seemed like a man to mock such a weakness. “Tomorrow will be just fine,” she said through her teeth, hat in her fist.

      Mac stretched his shoulders, which put a strain on his T-shirt, not that she was noticing, and rubbed his eyes. “Good. I’m outta here. But since I am, and since steam is still coming out your ears, why don’t you do both of us a favor.” Retrieving the sledgehammer, he held it out. “Start pounding walls. Consider it anger management.”

      She stared down at the tool, having never in her life so much as lifted a screwdriver. She might have blamed her uptight, pretentious family for that, though she’d been on her own for awhile now, and could have made the effort to learn such things.

      Should have, because it would feel good to swing the thing with authority and knowledge, surprising that smirk off his face.

      He wriggled the sledgehammer enticingly.

      Odd how a little part of her tingled to touch it, hoist it over her head and let loose. Barbaric, yes, and suddenly very appealing.

      “You know you want to,” Mac said in a low, husky dare. “Touch it.”

      She cocked a brow and looked at him from beneath lowered lashes. “So…are they all the same size?”

      His eyes sparked, heated and flamed.

      And one question was answered…she had most definitely not imagined that intense sexual speculation.

      “I thought size didn’t matter to a woman.”

      She lifted a shoulder. “That’s just the story some woman started in order to appease her poor husband who didn’t have…the right equipment.”

      “Hmm.” He lifted the sledgehammer again, his eyes amused now. “The right equipment, huh?”

      “That’s right.”

      He looked at the sledgehammer with a new light, then back into her eyes. “Seeing as I have the right equipment, are you going to go for it?”

      Oh yeah, she was. For the sledgehammer, anyway.

      What could it hurt? She had aggression coming out her ears; for her grandfather, who was probably sitting on a cloud laughing down at her right this very minute, for her mother, who would rather do anything than be a mother, for her dwindling bank account, for the chandelier she’d lost out on…for being alone in all this.

      For just about every damn thing in her entire life, she needed that sledgehammer.

      Mac held it out.

      Her fingers itched.

      His eyes sizzled with the dare, and a potent, heady male heat.

      “Fine.” She set her hat back on her head, snatched the tool from him, then swore in a very unladylike way as the thing jerked both her arms down with its weight, slamming the heavy sledgehammer to the floor.

      Mac tsked. “Sorry, I thought you were stronger than that.”

      2

      TAYLOR’S ACCUSING EYES speared Mac, and he had to bite back his grin as he lifted an innocent shoulder.

      She let out a rude sound, and with determination and aggression blaring out her eyes, she hoisted the sledgehammer up…and nearly fell to her very finely dressed ass. Stumbling back a step, she spread her legs out a little for balance, then sent him a triumphant smile.

      It stopped his heart.

      Funny, that, since he’d have sworn the organ in question had dried up from abuse and misuse.

      Taylor turned her back on him and with all her might, swung the sledgehammer into the wall. When drywall fell and dust rose, she let out a cocky laugh, whirling back to make sure he was looking.

      Oh, he was looking. He’d been looking since she’d first sauntered into the room, just as he had a feeling men always looked at Taylor Wellington.

      He’d bet his last dollar that she knew it as well. She was a pricey number, all fancy labels and perfect grooming. Stunning, too, with her blond hair, see-through green eyes and a body meant to bring a grown man right to his knees. She had long, willowy curves, outlined in mouthwatering detail beneath the silky sundress that made his hands itch to mess her up. It was crazy, but he had the most inane urge to toss off her hat, sink his fingers into her hair and shake a little, to eat off her carefully applied lipstick that smelled like peaches and cream, to run his hands over that cobalt silk and see if she looked as good undone as she looked done.

      But he recognized a spoiled socialite when he saw one. Oh yeah, he did. He’d been there, bought the T-shirt, and because of it, he wasn’t tempted.

      Well, maybe a little tempted, but he wasn’t an idiot. She was upset because of some silly little bid she’d lost for a damn light fixture, when Mac had his entire future riding on a bid as well. A bid with South Village’s town council to get in on the area’s renovation and preservation acts. South Village wasn’t some prefab pedestrian neighborhood like Universal’s City Walk, but a genuine historical district in the middle of extensive restoration. He had bid on several of the upcoming jobs that would hopefully set up his business and reputation. Now that was something to get a little excited over, and he was trying not to think about how badly he wanted to be awarded those bids.

      Taylor lifted the sledgehammer again, and with all her might, gave СКАЧАТЬ