Messing with Mac. Jill Shalvis

      

      “I thought you were going to comfort me.”

      Taylor’s words messed with Mac’s head, tempting him. He knew if he so much as touched her, he’d never stop. He took a deep breath, needing to put some distance between them.

      “You’re going to be fine.” It was himself he was worried about at the moment.

      As he watched, she shrugged her robe off, leaving her shoulders bare, leaving her body bare except for that column of silk and the ribbon beneath her breasts. Crossing her arms, she ran her hands up and down her arms and shivered. “It cooled off tonight.”

      Had it? He was hot as hell, sweating just watching her.

      When she shivered again, he sighed, recognizing the inevitable, and took a step toward her.

      The top of her gown dipped low, exposing the soft curves of her breasts. The material clung to her, molding and outlining every part of her that he’d been dying to touch, taste since he’d first seen her.

      “Warm me up,” she whispered.

      His hands slid to her hips before he could stop himself. “Taylor—”

      “No, don’t think. Just touch me.”

      Dear Reader,

      I had so much fun writing my first Harlequin mini-series—SOUTH VILLAGE SINGLES. I have to confess a particular soft spot for this story. The hero, Mac, is a deliciously sexy, alpha guy with a heart of gold. And whether he likes it or not, he’s met his match with Taylor—a tough, brave woman who, for all her outrageous wit, isn’t so sharp when it comes to men. Oh, boy, the fun I had pitting these two against each other!

      I hope you enjoy their fall into love. If you haven’t already, be sure to read the other Harlequin Temptation SOUTH VILLAGE SINGLES stories—#910 Roughing It With Ryan and #914 Tangling With Ty. Also, look for Men of Courage, a May 2003 anthology where I team up with Lori Foster and Donna Kauffman. And keep an eye out for my first single title, The Street Where She Lives, coming out in October 2003, when we return to South Village.

      Happy reading!

      Jill Shalvis

      P.S. I’d love to hear from you about this or any of my other books. You can reach me at P.O. Box 3945, Truckee, CA 96161, or check out my new Web site at www.jillshalvis.com.

      Messing with Mac

      Jill Shalvis

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Courtney, for watching every Disney movie ever made ten times during the writing of this book.

      Contents

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Epilogue

      1

      ONE OF THESE DAYS, Taylor Wellington figured she’d be old, maybe even wrinkled, and then, finally then, her best friends would stop trying to convince her she needed love.

      No one needed love.

      Having been both with it and without it—mostly without it—she knew this for a cold, hard fact. Still, Taylor held the cell phone to her ear and let Nicole and Suzanne, via three-way conferencing, ramble on about how amazing the L-word was.

      “You’ve got to try it.” This from Nicole, who’d been swept off her feet a few months back by Ty Patrick O’Grady, Taylor’s rebel Irish architect.

      “It’s even better than ice cream,” Suzanne promised, and coming from Suzanne, this was quite the promise, but she’d recently fallen in love, too, and had even gone one step further and gotten married. “Come on, Taylor, give up on singlehood and try a man on for size. It’ll change your life.”

      Taylor wasn’t buying it. Not one little bit. In her opinion—and she had very strong opinions, thank you very much—love sucked. Always had, always would.

      She was speaking from firsthand experience and hard-earned knowledge, not that her friends would understand. They wouldn’t because she hadn’t explained, she hadn’t known how to in the short time they’d been together, which had begun when, in order to keep up with life’s little luxuries like eating, Taylor had rented out two apartments in the building she’d just inherited. Suzanne had come first, then later Nicole, and both had happily joined her in a solemn vow of singlehood.

      Only they’d each caved like cheap suitcases in the face of true love, and had both recently moved out again, having found their soul mates.

      “Just because you two willingly gave up your freedom doesn’t mean I have to—” Taylor stopped at an odd noise and cocked an ear. “Hang on a sec.”

      The building, her building, shuddered. Not surprising really, as she considered it an amazing feat the entire thing hadn’t fallen down long ago, but in Taylor’s world, things didn’t happen off schedule. Her building crashing to the ground definitely wasn’t on her schedule for today.

      And yet there it went again. Another shudder. And then again. Something was systematically banging, in tune with her growing headache. “Guys, much as I’d love to listen to you tell me what’s wrong with my life in singular excruciating detail, I have to run.”

      “Hold up. Is that more construction I hear?” Suzanne asked casually. Too casually.

      The question didn’t fool Taylor. Both Suzanne and Nicole had found their happiness due to construction. Her construction.

      Now they had equally high hopes for her.

      They were going to be disappointed, as Taylor didn’t intend to fall for anyone. Feeling like a heel, she pulled the cell phone away from her ear and simulated a static sound with her mouth. It wasn’t a kind thing to do to the only two people in the world who truly cared about her, but all this talk of love, no matter how well-meaning, was making her perspire.

      And a Wellington never perspired, especially in silk. That was one thing she’d learned from her mother. “Gotta go, bad connection!” she yelled into the phone and disconnected.

      Damn it. She loved Suzanne and Nicole, loved them like the sisters she’d always wished for instead of the two she had, but any more talk of love as it pertained to her and she risked losing her wits, something she couldn’t afford at the moment, as she needed each and every available wit to keep her sane.

      Oh, and in the black. Her every thought these days seemed to focus on finding enough money to pay for the work that needed to be done. That alone was enough to give her insomnia. This was a real kicker of an inheritance from her grandfather—this falling-off-its-foundation building she stood in, and not a single penny to go with it. No trust fund, no cushy little savings account, nothing.

      After a lifetime of paying for all her fancy education and everything else, the distant, cruel bastard had cut her off cold turkey, giving all of his substantial wealth to her mother, who hadn’t seen fit to share.

      The woman wouldn’t, not when all her life she’d been so cheap, so tight with money, she squeaked when she walked.

      Well, tough. Taylor wouldn’t