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.

12

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.

Midnight.

One o’clock.

Two o’clock.

Apparently sleep wasn’t going to come.

It was the look on Taylor’s face tormenting him-when she’d seen his parents, when she’d seen his place, when he’d been such an ass because she’d gotten so sappy over that picture of him.

He’d wanted her to be plastic. He’d wanted her to be after the family money. He’d wanted, over and over again, for her to reveal a nature he could hate.

Instead she’d been…well, Taylor. Passionate. Steadfast. And unfailingly, consistently, wonderfully behind him.

Even when he hadn’t been behind her.

When his phone rang in the middle of the dark, dark night, it startled him out of his thoughts, which was just as well, since he had no idea where he was going with them.

“M-Mac?”

He’d never heard her sound scared before, and he sat straight up. “Taylor? What’s the matter?”

“You, um, left your nail gun here, which actually turned out to be a good thing.” She let out a slightly hysterical laugh. “Oh, Mac.”

He clutched the phone. “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?”