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Round and round it all goes.
I rub a hand over my eyes, trying to ease the growing band of tension because there are other problems. Like, yes, I need my home base for all the reasons I’m listing, but I need it as a buffer from my parents. In my head, it’s headquarters for business. It’s a place that says in control.
I’m losing my mind on many levels.
I’m almost thirty, what does it matter?
It does, and I hate that.
My phone buzzes next to me but I ignore it. Probably Mom. I spoke to Vic this morning, who has zeroed in on there being something here—man shaped, she says—that has changed me. I denied it, but she pounced on the name Mack, so I had to admit there might be a man here I might like.
As for the other trouble? They must know I didn’t talk to anyone. If they know. The further I am from it all, the more doubts about everything creep in.
I’m stuck. In a town I never meant to be in, waiting for a part for my car. Which seems to be endlessly delayed.
Small town problems, I guess.
The rumble of a truck drags me from my thoughts, and I can’t control the smile on my face.
It could be anyone. The beauty of being here at the cabin is that I can hear a car approaching for ages, and I can’t possibly know who it is driving up. It could be anyone.
But I know it’s not.
I close my computer and get up, coming down the step to the ground as Mack’s truck pulls up.
Seriously, my mouth waters as he gets out.
He’s in boots, jeans, and a T-shirt that has a small black handprint on it that I’m pretty sure came from London. And he’s wearing sunglasses.
Mack is lean and broad, tattooed and muscled and with his close beard he’s just pure fantasy. I squeeze my thighs because I know how that beard feels when he’s between my legs. He’s not above using the bristles to bring home what he’s doing.
He looks at me from behind the glasses, and a slow smile appears. It’s a smile edged in wicked and knowing and I find it hard to breathe.
“Princess.”
“Hi, Mack.”
You’d think I hadn’t seen him in weeks. You’d think this is something like young love for the breathiness in my voice—the hard, slow pull in my chest.
“You’re a pain in the ass to call.”
He walks up to me, right up, and looks down, the darkness of the lenses hiding his beautiful eyes.
It gives him a deeper erotic edge. With the glint of the sun on his hair bringing dark fire to it, the scent of a motor surrounding him, and that Mack aroma I dream about he’s enough to fuel every sweet and perverted fantasy in my head.
“I am.”
“Yeah. But I’m here now.”
“So you are.”
All those thoughts earlier are swept away by the presence of him. I need him. Now. My heart is beating fast, and I didn’t know my personal little engine could go from idle to break all the records Formula One style in moments.
Now, I’m thinking in car analogies? What is wrong with me?
When he’s close, I go wild. It’s like he’s all flame that feeds life and courage into my veins, mainline-style.
He brushes his fingers over my cheek and leans in to kiss me. Suddenly, I know what I want to do.
