He refused a drawer in his bathroom after six months of dating.
Or the one that was always good for a scene—he was spotted out at dinner with someone else. Mackenzie got that kind of stuff—he understood it, and more importantly, he could deal with it.
But Sunday morning Lily had been more than pissed, and at first he’d been a little confused. None of that usual shit had happened. There had been no discussion about exclusive drawers or missed dates, and he sure as hell hadn’t been with anyone else.
In fact, Mac had been knocked on his ass when she’d walked into the boathouse. God, to see her curves draped in his clothes, her hands clutching his boxers—it had been all he could do not to throw her over the boat and get busy. With all that wild hair, long, sexy legs, mouth still swollen from his—he could barely keep his hands off her.
So yeah, he’d been preoccupied and maybe he’d missed a few signals, but damn if he knew what they were.
Later in the afternoon, Cain had suggested he might have let Lily know that there were a bunch of guys ogling her considering she was half-naked and all.
And maybe he might have covered up the hickeys on her shoulder.
Except that Mac kind of liked the sight of them on her skin. They were his marks. On her skin. Marks he’d put there while he’d been inside her. And maybe that was some kind of primal animal thing, but what the hell…he was a guy. He was a hot-blooded American man who damn well liked to see that his woman had been thoroughly looked after.
And sure, he agreed that he should have taken the time to get rid of their wet clothes on the dock because by Sunday night, half the town knew that he and Lily St. Clare had done some serious skinny-dipping. By Monday morning, the other half knew.
He stopped in for his coffee at The Donut Place on his way to the site and ran into a bunch of guys who’d been at the gala. Every single one of them had some sort of comment about Lily. Again. He got it. Men were basically one rung up from the primates, and when a gorgeous woman was around, they quickly reverted back to their inner caveman. Christ, he’d been dragging his knuckles after her all night.
But still.
After the third comment about how hot she was, he wasn’t so agreeable. Jesus, it wasn’t as if she was a piece of meat they were talking about. It was Boston. His Boston.
Mac stopped smiling about the time Jerry Field spoke up, and it was a good thing that his coffee order took less than a minute because he was ready to knock his goddamn teeth in.
The bastard had actually asked Mac if he could take Lily out to dinner, insinuated that Mac wasn’t serious about her—or anyone for that matter—and Jerry would treat her right. Mac had taken a moment and something in his eyes must have warned Jerry to back off, because the insurance salesman took two steps back and shrugged.
“Just thought I’d ask,” he’d said in his defense. “You can’t blame a guy for trying. Hell, every single guy in Crystal Lake would like to have a shot at her.”
“She’s with me,” Mac replied.
Except that he wasn’t so sure. He’d called her Sunday after coming back in from fishing with the boys, but she hadn’t picked up. At first, he’d just shrugged it off. It’s not like he’d planned on spending the entire day fishing, but Cain had showed up in the boat and Liam had finally cracked a smile. Mac couldn’t say no to the kid even though the only thing he wanted to do was head back to the cottage and climb into bed with Lily.
He tried to call her again around ten in the evening and then had given up after he went straight to voice mail—for the fifth time. Jesus, that was getting damn close to stalker territory—at least for Mackenzie.
Now it was Monday morning, and he was in a shit mood. It felt like he hadn’t slept at all, he was already ten minutes late for work, and he had Liam along for the ride. Mac had no idea what he was going to do with the kid, but what the hell was he supposed to do? Leave him at the lake all day?
He’d brought up Bible camp, but one look into Liam’s eyes, and he knew he couldn’t do it.
Mac took a sip of coffee and maneuvered out of the parking lot, face grim as he thought of his sister. He hadn’t heard anything from her other than a text message the night before that told him she’d arrived back home and that she was okay. He knew she had called her son because he’d heard Liam talking to her, but there’d been nothing more this morning.
His mother had called to tell him she was dropping off a casserole because she wouldn’t be home for dinner either. She’d gone on and on about how wonderful it was that he’d taken Liam for the week. She talked about male bonding and how good it was going to be for Liam to spend some time with his uncle.
Not once did she mention the kid’s father or the fact that her idiot daughter had run back to the man who’d hurt her. Not once.
His mother had always been good for that. She thought that if she didn’t talk about something, it never happened. He supposed that was her way of dealing with stuff, but it was the coward’s way out, and it was something Mac would never be able to understand.
He glanced at Liam. The boy’s cheeks were sunburnt and so were his arms and legs. A full day on the lake would do that to a kid when the uncle was too clueless to make sure sunscreen was applied.
“Do we need to stop and get some cream or something?” he asked, turning onto Main Street. There was a pharmacy near the grocery store, and he could hit it if need be.
“Cream?” Liam turned to him.
“For your sunburn. I didn’t realize it was so bad.”
“I’m good.”
“Well, does it hurt?”