The man was godlike in his proportions.
“Ugh!” I gestured at his body in frustration before stomping down the hallway toward the kitchen.
“Arro?” I heard him ask in confusion.
“Fucking saving my life, using my shower, walking around half-naked with a body like a cast member of bloody Magic Mike,” I muttered angrily under my breath as I clanged angrily around my kitchen.
“Eh, did I miss something?” Mac asked from the doorway.
“Put on a shirt, Mackennon,” I snapped without looking at him.
He chuckled darkly and replied, “Only if you put on a bra, Arrochar.”
Glancing sharply down at my chest, I noted my nipples poking through my T-shirt and let out a stream of murmured expletives. Whirling around, I glowered at him and marched across the kitchen, intending to hurry past him. But when I reached the entry to the hall, he blocked my path, maneuvering me against the wall.
I was fairly tall, but Mac still had a good eight inches over me, and I felt every one of those as he raised an arm above my head and leaned in. I smelled my shower gel on him, my shampoo in his hair. Suddenly, the idea of us sharing toiletries was intimate in a way it never had with anyone before.
My gaze drifted from his hard-earned body, past lips I could draw from memory, and up to his eyes, but I found him staring at my breasts. My nipples tightened into harder points beneath his interest.
Mac let out a grunt of masculine desire as his eyes flew to mine.
Breathing shallow, I tried to unjumble my thoughts and searched for equilibrium and rationality as part of me yelled I should stop whatever this was.
But the throb between my legs was louder, the pounding of my heart fiercer. The need coiling deep inside was very much screaming at me.
“Mackennon?” I whispered, my attention dropping to his mouth.
He raised his other hand to cup my cheek, and I tilted my head into his touch, squeezing my eyes closed at the rasp of calluses against my skin. Goose bumps prickled all over at the thought of those hands on my breasts, on my thighs, his long fingers sliding inside me—
I shook myself, pulling away from his touch. “Mac—”
His head descended for mine, his lips just brushing my mouth, when the doorbell rang through the house. Mac retreated with a muttered curse, his eyes blazing, his expression promising me this wasn’t over.
My lips tingled.
Oh, boy.
Literally saved by the bell.
“I’ll get it,” I squeaked, sliding out from between him and the wall.
But he caught my arm to halt me. “I’ll get it. You … might want to put on a bra.”
Ah, right, of course. I nodded and hurried toward my bedroom.
The sound of male voices filtered toward me as I pulled on a robe. I knew those voices.
My big brothers.
They’d cockblocked Mac without even knowing it.
The thought made me chuckle as I strode out to greet them. Lachlan, Thane, and Arran were all in my living room, up at dawn to check on us.
As I accepted their embraces and listened as they all spoke gruffly over one another about their worry, I attempted to put the confusing incident with Mac in the kitchen behind me and just appreciate all the familial love in this room.
Once we’d all had coffee and the boys were preparing to leave for work (well, Lachlan and Thane were), Mac’s phone rang.
He crossed the room to pick it up, and I noted he was no longer limping. His ankle looked much better today. It was hopefully just a sprain, then. “It’s Lisa,” Mac told us before he answered.