Touched By The Devil (Devil's Riders 7)

Well, I would be having a lot more fun than I was right now.

Trying hard not to be super-obvious as I watched Mac finish sealing the windows he’d fixed from the outside. The man was very sure with his hands. I’d noticed that when he’d palmed my ass.

I blushed hot and furious at the memory.

I cleaned up from dinner and tried to distract myself. I was scrubbing the dishes when I felt eyes on me and looked up.

Mac stood just outside, watching me. I walked over and stared at him through the old screen door. He lifted a finger and pushed it through a gaping hole in the metal mesh.

“I had duct tape over it, but it fell off.”

He shook his head ruefully.

“I’ll take care of it. You have a good night now.”

But he didn’t leave. He just stared at me. My throat felt dry as a desert as I stood there, wanting more than anything to invite him back in.

You know what will happen if you do that, you tramp.

Oh, yes, I surely did know. I’d have a really good night. Maybe even a couple of really good nights. And then Mac, his trees, and his toolbox would disappear.

And I’d be stuck listening to his jackhammer for the next five years, feeling like a loose woman. Used and cast aside.

“Goodnight,” I breathed.

He grunted and took a few steps backward, not looking away. He shook his head again, letting me know with his eyes that he thought it was a damn shame that I turned him away.

I wasn’t going to lie. A big part of me thought it was a damn shame too.

I forced myself to do some more work before settling into a hot bath with a good book and a glass of wine. I was in bed by ten but sleep evaded me. I stared at the ceiling, mentally reviewing everything that had happened.

Not with the douchey lawyer.

Everything that had happened with Mac.

The way his hands had felt on my body. The way he’d kissed me. And the insanely eager way I’d kissed him back.

I’d never kissed anyone like that before, never given myself to anyone, or anything, with that kind of reckless abandonment. I’d been wild. Sexy. Uninhibited. I barely recognized myself. I felt different.

Like I was someone new.

I couldn’t risk giving in to him. Not until I knew his intentions were good, or at least better than hump and dump, as my girlfriends from college used to call it. But I didn’t want him to stop coming around either.

And I definitely wanted to kiss him again.

I’ll go to the market in the morning, I decided. I’ll make it up to him with food. And if he wants to make out a little bit again… well, maybe I can let him know that is okay too.

I tossed and turned for another hour before falling asleep.

Chapter 9

Mac

She got you, Mac. You dumb sonofabitch.

She got you, hook, line, and sinker.

Yeah, that was me. I was a fucking trout and she was the fisherman with the fancy lures and the sexy fucking rubber boots.

And those green rubber boots of hers were sexy. Mysteriously so.

What the hell was happening to me? Rubber garden boots were not supposed to be sexy. Overalls were not sexy. Flannel shirts and bandanas in hair and garden gloves were not sexy. But goddamn, somehow, every little thing about that woman was sexy.

Beyond sexy.

She was fucking flawless. Cute, spunky, a little weird, definitely with a twisted sense of humor, and the best damn kisser I’d ever met in my life.

I poured another round of drinks and went back to brooding. It was still early. I wasn’t even a little bit tired. I’d done a hundred and fifty pushups before I even got in my car after leaving Suzanna’s place. I was in such a state of sexual frustration that I barely even felt any muscle fatigue.

And pushups were the closest thing I could do to what I really wanted to do. I wanted to fuck. I wanted to fuck for days. Even a cold shower and a long, fast ride hadn’t taken the edge off. So I pulled a shift at the clubhouse for lack of anything better to do.

“What’s wrong with your cousin?” a deep voice called out. I looked up to see Jack and Donnie staring at me. They were both frowning. I took a large gulp of tequila and ambled down the bar toward them.

I poured them each their regular orders without their asking. Ginger ale for Jack and a vodka tonic with lime for Donahue. We gave him shit for that girly drink, but he liked it. And there was nothing the least bit girly about Donnie.

“You look weird,” he offered. I glared at him. I was not in the mood for his shit. I’d had the softest, sweetest woman in my arms a few hours ago and now I didn’t. I was fucking pissed.