His expression was fierce. “You were never my side piece.”
Cassidy scoffed skeptically.
His look was pointed and sincere. “If you’d been just that, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. We wouldn’t be havinganyconversations. You mean more than that, and you know it.”
Cassidy stared at him. What was he about to admit? She willed him to keep talking. But he frowned, shaking his head as he turned his face away again, expression bordering on a scowl. She watched him evade her eyes. He wasn’t going to indulge in this line of conversation. So, she changed the subject. “Out joyriding this morning?”
His guilty expression resembled a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He side-eyed her warily. “Met someone for breakfast.”
Cassidy watched him back, confused by his dodginess. “Who?”
The pained look was so fast, she almost didn’t see it, but he answered her, “Grady.”
“Ah.”
He’d been expecting more of a reaction, she could tell from his wary gaze. His befuddlement amused her… that, or it was still the wine. It felt good to knock him off guard.
Mac smiled. But it was the smile of a man who didn’t trust what was in front of him.
She stood up. Confusion looked good on him.Everythinglooked good on him. Damn wine.
Looking over his boat again—anywhere but at his eyes inviting her to jump into his boat and straddle him—she asked the first question to came to mind: “What’d you end up naming this, anyway?”
He shifted, resting his chin on his hand, a finger over his lips as he continued to watch her, not answering.
She gave him a wide-eyed look as she side-stepped toward the back. “Girls Gonna Go Wild? Bangin’ Boat?”He grimaced as though the last one pained him. She leaned over and read the scroll, frowning. “Huh.”
Flicking her gaze back to his, she asked, bemused, “Spanish? You have high hopes thinking anyone will know how to pronounce that—much less know what it means.” Holding up her hand, she begged, “Please don’t tell me it means you love to fuck.”
“Tells youwhatI love to fuck. Literally what I dream all day about fucking.”
“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” she groaned. “Spare me.”
He gave her his seductive smile, leaving her hot head-to-toe. She’d be eighty, and she imagined a ninety-one-year-old Mac could give her that smile and get the same nervous system response from her.
She bent down and swept up her wine glass. “Thanks for the talk, Mac.”
“Pleasure.”
Coming even with him again, she smiled genuinely. “I think this is the first time we didn’t fight.”
He chuckled. “I’m seriously getting worried about your memory. We didn’t always fight. I’ll be happy to help you recollect.”
She raised a brow at him over her shoulder, strolling away. “I’m sure you would.”
Wonderfully horrible man.
Chapter sixty-five
Cassidy
HER EVERYTHING
CassidystoodattheUS Postal Service counter at the Trading Post, filling out the address label for the packet of papers she had to send back to the insurance company. Because, sure, she could have scanned and emailed them back, but she’d lost the insane passwords not even the NSA could hack that Mac had given her, and she was too embarrassed to ask him. So… snail mail.
Thinking of whom, an electric charge accompanied by the familiar rush of adrenaline raced through her as a large, hard body rested next to her. He leaned his hip against the counter, reaching out and sliding the form across the counter toward him. Very pleasant memories teased her as he did so: tables, chaises, mud. He smelled like fresh air, mint, and warm male. Irresistible.
He was wearing an olive crew-neck tee and his fatigues; his sunglasses slid down on his nose as he peered over the tops to read the card.