She squatted down and checked how the line was cleated; it wasn’t how Elijah had taught her, but it was done by someone who knew what they were doing. Sweeping a glance over the boat again, she said to herself, gratefully, “Marge.” Another person on her list to make amends to; to thank.
“Mac.”
With a squeak, she stood and whirled toward the door. She hadn’t heard him approach. His existence until now hadn’t entered her consciousness. But the jolt of surprise at seeing him here threatened to knock her into the water. She glanced to a calmly sitting Fred who was eyeing him in adoration, as usual.
“At Marge’s insistence,” he added, leaning against the jamb, arms folded over his chest. His white T-shirt contrasted with his skin. He wore blue jeans, his feet were bare, and his dark hair was beginning to grow in from his military-style cut. His eyes were heatedly focused on her bikini panties, or rather, trying his damnedest to imagine what they hid.
Cassidy instinctively pressed her thighs together as though protecting herself from a literal invasion, her action intensifying the fire in his gaze, the air in the small space shifting, crackling.
Self-consciously, she hugged herself. There was little protection her arms could provide, and he was taking full visual advantage of her brief attire, thoroughly cataloging every bit of flesh presented to him. His perusal burned. She had the feeling again of inevitability but shoved it away in panic.
“Good to see you out, Day,” he drawled.
Cheeks heating, she pointed out, “A gentleman would offer his own apparel in this situation.”
His eyes still liberally roaming over her, he answered, “Sweetheart, if my pants come off right now, it’s game on.”
“You’ve got to be kidding; I’m disgusting.” She brushed at the mud on her leg. He tracked her movements, causing her discomfort to increase. She wasn’t afraid of him; it wasn’t fear that had her pulse racing.
“Tell that to my cock.”
“Okay,you’redisgusting.“ She was aware she was in no position to wage a battle of wills with him.
He chuckled humorlessly. “You are nearly naked in front of me. And I’m not against banging my neighbor in her boathouse, even covered in mud. It’s kind of sexy, actually. Dirty.”
His words, his rough, seductive cadence, the raw sexuality exuding from him tripped along her senses, setting each off. But honestly, this weirdly contentious relationship of theirs wasn’t something she could deal with right now, regardless of how her body reacted to him. Her chin trembled, and she bit her lower lip to still it. “Can you please not be a prick right now?” she begged, hearing the breathless desperation in her voice.
Mac’s assessing gaze flicked to hers, searching. Under his scrutiny, she turned her head away. She didn’t want him to see more of her vulnerability than he was already seeing.
He moved away from the door, approaching her. She shuffled back a couple of steps until she realized he was pulling his shirt over his head. When he handed it to her, she took it in relief, peering up at him.
Cassidy had to stop herself from holding the collar to her nose and taking a breath. Still warm from the heat of his body, the shirt smelled like him, too: wood and leather with a touch of his own musk mingled with cologne. It was pleasant, a scent she could fall into. A stab of guilt accompanied the thought. She said quietly, “Thank you.”
Mac dragged his eyes up to hers from where his shirt landed, just teasing the tops of her thighs.
Cassidy gestured with her head to the boat. “And for this—thank you.”
Mac caught her gaze and held it captive, analyzing while giving away nothing of his thoughts. “Like I said, it was Marge who said it needed to be done. Storms looked borderline for snow; apparently, that’s not good for boats. Silas walked me through how to do it on FaceTime.”
Cassidy attempted to smile, trying to infuse levity into an atmosphere highly charged for more than one reason. “Marge is speaking to you?”
“Nah. Marge is speaking to Silas, who is speaking to me.”
Ashamed, her cheeks coloring, Cassidy admitted, “I didn’t even know it stormed.”
Mac’s brows pinched.
The last she’d seen him, she had ordered him to stay away; bitterly. She rubbed her arms, ducking her head to look at the boat. She tried avoiding looking at him, at his bare chest that appeared warm and inviting and safe despite the personality it was attached to. She said lamely, “It was good of you.” She glanced askance at him.
Mac scoffed. “Don’t get sentimental; I’m still a prick.” Running a hand through his short hair, he looked at the boat. “Ulterior motive: save the neighbor’s boat and get to use the dock.”
“Thank you anyway.” She fingered the collar of the shirt he’d literally given her off his back. She took another step away, knowing her unbathed scent must be overwhelming. She started to explain, “Sometimes I slip. I didn’t mean to—”
“We’re not having a moment,” he interrupted her, stopping her. “Whatever your issues are, they’re yours. I don’t care on that level.”
Abashed, she dropped her head.
“I heard you scream when you fell; came out here to explain the boat, and saw you looking like a fantastic hot mess. We aren’t sharing life stories.”