“It’s six-thirty in the morning.”
“Coffee.” He turned from her and walked across to the counter.
Cassidy watched him go, unable to hold in her gasp when she saw his back. The scars snaked up from his jeans, covering his lower back and half of the left side, ending below his shoulder blade. She would guess burns, but she wasn’t an expert.
Mac glanced over his shoulder at her reaction, then away. “Sorry. Bother you?”
Cassidy considered his scars. “No. I just… I didn’t know.” She had the overwhelming desire to touch them, wondering how they would feel against her hand, to find out how far beyond the band of his jeans those marks went. It made him… relatable.
Darlene hadn’t mentioned it. Of course, why would she?Oh, hey, I was fucking Mac and noticed his back is destroyed by scars.
“Few do,” he answered tersely.
She scoffed. “Few. Right.”
Mac turned with two mugs in his hand, looking at her questioningly.
He was perfect from the front, all muscle and sculpted pecs—not overly emphasized like his friend, Jason—no sign of trauma whatsoever. The tattoo on his left bicep looked like some sort of military dog symbol—his K9 unit, maybe—the only unnatural marking.
Acknowledging his puzzled look, she figured she might as well address the elephant in the room, considering that was why she was standing here. “I’m probably the only woman in a fifty-mile radius who didn’t know.”
The play of a smile was brief as he handed over her coffee. “Sit.”
“I’m not Fred; you can’t order me.”
His eyebrow rose. “That was an invitation. You’ll know when you’re being ordered.”
Holy shit. Somehow that excited regions in her body that it shouldn’t have. Cheeks flushing, her nipples wishing to bring attention to the effect of his words on her in the event he missed it, she pulled out a chair and plopped down in a surly manner. She concentrated on sipping her coffee.
He remained standing. “What’ll you have for breakfast?”
She glanced up at him. “I’ll just go to sleep.”
He cleared his throat, a perturbed look passing over his face as though she was being difficult on purpose. “Let’s try this again. Breakfast: eggs scrambled or omelet?”
Cassidy stared at him. “You aren’t feeding me. I’m not staying. What is this? What do you want, Mac?”
“Trying to be neighborly.”
“Consider your good deed accomplished. We’re not friends, you and I.” She banged her mug on the table, the coffee sloshing over. “Thank you,neighbor, for taking care of Fred for me. Veryneighborlyof you.“ Lurching back to her feet, she headed toward the bedroom. “But I’m taking my dog and leaving.”
“Stop.”
“Let me know if you need to borrow a garden trowel,neighbor.“ She grabbed the knob and attempted to turn. The knob didn’t budge. Like an idiot, she kept trying, shaking and pulling at it in futility.
“It’s locked.”
“I know,” she responded in frustration, still fighting the door. “Shit!” Letting go of the knob, she smacked the panel before she rested her forehead against the wood. He said he wasn’t going to play games, but she felt like she was in one. “I don’t want to be around you.”
“Stick to that intuition.”
Cassidy turned, rolling against the paneling, and faced him. Alarm passed over her face, but no, he wouldn’t hurt her. He was warning her off from something else. She watched him, her heart thumping so loudly she was sure he could hear it.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said carefully, his dark eyes focused intently on her for her response.
Her cheeks blazed forth again. She noticed his lips start to curl up before he caught himself and smoothed the amusement away. She was annoyed by her reactions, and he appeared to be intrigued. Before she could give it much thought, however, he added, “But you and me, we wouldn’t work.”
Cassidy stopped breathing because flat out, there was no oxygen for her to take in. If ever this shack was going to collapse, she hoped it would beright nowbecause—Jesus!—did he really think she’d been here for arelationship? That she had a crush on him?