look at him, couldnât. No one saw her vulnerable and lived. She didnât care how big he was, how warmâ Oh God, he was warm. Heat radiated off him, and despite the hot, sticky night, she wanted more of it.
The need alone made her eyes sting all over again, and released a few of the tears she couldnât blink back. And then, because sheâd been holding her breath, she gave herself away with one horrifyingly obvious sniff.
âAh, hell,â he muttered. His big hands settled on her bare upper arms as he turned her to face him, and for the life of her, she couldnât look away. âWhatâs going on?â he asked.
What was going on? Only everything.
âPrincess?â
Suddenly his pet name for her didnât seem like an insult, not when uttered in the husky, slightly rough voice that was far softer than she imagined he could ever be. Unable to talk without making a bigger fool of herself, she just shook her head.
With the rough pad of his thumb, he stroked a tear off her cheek. She hadnât worn waterproof mascara, so she probably looked like a raccoon, but even moreworrisome than that was the way she reacted to his touch. His thumb continued to make lazy passes over her cheek, his other fingers sank into her hair, and she stood there fighting the most insidious need to sob her heart out.
Silent and strong, he waited, not rushing her, not freaking out because she was crying, not doing anything but waiting patiently for her to pull herself together.
And suddenly she didnât want to pull herself together, she wanted to bury her face against his shoulder and let go. It was humiliating, appalling, and as if he could read her mind, he made a low, soft sound of empathy in his throat that completely undid her.
âEverything they said was true,â she whispered. âI grew up a spoiled brat.â She waited for some sort of recrimination but he said nothing.
His fingers on her temple were the most soothing touches sheâd ever felt. And maybe because of it, or maybe because it was the dark, her mouth ran away with her good sense and she spilled it all. âMy familyâ¦weâre not close. I donât know why really, weâre justâ¦different from one another I guess.â
âNot every family is super tight.â
âWeâre not even in the realm of tight. Growing up, I was given the fanciest education. On Grandfatherâs money. Every few years or so heâd come around andsee how his investment was doing, but other than that, we didnât have much contact. I always thought it was because I disappointed him somehow. Or that he just didnât have much sentiment in him, but he seemed to enjoy my sistersâ company.â
âTaylorââ
âNo.â Not wanting his pity, please God, not his pity, she didnât look at him. âYou know what? Just forget it.â
âYou started it, finish it.â
It was amazing how private the veranda was for how many people were just inside. Maybe nobody but the two of them dared the evening heat and humidity.
Mac didnât mention it one way or another, he seemed focused on her, and only her, and having that much man, all tall, gorgeous and listening to her, really listening, wasâ¦well, a fairly intense experience. âMy grandfather died,â she said to the night. âAnd the will was ratherâ¦interesting.â
âHow interesting?â
âWell, for one thing, he left me the building youâre working on.â
âItâs a beauty.â
âOh yes,â she agreed. âAnd a money pit.â
He nodded.
âHeâ¦took away the funds that had always beenavailable to me. Every penny. Gave it all to my mother knowing sheâd never share.â She closed her eyes and admitted the last painful truth. âLeaving me flat broke.â
âWhy wouldnât your mother share?â
âSheâs been saving for a rainy day