Messing with Mac. Jill Shalvis

and drinking water,” she said.

      He stared at her for one, long, unwavering heartbeat, then shook his head. “Are you always impossible and stubborn, or is it just me?”

      Trick question, that.

      He certainly hadn’t been the first man to find her difficult, and she doubted he’d be the last. But only one thing mattered to her, her battered pride. No way was she going to admit she couldn’t afford to go anywhere for the duration of the renovation, not to him, not to anyone. “I’m staying, Mac.”

      “Through the dirt and noise, through the inconvenience, through the danger?”

      The only possible danger came from him and him alone, but she doubted he’d appreciate the irony. “Through the dirt and noise, through the inconvenience, through the ‘danger.”’

      “Taylor—”

      “Wow, my name,” she marveled, cocking her head. “You do know it.”

      His jaw tightened. “You’re doing this, aren’t you? No matter what I say.”

      “I’m doing this.” She had no choice. “No matter what you say.”