But even so, sex had become a very fond, distant memory.

She licked her lips, a nervous habit. Again, her contractor’s gaze flickered downward, becoming hot, focused and filled with frank sexual curiosity.

Oh boy. With sheer will power, she concentrated on her phone conversation. “What’s the bad news?”

Mac set the sledgehammer on the floor. In deference to her call? No, that would mean he had a considerate streak.

He was probably just done.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Cabot said. “But you lost your bid on that nineteenth-century chandelier.”

Instantly forgetting about Mac, she gripped the phone. “What do you mean? Who else bid on the chandelier?”

“You were outbid by…” Papers rustled. “Isabel W. Craftsman.”

Taylor might have guessed. There was only one person in town who would have coveted that piece as much as she had, and that was her own mother.

It only had been Taylor’s greatest heart’s desire to own it, but hey, she figured her mother knew that, too. Her mother was highly educated, incredibly brilliant and had eyes in the back of her head. Bottom line, she knew everything, she always had.

Well, except how to be a mother. Shocking how she’d screwed that up, but maybe Taylor was partly to blame. She’d always resented her mother’s vicious drive, sharp ambition and ability to multitask everything in her world except when it came to her own daughters.

When Taylor had graduated from college and had moved out of the house, she’d decided to be the grown-up and let it all go. She’d told her mother so, saying she’d forgiven her for all the missed events, the forgotten birthdays, the lack of any physical attention whatsoever. She didn’t know what she expected, but it hadn’t been to be cut off by her mother’s cell phone. Her mother had held up a hand to Taylor, answered the call, dealt with some business problem, then absently kissed the air somewhere near Taylor’s cheek and walked away.