Chapter Fifteen
Cassidy traced the line of Mason’s chest with her fingers, feeling the pounding rhythm of his heart. Her eyes met his dark intense gaze and somewhere inside her another wall went crashing down. God help her, she loved him, trusted him, and now there was this magnificent house—a house she hadn’t even looked at properly because all her senses were fixed on him. Maybe another man would use those advantages to play the field, but every instinct urged her to open up. How could she stop herself, even if she wanted to?
He pulled her toward him, and even before his lips descended, she was trembling with need. His kisses were slow, soulful, drugging. They filled her with a shimmery wet heat. He was completely there with her, every cell of their bodies exquisitely attuned, every shift in weight or brush of the fingers registered and responded to. When she plunged her hand inside his shirt and marveled at the smooth hard texture of his skin, those very differences made her pulses surge. He was everything she wasn’t. It made him intoxicating. Maybe her inexperience didn’t matter at this point. Maybe what matters is letting yourself be swept up by this moment, and now the next. Not thinking, just letting the fire roll over you.
She unfastened her belt and shoes. Mason found the zipper at her back and pulled, melting the dress off her body in one long stroke. She felt his lips on every part of skin he exposed, sending tendrils of hunger and exhilaration curling through her belly. How could skin feel as though shocks and electrical currents were rippling inside it?
When he freed her breasts and fastened his lips on one nipple, her fingernails sank into his hair. She pulled without meaning to, while Mason licked and nibbled and tugged with his teeth. A fever of longing crashed over her, making her delirious for more. Her fingers shook as she unbuttoned his shirt and unzipped his jeans. He dropped his boots on the floor. Her longing grew so intense, she could hardly breathe. Here in his living room with the open ceiling and the overlooks spiraling up, he seemed even bigger and more magnificent. A prince presiding over his kingdom.
She didn’t know what to do all of a sudden, like there was no place for her shyness or her hands.
Yet when Mason resumed kissing her, the shyness gradually lessened. Everything between her legs tingled and throbbed and swelled. She ventured to touch his thick, hard length and felt it jerk in response. Her fingers wrapped themselves around him. He let her play for a moment, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling. Then he said in his deep voice, “Come with me.”
He brought her to the pool and sank into the water ahead of her. The pool was edged in rock and formed a grotto, partially concealed by palms. When she got in, the warm water closed over her breasts and she went instantly weightless. A feeling of erotic possibility stole over her and she longed for things she’d never even imagined before. As he took her in his arms and started kissing her again, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world to boldly wrap her legs around him. Only now he was bumping against her and longing oozed thickly through her veins.
Still kissing, he braced her against a wall. An underwater jet gushed against them, which made a plume of bubbles and a deep rumbling sound. Suddenly, Mason drew back. She saw an idea come into his mind. He positioned her on the ledge in front of it so the water gushed against her. She went still, caught in the grip of concentrated pleasure. Mason pressed his hard, wet body against hers, and then reached around and teased her open so she could receive the tumbling, churning bubbles more directly. Her head dropped helplessly on his shoulder.
She couldn’t move. While he murmured how beautiful she was, how much it turned him on to watch her, she felt the pressure coil up inside of her, squeezing tighter and harder, making her fight for her next breath. Yet she stayed in a paralysis of almost-but-not-quite, even when he reached up and pinched and pulled her nipples. Something was missing, something she needed to finally send her over.
As though he understood, Mason moved her knees farther apart. With one hand, he tilted her pelvis back and then entered her in one smooth stroke. Her back arched, changing the angle of the bubbles. She could feel them surging against her sweet spot, boiling relentlessly. Yet instead of thrusting, Mason held still, letting her feel the fullness of him inside her, until it sent her flying.
The climax hit all at once, long shuddering contractions that wouldn’t stop. Dimly, she heard him groaning from the effort it took not to move, but he clearly wanted her to have this. One climax became another as she cried out, pinned against him, writhing, until she finally gasped, “No more. I can’t, I can’t.”
He turned her around then and blazed a trail of heat from her throat to her breasts and back up again. He claimed her mouth and she met him passionately, still trembling from the aftershocks.
But it wasn’t the orgasms that made her reel. It was him. She would never get enough of him. And the more time they spent together, the deeper and more primitive her cravings.
“I need you,” she whispered. “I need—”
“Yes, baby. God, yes.” He climbed out and then returned, fully sheathed, before sinking into the water. Breathlessly, she watched him. A part of her was beyond caring about things like birth control, but that was how you got in trouble. Thank God Mason loved her enough to want to protect her that way.
Her body tingled in violent anticipation.
He had such an intent look in his eyes as he closed in, wrapping her legs around him and then slowly, weightlessly impaling her on top. His strong hands cupped her behind and set the pace. Cassidy never felt so love-drunk in her life as she did in that moment when she knew her body could give Mason as much pleasure as he gave her. The friction grew white-hot, slippery despite the water, and there was wild urgency to his thrusts.
She could feel him swell inside her. Then he went deep and she soared off the edge of a cliff, calling out to him.
With a hoarse cry, he followed.
* * * *
When Mason opened his eyes, his first thought of the morning wasn’t the game. It was Cassidy softly breathing in the bed next to him.
He turned on his side to watch her and his chest filled with warm happiness. Usually when he woke up with a woman in his bed, there was a sense of wanting to get on with his day. With Cassidy, it felt like this was already the best part of the day, just seeing her long hair draped across the pillow, her beautiful face soft and unguarded in sleep. He wanted to touch her, but didn’t quite dare. Not yet.
His phone chimed and he reached over to turn it off before the sound woke her. Who the hell messaged people this early? He thumbed open his text app and read a message from his mother. He read it again just to be sure. Even though the news was far from unexpected, sadness crept over him and he flopped back down on the pillow.
Cassidy stirred. Sleepily, she asked, “What’s wrong?”
He set the phone on his nightstand. “My mom,” he said heavily. “Dad finally signed the divorce papers.”
* * * *
The elevator reached the top floor of Lone Star Stadium’s box suite and the doors opened. Cassidy smoothed her dress. She told herself the sick dread in the pit of her stomach could have been from a lot of things—Mason’s recent heartache, her own feeling of bewilderment at being here, or maybe Parker’s worrisome attempts to track her down.
But when she stepped off the elevator and everyone stopped talking to turn and stare, Cassidy was pretty sure the sick dread came from just having to be here.
She had a sudden image of the fryer at Artie’s, how she’d have to get on her hands and knees to scrub all the grease and filth that accumulated behind it, rubber gloves up to her elbows, scummy water in the mop bucket by her side. She heard Darlene’s voice, “May I take your order, please?” echoing inside her head.
But this was what she had to do if she and Mason were ever going to make it. And the thought of not making it filled her with anguish. She had to swim in the shark tank, even if the shark tank felt a lot like high school. Even if being here reminded her in the most agonizing way possible that she was nobody—Cassidy Dawn Roby from Nowhere, Texas.
Walking into that room felt like pushing through water. She forced herself to look at things instead of people, even though people were most certainly looking at her.
A bartender stood behind the bar to her right, polishing and racking wine glasses. At the end of the room, leather club chairs were arranged around a floor-to-ceiling window that overlooked the stadium. Lights were recessed, muted, elegant. Waiters carried trays to a buffet table, scenting the air with roast beef and gravy and baked potatoes. Despite the sick feeling, Cassidy’s stomach stirred rebelliously. There’d been a lot of love today, but not a lot of food.
“You’re new,” a woman said behind her.
Shoring up her smile, Cassidy turned around. Two women with perfect hair and six-inch heels stared down at her. They looked just like the kind of rich celebrity girlfriends who lived on martinis and breath mints, who wouldn’t dream of visiting a buffet table that had potatoes on it.
She reminded herself that she was twenty-five now, not fifteen. She could handle this. After all, she wasn’t walking around with evidence of her poor decision making right in front of her, straining the waistband of her pants. Who was she to judge a bunch of beautiful, glamorous women? They could be lovely people. They could be—
“Interesting dress,” the first blonde observed. She had flawless skin, puffy pink lips and a tennis bracelet that looked both dazzling and real. “Where’d you get it?”
“Maxine’s,” Cassidy said warily.
The other blonde woman eyed Cassidy’s shoes. “Maxine’s? What is that—like a mall outlet or something?”
“No, it’s a store.” That you’ve never been to because there aren’t enough pairs of two-hundred dollar shredded jeans and blinged out T-shirts to interest you.
Across the room, a third blonde woman waved to the woman in front of Cassidy and yelled, “Hey, Tiff!” This particular blonde wore leather jeggings and a super-expensive jersey with Mason’s number on it. Cassidy had seen his jerseys in stores and couldn’t believe how much they cost, especially compared to her simple little dress.
Tiff barely spared the woman a glance. Instead, she peered at Cassidy over the edge of her martini glass. “I bet you teach Sunday school. You do, don’t you? You seem like someone who would, and I can see where Mason would totally go for that.”
Cassidy tried to hide her surprise. Did everyone know she was seeing Mason? Maybe Dallas was more like Cuervo than she thought. “Does Mason usually date Sunday school teachers?”
“Not when I was with him,” Tiff said. “Some of us aren’t really the go-to-church type.”
Cassidy felt the blood drain from her face. She wanted to get as far away from Tiff’s cool, neutral gaze as she could.
Oh, Mason, how could you?
“You’re from that town he used to live in, aren’t you?” Tiff’s friend said. “What’s it called? Queer-o?”
“Cuervo,” Cassidy said softly. “We’re from Cuervo.”
Tiff skimmed the olive off her toothpick with her teeth and then ate it. “Mason kept threatening to take me there, but I said why? Who wants to go somewhere called Queer-o?”
Me, Cassidy thought, feeling her breath hitch. I want to. She didn’t belong here. She was crazy to think she could do this. For all she knew, Mason had dated every woman in this room.
The box suite felt too small all of a sudden, as if there wasn’t air left inside. She knew Tiff and her friend were watching for any sign of weakness, but she was too hurt to care.
“Excuse me,” Cassidy said, “I’m going to watch the game.”
She trudged the length of the box suite, found an empty club chair and dropped into it, staring down at the field. Cheerleaders danced, all bare midriffs and sparkly pompoms. How many of them had Mason dated?
It was one thing to know that Mason went out with beautiful women as part of a publicity stunt. But it was another to be ambushed by one of them at his game. Didn’t he care that they were mean? It stirred up too many memories—Mason at the prom with Kayla. Her own pink lace prom dress crumpled in the footwell of Parker’s car. The day she kept going through test strip after test strip, trying to prove to herself that she wasn’t pregnant. How bewildering and lonely it had been sitting in class in her maternity overalls, surrounded by girls who had their whole lives ahead of them.
She felt frozen inside, as if everybody could see her pain and confusion and humiliation. As if everybody knew she didn’t belong here and couldn’t stop talking about it. She saw them huddled in groups of two or three, giving her the side-eye, tall and thin and sure of their place in the world.
“Hey, is this seat taken? I need to sit my ass down.”
She raised her eyes, expecting to see another Kayla or Tiff. Instead, a gorgeous black woman wearing the same style of maternity smock she used to wear clambered into the club chair next to hers. She had natural hair pulled into a bun, hoop earrings that offset her slanting, long-lashed eyes, and the kind of full lips that women like Tiff could only pray for.
“Your first?” Cassidy gestured toward her pregnant belly, envying her a bit. It had been a long time since Lexie was a baby.
“My third,” the woman said. “We keep trying for that boy. My name is Alicia. You’re Mason’s girlfriend, right?”
Would she ever get used to everybody knowing that? Cassidy nodded.
“God, what I wouldn’t give for a damn drink. I don’t know why pregnant women have to live like saints all the time. When my mother was pregnant, she smoked, drank, and never used a seatbelt.”
“I remember,” Cassidy said. “My mother used to tell me the same stories.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tiff and her friend cozy up to the bar.
Alicia followed her gaze. “Hey, didn’t your boy Mason date that chick for two minutes? She called me fat once.”
“Now I really don’t like her.” Cassidy tried glaring at Tiff but just ended up feeling bad again. Did Mason have a thing for bitchy women?
Just then the stadium blasted loud, aggressive music and she swung her gaze glumly to the field. Players were coming out, one by one. Mason got the loudest cheers of anybody. As she watched him smiling and waving to his fans, she was proud of him, even though her heart felt wilted, as if somebody had failed to water it.
Alicia grabbed a handful of nuts and studied her thoughtfully. “This whole celebrity girlfriend thing. It’s not your scene, is it? I mean, you’d be just as happy if Mason weren’t famous.”
Cassidy glanced over at Tiff again. “Happier.”
“I’ve been at this a while, see. Do you want advice from someone who knows Mason and knows what it takes to handle this bullshit?”
Cassidy’s heart gave a leap of hope. She leaned forward expectantly. All she wanted was for her and Mason to be happy. No more worrying. No more looking over her shoulder to see who had her in their crosshairs for daring to “date up.” Alicia seemed like the only warm, real human in this place.
“Fame’s a bitch,” Alicia told her. “Everything you do or don’t do, the press will find out about it. They’re relentless and they’re everywhere. People you’ve never met before will read the shit they write and hate you for it. So if you can’t make your peace with that and the idea that Mason dated some skanky bitches before he found you because he was lonely and that’s all that was offered, then you’re not cut out for this lifestyle.”
Cassidy stared at Alicia, speechless, knowing that everything she said was probably true. A sense of horror flared and then receded. Alicia’s expression was understanding, though, not unkind, and Cassidy drew strength from hearing the truth put so bluntly. “Thank you for that,” she said.
Alicia propped her swollen feet on the table in front of her and sighed. “Ain’t no big thing. Downhome girl like you seems like you’d be good for Mason, but that boy needs someone who’s going to be there for him. If you don’t think it’s you, break his heart now, you hear me? Don’t wait ’til it’s too late.”
* * * *
Mason stood panting and in pain on the thirty yard line. There was a decent chance a few of his ribs were broken, but he was too elated to care. The crowd hadn’t stopped cheering since the Lone Stars’ last touchdown, the one that put them ahead of the Giants 21-14.
When the two-minute warning sounded, the stadium went wild. A galaxy of flashbulbs exploded. The jumbotron lit up with digital fireworks bursting around a countdown clock.
Somewhere up there Cassidy was watching.
With no timeouts left for the Giants, and his team in possession of the ball, all Mason had to do was run down the clock.
He and the team assumed their positions on the field. Hooper, his offensive lineman, was actually bleeding from a head wound. Running back Lance Pardiman limped, but tried to hide it. Knowing they were in this together, through pain and injury, through victory and defeat, gave Mason a rush of something that could only be described as love. Maybe you could pay men to play a game, but you could never pay them to care.
And his team cared.
Mason ran out the clock by taking a knee on the first, second, and third down while 70,000 fans boomed out the numbers, “Twenty, nineteen, eighteen—!” A wall of sound that brought chills to Mason’s sweat-soaked skin. “Twelve, eleven, ten—!” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Coach Lemery give him a rare thumbs up. “Eight, seven, six—!” Mason got to his feet, ribs protesting, and pulled off his helmet. “Three, two, one!”
Victory.
Amid high-fives and fist pumps, Mason looked for the Giants’ quarterback. Anton Fuller was a solid athlete, cool under pressure, explosive strength in the long pass. Mason found him and shook his hand, remembering when their situations were reversed and it was Fuller who wore the tired, happy smile.
The stadium was still rocking by the time Mason and his teammates hobbled off the field. All he could think about was seeing Cassidy.
Through a mini-forest of sports reporters’ video camera lights and overhead booms, he could see her waiting for him in the tunnel, but then the reporters closed in, shouting questions. Mason started by thanking his team, his coach, his fans. The first rule of being a good quarterback was giving credit to the team when games were won and accepting responsibility when they weren’t. He talked for a few minutes about teamwork and discipline, and then a female reporter he’d never seen before thrust a mic at him.
“There are rumors going around about a new girlfriend,” she said coyly. “Someone from your hometown. Care to comment?”
Mason sucked in a breath so hard, he almost doubled over from the pain to his ribs. Sure, he’d known this day was coming, but not now. Please, not now.
His gaze flew to Cassidy’s stricken face.
Instantly, he knew two things: one, it was way too soon for this, and two, there wasn’t a fucking thing he could do to protect her from the press. She needed protecting.
Only he had no idea how to do it.