CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Like that?” he asked, before kissing her, and she tasted herself on his lips. It was a shocking and unbelievably erotic experience.
“It was too much,” she said between desperate gulps of air.
“I have more of that for you,” he promised. Daisy was both excited and terrified at the prospect. He fumbled with his belt buckle, and she reached down with trembling hands to help him, but he gently brushed her hands aside.
“This would last longer if you didn’t touch me,” he said. “Next time you can have your wicked way with me, but right now, I’m so primed that if you touch me it’ll be over in seconds.”
He shoved his pants down past his hips and knelt in front of her, his thighs spread as he sheathed himself in a condom. She couldn’t get over his masculine perfection, everything tight and hard and beautifully muscled. And he was right to be smug; he was intimidatingly big down there. His penis was hard and thick and long and looked a little terrifying to her inexperienced gaze. At the same time, she could appreciate the elegance of the way it curved upward to kiss his belly. So perfect in every way, from the tight, lightly furred sac, up the veined length, to the deep-pink, plum-size glans. She was desperate to touch and taste, and she silently vowed that the next time she would be calling the shots.
His eyes were feverish and his face strained, and he took one long look at her, seeming to recognize the admiration in her eyes for what it was. He gave her a naughty grin before palming his erection and giving it a long, leisurely stroke from balls to tip and back again. She groaned, and he chuckled, the sound strained before covering her, bracing his elbows on either side of her for support. He kissed her thoroughly and reached down with one hand to line himself up at her entrance and ease into her.
“Christ.” His voice broke on the word. “You’re so tight, babe. Relax for me, okay?”
She tried, she really did, but the unfamiliar thickness, so much more than his fingers, was making her tense up.
“Daisy, please,” he muttered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“I’m trying,” she sobbed, feeling immediately inadequate. He stopped moving, allowing her time to adjust to his size, and she could tell from the taut strain on his face that it was taking a great deal of self-control for him not to move. He started kissing her again, taking her mind off his intimate invasion as he played with her tongue and moved down to her breasts, laving them with attention. It worked, and she relaxed in tiny increments, starting to enjoy herself. He rocked against her, easing more of himself into her with every tiny movement of his hips, and Daisy moaned when his shaft brushed against her swollen clitoris.
He was making soft, desperate little sounds in the back of his throat, and he was starting to drip with sweat. He looked like he was under a massive amount of stress, and Daisy tried to help him, lifting her pelvis to meet his thrusts.
“I can take more,” she promised, and he took her at her word. She tensed up, but when he didn’t move again, giving her time, she relaxed and dug her fingers into his tight butt to urge him on even further. Finally, after what felt like years, he had his entire length buried inside her, and when the stretch and burn faded, she moved her hips experimentally. Mason breathed a heartfelt prayer and dragged himself nearly all the way out, undoing all his hard work, before thrusting home again.
“Oh.” The exclamation was a sound of revelation, as Daisy finally understood what he’d been working so hard to achieve. Another thrust, and his tip brushed against that same internal spot that had driven her crazy earlier.
“OH!” The exclamation was louder and a little more enthusiastic this time. Mason was utterly focused on her pleasure, and, recognizing what she liked, he kept hitting that spot with every subsequent thrust.
“Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh my God!” Daisy’s orgasm was unexpected, massive, and once again a thousand percent better than the one that had come before.
Mason shifted her knees until they were braced against his chest, changing his angle as he lost any pretense of gentleness and simply pounded away at her. She had another orgasm in seconds, and it was as she was clenching around him that he groaned—the sound loud and long—and shuddered, his head dropping to her chest, completely vulnerable in her arms for that brief moment.
He moved her knees to the side and quickly discarded the condom, tossing it into a wastebasket next to the bed, before spooning behind her and holding her tightly against him while they both trembled through the shattered remnants of their orgasms.
Their bodies cooled down slowly, and the chill air started raising goose bumps on Daisy’s skin. Mason reached for the duvet cover and tugged it over them, before snuggling behind her again.
“Are you okay?” he asked after nearly a half an hour of comfortable silence.
“Hmm.”
“I didn’t want to hurt you. You were tighter than I expected.” There was a questioning lilt to his voice, and she turned around to face him.
“I’m kind of new to this,” she admitted, and he forked his hands through her curls, pushing them out of her face so that he could see her expression better.
“How new?” he asked softly.
“I’ve never really done this before.” He looked unsurprised and ran a knuckle over her cheekbone.
“Never?”
“Not even once.”
“So your ex-boyfriends were even dumber than I suspected.”
“Mason . . . I’ve never had a real long-term relationship with anyone.” And wasn’t that just the saddest thing ever? How humiliating to reveal that to him. “I know that makes me a bit of a freak.”
He snorted.
“Yeah, I was just thinking that the guys in Riversend are the freaks. How could they not have seen what was right under their noses all these years? And what about college? I mean, isn’t that what students usually get up to? Parties, drinking, and lots of indiscriminate fucking, right? How did you get left out of all that?”
“Is that what you got up to at college?”
“I was a grown man. Getting laid wasn’t my number one priority.”
“It wasn’t mine either. By the time I got to college, all my insecurities were pretty much set in stone; I didn’t think any of the boys would be interested in me. I got through my studies by keeping my head down and staying on the fringes of everything. Nobody saw me. It was partly my own fault; I was happy enough to remain invisible. And when I got back home it was just more of the same. Until I walked into a bar two weeks ago and there you were.”
“Daisy, I’m not . . .” He sounded uncomfortable, and knowing exactly where this was leading, Daisy nipped it in the bud.
“Yes, I know, you’re not my Mr. Right or whatever. But today I decided that you’re Mr. Okay for Now. I’ve decided that my shell is getting boring, and I’m a little sick of it, so I’m branching out. Trying new things. And you’re a pretty good teacher. I mean, what was that thing you did earlier? I’ve given myself lots of DIY orgasms, but nothing of that caliber.”
He was quiet for a second as he processed her words, obviously trying to figure out if she meant what she was saying.
“Uh.” He cleared his throat, deciding to go along with it. “I guess you never found your G-spot when you were diddling yourself.”
“Oh, so that’s what that was,” she whispered reverentially, and he chuckled. “I guarantee it’ll be a part of my self-pleasuring repertoire from now on.”
She felt him hardening against her thigh as her words turned him all the way on in an instant.
“Why don’t you show me how you mean to include it, and I’ll give you a few pointers on how to improve your technique?”
“You’d do that for me?” she teased, and he laughed.
“Damned straight I would.”
“Okay, but only if you show me your technique. I’ve always been curious about male masturbation. Maybe I can help you out?”
“Jesus. Yes and please.”
It was the last thing either of them said for a very long while.
An obnoxious buzzing sound interrupted Daisy’s sound sleep, and she groaned. She felt warm and comfortable and snuggled deeper under the covers, her foot automatically searching for Peaches’s comforting weight at the end of her bed. Instead she collided with a warm, masculine shin, and memories of the night before came flooding back. She went very still as she tried to orient herself. They were spooning, his crotch at her butt. One of her feet was trapped between his knees, and he had an arm curled beneath her head and the other slung across her waist, his hand cupped over her stomach. She automatically sucked it in, and he chuckled knowingly, his chest shaking against her back and his breath teasing the hair at the nape of her neck.
“Too late, I’ve seen everything there is to see,” he said, his voice a sexy morning rumble that made her want to climb on top of him and have her wicked way with him again.
She didn’t respond to his teasing words, simply let out her breath and relaxed.
“In Iraq I had this company commander, a very distinguished older guy.” God, his morning voice was gorgeous, deep and with just a bit of gravel. She could listen to it all day. “He had a collection of classic movies. Whenever we got any downtime, tedium would set in pretty quickly, and we’d all get into one another’s stuff. E-mails were read and reread, books were swapped around, games, cards, everything you can think of to stave off boredom. We often had movie nights, and when we ran out of the newer stuff, our commander would break out his movies. The old guy had a thing for fifties bombshells. He had Marilyn Monroe flicks, Sophia Loren, Jayne Mansfield . . . I remember the first time I saw Marilyn Monroe—I was about twenty at the time—I thought she was the perfect woman. Killer body. I printed out a picture of her in this white one-piece swimsuit—she was just standing on the beach with the wind in her hair—and kept it in my wallet. I hit the jackpot with you, Daisy; you’re a dead ringer for Marilyn.”
Daisy snorted at that, even while battling a pang in her heart at the thought of a young man, with no loved one back home, having to keep a picture of a long-dead movie icon for comfort . . . and probably other stuff.
“I look nothing like her; I’m not even blonde.”
“I meant your body. All these sweet curves. I mean, luckily these”—he cupped her breasts—“are a bit more substantial. And you have a plumper, rounder ass than hers.” Was he really comparing her body to Marilyn Monroe’s and finding hers more desirable? That was both sweet and a little unbelievable.
“Wait, so all the stuff we did and when I had my mouth on your—there—last night, you were imagining I was your bow-chicka-wow-wow dream woman?” she asked without any heat, confident that he had been entirely focused on her—Daisy—last night.
“Hell no. That was all you, angel. And for someone who’s never given a blow job before, let me tell you, that was a fuckin’ stellar performance.”
The annoying buzzing sounded again, and he reached for his phone and swiped the screen.
“Why is your alarm going off at this god-awful hour?” she asked, irritated.
“Thought I’d go for a predawn run on the beach, watch the sun rise. Want to join me?” he asked, nuzzling the back of her neck, while his hands started to roam. She sighed and relaxed into his embrace, pushing her behind up against his hardening erection.
“Do you really think I’m the jogging type?” she asked, and he made a noncommittal sound.
“I figured you weren’t, but it would be rude not to ask, right?”
“Trust me, I won’t think you’re rude if you never ask me again. But are you sure you want to go for that run? I can think of so many other more interesting forms of exercise.” Encouraged by the burgeoning hardness against her butt, she reached back and took hold of his solid shaft, and he sucked in a gasp of air. Happy with his reaction, she gave a long stroke and felt him go even harder.
“I’d love to, but you’re new to this, and I could tell after our last time that you were feeling a little stiff.”
“No. You’re feeling a little stiff,” she corrected, and he laughed.
“Who’s twisting whose words now, Daisy?”
“Apparently that’s what happens when you spend time with ‘testosterone-fueled guys,’” she countered, continuing with her languid stroking, and he groaned, the sound loaded with appreciation.
“I’m trying to do the right thing, Daisy. I’d make love with you all day if I could, but you need some proper rest. Go back to sleep, and when I get back we’ll take a bath together.”
Daisy knew he was right, now that some of her grogginess had worn off; she was starting to feel aches and pains all over her body. He’d given her a heck of a workout last night, had twisted and turned her body in so many unfamiliar ways, she was shocked she wasn’t a human pretzel this morning.
She gave him one last stroke before releasing him, and he moaned—a soft, disappointed sound—before moving away from her and getting out of bed. She immediately felt cold without him and bundled the bedcovers even closer, snuggling down and watching sleepily when he switched on the bedside lamp and started rummaging through his bag. He was walking around the room unabashedly naked and still massively aroused, and she admired every taut muscle that worked as he tugged on his briefs—boo—over that still-straining erection, then his drawstring workout pants, socks . . .
Her eyelids were unbearably heavy when he got around to covering up that beautiful upper body, and by the time he pulled on his beanie and fingerless gloves, she was fast asleep. She didn’t know he stood watching her for a long moment before he left, didn’t feel his hand brush through her hair and stroke her face, and never knew that he leaned down to kiss her lips before he grabbed his iPod and headed out the door.
There were a few people on the beach despite the early hour, some dog walkers, a jogger, a young couple doing yoga, and—of course—in the distance a small group of people on horseback, some of Lia’s more enthusiastic wedding guests. Mason sucked in a few breaths of the crisp air, filling his lungs with the fresh coldness and holding it there before releasing it slowly.
God, he felt amazing. Completely invigorated. His entire body was buzzing on a natural high after last night’s intense sex, and his chest gave a weird little leap every time he thought of the woman he had left sleeping back in his hotel room. He did a few long, satisfying stretches, easing the kinks out of his neck and back before adjusting his earbuds and starting up his running playlist. He began at an easy lope, allowing his muscles to warm up before increasing his pace. He didn’t jog, he ran, faster and longer than most average joggers. For Mason running was about maintaining his high fitness level and increasing his endurance. He had an alarm set on his iPod to remind him when to slow his pace and settle into a cooldown run. Without the alarm he could run for hours, especially when he got lost in his own head.
He was just starting to feel the burn when he crossed paths with the horse-riding party. A few hands raised in greeting, and he raised his own to acknowledge them—happy to let it go at that and continue on his run—but when someone angled their horse to intercept his path, he was forced to stop. He looked up to the rider and felt a surge of irritation when he saw it was the groom. He kept running in place to indicate his eagerness to get going again, but he tugged an earbud out to hear what the hell the asshole was saying.
“. . . want to join us?”
“Sorry, what?”
“I said while the bridesmaids are at the spa and having their brunch, we’re heading to the golf course to play a few holes. Want to join us?”
Mason hesitated, not at all in the mood to spend time with the man.
“You do know how to play golf, right? I know it probably wasn’t part of your lifestyle growing up. Or when you were soldiering. But it’s just swinging a club at a ball; it takes a bit of finesse, but you’ll get the hang of it.”
Right. Mason’s competitiveness sprang to the fore, but he kept his expression neutral.
“Don’t mind if I do. I don’t have any clubs, though.”
“You can borrow mine, Mason,” a familiar masculine voice offered, and he noticed, for the first time, that Dr. McGregor was also in the group. The man gave him an encouraging grin. “I’ve decided to spend the morning relaxing with a good book.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll take good care of them.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” the older man said. “You can pick the clubs up at ten, room twenty-six.”
“Uh, thanks.” Mason nodded, appalled to realize that Daisy’s parents were just a few doors away from where he had very thoroughly corrupted their youngest daughter last night. Jesus, what if they’d been right next door? He and Daisy hadn’t exactly been quiet. Who was next door? It would undoubtedly be someone they knew. Christ, what if it were one—or more—of the old ladies? The thought sent a shudder down his spine. He was so preoccupied by the horrific thought that he barely acknowledged the riders as they filed past him.
He absently started running again, but his peace of mind had been thoroughly shattered by the thought of one of Daisy’s naïve old aunties hearing the unmistakable and loud sounds of their lovemaking last night.
He tried to clear his thoughts and focus on his running, but the morning had been well and truly ruined.
Daisy was still sound asleep when Mason crept back into the room just after sunrise. The room was bathed in the warm dawn light, and she looked beautiful as it painted her skin with an unearthly glow. How could he ever have thought she was plain? He drank in the sight of her kiss-swollen lips, so plump and tender he longed to claim them again; those pretty freckles splashed over her nose and cheeks; her lashes long and thick against her pale skin, the perfect frame for those clear gray eyes. Every inch of her was stunning, and he wanted to spend the entire day just staring at her in wonder.
“Daisy.” The familiar, cajoling voice penetrated her sleep and brought a smile to her lips. “It’s time to wake up, angel.”
She sighed and stretched languidly, opening her eyes to stare up into Mason’s beautiful green gaze. His eyes dropped to where the sheet had fallen from her breasts, and instead of covering up, as was her first instinct, Daisy arched her back slightly and watched the fire ignite behind those eyes.
“Stop flashing those gorgeous things at me,” he admonished sternly, and she smiled sleepily, pulling the bedcovers up far enough to just cover her nipples.
“How was your run?” she asked, pushing herself into a sitting position.
“Shit. I couldn’t stop thinking about who was in the rooms on either side of ours.”
“That’s a random thing to be thinking about.”
“Daisy, what if it’s your aunts? Unless they’re stone deaf, there was no way they wouldn’t have heard our lovemaking last night. You’re quite the screamer.” Daisy battled a blush and tried not to read anything into the fact that this was the second time he’d referred to their sex as “lovemaking.”
“Daff is in twenty-four, and one of Clayton’s friends is in twenty-two.”
“Christ, not Daff. She’s not much better than your aunts,” he groaned, and she laughed.
“What’s the time? I have to get ready for this spa thing,” she said, unable to disguise the reluctance in her voice. “I don’t know how or when to tell Lia about Clayton. She’s going to be so hurt. What if she blames me? Or hates me? Or—worse—doesn’t believe me? It’ll do irreparable damage to our relationship. I wish I could talk to Daff about it first, but she’s so pissed off all the time lately. Half of it is because of what she knows about us, but the other half . . . I don’t know what that is.”
“You have to try, sweetheart, or watch your sister make the biggest mistake of her life tomorrow.”
“She may wind up doing that anyway, despite anything I have to say, and I don’t know if I can stand up there and pretend to be happy for her after I essentially tell her that her fiancé is a . . . a . . .”
“A prick?” he helpfully supplied.
“And more,” she said fervently. He smiled sympathetically and sat on the edge of the bed. He toyed with one of her feet through the covers as he weighed what he wanted to say to her.
“I can’t help you, Daisy, I wish I could. Whatever you do is ultimately up to you.”
“I know. Sorry for getting you mixed up in all the family drama. You were just here for the free food and drink,” she recalled wryly, and he chuckled.
“This is much more interesting. Now, I’ve already drawn a bubble bath if you’re interested in joining me.”
“For just a bath?” she asked with a pout, and he narrowed his eyes.
“No time for anything else, missy,” he said sternly. “So you behave. I have to meet the asshole and his buddies for golf.”
“You do? When did that happen?”
“Saw them on the beach this morning.”
“And you’re up for that?”
“Not really, but he was being such an arrogant douche, I figured it’ll be nice to take him down a peg or two.”
“Mason . . .”
“In an entirely sportsmanlike, nonconfrontational way, of course.”
She wasn’t sure she believed him, but she let it slide.
In the end, there was enough time for a very hot session in the huge tub, leaving more water on the floor than in the tub. Afterward, relaxed and very satisfied, they helped each other dry off.
“Tell me about this tattoo,” she invited, running her fingers over the branches of the gnarled bare tree on the right side of his torso. His nipples beaded, and he flattened a hand against hers to prevent her from stroking even more.
“The tree represents my years in the military. The letters and dates represent lost brothers and the dates they fell.”
There were so many initials, and a lot of them shared the same dates.
“It’s a beautiful gesture,” she whispered, and he shrugged.
“It was the least I could do.” His tone and body language told her that the subject was closed for now, and she kissed his chest just above the highest branch. He continued to towel her off before pausing.
“Jesus,” he suddenly swore, and Daisy, still contemplating that stark, poignant tattoo and what it represented, jumped at his vehemence.
“What?”
“You’re full of bruises.”
“I am?” She twisted around to get a look at herself in the mirror and saw the dark-blue and -purple bruises mostly on her butt and thighs. There were a few smudges on her arms as well.
“Why didn’t you tell me you bruised so easily?” He sounded horrified.
“Well, I had no idea that I did.”
“Does it hurt?” He touched one tentatively, his face tight with remorse.
“Not at all. And before you ask, no, you didn’t hurt me when we were having sex either. I didn’t even feel these when they happened. We were both carried away. I mean, I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have a few scratches down your back as well.”
“That’s nothing. It’s already an ugly, scarred mess; a few scratches won’t make a difference.” She gasped at that and poked a stern finger into his hard, naked chest.
“Your body is gorgeous, every delectable inch of it. And tonight you’re telling me what your other tattoos mean and we’re going to catalog all your smaller scars. Got it?”
“Don’t try to distract me. I’m not touching you again until after these fade.” His face grew stormier with each new bruise he found. He was seriously pissed off with himself for bruising her.
“You’re being silly.” She stepped out of his hold, taking the towel from him. “And just so you know, you have a bruise too. A huge one. On your neck.”
Mason turned to face the mirror, and sure enough, he had a massive hickey just above his collarbone.
“God, I look like a teenager,” he groused, and she smiled, looking so damned pleased with herself that he immediately didn’t mind the mark.
“I’ve never given anyone a hickey before.”
“And you’re never giving me another. One is your limit,” he warned, and she nodded, still looking smug. His eyes drifted back down to those ugly bruises marring her beautiful skin, and he felt like a savage for putting them there. He couldn’t recall ever marking anyone like that before, and he knew it wasn’t just because she had sensitive skin. He’d been seriously out of control with her. He needed to cool down, be gentler. And that was always his intention until he got his hands on her. Then all bets were off.
They got dressed; Mason pulled on a pair of gray cargo pants, canvas shoes, and a navy-blue Henley before turning to her with his arms outspread.
“Golfy enough?” he asked, and she shook her head.
“You look much too sexy in that getup. My father probably has a plaid-shorts-and-shirt combo you can borrow.” He looped his arms around her and dropped a kiss on her neck.
“Sexy, huh?”
“Don’t you dare fish for compliments, Carlisle,” she warned, and he hugged her close for a moment before letting her go with a lighthearted tap on her rump.
“You look pretty hot yourself,” he said, eyeing her appreciatively, and Daisy flushed. She glanced down at her simple white shift dress—another new purchase—pink cardigan, and scuffed tennis shoes. She looked like a librarian, or maybe somebody going to Bible study group. Hot was not the adjective she would have used, but Mason’s gaze was sincere, and she was going to simply accept and enjoy the comment.
They parted ways in the hallway, Daisy stopping to knock on Daff’s door while Mason stopped a few doors farther away to pick up the golf clubs. She felt a pang of loss as she watched him walk away and wished she could spend the morning with him.
Daff yanked the door open and thankfully distracted her.
“Oh my God, you look awful,” Daisy said. Her sister had black circles under her eyes, her hair was a mess, and she looked as pale as a Goth. “Are you sick?”
“A little hungover. And sleep deprived.” Daff glared at her before taking her hand and dragging her into the room. “You and Mason weren’t exactly quiet last night.”
“You heard us?” Daisy whispered, dismayed.
“I’d be surprised if the whole hotel didn’t hear you too. You guys were pretty damned vocal. What the hell, Deedee? One minute you’re telling me there’s nothing between you, and the next you’re shagging each other’s brains out?”
“It just kind of happened.”
“You’re not the type of woman these things ‘just kind of happen’ to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She was immediately offended, and Daff rolled her eyes.
“You’re the good one, that’s what I mean. I’m the one who usually makes the dumb life choices and winds up in bed with the wrong guys.”
“Well, sometimes being good is boring. Mason and I are both consenting adults, and we had fun. He made me feel sexy and raunchy and—”
“Stop. For the love of God! I don’t need to hear any more.”
“Maybe you do,” Daisy insisted. “Do you know that I’ve never had a real relationship?”
“I . . . did not know that,” Daff admitted reluctantly, the wind leaving her sails. “You’re really private sometimes, and I always assumed there were guys at college. You always talked about guys.”
“I was embarrassed. I felt unattractive and unwanted. Mason makes me forget that I’m the sad girl who never had a boyfriend in high school and never dated in college. The twenty-seven-year-old virgin who had no prospects of ever changing her status.”
“You were shy,” Daff said heavily. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“I was shy, and I thought I was boring and ugly and fat.”
“But you’re not.”
“I’m beginning to see that,” Daisy said with a smile, and her sister sat down heavily, staring up at her contemplatively.
“You look happy and confident and really goddamned sexy,” her sister mused, and Daisy’s smile widened as she sat down in the other chair.
“I feel all those things too.”
“So maybe Mason isn’t a total douche bag.”
“Not even a partial douche bag.”
“But, Daisy . . .”
“It’s nothing serious. We’re just having fun. I think I’m entitled to a bit of no-strings fun.”
“Are you sure?”
Was she? She had no option but to be sure. After this weekend with Mason, they would go back to normal. There would be no reason for them to inhabit each other’s worlds anymore. She felt a huge pang of regret at the thought. She didn’t want to lose him, but every time that rogue sentiment surfaced she quashed it by reminding herself that he wasn’t hers to lose.
“Daff, we need to talk about Lia,” she said, deliberately changing the subject. Her sister, alerted by the absolute seriousness in her voice, sat up straighter, her eyes sharp.
“What’s going on?”
It didn’t take very long to lay out the sordid little story in its entirety. Daff remained absolutely quiet while Daisy spoke of her discomfort around Clayton, about the innuendos, the subtle sexual harassment. And by the time she stuttered to a halt, Daff was pale and there were lines of strain on her forehead and around her lips. She didn’t speak for the longest time, while Daisy watched her anxiously, fearing repudiation, laughter, or anger. What she got was a shuddering sigh as her sister dropped her face into her hands.
“Daff?”
“Oh, Daisy,” Daff whispered, looking up to meet her gaze. Shockingly, her eyes were wet, and Daisy wasn’t sure what that meant, until Daff got up and knelt on the floor next to Daisy’s chair. Her sister reached out and pulled her into a hug, and Daisy exhaled the breath that she’d been holding on a relieved sob. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I thought I was imagining things. He’s really good at making you think you’re mistaken. I was so relieved when Mason asked me about it. I thought I was going crazy. I don’t know how to tell Lia. What if she hates me?”
“If she still wants to marry him after hearing this, then I’m sorry to say she’s an idiot who totally deserves to marry that . . . that . . .”
“Asshole?” Daisy supplied, using Mason’s go-to word.
“Motherfucker!”
“Right.”
“Come on, Deedee, let’s go talk some sense into our sister.”
Mason was soundly trouncing Edmonton and his toadying buddies on the golf course, and their earlier jovial mood was turning distinctly sour. They were on the seventeenth hole, and Mason was well below the course par, and Clayton was three shots behind. Most of the other guys were so far behind Mason’s score they had no chance of catching up.
Mason had managed to maintain a relatively pleasant façade for the majority of the last two hours, but nothing he had learned about Clayton Edmonton had done anything to shift his opinion of the man. He was an arrogant prick who spoke down to people he thought were his lessers—a group that included caddies, a couple of his groomsmen, and, of course, Mason.
Mason watched critically as the man lined up his shot. He hated golf, but he had learned to play back when he and Sam had started up the business. Sam had told him it was a good way to impress potential clients. Later, when they’d had more than a few famous golf pros as clients, they’d been forced to attend charity golf functions, and sometimes the clients preferred they keep a low profile, which meant caddying or joining the game. Mason had gotten really good at the sport, even though he had never developed a fondness for it. Just another hazard of the job as far as he was concerned.
He was grateful for the experience now, though. It was satisfying to watch Edmonton lose his cool. The man was starting to miss easy shots and swearing like a trooper. Losing that urbane edge that he so carefully cultivated.
“So you’re here with the other sister, right?” Grier Wentworth Patterson—the best man—suddenly sneered. It was the first time the man had deigned to speak to him in over two hours, and considering the not-so-subtle nod Clayton had just given him, it was a ploy to distract Mason from the game.
“None of the guys wanted to partner with her for the wedding,” another bright spark added. Mason couldn’t remember this one’s name, but he had clearly been overindulging a bit on the beer because he was more merry and bright-eyed than the occasion warranted. “We drew straws.”
Mason cast an eye over the group; it was only Clayton and his six groomsmen. Despite what Mason had been led to believe, there were no other wedding guests present. He was the only outsider, which is why he had been quite content to just play his game and ignore them for the most part. But now his blood was starting to boil.
“Her name,” he said, going through Andrew McGregor’s very well-stocked golf bag and taking his time selecting the heaviest driver, “is Daisy. The next fucker who fails to use it will regret his memory lapse.” He kept his voice level as he withdrew the golf club and buffed the head meticulously. He looked up at them only after he’d finished polishing it to his liking and was pleased to note that several of the guys looked a little uncertain after his pleasantly voiced threat.
“Come on, man,” Clayton said heartily. “You can’t expect us to believe you’re serious about her? You’ve dated supermodels, actresses . . . a princess, for Christ’s sake. Daisy isn’t exactly your usual type.”
Don’t hit him! The voice was like an alarm inside Mason’s head, but he could feel his fists clench as the bastard continued to just vomit a ton of shit.
“I mean,” he was saying, “I can see the appeal, kind of. I’ve always wanted to fuck a fat chick.”
Don’t HIT HIM!
“I mean, I wouldn’t want to be seen with her in public. But I figure it’d be a novelty to fuck a fattie. More cushion for the pushin’, as the saying goes.”
DON’T HIT HIM! It was becoming a mantra. A strident, unwelcome mantra.
“Right?” Edmonton continued to spew. “I suppose you’re an adventurer, willing to try anything at least once. I’ve always wondered about that one. The repressed ones are dynamite in the sack, right? Am I right, bro?”
Seriously? Fuck this guy. The rage inside Mason went quiet as his visual range narrowed until all he saw was his target: the braying ass in front of him. He inhaled slowly, feeling as lethal as he ever had on the battlefield.
He exhaled, hauled back, and slammed his fist into the bastard’s midriff, reaching out to grab the front of his preppy polo shirt in his other hand. Edmonton was bent over and wheezing for breath, and Mason leaned in, ignoring the man’s flinch, to speak close to his ear, his voice pitched low enough for only him to hear. “I know what you’ve been doing to Daisy, Edmonton. If you ever touch her again, I swear to God you’ll be shitting your own teeth for a week. Got it?” He thumped the still-gasping man on his back with his free hand before shoving him toward his groomsmen.
“If any of you so much as breathe wrong in her direction,” he said, his voice quiet and seething with fury, lifting his gaze to include the rest of the shocked little group, “I’ll show you exactly how many ways there are to fuck someone up without leaving a mark. Am I clear?”
Hasty nods.
“Great,” he said, dusting his hands and rolling his neck. He glanced at a still-wheezing Edmonton and smiled, a cold baring of his teeth that had been known to scare people shitless. “Walk it off, asshole. You’ll be fine.”
He picked up the bag from where it had fallen and inspected the clubs for any damage. Luckily everything looked in order.
“I’d say this game is over, wouldn’t you? Let’s never do this again.”
He sauntered to his golf cart and tossed the bag into the back and drove off without looking back. One punch hadn’t been enough, but if he stayed any longer he’d probably wind up maiming or killing the man. Mason had deliberately given him just that love tap of a punch because if he unleashed all the fury he felt on the man, Edmonton wouldn’t be getting up from it. Best Mason remove himself from the situation before the temptation to do worse overcame him.
He definitely needed a drink.