CHAPTER TEN
Daisy sagged against the bathroom door and took a deep breath before dropping the pillow and shakily making her way to the sink. She was a mess, literally and figuratively. She couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. And she couldn’t bring herself to regret it at all. This was all new to her, and she figured Mason would be a phenomenal teacher. But that didn’t mean years of shyness and awkwardness around the opposite sex would simply disappear after one—admittedly amazing—sexual experience with the guy.
“Just go with it, Daisy,” she whispered, as she stared at her reflection in the mirror above the basin. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”
She took a long shower, her nerve endings still alive with sensation, her body feeling completely alien to her. Throbbing and sensitive and ready. After she got out of the shower, she dropped the towel and stared at herself in the full-length mirror next to the huge tub. It wasn’t something she usually did. She tended to avoid looking at her naked body, hating every pound of extra fat, every bit of jiggle, any hint of cellulite . . . but now she wanted to see. Wanted to inspect and list the so-called imperfections. This body, which she had practically despised for so many years, had just given her more pleasure than she had ever believed possible.
She looked at the thighs, too round, too plump . . . without any gap at all between them, the tummy—not flat and abtastic, instead soft and rounded—but not as hideous as she had once thought. Her breasts—she reached up to cup one and hissed when the sensitive nipple immediately tightened in her palm—they weren’t perfect little apples; they were big, round, and overt. Her nipples were positioned high and gave a false impression of pertness, but the mounds themselves were bottom heavy and sloped gently down into a full curve.
She saw it all and automatically cataloged each and every flaw and then stopped and realized that Mason had seen all of this too, in a brightly lit room. He hadn’t seen any flaws; he had seen a desirable woman. The woman in the mirror wasn’t perfect, but she was . . . okay. She was somewhat ordinary with her curly brown hair, her freckles, and her pale skin; she had curves, and maybe they were a little fuller than was currently acceptable, but they emphasized her waist and gave her a pretty decent hourglass shape. She had cellulite, a double chin, and too much junk in the trunk, but right now she looked vibrant, happy, and even a little sexy.
“Is this a private party or can anyone join?” She jumped guiltily and looked to where Mason stood framed in the doorway, watching her watch herself.
He had on a fresh pair of briefs and that was all he wore. He came to stand behind her and eyed her reflection in the mirror. There was nothing but sincere appreciation and desire in his gaze. He was so tall her head only reached his chest; he wrapped his strong, hard arms around her and spread one hand over her stomach and the other replaced her hand at her breast. His dark skin contrasted starkly with her paleness, but the most striking thing about the way they looked together was that he made her seem tiny.
Beneath his huge hands, everything about her was small. His hand spanned the stomach she spent way too much time angsting over, making the extra weight look like nothing. And he was right; he was able to cover her breast with room to spare. She watched as he bent down to nuzzle his favorite spot beneath her ear and smiled and leaned against him. She loved the feeling of his taut body behind hers. She had never felt more fragile or more protected.
She turned in his arms and rubbed herself up against him voluptuously; his hot skin against her breasts felt simply amazing, and she was almost embarrassed to hear herself purring like a cat at the delightful sensation of the sparse hair on his chest grazing against her hard nipples.
His hands had come to rest on her butt and he was kneading the flesh there appreciatively before dragging one hand down to her thigh and lifting her leg so that he could rock his erection against her nude femininity. They moaned, and he leaned down to kiss her hungrily, his tongue mimicking the thrusting of his hips.
Things were starting to get out of hand when Mason groaned and reluctantly freed her mouth.
“We don’t have time, Daisy,” he whispered regretfully, while still rubbing himself up against her. “Christ, this is hard.”
“Yes, it is,” she giggled, and he growled, before nipping her bottom lip.
“Behave.” He dropped her thigh, and Daisy wobbled unsteadily. He grabbed one of the luxurious white hotel robes from behind the door and stuffed her arms into it.
“Cover yourself up, you shameless hussy. Stop trying to tempt me with your charms. Now go get dressed while I shower.”
She saluted smartly, just like he’d taught her, and he winked before ushering her out of the bathroom and shutting the door behind her. It reopened seconds later, and he tossed her pillow at her before closing and pointedly locking the door again. Daisy hugged the pillow to her chest and did a happy dance around the room before the fizzing in her veins settled down long enough for her to finally get dressed.
“You know you’re going to have to talk to Lia about Edmonton, right?” Mason muttered somberly in the lift forty minutes later.
“Yes.”
“Preferably before he touches you again,” he continued dangerously. “He lays another finger on you, and all bets are off. You’ll have to wind up explaining why her fiancé will be eating through a straw for the rest of his days.”
“Mason, don’t do or say anything until I’ve had a chance to talk with Lia or Daff, okay?”
“No promises.”
“Mason.”
“Daisy, if he touches you, I’m going to kick his ass. There’s no debating that. He has been gaslighting you for months, making you doubt yourself and your instincts. Fuck that guy; he lays a hand on you, I’m breaking it.”
They stepped out of the lift, and Daisy turned to him and reached up to cup his jaw and tug him down for a kiss. His stubble tickled the palms of her hands, and she moved her hands to the back of his head to the soft, fuzzier stubble of his hair.
“My hero,” she whispered after ending the kiss, and he smiled at her before claiming another quick kiss.
“And don’t you forget it. Now come on, we’re already late for dinner.”
They were twenty minutes late, and everybody was already seated when Mason and Daisy walked in. Daisy paused for a second, suddenly intimidated by the sheer number of people they were attempting to fool with their ruse, but Mason took her hand and tugged her toward the family table. She followed meekly, smiling and nodding as she went along, but not really making eye contact with anybody. She could see the speculation and blatant disbelief on some faces and immediately started panicking.
Mason’s arm crept around her waist, and he dropped a kiss on her cheek before whispering, “Relax and smile. You look like a deer trapped in the headlights.”
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” she hissed. “This was a crazy idea. They all know.”
“Calm down, angel,” he whispered. He lifted her hand to his lips and planted a kiss onto her knuckles before acknowledging their table with a warm smile.
“Hey, kids, how was the drive up?” Dr. McGregor greeted with a smile, and Mason extended his hand to the older man.
“Uneventful, but the scenery was stunning,” Mason supplied, shaking her father’s hand firmly. He bent to drop a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “Mrs. McGregor, you’re looking ravishing this evening.”
Her mother actually blushed and waved aside his compliment, even though everybody could see she was flattered by it.
Mason helped her into an empty chair next to Daff and took the one on Daisy’s right. Daisy was aware of her great-aunts staring at them curiously and smiled at the older ladies shyly.
“Hello, Aunties.”
“Daisy, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?” Aunt Ivy, the oldest and scariest, asked, staring down her regal nose at both Daisy and Mason. How she managed to stare down at people when she was only four foot eleven in stature was a mystery.
“Mason Carlisle, these are my great-aunts. Ivy, Gert, Helen, and Mattie,” she introduced them from oldest to youngest, and Mason turned his charm on them.
“Ladies, I’m very happy to meet all of you.” His smile was polite with just a hint of roguishness, and the ladies all seemed to unbend a little.
“Nice to see Daisy bringing a gentleman friend to a family event,” Gert, the sweetest of the four, said in her tiny Minnie Mouse voice.
“We all thought she was one of those lesbians,” Mattie offered in her usual blunt way, and Daisy winced. Mason’s left hand crept beneath the table to squeeze her thigh reassuringly.
“I assure you, ma’am, that is very much not the case.” He sounded just the teeniest bit smug. Daisy slanted him a horrified look that he met with a wink.
“Well . . . good.” Mattie, for once, seemed at a loss for words and eyed Daisy speculatively from beneath her formidable gray eyebrows—those things hadn’t been waxed or shaped in ever and always reminded Daisy of hairy white caterpillars.
Daff slanted her a sideways glance before muttering, “Remind me to implement a similar plan for the next family event. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so effectively silenced before.”
Daisy took a sip of wine to hide her smile.
Mason was chatting with her father, and Daisy took the opportunity to have a look around the large family table. Everybody was present, the aunts, Daff, her parents, Lia, Clayton, and his parents and younger brother, Carson. One big, happy family, she thought caustically.
Clayton and Lia were sitting almost directly opposite her and were involved in a whispered, seemingly heated conversation. Daisy elbowed Daff, who grunted in pain and glared at her indignantly.
“What do you suppose is going on with those two?” Daisy asked, ignoring her sister’s annoyance. Daff glanced across the table discreetly.
“Don’t know, but they’ve seemed out of sorts all evening. Definitely something’s up. I was thinking of taking Lia aside later to ask her about it.”
“I’ve been thinking about what Mason said the other day,” Daisy confided, and Daff nodded.
“Me too. The guy’s an ass, but he made a good point. She hasn’t been herself lately.”
“He’s not an ass,” Daisy defended, and Daff’s eyes flashed with annoyance before sharpening as they took in Daisy’s flushed face.
“What have you done?” she asked on a loud whisper.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Daisy said, before attempting a subject change. “This soup is fantastic.”
“How would you know? You haven’t even tried it yet,” Daff rejoined, and Daisy glared at her.
“It looks fantastic.”
“Daisy, you have stubble burn all the way down your neck,” Daff whispered, shocked. “It’s unmistakable!” Daisy clapped a hand over her neck, knowing exactly which spot Daff was referring to because it had been tingling since her shower. “Daisy McGregor, what have you been getting up to with that man?”
“Stop it, you sound like Nana,” Daisy hissed, and Daff grimaced before glaring at her.
“Don’t deflect.”
“We’re not talking about me right now; we’re talking about—”
“What are you two talking about so seriously?” Their mother’s voice interrupted the whispered exchange, and they both sat up straight beneath everybody’s curious regard.
“Soup!”
“Burns!”
The words emerged simultaneously, and the sisters peered at each other wryly.
“Uh . . . soup burns,” Daff improvised quickly, and Daisy threw her a disgusted look.
“Specifically how hot soup can scald your soft palate and/or tongue if you’re not careful,” Daisy added with what she thought was admirable poise.
“Yep. So, soup burns.” Daff nodded. Daisy could hear Mason snorting softly beside her, and she kicked him softly. He gripped her knee, his fingers tightening in warning when she drew back her foot for another tap. His hand lingered, sliding farther up her thigh, creeping up under her skirt. Daisy gasped and clamped her knees together, effectively trapping his hands between her thighs. She could tell from the slight smirk on his nearly impassive face that he wasn’t exactly dismayed by the turn of events.
“What an odd thing to be discussing,” Aunt Gert squeaked, and the other aunts sent her frankly disbelieving stares, since nobody else had fallen for the blatant lie.
“Anyway, so who will be going horseback riding tomorrow morning?” Daisy asked with false cheer, deliberately changing the subject and trying not to think of Mason’s warm hand resting so docilely between her thighs. The horseback ride on the beach was one of the events Lia had arranged for some of her more adventurous guests.
“I intend to be too hungover to even contemplate getting up at such a disgustingly early hour,” Daff said. The ride was at dawn, and Daisy secretly agreed with her sister that it was much too early to be up.
“Daff, you can’t be hungover, I’ll need my bridesmaids to be ready by nine,” Lia piped up. Were her eyes red-rimmed? Had she been crying? Daisy couldn’t tell for certain in the dim light of the restaurant, but it certainly looked that way.
“Crap, I forgot about that,” Daff groaned. Daisy had as well. Lia had organized a spa session followed by a champagne brunch for her bridesmaids. Clayton and his groomsmen as well as some of the other men would be playing golf.
“Mind giving me my hand back?” Mason whispered, his lips brushing against her ear as he spoke. “Not that I have any complaints about its current situation, you understand, but people may start to wonder why my hand is under the table. And probably jump to wholly accurate conclusions.”
Aghast at the possibility, she opened her knees immediately, and after one last little pat of her thigh, he moved his hand back to the table to pick up his knife.
“I hope your soup burns aren’t too bad,” he murmured wickedly. “You’re going to need that tongue later.”
She groaned; the man was irreverent and incorrigible, and she was starting to adore him. He made her want to throw caution to the wind and just be very, very bad. It was a giddy sensation. Entirely uncharacteristic for her, and she loved it.
Dinner wasn’t quite the ordeal Daisy had been expecting; the aunts were effectively muzzled by Mason’s appearance, but Daisy knew it was only a matter of time before they regrouped and started firing on all cylinders. For the most part it was a pretty casual, low-stress evening.
Casual and low stress until Daff decided that she needed to go to the bathroom and that Daisy really needed to go too. Her sister’s crazy eyes and not-so-subtle head jerks toward the powder room aside, Daisy played along because the “chat” was inevitable.
She excused herself, and Mason—who was having a very serious conversation with Aunt Mattie about the British royal family’s security details—gave her an absent nod. She reluctantly trailed after her sister’s slender figure and admired the way Daff’s sexy sheath dress clung to her perfect body in all the right spots. The same dress on Daisy would look borderline indecent, what with her abundance of curves. She smiled quietly to herself as, for the first time since puberty, she didn’t feel a pang of envy. Her sisters had often told her she was lucky because she had breasts, a booty, and a small waist, and she had always dismissed it as them being kind to the “fatty” in the family. She no longer felt like the “fatty.” She felt voluptuous, sensual, and she walked with an enigmatic smile on her lips and an extra sway in her step because she knew Mason would be staring at her butt as she left the room.
She wasn’t blind to the other appreciative male glances coming her way either, and it made her feel empowered and sexy and in control. She wasn’t used to so many eyes on her, but for once she didn’t hunch her shoulders in an effort to fade into the background. She owned her femininity and threw it down like a gauntlet.
Take me or leave me, but this is me, and here I am!
“Okay, what the hell is going on between you and Mason Carlisle?” Daff asked after a cursory glance around the powder room to confirm its emptiness. Daisy said nothing, going to the mirror to check her appearance. She was annoyed to note that her hair was coming out of the bun she had forced it into. Everything else still looked fine, and the pretty blue silk chiffon cocktail dress—one of several new items she had purchased for this weekend—looked nice too. It was a little bustier than she was used to—it felt weird to look straight down into her cleavage—but she was glad she’d bought it. It had a form-flattering sweetheart bodice, with tapered ruched straps, and flared from the natural waist into a deceptively simple circle skirt. The floaty skirt merely skimmed her body as it fell to her knees, but it kissed her curves when she walked, flowing beautifully with her slightest movement. The saleswoman had been genuinely enthusiastic in her recommendation after she’d seen Daisy in the dress. And the spark of desire in Mason’s gaze when he’d clapped eyes on her had made it worth the while and the expense.
“Hey, you look really hot tonight, so stop admiring yourself in the mirror and answer my question,” Daff said, folding her arms over her chest and glaring at Daisy.
“That’s between Mason and me,” Daisy said casually as she tried to tuck her hair back into the bun.
“Daisy, don’t get too involved with him. You’re going to get hurt.”
“He’s done nothing to hurt me so far.”
“You mean other than acting as his brother’s wingman at the hen party?” Daisy flushed at the reminder.
“Nothing since then.”
“Because he feels guilty? Daisy, you blackmailed him into being your date; there’s no way in hell this ends well.”
“Blackmail implies coercion; he wasn’t coerced. I wanted to back out, but he insisted we do this.”
“Just watch yourself around him. This isn’t real . . . don’t convince yourself that it is.”
“Why can’t it be real? Because no man would be truly interested in the other, ugly McGregor sister?” she asked, the old doubts resurfacing with a vengeance from where they’d been lurking just beneath her fragile new layer of self-confidence.
“Daisy, no! Look at you, you’re beautiful. Stop denigrating yourself. I just want you to find something genuine, and while Mason puts on a great show, it’s all fake. Don’t forget that.”
“How can I?” Daisy asked bitterly. “When I have you around to constantly remind me?”
“Daisy . . .” Her sister looked both remorseful and unapologetic at the same time. How was that even possible? Daisy shook her head and held up her hand to forestall whatever Daff wanted to say next.
“Leave it for now. I’ll take your words under advisement. Thanks for your concern. I’d like to get back to my fake date now, if you don’t mind.”
She turned and stormed out of the bathroom with Daff hot on her heels. Both women unaware of the fact that the corner stall snicked open after they left and a grinning Zinzi Khulani stepped out, her phone already in hand to text her friend the juicy bit of gossip she had just learned.
“What did she do to piss you off?” Mason asked, while he politely helped Daisy back into her chair.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Daisy said, trying to hide her trembling hands as she fought to get her temper under control. Daff, in the meantime, summoned the waiter over to order a whiskey sour, which she tossed back immediately before demanding another one. Lia looked both concerned and disapproving but didn’t say anything, keeping a strained smile on her face when Mrs. Edmonton leaned over to speak with her.
Daisy tried to take in great big gulps of air in an attempt to get her anger and hurt under control. She was aware of Mason looking at her with a concerned frown, but she forced a smile for him even though he knew her well enough by now to be able to tell when she was faking it.
She watched as some of the younger couples started making their way to the tiny dance floor, laughing and looking carefree as they started to sway together. She knew most of them and envied their ease and self-confidence.
“Dance?” he asked quietly, and she shook her head.
“No. Don’t dance, remember?”
“We could try to break the chicken dance curse?”
“I thought you didn’t dance either,” she reminded him, and he grinned. She forgot her self-pity party for a moment and tilted her head as she ran her speculative gaze over him. “Why don’t you dance? You never told me.”
“Hmm, I said it was second-date material, if I recall correctly, which means I should have told you at MJ’s. My bad.”
“We’re not really dating, and if we were, MJ’s was our first date, not our second.”
“Yeah? Howdya figure that? What about Ralphie’s?”
“That was . . . that wasn’t a date,” she spluttered. “It was a con job.”
“We talked, we laughed, and I bought you a drink. It was a date.”
“You didn’t buy me a drink.”
“I’m sure I offered to buy you—” He broke off what he’d been about to say and tsked before wagging a censorious index finger back and forth in front of her face. “Stop distracting me. I asked if you wanted to dance.”
“I already answered.”
“We don’t have to dance in here,” he said, his voice a low, sexy rumble. “We could go out onto the patio. We’d still be able to hear the music from there.”
Daisy glanced longingly at the huge glass wall and doors that led out to the hotel’s private terrace overlooking the ocean. It was a chilly evening, and none of the other guests had ventured out.
“I wouldn’t mind getting some fresh air. Maybe just a walk on the beach or something instead of the dance?”
“If you promise to save your first dance at the wedding for me.”
“Only if you tell me why you don’t dance,” she countered, and he grinned.
“You’ve got yourself a deal. Now let’s get out of here.”
Daff anxiously watched Mason smoothly making excuses before taking Daisy’s hand and leading her through the tables toward the exit. Daisy didn’t look back. She had been pointedly avoiding eye contact since their earlier chat in the powder room. Daff stifled a sigh and tossed back another drink, ignoring the weight of Lia’s disapproving stare. She could perhaps have handled the conversation a little better, but she didn’t trust Mason Carlisle.
The guy was much too dangerous for her baby sister. He was also sickeningly good looking, which meant she automatically distrusted him. Guys like him toyed with women, they never settled down, and Daff was terrified that Daisy was in way over her head, that she would fall for him—if she hadn’t already—and get her heart broken.
More and more people were starting to head to the dance floor, and a lot of the older people—her parents and aunts included—were leaving. Daff had another drink and kicked herself for not bringing a date. She hadn’t wanted to be saddled with one of her many loser guys for an entire weekend. Her options for a decent date were severely limited. Her ex-boyfriends had all been dumb, good-looking assholes—kind of like Spencer Carlisle—and any guy she carted along to the wedding would have expected more than she was willing to give. She was so sick of the lot of them, of the boring sex, the meaningless conversations, the casual disregard. She’d sworn off men for a while and she wasn’t going to break her fast just for Lia’s wedding. Especially not when her sister was marrying yet another worthless jerk.
Daff had a reliable bullshit radar, and she was usually really good at picking the assholes apart from the good guys. It was a useful skill to have, just a shame she wasn’t ever attracted to the good guys. Clayton Edmonton III was a definite asshole. In fact, he was a rare breed, a kind of hybrid douche hole. She didn’t know why she disliked him; she only knew that she did, and her instincts were usually spot on. But talking to Lia about it was nearly impossible. She cast a discreet glare toward her middle sister, but Lia was listening to Clayton blow hard about something. She looked perfectly miserable, and Daff knew she was going to have to talk with her sister tomorrow. Try to get through to her one last time. If this was how she looked two days before her wedding, how happy could she expect to be in the years to come?
Mason Carlisle was harder to read than most men. At times he seemed like a stand-up guy, and on other occasions he set off her asshole alert so loudly that it nearly deafened her. And Daff trusted her instincts; they hadn’t let her down yet. Daisy thought she had it all under control, but Daff knew it was a train wreck waiting to happen. The only problem was, her youngest sister had a stubborn streak a mile wide, and she only grew more intractable when she felt like she was being pushed into doing something she didn’t want to do.
It wasn’t easy being the oldest, Daff thought, starting to wallow in a well of self-pity. She got up, swayed a bit—stupid four-inch stilettos—and wobbled toward the exit. The waitstaff was taking much too long to bring her drinks, best to find the hotel bar. Thankfully Lia didn’t notice her leave; her sister could be more preachy than Auntie Ivy sometimes, and it was tiresome.
When she found a quiet spot, she leaned against a wall for balance—how much whiskey was in those sours anyway?—and fished her phone out of her suddenly cavernous clutch.
She closed an eye to focus a little better before finding the number she was looking for. There it was, excellent! It rang and rang and rang and . . .
“Hello?” The deep male voice on the other end sent a thrilling little shiver down her spine.
“You’re such a prick, you know?”
“Daff?”
“You know my voice,” she purred happily.
“Of course I do, why wouldn’t I?”
“Because you’re an a-a-asshole.”
“Are you drunk?”
“Yesh! No. Wait. Don’t change the subject.” Pesky man.
“Okay.” He was starting to sound amused. “You were saying I’m an asshole. What did I do to earn this label?”
“You hurt my sister.”
“Lia?”
“No, I have two sisters, you dick! And that’s your problem; you don’t see her or treat her with respect. I hate that about you.”
“This is about Daisy?” His voice had gone flat, all amusement gone.
“So you do know her name?” She was proud of the sarcasm laced through that question.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard, but . . .”
“I heard . . .” She lost her balance and fought to right herself with as much dignity as she could. Thank goodness he couldn’t see her. “I heard that you thought it would be a good idea to use your jerk brother to seduce my sister while you tried to chat me up.”
“I didn’t ask him to seduce her,” he protested indignantly. “Just distract her a little, pay her some attention. I didn’t think it would do any harm.”
“How did you expect her to feel when she found out?”
“She wasn’t supposed to find out,” he gritted out.
“But she did.”
“Yes, and she turned the tables rather nicely, don’t you think? Don’t underestimate your sister, Daff. She seems well able to take care of herself. She certainly has my brother wrapped around her little finger. In fact, I think he’s the real victim here. She blackmailed him into going to the wedding with her, and she’s performed some kind of freaky voodoo on him because he’s completely irrational when it comes to anything Daisy related. I don’t know what the fuck she’s done to him, but I don’t like it!”
“He’s going to hurt her even more than he already has, and it’s your fault.”
“Well, I think she’s going to wind up hurting him . . . and yeah”—he sighed deeply—“it’s my fault.”
“As long as you recognize that.”
“It’s your fault too, you know,” he murmured, and her brow furrowed into a scowl.
“How? How can this possibly be my fault?”
“If you’d even once given me the time of day, maybe I wouldn’t have had to rope Mason in to play wingman.”
“So I’m just supposed to pay attention to every guy who tries to chat me up? How typical of a man to think that.”
“Maybe if you weren’t constantly sending me mixed signals I’d be a little clearer about where I stand with you!”
“Oh, please, you’re seeing things that aren’t there.”
“Yeah? Why did you drunk dial me of all people, Daff?”
She paused to think about that for a moment.
“Because I’m a little too wasted to text you,” she finally decided.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Why me at all? And how do you even have my number, come to think of it? I don’t have yours.”
“You want to know where you stand with me, Spencer? Nowhere. There has never been, nor will there ever be, anything between us. Stay away from me in future and don’t fuck with my family again!”
“Gladly,” he seethed. “I’ve had more than enough of having to deal with manipulative, psychotic, raging bitches. Tanya was bad enough, and I’m definitely questioning what I ever saw in you.”
Stung, she allowed him the last word and hung up before she said something she’d regret even more. She wasn’t nearly drunk enough to be immune to that scorching indictment of her character. Especially not from him. Spencer Carlisle was a dumb oaf, but he’d always been a sweet dumb oaf. That’s probably why this entire situation bothered her so much. He had disappointed her. She pushed herself away from the wall, and after fleetingly considering her original course of action to find the bar and drink herself into a stupor, she decided that she’d rather fall into bed and forget this entire day ever happened.
It was colder than they expected, but the air was calm, the sky was clear, and a huge, creamy full moon was just rising over the ocean. It was a beautiful evening, and it seemed a waste to let the cold chase them back inside. Mason bundled Daisy into his suit jacket, and it dwarfed her, falling to just a few inches above her knees, while the sleeves ended well past her fingertips. She looked like a little girl playing dress-up in her dad’s jacket, and Mason, as usual, thought she was absolutely adorable.
They were barefoot on the beach; Mason had his socks off and his trouser legs rolled up, and Daisy had forced him to turn around while she tugged off her pantyhose and shoved them into her bag. He had taken laughing peeks, telling her she was being ridiculous because he already knew what she looked like naked.
Now they were walking hand in hand, shoes dangling from their fingertips. The sand was freezing cold beneath their bare feet, but neither minded much. They were content to listen to sounds of the whispering waves, the high-pitched calls of the night birds, the distant echoing cries of the southern right whales that migrated here to calve in winter. With Daisy’s hand tucked into his, it felt like the most perfect moment of Mason’s entire life.
“So why don’t you dance?” she asked, breaking the peaceful silence. But Mason didn’t mind, because if there were anything more beautiful than the silence, it was the sound of her husky voice.
“Because I don’t want to embarrass everybody else on the dance floor with my awesome moves,” he said complacently and was gratified when she laughed in response.
“Seriously?”
“Yep. That’s it. The whole story, true as God.”
“And this is what you would have told me on our second date, if we were, in fact, dating?”
“It’s supposed to impress you.”
“I am impressed,” she said, and he could hear the laughter bubbling away beneath her words. “I’m impressed by the size of your ego.”
“You’re obsessed with size, aren’t you? I told you not to worry; everything’s well in order,” he boasted, and Daisy laughed outright at that. He let go of her hand, and she felt the loss keenly until he draped his arm over her shoulders and tugged her closer so that she was tucked beneath his armpit and sharing his body heat. She put her own arm around his trim waist for better balance.
“You always smell so great,” she murmured.
“So do you.” His chest rumbled beneath her cheek when he spoke, and she sighed in contentment, feeling small and safe and protected in his hold. They continued to wander slowly down the beach.
“Aren’t you cold?” she asked when a sharp gust of frigid wind flirted with the hem of her skirt and sent goose bumps up her thighs.
“Nah, I’ve been trained not to be as affected by the weather. Extreme heat and extreme cold don’t bother me too much.”
“Did you see a lot of combat?” she asked, tentatively broaching a subject she’d been curious about for a while.
“I saw my share,” he said after a long pause. “When I was just a kid during the Iraq War. I’d barely finished basic training before I was shipped out. Then again later, after I was more of a specialist, shall we say? We were required to do some stuff I’m not at liberty to talk about. Nothing pretty.”
“Tell me about your scars; were you ever badly injured?” He stopped walking and turned to face her, and even in the pale light of the moon she could see his look of surprise.
“People hardly ever ask me about that. Top three things I usually get asked: how many people I shot and/or killed, how many bombs I’ve diffused, and have I ever flown a helicopter. Some folks really seem to have a Hollywood vision of war in their heads,” he said with a wry shake of his head, before continuing. “Nobody ever asks me about injuries. They figure, I’m alive, have all my limbs, so I must have come through it all unscathed.”
“I don’t care about the other stuff. I mean, I care about the people you may have shot and/or killed but only because I worry about how it must have affected you.”
“It was seven years ago; I’m over the worst of it.”
“Are you?”
“I . . . I’ve learned how to deal. It’s no longer a problem.”
“But it was?”
“Daisy, everybody who has seen combat suffers from varying degrees of PTSD. I had my moments, I still have the occasional lapse—one loud, misplaced bang could see me diving for the closest cover—but they’re few and far between now. I’ve—what’s that phrase? The shrinks love it. Ah, yes, I’ve reintegrated.”
“You still haven’t answered my question,” she pointed out, and he sighed, linking his hands behind her back and pulling her toward him until they stood chest to torso.
“I was shot twice and got winged by shrapnel in the IED explosion that killed Quincy. I’m afraid I have a road map of scars on my lower back; it’s not pretty.” Daisy had seen the scars on his chest and arms, but she hadn’t seen his back yet. She looked up into his beautiful face and felt sorrow at the anguish he must have felt. He claimed it was long ago and no longer affected him, but his eyes told a different story.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said.
His lips quirked, and he bent his head to claim her lips gently. The kiss was the slow-burning kind; it started with a tiny spark and built into a small, flickering ember when his lips nudged hers apart. That ember leisurely escalated into a shy, hesitant flame when his tongue met hers. She gasped at his touch and opened up even more for him, adding fuel to the flame until it grew stronger and bolder. Her hands went up to circle his neck, and her bare toes pushed her up as far as she could go in an effort to get even closer. The flame, now blazing and building into an inferno, threatened to rage out of control when his hands found her breasts through the slippery material of her silky dress.
“Daisy,” he groaned. “Let’s go back to our room.”
“Yes,” she encouraged. “Please.”
He stepped away from her and grabbed her hand.
“How fast can you run?” he asked urgently, and she giggled.
“Not very.”
“Not good enough.”
They made it back to their suite in under ten minutes, and Mason had her out of her clothes about a minute later. He swore reverently while she stood in front of him, trying not to be self-conscious about the fact that she was completely naked while he was still fully dressed.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he growled, his eyes hot and intense and embarrassingly, single-mindedly focused on her breasts. He looked into her blushing face and smiled tenderly at whatever he saw there. “I’m going too fast, aren’t I?”
“No, it’s fine,” she said, sounding unconvincing even to her own ears.
“It’s just I’ve wanted you for so long. Come here, angel.” He held out a hand, and she took it and stepped toward him without hesitation. “I’m going to kiss you, all over. I’m going to run my hands and tongue and teeth over every single inch of your beautiful body.” The promise was shakily given but brimming with sincerity, and Daisy felt an embarrassing rush of liquid warmth between her thighs at the prospect.
“But . . .” he qualified regretfully. “Not now. I don’t think I’ll last very long the first time, Daisy.”
For some reason she found his words so much more flattering than the admiring looks, the touches, the kisses, even the huge, rampant erection straining against his zipper. He didn’t think he’d have much self-control around her, and that was just the sexiest thing any man could ever tell a woman. At least, that’s what Daisy thought, and that knowledge emboldened her. She took another little step closer until her hard nipples were grazing against the expensive cotton of his shirt, one of them catching against a tiny mother-of-pearl button. She moaned at the sensation; her breasts and nipples were so much more sensitive than she’d ever known, and she nearly wept in relief when one of his hands moved up to cup one of her breasts, kneading it gently before plumping it up and holding it to his mouth. This time he wasn’t playing around, he mouthed it, aureole, nipple, and all. The intense suction nearly brought her to her knees, and her legs buckled, but he caught her and carried her to the bed. The movement was so smooth and effortless she didn’t have time to automatically protest that she was too heavy. She was on her back, legs spread wantonly, while he nestled between them, still fully clothed, sans only jacket, socks, and shoes. It was crazy, hot, and sexy, and Daisy loved it! He was at her other breast now, which led to more incredible suctioning, his mouth like a scorching, delicious vacuum, his tongue teasing the aroused tip mercilessly. Daisy raised her knees and planted her feet on the bed, using them as leverage to push her aching center against his hardness. She rubbed against him, wanting him to thrust back, wanting his heat against her wetness. His hands were everywhere and nowhere. Why weren’t they where she needed them to be? Her hands were tugging at the buttons of his shirt, wanting to rip them off in an effort to get his skin against hers. He pushed himself up, big and beautiful as he knelt between her legs, and without any consideration for the fabric or the expense of his dress shirt, he just unbuttoned the top two buttons, grabbed the back of his collar, and tugged it over his head to toss it aside.
Finally she had access to his big, beautiful chest, and she went for one of his nipples like an aggressive cat, embarrassing even herself with her ferocity. She licked, bit, chewed, and worshipped before lavishing the same treatment on the other one. Mason allowed it, groaning appreciatively while she pleasured him. His hands had traveled down to her hips and were angling them upward to better receive his hard grinding.
“Jesus.” He had no breath left, and the word was strained. “I’m not going to come in my pants like a kid again.”
His hands moved down and found her hot and dripping.
“You’re so wet,” he moaned before his index and middle fingers located her melting channel and sought entry. His hips mimicked the slow thrust of his fingers, and he groaned appreciatively.
“Shit, you’re so tight, angel.” The pumping motion of his fingers inside her stole Daisy’s breath, and her back arched as she rode the sensation. It was unfamiliar and a little uncomfortable, but combined with his stroking thumb at her hard clit, it was unbearably pleasurable. She was still fighting to breathe, her mouth open, her eyes pleading with his as she felt herself climbing to the inevitable peak of her climax. Her chest heaved as she sucked in a tiny amount of air without releasing what she already had trapped in her lungs.
He bent over her, his fingers still working deliciously between her thighs, and put his mouth onto hers.
“Breathe,” he urged, whispering into her mouth, supplying her with some of his own oxygen, which served as a catalyst for her to finally exhale on a sob. “That’s a good girl. Now come for me.”
“I can’t,” she cried, her body strung as tightly as a bow, teetering on the very edge, needing something more, something to send her toppling over the precipice.
“You can.” He changed the angle of his fingers, and she screamed when his talented digits brushed against an area so sensitive it nearly sent her off the bed. He held her ruthlessly in place. “There it is.”
“Oh my God,” she keened as, with another stroke, combined with a flick of his thumb, she came. Hard. It was much more intense than any climax she had ever given herself, than even the one he had gifted her with earlier that day. It was so powerful she felt sure she blacked out for an instant. He was murmuring soothing nothings into her ear and easing his fingers out of her tightly clenched womanhood. She was painfully sensitive, but he was unbelievably gentle. She was slick with her own moisture and felt the dampness spreading beneath her into the duvet. It embarrassed her a little despite his huge, smug grin.
“Flawless,” he purred before starting to kiss his way down her body. Still shell-shocked, she was absolutely electrified when she felt the first flick of his tongue on her still-spasming female flesh.
“Do you know how perfect you are down here, Daisy?” His voice was hoarse. “Pretty and pouty and pink. Absolutely beautiful.”
She sobbed when he lowered his head and went back to work, and before she knew it she was coming again.