CHAPTER FIVE
Mason felt like a bastard. Why had he done that? He couldn’t explain his motivation even to himself. All he knew was that he enjoyed teasing her and that he had pushed them both way too far with that stupid little strip show. Her pupils were still huge, only a sliver of gray rimmed them; her breath came in huffs; her hands were trembling; and she still had that delicious rosy flush highlighting her cheeks. God, she was sexy when she was turned on, and all Mason wanted was to get her someplace private and fuck her senseless. But if ever a chick had “complicated” stamped all over her, it was this one, and Mason knew that any sex with her would come with way too much baggage, and he sure as hell didn’t want her enough to have to deal with any emotional crap.
He preferred quick, easy, and uncomplicated, but the Daisy McGregors of the world wanted hearts and flowers and commitment—he shuddered discreetly at the thought—with their sex. Best to steer clear. He’d be better off going to a woman like that Shar bitch for his sex. A shame she left him cold.
Still, he hadn’t had more than one hookup since getting back from London, and that had been nearly eight months ago. Jerking off was getting old, and he figured he was way overdue for some fun between the sheets with a pretty, flirty thing who wouldn’t expect much more than a roll in the hay from him.
Sadly, because Riversend was so small, he’d have to venture further afield for his sex. God knew he didn’t want the whole town knowing whom he fucked. That was the one drawback of being home, everybody knew everyone else’s business. He had to ask Spencer where the prime pickup spots were around these parts.
He cleared his throat and tried to regroup his thoughts and felt like a total shit all over again when he glanced over at Daisy and saw that she was having a hard time meeting his eyes.
“So tell me everything I need to know about this wedding,” he invited, wanting to get them back on task. She looked up, and he could see the relief in her eyes at the change of subject.
“Well, it’s going to be a big deal: a destination wedding, with an intimate”—she used air quotes—“rehearsal dinner at the venue. Very sophisticated and elegant; Clayton’s parents insisted.”
Something in Daisy’s voice alerted Mason to the fact that she wasn’t too impressed with her future in-laws, and his eyes narrowed.
“Tell me about the groom.”
Daisy shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t like Clayton, she didn’t trust him, and she hated the way he made her feel. His comments about her body when nobody else was listening, so subtly insulting but couched beneath layers of bonhomie, had set her teeth on edge from the very beginning. The way he crowded her space when he spoke to her, the “accidental” brushes against her breasts when no one was looking—usually followed by insincere apologies and jokes about how her chest was hard to avoid—and the times he patted her butt with seemingly casual affection. He made her skin crawl, and she avoided being alone with him as much as possible. She hated the fact that Lia was marrying him but didn’t know how to verbalize how she felt.
The last time his hand lingered a little too long on her waist, she tried to confront him about it, and he had blinked at her innocently, affected surprise, and made her feel like she was reading way too much into the “affectionate” and “brotherly” pats.
“You’re hardly my type, Daisy doll,” he had guffawed. “Maybe you’re the one harboring less than sisterly feelings toward me. After all, it’s not uncommon for a younger sister to covet what her older sister has. But I’m a taken man, sweetheart. So don’t read too much into my hugs. I’m just trying to be brotherly.”
“Daisy?” She blinked in response to Mason’s gentle prompt and shook her head slightly as she came back to the present. “Where’d you drift off to?”
“Nowhere. Sorry. I was just trying to think of how to describe Clayton Edmonton the Third to you.”
“That’s a mouthful.” He chuckled, and she grinned.
“He insists on always being introduced that way.”
“Well, that tells me a lot more about him than you could possibly imagine,” Mason said.
“Really? Such as?”
“Such as the fact that he’s a pompous ass for one.” Daisy snorted in response to that, and he grinned. “Go on, tell me I’m wrong.”
“I can’t,” she confessed with a helpless laugh. “That was pretty much spot on.”
“You don’t like him much.”
“I don’t like him at all,” she corrected, and his gorgeous eyes went somber.
“Any particular reason? Aside from him being a pompous ass?”
“He’s not good enough for my sister. And I’m pretty sure he’ll wind up hurting her, but how do I tell her that when he’s been nothing but charming and loving to her?”
“And less than charming to you.” How the heck was he so astute? Or was she just that transparent? It was a little unnerving.
“Somewhat.”
“In what way?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.” His green eyes pinned her to the spot, and she felt unable to even blink. “And more importantly, it does to you.”
“It’s just little things really.” She didn’t want to tell him about Clayton’s creepiness. What if Mason dismissed her fears as her imagination too? Clayton was good looking and successful and engaged to Daisy’s very beautiful older sister. Why would he even look twice at dumpy little Daisy? So she settled for vagueness, not wanting to see the disbelief in his eyes if she told him the main reason for her dislike of Clayton. “I don’t believe he’ll be good to her.”
“Have you tried telling Lia how you feel?”
“Yes. Both Daff and I have. But it’s hard to put a damper on all that happiness. She seems genuinely in love with him, and whenever we say even the slightest negative thing about him it hurts her.”
Well, Mason could kind of relate to that; after all, he’d avoided telling Spencer about his bitch ex-girlfriend for similar reasons. But then again, they’d already broken up and telling Spencer would have achieved nothing, while it seemed like Dahlia McGregor was on the verge of making the biggest mistake of her life. Mason for damned sure wouldn’t have kept his mouth shut if Spencer and Tanya had stayed together.
“Okay, so the groom’s a douche bag, anything else I need to know?”
“His best man, Grier Wentworth Patterson, is an elitist snob who thinks that anybody from an even slightly lower income bracket is there only to serve his drinks and pander to his needs.”
“Charming.”
“Most of his other groomsmen are cut from the same cloth. I met some of them at Lia’s engagement party,” Daisy said and tried to keep her tone neutral as she thought back to that party. Shar had let it “slip” that the guys had drawn straws to see who would be partnered with Daisy. The toxic cow had then held a hand up to her lips in faux regret and tittered that she “hadn’t meant” to reveal the demeaning information. Of course she hadn’t.
“They’re all going to want to foster a friendship with you,” Daisy warned, and Mason grimaced.
“What the fuck for?”
“Well, look at your résumé, Mason. From war hero”—he snorted at that, but she ignored him—“to underwear model, to bodyguard for the stars, to millionaire playboy. They’ll be wetting themselves to get chummy with you.”
“What? A ghetto rat like me? How goddamn flattering.” He sounded anything but flattered, and Daisy bit her lips to keep from laughing at the sheer disgust that clouded his words.
“It’ll do wonders for their street cred.”
“Street cred? Street cred? What does that even mean?”
“These guys think they’re God’s gift, and you’ve become something of a celeb around these parts. They’re going to want to induct you into their ranks.”
“Like a cult?” he scoffed.
“Yep,” Daisy affirmed with a little grin, secretly entertained by how off-putting he seemed to find the notion. She had no idea if anything she’d just said were true, but it was fun to watch him squirm.
“You’re bullshitting me again, aren’t you?” he asked with suspiciously narrowed eyes, and she giggled.
“Of course I am. How would I know what that sneak of weasels are thinking?”
He chuckled and then trumped her. “Don’t you mean that crevice of assholes?” Her eyes widened, and she burst into laughter, immediately drawing attention to their table.
“Oh, that’s good,” she chortled, and he grinned again.
“I would have gone with forest of dicks, but forest sounds too damned impressive.”
“A d-dribble of dicks?” she suggested, still laughing, and that set him off.
“Jesus woman, that’s just wrong!” he chastised between hearty chuckles.
“But effective . . .”
He flashed her another one of those devastating smiles and proceeded to ask her about the other bridesmaids, her sisters, and her parents. He had such an easy manner about him, that she found herself opening up to him unreservedly, which was unusual for her. They laughed often, and Daisy knew that they gave the appearance—to anyone who happened to be observing—of a couple enjoying each other’s company immensely.
“So are you busy tomorrow?”
His change in subject was so abrupt that Daisy answered without thinking. “Not really.”
“Great, I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Wait. What? Seven? In the morning?”
“Yeah. Dress warmly and comfortably.” His words barely registered because she couldn’t quite get past the time.
“The sun isn’t even up at seven yet.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be asleep.”
“No, you won’t, you’ll be awake, because I’ll be picking you up at that time.”
“Why? What could you possibly want to do that requires getting up at the butt crack of dawn on my one and only day off?”
“You’ll see,” he said mysteriously, and her eyes narrowed.
“I won’t be able to see much of anything with my eyes closed,” she groused.
“Drink lots of coffee; you’ll be fine.” She eyed him speculatively for a moment, wondering what he was up to. She knew that this was just another part of the pretense and knew she had to play along, but that cravenly part of her was once again pleading with her to back out. She tamped it down firmly. There would be no backing out from here on out.
She just had to keep that first night front and center when dealing with Mason. He was good at pretense, he had spent time charming her, entertaining her, making her feel liked when all he had been doing was clearing the way for his brother to flirt with her sister.
And tonight again, while Daisy had been genuinely enjoying herself, he had been putting on a show for Shar and everybody else. Which, to be fair, was exactly what Daisy had asked him to do. She just hadn’t expected him to be so convincing.
“Do you want to get some dessert? Or maybe head over to Ralphie’s for a drink?” Daisy was enjoying the evening so much that she hadn’t even noticed she’d finished her meal and that the dinner crowd at MJ’s was thinning. She cast a look around, surprised to note that the restaurant was nearly empty.
“No, I think I should head home. Especially if I have to be up in the early hours of the morning.”
“It’s not that bad,” he chastised. She didn’t respond, merely gave him a look, and he grinned.
“Trust me, you’ll change your tune when you have to deal with predawn Daisy in the morning,” she warned, and he chuckled before signaling Thandiwe and asking for the bill.
After he had settled their bill, waving aside any attempt from Daisy to pay half, he took her arm and led her out into the cold night air. It had stopped raining, so they had no need of the umbrella, but it was freezing cold, with a sharp, blustering wind that cut right to the bone. Still the air had that crisp, fresh after-rain smell, and Daisy inhaled deeply before settling into the car.
The drive home was short, and when they got to her place, he wordlessly got out and assisted her from the car. He tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and led her to the front door.
As they stood in the darkened doorway, the peaceful silence shattered by Peaches’s excited yapping, Daisy stared up into his unreadable features and wondered how one ended a fake date properly. Handshake? A polite thank-you and a quick escape through the door? An invitation in to coffee?
Although that last one strayed dangerously close to normal post-date behavior.
“So . . . thanks,” she ventured, fumbling with her keys as she struggled to unlock the door. He took the keys from her and efficiently unlocked it for her. She took them back with another mumbled “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” The words were silky and murmured directly into her ear. She hadn’t known he was leaning in so close, and the feeling of his warm breath on her cold skin completely disconcerted her. Her hand dropped to the door handle as she prepared to remove herself from the uncomfortable situation. But when she tugged at the door nothing happened, and she was confused for a moment, until she looked up and saw that he had a hand flat against the wooden surface, easily preventing her from opening it.
Convinced that he didn’t know that he was blocking her way in, she turned to face him and saw his teeth gleam in the pale light spilling out from her living-room windows.
“I can’t open . . .” Her voice faded when he leaned in even farther, his bulk making her feel small and more than a little trapped. She tensed, her heart speeding up and accelerating her breathing in the process. What was this? If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was going to kiss her, but that was a ridicu—
Her frantic thought processes ground to a screeching halt when his lips dropped to hers. It wasn’t a demanding kiss—in fact, one would be hard-pressed to call it much of a kiss at all. It was just a light press of his lips on hers. Sweet, chaste, and incredibly confusing. Their lips were the only point of contact between them, and Daisy froze in shock. Not entirely sure how to respond to this.
She felt his mouth—those soft, velvety lips—stretch into a smile against hers and she resentfully wondered what he found so amusing about this. Was he making fun of her? Was this just some elaborate joke on his part?
It was her worst fear come to life. That this interesting, intelligent, likable, and very good-looking man might find her a source of amusement and pity like all of the other men around here.
His body shifted, and she went even more rigid, ready to flee if he said even one hurtful word. But all he did was bring his warm, callused hands up to cup her face. He lifted his lips, ending the passionless, innocent little kiss.
“Relax.” The word brushed across her lips delicately, and her brows lowered as she pondered the gentle command. She wasn’t given long to think about it before his lips were pressed to hers again, and this time there was nothing chaste or ambiguous about the kiss. It was hungry.
His lips parted hers, and before she knew it his tongue was there, a living, ravening thing, a restless flame, demanding more than she knew how to give. She moaned and melted against him, opening herself up to him, her own tongue tentatively stroking against his. Answering his insistent demand for more.
He groaned and his body folded around hers, pushing her against the door as her front was pressed up against his chest. She felt none of the cold winter air, and the rain—which had started up again—didn’t stand a chance of touching any part of her because Mason was there, jealously hoarding her senses for himself. He was all she could see while his scent surrounded her and his warmth and hardness enveloped her, making her feel safe and protected. The rich taste of him, coffee mingled with mint, intoxicated her. And she was deaf to anything but the sound of his breathing and his soft moans.
In those long few moments, Mason Carlisle was her entire world. Nothing else existed outside the circle of his arms, and Daisy gave herself up to him entirely.
Mason knew he had to stop this. He was getting too carried away. Too wrapped up in Daisy McGregor. What a delightful little armful she was—soft, warm, and sweet-smelling—with a tart, irresistible tongue that he wouldn’t mind sucking on all night long.
It was that thought—the recognition that if he did not let her go right now, he’d seduce his way into her bed—that drew him up short. He took one last, hungry taste before reluctantly easing away from her. She was trembling, which made him immensely thankful, because that meant she couldn’t feel how badly he was shaking too. His hands dropped from her face, and he instantly missed the feel of her soft skin. He stepped back and put an inch of space between them and immediately sucked in a sharp breath when the frigid air intruded where before there had been only heat.
Her eyes finally opened, so huge they just about swallowed her face.
“Why did you do that?”
Hell if I know, Mason thought wryly, and he stepped even farther away from her, shoving his hands into his pockets, hoping to disguise his erection but succeeding only in making himself more uncomfortable when he brushed against his primed and oversensitive cock. He bit back a curse and wasn’t thinking clearly when he answered her question.
“Rehearsing.” He regretted the lie the moment he said it, even more so when he saw her instant emotional retreat.
“Right.” Her breathing was still unsteady, and the word sounded soft and shaky. He had hurt her.
Shit.
“Thanks for tonight. I enjoyed it.” She hesitated before adding, “I mean, it went well, didn’t it? Laid the foundation for the wedding and stuff.”
“Yeah.” And then, because he had to be honest and he couldn’t leave her thinking that the whole evening had just been about their stupid charade, he said, “I enjoyed it too.”
“Oh.”
“So,” he said, clearing his throat casually and trying to pretend his balls weren’t turning an icy shade of blue. “Wear that fetching pink waterproof ensemble you had on today. And the Wellingtons are a definite requirement. Bright and early. Seven.”
“Got it.”
“You’d better get inside before your dog strokes out.”
Finally tuning in to her surroundings once more, Daisy realized that poor Peaches’s bark had ascended to a pitch high enough to break glass. She grimaced and fumbled with the doorknob again.
“Okay. Good night.” She pulled the door open and retreated, shutting the door in his face just as he was saying his own good night.
Peaches went into raptures, and she absently stooped to pick up the wriggling, whimpering dog. Her face got laved, but she barely noticed as she peeked through the window and watched as Mason paused to flip up his hood before slowly ambling to his car.
She moaned and pressed her forehead against the windowpane after he drove off. She needed the shock of cold to snap her back to reality. She was going to have to be better at this. Kisses meant nothing to a sophisticated, experienced man . . . she had to develop a thicker skin and build up a tolerance to those inebriating caresses. She couldn’t fall apart every time he kissed her or touched her. Their charade would call for a lot of that kind of thing over the next few weeks, and Daisy was going to have to put on her big-girl panties and deal with it.
Peaches had settled down and now lay snuggled in Daisy’s arms; she breathed an occasional contented sigh, and Daisy kissed the dog’s fluffy head affectionately.
Her phone beeped, and she put Peaches down to get it from her bag. It was a text from Daff: Can we talk?
Daisy groaned as she thought about the way she had left things with her mother and sisters earlier. She really didn’t want to have this talk right now.
Tired. Tomorrow, okay?
She made her way to the bathroom to run a bath and was undressed, wearing nothing but a robe, by the time her sister responded again.
Okay. Sleep tight.
Yeah. You too. She added a smiley face to show that she wasn’t angry anymore and then set her phone aside and sank into her warm, fragrant bubble bath with a sigh.
She tried to clear her mind and not to think about Mason and how much she liked him. He was doing her a massive favor, and developing a crush on the guy would only succeed in making things awkward. She wasn’t a silly teenager; she could get over this.
Her phone rang at six twenty the following morning, and Daisy groaned while she fumbled for it. Peaches made a protesting sound and snuggled even closer.
“Yes?” she snapped when she managed to get the thing to her ear, but it continued to ring. Aggravated, she stabbed at the screen and repeated her terse greeting.
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.” She immediately recognized Mason’s sexy, raspy voice.
“Oh my God,” she mumbled. “What do you want? It’s the middle of the night.”
“It’s a gorgeous day, and you’re missing the best part of it.” Did he have to sound so relentlessly upbeat? And what was that sound? It was loud and persistent and . . .
“It’s pouring, Mason!” She held her phone away from her ear and angled it upward so that he could hear the thundering downpour. The move made no sense since he was probably well aware of the rain. She brought the phone back to her ear. “Can you hear that?”
“I can see it,” he said, amusement lacing his voice. “I’m looking out at it from my kitchen window.”
“If ever there was a day to take a rain check, this is it.” She sat up in bed, ignoring Peaches’s aggrieved whine, and pushed her tangled hair out of her eyes. It was still completely dark, and she had to lean over to click on the bedside lamp.
“It’ll probably ease off soon.”
“Mason, this rain is so epic it won’t be stopping for another forty days and forty nights.”
He laughed. “I’ll be over at seven, see you then.”
“No, Mason . . . wait.” The absolute silence that greeted her frantic exclamation told her that he’d hung up and she tossed the phone aside and lay back down with a groan. She dragged the warm covers over her head and cuddled Peaches closer. The man was crazy. Days like these were made for lazing in bed with a good book, or getting comfy in front of the TV and binge-watching The Walking Dead.
Well, she had no intention of getting up until the last possible moment. By her estimation she could lay around for another twenty minutes before getting up and getting dressed.
The doorbell woke her, and she blinked in confusion before swearing when she realized that she’d fallen asleep again. Peaches was up and heading for the front door, yapping all the way, and Daisy leapt up and yelped when her feet hit the cold tiles. Jeez, she should really get some underfloor heating installed. She slid her feet into her comfy slippers and shuffled toward the front door where Peaches was putting up a tremendous fuss. She hissed at the dog to be quiet, but Peaches ignored her and continued to do her best watchdog impersonation.
A quick glance out of the front window confirmed the identity of her visitor, and she dragged open the door, only in that instant recognizing that she wasn’t looking at her best.
“Seriously?” he commented drily when he saw her. Peaches appeared to recognize him and stopped barking immediately. Mason stepped into the house, smelling of wind and rain and bringing a gust of seriously cold air in with him.
“I’m sorry. I fell asleep again,” she muttered defensively.
“That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an adult in a onesie.” She flushed bright red. She should really have dragged on a robe before answering the door.
“It’s warm,” she retorted.
“It certainly looks warm,” he agreed. He prowled—it was the only word she could think of to describe that predatory walk of his—toward her, and she backed up defensively, but he dodged to the left and circled around her.
“What are you doing?” she hissed, turning to face him.
“Getting the full three-sixty effect. Love the bunny tail and the matching slippers. Very avant-garde.” She covered the tail with her hand, seriously embarrassed. She should have gotten up and dressed after his call; she had only herself to blame for this humiliation.
“I’ll get dressed,” she muttered, and he grinned.
“You do that. Peaches and I will make some coffee.”
“Uh, do you mind letting her out into the yard; she needs to do her business.”
“No worries.” He stooped to pick Peaches up and ambled into the kitchen, looking way too at home for a man who had only visited once before. He made her small house feel even smaller, and she hurried into her bedroom, feeling awkward and unsure of herself.
She brushed her teeth and dressed as quickly as she could, not comfortable with the idea of him roaming around freely in her home, and when she rejoined him less than ten minutes later she scanned her living room and kitchen anxiously. Sure enough, there was a balled-up pair of socks in the corner of her sofa and—worse, so much worse—a bra draped over the back of the same sofa. The very piece of furniture on which Mason had chosen to make himself comfortable, and if his self-satisfied grin was any indication, he had placed himself there deliberately.
He had one arm stretched out on the back of the sofa—his long, elegant fingers inches away from her lacy pink bra—with an ankle crossed over his knee and a mug of steaming hot, deliciously fragrant coffee resting on one hard, denim-clad thigh. God, he was absolutely gorgeous as he sat sprawled on her couch looking way too confident and way too sexy.
She watched as his fingers began to tap rhythmically against the upholstered fabric of the sofa, and her eyes darted up to meet his. His grin widened. He seemed to know that her gut reaction was to snatch up her underwear, and his eyes were challenging her.
“The coffee smells good,” she said, striving for insouciance and failing.
“Plenty more where this came from,” he said, nodding toward her kitchen, and she headed for the coffeemaker and poured a mug of the rich brew while she told herself that it was just a bra. Mason had surely seen more than his fair share over the years. Still, she was sure he was used to dainty little A cups. Hers were C heading into D territory, embarrassingly big for someone of her height. At times she looked and felt like an overstuffed pigeon.
“So, what’s the plan?” she asked, taking an appreciative sip of the fabulous coffee. Why couldn’t she ever seem to get her coffee to taste like this? She very carefully sat down on the edge of the couch, putting as much space between them as possible, while desperately trying to figure out how to remove her bra from his line of sight.
Mason could tell how much Daisy longed to snatch up her pretty pink bra, but to her credit she was doing an admirable job of restraining herself. She was trying very hard to be casual about it, but her fiery blush betrayed her, as well as the constant shift of her eyes back to the fetchingly draped undergarment. She would be horrified to know that he had picked it up from the seat, catching a whiff of her sensual fragrance as he did so, and arranged it over the back of the sofa, fully intending to unsettle her. She was charmingly easy to embarrass. Most women wouldn’t be at all perturbed by something as innocuous as a bra on display, but Daisy McGregor had enchanting old-world sensibilities, and Mason was enjoying them to the fullest.
“Before I answer that,” he murmured, “I want to know what those are.” He nodded toward a small display cabinet in the corner. It was filled with the oddest collection of ornaments. Weird little caterpillars: glass, ceramic, porcelain, wood, and plastic worms. Most were dressed like people, tiny wormy people smoking pipes, reading books, even dancing. It was more than a little strange.
“My caterpillars,” she supplied awkwardly.
“What are they for?”
“I collect them.”
“Why?”
“Because I like caterpillars. I started collecting when I was thirteen, and honestly . . . I think I actually bought only twenty of them myself.” Twenty too many, if you asked Mason. “The rest are gifts from family and friends.” Jesus, there were well over a hundred creepy little people caterpillars in that cabinet. Talk about enabling someone, her family took the cake.
“So where are we going?” she asked, deliberately shifting the topic back to what it was before, and recognizing the stubborn glint in her eyes, Mason allowed it. The caterpillars were a bit out there for him, and he was happy to let it go.
“You don’t want to be surprised?” he asked, answering her question with one of his own, and if her narrowing eyes were any indication, she didn’t appreciate his evasiveness.
“I don’t really care for surprises.”
“You don’t? That’s too bad. What if I told you I had a surprise for you in my pocket?” Her eyes widened, and she made an incredulous half-laughing, half-snorting sound as her gaze drifted south. Mason burst into laughter as she projected her thoughts as clear as a bell. His laughter startled her eyes back to his, and he grinned at her.
“Not the pocket I meant, but I like the way you think,” he teased and watched as her face did that slow burn thing again. He patted his chest, and her eyes were drawn to the breast pocket of his plaid flannel shirt. “This pocket.”
She seemed to forget her embarrassment as her eyes flared with interest.
“What kind of surprise?” she asked, her voice steeped in skepticism.
“The good kind.” Her teeth worried her succulent-looking lower lip while she eyed his pocket with a mixture of wariness and curiosity. God, that lip . . . the more she nibbled at it the fuller, pinker, and more moist it became. He longed for another taste of those plump lips but viciously tamped down the urge to drag her into his arms and kiss the holy hell out of her.
“Show me,” she said, after a great deal of deliberation. He leaned toward her, close enough to smell the fresh fragrance of her shampoo.
“Come and get it.” He expected her to retreat at the challenge, but she surprised him when—after one last nervous nibble at her lips—she reached out toward his pocket. His breath snagged and his heart stuttered in his chest when he felt her questing fingers hesitantly dip into his pocket. The first tentative foray didn’t yield any results, and she dug in a little deeper, creating friction on his hypersensitive nipple. He unsuccessfully bit back a groan, and her eyes snapped up to his, her face so close he could count each individual freckle on her nose and see the pale-blue striations in her gray eyes. He shifted his coffee mug a little to the left in an effort to conceal the growing bulge in the crotch of his jeans and fought to keep his face impassive and his breathing even. Her eyes dropped from his, back to where her small hand was fumbling around in his pocket, and the tip of her tongue crept out as she focused on what she was doing. There was an adorable little wrinkle of concentration between her eyes as she managed to snag what was in his pocket, only to drop it again. She finally managed to get a proper grip on it and dragged it out with a triumphant whoop.
Daisy stared down at the item in her palm in confusion. She still felt hot and flustered by his nearness and that damned delicious scent of his, so her brain was a bit delayed, but she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was she had in her hand. It looked like an earring, a really ugly earring. It was spherical in shape, weighty, and seemed to be made of lead. She turned it over and bent her head to examine it more closely.
“It’s a sinker.” Mason’s warm breath stirred her hair as he spoke, and she repressed a shiver at the intimate sensation.
“What do you use it for?”
“Fishing.”
“Fishing for what?” she asked stupidly and looked up just in time to catch a grin flirting with the corners of his mouth.
“For fish.”
“I don’t . . .” Her words faded as comprehension dawned and horror replaced confusion. “No.”
“The blacktail are really biting at Kleinbekkie this week,” he said, and his complete butchering of the Afrikaans word, which meant “small mouth,” momentarily distracted Daisy. It was endearing how bad the pronunciation was, and she guessed his grasp of the language was probably as terrible as hers. Kleinbekkie was the smaller river mouth just outside town, and it was a popular local spot for fishing, picnicking, and surfing. “I thought we could catch some for lunch.”
“No. This is why I hate surprises, see? This is the worst surprise ever.”
“It’s actually more an IOU at this point,” he confessed, and she glared at him. He wrong-footed her at every turn, and she had given up on understanding him.
“What?”
“You’re right, the weather is too damned terrible for fishing today. I was hoping it’d clear up a little overnight, but—while I wouldn’t mind going out there today—it’s not ideal for a novice. So I figure we’d take a rain check on the fishing and do it some other time.”
“Try never.”
“Come on, Daisy, you’ll like it.”
“Doubtful. And if you knew the weather was too bad for fishing, why did you drag me out of bed at this ungodly hour anyway?”
“I thought we could do something else.”
“Like what?”
“Dunno.”
“You’re a very frustrating man.”
“So I’ve been told. What do you want to do today? And don’t say go back to bed.”
“Well, I’m awake now, aren’t I?” she pointed out huffily.
“Want to go somewhere for breakfast?”
“Nothing’s open yet,” she groused, and he shrugged.
“Not here, but I know this great place about forty minutes away.”
“That’s pretty far; if we just waited forty minutes, we could go to MJ’s.”
“We were at MJ’s last night.” He looked a little annoyed by her suggestion, but Daisy definitely did not want to be confined in a car with him for that long. Not with the crazy awareness and tension simmering between them. Okay, so the tension and awareness were probably totally one-sided, but why put herself through unnecessary stress?
“I thought the point was to be seen around town together.”
“People will see us coming and going together, and they’ll wonder. That is the point. We want them to speculate. If we’re always out at MJ’s putting on a performance, it’ll start to look unnatural.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she conceded, and he reached over to tweak a curl, but his hand lingered and he wrapped one of the strands around his finger, his knuckles brushing across her cheekbone in the process. She stilled at his touch, telling herself that it wasn’t a big deal. Still, the gesture felt alarmingly intimate, and he must have thought so too because he quickly withdrew his hand and resumed tapping the back of the sofa.
“Trust me, Daisy.”
“I’m trying.”
They were quiet for a long moment, the only sounds coming from the howling wind and rain outside and Peaches’s light snoring from one of the armchairs. Daisy finished her coffee as quickly as she could and reached out to take his empty mug before getting up to carry them to the kitchen. In the process she “accidentally” pushed her bra off the back off the couch. She ignored Mason’s knowing chuckle and rounded the couch to pick up the bra before retreating to the kitchen with mugs and underwear safely in hand.
“We should hit the road soon,” he said, stretching lazily as he spoke, and she nodded, shoving her bra into the junk drawer to retrieve later, before rinsing the mugs. “I hope you’re not scared of bikes,” he said, as he leapt agilely to his feet. Daisy paused in the act of drying her hands on a tea towel and stared at him in dismay.
“What?”
“Motorbikes. I hope you’re not . . .” His voice tapered off, and a snort escaped. His shoulders started shaking before he started to guffaw, huge “heeyucks” that had him folding his arms over his middle and doubling over. If he started slapping his thighs, Daisy would have to find a way to comprehensively kick his ass. “You . . . you should see your face.”
“Glad I amuse you,” she said stiffly. Not like she hadn’t been the butt of someone’s stupid joke before. He sobered almost immediately and took a couple of steps toward her.
“Hey, come on. I wasn’t . . .”
“I take it you weren’t dumb enough to ride a motorcycle in this weather?” she asked, and he shook his head.
“Daisy.” He lifted a hand as if to touch her, but she stepped out of reach and turned away.
“I just have to see to Peaches’s food. Feel free to wait in the car.”
“Daisy, come on . . .”
Shit. He hadn’t meant to offend her; he just liked her prickly and prim reactions sometimes. But this wasn’t prickly or prim; this was something else. He’d hurt her . . . again. And he wasn’t entirely sure how. He watched her gracefully move around the tiny confines of her kitchen and felt awkward as hell. Did he really need this kind of grief in his life? Why the hell was he putting up with her shit anyway? He couldn’t figure it out. He couldn’t figure her out.
“Look, I was joking, okay? I didn’t mean to offend you or upset you.” She stopped moving, her back still to him, and sighed before throwing back her head and staring up at the ceiling. For some kind of divine intervention perhaps? Who knew with her?
She turned to face him, her pretty eyes strained.
“I may have overreacted a bit, it’s just . . .” She paused, and he gritted his teeth in exasperation.
Just what? Jesus, and she called him frustrating.
“I’ve been the butt of someone’s joke too many times to count.”
“Oh.” Oh. Fuck.
“I’m stupidly oversensitive sometimes. I just thought you were . . .” Different. She didn’t have to say it. The unspoken word hovered between them, and Mason swore beneath his breath.
“I’m an asshole,” he muttered, trying—and failing—to keep the defensive tone out of his voice. “I told you that last night. But in this case the assholery was unintentional. Daisy, I didn’t mean to make you the butt of my lame joke. I enjoy your reaction to my teasing; you’re cute when you get all grumpy and righteously indignant.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “So the fishing thing wasn’t serious?”
“Nope. That was totally serious. We’re going fishing as soon as the weather clears.”
“But why?”
“Because I think you’d like it. And when we go camping, you and Peaches will love roughing it in the wilderness.” Her eyes widened, but something in his expression must have clued her in because her face cleared almost immediately.
“You’re teasing me again. Right?”
“Only partly. No way in hell will we be taking Peaches camping with us.” Another small frown from her, but by this time he was openly grinning, and a shy, sweet smile blossomed at the corners of her mouth.
“Stop that,” she grumbled good-naturedly.
“Now you’re getting it, babe.”
They left a few minutes later, and despite knowing that he’d only been pulling her leg earlier, Daisy was relieved to note that he had indeed arrived by car. The BMW. He wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders as he hustled her to the car, keeping her shielded from the wind as he opened the door for her.
“Hell of a day,” he said breathlessly when he slammed his way into the driver’s seat. He switched on the ignition, and she winced when hard rock immediately blasted from the speakers. It was so loud, she could practically see the windows vibrate.
“Shit. Sorry.” He turned down the sound to a less glass-shattering setting, and she was able to recognize the guitar solo from Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Free Bird.” The guy had good taste. “You can change the playlist if you want to.”
“That would be sacrilegious!”
He shot her a shocked glance before refocusing his attention to the road. “You appreciate a bit of classic rock, then?”
“Who doesn’t like ‘Free Bird’?”
“Only all of my ex–lady friends. I think it was a little too old for them.”
“Great music never ages. Pick your ladies more carefully next time,” she advised. She curled up in the huge seat and gazed out as they passed through Main Street. It was after eight by now, and most of the businesses were just opening. She spotted a few familiar faces, and Mason was driving well below the speed limit, which allowed pedestrians to pause and admire his car before glancing up to check out the occupants. Luckily the rain had let up enough to allow them all a good, long look. She grinned and waved saucily at a few of the stunned faces that recognized her.
“Having fun?” Mason asked, and she nodded enthusiastically.
“This is awesome. I feel like passing royalty or something. Oh, that’s Mrs. Turlington,” she said, giving a happy little squeak when she spotted the town’s most notorious gossip. “This will be all over town by lunchtime. This was a great idea, Mason.”
“Glad you’re finally developing an appreciation for my genius,” he said with a self-satisfied grin, and she rolled her eyes.
“Wipe the smug off your face, mister. It doesn’t become you.” He laughed outright at that, and as they reached the end of Main Street, he revved the engine a bit before picking up speed and leaving Riversend behind.