CHAPTER EIGHT
She stared at him for a long while, giving the question the gravity it deserved.
“I see a man who enjoys the company of women but prefers not to get too attached to them. Falling in love makes you vulnerable, and I see a man who doesn’t like having any vulnerabilities. I see a man who’s never really content with what he has, no matter how perfect it seems, and is always searching for something newer or better.”
He drained his glass and put it down on the table carefully.
“All that?” he mused. “From what? Just three days’ acquaintance?”
“Well, we have been on a ‘getting to know you’ intensive crash course.” She forced the flippant words past her dry throat and took a sip of her own wine to ease her hoarseness somewhat.
“I suppose we have. Shall I tell you what I see when I look at you?”
“Oh, please don’t.” The words were soft and pleading, and Daisy was ashamed by how unevenly they tumbled from her lips. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Mason.”
“I’m not offended,” he said, emptying the rest of the wine into his glass and draining half of it before continuing on. “Just impressed by your remarkable powers of observation.”
He said he wasn’t offended, yet there was something about the stiffness of his shoulders and the cadence of his voice that told her that her comments had touched a nerve. She cursed the glass of wine that had loosened her tongue and futilely wished her words back.
“I also see a man who has gone out of his way to help a complete stranger save face in front of her family and friends,” she tacked on desperately, and he smiled, a cold, cynical movement of his lips that was a terrible caricature of his usual smile.
“You could argue that my motivations are completely self-serving,” he pointed out.
“I don’t see how they could be. You’re only doing this because you allowed your conscience and guilt to get the better of you.”
“Yeah? Or maybe I’m doing it because I want to fuck you senseless, and this is all a means to that end.”
Daisy gasped, his mocking words slamming against her fragile defenses like boulders. Why would he say something like that? It was heartbreakingly disappointing to discover that he was just like everybody else after all and Daisy was the butt of yet another stupid male joke she couldn’t even begin to comprehend.
“That’s not very funny,” she fumed, and he shrugged, hooking an elbow over the back of his chair and leaning back indolently.
“I’ll say not,” he agreed easily. “I’ve been a walking hard-on for days.”
Daisy felt her cheeks heating at his words, and she glared at him, absolutely furious.
“You don’t believe me,” he said, his face and voice revealing absolutely nothing.
“Of course I don’t believe you,” she snapped. “Mason, on Friday your brother had to practically beg you to talk to me. And today you’re telling me you want me . . . sexually?”
Mason tried to bite back a grin at the quaint phrasing and the hushed way she said sexually, like the word was dirty and forbidden. He shouldn’t have said what he did, but her wholly accurate assessment of his personality had sent him into defense mode, and he had lashed back with a truth that he knew would make her uncomfortable. He had also known she wouldn’t believe him for a second. Still, to have that knowledge confirmed was annoying as hell. He wanted her to believe him, tell him she wanted him back, and then he wanted them to go upstairs and have hot, raunchy sex. The kind that was wet and steamy and dirty and left you wrung out and strung out afterward.
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you,” he said, injecting a healthy dose of sangfroid into his voice. He didn’t want to scare her off completely.
“Well, I’m telling you I don’t believe you, and I told you before, I don’t appreciate being the butt of someone’s stupid joke.”
This again. He should have known she’d think he was having a bit of fun at her expense. The fact that she knew that Spencer had practically forced him to speak to her on Friday didn’t help his cause either.
Mason knew he was foolish to actually verbalize his desire. Better to stick to the “rules,” no matter how crazy they seemed.
“Sorry I upset you,” he muttered. “I guess I overstepped a little.”
“A little?”
“A lot.” His admission mollified her for a moment, and she took another gulp of wine.
“I should probably get going,” she said.
“You haven’t even had dessert yet.”
“I’ve lost my appetite.”
“Look, I’m really sorry about what I said. You just . . .” He shook his head and figured a strictly edited version of the truth would probably be his best defense here. “I didn’t like what you said. About me. It hit too close to home. I often feel like an ungrateful bastard because just when something seems perfect, I find a way to deliberately fuck it up. Vashti seemed perfect for me—gorgeous, intelligent, funny—but when she started talking about moving in together, I called the whole thing off. Said I didn’t love her.”
“Did you love her?” Daisy asked breathlessly, and he shook his head.
“I don’t know. Maybe. It felt like I should. I cared about her.” He didn’t know why he was revealing so much. He was telling her stuff he’d never actually even acknowledged to himself. It was unsettling. “How do we ever really know if what we’re feeling is love?”
She shifted her gaze, and the deliberate furtiveness of the movement caught his attention.
“What about you?” he asked. “Have you ever been in love?”
“No.”
“So much certainty,” he observed. “Your ex-boyfriends couldn’t have been very noteworthy.”
“You could say that.” She was hiding something. He could tell from her rigid posture, her averted eyes, and the tension that radiated from every pore. He didn’t like it. What if she still carried a torch for some past lover? The thought of her in love—whatever the hell that meant—with some undeserving bastard didn’t sit well with him at all. What if it was some guy in town, someone she saw every day? How the hell would she get over him if she saw him all the time?
“Are you still in love with one of them?”
She looked startled by his question. “No. I just told you I’ve never been in love. Why would you ask me that?”
“You’re hiding something,” he pressed, and she threw him a disbelieving glare.
“And that’s the conclusion you’ve leapt to?” Her color was high, her eyes huge as they scowled at him over the rims of her glasses, and even her curls seemed to crackle with annoyance. He beat back a smile; she looked like a hissing kitten.
“So what are you hiding?”
“Nothing.”
“Daisy.”
“It’s none of your damned business.”
“Yes, it is. I’m supposed to know this shit. I haven’t been here for thirteen years, everybody else knows your business, and they’ll know when you’ve kept something from me, and I don’t want to be blindsided with the news that you were once involved with a groomsman at the wedding or something.” It was a paper-thin excuse to pry into her business, but it made her pause for thought.
“I wasn’t,” she said, and he clenched his teeth in frustration.
“It was an example.”
“Mason, there is nothing you need to know, no nasty surprises that will be sprung on you unexpectedly. Okay?”
“You can’t be sure of that.”
“I can.” She pushed her chair away from the table and got up, clearly dismissing the topic. Frustrated, Mason rubbed his hand over his short hair and squeezed the nape of his neck in an attempt to ward off an incipient headache. God, she was infuriating.
She started to stack empty plates and dishes, and he sighed impatiently.
“Leave it.”
“It’s no problem . . .”
“I said leave it,” he growled, and she jumped, nearly toppling the growing stack of dishes in her hands. She pursed her lips and carefully placed the crockery back on the table.
“I’m not in the mood for dessert, and I have an early start to the day tomorrow, so I think I’ll go. Thank you for dinner. It was really delicious.” She could barely meet his eyes, and Mason sighed, admitting defeat. Daisy McGregor was a tough nut to crack, and frankly, it wasn’t his job to crack her shell. He was just along for the very short ride, and then he’d be out of her circle of acquaintances and friends again. The thought made him feel somewhat melancholy, but that was the reality of their situation.
“I’m sorry for prying,” he said, watching as she pulled on her coat and called Peaches to her. The little dog was still curled up in Cooper’s bed, while Cooper was lying in front of the fire. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the small intruder, seeming simultaneously confused and intrigued by her. When Peaches didn’t even lift her head to acknowledge Daisy’s summons, Mason snorted and strode toward the bed to scoop the dog up with one hand. Peaches growled and bared her sharp little teeth at him, but he lifted her to face level and growled back, which shut her up immediately. He handed the dog to Daisy, who tucked her beneath her coat again, before grabbing her bag and heading for the front door.
Mason beat her to it and had the door unlocked and opened seconds before she got there.
“Thanks again for dinner,” she said, meeting his eyes reluctantly.
“No problem. Tomorrow night? Dinner at MJ’s?”
“I have plans.” He could tell she was lying but didn’t call her out on it.
“Let me know if they fall through or change.”
“Yes.”
He leaned down to kiss her good night, but a firm hand on his chest stayed the movement.
“No.”
“Somebody could be . . .”
“There’s nobody out there,” she interrupted, impatience lacing the words. “It’s after nine, cold and wet. And this is the only house up on this godforsaken hill. Why would anybody be out there?”
Chastened, Mason shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Good night, Mason.” It sounded like good-bye, and he hated that.
“I’ll see you soon.” And that was a goddamned promise.
The week flew by. Work kept Daisy busy, and, in an effort to avoid Mason, she volunteered to help with some of the last-minute wedding stuff. He called every day. He had her mobile number but rarely contacted her on it, leaving messages with the receptionist at the practice. She knew he was doing it to keep up the pretense and was grateful for that. He even sent flowers the day after their dinner. The bouquet arrived in the middle of the day, when the surgery was teeming with people, and everybody heard the deliveryman ask for Daisy. It was both embarrassing and flattering.
Now, late Friday evening, she was seeing off her last patient—an impeccably groomed Pekingese with an eye infection—when Mason strode into the reception area. Both Lucinda—their receptionist—and the Peke’s owner, one of her mother’s country club cronies, gaped at him.
He smiled when he saw Daisy. A beautiful smile that told her—and everybody else in the room—that he was happy to see her, that he had missed her, that he was focused on her alone and had eyes for no one else. And it nearly had her completely fooled.
“Hey,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate but loud enough for Lucinda and Mrs. Cage to hear. “I missed you.” He lifted his hand to the nape of her neck and tugged her toward him for a kiss. A very thorough kiss.
Daisy felt a little out of sorts afterward; she was barely able to string together a coherent thought and wholly incapable of actually formulating words. He had his forehead pressed to hers, his hand still at her nape, and when he spoke she barely registered his words.
“Daisy?” There was infinite patience in his voice, and irrepressible amusement in his eyes.
“What?”
“I asked what you’re doing tonight.”
“I have plans.”
“Can I join you?”
“You wouldn’t like it.”
“I don’t care. I want to spend some time with you.” Her lips twitched; he was laying it on much too thick.
“Well, then, since you put it that way, I suppose it would be okay if you joined us.”
“Us?” He looked surprised, and she grinned. Of course he thought she’d just been making these plans up in an effort to avoid him.
“Mom, Lia, Daff, and I. Dad is taking a rare evening off and heading to Ralphie’s with some of his golfing buddies, but a man’s opinion is always welcome. So everybody will be thrilled to know you’re joining us.” She relished the flare of panic she saw in his eyes and kept her smile sweet and beatific.
“What exactly will you be doing?”
“We’re still having problems with the seating arrangements, if you can believe that? Just a week left, and it’s a shambles. I swear it’s worse than a logic puzzle.”
“I’m great at puzzles; I’ll get it done,” he said confidently, and Daisy tried not to roll her eyes.
“And we’re assembling the last of the welcome bags.”
“What are those?”
“Little gift bags for all the guests.”
“We’re getting gifts?” He sounded boyishly excited by the idea, and she laughed.
“Yep.”
“So does this evening of hard labor include dinner?”
“It does.”
“Great. Pick you up or meet you there?” He was being optimistic in even asking, and she laughed.
“Meet you there. Six thirty on the dot. Lia gets hysterical if anybody’s late. She’s gone full bridezilla over the last few days . . .” She paused before adding, “Do not tell her I said that.”
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” he promised, holding a dramatic hand to his heart, and another laugh bubbled up in Daisy’s throat. He was just so charming, and she had missed him. Which was odd, considering she barely knew him and hadn’t spent more than a few short hours in his company.
“I’ll see you then.” He dropped another kiss on her lips and then glanced around and did a little double take as if he were noticing the other two women for the first time. He grinned at Lucinda. “Hey, you must be Lucy. Sorry for hassling you so much this week. But my little Dr. Daisy has been almost impossible to pin down.” He sent her such a smoldering look that all three women gasped at its potency.
“It’s nothing,” Lucinda—Lucy?—dismissed, going beet red when he smiled at her again.
“Sorry for the delay, ma’am.” He smiled charmingly at Mrs. Cage, and the woman pursed her lips.
“Just be more mindful of your sweetheart’s working hours next time, young man,” she admonished with very little heat in her voice. Wow, he was good. Mrs. Cage could be impossibly crotchety at times.
He gave them all a cocky grin before exiting the building. The room instantly felt bigger and emptier without him in it, and Lucinda sighed into the silence.
“Well, Daisy. That young man certainly looks like the best and worst kind of trouble, doesn’t he?”
She could say that again.
“This is impossible,” Mason growled as he glared at the seating chart stuck onto a whiteboard in the middle of the kitchen. Daisy was surprised by how very seriously he was taking this seating business. He looked like a military strategist planning to go to war. Within ten minutes of arrival he had the chart streamlined and color coordinated. It was both impressive and uncanny. Now, an hour later, they had hit the same brick wall Daisy’s family had been slamming into for weeks. “Why can’t we put the Goldsteins at the same table as the Redwoods?”
“Because Mr. Goldstein and Mrs. Redwood had a thing about twenty years ago, and Mr. Redwood has been gunning for Mr. Goldstein ever since,” Daff explained gleefully, and Mason’s brow lowered.
“I suppose that makes sense,” he conceded thoughtfully. “I’d probably want to kill the guy too if he’d slept with my wife.”
“Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Redwood weren’t married at the time,” Lia supplied helpfully.
“What?” Mason practically yelled. “The guy is pissed off because his wife had a sex life before they were married? What the fu-uudge?” He caught himself just in time and cast a guilty look at Millicent McGregor. The older woman turned away and hid a grin from him, but Daisy saw it and barely bit back her own snicker. He had been trying to be super polite all evening, but the seating chart was taking its toll on his good humor too.
“Okay, so then put the Redwoods at this table.” He pointed to one of the little circles on the chart, and all three women hissed collectively. “What? What’s wrong with that?”
“Mrs. Redwood had a relationship with Mr. Abernathy. Mr. Redwood has been trying to put Mr. Abernathy out of business since then, and both men hate each other’s guts.”
“Well, then, put the Abernathys and the Goldsteins at the same table; the enemy of my enemy is my friend, right?”
“Can’t.” Lia shook her head regretfully. “At the time Mrs. Redwood was having her thing with Mr. Goldstein, she was also sleeping with Mr. Abernathy. The men got into a massive fight over her, and they haven’t really spoken since.” Mason sighed but said nothing. Just pointed to another table, and all three women winced.
“Mrs. Redwood slept with Mr. Abbot and—”
“Mr. Redwood wants to murder him,” Mason finished Daisy’s sentence wearily, and she smiled at him sympathetically. He stood up from the round kitchen table and paced back to the whiteboard, glowering at it intently. The women remained seated.
“Okay.” He cracked his neck and shook his arms as if he were limbering up for a fight and reevaluated the chart. “Let’s approach this differently—who didn’t Mrs. Redwood sleep with back in the day?”
The pause was so long and significant that Mason groaned and threw up his hands in disgust.
“Jesus.” He glanced at their mother. “Sorry.”
“Why not just give them their own table?” he asked.
“That wouldn’t be right; they’d feel excluded.” Lia was ever sensitive to everyone’s feelings, no matter what the cost.
“Why did you invite them at all?” Daff asked Lia. “Mr. Redwood doesn’t get along with anybody, and Mrs. Redwood drinks and flirts with every man within her radius.” Lia glowered at her. It was an argument that kept resurfacing every time the frustration levels hit boiling points. Daisy groaned and buried her head in her arms on the table, while their mother tried to keep the peace. Mason just kept his gaze fixed on the board.
“Who is Kenna Price?”
“A cousin,” Daisy said, propping her chin on her forearm and watching as he shifted Kenna’s magnetized name strip off to the side.
“And her plus one?”
“Her partner, Trudi.” The plus-one card also moved off to the side.
“What about Martin Mikkelstone?”
“One of Clayton’s old university friends,” Lia supplied, intrigued.
“He also has an unnamed plus one,” Mason pointed out.
“Clayton said Marty will definitely bring a girl, but that’s yet to be confirmed.”
“And the guy is young, unlikely to have slept with Mrs. Redwood?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Daff muttered grimly.
“Daffodil,” their mother chastised, wearily.
“What? The woman seems to go through legions of men. I would be shocked if she’s not a cougar too.”
Daisy, still with her chin on her forearm, released the other arm and started twirling the curls at her temple.
“Katinka Van Buuren is also bringing a plus one, her mum if I’m not mistaken,” Daisy pointed out, and Mason grinned at her, before moving Katinka’s name with its plus one off to the side.
“I don’t know why we didn’t think of this before.” Daff shook her head as she watched Mason move a couple more names to the side. “It’s so simple.”
“If you stare at a problem for too long it starts to seem insurmountable,” Mason said. “Add the pressure of a deadline into the mix, and it becomes damned near impossible.”
“I’m not sure what’s going on.” Lia shook her head in confusion.
“Mason is cobbling together a table of young singles and their plus ones and foisting the Redwoods off onto them.” Daff chuckled.
“We’ve been trying so hard to place them with their contemporaries, when the simple fact is, they don’t get along with any of their contemporaries,” their mother mused.
“But that will throw the other tables off balance,” Lia despaired.
“We’ll figure it out,” Mason soothed. “Don’t worry. Once the Redwoods are sorted, everything else will fall into place.”
An hour later they all stared at the completed chart in awe with Mason looking just a tad smug. Lia gasped, clutched her hands to her chest, and burst into tears.
It was almost comical the way Mason’s eyes widened in horror at the sight of her tears, and Daisy, used to Lia’s recent uncharacteristic crying jags, allowed herself a moment’s amusement.
“What’s wrong?” he asked Daff, sotto voce, and Daff rolled her eyes.
“Hormones. She’s totally PMSing, and she’s been an emotional powder keg for the last few days.” Mason blanched.
“I didn’t need to hear that,” he muttered and then looked even more horrified when Lia launched herself at him and buried her face in his chest. His eyes landed on Daisy’s face, and he mouthed a desperate what do I do? Daisy bit her lips to stop herself from laughing and mimed a hugging action. His arms closed around her trembling sister’s form, and Daisy immediately regretted encouraging him to hold her. Lia looked so right in his arms. Her petite, perfect femininity wrapped up in his strong, masculine embrace. He lowered his head and murmured soothing little words into her ear, and she sobbed even louder.
“It’s just we’ve been working so hard,” she sobbed messily. “I thought we’d never fix it. Never. Thank you, Mason.” Most of what she said was complete gibberish, but she managed to convey the crux of it.
“You’re welcome,” he said, patting her back awkwardly.
“I’m sorry, I’m a complete mess,” Lia apologized and stepped away from him, and he released her immediately.
“I’d probably be a wreck too if I knew I’d almost definitely have my period on my wedding day,” Daff cheerfully supplied. She continued, ignoring both Lia and her mother’s horrified gasps. “I don’t know why you didn’t just go on the pill. You wouldn’t have had to worry about this.”
“Why must you always be so horrible?” Lia moaned and fled from the kitchen. Their mother threw Daff a disgusted look and rushed after her middle daughter.
“Do you have to constantly remind her of that?” Daisy sighed, and Daff shrugged.
“She’s been a total pain for weeks. We’ve all been working our butts off trying to get this perfect for her, and all she’s done is mope, cry, and screech.”
“She hasn’t been that bad,” Daisy admonished.
“Please, you haven’t been around for most of it. The other day she screamed at Dad because he forgot to go for his final tuxedo fitting.”
“Screamed at him?”
“Screeched like a harpy. It was insane; I thought she’d burst that little vein in her temple, it was bulging so much. Mom actually forced a Valium down her throat and made her go to bed for the rest of the day.” Daff shook her head as she recalled it.
“Probably nerves,” Mason suggested.
“Maybe she’s having doubts about Clayton Assmonton the Third?” Daff grinned, and Mason’s eyes narrowed speculatively.
“You don’t like him either?”
“Either?” Daff repeated as she glanced at Daisy. “Daisy’s been spilling family secrets, has she?”
“It’s not a secret that I dislike him,” Daisy muttered defensively.
“It is from Lia.”
“So’s the fact that you don’t like him.”
Daff sighed. “Yeah, but she’s so happy.”
“She doesn’t seem happy to me,” Mason said, and both women stared at him in surprise.
“Like you said, probably just nerves,” Daff said with a frown.
“Are you sure?”
“I mean, these are trying circumstances, of course they’re going to stress her out,” Daisy murmured.
“She’s your sister, you know her best. I’m just saying, the woman I saw here tonight isn’t very happy at all.”
And it wasn’t Mason’s place to comment at all. Why was he involving himself in the McGregor family politics? It wasn’t like him, but he found himself genuinely liking all of them, even the constantly acerbic Daffodil McGregor, and, from what he could tell, their soon-to-be-married sister was completely miserable. But they were so busy trying not to offend her by revealing how much they disliked her fiancé, neither of them had noticed how sad she seemed.
“So where are these welcome bags we’re supposed to stuff, and are we allowed to take home any damaged or surplus goods?” he said, trying to lighten the mood, but both Daisy and Daff looked thoughtful and concerned.
“I doubt you’ll want to take anything home.” Daff laughed. “They’re disgustingly boring. Bottled water, handmade soaps, scented candles, tiny bottles of Advil, and one bottle of liqueur. Artisanal”—she spat out the word like it was poison—“candies and cheeses all labeled with the happy couple’s smiling faces, names, and wedding date. Super lame.”
“I think it’s a lovely idea,” Daisy defended. “The weekend itinerary will help orient guests, the water and snacks are practical, and you know how expensive hotel minibars can be.”
“I’ve never actually been to a wedding; is it always this . . . involved?” Mason asked, taking a sip of the beer Mrs. McGregor had kindly furnished him with earlier. He pulled a face; it was flat. He’d been so preoccupied with the seating arrangements he hadn’t touched it in over an hour.
“Never?” Daisy asked as she got up to get him another beer. He took it with a grateful smile, his eyes lingering on her tired face. She looked absolutely exhausted.
“Never,” he affirmed. “Busy day?”
“Hmm, emergency op on a bull mastiff. Poor thing was hit by a car.” Mason winced.
“How’s he doing?”
Her eyes went bleak, and he knew the answer before she spoke. “I tried my best, but the damage was catastrophic.”
Mason set his beer bottle aside and gestured for her to turn around. He was standing with his butt braced against the granite countertop next to the fridge, and he widened his stance slightly to accommodate her. When she didn’t move, he put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so that she was facing the kitchen table where Daff was watching them with a hooded gaze. He pulled her back against him until the small of her back nestled against his crotch. He settled his hands on her neck and proceeded to knead, massaging down toward her shoulders and back up to the tight muscles in her neck. Daisy groaned and relaxed into him, her spine melting against his abdomen and torso.
“I’m sorry about the dog,” he whispered into her hair. He felt hot, much too hot, and that immense heat just rolled off him and enveloped her. He felt her breathing quicken when the hotness hit her.
“It’s part of the job.”
“Yeah, but it can’t be easy.” He heard his words slur and was amazed he could form a coherent sentence with her this close and with him so turned on.
“It isn’t. Some days it just feels so much worse than others. We also had to put down an elderly cat and a sick puppy today. The mastiff was the last straw.”
He dropped a kiss on the nape of her neck, adoring the soft, scented cove. He concentrated on the knot that had formed there, digging his thumbs in and loving the contented little moans she made in response.
He was hard—of course he was hard—and trying his damnedest not to grind against her. There was no way she didn’t feel his erection prodding against her back, but she refrained from acknowledging it, probably best with her sister sitting there glaring at him like he was the worst kind of monster. Which was fair enough, considering what she thought she knew about him.
“No need for pretense here,” Daff said, her voice dripping with disdain, and Mason felt Daisy tense against him as she recalled where she was. He sent Daff a malevolent glare; surely the bitch could see that Daisy was upset after her traumatic workday?
“Your sister is distraught and exhausted, why not allow me to comfort her?”
“I don’t need any demonstrations of your fake relationship, Mason,” she sneered. “We all know what this is about. Save it for some other gullible patsy.”
Daisy slipped out of his hold, and Mason held on to her arm to keep her in front of him until he got his raging hard-on under control. Daisy understood the silent command immediately and remained where she was, but she tugged her arm out of his hand and maintained a slight distance between them. His body mourned her absence, and his mind raged against it.
When he had himself back under control, he stepped out from behind her and stared at her averted profile until she reluctantly lifted her gaze to meet his.
“You should go home and get some rest. It’s late, and you have the clinic tomorrow.” The thought of the clinic still sent cold shudders down his spine.
“It’s not that late,” she protested, glancing at the digital display on the microwave. “Not even nine thirty yet.”
“Daisy . . .”
“Oh my God, you’re not the boss of her,” Daff snapped. “You’re not her boyfriend or fiancé or husband. Stop trying to tell her what to do.”
“Daff,” Daisy’s voice was equally short. “I can speak for myself!”
“So vocal with me, aren’t you, Daffodil?” Mason injected lethal amounts of ice into his voice. “Why aren’t you this outspoken with your sister’s douche-bag fiancé?”
“Because that’s an actual relationship, and prying could do a lot more harm than good. You don’t have anything remotely similar with Daisy!”
“Enough!” Daisy barked. “I’ve had enough from both of you. Daff, stop interfering and back the hell off!”
Her sister’s eyes widened, and Mason fought back a grin at the look of sheer incredulity on her face. Their baby sister had claws, and none of them seemed to actually know it.
“And as for you,” she seethed, turning that temper on him. “Thank you for everything you’ve done tonight, but just stop offering personal insight and suggestions into a situation you know nothing about. It’s none of your damned business.”
Stung, Mason knew he probably had the same shell-shocked look on his face that Daff currently did.
“I think I will go home. Tell Mom and Lia I’ll see them tomorrow afternoon. Good night.”
Before either could react, she had whirled out of the kitchen and was gone. Moments later they heard the front door slam and her car start up.
The silence stretched into minutes, and Mason finally looked at Daffodil, who was eyeing him speculatively.
“Why are you doing this? You didn’t have to agree to her foolish plan.”
He didn’t owe her an explanation, but he could see genuine concern for her sister mixed in with the curiosity.
“I honestly don’t know. Your sister is compelling and convincing and cute as hell; it can be hard to resist her.”
“Seriously?” The disbelief in her voice rankled, and he scowled at her.
“What is up with everybody in this town—even her own family—underestimating her and overlooking her?” he growled. “Why don’t you stop being such a bitch to me for agreeing to help her with this? And take a good hard look at yourself and everybody else who made her feel that she needed to go to such extreme lengths to avoid humiliation at her own sister’s wedding.”
“I don’t like you, and I don’t like what you and Spencer did to her.”
“I don’t like what we did either, and that’s partly why I agreed to this.”
“Seriously, Mason . . . you hurt her, I’ll castrate you.”
He gave her a grim little smile before nodding.
“Noted.”
Mason’s Jeep created deep ruts in the mud as he drove the dirt road to Inkululeko the following morning. He needed to see the clinic’s setup for himself, needed to reassure himself that Daisy was safe and that her clinic was secure.
The mobile clinic was parked in a clearing close to the informal settlement, and as he drove up, he was surprised by the incredibly long line snaking its way out from the covered entrance. There had to be at least a hundred to two hundred people—and their assorted animals—waiting. There was no way Daisy and her father could help all these people between eight a.m. and one p.m., which was what Daisy had said the operating hours were on a Saturday.
It was a gloomy day, but the people were happily chatting with each other, some were carrying umbrellas, others wore raincoats, and a few just had plastic bags covering their heads. The settlement was visibly impoverished, but the people in line were cheerful and had an obvious sense of community. Dogs of all sizes were tethered with leashes or makeshift rope harnesses, some obviously ill, others looking bored or nervous, others still picking fights. There were a small number of cats hugged to chests, chickens clucking happily in cages, and even a few cows, horses, and donkeys.
He was filled with a renewed sense of admiration for Daisy now that he could see what she had created. These people needed this service and were grateful for it. But on the outskirts of all this organized chaos there were a few others lurking. Looking tough, acting tough, and obviously up to no good. He knew the type, had seen them in many guises all over the world. But she saw no danger, saw only the happy community. But in his experience, the ones looking for trouble knew when to pick their moment, and it would be when Daisy or her father were at their most vulnerable. There were so many spots on the isolated dirt road that led up to Inkululeko that could be ideal for an ambush, and his stomach churned at the thought of Daisy getting into that kind of trouble.
He stepped out of his Jeep and walked toward the clinic. The people in line prodded each other and pointed at him. He was obviously out of place with his big car and his expensive clothes. He kept his stride loose and unthreatening, nodding and smiling at some of the people who made eye contact. When he saw a familiar face at the entrance of the clinic, he grinned.
“Hello, I know you, don’t I?” It was the pretty young waitress from MJ’s.
“Yes, I’m Thandiwe,” she said with a cheerful smile. “I’m the unofficial receptionist for Dr. Daisy and Dr. Andrew at the Inkululeko pet clinic.”
“Fantastic.”
“I want to be a vet too,” she confided, and Mason felt a pang as he recalled a similarly impoverished young boy with the same big dream. He trusted this self-possessed young woman had what it took to achieve her goal.
“You learning a lot from the Doctors McGregor?”
“So much,” she enthused, and his smile widened. “Are you here to see Dr. Daisy?”
“I am, but I have a couple of questions for you first if you don’t mind and if you can spare the time?” He cast a look at the long line.
“A little time. I won’t process the next patient until after one of the doctors finishes with their current patient.”
“How . . .” He wasn’t sure how to delicately phrase it. After all, she lived here, and he didn’t want to offend her. “I was a little worried about Daisy when I heard about this clinic.”
“You want to know if it’s safe?” She was a straightforward young woman; he liked that about her.
“Yeah.”
“It’s safe here,” she emphasized. “But I worry about them when they drive home. My brother has a taxi, and he sometimes follows them to the main road just to be sure they get there safely, but he’s not always available. Most people here don’t have cars, and while they would like to do something similar, they can’t. There’s a lot of expensive medical equipment in this clinic. And some people might think that it’s easy money to be made.” Which just confirmed his worst fear.
“Thanks, Thandiwe,” he said. “Do you think Dr. Daisy will have time for a quick hello?”
“I think we can squeeze you in between the mangy cat and the chicken with the club foot.” She grinned, and he felt his lips stretch into an answering smile.
“Much appreciated.”
Daisy waved Mrs. Matabane and her sick cat off with a smile. Yet another case of mange; sadly it was prevalent in the township, too much dust. But luckily, Isaac, the battle-scarred tomcat, didn’t have a bad case and looked to be on the mend. He needed to be neutered, and she had begged Mrs. Matabane to consider it, explaining that it would cut down on his wandering and fighting as well. The elderly lady had promised to think about it. The mangy animal reminded her of young Thomas and his dog, Sheba, and she wondered if she’d be seeing the friendly child today. He hadn’t dropped by on Wednesday, and she hoped he’d come around today.
She looked up with a friendly smile as the next person entered the mobile clinic and had a moment’s confusion as she stared at the tall, broad figure silhouetted in the doorway.
“Mason,” her father called, his voice warm and welcoming. “What brings you by?”
“Just thought I’d have a look at the clinic; I’ve been thinking of making a donation and wanted to see it for myself first.” Mason’s voice was equally jovial, and Daisy’s eyes narrowed. This was the first she’d heard of a donation—not that it wouldn’t be welcome and appreciated—and it was just a little suspicious for him to suddenly show up. What were his real motivations?
“Well, feel free to have a look around while we work. It’s a bit cramped in here, though.” The clinic was the size of a standard RV and boasted nearly everything an actual veterinarian’s office would, but there was very little room to maneuver, especially with Mason’s larger-than-life presence making everything seem Lilliputian in scale.
“I wish one of us could show you around, but we’re a little swamped today,” her father said apologetically. He had his hands on a small black dog with only one eye. The dog’s owner was staring at Mason askance, obviously annoyed to have his consultation interrupted.
“I wouldn’t expect that, sir. I’ll have a snoop around myself, and I hope you won’t mind if I waited around a bit and maybe drove back into town with you?”
“That would be fine with us, won’t it, Daisy? And you can come around the house for a late lunch.”
“I’d enjoy that.” He grinned at Daisy, and she kept a straight face, sure he was up to something. He leaned over her stainless-steel examination table to drop a kiss on to her cheek.
“You’re looking quite sexy in your white coat, Dr. Daisy,” he whispered wickedly, his breath fanning against her cheek and his voice low enough for only her to hear. Daisy felt herself going bright red and fought to keep her breath even as he nuzzled the sensitive skin next to her ear before he retreated.
He nodded to her father and started whistling a jaunty tune as he stepped out of the clinic.
“Boyfriend?” The owner of the black dog—a wizened elderly man in a dapper plaid peaked hat with matching coat—asked her father.
“Yes, that’s Daisy’s boyfriend,” her father said.
“Ey ey ey! You tell him he must pay big lobola for Dr. Daisy, she’s a good girl. Twenty, thirty cows maybe,” the man cried, causing Daisy’s blush to deepen, and her father chuckled. Lobola was a traditional bride price, and it was still a common practice among certain tribes in the country. Thirty cows by any standard was a pretty hefty price.
“That many, hey?” her father mused, and the old man chuckled.
“She is a useful daughter.”
“I agree,” her father said with a grin.
“We’re not getting married, Mr. Mahlangu. So there’s no need for lobola.” Her protestation fell on deaf ears as her father and Mr. Mahlangu continued to discuss her worth in cattle. She gave up and summoned her next patient. Soon all of Inkululeko would think she was dating Mason too. Talk about a situation getting more and more ridiculous.
Mason escorted them back to town as promised. What he had done all morning while waiting for them to finish was anyone’s guess. She didn’t want him to have lunch with her family; things were already problematic enough, especially with her mother and Lia singing his praises after his “help” last night. Both had contacted her after she got home to thank her for bringing Mason, to say how wonderful he was and how happy they were for her. And yet, the reality—and inequality—of their deception ate at her more and more each day. The man had her entire family, with the exception of Daff, wrapped around his little finger while she had barely exchanged a single word with his brother.
The guilt, fear, and frustration continued to wrap around Daisy like an ever-tightening shroud, and she couldn’t wait for the next two weeks to just be over.
“Why did you really come out to the township today?” Daisy asked Mason hours later, after what seemed like an endless lunch. The family had tactfully retreated while she walked him to his car to say good-bye.
“I really want to make a donation to the clinic,” he said sincerely, and she lifted a brow, waiting. His lips quirked. “And I wanted to see how safe it was.”
“I told you it was fine,” she said, aggravated that he had deliberately ignored her. Again.
“I don’t think it is,” he said.
“It’s none of your business,” she flared, infuriated, and he brushed her cheek with his knuckles. The infinitely tender gesture made her pause.
“On the contrary, it is my business. I know more about danger than you ever could. Trust me when I tell you it’s a disaster waiting to happen. I can protect you; please let me.” It was hard to resist him when he was so obviously sincere about wanting to keep her safe. It made her feel . . . cherished. And she hated that. Hated that he made her feel so special, when it was all just pretend.
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to.”
“Mason, your performance needs extend only so far,” she said, forcing a laugh into her voice. “As method acting goes, this truly exceeds all expectation, but it’s really better to keep things superficial. Just enough to make it credible.”
He swore, the expletive ripe and vicious, and she jumped in fright.
“Fuck that, Daisy! This is your life we’re talking about. It has nothing to do with this stupid game you’re playing with your family.”
“Why do you care?” she whispered, and he reeled back as if she had hit him.
“Why do I care?” he repeated in disbelief. “You’re an unbelievable piece of work, aren’t you? What kind of prick do you think I am?”
“Mason, I didn’t mean . . .” He made a slashing motion with his hand, shutting her up.
“You want ‘credible’? Fine. Here’s something for your family to speculate over.” He grabbed her face between his palms and planted his hard, angry mouth over hers, painfully grinding her lips against her teeth before gentling the kiss. His tongue plunged between her lips and stroked the roof of her mouth, and she groaned and willingly acquiesced to his touch. She locked her hands behind his neck; his hair had grown just enough for her to run her restless fingers through. The intensity of the kiss was both shocking and welcome, and it allowed Daisy a brief moment of respite from her usual turbulent thoughts. A peace within which there was nothing to do but enjoy his closeness, his scent, and his taste. She was dangerously close to allowing him to breach her defensive walls again. It was a sobering realization and one that finally drove her out of his embrace. He resisted her retreat, his hands refusing to release her until she pulled her head back and her lips away from him.
“Stop.” The word was breathless, husky, and reluctant.
“I want you.” The words were hoarse and sounded like they’d been tortured from him.
“You don’t. You can’t,” she protested.
“Why the fuck not?” She flinched, but his gaze remained fixed and unrepentant.
“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” she whispered. “You’re not supposed to want me; I’m not supposed to like you. It was all supposed to remain neat and clinical.”
“Where do you come up with these bullshit rules?”
“They’re not my rules. They’re the dictates of modern society. You’re supposed to be with someone like Shar,” she burst out desperately, and he reared back in horror.
“You would wish a bitch like that on me?”
“Daff or Lia, then; you’re supposed to be with someone like them.”
“Will you stop trying to foist me off on to your friends and family? Shar’s a malevolent bitch. Your sisters are both completely insane, and they bore me to tears.”
Mason wasn’t sure why he was trying so hard to convince her that he wanted her. He considered it for a moment—the dull throbbing in his groin punctuating his every thought—and concluded that he was trying so hard because he was so hard. There was no logic to desire; it simply happened, sometimes between the unlikeliest of people. And it was occurring in spades between Mason and this contrary armful of femininity.
It would be better if she continued to believe that he didn’t want her. But, consequences be damned, he was tired of fighting his powerful attraction to her. And he now found himself wishing it weren’t so damned difficult to convince her of his sincerity, even while he knew that it was his reward for approaching her under false pretenses that first night. He was paying for that dumb move in spades. She didn’t give her trust easily, and he wasn’t sure how to earn it back.
“Good-bye, Mason,” she whispered, finality in her voice, and bowing his head, he admitted defeat.
For now.