CHAPTER NINE
“I can’t believe you’re actually going through with this,” Spencer said, shaking his head. Mason looked up from his duffel bag and glared at his nonplussed brother. The other man was dog sitting for the weekend and was there to pick Cooper up.
“Did you expect me to back out at the last second?” He shoved his shaving kit into the bag and followed it up with his brush—not really needed after he’d shorn his hair again last night—and aftershave. The expensive stuff.
“Well, yeah.”
“Why would I leave her in the lurch like that?” Mason glared at him.
“She forced you to do this. It was a sad and desperate attempt to get a guy like you to go out with her, and I doubt she’d be surprised if you bailed on her.”
“I’m going to say this once only, Spence, slowly so that it’ll penetrate even your thick skull.”
“Hey.”
“I like her, and after this farce of a weekend is over, I’m going to ask her out. For real. Got that?”
“You’re going to ask her out?”
“And she’s going to say no,” Mason predicted bitterly.
“Sometimes I don’t get you at all,” Spencer complained.
“Yeah? Join the fucking club.”
“Miss me?” The flippant question was the first thing Mason asked when Daisy climbed into his car just before midday. She smiled at him, keeping her expression painfully polite in an attempt to prevent him from seeing just how very much she had missed him. She hadn’t seen him since that afternoon at her parents’ place. He’d called her at work, sent her flowers, and kept up the pretense of their fake relationship, even while Daisy had barely put any effort into it herself. She scrupulously avoided her family as much as possible to evade any questions about the nature of her relationship with Mason.
The only person she could speak to with any honesty was Daff, and that wasn’t ever pleasant or reassuring because of her sister’s tendency to overdramatize and make everything about her.
“It’s not my place to miss you,” she said rigidly, and he removed his sunglasses specifically so that he could roll his eyes at her.
“Get that stick out of your ass, Dr. Daisy. It’s going to be a long journey, and I’d prefer it were a pleasant one.”
He had a fair point, and she tried her best to look chastened.
“Maybe I missed you a little,” she conceded, and he grinned broadly.
“I missed you too.” He pushed his sunglasses back up his nose, and Daisy drank him in furtively. He had cut his hair again, the waves that she had enjoyed just a week ago ruthlessly shorn away to leave only short spikes in its wake. He was wearing an open-necked white dress shirt, with those faded jeans she liked so much. She really had missed him. Everything about him: his irreverent sense of humor, his laughter, and his insightful observations. The way he tilted his head slightly when he was listening to her, as if her every word was interesting. He glanced around and raised a quizzical brow.
“No Peaches?” She shook her head.
“She’s staying with Lucinda this weekend. What about Cooper?”
“He’s with Spencer.” He watched as she clicked the seat belt into place.
“What does Spencer think about our so-called blossoming romance?” It was something she had been meaning to ask for a while. He shot her a chagrined look.
“He guessed the truth almost immediately.”
“Jeez, if Spencer could guess, then I don’t know how much chance we have of convincing everybody else,” she said with a wince.
“What are you trying to say about my brother?” Mason’s tone was inadvertently defensive, and her eyes widened in alarm.
“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, that sounded worse than I intended; I just mean that he doesn’t strike me as very—”
“Intelligent? Who’s guilty of judging by appearances now, Daisy?” he chided, genuinely disappointed in her, and she exhaled impatiently.
“I was going to say observant. Your brother’s intelligence has never been in doubt. The man owns a successful business; he completed a master’s degree, for heaven’s sake. You and he are very much alike.” A curl of warmth unfurled in his chest, an unfamiliar feeling that he couldn’t quite identify, but it made him want to puff out his chest and grin like an idiot.
“How so?” he asked softly.
“You know how,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You’re both good looking, really smart, and determined to succeed. You’re basically the complete package. Thanks for making me spell that out, mister. Like your ego isn’t big enough as it is.”
Pride. That was what he was feeling. Pride that this wonderful woman saw him in such a flattering light. He couldn’t help it; the grin broke free and his chest expanded just a little.
“You think I’m hot and clever with a great package? Dr. Daisy, you’re such a flatterer.” His words were teasing, but Daisy could see a spark of sincere appreciation in his eyes. Something told her that Mason was even less used to honest compliments than she was. It was an astonishing revelation, and it completely melted her heart.
“Ready?” he asked, and Daisy nodded, suddenly feeling inappropriately ebullient as if she wasn’t on her way to orchestrate the biggest deception of her entire life.
It was a six-and-a-half-hour drive to Morgan’s Bay in the Wild Coast on the national highway, and they had long periods of silence followed by spurts of lively conversation. They debated about everything from politics to religion. Sometimes the arguments were less topical and about favorite movies, music, and even reality shows. They were also playing an ongoing, cutthroat game. The winner was the person who had spotted the most red cars by the end of the journey. It got hilariously ugly and argumentative really fast. Especially when they were driving through the tiny towns en route to their destination.
“Why doesn’t that one count?” Mason asked heatedly, as they were passing through yet another small cluster of shops and homes that posed as a town.
“It’s parked,” Daisy said smugly, and he shot her a look so incredulous she could read it even through the sunglasses.
“Bullshit,” he snapped. “That wasn’t a rule when we passed through the last town and you called out three dozen parked cars.”
“I didn’t,” she denied smoothly. It had only been three. “You’re driving, so I don’t blame you for not being one hundred percent focused on the game, but there’s no reason to make stuff up.”
“That isn’t a rule,” he maintained.
“Well, it should be. In fact, I think it is. Now.”
“You’re such a cheat. Fine, whatever, no parked cars. You were the one earning the most points on parked cars anyway, so it’s no skin off my nose!”
“Great. So that’s twenty-three to you and thirty-five to me.” He swore under his breath and shook his head.
The game continued.
On long, isolated stretches of road, when there were hardly any other cars, they talked about other more personal topics, and Daisy found herself confiding things she had never admitted to another soul.
“I was convinced unicorns existed. I was embarrassingly persistent about it,” she confessed. “Up until the age of twelve I was determined to prove their existence. I was so gullible, and the Internet didn’t help. There are so many ‘true accounts’ of unicorn sightings, unicorn fossils, unicorn videos on YouTube, and grainy ‘found’ images. I was going to be the person to definitively prove that unicorns were an actual animal species. I thought it was a legitimate branch of research.”
She shook her head wryly and a little sadly as she recalled it.
“It added to my reputation as the ‘weird, other McGregor sister.’ In fact, I think that’s probably what started it. It didn’t help that I was a plump, frizzy-haired misfit without a single friend and that it looked like a unicorn factory had exploded over every item I possessed. We’re talking clothing, bags, books . . . I even had a frickin’ unicorn Alice band.” Mason winced at that revelation.
“At some point your mom had to have said something, right?”
“You’ve met my mother, of course she said something. She was absolutely appalled. At first, for about five seconds, she thought it was adorable. Until it became an obsession. I was a mouthy brat about it too. If she threw anything out, I’d whine to my dad about it, and he saw nothing wrong with it. Told my mother I was just being creative and creativity should be nurtured and not stifled. So every time after that, whenever she said anything about my unicorns, I’d throw those words back at her: ‘You’re stifling my creativity, Mother!’
“God, I was such an obnoxious brat. I knew my dad would take my side, he always did, and I think that’s when my mother and I started drifting apart.” She sighed and then laughed bitterly. “All this time I blamed the country club while I’d been pushing my mom and sisters away for years. Always aware of how different I was and practically blaming them for it.”
“There’s nothing wrong with being different, Daisy.”
“But I shoved it in their faces, and then when I realized how far out of reach they were, it was difficult to breach the gap.”
“But not impossible. They love you and you love them. And you’re not the same bratty, unicorn-collecting kid anymore.”
“Nah, I collect caterpillars now,” she reminded him.
“Yeah, I remember,” he said with a grimace. “I’ve been meaning to ask, why caterpillars? Why not butterflies?”
“Butterflies are boring,” she said. “They’ve already achieved the pinnacle of their existence. Caterpillars are beautiful and yet still have so much potential locked inside them. Weird, I know.”
“Maybe a little weird, but fascinating too.” And telling. Of course she collected caterpillars; a psychoanalyst would have a field day with Daisy and how she dealt with her many insecurities. Even her hobbies were a reflection of her self-doubt.
“Think about it, inside every single butterfly or moth there’s a contented little caterpillar,” she muttered smugly.
“Don’t you mean there’s a butterfly waiting to emerge from every caterpillar?”
“Meh, I prefer my interpretation. So much more fun to think that every pretty butterfly was once a fat, greedy little grub.” She chuckled wickedly, and he laughed at the pure malice in the sound.
“What were you like as a boy?” she asked, changing the subject abruptly.
“Pretty much what you’d expect. Spencer and I got into all kinds of trouble; luckily it was all petty shit that didn’t have life-altering repercussions.”
Daisy recalled something her father had said.
“Did you vandalize Mr. Richards’s store?”
“No, but I know who did.” She poked him on one hard bicep when he didn’t elaborate.
“Well?”
“Timmy Jr. did it.”
“Mr. Richards’s own son?” Well, that was news.
“Yeah, the little bastard figured Spencer and I would be blamed, and he was pissed off with his dad about something and trashed the place.” He shook his head in disgust. “The cops questioned us for three hours, and we were only thirteen and fifteen at the time. We both had solid alibis that night, though. Our mother was in hospital, and we didn’t leave her side until she died.”
She had forgotten their mother had passed away at a relatively young age and was ashamed she hadn’t asked him about his parents before.
“And the police kept you in custody, despite your mother dying?” She was horrified by the callousness of the adults in that situation. He pulled a face.
“We were the bad kids in town.”
“That makes no difference,” she seethed. “You were boys who had just lost your mother.”
“It was a long time ago, Daisy.” He had an amused tilt to his lips, but she could see the tension along the firm line of his jaw and knew he wasn’t as unaffected by the memory as he was pretending to be.
“And your father took care of you after that?” she asked, diverting the topic slightly.
“If you can call it taking care of us. He managed to stay out of jail until Spencer turned eighteen, which kept us out of foster care, but he wasn’t exactly interested in raising us. When he had money he saw to it that we had food, but when he didn’t he told us to figure something out. We became pretty good at shoplifting. Always food. Never anything else. We had standards, and we always wanted to be better than our circumstances permitted. The day Spencer turned eighteen the old man took off and we never saw him again. I guess I’m grateful he stuck around, but that’s about it.”
“You were still underage when Spencer left for college,” she suddenly realized, horrified.
“Yeah, but the house, old and dilapidated though it was, was ours, so I had a roof over my head. I also had two jobs at the time. Enough to keep myself clothed and fed and the water and heat on. Spencer sent money home too.”
“Why did nobody intervene? Where were your teachers, the counselors? Other adults?” He had fallen through the cracks, and nobody had known or cared. It brought tears to her eyes, and she tried to hide them from him, knowing he wouldn’t like anything resembling sympathy or pity.
“I kept a low profile. Good grades, stayed out of trouble, and if anybody asked I said my dad was back. Spencer didn’t want to leave me, he wanted to drag me to Grahamstown with him, but he would be living in a sponsored dorm, and having me there would have broken the rules and possibly resulted in him losing his scholarship.
“We nearly came to blows when he insisted on staying. In the end we both knew our prospects would improve if he got a degree. The plan was he would get his degree and after he finished I would get mine. Well, that was his plan. I’d already started looking into the military. He nearly blew a gasket when I told him I was enlisting.”
He spoke matter-of-factly, as if he were talking about someone else, and she found the disconnect telling. He had completely disassociated himself from the boy who had shoplifted to stay alive, who had spent two years completely alone. It had shaped him into the man he was, but it was no longer relevant to his present. Yet Spencer embraced that same past by giving all those motivational speeches. And while she thought the town’s troubled youth could learn a great deal from Mason as well, she understood that he was a more private person who didn’t open up as easily. Public speaking was not for him.
They were quiet for a long time after that, speaking only to add to their respective red car tallies.
Three hours later, after a long nap and quick food and fuel stop in Port Elizabeth, Daisy took over the driving and Mason was stretched out in the passenger seat, watching the green scenery pass by. After a while he seemed to grow bored with that and turned to watch her while she drove.
“Will you please stop doing that?” she finally snapped after a few minutes of relentless staring. “It’s unnerving.”
“Stop doing what?”
“Staring at me.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You blatantly were,” she gasped. A little offended by the lie.
“How do you know my eyes aren’t closed?” It was a valid question, since he was still wearing his sunglasses.
“I just know!”
“I was counting your freckles,” he finally admitted, and she gave him a horrified look. He pointed out the windscreen. “Eyes on the road, Daisy.”
“You were what?” she gritted out, after diverting her eyes back on the road.
“Counting your freckles . . . and I’m a little irritated with your interruption. You made me lose count. I like how they congregate on your nose and then kind of carelessly scatter across your cheekbone like drunken little soldiers, just a few here and there. Do you know that some fell out of line and randomly landed wherever the hell they wanted? Little rebels. There’s one just below the corner of your lip, looks a little lonely down there, but it hasn’t fallen as far as this little guy here.” He reached out and brushed his thumb over the sensitive skin of her throat. “What is it doing all the way over there? I think this one is my favorite.”
“Stop counting my freckles and try to get some sleep,” she whispered, not at all sure what to make of this.
“That’s what I’m trying to do; it’s like counting stars, only so much prettier.” His words were starting to slur, and she refrained from commenting. A gentle snore a few minutes later alerted her to the fact that he’d dozed off, and a quick glance in his direction confirmed it. His head was lolling forward slightly and his beautiful lips were slightly parted. She forced her eyes back on the road and sighed, already missing his lively companionship. She was in deep trouble here. The man was proving to be much too irresistible.
“Daisy,” her name was whispered directly into her ear, and Daisy startled awake and blinked in confusion.
“Wha—” Why was it so dark? She turned her head, and her lips brushed against Mason’s stubbled jaw. He backed away quickly.
“We’re here,” he announced, and she rubbed her eyes.
“Already?” she muttered incoherently.
“Yeah, the last two hours flew by.” He had taken over the driving again after just an hour, and Daisy had reluctantly relinquished control of the beautiful car back to him. But she’d been tired after her half day at work and was happy to let him do the bulk of the driving.
“Your hotel is fifteen minutes away,” she said apologetically. “I’m sorry, it’s the closest one I could . . .”
“Don’t worry about it, Lia sorted something out for me.”
“What?” Her sleep-muddled brain wasn’t functioning properly, and she was still trying to process his words when he stepped out of the car and opened the passenger door for her.
“Come on, sweetheart,” he coaxed, taking hold of her elbow gently.
“You’re staying here too?”
“I am,” he confirmed. He stopped at the boot to unload their luggage while a porter happily stacked the bags onto a trolley.
“I thought it was full.”
“It’s been taken care of,” he said as he shepherded her into the hotel reception area, the porter following behind them. They were welcomed by a warmly smiling desk manager.
“Good evening, you’re here for the Edmonton-McGregor wedding?” The attractive and polished woman’s smile widened at the sight of Mason, who smiled back casually, flashing that killer dimple at her.
“Yes,” Mason responded smoothly before Daisy could offer a reply. “Daisy McGregor and Mason Carlisle.” The woman’s glance slid over to Daisy, and her smile faltered very slightly. Daisy knew her hair had to be a total mess and her T-shirt was wrinkled after the long drive. As if sensing her discomfort, Mason’s hand slid beneath her hair to cup the nape of her neck. He squeezed slightly, his thumb and forefinger massaging her nape soothingly. The woman efficiently went about the check-in process, and despite Daisy’s muffled protest, Mason offered his own credit card for the security deposit. When she tried to offer hers to cover her own room, the woman smiled and said it wouldn’t be necessary. The desk manager lifted a couple of welcome bags from behind the desk and handed them one each. Mason grinned at the sight; he had never actually got around to helping them fill the bags.
“I finally get to see what’s in these,” he said, prodding Daisy with a conspiratorial elbow. His humor was infectious, and she returned his grin with one of her own.
“Please note that dinner will be served between seven and nine thirty tonight. Details for tomorrow’s itinerary will be found in your welcome bag.”
“Thank you,” Daisy said, reaching for the keycard the woman held out to her, while Mason took the one in her other hand.
“It’s on the second floor,” the manager supplied. “Most of our rooms are reserved for wedding guests this weekend.”
“Thanks,” Mason said, before hooking an arm around Daisy’s waist and leading her toward one of the elevators. The porter told them he would wait for the next one, and after the doors slid shut, closing them into the little glass-walled box, which probably had stunning ocean views during the day, Daisy looked down at her card.
“I’m in room twenty-three. You?” He didn’t bother looking down at his card, shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans instead.
“We’re in the same room, Daisy,” he informed her.
“What?” The word was practically screamed, and he grimaced. She shrugged out of his hold and turned to face him, crossing her arms over her chest. He looked down at her tightly folded arms, furious face, and tapping foot and seemed to be fighting back a grin.
“You look pissed off,” he noted—his voice and face a study in blandness—and she gasped.
“Of course I’m pissed off,” she gritted out through her teeth. “I told you we wouldn’t be sharing a room!”
“I figured it would be best if we did.”
“I can’t believe you did this. I can’t believe . . .” The elevator pinged and slid to a stop at the second floor, and Daisy’s mouth slammed shut as the doors opened to reveal Lia and Clayton on the other side.
“You made it,” Lia said with a relieved smile. Mason and Daisy stepped out, and Lia hugged them both effusively.
“Mason, I don’t think you’ve met my fiancé,” she said, turning to Clayton, who stepped forward with an oily smile that sent a shudder of distaste down Daisy’s spine. He held out a hand to Mason.
“Clayton Edmonton the Third,” he said jovially, and Daisy very determinedly kept herself from rolling her eyes at the characteristically arrogant introduction.
“Mason,” the big man at her side supplied succinctly, completely without artifice. He dwarfed Clayton, who was only about five eleven. Mason just looked so much more masculine next to Clayton’s urbane smoothness. Mason’s big body was honed by years of physical activity and combat, while Clayton had the polished look of a man who spent too much time perfecting his body in a gym and no time at all using that body for anything other than leisure activities.
“So you’re dating our Daisy, are you?” he said with a sickeningly paternal smirk. “I don’t recall her ever dating anyone before.”
He leaned down and planted a kiss on Daisy’s lips, and she pulled her head back, feeling violated by the overly familiar embrace. He’d never kissed her on the mouth before, and it completely repulsed her. She was suddenly grateful to have Mason by her side.
She glanced up at Mason and noted the frown on his face as he took in the way Clayton’s hand still lingered on her hip. He didn’t seem to like it and deliberately slid his arm back around her waist and tugged her out of Clayton’s hold until she was tucked securely against him.
“Join us for a pre-dinner drink?” Lia asked with a strained smile. Daisy looked at her a little closer. Her sister looked pale and exhausted, not exactly the picture of a beaming bride-to-be. Daisy tried to dismiss it as stress and nerves, but something in Lia’s eyes told her this was different.
The second elevator pinged, and the porter exited, dragging the luggage cart behind him.
“We’ve literally just arrived,” Mason said, indicating toward the porter. “We’re going to freshen up, rest a bit, and join you all for dinner.”
“Okay, we’ll see you later, then; I think you were the last of the weekend guests to arrive—although we do have wedding-day-only guests coming on Sunday, of course—so there’ll be a full house for dinner tonight. Mason, you’ll be joining us at the family table, of course,” Lia said.
“You’re babbling, sweets,” Clayton said patronizingly, and Lia’s smile faltered.
“Sorry about that; it’s the excitement,” she said, her eyes strained. “Anyway, we’ll see you later.”
They entered the elevator, and Lia waved as the doors slid shut. Mason dropped his arm from around Daisy’s waist and took her hand in his. They turned to follow the porter, who was already waiting at their room door.
Mason took Daisy’s key card from her to open the door and helped the porter offload the cart before tipping the friendly young man and sending him on his way. Daisy, in the meantime was nervously eyeing the large, luxurious suite, with its panoramic floor-to-ceiling corner windows and its gigantic bed.
“How long has Edmonton been so handsy with you?” Mason’s voice, coming from right behind her, startled Daisy.
“Uh, what do you mean?” She stalled, and he moved to stand in front of her and look down at her grimly.
“You know what I mean, Daisy. He had his greedy paws all over you.”
“It wasn’t that bad.” She shifted uncomfortably.
“Has it been worse?” His voice was dangerously quiet, and she lowered her eyes.
“I thought it was my imagination,” she revealed, her voice emerging on a tiny whisper. He was standing so close to her that she could feel his every muscle tense.
“Explain.”
“He’s been a little overly . . . familiar.”
“And you’re letting your sister go through with this wedding?” He sounded so absolutely incredulous that Daisy was both gratified that he believed her and ashamed that she hadn’t trusted herself enough to talk to at least Daff about how she felt around Clayton.
“Daisy, why the hell didn’t you say something? Tell me what that fucker has done to you; I need to know exactly how badly I have to hurt him.”
“It’s not like that. I mean, he’s made me feel uncomfortable; he makes these awful comments about my body but makes it sound like advice or affection. He has patted my butt on occasion, seemingly a casual, friendly touch—but his hand always lingers just that fraction too long—and when I confronted him about it, he said he wasn’t interested in me in that way. I’m ‘not his type’ after all, and maybe I’m jealous of what my prettier sister has.” Her eyes flooded with tears, and she tried to keep her face averted to prevent Mason from seeing them.
“How has none of your family seen this? I took one look at the situation, and I could tell you were uncomfortable around him and that he was much too familiar with you.”
“They don’t see me the same way you do,” she admitted, a tear streaking down her cheek and finally, finally, she was able to recognize that Mason did see her as different, as special, as pretty and interesting and every other really wonderful thing he had called her in the past. “I’m just Daisy. I don’t attract that kind of male attention.”
A single tear, and he was undone. Mason watched it trail down one round cheek and tremble on the edge of her jawline before it lost the battle with gravity and fell. He didn’t know where it landed, he was too busy drowning in those sad, drenched gray eyes.
“Daisy,” he groaned, reaching up to knuckle some of the stray curls out of her face. The soft, springy tendrils wrapped around his fist, and he unclenched his hand and combed his fingers into her thick hair, loving the feeling of it under his palm. His other hand moved up to cup her cheek, and his thumb moved to wipe away the last trace of that tear. “Angels shouldn’t weep.”
It was a silly thing to say, whimsical and uncharacteristic, but it made her smile, and that made him feel less foolish. Her small, soft hand came up to cover his.
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“Believing me.” Her words infuriated him, made him want to take on every single person in the world who had ever made her feel worthless and unattractive. Starting with Daisy herself. He unwound his hand from her hair and reached for her glasses, removing them and tossing them onto a nearby dresser in one quick movement.
“Hey, watch it, I didn’t bring a spare pair,” she squeaked. He glared down at her, silencing her instantly, and he smothered a grin. He loved the slightly unfocused look in her eyes when she wasn’t wearing her glasses; it was cute. She looked like a little fledgling owl about to leap from the nest for the first time.
“How blind are you without those?” he asked, and she blinked, a slow, sleepy little blink.
“I’m not blind,” she said indignantly. “Things are fuzzy and out of focus, but I can see you clearly.”
“Good, then watch this—” His mouth was on hers before she had a chance to respond, and instead of the protestation he was expecting, she sighed and sank into the kiss, as if she’d been longing for it and wanting it as much as he. Her lips parted, and before he could make his move, her tongue was in his mouth. It nearly sent him to his knees.
His hand went to the back of her head, pulling her closer as his tongue finally won their duel and ravaged its way into her mouth, seeking, asking . . . taking. She tasted heavenly, and her flavor was like a drug in his bloodstream; he craved more of it even as he drank it from her.
He backed her toward the inviting king-size bed, never lifting his mouth from hers, and she allowed it, her hands burrowing under his T-shirt, while she backpedaled until the back of her knees hit the bed. She lost her balance and fell onto the bed, taking him with her, and he landed partially on top of her, one hand braced on the mattress for balance and the other trailing down from her face toward her chest and then her breast. He cupped one of the temptingly soft mounds, testing its shape and weight in the palm of his hand, wishing there were no layers of clothing between them.
She arched herself into his hand, obviously wanting more, and he reluctantly left her breast, ignoring her moan of despair, to trail his fingers down her waist until he found the bottom edge of her T-shirt. His hand crept beneath the cotton, craving the heat of her naked skin against his, but she moved before he could touch her, writhing out from beneath him and breaking contact with his mouth. Gutted, he watched as she struggled to sit up and peer at him through those big gray eyes with their massively dilated pupils. Her mouth was swollen and red, her breathing out of control, and he could see her hard nipples straining against the confines of both her bra and T-shirt. She swallowed and licked her lips causing him to groan.
“Are we . . . are we going to . . . f-fuck?” The word made his cock swell more, even while he winced at the crudity coming from that pretty mouth.
“Daisy,” he reprimanded shakily. “Such language.”
“Learned it from you,” she reminded him.
“Unlearn it; euphemisms suit you more,” he murmured, while he reached out to trail his finger over her naughty, kewpie doll mouth. He leaned over to nuzzle the sensitive spot below her jaw, and she tilted her head to allow him greater access.
“Well? Are we?”
“Hmmm, I’d say so,” he whispered. “But when we have more time. For now we’re going to do some seriously heavy petting. You up for that?”
Daisy considered the question and looked into his strained face; his eyelids were heavy, making him look sleepy, but she wasn’t fooled, he was hyperalert, his entire body radiating tension. She glanced down and could see him straining at his zipper and knew with absolute certainty that this man wanted her. Wanted her! Daisy McGregor. It was a heady, powerful feeling, and she craved more of it. She wanted him, and she wasn’t going to fight it anymore. Why not just enjoy this? Mason was a great guy, but he wasn’t the man for her. He was just the man for now.
“I am,” she finally said, after a long, fraught silence. He groaned, his arms gave way, and he collapsed onto the bed on his back. He raised his hands to cover his face, and she admired his strong, beautifully veined and muscled arms. She could see the bottom edge of a tattoo peeking out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt, and it thrilled her to know that she would soon see that tattoo. And so much more.
“Thank God for that,” he muttered into his hands before he reached for her and tumbled her over his broad chest for another long, deep drugging kiss. “Come on, angel, let’s get this pesky T-shirt off you.”
She giggled, and together they fumbled like two teens as they tugged at and finally tore her T-shirt before dragging it up over her head. Daisy felt self-conscious as she was revealed to him for the first time. She was aware that because she was half slouched over him, her love handles were showing and her tummy was pooching, everything was too soft and nothing like his tight perfection. And he was staring, a lot . . . fixedly. She was certain that he’d never before been to bed with a woman who was less than perfect and now started to feel uncomfortable beneath that piercing regard. Until he spoke . . .
“Hello, old friend, we meet again.” His tone was rough and filled with admiration. Daisy followed his gaze down to her chest and laughed when she saw that he was staring at her bra. The same lacy pink bra from that afternoon in her house.
“Stop it,” she chuckled, and he shook his head.
“Do you know how often I’ve fantasized about you in this pretty pink thing?” His words were gruff and his tone a little reverent. He reached out and ran his finger over the flesh above the scalloped lace edge of one of the cups. Her nipples went harder at the subtle caress, and he left a trail of goose bumps in his wake. His mouth followed his fingers and she hissed at the contact, all humor forgotten.
He continued to nuzzle her through the lace, edging closer and closer to the hard, tight bead at the center of her breast. She cupped her hands around the back of his head, trying to guide him there, but he seemed to have his own ideas, moving away from that breast to nuzzle at the other one.
“Mason, please,” she begged, and he looked up at her, those beautiful green eyes slumberous and heavy with desire. His bottom lip looked fuller, his breath was hitching in his chest, and she could see he was as affected as she was.
“Please what?” he asked in a whisper.
“Touch me.”
“Where?”
“You know where.”
“Tell me what you want, Daisy,” he encouraged, and she swallowed and moved her own hand down to cup her breast.
“Here. Touch me here,” she said, and he made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat. It sounded like a purr.
He sat up and dragged her into his lap. After wrapping an arm around her waist, he took her hard nipple gently between his teeth, abrading it against the lace of her bra and the edge of his teeth. Not hurting, just making it hypersensitive before sinking his mouth over it and suckling hard.
“Oh!” Her back arched over his arm as the electric sensation shot through her entire body. But he wasn’t done; he had moved to the other breast, and the same treatment yielded the same results. Daisy, who had only ever orgasmed by her own hand, felt dangerously close to coming without even removing her jeans. Every stitch of clothing set her nerve endings on fire, and she needed to get rid of it all; she needed to feel his heat against her.
“Take it off,” she sobbed, and he lifted his head, his eyes gleaming down at her.
“What?”
“Everything. I want it off.”
“Bra first, I think,” he said in a ridiculously measured voice. How could he sound so in control when she could feel his hot erection grinding against her bottom? He reached behind her, deftly unclasped her bra, and sent it flying across the room, before moving his eyes down to her chest. She heard him whisper a little prayer of thanks as he took in the sight before him.
“Too big,” she muttered self-consciously. He didn’t seem to hear her as he cupped one of the soft, naked mounds, testing the weight in the palm of his hand.
“You bite your tongue, young woman,” he chastised after a couple of moments of sheer reverence. “These beauties are perfect. They’re nowhere close to too big. They fill my hands with room to spare.”
“That’s because you have great big mitts for hands.”
“Yeah? Well, you know what they say about guys with big hands,” he reminded her smugly, and she laughed. Daisy had never dreamt she’d be comfortable enough with a man that she could laugh so freely while sitting topless in his lap. But this was Mason, and he’d always been marvelous at putting her at ease.
“That’s big feet,” she corrected.
“I have big feet too . . .” he said, then paused for a beat before adding, “and you should see the size of my cock.”
He captured her laugh with his mouth, and things got serious very quickly. She started tugging at his shirt, and he happily obliged her by pulling it off and sending it in the same direction as her bra. She moaned in appreciation when she saw his beautiful hard chest. Just a sprinkling of hair, tanned and taut, but with way too many scars marring all that smooth, perfect skin. He had an intricate Celtic band tattooed around one bicep, sexy and mysterious looking, and his other arm was embellished with a stunning geometric quarter sleeve from shoulder to bicep. A true work of art. And climbing up his right side, from hip to just below his pectoral, was a stark black tree bared of all its leaves. There were gnarled initials and numbers printed randomly on some of the branches; at first glance they looked like part of the tree. And it was this gorgeous, haunting tattoo that she wondered about the most.
His modeling shots must have been Photoshopped, because none of these scars and tattoos had been present in a single pic, which was a shame because this was a warrior’s body and it was beautiful and she wanted to kiss every single scar; she wanted to lick his abs and suck his nipples, trace his tattoos with her tongue . . . She abruptly understood that everything she wanted to do was highly achievable in this moment and started on the licking and petting and sucking seconds later. He allowed it, his breathing becoming more labored with every sweep of her tongue and every tiny kiss she bestowed at random spots on his skin.
“If you’re going to kiss me, angel,” he suddenly muttered hoarsely. “Do it properly, okay? I don’t think I can stand these sweet little butterfly kisses . . . they’re designed to drive a man insane.”
He cupped her face and brought her mouth back up to his, kissing her hotly and flipping her onto her back until he was positioned between her thighs. They were both still wearing their jeans, and as he began to grind against her, the double layers of denim became a major hindrance. He swore impatiently and tore at the buttons of his jeans and, following his lead, she struggled with hers too. They both managed to shimmy out of their denims at the same time; Daisy’s were completely kicked off while Mason’s were bunched around his ankles. Neither cared, and he was back at her mouth in seconds with penetrating kisses that made her lose her reason. His hands were busy at her breasts, plumping and thumbing at the nipples until she thought she would lose her mind.
Her hands dug into his back and then his buttocks when he started up that deep grinding again. This time, with only her lacy, damp panties and his cotton boxer briefs between them, the sensations were way more intense. She could feel the long, thick outline of his hard penis as he sawed against her damp furrow, the tip brushing against her clitoris with every forward stroke.
She bent her knees and thrust herself up against him, wishing that she could have more, and as if sensing her desire, one of his hands left her breast and crept down over her belly and under her panties, his thumb finding her with ease. His mouth was now at her nipple, sucking strongly, the way—she’d discovered—she loved it.
Daisy opened her thighs even wider, and he took it as an invitation to further liberties, his long middle finger attempting entry into her slick channel. He got only knuckle deep before she came like she never had before. She clenched tightly around that intrusive finger for one long, long moment, before she released. The spasms repeated again and again, while Daisy’s back arched and she sobbed into his neck, her nails buried in his back, her ankles crossed around his buttocks.
One of her hands moved down between their tightly locked bodies, and he shifted slightly to accommodate her and then gasped in utter shock when she pushed his briefs down and took him in hand.
“Daisy, wait, you don’t have t—” The desperate words faded into a deep groan of satisfaction as—after only one untutored stroke of her hand—he came. Hard and fast and copiously. He shuddered and spent every last drop all over their bellies and her still-stroking hand.
For an endless amount of time, neither of them moved, and then, as if by unspoken accord, they both flowed into a tangle of arms and legs. They were breathing heavily, hot and wet and literally steaming as their body heat hit the cooler air.
Daisy’s head was resting on one of Mason’s hard biceps, and his arm was curled so that his hand could idly toy with her hair.
“That was fucking amazing,” he muttered after he finally caught his breath, and Daisy made a contented little sound of agreement as she snuggled closer. She had both hands curled against his chest with her nose buried in the hollow of his throat and was drifting off to sleep, while his one hand played with her hair and his index finger of his other hand traced lacy patterns across her back.
“Are you falling asleep?” he asked, his voice brimming with amusement.
“Tired.”
“What about dinner? Should we order in?” He sounded disgustingly keen, and she smiled sleepily.
“No. Wake me up; family will be waiting.” He sighed, his chest heaving beneath her hands.
“It’s nearly seven.”
“Just a quick nap. We can be late.” She snuggled closer, feeling not even the slightest bit self-conscious at her nudity, and fell asleep seconds later.
Mason watched her sleep, a pang of . . . something in his chest. God, they hadn’t even shagged, but it was still the most amazing sex of his life. He wasn’t sure how the hell that worked; all he knew was that little Daisy McGregor had rocked his world with her irresistible mixture of charm, innocence, and lethal sexiness. He knew he should move, get a damp cloth or something to at least wipe some of the stickiness off their bodies, but he wasn’t sure he could move, and right now the damp discomfort was preferable to letting Daisy go.
She looked so peaceful, he didn’t want to disturb her, but as the minutes ticked over and their bodies cooled, he sighed and regretfully conceded to the inevitable.
“Daisy,” he singsonged softly into her ear and smiled when her forehead puckered slightly. “Daaaisy.”
“Hmm?” Grumpy girl. Clearly early mornings weren’t the only times she hated having her sleep interrupted.
“Come on, angel. Open your eyes.” A deep sigh and another moan.
“Wha—?”
“It’s time to get cleaned up,” he told her and watched as awareness returned to her eyes. She went bright pink as her natural shyness inserted itself firmly between them. Understanding that this was all a bit overwhelming for her, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her delightfully freckled nose and eased away from her, allowing her the space she needed.
“You can have the bathroom first,” he said, and she dragged a pillow to her chest and slid off the bed, keeping the cushion firmly in front of her but completely unaware of the fact that the full-length mirror behind her showcased her smooth, naked back, nipped-in waist, and generous bum and thighs to perfection. Her tiny little pink panties rode low on her hips, low enough to just tease a glimpse of the shadowy cleft between the delightful mounds of her behind.
“I won’t be long,” she promised, keeping her eyes downcast, which was probably a good thing because he was hard as a steel pipe again and not doing a damned thing to hide that fact. He wanted her, and she would have to adapt to that fact very quickly because he was done retreating. He would deal with the fallout if it meant having her in his bed for however long this lasted.