Juliet

If my head was spinning before I told Mason the truth, by the time he left the house to go to his meeting, I was in a tizzy. Just the fact he’d left me in his house when he barely knew me surprised me. I’d never do something like that with someone I'd known for what amounted to less than a day.

But he’d left me without any warnings about where I should or shouldn’t go or things I could or couldn’t touch. I’d done my best not to take advantage of his trust, but he had told me to make myself at home.

So I decided making myself at home included exploring his house some more. Part of me insisted that even without his permission, it was the smart thing to do. Why not make sure he didn’t have three more pregnant girls locked in a spare room or something? He might seem like the nicest guy in the world. And he might be the father of my baby. But I’d already messed up my plans to get to know him better before I shared my news. I figured I should take the opportunity of being left along in his house to see if there were any skeletons in his closets—literally or figuratively.

As I explored the house, I found that most of it was as nondescript as the outside. Boxy rooms with small windows, lots of beige paint, blinds on the windows but not a curtain in sight. And the small signs of bachelorhood I’d found in the great room were even more evident in the rest of the house—a hamper with clothes piled up high, the king sized bed in the master bedroom unmade, deodorant and shaving kit left on the bathroom vanity.

After I’d peeked into every corner of the first floor and all three bedrooms on the second, and finding no signs that I’d gotten myself stranded in the home of a complete psycho, I debated what to do until Mason returned. While my mind wandered, my body took up tasks of its own—washing the dishes in the sink, drying them and putting them away.

When I realized what I’d done, a longing came over me. I was hit with the desire to clean Mason’s house. Not so extraordinary for me. I tended to like my surroundings neat and orderly. To the point where Kendra had accused me on more than one occasion, or more like on a million different occasions, of suffering from obsessive compulsive disorder.

But the compulsion here was different than my usual compulsion to clean. Underneath it there was a longing to take care of Mason. I tried to tell myself that it was just a combination of my OCD and a desire to do something to earn the room and board Mason offered for the night. It definitely had nothing to do with liking the thought of taking care of the father of my unborn baby.

And that’s the story I kept telling myself as I neatened the pile of newspapers into a stack that I tucked into a basket by the fireplace. And while I changed the sheets on his bed, switching them out for a clean set I found in his upstairs hall linen closet.

I continued to tell myself my new found domesticity had nothing to do with any feelings for Mason as I sorted his laundry into whites, lights, and darks and started a load of wash in the stackable washer and dryer in the upstairs bathroom.

The story got harder to stick to as I wiped down countertops, ran the vacuum, dusted a few surfaces and then rummaged through the fridge in search of something to make for lunch.

As I realized what my cleaning spree my look like—crazy woman intent on getting her hooks into the man she'd just sprung a surprise pregnancy on—knots formed in my stomach. Even that didn’t stop me from putting brownies in the oven made from the mix I found in a kitchen cabinet and starting a pot of chili simmering on the stove.

By the time I heard Mason’s truck pull up in front, the house was sparkling, the scents of brownies and chili wafted through the air, and the knots in my stomach had left me a quivering mass of nerves.

“Juliet, I’m home!”

Mason’s words shot such an unexpected surge of yearning through me, I had a hard time finding my voice. Home. Had I ever really had one of those?

“Juliet, you here?” Mason stepped into the great room, caught sight of me standing at the island in his kitchen, and came to an abrupt stop. His eyes skimmed over me stirring the pot of chili on the burner and then moved around the room. I’m sure it was clear to him what I’d spent the last two hours doing.

“I’m a little OCD,” I blurted. “And plus, pregnancy hormones. They make women do weird things. Also, I wanted to thank you for giving me a place to stay.”

Mason’s eyes shot to me in the middle of my rambling explanation for cleaning and cooking for him. The corners of his lips twitched and a new look came into his eyes. Something warm and predatory at the same time. Something that made my mouth go dry and my sex clench.

Without saying a word, Mason prowled forward. I stood stock-still, not able to move a muscle under his intense gaze. He came around the counter and kept coming.

“Mason...?”

Before I could get another word out, he was on me. He hooked an arm around my back and yanked me close before leaning down and laying a long, hot, wet kiss on me. I stood immobile under his mouth, too shocked to pull away or return his kiss.

I hadn’t managed to gather my senses before he pulled back and smiled down into my upturned face. He didn’t move away, though. He kept me firmly wrapped in his arms.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” I responded reflexively, with no real idea what he was thanking me for.

His grin widened.

I braced my hands on his chest and pushed. He didn’t let me go, but I managed to put a few inches between us. I studied his face. “I guess it’s safe to assume the whole baby thing sank in while you were out? Or did you hit your head and lose your mind while you were gone?”

He chuckled. “It definitely sank in, beautiful. And then I walked in here and realized how much I like this.”

“This?”

“This,” he said. “You. Carrying my baby. Waiting here for me to get home. Even better to find you made yourself comfortable here.”

My heart stuttered in my chest at his words. I ran my tongue over my lips. “You like me here?”

“I do. I want this. You here. Us seeing where things go.”

“Seeing where things go?”

“Yeah, beautiful. I was already thinking of coming to find you when you showed up here. I haven’t stopped thinking of you since we were together in New Orleans. Now you’re here. You’re carrying my baby. I think we should see where things go.”

A craving grew inside me. I wanted to believe his words. I wanted to believe them more than anything I’d ever believed in my life.

But I couldn’t help but remember all the times I’d put my trust in people in the past. And with the exception of Kendra, not one of them managed to keep my faith. In fact, more often than not, they crumpled it, threw it on the ground, and stomped it into dust before they disappeared from my life for good.

Worse, now it wasn’t just me I had to worry about. Bad enough if I let myself get attached to Mason and he broke my heart. But no way on this earth I’d allow him to do it to my child.

I pushed harder on his chest and he loosened his hold. I stepped back, needing the distance between us. Without it, I was likely just to melt in his arms and say yes to anything he suggested.

I wrinkled my nose, once again struck at how out of character I acted around Mason. I’d already allowed him to get too close for comfort. What was that all about? I’d chalk it up to pregnancy hormones, but I did it even before I was pregnant.

Never in my entire twenty-four years had I considered having a one-night stand with another man. My previous sex partners had been few and far between and only when in the context of a committed relationship.

But I’d allowed Mason to charm me into his bed in less than three hours the night we met.

Confusion washed through me. Instinct warred with my practical nature. Instinct told me to throw myself in his arms and trust him to take care of our child and me.

My practical side wanted me to run to the nearest bus station, get back on and not get off until I was in Timbuktu. My heart might want exactly what he wanted—to try things out with him, see where it went. But my head told me that the only place that would lead was to heartbreak and loneliness in a life that was already too full of heartbreak and loneliness.

“Juliet?”

God, God. I squeezed my eyes shut. Just the sound of my name on his lips sent bolts of desire and need through me.

Before I knew it was happening, Mason had moved in again and pulled me tight against his body.

“Are you okay?”

I opened my eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I am anymore.”

“I know all this is scary. And I know you’re probably not ready to consider pursuing a relationship with me yet.”

I opened my mouth to agree wholeheartedly with that last statement, but before I could get a word out, he gave me a gentle shake.

“Please. Please just agree to stay here. At least until the baby is born. I can help you figure out the shifter stuff, for yourself and for the baby. And we can figure anything else out from there. See how things go.”

He stared down into my face so intently, I couldn’t look away. And then his words hit me. Geez, I hadn’t even been thinking about the fact I was turning into a shifter and I’d be giving birth to a shifter. What was wrong with me?

“Please, beautiful. Stay.”

And in that moment, I knew I was right to be worried. I did exactly as I feared.

I melted into his body and agreed to everything he asked.

“Okay,” I whispered.

He leaned his forehead against mine and smiled. “Everything will be great. I promise.”