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Thursday, August 7th
Nat was sitting on the new safety railing at the edge of Rambles’ parking lot overlooking the Columbia River. It was a hot, lazy afternoon, with a few powerboats buzzing past on the river and a pod of kayakers plying the waters upriver near where the Willamette came in.
Having dived into a relationship with Mase—whatever that might come to mean, today Nat found herself staring down into the deceptively calm, green waters of the mighty river and thinking of Tony. Of how combustible they’d been when they first connected, and how he’d cajoled her into making it more, into putting his ring on her finger within weeks of their meeting. Looking back, it seemed to her that had been the beginning of the end. As if, having claimed her, he’d just ... lost interest.
And she’d responded by chasing after him, frantic to get him back, not realizing she was pushing him further away. Oh, they’d worked hard together to open Rambles, but the breathless romance had been lost in the whirlwind of busyness, of late nights that stretched into dawns before they found their bed, and then mostly just to fall dead asleep.
The sex had still been regular, at least for the first year. He’d awaken with morning wood, she’d be there and willing, eager to please him. And then Wendy was hurt, and Nat’s life devolved into a frenzied round of travel, work and more travel.
And Tony slipped free of his marriage vows as easily as his truck must have slipped into the deep waters below the riverbank that night. For a moment she had a ridiculous vision of him as a carefree, cartoon fish, cavorting and flipping his way through a school of admiring female fish with long lashes and puffy lips, while she swam obliviously around in them all in a circle, not seeing a thing.
She gave a huff of laughter that was edged with tears. Yup, that had been them, as trite as one of those old cartoons that used to show on the re-run networks late at night.
Then she thought of Mase again and her dismay solidified. What if the same thing happened with him? Would he lose interest now that he knew she was available for sex when he wanted it? Should she be playing hard to get now, engaging in a come-hither dance that left him guessing?
Oh, God, she was so not good at this stuff. This was exactly why Club 3 appealed to her so much—no decisions to be made there. ‘Yes. No. Purple’. Those were her boundaries, within which she was free to run, to throw herself out in midair, knowing she was safe.
And holy pinã coladas, Mase had taken her further within those boundaries than she’d ever dreamed she would go with a man—or she should say, men. Her entire body suffused with heat as she remembered that she, Natalie Cusco, had let her hot cop perform oral sex on her in front of two other men! And she’d asked their permission to come ... and then she’d come, all right. Guess that was what Daisy had meant when she mentioned ‘playing’ at the club.
Nat moaned, her lower body convulsing in a mini-orgasm as she remembered just how hard she’d come with Mase’s hand and mouth on her, in her. But it turned to a whimper as she recalled that the next time she walked into Club 3, she was going to have to face Dack and Trace again—and the knowledge in their eyes of what she’d done right in front of them, because they told her to.
And she’d loved every single hot moment.
Her phone rang, nearly startling the crap out of her. She pulled it from the pocket of her shorts, one hand over her heart to still its pounding. This wasn’t one of her assigned rings, just the generic tone.
She couldn’t see the screen in the bright sun, so she flicked the screen to answer. “Hello?”
“You look real pretty sitting out there in the sun, baby,” Mase said in her ear, his voice warm and lazy.
She whirled on the rail, wincing as the wood scraped the back of her thigh.
A River Ridge police cruiser sat idling on the road, just outside the parking lot. Mase’s arm emerged from the window, and he waved. He wore sunglasses and a tan uniform, the sleeves rolled up. He was too far away to see small details, but she liked what she saw, a lot.
“Hi,” she said breathlessly. “You’re working.” No duh, Natalie.
“I’m working’,” he agreed. “Get off at six. Thought you might like to have supper with me.”
She cocked her head in puzzled inquiry. “Well, if you drove into the parking lot, you do know you could ask me in person.” And maybe get a quick kiss or two.
“Huh-uh,” he disagreed. “If I drive over there, and see just how pretty you look in those shorts and that little top, with that scarf all up in your hair ... well, let’s just say I’m better off if I keep my distance.”
She giggled. How could she help it, when he was throwing ridiculous compliments like that and when she could see the white flash of his smile from here?
“Okay, we’ll keep this professional,” she agreed primly.
“So, you gonna have supper with me?” he asked again.
“Let me think,” she said, making him wait while she tapped her cheek with one finger. Then she lifted her finger in the air. “My schedule appears to be clear this evening. So yes, I’ll have supper with you, Officer.”
He gave a gusty sigh of relief. “All right, good. You think about where you wanna go. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“I know a great bar,” she teased. “We can order in some food and have the place to ourselves.” She wanted to show Rambles off to him. Show him all the work she’d done.
“Nope,” he said with decision. “There’s gotta be other people around. This is a date, baby. The kind where we talk ... and get to know each other.”
She stared, and across the parking lot, he nodded emphatically. “The kind,” he added, “where I take you out in public. The kind where I show you I’m interested in more than just gettin’ laid.”
Her heart swelled, and in the back of her mind all the cartoon fishies leapt and cavorted in a dance of joy, while she blushed and batted her lashes at the new Mase fish swimming to her side. He had a dashing ‘stache and goatee.
“Really?” she breathed. “Okay. See you at seven.”
He grinned at her, lifted his hand in farewell, and then drove away.
Leaving the quiet afternoon so full of hope and possibilities there was no more room for sad reminiscences.
“Oh, please, oh please,” Nat whispered. “Don’t let me screw this up.”
* * *
THAT EVENING, WHEN Teri’s doorbell chimed, Nat was waiting, pacing the living room while Teri pretended to watch her favorite TV show, ‘What Not to Wear’.
Nat had showered, shaved her legs and underarms and a few other places, used her favorite lotion all over, spritzed with her perfume, Nadya Nadya, done her hair in a bouffant style with plenty of big curls, and then tried and discarded at least seven outfits before settling on a short, cocoa and white gauze skirt with a handkerchief hem, and a matching cocoa knit crossover halter top, her favorite brown platform sandals and her gold and diamond jewelry.
When the doorbell rang, she hurried to open it. Mase stood on the step, in jeans, a green plaid shirt that brought out the green flecks in his eyes, with his sleeves rolled up over his thick, tanned forearms, and brown woven leather shoes. He looked her over, and his face hardened subtly in a way that sent goose bumps skating over her skin.
“You got a sweater?” he asked.
Nat frowned. “Um, what?”
“You gotta cover up, Nat,” he said, taking a step back and shaking his head. “Or this is gonna be the shortest date ever.”
She put one hand on her hip, then turned back into the condo. “Right. I’ll go see if I can find my winter coat.”
“Maybe just a raincoat,” he muttered behind her, his voice distracted. “A long one.”
Nat rolled her eyes. He was looking at her ass, she knew it.
While Teri giggled on the sofa, Nat collected her purse, a white cotton sweater that she had no intention of wearing, and walked back to the front door.
“Have fun, kids,” Teri called.
“I’ll have her back early,” Mase replied.
“Is there a date curfew or something?’ Nat walked beside him to his truck. It was freshly washed, droplets of water still clinging to the door he opened for her.
He handed her up, and then paused, looking at her as she sat in the passenger seat. He shook his head.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe we should just go to a movie. It’ll be dark, I won’t be able to see you. That might keep me on the straight and narrow.”
She swatted at his hand on the edge of the truck door. “Just get in this truck, Mason Barnett. I want my date.”
He gave her a glinting look from under his lashes, and his cheeks creased in a secret smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
She shivered, her gaze riveted to him as he sauntered around the truck to his side. An agreeable Mase was just as dangerous to her equilibrium as Dom Mase.
“You know, you could have worn a hoodie, or something,” she informed him as he got in and started the motor. “And some baggie sweatpants. You’re not the only one with eyes.”
“Yeah, but I’m not the one with the world-class tits and ass in a short little skirt,” he said. “I got this all planned, and you can’t be derailing my efforts, Natalie. So just keep those long, bare legs of yours still over there so I can keep my eyes on the road.”
She gave a huff and looked out her window, as if the familiar street was the most fascinating sight she’d ever seen. Blake Shelton began to croon about the woman who was his guilty pleasure, his go all in. Mase turned the volume up.
“Oh, all right,” he grumbled, reaching over to take her hand and pull it onto his thigh. “I guess you can touch me. But no feeling me up while I’m driving.”
She snorted, and then gave up the effort not to laugh. She gave his hard thigh a squeeze. “You are impossible.”
“Nah,” he said, pulling out onto the street and heading east. “I’m doable, for a woman as gorgeous as you. But you’re gonna have to work hard for it.”
“This is only our first date,” she said sadly. “We can kiss, but no more.”
“Do we get tongues?”
Her mouth watered and she looked over at his mouth, framed in sexy, trimmed facial hair.
“Shit,” he muttered. “Okay, no more talking about tongues. So, how about them Mariners?”
She laughed again, and he put his hand over hers and held it as he drove. “Nice stereo,” she said sweetly. “Too bad it only plays country music.”
He snorted. “That’s because country is all that’s worth listening to. What’s your radio dial set on?”
“Oh, pop and blues, some classic rock.”
“Well, some of those are okay,” he allowed. “As long as you include the Doobie Brothers, Stevie Raye Vaughan and Bruce Springsteen.
“Big of you,” she said dryly. “Adele, Melissa Etheridge and Brandi Carlyle.”
“Toby Keith.”
“Nickelback.”
“Zach Brown.”
She nodded. “I like his music. Pink.”
He grinned. “Play her at the club sometimes. Chicks get crazy to her angry girl songs.”
“Hmm. Maybe sometime if you’re very lucky,” she said, crossing her legs so that her skirt rode up her bare thighs, “I’ll get crazy to her music there.”
His eyes on her legs, Mase failed to slow with traffic. “Mase, stop!” she cried.
The truck squealed to a stop inches shy of the cargo truck that had pulled to a stop in front of them.
“Shit. Jesus,” Mase muttered, shaking his head, his hands so tight on the wheel his knuckles were white. “You know how much time I’ve spent in defensive driving courses? All wiped out when you cross those legs.”
“Sorry,” she said, and turned toward the window to hide her guilty grin.
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” he said. “My fault. From now on, eyes on the road, hands on the wheel.”
Mase took her to an Asian-American restaurant in east Vancouver. They sat on a quiet patio and drank trendy cocktails garnished with slices of cucumber, and talked. She told him about all that was involved in re-opening Rambles.
He told her about his career as a cop, about being shot and his impatience with how long it was taking him to recover. She told him how grateful she was that he’d survived and how she’d nearly wept on him the first time she saw his wound.
Over dim sum, she told him about her mom and sister, he told her about his parents, brother, sister-in-law and their boys.
“Your mom sounds great,” he said when she’d described Wendy’s can-do approach to her recovery. “You take after her, huh?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I guess. My sister certainly thinks I do.”
“Your dad’s been gone a long time?” he asked.
“Since I was five. I barely remember the man,” she shrugged. “Don’t care if I ever see him again.”
“He left scars,” Mase mused. “Can’t see ‘em, but they’re there. He made you doubt yourself, yeah?”
She fiddled with her drink straw. “I guess. So, what about your dad?”
He raised his brows. “What about him?”
She shrugged. “Just something in your voice when you talk about him. Like you don’t get along all that well. Like he makes you doubt yourself big time. Is he ... hard on you?”
He opened his mouth, and then closed it. He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Yeah. Harold’s a hardass from the word go, always has been. But I gotta say, I was a wild little shit too. Pulled some crazy stunts, did my best to turn his hair gray.”
“Did it work?”
He grinned wryly. “Yup. ‘Specially ... no, you don’t wanna hear that.”
“What?” she urged, leaning forward.
Mase shook his head. “I’ll tell you sometime, baby. But not tonight, okay?”
Wanting to banish the dark look in his eyes, Nat smiled and this time she took his hand in hers. “Okay. Some other time.”
He gave her hand a squeeze.
During a dinner of skewers of chicken and veggies, bowls of noodles and rice and various sauces accompanied by Washington chardonnay, she told him about her college years with Teri.
He told her funny stories about things that had happened on the job. She told him about her determination to make Rambles a neighborhood gathering place, one of the centers of the community.
“Where everybody knows your name,” he said with a smile.
She nodded eagerly. “Exactly.”
They talked through after dinner drinks, until the sun went down, leaving the patio lit only by torches. Until Natalie was hit by a sudden and over-powering yawn.
Mase smiled and lifted her hand, which he’d been holding it on the table, to press a kiss to her knuckles.
“Better get you home,” he said. “You need your rest.”
“So do you,” she said, noting the way he shifted in his chair. “Your shoulder is bothering you, isn’t it?”
“Aw. A little bit.”
He held her chair for her, and then took her arm to walk her out to the street. By his truck, in the nearly deserted parking lot, he turned to her, and pushed back her hair with gentle hands. He looked down into her upturned face, his face tender.
“Best date I’ve ever been on, baby.”
Natalie’s breath caught. “Me too,” she whispered.
His thumb swept over the corner of her mouth, which was trembling. “Good,” he said. “That’s good. Wanna do this right, Nat.”
She sucked in a shaky breath. “Oh, believe me. You are. You’re doing everything right. Um, am I?” Great, now she sounded needy. She shouldn’t have asked.
He leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to her mouth, just lips, but his breath sucked in, then gusted over her cheek. “Oh yeah. Believe me, you are.”
He stepped back, and lifted his hands away from her like a calf-roper calling finished.
“Okay,” he said. “Date’s nearly over, we got a perfect record, don’t wanna spoil it. In you go.”
She climbed into the truck and surreptitiously took a deep breath and let it out before he climbed in the other side. It was the perfect night. Still, she was conscious of a deep, crawling unease lurking somewhere deep within. What if this was just too perfect, just a bubble of illusion? She’d learned long ago not to trust romance. Hadn’t worked for her mother, hadn’t worked for her, not the first time at least.
It was a relief when Mase spoke again, his voice a familiar, suggestive drawl. “I’ll be payin’ a visit to your bar one day soon, Ms. Cusco. In an official capacity, that is. You better be ready.”
“Ready?” she asked. “For what?”
“For anything I say,” he answered. “And I think you know what that means, don’t you?”
Her heart thumped. Oh, yes, she most certainly did. They’d had their date, and now her dominating cop wanted more.
That she could handle. In a strange way, it was much easier to handle than this. To truly submit to Mase, she had to open herself up to him, had to let him in.
But it was finite, within the boundaries of sex.
This had no boundaries, or if it did, she couldn’t glimpse them. That was truly scary.