The minute Mason and Bobby Ray are out of earshot, Jules nudges me. “What kind of man runs around with three pairs of handcuffs in his bag? Tell me that?”
I grin. “He’s a bodyguard for some pretty bad ass people from what I heard. I’m pretty sure they come in handy on the regular.”
Jules laughs, settling into the seat next to me. “Well, we only have one bad guy here.” She leans in close. “What the hell is he planning to do with the other two sets? Maybe he plans to use them to capture the woman he’s had his eye on since he blew into town.”
I smirk, putting more than a healthy share of spaghetti noodles on my plate, carbs be damned. I don’t tell her I’d gladly succumb to a little handcuff treatment, or that spanking he threatened earlier, but I’ve already been rebuffed once. That’s not going to happen again, no matter the reason he didn’t take me up on my offer.
My mind is sobering, and my heart just can’t take the pain. I rolled the dice and came up empty. I don’t plan on taking that chance again.
Mason walks back into the room and slides into the chair next to me and across from Jules. She hands him the bowl of noodles. I wait until after he finishes putting a heaping pile on his plate before passing him the sauce to go on top of it.
Our fingers brush, and my cheeks warm with embarrassment, excitement, and just plain human attraction. I avoid Mason’s eyes and focus on the food in front of me, but the warmth of his gaze continues to settle on my skin while his touch stays on my mind.
Jules finishes first, starts putting things away, and running water to wash dishes in the old porcelain cabin sink. I finish just as Mason does and start clearing the rest of the dishes while he snags the last of the rolls left on the plate. “I’m going to go check on Bobby Ray one last time and then get some sleep. Don’t stay up too late, ladies. It’s going to be a long day tomorrow.”
The kitchen is cleaner than it’s probably ever been when we hear the shower start.
Jules yawns and covers her mouth. “I’m so tired. Hopefully the weather will clear. I can’t believe this is happening the night before Lacy’s wedding. We’re supposed to be there with her on her special day. I’m going to go get some sleep. Hopefully we can get into town.”
“It’ll all work out. Go get some rest. I’m going to be right behind you. I want to shower quick too. I showered before I left for the party, but all the grease from the bars is lingering, like a heavy film all over my hair. I smell like French fries and who knows what we’ll have time for in the morning.”
Jules tiredly nods, making her way down the hall while I finish up a few things, stalling until I hear the shower turn off and the door open and close down the hall. I walk quietly toward the main bathroom, and the fresh scent of soap lingering in the air hits my nostrils. The same scent that was all over Mason’s skin as he held me close on the dance floor and out on that bluff.
A wet bar of soap is sitting on a clean cloth on the ledge of the shower. I pick it up, inhaling deeply, thinking of that long, delicious kiss. But that’s the last thing I should be thinking about right now. I should get in the shower, get rinsed off, and go to bed.
Tomorrow will be a better day. A special day when I see one of my best friends walk down the aisle with a man she adores. I eye the green duffle bag that Mason probably forgot when he went to bed. I wonder what’s underneath the large gray towel that he’s left tossed on top of that bag.
None of my nosey business…
I turn on the water and run a hand under the faucet, testing the temperature. Thank goodness he didn’t use all the hot water up. That would have been just the way to top off my day from hell. Instead, it’s nice and warm and feels good, even if it’s not the rainwater showerhead that I have at home.
I get in and pull the dark navy marina-like shower curtain. One glance down at the mangled mess of soap that sits on the tub ledge has me reaching for the one I know damn well is Mason’s and not Bobby Rays.
I inhale its freshness. I may smell like a man tomorrow, but I’ll smell like a damn good one. I use the clean washcloth and lather his scent all over it, using it to wash away all the booze, grease, and smoke along with the weariness of the day.
By the time I’m ready to get out, the water is turning cool. I shiver as I open the shower curtain and a rush of cool, air hits me. I grab Mason’s towel and wrap around myself, soaking in its warmth and the delicious smell of him and the familiar scent of his soap.
I eye my clothes with a grimace, not relishing the idea of wrinkly clothes tomorrow. I sneak a peek toward Mason’s bag, then back at my clothes. I’m unzipping his bag before I have a chance to talk myself out of it and pulling out a black t-shirt. My undies will do, freshly put on tonight. I couldn’t care less if they wrinkle; besides, his boxers will fall to the floor the moment I put them on.
I towel dry my hair, before tossing the towel over the shower rod to dry and my clothes next to it, so they won’t wrinkle. I rummage through the cabinet doors below the sink, hoping against hope that there’s something I can use because sleeping with wet hair in this chilly cabin would not be smart. I hold up the old dusty relic, and plug it in, smiling as it begins blowing hot air out of the big ass vent on the side.
The minute I’m done, exhaustion from a long day of work, partying, and emotional fear kicks in like a lion. I yawn my way down the hall, coming to the first bedroom door. I grin. A piece of two by two has been nailed to the outside of the door. I guess Bobby Ray is tucked in good for the night.
I glance into the next bedroom at Jules sleeping soundly. The light begins to flicker in my dull ass brain. Now I know why Jules, who is usually a night owl on steroids, was in such a hurry to turn in. To take the only other twin bedroom.
The one that is not with the tall, dark, handsome, fine specimen of a man who must be sleeping in the only bedroom with room for two.
I should dump her on the floor and take her bed, but she needs sleep more than I do with the amount of alcohol she put away tonight. At least I went home, showered, and had something substantial to eat before heading to the party. The little matchmaker.
I’m not about to go into that bedroom down the hall where a handsome bodyguard sleeps. I’ve put myself out there once tonight. That took more courage or stupidity than I thought I had in me, but I’m not about to be rebuffed again. I pad back down the hall and feel my way around in the dark, until my hand runs along the arm of a sofa.
This will have to do. I go to sit on the sofa, and a hand snakes out, reaching for me, and pulls me on top of him. “What the!”
“Don’t be scared. It’s just me,” Mason says, stroking my hair.
“What are you doing here? I thought you were in the bedroom,” I whisper hiss.
“I saved it for you.”
“Oh..”
“You smell like me. Have you been using my soap, Priscilla Jean?”
God, I love it when he says my name like that. “Uh huh.”
He runs his hands along my back and tugs at the end of my t-shirt that’s risen up and now barely covers my ass. You’re wearing my shirt, aren’t you, little missy?”
Oh, lord his western charm. “I didn’t have anything else to wear.”
He pushes my hair away from my face. “You can get up any time you want, but I’d like you to stay.”
My chest tightens, and my stomach flutters. I am far from drunk now. I’m as stone cold sober as they come, maybe a little hungover with the aftereffects, but I know exactly what I’m doing. If I stay, this is going all the way, because Lord knows we both want it to end exactly that way.
And then tomorrow will come, and he won’t acknowledge that I exist. He’ll be halfway back to Nevada while I recharge my hatred of out of towners. But, if I know what to expect, how can I be mad? It makes more sense now than it ever did. I don’t know why it took me so long to realize it. “I want to stay,” I whisper in his ear.
Mason cradles my face and kisses me long and hard, pushing my hair from my face, and then trails a path of heat down the length of my spine. He draws back from the kiss but keeps his lips against mine. “I want my shirt back, Priscilla Jean.”
I sit up slightly, my knees sliding to either side of his waist, while he lifts the shirt up my back, only breaking our kiss to slide it over my head. My eyes have adjusted to the dark, and I watch as he takes in every inch of my body. “More beautiful than anything I could have ever imagined.”
My stomach flutters again, and this time I kiss him, because after that, he can have any damn thing he wants. He pulls the blanket that was laying over the top of the couch over us. “I want you something fierce; not easy and gentle, but in the worst of ways.” He pushes his pajama bottoms down and rubs his hard length against me.
Oh, good Lord, he knows what I like. I’ve gone to heaven and died already. “I don’t like it easy, Mason. Take me your way, but do it fast because I swear I’m going to explode.”
And he does, driving right to the very end of me, again and again, pulling me down atop that long, hard rod, hitting that special spot, over and over again, until my mind fills like a million stars on a clear summer night.