by Ophelia Bell
“What happened?” I say, gingerly touching his mangled knuckles with the fingers of my other hand. Every single one is scabbed over, but the wounds can’t be more than a day old, just like the shiner around his eye, I realize.
He releases me and clenches his fist, dropping it into his lap, then turns away when he realizes I’m staring not into his eyes, but at the dark bruise that surrounds one of them. He shakes his head.
“Trust me, it’s nothing.”
“Bullshit.” I bend down to grab my purse from under the seat and pull out a pen light, then firmly yet gently grip his chin and turn him toward me again. I flick the light across both eyes, and it isn’t until I’m satisfied nothing’s amiss that I realize he’s smirking at me. “What?”
“I am down for playing doctor, but I don’t think this is the place for it.”
My eyes widen and I huff. “I’m not playing,” I hiss. “You’re injured, in case you haven’t noticed. If you fractured your occipital bone, you could have serious damage.”
“You didn’t seem concerned enough to check this morning.”
“Well, I might have, if you hadn’t disappeared. One second you were there, the next, poof. Did Marcella’s son ever find you?”
“Yeah, he caught up with me. It’s all good. What the . . .” He tilts his head away from my gently probing fingers. “What now?”
“You should ice this,” I say, then reach up and hit the call button.
“Christ,” he mutters, slouching in his seat. “I iced it earlier.”
“So ice it again.” When the flight attended arrives, I ask for a bag of crushed ice if they have it. She nods and slips off down the aisle, returning a moment later with a plastic baggie filled with cubes. I take it and hold it up to Mason. “On your face.”
“You’re the boss, Doc,” he says, obeying my order with a grin so infectious I can’t help but smile back. And it feels good. It feels good to be noticed by a man, to allow myself the freedom to notice him back. For the past five years, I’ve only allowed myself an abstract awareness of the level of attractiveness of the men I interact with. But now I’m fully conscious of Mason’s raw magnetism. He’s big, fit—good-looking, aside from the bruises. The tattoos scream “bad boy.” He’s exactly the wrong man to get involved with, which is also probably what makes him perfect. I feel the same way I felt three years ago when a certain doomed patient propositioned me. Maybe the universe is giving me a second chance to follow through.
Except I have no idea how to do this. Under the circumstances, it doesn’t exactly make sense to just proposition him. I’m not sure I could take a rejection right now anyway. I can’t do anything for the time being besides talk to him, since the plane is finally moving toward the runway to prepare for takeoff.
The cabin lights dim and a subtle scent of jet exhaust filters in as the engines ramp up, the power humming through the floor beneath us. The aircraft surges forward and I sit back, closing my eyes and forcing myself to think of less terrifying things than being launched into the air inside an enormous steel tube.
Surgery is less terrifying.
The prospect of somehow putting myself out there and asking a relative stranger if he’s interested in sex is probably the most terrifying thing of all. Yet somehow that is the thing my mind settles on. By the time I realize the avenue my mind has gone down, it’s too late to get the images out of my head.
A big hand pries my fingers off the armrest and I open my eyes, blinking in confusion as Mason threads his ice-chilled fingers through mine and squeezes tight.
“I’ve got you, Callie. Hold onto me and everything will be okay.”
I don’t think he realizes how dangerous his touch is to my psyche right now. I am so far from okay it isn’t funny, and it has nothing to do with flying.
9
Mason
I’m not sure what compels me to hold Callie’s hand. She looks scared, I guess, and after feeling too impotent to protect any of the women in my life, I can finally do something to help this one. She doesn’t look grateful, though she clings to me like I’ve just thrown her a lifeline.
If anything, she looks more frightened. More out of her element, and nothing like the confident, capable woman in the white coat I met early this morning. She practically vibrates with barely suppressed energy, the fingers of her free hand fussing with the hem of the fluffy, oversized fleece she wears over a pair of plain black leggings. I’d take her other hand if I could, but it’d probably freak her out worse.
Instead I just run my thumb across her knuckles, and I’m gratified when she exhales a slow breath once we get to cruising altitude. Except she doesn’t seem to relax after the breath. She’s tense, as if she’s on the verge of speaking. She glances at me, pale blue eyes wide and anxious, and I tilt my head to hear her over the loud hum of the engines.
Just when I think she’ll get out whatever’s eating at her, our other seatmate shifts his bulk and unfastens his seatbelt extension. “Gotta hit the lavatory before the aisle gets blocked by that damn cart,” he says.
“Of course!” Callie says a little too quickly and jerks her hand out of mine. I stand and step back into the aisle, careful not to encroach on the other passengers too much. She stands too and darts a wary glance at me as she steps back to make room for the hefty guy to clamber out. I ease back a step to give her room, but not too far. When she leans to give the guy space, her messy updo nearly brushes my face and I catch a faint aroma of apples. It’s all I can do not to lean in and breathe her scent, to slide a hand under the edge of her fleece and discover the curves beneath. I was in dire need of a distraction from my thoughts, and she’s proving an answer to my prayers.
The best part is that she’s tall. Being well over six feet, it’s unusual for me to find women who come close to matching my height, which makes for all kinds of geometrical challenges when we become intimate. Even though she’s wearing flats, the top of her head is level with my nose. She shifts back a little more, her firm, round ass within an inch of my groin.
Yeah, she’s exactly the right height for me. Sweet Jesus.
She sits again and I let out a small sigh, hoping that the interruption didn’t distract her too much from whatever she wanted to say.
“You doing okay?” I ask in a low voice when I sit, taking her hand again and squeezing it. I hope her anxiety didn’t destroy the connection I felt forming between us. “Takeoff is the worst.”
A small laugh stutters out of her and she nods. “I’m good. Thank you. I’m usually not this much of a basket case, I promise. I’m a fucking brain surgeon; I’m used to high-pressure situations.” She lets out an exasperated breath and shakes her head.
“Something you want to talk about?”
Her jaw flexes as she stares at our hands where they rest on top of her thigh. She turns them over so mine is on top, my skinned, bruised knuckles a rough contrast to her pale, pristine surgeon’s hands.
“I feel like this inside,” she finally says in a soft voice, touching the back of my hand. “Raw, bruised. Abused.”
The last word makes me tighten my hold on her and I look down into her eyes. “What happened?”
Her eyebrows rise at my stern, demanding tone. Then she closes her eyes and nods. “Sorry, I guess that might be a loaded word for you. I met Mr. Santos. Your uncle, I mean. He’s a piece of work.”
I grunt in agreement, then say, “I don’t want to hear about him. I know everything there is to know already. What I want to hear about is you. Why do you feel that way?”
She winces. “You know what? It’s stupid. I’m stupid.”
“Bullshit. Tell me.”
She sighs and leans her head back against the seat, eyes clenched shut. “I broke up with someone tonight. Someone I was with for a very long time. Turns out he was cheating, so I ended it.”
An alarm bell clangs in my head, warning me to steer clear. Women who are fresh from a breakup are volatile. But I just can’t. I’ve been drawn to this woman since I
first set eyes on her, and really, this is good news, right?
“How long were you together?”
She opens her eyes and stares at the ceiling, then sighs. “Since med school. Five years. We were engaged.” She turns our hands over again, still holding tight to mine, and we both look at her empty ring finger. There isn’t even a tan line, no sign whatsoever that she’s ever worn a ring at all.
“Is he back in LA? Is that why you left?”
“No, actually.” A bitter laugh slips out. “He lives in Denver. It was long-distance, but we made it work. At least I thought we did.”
I snort. “Sweetness, I promise you if he was cheating now, he was cheating before. He probably liked it because he had the freedom to fuck around without you knowing. And you stayed together for five years? Living in different cities? Different states? Jesus. If you were mine, I’d have moved.”
“That’s sweet, but with my residency monopolizing my time, it didn’t make sense. He had a position lined up at a private practice in Denver that would’ve meant a huge salary boost if he stayed long enough to leverage it when moving to California.” I shake my head, giving her an incredulous look. She sighs and curses. “He was never going to move, was he? If he was, he’d have done it already.”
“Precisely. The man’s a goddamn fool, and you are not stupid for ending it. I just need to know why the hell you even got on this flight. Not that I’m complaining.” My lips quirk in a smile as I lift our hands and press my lips to the back of hers. It’s incredibly forward of me, but she hasn’t let go of my hand yet, and the contact seems to be improving her mood.
Her eyes brighten and she huffs out a small breath, seeming lighter suddenly. “This trip wasn’t about him. My mom throws the best New Year’s Eve party every year. It’s at the Brown Palace. I have to pull strings to get time off for it, but it’s worth it. That and my best friend lives in Denver. Are you . . . do you have plans for New Year’s? I can try to get you a ticket.”
I get the sense she’s on the verge of formally asking me out on a date and hate that I have to let her down. I haven’t thought that far ahead, definitely not beyond getting to Denver and reconnecting with Booth.
“Thanks for the offer, but I can’t really commit to anything right now. I don’t even know where I’ll be in three days.” With any luck, not in Denver, even though the idea of seeing her again is more than appealing. If I could make it all happen, I would. New Year’s Eve is only three days away, but if all goes well when I land, I’ll be heading back to Mexico by then to deliver the deal Zavala asked for and bring Zoe home.
“Well, you don’t know what you’re missing,” she says, and I’m gratified that the self-doubt plaguing her a moment ago has disappeared.
“I’m pretty sure I do. Your ex is the one who doesn’t have a fucking clue.”
I look into her big blue eyes brimming with a deep need for the kind of validation I’d be all too happy to give her in another time and place. Whoever the asshole was, he doesn’t fucking deserve her.
She holds my gaze for a few beats without answering, and then her cheeks turn pink and she looks away. I’m a heartbeat away from tugging her chin back around to kiss her when I feel a tap on my shoulder. Cursing silently to myself, I nod at our seatmate, who’s just returned from the lavatory and stand again. Callie gives him a friendly smile and joins me.
As he maneuvers himself into the row, she seems to lean back a little farther, her back nearly flush with my chest, and I step forward to close the distance, gripping her hip with one hand.
Her sudden exhalation makes my cock thicken in my fatigues. As I pull her back against me, I dip my head and whisper in her ear, “Not a fucking clue.”
She pulls away, giving me a flustered look when she turns and slips back into the row, taking her seat. I can’t sit comfortably just yet, so I bend down and say, “Back in a sec,” then head up the aisle toward the lavatory.
The tiny compartment barely accommodates me, but I need a breather to get my libido under control. Why the fuck did we have to connect on a goddamn plane? Worse, will this be the only place I get to talk to her? Will she disappear from my life for good once we land? I can’t let myself believe that, but it’s all I can think about as I attempt to take a piss.
I don’t really need to go, though. I just needed to give my dick time to settle down, and the antiseptic aroma permeating this tiny space is doing a good job of dampening my desire.
But when I open the tiny door, she’s right on the other side, a determined set to her jaw. Her wide eyes are a little wild with a combination of fear and excitement, and before I know it, her hand is against my chest. She pushes me back into the lavatory and shuts the door behind her.
I search her face, waiting for her to tell me what she’s after, even though there could only be one thing.
“You sure?” I ask, raising a hand and gently curling my fingers at her nape. My dick is fully hard, and we’re pressed so tight in the small space there’s no way she could miss it.
Her hips tilt into me, as much an answer as her whispered, “Yes.”
I am fucking lost when she leans up and kisses me, her pretty bow of a mouth hungrily seeking, teasing a breath across my lips before closing the distance and clasping tight, her tongue delving between. She lets out a desperate whimper when my tongue meets hers, and she combs her fingers into my hair. It’s all I can do not to devour her. I can’t just take after her confession. She needs something from me, but I need her to say it so there can be no misunderstanding.
One hand on her hip and the other tangled in her hair, I turn us ninety degrees so her ass is against the small sink, then pull back and look into her eyes. Her cheeks are flushed and she’s breathless, lips swollen from the most delicious kiss I’ve ever had.
“Callie, I need you to tell me what you want before we go any further. I need to hear you say it.”
Her eyelids flutter closed for a second as she drops her hand to my waistband, then lower, tracing her fingertips over the ridge of my erection. The light touch makes me shudder and exhale. Her eyes meet mine again as she tugs at the button.
“Fuck me, Mason.”
Yes.
This is not the time or place for foreplay, but I’m also all about her pleasure. I give into the urge to slide my hands under her bulky sweatshirt, where I find a slender waist and flat stomach that quivers as I trace my fingertips up over her ribs.
The softness of her skin is intoxicating, and I keep stroking as I kiss her, moving up higher, higher, until I find a stretchy band of what feels like lace. I push the elastic fabric up, sliding both hands beneath her shirt to cover her small breasts with my palms. Her nipples are hard little nubs, and she tilts her head back on a gasp when I tease my thumbs across both tips.
“Lift your shirt for me,” I say and she obeys, pulling the fleece over her head, then tugging the snug tank top up to reveal her creamy breasts that are framed by stretchy black lace. I do double duty now, capturing a nipple between my lips as I drop a hand down to her belly and hook my fingers beneath the edge of her waistband. She lifts up for me to tug them down past her ass, and when they clear her hip, a small, red caduceus tattoo is revealed. I pause and rub a thumb over it, wishing there was room for me to bend down and kiss her there. But there isn’t, so I refocus and push her leggings farther down. Once they hit her knees, she pulls one leg free, letting her shoe fall to the floor.
I slide a hand up her smooth, long leg, then hook it over my hip, my gaze sliding to the blonde vee at the apex. She’s trimmed and waxed, probably for that asshat who didn’t have a clue what a treasure he had in this woman. I’m tempted to drop to my knees and taste her, but she seems to sense my urge and grabs me by the collar.
“Please. I need you to fuck me.”
God, those words are like a drug coming from her mouth. My cock throbs with eagerness to give her what she wants. I swallow and look her in the eyes. “I didn’t exactly come prepared for this.”
She
shakes her head. “I have an IUD. And haven’t had sex in about a year. If I had anything, I’d know. And . . . something tells me I can trust you.”
I take a deep breath and close my eyes, wishing I could tell her how very wrong she is. I have secrets I can’t share. But I can give her this with a somewhat clear conscience at least; I’m not betraying her in the one way that matters most in the moment.
“For what it’s worth, I know I’m clean.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
Her hands are already at my zipper, yanking it down and reaching inside to free my aching cock. I indulge myself a little by dropping a hand between her thighs just to feel her wetness. She’s hot and velvety smooth, her clit a stiff bud that I stroke and rub in a small circle while she guides my cock to her entrance.
When I first push against her opening, she looks a little fearful, her teeth digging hard into her lower lip. But when I pull back, she shakes her head. “Don’t stop. I can take you. You’re just bigger than I’m used to.”
Her eyes fall closed, her brow furrowed with concentration, and I dip down to nip at her mouth.
“Open your eyes. Keep looking at me.”
She does as I ask, her blue eyes locked onto mine. I push deeper and her gorgeous mouth falls open. I nearly close my own eyes at the delicious tightness that engulfs me as I slide farther inside. So tight, so hot, but also so very wet and slick. It’s all I can do not to lose it on the first stroke.
“Jesus, you feel good,” I mutter, dropping my forehead to hers and panting to try to gather my wits to keep going. She’s watching where we’re joined just as I am and undulates her hips a tiny bit, the friction sending a blast of pleasure through my cock that makes me groan.
She repeats the movement with a little moan of her own, and then I meet her needy rocking with my hips, slowly at first, then faster as the desire engulfs us both. Our fucking soon becomes a frenzy, her eyes wild now as her hips meet my own in perfect sync with each of my hard thrusts. She slides her hands down the back of my T-shirt, nails digging into my shoulders hard enough to hurt as her panting moans grow louder and more desperate.
