The Wingman

by Natasha Anders

  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 conspir
atorial 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 wort
hless 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.