The Wingman

by Natasha Anders

  “Mason, why am I here?” she asked quietly, and he tensed.

  “You needed someone to take care of you.”

  “You know as well as I do that my family would happily have done so.”

  “I needed to be sure that you were okay.”

  “And now that you’re sure? Should I go home today?”

  “Who says I’m sure?”

  “I’m bruised and a bit achy, but I’m fine,” she pointed out, and he glared at her.

  “Well, I’m not fine!” he snapped furiously. “I’m nowhere near fine. You scared the hell out of me, Daisy, and the least you can do is stay put while I—while I . . . get over that fright.”

  “This is a lot of concern for someone who isn’t even a friend,” she pointed out with what she believed was impressive logic, but he didn’t look impressed at all. He still only looked mostly pissed off.

  “I’ll get you that coffee.” He turned away from her and headed downstairs, while Daisy sighed before gingerly getting out of bed and going to the bathroom. She grimaced at the sight of her reflection in the huge wall-to-ceiling mirror. She looked like death warmed over, so pale that the bruises stood out in stark relief against her flesh. She examined the waterproof dressing over her stitches carefully, but there were no signs of bleeding beneath it, so they had managed to survive the night intact.

  She glanced around the bathroom for a robe or something but saw none. Mason definitely wasn’t a robe-wearing kind of guy anyway. She had used up all the towels last night and had no idea where he kept the spares. She should have brought a change of clothing in here with her and cursed her lack of foresight. She had no choice but to head back into the loft—naked—for her overnight bag.

  Mason was back, a cup of coffee in one hand. His eyebrows rose to his hairline when she stepped out of the bathroom, and she could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed.

  “What are you doing?” he asked carefully, and she tried not to roll her eyes at the suspicion in his voice.

  “Seducing you?” She barely stifled a grin at his horrified expression.

  “Oh, baby, you look like you were hit by a truck,” he responded softly, his voice laced with both regret and sympathy. He looked uncertain about whether he should take her seriously or not.

  “So, not sexy?”

  “You’re always sexy,” he whispered. “Clothed, nude, bruised or not. You’re the sexiest woman I know.”

  “Such a blatant lie,” she said, taking the smallest of steps toward him.

  “I’ve never lied to you. Not once.”

  “Never?” she asked. “What about the time you said we weren’t friends?”

  “We weren’t.”

  “So what were we?”

  “More than that. Always more.”

  “More? How much more?” Her question seemed to snap him out of whatever daze he seemed to be in, and he shook his head.

  “Get dressed, angel, and enjoy your coffee,” he said, putting the mug on a nightstand. “I’ll grab a shower. And we’ll talk afterward.”

  When he finished his shower, he entered the room to find Daisy cuddling both dogs on his bed. She was fussing over them and speaking to them in that annoying voice she always seemed to adopt with Peaches.

  “Don’t talk to Cooper like that; he’s not a baby,” he protested, heading to his closet to drag out some clothes and dropping his towel without concern to get dressed. He was aware of her eyes on him at all times and did nothing to conceal his ever-present Daisy-induced erection from her.

  After he was dressed, he turned to face her, and she was watching him with unflinching admiration in her gaze and a dreamy smile on her face.

  “I like your body,” she said unabashedly, and he fought the grin that threatened to surface. But he couldn’t fight anymore, and it escaped, which seemed to delight her, if her answering smile were any indication.

  He sat down on the edge of the bed and just watched her until she shifted uncomfortably.

  “I’m angry with you,” he said matter-of-factly, and she sighed heavily.

  “I know. I shouldn’t have let the Shar thing—”

  “No,” he interrupted impatient. “Enough about fucking Shar. This has nothing to do with Shar or your sister’s aborted wedding. It has to do with the danger you placed yourself in yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You can’t do shit like that, Daisy. You can’t risk yourself like that. There are people who care about what happens to you. People who would be devastated to lose you.”

  “I know,” she said in a small voice.

  “Do you? Do have any idea how many people would suffer if you got hurt or—or died?”

  “I know it would destroy my family,” she admitted.

  “Not just your family,” he grated out. “Other people too.” Her eyes were glued to his face, narrowed speculatively as she watched him carefully.

  “Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asked, and she bit her lip before shrugging.

  “Why did you say we weren’t friends?” Why did she keep harping on about that?

  “Because I don’t see you as a friend.”

  “You don’t? Well, then, you once asked me if I wanted to know what you saw when you looked at me. So I’m asking you now, if you don’t see me as a friend, then what am I? What do you see when you look at me, Mason?”

  Mason ran a shaky hand over his head and lifted his eyes to hers, hoping she could see everything he wanted to say in them, hoping she understood, even if he made a mess of his reply.

  “Everything,” he grated out. “I see my whole fucking world, Daisy. I see all my days, my weeks, and my years. Every season of my life. All spent with you. I see everything I want, need, and desire all wrapped up in you.”

  Well, then.

  Daisy ambidextrously petted a dog on each side as she looked at Mason. It was that or throw herself at him and caution to the winds. But she wanted no misunderstandings, no take backs, and no outs this time. There was way too much at stake.

  “Do you still think I can’t possibly love you?” she asked seriously, and he swallowed.

  “I don’t see how you could,” he admitted hoarsely. “I was your first lover, our entire relationship was built on a lie, and you’ve known me for mere weeks. You don’t have enough experience to know for sure.”

  “Well, how do you ever really know if what you’re feeling is true love?” she asked, throwing his own quote back at him, and he smiled grimly.

  “You know when you have basis for comparison. You know when everybody else pales in comparison to The One . . . I know because I can’t think of a single reason I found anybody else attractive or interesting or beautiful before you. I know because I love you so much that the thought of not having you love me in the same way hurt so much that I would rather have let you go than accept anything less from you.”

  “So you’d let me walk away, even though you love me?” And how absolutely wonderful it was to know that he felt that way about her. But Mason was a stubborn man, and she would not allow him to throw away their future because he had some crazy idea in his head about how much experience she should have before she could possibly genuinely be in love with him.

  “No. Not anymore. Not after last night. You’ve had your chance to escape, Daisy. Now you’re stuck with me.”

  “Even though my love might be childish and temporary?” She couldn’t resist rubbing that in, and he winced.

  “Look, maybe my opinions are a little extreme and dated and seem silly to you—”

  “Maybe?” Oh, that felt good. And he grinned, allowing her the delicious retribution.

  “I’ve been a prick.”

  “Yes. You have. But guess what?”

  “What?”

  “I love you anyway.” Oh good, she got a slight, patronizing smile in response to her proclamation this time. The man really was irritating. And stubborn. “So are you willing to stand aside and allow me to gain the experience required befor
e I’m properly able to decide whether I love you or not?”

  There was a flicker of panic in his eyes at her question, and Daisy left the dogs and crawled into his lap.

  “Whom should I start with, do you think? Kevin, the guy I met at Ralphie’s the other night, was really nice.”

  “You know his name?” He seemed really shocked by that fact.

  “Of course, I danced with him, after all. You know what a big deal that is for me.”

  “I hated seeing you dance with him,” he confessed reluctantly. “I felt like the chicken dance was our thing.”

  She shuddered delicately at that and nuzzled his neck.

  “The chicken dance should never be anyone’s thing.”

  “You make that ass-jiggle bit look sexy.”

  “Mason, you’re really going to have to start believing me when I tell you I love you,” she said seriously.

  “Tell me why you love me.”

  “I’ve always been shy. For years I’ve remained happily curled up in my shell in public, in private, with family or friends. I don’t think anybody ever really saw me. I don’t think even I saw the real me. But something weird happened around you. Even on that very first night when you were being a good little wingman . . . I opened my mouth and I spoke and I laughed and I engaged. You looked at me and saw Daisy. You helped me find myself, and I liked the person I found hiding in that shell. Even after I learned you were just talking to me as a favor to Spencer, there was just no going back to meek little wallflower Daisy. How can I not love you for that?”

  “That’s gratitude, Daisy.” She gritted her teeth at his so-called logic.

  “You’re incredibly irritating,” she seethed. “And I still love you. And when you’re obnoxious, I love you too. When you’re so arrogant, I feel like there’s no way a room could possibly contain your ego . . . I inexplicably still love you. If being in love with someone isn’t about loving them even when they’re being complete assholes, then I don’t know what it is.”

  That made him smile. A big, generous, gorgeous smile that filled every inch of her soul with joy.

  “That’s more like it.”

  “What?”

  “I love you when you’re crazy and irrational and contrary as hell.”

  “I love you when your language is foul enough to strip paint from the walls, when you brag about the size of your penis, and when you wake me up at ungodly hours of the morning!”

  “Yeah, well, I love you when you bitch about getting up, speak to your dog in that annoying voice, and cheat at car games!”

  They stared at each other for a beat and started laughing.

  “So I guess you love me,” he said.

  “And you love me.”

  “Looks that way.”

  “So now what?”

  “I have a few ideas,” he whispered, lowering his head to kiss her. “Firstly, I have to ask, Daisy McGregor . . . will you be my girl?”

  “Oh yes, please.”

  “And you won’t go running around and putting yourself in danger at every turn?”

  “That happened one time,” she retorted, exasperated.

  “Once was more than enough.” He shuddered, his hand reaching up to stroke the bruise on her jaw. “You have to understand, you’re my life’s blood, Daisy. It’s terrifying. Everything that happens to you happens to me. Every offence, every insult, every hurt, I carry it with me too. So promise me you’ll take care of yourself.”

  “I promise. No more putting myself into dangerous situations. But I’m not stopping the clinic.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to. I just want you to be careful.”

  “I can do that.”

  “And you’ll go fishing with me?”

  “Possibly,” she hedged.

  “Camping?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Hiking.”

  “Probably.” He gave her a look, and she rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll do some of that with you. But you’ll owe me. We’re talking ballets and symphonies and chick flicks.” He winced.

  “We’ll compromise,” he said quickly. She kissed him, and he opened his mouth to her, allowing her to take what she wanted from him, before lifting his head to continue the negotiations. “And you’ll bake more of that delicious bread for me?”

  “You liked it? I wasn’t sure you’d eat it.”

  “I was pissed off, not an idiot. Of course I ate it. It was fan-fucking-tastic! I expect more of the same. Also cakes and pies.”

  “Done! I wish we could seal our deal with some sex,” she said wistfully, and he choked on a laugh.

  “Absolutely not. You’ve just been stabbed.”

  “Sliced.”

  “That doesn’t sound the slightest bit better. My point is, you’re hurt and bruised and stiff.” She wriggled in his lap.

  “You’re stiff too,” she pointed out, and he groaned.

  “You’re going to have to work on your raunchy jokes, angel. You can’t keep falling back on that one.”

  “We can do other stuff,” she pouted, and he hugged her closer.

  “We have plenty of time for the other stuff. Because you’re mine now, Daisy McGregor, and I plan to love you and have my wicked way with you for many, many years to come.”

  “Promise?”

  “Easiest promise I’ve ever had to make.”

  EPILOGUE

  ONE YEAR LATER

  Daisy and Mason’s engagement party was in full swing but, despite the festivities around her, Daff circled the room restlessly feeling out of sorts and a little bit moody, like a shark cruising the shallows looking for a potential victim. She spotted her prey just a couple of feet away and made her way to his side. He was a big bastard, topping her five foot seven height by at least seven inches. Massively built with shoulders that could block out the sun, he was easily twice her size, but all muscle. She knew he kept fit, always out playing rugby, swimming, cycling, and surfing. While his brother had a lean elegance to his gorgeous body, Spencer was all brute force.

  “Stop fiddling with that tie,” she said when he tugged at the length of fabric. “You’ve done enough damage.”

  “What do you care?” He glared at her from beneath that fall of black hair. He looked like a beast, hulking, menacing . . . His hair fell over his eyes, a wild, sleek mane. It was kind of thrilling how savage he seemed at times. No wonder he always messed up flirting with her; he had all the finesse of a stampeding bull.

  “Fine, if you want to continue looking barely civilized, then by all means, fiddle away.” She continued to stand beside him, sipping her bubbly while he wavered for a few seconds before his hand discreetly went up to touch the knot of his tie, obviously checking if it were as bad as she’d implied.

  “So your brother finally popped the question,” she said, her eyes going to the happy couple dancing in the middle of the room. They were so damned perfect together. Daff couldn’t fathom that kind of yearning for anybody. It wasn’t something she had ever aspired to, and she hoped never to actually feel anything remotely similar. How terrifying that would be. And yet . . . sometimes it physically hurt to see them together. She was pleased for Daisy; her sister deserved all the happiness in the world, and Mason made her ecstatic, but looking at them made Daff feel . . . lonely.

  “I think he started asking her about six months ago. She finally said yes,” Spencer corrected, and Daff grinned. The couple’s relationship had been anything but ordinary, so the news didn’t surprise her in the slightest.

  “And you’re the best man?” She framed it as a question, and he nodded.

  “Well, since I’m the maid of honor, we’ll be partnered and expected to do stuff together. I just wanted to be sure you were okay with that?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “We haven’t really been on good terms.”

  “I hadn’t noticed. You don’t exactly feature prominently in my life.” Ouch. That hurt.

  “Right. Anyway. Bygones?”

  “I
f you say so.” He shrugged. Feeling foolish, Daff walked away and wished she’d never approached him in the first place.

  “I can’t resist it,” Daisy whispered, and Mason grinned.

  “Try,” he said for the sheer hell of it.

  “You know I can’t.”

  “This time, I’m sure you can.”

  “No. I’m seriously OCD about it.”

  “Then go for it,” he said and stepped away from her. And she went for it. In the middle of “Lady in Red,” she slowly formed beaks with her hands, and did a couple of arm flaps followed by a sexy little butt wriggle. Before she could finish with a clap, Mason took her hands and pulled her back into his arms, laughing heartily as he did so.

  “Oh, babe, I love you so damned much.”

  “Yeah, you do,” she said contentedly, and he kissed her.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Natasha Anders was born in Cape Town, South Africa. She spent nine years working as an assistant English teacher in Niigata, Japan, where she became a legendary karaoke diva. Now back in Cape Town, she lives with her opinionated budgie, Oliver; her temperamental Chihuahua, Maia; and her moody budgie, Baxter. Readers can connect with her through her Facebook page, on Twitter at @satyne1, or at www.natashaanders.com.