Brown and de Luca Collection, Volume 1

by Maggie Shayne

  “I’d be hard-pressed to think of anywhere.”

  He looked at me for a longish minute. I looked back. It went awkward pretty fast, so we both looked away.

  “So…” he said.

  “So. I suppose we should unpack, get some dinner and get to work.”

  “And start a fire,” he said. “Since I don’t have much to unpack, I’ll handle the fire and the dinner, while you and Myrt pick a room and get settled in. Upstairs or down?”

  “Which stairs are going to be easier on Myrtle’s joints?”

  “Up,” he said. “They’re wide, carpeted and less steep.” He pointed at them as he spoke.

  “Perfect.” I moved past him back inside. Myrtle was standing in the open doorway but hadn’t come out yet. “It’s okay, Myrt. Come on, I’ll get your bed and put it by the fire for you. That’s your favorite thing, right?”

  I crossed to where Mason had dropped the bags and unzipped hers. I heard him come in, too. He closed the French doors and started messing around with the fireplace, while I unpacked Myrt’s things. I took her dog dishes to the kitchen, and she followed. I poured her favorite food into one, then filled her water dish, set both down on the floor and watched her dig in.

  By the time she’d finished and we returned to the living room, Mason had lit the kindling and paper in the hearth, and laid Myrt’s bed right in front of it. She found it fast, and within a minute she was snoring softly and soaking up the heat.

  “She’ll have to go outside again before bed, but she’ll hold it until she can’t anymore. And meanwhile, nice kitchen.”

  “Yeah, it is, isn’t it?” He set a larger log on the already blazing small stuff and, crouching, watched the fire.

  “So I should just go up and put my stuff in one of the bedrooms?”

  “Yeah. Um, you can use mine. It’s on the right.”

  I had picked up my bags and was starting for the stairs, but I paused at the bottom. “And whose is on the left?”

  I turned toward him and knew the answer before he said it. “That was Eric’s. Mom and Dad always preferred the big suite down below.”

  I blinked and looked up the stairs.

  “Seriously, take my room. I’ll take Eric’s.”

  I took a breath, thought it over, lifted my chin. “No, you know what? I’ll take his room. I told you a long time ago that I wanted to know more about him, and I meant it.”

  “He hasn’t used it since he was a kid. Marie and the kids would come up on their own sometimes, but the boys liked the basement room so they could walk straight outside and down to the lake, and Marie would usually use Mom’s. Eric hasn’t been here in years.”

  “I wonder why?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

  “Well, all the same, I’ll take the room on the left.” I started up the stairs, reached the top and looked at the hallway that stretched in both directions. One wood-stained door to the left, one to the right, and one dead center, straight head of me. That one was open, and I could see the fixtures of a gorgeous bathroom that I was dying to check out. But later. I glanced back downstairs briefly, thinking about changing my mind. Mason was on the floor, rubbing Myrtle’s head and watching the flames dance in the fireplace.

  No. I wasn’t going to chicken out.

  I mustered my nerve and marched straight to the bedroom on the left, told myself it was completely idiotic that my hand was shaking and opened the door. I found the light switch and flipped it on.

  I don’t know what the hell I’d expected. Some big hairy monster to duck quickly back into the closet as light flooded the room? Wall-to-wall B-movie posters of slasher flicks? A clichéd collection of newspaper clippings about missing young men, even?

  I almost laughed at myself when the terror behind Door Number One turned out to be a neatly made full-size bed with a wagon wheel headboard, a tall dresser with six drawers, a few wildlife prints on the walls, and a set of blue-and-brown plaid curtains that matched the bedspread. That was it. There was a shelf on one wall, with books and some board games, and a clock radio on the nightstand. The floor was covered in the same brown shag carpeting as the hallway and the staircase, outdated but immaculate. One door was on the same side as the bathroom and presumably led straight into it, and the other was no doubt the closet.

  I stepped farther inside and dropped my bag on the bed. “You’re an idiot, Rachel,” I said.

  There’s still that closet, though. Don’t even pretend you didn’t notice that.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Might as well open it now, right? It’s only gonna be worse if you try to sleep tonight without knowing what’s in there.

  “Shut the fuck up, voice of reason.” I moved closer, reached out, stiffened my spine and made myself just yank the door open. Just like jumping into a pool when the water was a little too cold for comfort. Just like pulling off a Band-Aid. You did it fast, you got it done, and it was never as bad as you thought it would be.

  The closet was dark, but there was a dangling pull-chain. I pulled it, and the light came on. There were clothes hanging there, a few shirts, but mostly hoodies and jackets, a big parka, and a pair of snow pants, all big enough for me, I imagined, but sized for a kid about Joshua’s age, maybe a little older.

  “See? All good. No boogie man.” I looked up at the shelf above the clothing rod. Snowmobile helmet with a thick layer of dust on it, some cassette tapes piled up in their cases. Duran Duran’s Hungry Like the Wolf. That made me shiver. I backed out, pulled the cord and closed the closet door.

  And in spite of myself I got down on all fours and looked under the bed. But it was clean, as clean and spotless as the rest of the house. Which made me wonder why the stuff in the closet was all dusty. Why hadn’t Mason’s mom cleaned in there?

  I was still down there when the door creaked, and I twisted my head around, dropping the ugly plaid bedspread as I did. Mason towered over me from this angle.

  “Everything okay?”

  I nodded and got up onto my feet. “Yeah. Just checking for monsters under the bed.”

  “What about in the closet?”

  “Already done. It’s all clear, by the way.”

  “Good to know.” I hadn’t noticed, but he was holding a sturdy little tumbler in his free hand. “Vodka and Coke. I didn’t make it very strong, but I figured—”

  “You figured right.” I took it, drank and said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He looked at my face for a long second, then said, “Have you seen the bathroom yet?”

  I shook my head, sipped my drink. “Only in passing. It was next on my itinerary.”

  “Well, be my guest.” He crossed the room and opened the third door, which, as I’d guessed, led into the bathroom, then stood there, waiting for me to enter first.

  I walked in, and my jaw dropped. All thoughts of boogie men or closet monsters fled my mind when I got a load of it. “This is fucking awesome.” Fully as large as the bedroom, which was very roomy, the bathroom was straight out of a high-end spa. Cedar boards lined the walls. I could tell by their delicious scent. An elevated Jacuzzi occupied one corner, and a double shower stall with frosted glass doors stood in another. Double sinks set in a long countertop took up one entire wall. Everything, including the ceramic tiles, was done in ivory shot through with amber and gold. A stand-up ornamental fountain took up a third corner. It was turned off now, but ready with a crooked tower of smooth round stones and a shallow basin at the bottom to catch and recirculate the water. A little marble stand held a dish of sand and had a porcupine’s back worth of incense sticks stuck in it, with a lighter standing nearby.

  “Wow, this is something. Is that a heated towel rack?”

  “It is when it’s turned on.”

  “I am seriously lusting after your bathroom
, Mason.”

  “I think that’s the first time a woman has ever said that to me.”

  “Any woman who saw it would say it, and if she didn’t say it, believe me, she was thinking it.”

  “Well, the only women who’ve been up here with me are Angela and Marie.”

  “Who the hell is Angela?” I closed my eyes. “That was not, by the way, jealousy in my voice just now.”

  “Jealousy over the bathroom, maybe,” he said. “Angela’s my mother.”

  I shrugged and decided not to wonder why he hadn’t brought any of the women he dated up here with him. He undoubtedly got around enough. And this place would charm the panties off most of the women I knew. But it was none of my business, and I wasn’t going to ask. “So will anyone care if I make very thorough use of this room after dinner?”

  “Why don’t you make thorough use of it right now? How much time do you need?”

  I shrugged. “Two hours?”

  He smiled, as if that was a surprisingly long time.

  “I can make it one.”

  “I have plenty to keep me busy for two hours. You’re not here to entertain me, you know. Enjoy it. It’s probably just what the doctor ordered, given all the stress you’ve been under lately.”

  “Yeah, well, if that’s your rationale, you should probably book yourself a couple of hours, too. After I’m done.”

  “Maybe I will.” He reached out to flip a button on the towel rack, then turned on the Jacuzzi and adjusted the temperature.

  “I’ll show you the rest of the place while your water runs.”

  * * *

  I took the tour, saw the finished half of the basement—two bedrooms, the big one his mother preferred and a normal-sized one, with a game room in between and a utilitarian bathroom—and even the unfinished half, which combined the garage and a small woodworking area full of tools. It made me want to ask about Mason’s father. He’d talked about his mother but never his dad. I presumed he’d died, but I wanted to know when and how, and how Mason felt about it.

  How he felt about it? What am I, freaking Oprah now? Getting all touchy-feely? Yuck.

  So yeah, tour completed, drink refilled, I sat in the delicious Jacuzzi with the jets running full throttle, leaned my head back on one of the tub pillows I’d found on a shelf nearby and thought, This is the life and Why do I not have this bathroom in my house?

  It didn’t matter why. I would have one before another year was out, period. In fact, mine was going to be even bigger and include a hot-stone sauna room.

  The candles were glowing—mine would be electric, with a flickering effect and less danger of fire—and the incense was burning. I would do an electric simmer pot with essential oils, because smoke, even tiny tendrils of incense smoke, would dirty up my planned white ceiling in a hurry. I’d found the little sound dock on the shelf above the one that held the pillows and stuck my smartphone into it, then hit my “mellow” playlist, which hardly ever saw any use. Amy had put it on there for me. The first song was James Taylor, so I decided her taste was better than I’d feared. Above the two shelves, behind a set of cabinet doors, there were bottles and jars galore, body washes, shampoos, lotions, hair products, enough to get my inner girlie-girl all revved up.

  What the hell? I’ll indulge her for a bit. Maybe I deserve it, after all this. Or maybe that’s the vodka talking. Either way…

  By the time I got out of the Jacuzzi, I had a very slight buzz, and was feeling all relaxed and loose. I wrapped myself up in my prettiest robe and didn’t even bother drying my hair. Just combed it and left it hanging, drippy and, so long as it was wet, dead straight. That was how I went back downstairs, wet and mellow, makeup free. My stomach had been growling sporadically, so it jumped for joy when I smelled food wafting up from below. I’d been a little less than the two hours I’d predicted, but only because I was too lazy to refill the tub with hotter water for the third time.

  Mmm, that smells like Italian. I love Italian.

  “There you are. Not only on time but actually early.” Mason was right where I’d left him, on the floor in front of the fireplace, loving on my bulldog. But he hadn’t been there the entire time. There was a fresh stack of logs in the round iron firewood rack, and the dining room table, in the open space between living room and kitchen, was set for two. No candles, thank God. I would have run screaming if he’d lit candles, because that would mean he was thinking romance, and I had no interest in romance.

  Sex maybe, but definitely not romance.

  What the fuck was that? Didn’t I already decide that would be Bad?

  I watched him get up off the floor and stretch his arms above his head to work the kinks out. His shirt rose, and my stupid lecherous eyes latched on to the expanse of flesh that was left exposed. His jeans rode low, so I could see the slight indent below his hip bones, and the fine dark hairs making an arrow pointing to his button fly and beyond.

  It’s the vodka. I’m fine. I just need to lay off the vodka.

  Arms down. Skin covered. He nodded at the empty glass I’d brought down with me. “You need another drink?”

  Say no.

  “Definitely.”

  He took my glass, then sauntered across the room to the kitchen. I looked at his ass, then looked away, then jumped out of my skin when he was suddenly a foot from me, handing me the fresh drink.

  “Hungry?” he asked.

  Okay, come on, that was sexy. Deliberately sexy. That gruff edge in his voice, just then? That had to be on purpose.

  “Ravenous.”

  Okay, sound slutty much? Shut the front door, Rachel.

  He blinked slowly, then turned around and headed back to the kitchen. I followed like a lost puppy and wished someone would put me to sleep. Dumb shit.

  “I hope you like lasagna. My entire repertoire consists of lasagna, and mac and cheese.”

  “It smells great.”

  “Oh, it is great. I don’t do a lot, but what I do, I do really well.”

  “Is that your cooking philosophy, or does it apply to life in general?”

  “Applies to everything,” he said, as he took a foot-square lasagna pan out of the oven. I thought it would feed me for a week. Or Myrtle for a day.

  Turning, he hustled it past me to the counter. “There’s another oven mitt there. Would you grab the garlic bread?”

  Garlic bread, too? Is he trying to seduce me or fatten me up for slaughter?

  “If there’s dessert, you might get lucky tonight. And if it’s chocolate, I’ll blow you.” I clapped a hand to my mouth to silence the evil whore who’d said all that, and as I did, I noticed my third drink was almost gone already.

  “I will find chocolate for dessert if I have to tear this place apart,” he said when he finally stopped laughing. “You’re quite something with a couple of drinks in you.”

  “Yeah, so I’ve been told.” I took the garlic bread to the counter, grabbed a bread knife and started slicing it while he piled giant hunks of gooey lasagna onto a pair of thick plates and carried them back to the table. I followed with the sliced, steaming bread. No salad.

  God, is this guy too good to be true, or what?

  Down, girl. Vodka goggles, remember?

  Whatev.

  So we ate, and I had another drink and couldn’t stop thinking about banging him. When we were finished, he cleared up while I fed Myrtle—again. No wonder the poor thing was such a tank, but she looked so pathetic that how could I resist? I offered to help and he said no, so I sank onto the big teddy bear sofa near the fire, and he came back in with freshly brewed coffee, two cups of premade chocolate pudding just like the ones like my mother used to put in my school lunch box, and a shit-eating grin on his face.

  I grinned back and when he sat beside me, I sipped, watched the fire and ate my pudding.
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  And then I said, “You know, I’ve only been a sighted adult for a few months now.”

  “And how are you liking it so far?” He was licking his spoon.

  That’s it. God must want me to screw him.

  “Loving it,” I said. “As independent as I thought I was before, it didn’t compare. I can drive. I can redecorate my house in the brightest colors I can find. I can…well, hell, I can see.”

  “Must be like a whole new world for you.”

  “It is. And I want to explore every corner of it. I want to check out everything before I commit to anything. Even a little bit. You know?”

  “I guess.”

  I nodded, even though he was looking at me like he was starting to wonder where I was going. “Good. So you’ll understand when I tell you that this is just this. Nothing more.”

  His dark brows bent until they touched. “This…what?”

  I took a breath, stood up and figured I might as well go for broke. It wasn’t like he would refuse me. He’d been sending signals all night. So I bit my lip and dropped my robe. Just that simple. “This.”

  “Hot damn, I was hoping you’d say that.” He stood up slowly. Didn’t touch, except with his eyes, which were scanning me from head to toe and back again. “And I’m liking what I see.”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it.” He smiled, one side of his mouth crooking up higher than the other, and then he pulled me hard against him and kissed my face off.

  Oh, yeah, this had been a very, very good idea.

  CHAPTER 19

  I woke up about 1:00 a.m., because he was a blanket hog and I was shivering. We were curled up back to back, with only our butts touching. The sex had been amazing, and frequent, and pretty damned creative to boot. I was still tingling from it.

  I rolled onto my back, stared at the ceiling and wondered if I was going to regret this in the morning.

  I don’t regret it yet. Good sign, right?

  That’s probably just because the afterglow thing is still in effect, dumb ass.

  Three hours later? Does afterglow last that long?