The wall of warmth was right beside her now. Dangerously close. The memory of being alone on the top of that sodding hill, scared witless that she was going to be struck by lightning—and at that age, she thought thunder could get in on the act as well—began to fade in the presence of such Man Magic. But tonight, despite the wrecking ball crashes of thunder, it felt like a distant memory. She felt safe for the first time in a long time.
Mason had tensed, and he turned his head to look at her. Even in the flicking darkness, she could read the fury in his eyes. His anger slapped the room.
“Your mother left you alone. In a storm. In a teepee. Without an adult around. For two days?”
She flinched at the anger in his voice and wondered how he spoke out of a jaw clenched so tight. His molars must be in distress. “Well, yeah,” she said slowly. “It’s how we lived back then.” She wasn’t going to tell Mason that she’d pretty much been the adult in the relationship for as long as she could remember. She signed her mum’s name for school trips, made sandwiches for meals, fed the animals, got herself showered when there were showers and into bed. She’d never questioned it. It was just the way it was. Being the new girl at school was the same. She’d grown a thick skin at a young age at the taunts of the commune kids. But finding a home in Footsteps Bay, where she wasn’t judged for the first time in her life, made her feel that she belonged. Like now.
He dug a hand through his hair and glanced away. “You were seven years old. What the hell was she thinking? Anything could have happened to you. What, is she a crackpot or something?”
Her hackles rose. Yeah, her mother wasn’t going to win Parent of the Year, but still. “Now listen here, Olaf. She may be a lot of things, but she’s mine, and you don’t get to speak about her like that.”
“Are you kidding me? A parent is put on this earth to protect their child, end of story.” The pain pouring out of him was palpable. His voice grated as if he had strep throat.
She had no idea what had gone on in his life, but something haunted this man and it was bigger than Casper. She softened her voice. “It all worked out. I’m here now.” She flinched at the low rumble of thunder.
They sat in silence. A feeling like slugs inching across her skin had her curling tighter into him. She had to trek to her dark bedroom, where she’d lie like a zombie corpse until the storm had passed.
“You’re tired?” he asked.
She couldn’t read his expression. “I, ah, I won’t be able to sleep until the storm has gone.” She tried for a smile but it was an epic fail. “Some hang-ups you don’t get over.” She pushed a cheery note into her voice. “I probably should get therapy or something. But you go. I’ll be fine here, truly. I’ll wait until the storm has settled down, then I’ll take Stanley out.”
“I’m not tired,” he said. “I’ll wait until the storm has passed and I’ll take Stanley out.”
“No, I’ll do it. He’s my dog.” She pulled herself away from the warmth eating the space between them.
His gaze nailed hers. “There’s no way I’ll allow you to go out there. I’ve got it.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but the look on his face had the same set jaw and narrowed eyes he used on contractors who were trying to push back on a deadline. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He lifted one arm and dragged a blanket off the arm of the settee. She inhaled his spicy scent, and before her brain had checked with her mouth she said on a sigh, “It smells of you.” Oh, God. Please don’t let that have come out of my mouth.
The arm that had been resting on the back of the sofa came to rest on her shoulders and slowly dragged her toward him.
“What are you doing?” She pushed back, one hand on his chest, her spine locked.
“We might be here a while. I’m just getting comfy.”
“Surely you can get comfy down your end, and I can get comfy down mine.”
“Blanket isn’t big enough.” She glared at the blanket and then at his chest and finally sighed. Soon her knees were tucked underneath her, and she was curled into his side. That safe and wanted feeling stole over her again. They didn’t speak. It was comfortable. Damn comfortable. Way too comfortable. She melted into him and listened to the rain that was still angry, hurling insults at the walls, struggling to keep her eyes open. God, she was exhausted.
“Aren’t you tired?” she murmured into his chest, the echo of his heartbeat in her ear. Rhythmic and hypnotic. “You’re not really part cyborg are you?”
“Not last time I checked.” She could hear the slight smile in his voice. “I don’t sleep much.” He pulled the hairband from her hair and started threading his fingers from her scalp to the ends.
She jolted, exhaustion gone, and her gaze darted to his. He was staring at the wall. It didn’t even look as if he were in the room, let alone with her. But what was he doing? By the look on his face, he was lost in a memory. His body totally relaxed under hers.
She couldn’t catch a breath.
This was definitely stepping over the boss-secretary boundary. This was slipping into a different boundary altogether. She closed her eyes and tried to block it but her muscles dripped from her bones.
God it felt good.
I’ll just close my eyes and give into the delicious sensations of his fingers, but I won’t sleep.
Sometime during the night, she woke. She wasn’t curled into Mason’s side anymore; her back was tucked into his chest. Somehow she’d lost her shoes, and her dress was bunched around her hips. A strong arm was wrapped around her waist, and another hand wrapped possessively around her thigh.
When had this happened? One minute she was tucked into her boss, which was embarrassing enough, but now she was plastered to him like she was one of his takeaway dates. She had no idea what time it was, but she needed to leave. Now. The candles were all out, and she peered into the inky velvet night. The full moon, bright and proud in the sky, bathed the room in a stream of light. Stanley snored quietly across the room. The only other sound was Mason’s deep, even breathing behind her. If she moved now, maybe she could somehow make it to her bedroom, and she wouldn’t have to leave here. He wouldn’t have to sue her and she could keep her house, her car, and her kidneys.
She started inching towards the edge of the couch and made it about an inch and a half when the hand on her waist tightened. She held her breath then let it out in a silent stream.
Right, this isn’t going swimmingly.
Fully awake now and trying to keep her breath even, she tried to inch toward the foot of the couch and make an exit that way. She made it about three inches when the hand that had been on her thigh slipped between her legs. She instantly jerked back when his hand brushed her sensitive spot.
No. No. No. This isn’t right. I’m doing this all wrong. I’ve got to go.
She went to bolt upright when the hand around her waist tightened, and she was pulled back to the wall of chest muscle. His lips brushed her neck, and she could have sworn she heard him whisper, “Sleep.” His hand moved to her waist but not before they’d slowly dragged over her clit. She shivered at the sensation and swallowed a moan.
She stared into the darkness, turned on in a way she’d never been before. She wanted his hand back between her legs, brushing across her underwear. She gnawed her lip. A rush of need and want left her wet and horny. God it felt good. No, it didn’t feel good, it felt awesome with a capital A. She froze when his hand moved upwards and landed on her left breast, dipping into her bra, palming her nipple.
A low, guttural moan oozed out of her throat, and she arched into him.
She turned in his arms and his thigh slipped between her legs, hitting the spot. She jolted at the electricity that ripped through her core. She couldn’t help the moan that escaped out of her mouth. She squeezed her eyes shut. His fingers flexed on her waist and God help her, she angled her body and pushed against his thigh, again. The sensation electrifying, her toes curled, her body heated to combustion level. She straine
d against him again, the cotton of her underwear, almost rough, creating a friction that was delicious, and she never wanted the feeling to stop. She hitched in a breath when he pulled down her bra and paid attention to her other breast.
The ache inside her built. She wanted this. Needed this. Her body disconnected from her mind and she bucked her hips against him.
Her breath hitched, and her pulse beat heavy in her pelvis. A wave started building as a wall of pressure pushed down on her, deeper and deeper until her body arched, straining against the sensation, twisting until a sound broke free of her throat and her body shuddered.
“Oh my God,” she whispered.
She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing herself closer, tears streaking down her cheeks.
He pulled back and scanned her face, brushing the tears from her cheeks, his eyes locked on her, dark, blazing and hungry.
“I want you,” she whispered. “I’ve never had that. I didn’t know it could be like that.” She bit her lip and closed her eyes. “I want to know…”
“You want to know what?” His voice was low and raw.
She opened her eyes and stared at him. “I want to know what it feels like,” she whispered. “All of it.” She tried to swallow. “I’m on the pill, I haven’t had sex for years, and I’m okay.” She hesitated. “Are you?”
Silence.
Her eyes dropped to his mouth. She blinked, and her body started to get tight.
Oh, my God. No. I’ve got this wrong. Really, badly wrong.
She glanced up at him, her breath hitching, tears stinging the back of her eyes.
Something moved across his face. A tenderness like she’d never seen before.
He didn’t answer but lowered his mouth to hers, soft at first, but as she arched into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, he pressed tighter. When their tongues touched, she moaned into his mouth, and his kiss became more insistent, until they were a frenzy of her pulling his T-shirt over his head. Her dress was dragged from her body as her hands pushed down his jeans.
She opened her legs lifted her hips as he inched into her.
“Oh.”
Her body stretched to take him. All of him. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she adjusted.
His eyes locked on hers.
“Jesus, you’re so tight,” he ground out. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He stilled.
“You’re not. Don’t stop.” The sensation was unlike anything she’d ever felt. When he filled her completely, she moaned. She hitched her hips higher as he moved in her. A slow pressure started building and fanned outward. Her breasts plumped and one hand left his neck and she grazed her nipple with her fingers, feeling alive and in control for the first time. His eyes smoldered. He thrust higher and she cried out as another wave built. Her breathing came in labored gasps. But it was different from the first, more intense, the pressure spreading, hitting every nerve-ending. She strained against him, clawing his shoulders, pushing higher until she arched and called his name as if she were falling and he’d catch her. Her body pulsed around him. His neck arched, and he shuddered, his eyes never leaving hers.
They stared at each other, unable to look away, their bodies slick with sweat.
Without a word, he withdrew, tucked her into his chest, his arm around her waist, he tagged the blanket from the floor and tucked it around them.
Total and utter exhaustion stole over her, unable to move even if she could, but her thoughts spun.
Tomorrow she’d be broke, homeless, and living under a park bench because she would need to leave as soon as the sun hit the hills.
She’d deal with the fallout in the morning. Because there would be fallout, but for what was left of the night, she just wanted to be in his arms before the world came crashing down.
Chapter Six
Daylight streamed through the room as Mason popped open one eye. He snagged his watch from the coffee table in front of him, and his blood froze. Nine fucking o’clock. Jesus. He’d overslept, something he hadn’t done in years. He looked down at the woman in his arms. Billie. She was tucked into his chest like she’d been fitted for him.
But they didn’t fit, and they’d never fit.
She stirred in his arms, and a smile touched her lips. He’d totally and utterly lost himself in her last night. Not just physically, but mentally. Blanked out and just felt. Felt her. He’d enjoyed having her in his arms watching that movie. He couldn’t even justify to himself that he had nothing better to do than to take a couple of hours off. He never took time off on a project, but the haunting sound of the sonata had caught his attention, and he’d landed on the sofa, slightly intrigued. Before he knew it, Billie had sidled on up and he’d actually enjoyed the movie more than he’d ever admit.
When she’d told him about her experience as a child, he’d wanted to pick her up and never let her go. And fuck him, he’d wanted her. When she said she hadn’t had sex for years, he’d been stunned. Pleased, but stunned. The fact she’d never had an orgasm before blew his mind, but when she’d gotten off on his thigh, with her eyes glazed, her head thrown back? Yeah, he’d wanted her like a dying man wanted life. If she was another woman, they’d be setting up a playroom and visiting it often. But Billie wasn’t anyone else. She was his Forty-Two. That was all she’d be.
Without waking her, he managed to extract himself and stared down at the mass of her dark hair, tumbling over her shoulders, the smile curving her lips, the soft sigh she just exhaled.
Fuck.
He rubbed the back of his neck and moved his head left to right to relieve the tension that held his neck prisoner. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, but she felt awesome in his arms. Blood steamed through his veins at his own inadequacy. Guilt clawed at his insides. The man known for his self-control had just shown in a heartbeat how easy he’d lost it. Around her.
Jesus.
Something else pinged through him. For the first time in over three years, he hadn’t woken dripping in sweat, hearing Monica’s pleas for him to save their daughter. The daughter who’d sailed into his heart the moment she was born with an “I know you, you’re mine” look on her face.
It was his fault she died, and no one could tell him differently. He’d been so tied up in business that he hadn’t checked on her when he’d come home at three a.m. Maybe if he had, he’d have caught her last breath and gifted her a new one.
That’s the man he was. That man. Not this man, who’d slept soundly for the first time in years.
He closed his eyes against the sting of pain. He didn’t deserve to sleep soundly.
The sooner this place was dealt with, the better. He would work around the clock, live on energy drinks, but he was getting away from here. Yesterday.
He showered, changed, and was downing coffee when Billie arrived, looking anywhere but at him. A blush stained her cheeks, and she wore yet another sack in the fetching shade of beige.
Her large hazel eyes finally looked up. “I’ve, um, packed my stuff. I was hoping you could help me with Stanley’s bed. Let me know where I need to give plasma and whatever other internal organ I have to donate to pay the penalty clause.”
He barely glanced at her. “We don’t have time for bullshit. We have a crap load of work to get through today. I’ve got a meeting with the contractors at midday and I need the report I left on the USB typed up pronto.”
He caught her flinch from across the room but carried on. She took a step backward, and the mood in the room turned toxic. Then she stomped to his desk.
“Time for bullshit?” Her hands went to her hips. “You don’t want to talk about what happened last night?”
Anger and hurt rolled off her and stained the air, but he forced a shrug. “Far as I’m concerned, last night was just a hook up. Nothing more.”
She rocked backwards on her heels, her hands balled into fists, and her eyes got larger and filmy.
“A hook up?” she whispered.
He hauled in a breath and fo
cused on his keyboard. It took everything in him to continue typing and not look up, but he kept his eyes trained on the screen in front of him.
“Have you done anything about the dining room? Not paying you by the hour here, Forty-Two. I expect you to get that done. Today.”
“Oh my God,” she said in a hoarse whisper, more to herself than to him. “First time, and I’m a booty call?”
He looked up as she wiped at her face. “I don’t give a shit about penalties, or permits.” She threw up her hands. “Take my spleen, my car, my first born child, I don’t care, but I’m out of here.” She turned and marched toward the door.
“Steady there.” Before he knew it, he was out of his chair and had blocked the doorway. “We both have dreams at stake here. I believe you said getting your culinary degree was your dream. Mine is getting this renovation complete and getting out of here.” Something close to unease curled deep in his stomach. He put it down to the loss of his reputation if Takahashi walked away, and not the prospect of leaving here. She blinked up at him, her face a tight mask. He gentled his voice. “I’m sorry about what happened between us. You have my word it will never happen again, but let’s not lose sight of that. To give up on our goals now would be a shame.”
Her gaze swept over his face. He bunched his hands into his pockets and accepted her scan. Without saying a word she walked to her desk and sat and never looked his way.
He spent the morning stuck in work permits. A crisply typed menu arrived on his desk during his midday meeting. Tonight, he’d chow down on chicken pesto pie with a beetroot and halloumi salad and a cheese board. The thought of food turned his stomach at the moment, but he was sure by this evening he’d have his appetite back. When Billie was in the room, it was as if she was finding new and inventive ways to reply to him using the least amount of letters of the alphabet. She’d sent him a text from somewhere in the house informing him she was busy.
Winning the Boss's Heart Page 7
