Instead, what I see brings more tears to my eyes. Now that the dam has burst, I question ever being able to stop it. And right now, I’m helpless to stop the raging flow.
There, etched on his angry, red, tender skin, is one word in script.
Roxane.
chapter twenty-eight
mason
“What? How?” she asks, a finger carefully tracing the red edges of the tattoo.
I give her a casual shrug. “I had a lot of time to kill while I waited for a flight over. I would have gotten your real name, but I know you like to remain anonymous.”
Her tear-rimmed eyes shoot up to mine. “You spelled it right.”
“Of course I did.” I smile. “How could I not after hearing you go on and on about the travesty of the misspelling from the play to the movie.” I wink at her and her face softens into an easy grin. It’s the first sign of hope she’s given me. Aside from trusting me with her story.
She’s come this far, I wonder what will happen if I push her a little more. I sweep her hair back, revealing her rose tattoo. “Will you tell me about yours?” I ask. “And this?” I touch her bracelet.
She looks down at the dark rosebud entwined in leather on her wrist and I can almost see the memories flashing behind her eyes. “Charlie gave it to me the day my daughter was born. She was the only one, other than my parents, who knew where I was. Everyone else, including my sisters, thought I’d taken the spring semester of my junior year abroad. But in reality, I went to a place my parents found in upstate New York. A farm where an older couple took in people like me—pregnant teens who wanted to hide from the world. I helped them with farm chores and cooking and they let me stay for the duration. There were two other girls there when I arrived. One left within a few weeks, the other shortly before I did. We didn’t exchange addresses or phone numbers.” She stretches her head to one side, her hand coming up to grab the back of her neck as tension visibly rolls off her body in waves. “Nobody wanted to remember.”
I push a lock of stray hair behind her ear and ease my fingers around her neck to replace hers, hoping I can help knead the stress away as she tells her painful tale.
“I got to hold her for an hour before they took her away.”
I can tell another sob burns deep in her throat, but she’s trying hard not to let it out. She closes her eyes, suffocating grief settling in and grabbing hold of her. “That was the best and worst hour of my entire life.” She swallows hard, wiping balls of tears away with the pads of her thumbs. “She was beautiful. She had a full head of dark-blonde hair and beautiful blue eyes. I know all babies have blue eyes, so I don’t know what color she ended up with. But it didn’t matter to me. She was perfect in every way.”
Heartache stings me as thoughts of losing my parents blur my vision. “You never saw her after that?”
She shakes her head. “It was a closed adoption. I knew it would be better that way. Especially after seeing her. I couldn’t imagine getting updates and pictures but not being a part of her life. What if something terrible happened to her? I don’t think I would survive knowing that. So I spent the whole hour studying her flawless face, explaining why I couldn’t be her mom. I cried a river that day, after they took her from me. When the nurse came in and picked her up out of my arms, she took my entire life with her. But I knew it was for the best. I knew she deserved more than a teenage mom who could barely get out of bed most mornings.
“I don’t know a lot about what happened to her. But what I do know is that she went to a heart surgeon whose wife was a nurse who planned on staying at home with the baby. They were in their thirties and had tried for ten years to have a child before adopting.” She nods her head. “It was a good place for her.”
I finger her bracelet. “And this?”
“Right,” she says, watching me twist the charm as if she’d forgotten it. “Charlie drove up with my parents that day. I cried in her arms for hours, giving myself that one day to grieve. And then I promised never to cry over it again. That’s when she gave me the bracelet. She knew there would be no pictures. No reminders of my daughter. I was confused as to why she got me the charm of a black rose. To me, it represented death—my death. But she told me it wasn’t a black rose at all, it was simply a pewter rosebud—a perfectly formed rosebud that had yet to bloom. She said every time I looked at it, I would think of the baby and how she will flourish and grow and blossom into a brilliant young woman with a life full of endless possibilities because of the sacrifice I made.”
I thread our fingers together and squeeze her hand in mine. “I knew I liked Charlie. She’s bright, that one.”
Piper quietly laughs. “So she’s always telling me.”
She looks down at our entwined hands like she just realized we were touching. “That was the day we decided to go to Europe. We planned to go the next year after graduation. It was the perfect solution. I didn’t want to risk running into my daughter. Because I swear, Mason, her face is etched into my brain for all of eternity and I think I would recognize her anywhere. Also, I didn’t want to have a run-in with any of the boys who attacked me. And Charlie—well you know her reasons for leaving.”
I can feel her relax, tension leaving her body with every word she speaks. This is therapeutic for her. And with each part of her story that she reveals, I see pieces coming back together to make her a whole person.
I brush her hair aside, exposing her neck. “What about your tattoo, sweetheart?”
Her hand comes up to rub it like I’ve seen her do so many times before. “I got it on my eighteenth birthday. A budding rose, a reminder of what I hope would become of her; but a black rose for the death of the relationship we would never have.”
She becomes quiet. After talking and crying for almost an hour straight, the room becomes strangely silent. Strange but wonderful. And I realize for the first time, that she’s holding my hand instead of me holding hers. Her small fingers rub over my knuckles, sending erotic, and totally-inappropriate-for-the-situation, sensations straight to my groin.
“So that’s it. You know everything about me. Except maybe that I had a dog named Mutt when I was little. He ran away when I was seven.”
“Mutt, huh?”
She nods, still rubbing her fingers over mine.
“Are you okay?” I ask, searching her eyes for answers. After all, she just tore open all her wounds and bared her soul to me.
Her eyes narrow as she ponders the question. “I think I am. Is that crazy?” Her burgeoning smile warms not only my heart, but other parts of my anatomy.
“No. It’s not crazy at all. Talking helps. Believe me. And I’m here anytime you want to talk about it. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve got some pretty big shoulders you can use for crying on whenever you need them.”
Her smile falls and my budding erection threatens to abate. “Do you think you’ll ever be able to see me as a woman, like you did last weekend, and not the girl on that bed?”
Suddenly, I have visions of Saturday night. Of her writhing under my tongue, pawing at my sheets as she watched me bring her to orgasm. I drop her hand and stand up at the side of the bed, pulling down my pants and boxer briefs in one fell swoop, my hardened dick springing proudly when it’s released from its confines. “I don’t think that will ever be a problem, sweetheart.”
Her eyes go wide at the sight of me. Not in fear. Not in panic. But in appreciation; passion. And it’s damn sexy.
Her hand twitches as if she wants to reach out and touch me. My dick jumps at the very thought of her hand gripping me. But then as quickly as my hopes were raised, they are dashed.
“I can’t,” she says.
I nod. Of course she isn’t ready for this. She needs time. I berate myself, reaching down to pull my pants up, but her words stop me dead.
“I just ran fifteen miles. I need a shower.” Her heated gaze skates over my chest, then lower.
Holy shit.
The way she said it. It wasn’t a blow-off or a
n excuse. It was an invitation.
“I could use one myself,” I say, stepping out of my shoes and pulling off my pants. “I haven’t showered since Monday. What day is it?”
She laughs. “Wednesday.”
I look to the bathroom and then I raise my eyebrows at her. Her teeth grasp the edge of her bottom lip, causing even more of my blood to run south. A slow smile tugs her lips upward. “I’ve never had any bad dreams about showers,” she says. “Just like I never had them about kissing.”
I smile and it feels as if my face could crack open. “And look how good you are at kissing.” I take two steps over to her and hold out my hand.
She looks at it with dark and lidded eyes, her lips twitching into a shy yet sensual grin.
My heart all but leaps from my chest.
I pull her into the bathroom and turn on the shower. It’s nice. It’s got several nozzles including one of those rain showerheads on the ceiling. As it warms, I slowly remove her running shorts and tank top, peeling them off her body to reveal inch after beautiful inch.
It’s bright in here. Daylight is shining through the window and strong fluorescents are overhead. I notice very faint white lines on both sides of her stomach. I fall to my knees and place my lips on them, tasting her salty flesh. I show her I love every part of her, even those parts she thinks are damaged.
I have damaged parts, too. Maybe together, if we add up all of our good parts, we can make one whole unblemished person.
She runs her hands through my hair as my mouth devours the intoxicating scent that clings to her skin. Out of the corner of my eye, I see steam coming from the shower, so I stand and walk her backwards into it until her back hits the wall.
Water pours over her, wetting her hair and running down to stream off her breasts. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.
My lips claim hers in a wet, demanding kiss that spawns provocative noises from her. We kiss long and hard, exploring each other with our tongues and mouths until we can no longer breathe, our lungs burning from the lack of air.
While my hands probe her breasts, hers grip the back of my hair, tilting my head back so her lips can assault my neck. She stops wandering when she finds my pulse, sucking the fleshy skin of my neck into her mouth. My dick throbs against her and I worry it will cause her to panic. Instead, she surprises me, reaching between us, gripping me with her small hand, running her fingers along the sensitive head, driving me absolutely fucking insane.
Everywhere she touches me, electrical currents pulse beneath my skin. Her hand slowly moves from root to tip and my body aches with the need for release.
My fingers trail down her water-slicked stomach, down through her soft curls to find the hot wet heat of her center before slipping inside her. Her breath catches somewhere between a sigh and a moan.
I don’t have to remind her to look at me. Our eyes meet with a force that sends shockwaves through our bodies, her hunger and passion matching my own. The base of my spine tingles as my body is battered by sensation after sensation. I bite down on my lip, tasting the blood that results from an endeavor to hold off my inevitable finish. This isn’t about me. This is about giving her a memory that can overshadow the nightmares. I pull back, my steely erection falling from her soft, wet hands as I try to even out my breathing.
“Do you have a condom?” she asks, her eyes raking my body with a heat so intense it practically melts me.
Shit. Those five words almost make me come on the spot. Hell yes, I do.
“Wait here,” I say, a desperate edge of command lining my voice. I step out of the shower, soaking the tiles of the bathroom and the carpet of the bedroom with the water rolling off me. I all but slip and fall on the bathroom floor in my haste to get back to her, catching myself on the counter in what I’m sure is a comedic, naked splaying of my enthusiasm.
Her laughter echoes off the walls of the stone shower, making my heart expand with the notion that she wants this.
Before I’m even back in the shower, I’ve ripped the condom from the wrapper and rolled it on my rock-hard penis. As soon as I step back in, she catapults herself into my arms and I lift her up, cupping my hands beneath the soft globes of her ass as she clasps her legs around my waist.
My hardness touches her between the legs, squished between our slickened bodies. She looks down to see how close we are to being joined. “Yes,” she says, water spilling over her shoulders, adding warmth to the heat surging between us.
She looks back up at my face, a crackle of energy passing between us. Raw. Hot. Carnal. I’ve never seen her eyes make such urgent demands. And as she works her fingers through the back of my hair, she whispers, “Yes, Mason.”
Fuck. I never knew my own name could sound so sexy.
“Sweetheart,” I breathe into her, my lips closing in to savor her mouth once more, reminding her it’s only ever going to be me. “God, I love you, Piper. Only me. Always.”
As we kiss, her hands probe my shoulders, my neck, my back, sliding effortlessly over my wet skin, building me to a point of no return. I break the kiss and tilt her hips up as I enter her, the snug grip of her tight walls stroking me to the brink of ecstasy.
I can’t help but groan when I hit the end of her. The feeling of skin on naked skin, me fully seated inside her—I’ve never felt such deep satisfaction. Such unadulterated joy.
I watch her with every roll of my hips, gauging her response as I start a slow and steady rhythm in and out of her. I can feel the impending climax begin to tighten my balls and tense my gut. I push her hard against the wall, keeping one hand under her bottom while I move the other one between us.
Her eyes never leave mine. Not even when they glaze over as her passion crests and she convulses in pleasure around me. Ragged murmurs of gratification leave her lips as her pulsating body milks a vigorous orgasm from me.
I brace us against the wall, my legs barely able to keep me standing. Then I bathe in the potent feeling of warmth and contentment that is stronger than I can ever remember. Her head falls to my shoulder, our bodies still connected as I cherish the steady beat of her heart against mine.
Shivers course through her when the water turns tepid. Without breaking our seal, I carry her delicately over the puddled floor of the bathroom. I take her out to the bed, grabbing a towel along the way.
I gently dry her from head to toe as she watches me with clear, pure, vibrantly green eyes that are creased with a smile. I swear to God I can see my future in them.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
“I’m perfect.”
A wave of relief resonates through me along with her words. Her smile makes my spirit soar with shameless delight. “I have a feeling we’re going to be very fucking clean for a long, long time to come.”
She laughs, then her eyes narrow in amusement. “Did we even use soap?”
A grin full of hungry anticipation twitches my mouth. “I guess we’ll just have to take another one later.”
She crawls under the duvet and I wrap my arms around her from behind, warming her further.
“I lied to you, you know,” she says.
I feel a deep twist of my heart and a momentary twang of hopelessness in my gut. “Lied?”
“Yeah. I didn’t really win that bet.” Her transparent voice is thick with emotion and tantalizing with need.
I smile into her neck. “Oh?”
She nods against me, pushing her back even tighter into me. She takes a cleansing breath, a sure sign something wondrous is about to fall from her lips. “I didn’t win the bet. You did. I’m moving to New York.”
My heart pounds, threatening to penetrate the walls of my chest. Quickly, I climb over her, settling myself on her other side so we are face to face—inches from each other. “Is that a euphemism, sweetheart? Because if you are messing with me, I might just fucking explode.”
A brilliant glow spans her beautiful face. “No, I’m not messing with you. And yes, I’m moving to New York.”
I take
her head, cupping it in my hands. “I need to hear you say it, Piper.”
A powerful rush of emotions flood through me, her tear-rimmed eyes mirroring mine when the words I’d only dreamed of spill from her lips. “I love you, Mason Lawrence.”
chapter twenty-nine
piper
Champagne is served to us even before the rest of the plane has been boarded. I protested the first-class tickets on principle, but Mason insisted, as these were the only available seats unless we wanted to wait another day. Plus he said I’ll have to get used to this sort of thing.
I’m not complaining. I mean, I’ve lived in some pretty questionable places and resorted to more than my share of flying-by-the-seat-of-my-pants transportation over the years. Still, I’m not sure I could ever get used to this. To being treated like royalty.
Mason reaches over and plucks my untouched drink from my tray, downing the bubbly liquid before calling the attendant over. “She’ll have a Jack and Coke. Please do not open them, we’ll take care of that.”
“Right away, sir,” the English-speaking beauty says.
He winks at me and I melt. He could have told me I’m being ridiculous. He could have tried to convince me to quit being suspect of every drink not prepared before me. He could have even said he’d protect me if anything like that were to ever happen again. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say any of that. He gets me. And I love him for it.
“So where do you want to go when we land?” he asks.
I’ve been thinking about that very thing. “Skylar’s,” I tell him. “I’m going to have my sisters meet me at her townhouse. There are a few things I need to tell them.”
He picks up my hand, kissing the back of it; pride seeping from his lips and permeating my skin. “Want me to be there with you?”
I shake my head. “I need to do this alone, Mason. I owe them explanations about my behavior. And I suspect you won’t want to be anywhere around when my protective older sisters find out what happened to me. Tears will be shed. Cuss words will be yelled. Shit will get thrown around the room.”
The Mitchell Sisters: A Complete Romance Series (3-Book Box Set) Page 84
