And if that was the case, then to hell with him.
But Will didn’t think that Mason was that big of a douche. He better not be, since he was currently doing God knew what with Will’s sister, somewhere in this very city.
Will winced. He really didn’t want that image in his head.
“Chief Hawbaker! Will!”
Will turned around to see Camellia hurrying toward him, an umbrella in one hand, a piece of white paper clutched in the other.
“Sorry,” she said, her cheeks pink with exertion, a rueful smile on her pretty face. “But Toby was insistent that you have this.”
Will accepted the piece of paper, careful not to get it wet, which turned out to be a painting of what Will guessed – judging from the uniform and the gun – was supposed to be a police officer.
Except that the uniform was pink.
“Maybe I should bring this up at the next budgetary meeting. We could start a nationwide trend.”
Cam laughed. “I think he was trying to establish common ground.”
“Either that or he has a finely honed sense of humor for a pre-schooler.” He glanced up, found himself meeting her smile while the rain fell down around them.
Her flush deepened, and after several moments, she took a small step back.
“I should get back to Toby,” she said at the same time Will said “Tell Toby I said thanks.”
“Right,” he said just as she answered “I will.”
Another beat passed in which both of them just stood there.
“Well,” she finally said. “It’s about time for me to close up shop, but… It was really nice to see you again, Will.”
“You, too. Take care.”
Will watched her hurry away, and then shook his head.
Apparently he’d been the one who needed glasses in high school.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MASON stood in the lobby of the inn he’d chosen on River Street – an old factory turned historic hotel – dripping water all over the ever-so-slightly slanted hardwood floor. The water rolled down a groove toward Allison’s feet and he glanced at her, smiling apologetically. They were both soaked to the skin. Both Joe and David had offered them their rain slickers, but they hadn’t wanted to leave them at the mercy of the elements since they would be spending the night on the boat, whereas Mason and Allie would be snug in their hotel room. Or rooms.
Hopefully, the former.
Allison’s black hair was plastered to her head so that she resembled a wet seal. And her dress…
Mason jerked his gaze back up. The cotton of her dress wasn’t particularly thick. Wet as it was, it outlined, rather clearly, the fact that – due to the deep V in the back, Mason assumed – Allison hadn’t worn a bra. Couple the wet fabric with the sub-arctic level air conditioning typical of public buildings in the South and…
Mason really hoped it was going to be just one room.
And he rather hoped the front desk clerk would hurry things along.
“Here,” Mason murmured, grabbing his jacket from where he’d laid it over his luggage. “It was folded, so it didn’t get terribly wet.” He draped it over her shoulders. “I’m not sure how much warmth the linen will provide, but it’s better than standing there shivering.”
“Thank you,” Allie said. She pulled it more snugly around herself, rendering the view not quite as exciting, but at least her teeth wouldn’t chatter.
Mason smiled, enjoying the view nonetheless. What was it about the male animal that made the sight of the woman you were crazy about wearing your clothes that caused a surge of fierce possessiveness?
He looked down at her feet again, examining the strappy heels, and pictured her wearing those, his jacket, and absolutely nothing else.
“What?” she whispered.
“I’m sorry?”
“You were looking at me like…”
“Like what?”
“A lion that’s just spotted a stray gazelle at the watering hole.”
He grinned. She wasn’t that far off. He brushed a hand down her wet hair, careful to avoid the spot near her temple which he suspected was still a bit tender. “The gazelle in this scenario apparently fell into the watering hole.”
“Maybe she just wanted to go for a swim to cool off.”
“Well, it does get rather hot on the savannah.”
“Gets pretty hot in Savannah, too.” She slid him a sideways glance. “Or at least it’s going to.”
Mason stared at her, wondering if it was actually possible for a human to spontaneously combust.
“Mr. Armitage?”
“That’s you,” Allie reminded him with a little nudge.
“Right.” Hoping that his combustive state wasn’t readily apparent to the front desk clerk – a woman who reminded him of his Great-Aunt Sheila – Mason made his way to the counter.
“I have you booked in two adjacent riverfront rooms on the fourth floor,” she told him.
“Very good,” Mason said, trying to will enough blood back into his brain so that he could string the appropriate words together. Unless he was badly misreading Allie, he didn’t think they’d require two rooms. But he didn’t want to be presumptuous. Perhaps he should just go ahead and check into both, and then –
Allie stepped up beside him. “I’m sorry,” she said to the clerk, her voice dripping sincerity while her hair dripped on the counter. “But I’m afraid the other half of our party isn’t able to join us. We won’t be needing the second room after all.”
“Oh,” Great-Aunt Sheila said. “Okay. Unfortunately there will be a small charge for the last minute –
“That’s fine,” Mason interrupted, trying not to spontaneously combust yet again. He was fairly certain his clothes were beginning to steam. “Perfectly understandable. Just go ahead and charge away.”
The look she gave him suggested that she suspected he was either drunk or a crazy foreigner, or perhaps a crazy drunk foreigner, but Mason didn’t particularly care. He was now hyper aware of Allison standing beside him, of the heat from her body, of the rain-clean scent of her skin, of the way her nipples had poked through the fine cotton –
“Here we are.” The woman slid the little plastic keycard across the counter. “I’m afraid you just missed our wine and cheese reception, though the bar will of course still be serving.” She rattled off some more information about the city, the hotel, the amenities, the wifi – as if they were going to be on the bloody internet tonight, perhaps tweeting a play-by-play of events – until Mason thought that he might legitimately explode. “If you’d like to wait just a moment, I can have one of the bellhops show you to your room.”
“That’s entirely unnecessary,” Mason said, coming up with what he hoped was a charming smile rather than simply a bearing of his teeth. “I’m sure we’ll be able to find our way.”
There was a pause as the Great-Aunt Sheila look-alike studied him over the top of her glasses. Like her English doppelganger, who’d terrified him as a lad, Mason suspected she knew exactly what he was about. “Take a left off the elevator,” she finally said. “Although considering we’re actually on the third floor here, it might be quicker if you take the stairs.”
“Right. Thank you.”
He shouldered the bags with one hand, grabbed Allison’s with the other.
“You know,” Allie said as they exited the lobby into the open air stairwell that went from River Street two stories below to the upper floor above. “I get the distinct impression that she thought we were in a hurry.”
“That’s because we are.”
She smothered a laugh, and Mason smiled in her direction. “You see what you’ve reduced me to? So much for the reserve for which my countrymen are so famous. We might as well have been wearing T-shirts that said I Just Came Here To Get Laid.”
This time she laughed in earnest. “I’d pay to see you in one of those.”
“And I’d pay to see you out of one of those,” he murmured, pausing to study the room nu
mbers to make sure he was heading the right way. “But since I don’t have one, and since paying to see you out of anything adds a rather tawdry tone to the evening, I’m simply going to have to hope that a T-shirt of any sort won’t be a prerequisite to eventual nudity.”
“Mason,” she said, tugging on his hand to get him to slow down his pace. “Thank you. For going to the trouble to set me at ease.”
He stopped in front of their room, moved by the trust he saw in her eyes. “You’re welcome.” He brushed the back of his fingers over her cheek. “I would say something profound here, but if I’m to be honest, there’s very little blood flowing toward my brain.”
“We should do something about that.”
“A capital idea if I’ve ever heard one.”
He stuck the card into the lock, which continued to glow red. He tried it again, confounded when it didn’t work. He was just contemplating the various ways he could kill the front desk clerk – who was obviously out to get him – and dispose of the body when Allie reached around him, turning the card around.
“You had it backwards,” she said, lips compressed to hold in her laughter.
“I don’t think I’m normally this incompetent,” he told her.
“I think it’s cute.”
“Cute.” He pushed open the door, ushered her inside. “Just what every man wants to hear under the circumstances.”
The room was cool and dim, the grayish light of the inclement evening filtering through French doors. Somewhere on the river, a ship blew its horn, the sound carrying along the water.
Mason sat their bags down, switching a lamp on low while Allie, having eyed the king-sized poster bed with speculation, walked toward the doors, which led out onto a small wrought iron balcony.
She opened the doors, visibly drew in a breath of the rain-scented air.
“I know it’s crazy,” she said as she turned around “considering we just came in here to get out of the rain, but I love listening to it. Do you mind if I leave these open?”
At that moment, he wouldn’t mind if she’d asked him to build a fire in the middle of the floor and do a rain dance around it. “Of course I don’t mind.”
She stood there, her eyes on his, looking slightly lost in his jacket. But the expression on her face was anything but lost. She looked… certain. Aroused.
Willing.
His pulse leapt, but he felt that at this point it was best to let her come to him. To allow her to make the first move. So he tucked his hands into his pockets, assuming a casual stance that belied the animal inside him straining against the leash.
They watched each other across the expanse of hardwood floor until everything else in the room seemed to fade – the fallback of almost every lighting technician or cinematographer to let the audience know that the two people involved had eyes only for each other.
But they didn’t need camera tricks to make that happen. He really could see only her.
Allie began to move toward him.
He waited, and though it took all his willpower, he did not reach for her. Even when she stood mere inches from him, looking up at his face with visible desire, he kept his hands to himself.
“I’d… like to take this wet dress off,” she finally said.
“Do you require assistance?”
When she nodded, Mason slid his hands from his pockets, eased his jacket from her shoulders, never taking his eyes off of hers.
“Turn,” he murmured and when she did, he stared at the exposed skin of her back for a moment before slowly lowering the zipper.
Funny that he’d been in such a hurry that he’d essentially sprinted to the room, but now that they were here, now that they were touching, his impatience seemed to have fled. The leashed animal was still there, but it was biding its time. He’d been afraid that he would wind up pushing her up against the door, taking her right there, but – while that idea held considerable appeal, and he hoped to get to it later – for now he was content to take things slow.
More than content, actually. He was… drenched in her. He wanted to savor.
When the zipper gave way, revealing the round curve of her cheeks, the lacy edge of her knickers, Mason slid his fingers just under the lace – a teasing brush – before easing the wide straps off of her shoulders.
The dress fell to the floor in a sodden plop, and Allie shivered.
“Cold?”
She hesitated, and then glanced at him over her shoulder. “No.”
A beat passed. Two.
“Turn ,” he said again.
After a pause in which he wasn’t certain as to whether she would or not, she drew another shuddering breath and then turned around.
Her eyes, when she met his gaze this time, held just the tiniest bit of uncertainty.
“No walls,” he whispered, and she raised her chin, then nodded.
“No walls,” she agreed.
Mason smiled, and then leaned back so that he could better look at her body. He took his time, running his eyes over every inch of exposed flesh. Her breasts weren’t large – nothing about her was – but they were full and round. Much like her bum. And while her legs were far from the longest he’d seen, they were exceptionally shapely.
He wanted to toss her onto the bed, spread them, and plunge into her wet heat.
But he again locked down his baser desires so that this wouldn’t be over in a matter of minutes.
His perusal ended with her feet, and he tilted his head to examine her shoes. “When we were in the lobby, I imagined you wearing those along with my jacket and nothing else.”
“Should I put the jacket back on?”
His gaze rose back to meet hers. “Later.” He stretched out a finger, ran it lightly around one of her nipples, watching as it hardened into a tight bud. Allie sucked in a breath, following the progress of his finger as it slid down her breast, along her stomach, and finally hooked the edge of the lace knickers that were her only covering.
She closed her eyes.
Mason took her chin between the forefinger and thumb of his other hand. “Look at me.”
She did, slowly raising her lids, though the blue of her eyes appeared cloudy, almost drugged.
“I’m about to burst into flames as it is,” she told him. “Looking at you while you touch me is like pouring on gasoline.”
He smiled, amused that her analogy was so similar to his own. “Good.” They could burst into flame together.
“I want to see you, too,” she whispered.
Mason spread his arms, a wordless invitation for her to undress him. “Quid pro quo,” he said.
Allie sucked in her bottom lip, nearly destroying his resolve, but he held himself still as she stepped forward.
The sight of her delicate hands unbuttoning his shirt, her fingers causing pinpricks of heat where they brushed against his skin, convinced him that she was indeed accurate. Watching while she touched him was like pouring on gasoline.
“The first time I saw you,” Allie said as she freed the last button. “You were shirtless, sweaty, muscles rippling as you helped Tucker move a piece of furniture.” She glanced up, her smile rueful. “I dropped my water bottle on Will’s foot.”
“Ah yes,” he said. “I remember the day well. I endeared your brother to me by mistaking you for his daughter.”
Her hands stilled. “His daughter?”
“Well, you were peeking from behind a curtain,” he explained. “And you are rather small.”
She fisted a hand on her hip. “Seriously?”
The snap of fire in her blue eyes positively delighted Mason. “Small,” he repeated. “But nicely rounded.” He slid a hand around to squeeze her bum. “In all the right places.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Are you trying to irritate me so that I won’t be nervous?”
“Perhaps I’m injecting levity so that I won’t rip off your knickers, bend you over that chair and have my wicked way with you.”
Her mouth formed a little o of surpri
se. Then she looked at the chair, bit the corner of her lip, and when she turned back to Mason, raised her brows.
“Well, I’m afraid that does it,” Mason said, toeing off his shoes, shrugging out of his shirt and attacking his belt simultaneously.
“What?” Allie said, eyes wide.
“Don’t play innocent, you little temptress.”
He finally reached for her, but he was slightly off balance because his feet were still tangled in his pants, and he missed her as she ducked away.
“This chair?” she said, standing behind it.
“You might as well get acquainted with it,” Mason agreed, kicking off his trousers.
Allie laughed, but then her eyes dropped to where he was forming a very noticeable tent in his boxers. And widened.
“You might as well get acquainted with that, also.”
Her gaze shot back up to his.
Then her lips quirked. “Please tell me you don’t have a nickname that you’d like me to call it, like Killer or Babe Ruth.”
That made him pause. “Babe Ruth?”
“You know. Home run record?”
Mason laughed. Not just a chuckle, but a deep belly laugh that caused him to bend over. “Only in America,” he finally said.
“Sorry. I should have said King George, although considering we pretty much whooped up on him during the Revolution, I’m not sure about the connotations.”
He stood back up, and they eyed each other over the chair. “You know,” he said. “The chair sounds appealing, as does the shower, the floor, the counter in the loo, and up against the wall. But this first time,” he said, extending his hand. “I’d like to make love with you in a bed.”
Allie came from behind the chair, took his outstretched hand, her eyes never leaving his. “I should take my shoes off.”
Admit One (Sweetwater Book 2) Page 23
