by Linda Kage
He clenched his teeth and sent me a scowl. “I can’t!”
I shook my head. “Why not?”
“I just...” He winced. “I’m not going to do this forever. I do have a plan. As soon as I graduate, I’m getting a kick-ass job. Then I’m setting Mom and Sarah up in a house, one they own, not another rental. And I’m going to find my own place. I’m going to be free.”
I nodded as I listened. It was sad to hear how trapped he felt in his current life and how responsible he felt for his mom and sister. “Why can’t Dawn buy her own house now? And why can’t you move out now, if that’s what you want?”
He sent me a scandalized blink. “Are you crazy? Mom cannot be trusted with finances. Before I stepped in, she forgot to pay…pretty much everything. She’s a great mother, don’t get me wrong. I would give my life for her, but the woman can’t budget worth shit. Sometimes, she would forget to pay the electric bill, and the lights would just go out while we were eating dinner or I was taking a shower. Sometimes—”
“So, wait.” I waved my hands to stop him. “I’m sorry, but I guess I just don’t understand how you finishing college is going to teach your mother to learn to finance and take care of herself without you.”
He stared at me as if he couldn’t comprehend my concern.
“Even if you build up a big enough nest egg for her and Sarah to be set for life, she could still forget to pay for utilities after you leave.”
Mason’s glower was irritated. “Are you saying I’m never going to be able to move out on my own?”
“No, I’m saying you need to come at this from a different angle. It sounds like Dawn needs to learn a little organization.” And to quit stacking so much responsibility on her son’s shoulders.
“She’s starting to come around,” he argued. “I’ve worked with her for the past two years. And every couple of months, she’ll pay the bills without my help.”
“Well, then there you go. Maybe she could do it all on her own now. Ergo, you can stop doing something so drastic to save your family. They’ll be okay. You don’t have to keep breaking the law or your own moral code and continue doing something you obviously hate just to make more money.”
“I have a plan,” he repeated, his jaw going obstinately hard, telling me nothing was going to make him deviate.
I rolled my eyes and muttered, “Yeah. A stupid plan.” My voice might’ve been a tad petulant, but I didn’t care. His stupid plan was keeping me from jumping his bones this very second. It was keeping me from being with the one person who saw me and liked what he saw.
As if he understood his pigheadedness was leaving me shafted, he sat beside me. “I’m sorry, Reese. I didn’t mean to dump all my problems on you. I…” He swallowed. The look he sent me said volumes in the apology department, but the words he said sounded more like, “Do you have anything to drink?”
I blurted out a hard laugh. Yeah, a stiff drink sounded perfect right about now.
“Sure. Hold on.” I pushed to my feet and left him on the sofa. I needed a little space from him anyway before I slapped him silly.
In the kitchenette, I opened the top cupboard and stretched up onto my toes to reach the only bottle of alcohol I had in the place. After filling a crystal cup with ice, I poured a healthy shot and carried both the glass and bottle to the couch.
“Here.”
Relief crossed his face. “Thanks.” He downed the drink whole, only to sit upright, nearly spitting it out as he coughed and sputtered. “God.” He grimaced and scraped the surface of his tongue against the bottom of his top teeth, wiping off the remaining flavor. “What was that? Tequila?”
Shocked he didn’t know his liquors, I gaped. “No. It was gin.” How could anyone not recognize the taste or smell of gin?
“Blech. Tasted like Pine-Sol.”
Umm…Yeah. Duh.
He gave a sudden laugh. “I just meant water when I asked for a drink, you know.”
“Oops.” I shrugged.
He shrugged too.
“Oh, well. This’ll do too.” He reached out and snagged the bottle from my hand to pour himself another shot. He merely shivered in revulsion with his next swallow. “Damn, that’s nasty.” He cast me an arched-eyebrow glance. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a gin drinker.”
“I’m not. It was in the cabinet when I moved in. Must be my aunt and uncle’s.”
He snorted, pouring himself more. “Nice way to tempt their underage, college-student niece into staying sober.” Hissing through his teeth after shot number three, he looked at me from slightly watered eyes.
I grinned because his reaction was so darn cute. “Let me guess. You’re not a big drinker.”
Mason shook his head before taking a deep, bracing breath and downing number four. A green tinge touched his cheeks, but he swallowed again and kept everything down only to flash clenched teeth.
“Well, newbie. If you keep shooting them that fast, you’re going to be sicker than a dog.”
He eyed me, considering it. “But I’ll be drunk?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“Good.” He slammed number five without a wince.
I had to admit; I was a little impressed. The boy was a fast learner. That or the Pine-Sol had already numbed his taste buds.
Two gulps later, I intercepted shot number eight, tugging the bottle out of his hand before he could pour. “Trust me, honey. That did the trick.”
He blinked at me, swaying a little. “Are you sure? I don’t feel—”
“Oh, you will, just as soon as the alcohol hits your bloodstream.”
“Good.”
When he nodded, trusting my word implicitly, I had to ask. “Now, why are we getting rip-roaring drunk again? Because of the almost-getting-caught thing or because I called your plan stupid?”
“It’s not stupid.” He scowled before adding, “And I’m getting drunk,” he jabbed a finger into his sternum, “because of earlier tonight. You’re staying sober to take care of me.”
“I am?” This was news to me. When I lifted my eyebrows, letting him know he should probably revise that last statement to sound a little more pleading and a lot less demanding, he merely sent me a sweet, goofy grin.
“Come on, Reese. Please. I just want to forget this evening ever happened. Forget what I am, forget who I am…who I…”
His words trailed off as his attention strayed to the frozen image on my television screen. “Hey, what movie is this?” Spotting my popcorn bowl, he snagged it off the coffee table, settled it into his lap and began to eat. Then he plopped his feet up on my coffee table.
Yeah, I think the alcohol was beginning to kick in.
Sighing, I slumped, defeated, onto the sofa beside him. Apparently, we would be watching movies together tonight while I babysat his cute, drunk ass.
Man, I was whipped.
A part of me realized I had to be the stupidest idiot ever to allow him to stick around. I was pretty much welcoming heartbreak. But another part of me said I was doing it for the security. Knowing Jeremy was actively pursuing me had me spooked. Even a drunkard in the house made me feel better.
But secretly, I was mostly just tickled he’d come to me—and no one else—to get drunk on and tell his personal, most private feelings to. I actually felt honored to babysit him.
“You might get a kick out of this movie,” I said, relieved for a conversation changer. “I was just starting a Harry Potter marathon when you knocked on my door.”
He perked up. “Really? Harry Potter?”
“Yep. I’m halfway through the first one, but I can start over if you want.”
“Yeah. That sounds great. I haven’t seen the movies either.”
Scrounging up the remote, I shook my head. “That’s so insane. I can’t believe you haven’t seen the movies or read the books. You’re like…un-American, or something.”
He cocked me a confused look. “How can it be un-American? I thought they were written by a British author.”
I sighed. He would remember that, wouldn’t he? “Well, then, you’re un…earthling.”
He laughed and tossed a kernel into the air in an attempt to catch it with his mouth. But he totally missed and the piece of popcorn bounced off his nose. So I had to laugh too.
“Feeling the buzz yet?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
I didn’t get to bed until nearly two in the morning. After stealing a few more shots of gin, Mason passed out midway through the second movie, and since I was dead on my feet, I turned everything off. I removed his shoes, pulled his feet onto the sofa, and found an extra blanket to drape over him. Then I turned off the lights and stumbled to my bedroom.
I won’t lie. I watched him sleep for a good ten minutes before getting off the couch. But he looked so peaceful and loveable all cozied up with his head tucked down by his shoulder. Tempted to brush away the dark piece of hair that had fallen over his eye, I finally forced myself to retreat.
I cleaned up and changed into my sleepwear before crawling under my sheets, completely exhausted, and yet hyper aware of his presence still in my apartment.
Glad another person was close so soon after learning about Jeremy, I was able to drop off pretty easily. Sleep had just overtaken me when I was jerked awake by someone lifting my blankets and crawling into bed with me.
I bolted upright. “What do you think you’re doing?”
My indignant squawk only made Mason grumble. “The couch is too short. I can’t sleep in there.”
I chewed on my bottom lip as he plopped down beside me and didn’t move. There was barely enough light in the room to see his outline. And what a striking outline he made. But really, he couldn’t sleep in my bed with me.
Could he?
No! No, Reese, no. Boot his hot, gigolo ass out. Now!
“Want me to drive you home?” I asked, biting my lip and unable to do such a blasphemous thing as boot Mason Lowe anywhere away from my bed.
But he was already half passed out again. “Mmph?”
“Well, fine.” I huffed and lifted the sheet. “I guess I’ll sleep on the couch then.”
Being that I had such a small room, I’d pushed my bed against the wall, and my side faced the wall. So I had to crawl over him to escape. Or maybe I should say I tried to crawl over him. His arm caught me around the waist and anchored me back to the bed so that I landed on my side facing away from him.
“Don’t leave,” he slurred.
His voice was so full of wounded plea, I fell motionless, undecided.
This was dangerous territory.
Behind me, Mason scooted close, spooning.
Oh, my God, spooning was so romantic and cuddly.
“You feel good.” He rumbled out the words from a husky, sexy, sleep-clogged voice.
When he sighed, that was it. Kaput. Towel officially thrown in. I wasn’t going anywhere.
I let out a relinquishing breath and relaxed against him. In return, he hummed his gratitude.
“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I tried to keep it platonic. “But sometimes I get night terrors and scream or moan while I thrash around. I might wake you or accidentally give you a black eye.”
The muscles in the arm wrapped around me twitched. “You get night terrors? Like nightmares?”
I closed my eyes. “Yep.”
He tucked me protectively closer to him. “Why?”
“Oh…that’s another story for another day.”
Patting my hip in reassurance, he whispered, “Don’t worry, Reese. I’ll be here to keep you safe, no matter what monster invades your dreams.”
His words were so sweet, my eyes misted.
Warm fingers dusted my shoulder as if to console me, only to pause. “Shit. Are you naked?”
“What? No.” His touch suddenly felt like a hot brand on my bare skin. “I’m wearing a camisole and shorts.”
I was!
But he’d already discovered this for himself when his thumb found the spaghetti strap and the palm of his other hand caught the hem of my cami and skimmed just under it to brush across my navel.
“Can I turn the light on?”
I stiffened. “Why?”
“So I can see you.” His thumb traced the camisole’s strap gently, running down the back of my shoulder blade. “I want to see you so bad.”
“Let’s not,” I said, my throat tight with the urge to mutter, ‘Screw it; take me now!’
It had been over a year since I’d had sex. Up until this very second, I would’ve sworn I didn’t miss it in the least. Jeremy, my one and only source of experience on the subject, hadn’t exactly been famous for his giving nature. I did not have fond memories.
But Mason barely grazing my tummy had me totally reconsidering.
He leaned his face in close to the back of my head, inhaling deeply. “Damn it, Reese. I have a plan.”
His touch turned desperate and scorching hot. Catching my hip, he pulled me snug against him. When my bottom cradled his erection through all our clothes, I grasped a handful of pillows by my head and sucked in a lungful.
Don’t grind back, Reese. Whatever you do, don’t grind back.
I couldn’t help it; I arched my tush out and rubbed against him. Hard. He groaned and slid his hand into the waistband of my shorts, cradling me low—oh, so very low—on my abdomen as if to guide my movements.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Was he going to…?
Holy hell. His palm slid between my legs, pressing against me through my panties. My breathing went short and shallow. I panted, trying to control myself, but the tingling in my breasts and the ache he was stroking with his fingers was throwing off my concentration.
“Mason,” I choked out.
“We can’t do this,” he said, his voice full of naked need while he used the cloth of my underwear to sweep over a sensitive spot and make me cry out. “I have a plan. Don’t you understand?”
When he leaned in to take a flesh full of my shoulder between his teeth and grind his hips to my ass, I squeezed my eyes closed. “Yes, I…I understand. I understand I’m not part of your plan.”
A strangled sob tore from him. For a microsecond, he clutched me tight like he was going to throw his stupid plan by the wayside and shag me silly. The way he clung to me made me feel like a lifeline for his tortured soul. And the press of his fingers about had rockets blasting off behind my eyes. I was so freaking close.
Then he let out a pent-up breath.
“I respect you,” he grated out the words. “I admire, and adore, and respect you, Reese Randall. I will not do this.”
And just like that, his body went lax and his hand eased from the waistband of my shorts.
I held my breath as his nose burrowed through my hair before his lips found my scar. He kissed it gently. “Good night, friend,” he whispered before he turned away with his back abutted to mine.
Wrung out from how taut he’d wound my hormones, I let out a hard pant.
Fudge.
Mason Lowe might be a pure gentleman when it came to not taking advantage when there was alcohol involved, but he was also a damned dirty tease. I throbbed, physically throbbed for release.
He breathed deeply behind me, telling me he’d passed out. I was tempted to elbow him in the spine and wake his drunk butt up, demand some kind of compensation for the torture he’d just put me through.
But I admired, adored, and respected him too. And I totally dug that he felt the same. Besides, I would’ve regretted it in the morning because, come on, he’d almost gotten caught by a husband tonight. He was not the kind of guy a girl could start anything with.
Eyes watering with confusion, regret, depression, and a whole lot of sexual frustration, I buried my damp cheek into my pillow and cursed when my nose ring caught on the cloth. Clamping my thighs together to ease some of the ache between my legs, I waited for the morning to come. I didn’t try to climb over him again to escape, because sadly, despite all the heartache he was putting me through, there was nowhere else I want
ed to be but with him.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
I woke the next morning, wrapped in a snuggly human ball of warmth and not much else. Since it had become a habit to make sure my nose ring hadn’t come loose overnight, I patted my nostril to find everything in order and then let my hand settle on Mason’s forearm resting on my hip. His skin felt so nice I gave a little sigh of delight, trailing my fingers up and down his arm. Then I opened my eyes and blinked at the wall only about two inches away from my face.
Snuggly Mr. Lowe had hogged so much of the bed he had me nearly pinned against the sheetrock, and all the blankets were wrapped around him. I probably would’ve been cold if it wasn’t for the fact he was providing himself as my personal blanket. A toasty warm personal blanket.
Soaking in the experience of waking up in bed with him, I lay there for longer than I should have.
Despite everything, lying tangled up with him felt amazing. I could have stayed right where I was all day, but my bladder wasn’t so impressed by his cuddly warmth or drugging smell. The selfish thing demanded attention. Pronto. Whimpering as I unwound his arm from around my waist, I crawled over my blanket-wrapped bed partner and scampered for the bathroom.
Since I was already there, I went ahead and took a shower, then realized too late I’d forgotten to bring fresh clothes in with me to change into. When I snuck the door open, I expected him to be up and alert. But he was still dead to the world and mummified in my sheets. I skipped across the floor to my closet and picked out an outfit in hyper speed.
Mason hadn’t so much as stirred.
When a naughty touch of inspiration hit me, I couldn’t stop myself. I watched the prone lump on the bed, the back of his head turned my way, as I dropped my towel to the floor. And the bastard still had no clue what kind of show I was putting on for him.
Oh, well. It was probably for the best he didn’t wake up and—oopsie—catch me changing. We were just friends.
He looked as if he might snooze for another millennium or so, so I jotted a quick note—in case something shocking happened and he actually opened his eyes while I was gone—and told him I was going out to get some breakfast.
