“Don’t talk about my mother like you know her. You don’t know the first thing about her. Or my family.”
God, she had to fix this.
“I need you to leave my dad alone. Whatever’s going on in your family and with your mother, it has nothing to do with us. So please leave us out of it.”
“Oh, but you’re both right in the middle of it. You saw to that when you showed up.”
She so didn’t like this side of him. Where was the cute flirty guy who helped her carry her stuff to the front of the store? She didn’t want to fight with him, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. Trying to give them both a few moments to cool down, she grabbed the turkey pan out of the bag on the island. But she had to resist the urge to slam it against his head and knock some sense into him. After turning away from him, she reached to set it on top of the fridge. He moved in close behind her. Trying to intimidate her into leaving?
Not a chance.
He could be as frustrated with their being here as he wanted behind closed doors. As long as he didn’t upset Dad. She backed up and slammed her body into his. She wasn’t going to let him scare her off. He grunted and stiffened with the impact. She turned and gave him a little shove, her hands on his chest. She studiously ignored how warm and hard his pecs were beneath her fingers. She didn’t have time for an attraction to Martha’s son, especially if this was really what he was like. So why did the heat from his skin seem to infuse hers, taking over her blood and making her legs weak?
“What did you think was going to happen when you barged in here like this?” he asked.
“Your mom invited us down here weeks ago.” She needed to try another tactic. Make him realize that she and her father weren’t the bad guys. But every time she opened her mouth, something snarky came shooting out. “I’m sorry if she didn’t tell you.” She tried to sound sincere, but she couldn’t. Indignation made her incapable of sincerity.
“You don’t sound sorry. You… Damn it.” The words were forceful, and as he gazed down at her, the anger in his eyes changed to something darker. Desire swirled in the bright blue pools, turning them a deeper shade. Her mouth went dry. She tried to drop her hands, but he moved with her, pancaking her between his body and the wall. Her hands stayed firmly on his pecs while his arms caged her in on either side of her head.
“Look, whatever we thought after our not so chance meeting, that’s off the table now. Never going to happen.” She wouldn’t let them succumb to the heat swirling between them. She would not—
Amy stopped thinking as Mason lowered his head to hers. He crushed his lips against hers, and she moaned, her eyes sliding closed.
She moved her hands up his chest and neck, snaking them into his curls and holding him close as his hot mouth devoured hers. He pushed his body into her, and she slid her tongue out to lick across his lips. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, and she was glad for his body so tightly pressed against hers and for the wall behind her. If not for both, she would have melted into a puddle of need at his feet.
He drove away all her uncertainties about the holiday. Pushed aside her fears and her hope and left her open and raw to his explorations. Her world narrowed to him. His mouth on hers, his hair beneath her fingers, his hard chest pressed into her breasts. She never wanted him to stop. But when Mason pulled back from the kiss, she could think again.
How dare he kiss her?
She’d been fighting with him, damn it. But she’d kissed him right back. Now her breathing was shallow, her face flushed. And it wasn’t all from anger.
“Sorry,” he whispered. But he didn’t move back. And she didn’t ask him to or push him away the way she should have. Instead she stared into those blue eyes, almost a deep midnight now. She shivered at the heat burning there. Honestly, she couldn’t even remember what they’d been fighting about. She let go of his neck and leaned back against the wall, putting a few inches of space between them.
“Hey, Ames, need some—” Dad stopped as he pushed through the kitchen door, his dark eyebrows raised. “What the hell?”
Mason closed his eyes and sighed, stepping back and turning to face Dad. Shit. Thank God Dad hadn’t come in ten seconds earlier. All he saw now was his daughter crowded against the wall.
She cleared her throat, and Dad stopped glaring at Mason, but only for a second. He turned his brown eyes on her, and she fought the urge to wilt beneath his gaze.
“I don’t know what the hell you thought you were doing, young man, but that’s not acceptable.”
“Dad, it’s fine. Don’t make a big deal.” She moved away from the wall and closer to Dad. She couldn’t admit to him that Mason hadn’t been intimidating her so much as seducing her…if rather forcefully.
“Amy,” he said.
Just one word made her five years old again. Dad never used that tone with her. It was almost enough to make her crack and tell him everything. She needed to smooth this over. If he thought Mason was a jackass, despite the fact that he might be right, Dad wouldn’t want to hang around. He’d made it very clear it was important she like Martha and her kids, so she would play nice with Mason if it killed her.
And there would be no more kissing.
“Martha wants to take us out to dinner. Why don’t you head upstairs and get ready? I’ll help Mason with the groceries,” Dad said.
It was clear what would happen as soon as she left Mason alone in the kitchen with her father. But she couldn’t see an easy way around it. She didn’t want to argue anymore with Mason. And she certainly didn’t want to fight with Dad.
“I’ll be upstairs, then,” she said. She sent an apologetic look to Mason over her shoulder on the way up the stairs.
Please don’t kill each other.
Chapter Three
Why did you kiss her? Idiot. Mason wanted to run up the stairs after her, but James stepped in front of him, blocking his path.
He stared at James, ready to take whatever consequences he had to like a man. It had been stupid to fight with Amy and worse to kiss her. Now he was being left to clean up the mess. Thanks, Amy. Though he probably deserved her desertion after the way he’d talked to her. And damn her for screwing up everything he’d planned to do with her from the moment she’d bumped into him. He hated it when people screwed up his plans.
“You want to explain what the hell that was all about?” James said. “And quickly if you don’t mind. Your mother has enough to worry about this week. She told me you were a good guy, Mason. But then I walk in and see this? You owe me an explanation and my daughter an apology.”
“I know this is going to sound awfully cliché, but it wasn’t what it looked like.” He racked his brain for a convincing line. “I was helping her put something on top of the fridge. She couldn’t reach. She turned and tripped me on accident. I grabbed the wall to keep from falling. That’s all.”
At least her dad hadn’t witnessed the kiss. There would be no talking his way out of that one. He shrugged, making sure all vestiges of desire were wiped from his face.
“You better make sure Amy is going to tell me the same thing when I get upstairs.”
“Yes, sir, she will. I tripped. That’s all.”
James nodded and turned from him, heading up after his daughter. The floor creaked at the top of the stairs, and Mason sighed. Amy had been listening to his cover story. She would tell her father exactly the same thing. Thank God. Not that he really cared what James thought of him. Hell, he didn’t even want James and his daughter here for the holiday. But Mom did. And he’d vowed to give her whatever she wanted this holiday season. Even if that meant being uncomfortable around Amy for the next four days.
“What is going on?” Mom asked, waltzing into the kitchen. Never one to mince words, his mother. He smiled at her. She looked better than she had the last time he’d seen her. She’d dyed her short curls back to red again instead of letting the gray take over. And she’d regained some of the weight she’d lost through her last year of marriage and the divo
rce. She wore a pair of pastel pants and a matching top. The peach color looked right against her tan skin. It was nice to see her in such a better state. Even with the scowl on her face.
“Nothing, Mom. Everything’s fine. Where do you want this?” He held up the cranberry sauce, trying to distract her even though it was futile.
She arched her eyebrows, and he knew he was in trouble. Mom stepped closer, snatching the can from his grasp and slamming it onto the counter.
“There was probably a better way to tell you they would be here. But what the hell is wrong with you, Mason? You and Amy practically ran out of the room. I know it hasn’t been that long since your dad and I split, but…”
Ah, jeez. “That’s not the problem. I just… It was a shock, that’s all.”
She eyed him. “We’re going to go out for dinner. Together. And I need you to be nice to James and his daughter. They’ve come a long way to spend Thanksgiving with us.”
“Of course.” He had to pull it together. Honestly he didn’t want to screw things up for her, and Mom would never approve of his lusting after James’s daughter. No matter how many rude remarks came out of his mouth, his body seemed determined to seduce Amy into liking him. He had to shut that urge off. Fast.
“I’ll go change. James will be down shortly. Why don’t you get dressed and head over to Armando’s with him? Amy and I will meet you there.” Mom started up the stairs, not giving him a chance to comment or protest.
Oh, boy. Wednesday at Armando’s was Salsa Night.
An image of Amy sauntering across the dance floor, hips swinging, body sweating, flashed through his mind, heating his blood. Would he be able to resist her? He couldn’t afford not to go. His mother would never tolerate his absence. And he knew exactly what his body’s reaction to Amy’s swaying hips would be. One kiss and he was already consumed with desire for her.
After grabbing his suitcase from the truck, he headed upstairs to change. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt, leaving the cuffs undone and rolling them up. His mother had told him the shirt was teal and would bring out the color in his eyes. Whatever the hell that meant. He turned to look in the mirror, wondering if he should shave, trimming the day’s growth around his goatee. Would Amy like it better that way?
He didn’t need to worry about what Amy would like, but he couldn’t seem to shake images of her or erase the feel of her soft pink lips. Her upper lip was thin, perfect for licking, the bottom one thicker, softer. Her tongue had been insistent, her hands almost desperate as they clutched his short curls. She’d melted against him, igniting his soul in a way he hadn’t known in so long he’d forgotten the feeling. Maybe he’d never really had it.
And who knew his body would respond so much to verbal sparring? She’d been so pissed at him. But probably not as angry as he was. He’d reacted poorly, more like his hotheaded little brother than his levelheaded self. No one had ever evoked such a quick and furious reaction from him. He’d been downright mean to her, and that was wrong. He was a jackass.
He grabbed a comb and ran it through his curls, trying to expunge the feel of her nails scraping against his scalp. Feeling disgusted with himself, he put on his dress shoes and headed down the back staircase and into the kitchen. He picked up the keys for the rental off the island, where James sat.
“Amy and you either worked out a cover story telepathically, or you were telling me the truth.” James didn’t waste any time on pleasantries.
Guilt burned through him, but Mason refused to flinch. He hated lying, and he was never very good at it. “Yes, sir.” Telepathy didn’t have much to do with it, but he and Amy were on the same page. He kept his grip loose on the keys even though he wanted to crush them.
“Good. I want you to understand a few things before the girls come downstairs.”
“We’ve got a twenty-minute car ride. We can talk there.”
“Fine,” James said.
Mason sighed and turned, leading him through the front of the house and out to his rental pickup. They climbed in, and Mason started the truck and turned the heat on low. It was chilly, but he was sure James was used to it and worse, being from the Northeast.
James put his seat belt on and turned to Mason. “I know your mom and dad didn’t get divorced until last year. I respect the fact that you probably think I’ve come down here trying to mess with your family. You can be as mad at me as you want. Trust me, son, I can take it. What I cannot take is you being anything but the perfect Southern gentleman to my little girl. So whatever issues you have with me, you leave her the hell out of it, understand?”
Mason backed out of the driveway as he considered his response. He wasn’t really pissed at James. He knew his parents would never get back together. He wasn’t a kid, and after the way his dad had treated his mom, he didn’t want them to get back together.
Mom surely hadn’t told James about the intricacies of her marriage to Mason’s father, and he wasn’t going to air her private business in front of James. But the man was protective of his daughter. Mason could understand that. After going one round with her, though, he wasn’t worried she needed that protection. At least not from his suddenly appearing temper. Whether she’d need to be shielded from his desires remained to be seen. He fought the urge to drum his fingers on the steering wheel as he remembered the verbal and then physical tongue-lashing she’d given him.
“I would never take out my anger on your daughter, sir. Honestly. And truthfully I am not angry you’re here. Just surprised.” He turned onto the main road from their neighborhood.
“Your mother asked me and Ames to come down about two months back. I told her it wouldn’t be a good idea. Amy and I haven’t celebrated Thanksgiving since…well, in a long time. But they ganged up on me and convinced me to come. You know how persuasive your mom can be.”
Why didn’t they celebrate Thanksgiving? He wanted to ask but refrained. Instead he asked James how long he’d known Mom and what his intentions were. Mason had watched his mom slowly slide away from life, away from her family for two years before she’d kicked Dad out. He’d be damned if he would allow anyone else to hurt his mother like that.
“I know your dad hurt her. She’s told me pretty much everything about her life the past thirty years. And I promised her, and I’ll promise you now. I will never hurt her like that.” James closed his mouth tightly.
Mom had told him? She hadn’t told Mason or his siblings, though he’d known for a long time. He didn’t even think she’d told her sister. What made James so special?
“I know about the affairs,” Mason said.
I knew before she did. He hadn’t admitted his failings to Mom yet. She’d be crushed when she found out he’d known since high school his dad was a cheating rattlesnake. His father had told him she knew and chose to stay. Like an idiot, Mason had believed him. He’d kept that secret for ten years.
Mom had always talked to him about the importance of marriage and vows. About sticking together through the good times and the bad. He hadn’t known that she’d been referring to his father’s work schedule and her demanding teaching job, not the affairs.
“She said she hadn’t talked about it with any of the kids.”
“I’m sure she thinks she’s doing us all a favor by not trying to turn us against our dad, but…”
“How did you find out?”
“I caught him in the act.”
James reached for the dash as Mason swerved into the left lane to avoid an SUV that had slammed on its brakes. “Ah. Does your mom—”
“No,” Mason cut him off as he moved back into the right lane.
“Right. Well, I won’t mention anything to her.”
“I would appreciate that. It’s all kind of a big complicated family mess right now.” And as far as he was concerned, none of James’s business.
He drove in silence for a while, unable to speak around the guilt weighing down on him. If he’d told his mother sooner about his father’s indiscretions, wou
ld she have crumbled all that much quicker, or would it have been marginally less horrific? He’d never know.
He slowed the truck and turned into Armando’s parking lot. After parking, he turned to James. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so abrupt. It’s just that Mom’s been through a hell of a lot, and I really would like this holiday to go well for her. Help her get back into the swing of things, so to speak. I don’t want to talk to her about my father. Not yet, anyway.”
“I understand, son. It’s all right. Shall we?” James opened the door and got out before Mason could say anything else.
He climbed out and locked the pickup and then followed James across the parking lot. They went inside the dimly lit restaurant, and Mason groaned at the hordes of people in the entryway. How long would Amy and his mother be?
Mason put on the famous Rider charm and got their name to the top of the hostess’s list, both for a table and for salsa lessons. He turned back to James, who smirked.
“What?” he said as innocently as he could manage.
“That dimple gets you whatever you want, doesn’t it?”
There wasn’t any use denying it now. “Yeah, sometimes it does. I figured it would be better than having the ladies standing here in heels for an hour.”
“You clearly don’t know my daughter. She is not going to be wearing heels. Unless they’re on a pair of enormous biker boots.”
Mason smiled, remembering the boots with the tinkling chains he’d admired in Hanson’s earlier that evening.
“Mom will have turned her powers of persuasion on your daughter for sure.”
“Amy didn’t bring heels with her.” James was so certain of his daughter and her personality. Mason had experienced her razor-sharp wit and tongue firsthand. Maybe James was right. But Mason wasn’t convinced.
“Ten bucks says your daughter walks through that door looking like a different person.”
Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce Page 2
