He didn’t know whether to be excited about that or disappointed. He liked the woman in biker boots and a leather jacket. The kindergarten teacher who said ass and was looking for an adventure.
“Oh, a betting man, I see. All right, you’re on,” James said with a spark in his voice Mason would forever associate with Amy.
They stood in the entryway with the rest of the waiting couples and families for another ten minutes. Mason grilled James a bit more on his relationship with Mom. He didn’t think he’d have to worry much. It was clear James liked Mom a lot.
James’s glance shifted to something behind Mason. “Holy shit.”
Mason smiled, certain he knew who had just walked in the door behind him. The Yanks certainly had a penchant for cussing, or maybe it was just James and his daughter. James reached in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed over Mason’s ten dollars. Mason liked being right, but the anticipation now clawing at him told him maybe this once he would have been better off wrong. But he couldn’t not look. He turned to see his mom and Amy gliding toward them, and he stopped breathing.
Leather was a good look for Amy, but this was so much more.
She wore a soft teal dress that danced around her knees as she moved. It wrapped around her body, hugging her breasts and her hips, tied with a small bow on the left side of her waist. The open front showcased a mouthwatering glimpse of cleavage, and her shoulders were barely covered in one-inch strips of fabric. Her hair had been pulled up, leaving her long neck bare and begging to be licked. The ensemble was complete with a pair of black strappy heels.
Frustration simmered inside him. He’d wanted Amy so much before, wanted her even more after having a taste. And now he had to give her up. Damn.
She paused and stumbled when she looked at him. He lunged forward, but his mother grabbed Amy’s arm, helping to steady her. James pounded his open palm on Mason’s back.
“Breathe, son.”
Mason gasped for air, coughing. He hid his face behind his hand as he coughed again, trying to regain his composure. He was toast.
Chapter Four
Amy was grateful for Martha’s soft hand on her forearm. She wasn’t used to spike heels. How the hell had she let Martha talk her into this? She couldn’t take her eyes off Mason as he coughed into his hand and then looked up at her. The heat shining in his gaze reminded her why she’d allowed Martha to primp and polish her for the last hour. She shivered and tried to calm her slamming heart.
He looked amazing in the silk shirt that was almost the same color as her dress. It made his blue eyes shimmer, even in the dim light of the restaurant.
“Rider, table for four,” a woman in black announced, standing behind Mason. He blinked, as if suddenly remembering they weren’t the only two people in the room, and then he turned away from her. She wanted to hate him for being so angry with her presence in his home, but she couldn’t help admiring the way his tight jeans cupped his ass and wondering what it would feel like beneath her hands. Martha let go and took Dad’s arm instead, following Mason and the hostess onto the main floor of the restaurant. Taking a deep breath, Amy followed. She was getting used to walking in the heels and managed not to wind up breaking her ass for the second time that night.
She caught a few heated looks from men as she passed, feeling exposed. Their attention made her uncomfortable. But remembering the searing blue eyes staring back at her gave her confidence to keep her head high, even in this foreign outfit. It also made her stomach flip. The hostess stopped in front of a small round table. Martha and her dad sat beside each other, holding hands like teenagers. Mason sat next to his mom, leaving the only open chair beside him. Great. Dinner was going to be difficult enough, but now she had to sit next to Mason.
Weren’t Southern boys supposed to be all gentlemanly and everything? She’d kind of expected him to pull out the chair for her. Her bare leg brushed against his soft jeans as she sat, and he pulled his leg away as if shocked by electricity. She looked down.
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“What, honey?” Martha said.
She looked up and smiled. “Nothing.” She had to play it cool. She still couldn’t believe her dad had bought Mason’s “I tripped” explanation of the kitchen kiss. She had to talk to him about it. But first she had to decide what the hell she wanted. The thought of him kissing her again made her entire body tingle, not just her lips. She’d never felt such an instant and consuming attraction. Especially to someone who presented himself as sweet but got right in her face the second he got flustered.
She opened her menu and looked through each item and its description as slowly as she could, avoiding Mason’s hot gaze. Just sitting beside to him was enough to pebble her skin with goose bumps. He shifted closer to her, and she bit her lip to keep from gasping. She looked up from the menu to find Martha and Dad staring at her.
“I’m sorry, what?” she asked.
“What would you like to drink?” A waitress stood next to her. She hadn’t even heard the woman approach.
“Water is fine.” She needed something to help cool her down. She glanced back at the menu as Mason gave his drink order. The soft drawl of his words caressed her to the point of distraction. She put the menu down forcefully on the table, and a loud thwack echoed around them. She looked at Mason, and his eyes haunted her. He was just as affected as she was. She knew she’d felt the mutual attraction in the store, and it seemed to have gotten stronger since their fight. She’d never been one to argue with someone she was dating. It just wasn’t worth her time. But Mason pushed all her buttons.
“And maybe a margarita. Frozen, please,” she said before the waitress walked away.
Did he know what effect he had on her? He must. No doubt her cheeks were pink, her chest flushed and rising too quickly beneath the thin material.
“Decided on what you want yet?” she asked.
His smile disappeared. Oh, yes, he understood her meaning very clearly. Did he want to be enemies or friends? “I’m going to have fajitas. Shrimp. They’re delicious,” he said. He dropped the last g on going, every syllable sounding soft and warm as it exited his mouth
She blushed harder. How could he make something so innocuous sound so damned sexy? She didn’t know if she would make it through the night at this rate.
As soon as the waitress set the water down before her, Amy took a sip, trying to cool her molten temperature.
“Has everyone decided?” the waitress said.
Amy looked at her and nodded, grateful for the reprieve from Mason’s scorching gaze. They placed their orders, and Mason started grilling their parents about the past six months. Amy barely listened to the story she already knew. She kept stealing glances of Mason through her mascaraed eyelashes. She wasn’t used to wearing this much makeup, and she had to fight the urge to rub her eyes every few seconds.
Mason looked across the table at Martha and her father as he talked to them. Dad leaned over and squeezed her hand, yanking her out of her thoughts.
“You’re pretty quiet tonight, Ames. Everything okay?”
She nodded.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“I’d say thanks, but I didn’t have anything to do with it. Martha did all the work.”
“I seriously doubt it.” Mason put too much force into the words, then gave her a tight smile. Like she’d done something wrong by getting dressed up. What the hell was he mad about now?
She raised her eyebrows. “But she did. You saw me before,” she said.
“Yes, I did.” He shifted, rubbing his leg slowly against hers. The heat in his voice zinged through her, singeing her insides. Her lips parted before she could stop them. Did he mean he’d liked her casual look? Why did that even matter? She couldn’t care if he found her attractive. She needed him to tolerate her and not try to get between his mom and her dad. That was it.
The waitress came into view and placed Mason’s sizzling skillet before him. “Careful, it’s very ho
t.” The brunette’s voice dripped with almost as much heat as Mason’s had a second ago, and Amy fought the urge to wrap her arm around the back of his chair. She had no right to feel possessive of a man she’d just met. She’d never been the jealous type.
Mason didn’t acknowledge that the other woman had spoken. He looked right at Amy. The waitress left, and Amy tried to force her gaze away from his. She didn’t even know if she was still breathing. Mason looked down at his plate, breaking the spell, and she turned back to Martha.
“Thank you, by the way. I don’t think I said that before,” Amy said.
Martha smiled, seemingly unaware of the sizzle arcing between her son and Amy. “Not a problem at all, dear. You look lovely.”
Amy shifted in her seat, trying to break the physical contact beneath the table before she went up in flames. But he moved with her, sliding the front of his shin between her calf and the leg of her chair. What was that expression about playing with fire? Well, they were both about to get burned.
He rubbed the soft denim against her sensitive skin, and she clenched her jaw to keep from moaning. Was he doing this on purpose?
The waitress reappeared with the rest of their meals, and Amy stopped trying to move away from him. Instead she grabbed eagerly for her margarita and took a large swallow. The iced mixture soothed her. She pulled her leg back, effectively trapping Mason’s leg between hers and the chair. He gasped but quickly covered the sound with a fake cough.
It was the same cough he’d had when she first walked into the restaurant. She smiled down at her plate as she cut into her enchiladas. If he wanted to play this game, they were going to really play it. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to throw caution to the wind, but maybe he was a little more impulsive than he seemed. His demanding invasion in the kitchen hadn’t appeared to be planned. Or maybe it was. Could he really be that calculating?
Their parents kept up a steady stream of conversation through dinner, allowing her to try to find a way out of this mess. Being antagonistic toward Mason would only make things worse. She took a bite of her food as she considered her options. A burst of spices flowed over her tongue. They didn’t have Mexican restaurants like this up north. She and Mason remained quiet except for answering questions from Martha and Dad. She set her fork and knife down next to the plate when she was finished, taking care to be gentle and not slam things when her body was coiled so tightly with need.
Traitor.
She shouldn’t feel so compelled to have him. She didn’t understand it.
“That was delicious,” she murmured.
“Not too hot for you?” Mason glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, his mouth quirking up into a smile.
“Nope. It was just right. But I can’t finish it.” Half an enchilada and some rice still rested on her plate, along with a healthy mound of refried beans. Mason had just finished his last fajita.
“Give it to the garbage disposal,” Martha said.
Amy blinked, confused.
“Mom,” Mason complained.
“What? Ever since you were a kid we’ve joked that you have a hollow leg, so don’t even try to tell me you’re not still hungry,” Martha said.
He shook his head as the waitress came back. She picked up his plate, stepping entirely too close to him for Amy’s comfort. She squashed the burst of jealousy. In turn, Mason leaned closer to her, his right shoulder brushing her left. He smelled of fire and sweet peppers. Her stomach clenched.
The waitress leaned in to take her plate. “You can leave that one.” Mason reached over and lifted the plate. He set it in front of him
Martha laughed. “See?”
“Oh, darn, she took my silverware,” Mason said after the waitress had disappeared from view.
Amy picked up her fork and knife and handed them to him. “Here, use mine.”
He slid his fingers against hers as he took both from her hands. “Thanks,” he said, his voice low. He was definitely giving her mixed signals, and she didn’t like it. And she was giving them right back. Yelling at him, kissing him, pushing him away, and then engaging in this sexy battle of wills. It wasn’t like her. This was too important to screw up just because of her impulsive behavior.
Her skin tingled almost as if she’d been tickled by a thousand tiny feathers. An intimate thing, to use someone’s silverware. Since he’d already thrust his tongue in her mouth, Amy figured he probably wouldn’t mind the germs off her fork. He dug into the rest of her enchiladas and beans, making quick work of them. She tried to pry her gaze from him, but she couldn’t manage.
The salsa music shut off, and the speaker crackled for a second before a man’s voice came through clearly. “Ladies and gentlemen, we do hope you’ve enjoyed your meals.”
The restaurant erupted into applause and shouts of appreciation. Amy looked around. What? After a moment, the crowd quieted, and the disembodied voice was back.
“Well, y’all, we’re glad to hear it. If y’all signed up for salsa with Selena and José this evenin’, please finish your meals and come on down to the dance floor. We’ll be gettin’ started round about fifteen after.”
The man’s voice quieted, and the music came back on. Salsa lessons? The look in Mason’s blue eyes told her she was in trouble. Oh, they’d been signed up for salsa lessons, all right. No wonder Martha had insisted she change. Only Amy didn’t do salsa. It was all sexy and coordinated, and how in the world was she supposed to do that? Especially in these heels.
She shook her head. “I hope you don’t expect me to go out there.” Her voice was barely a whisper.
Mason’s grin widened as he pushed his plate away and took a sip of his beer.
“Of course we’re going out there, Ames,” her father said. “If Martha’s dragging me out there to be humiliated, you’re coming with me. Come on; don’t leave me in my time of need.”
She groaned. She couldn’t really say no to that. Damn. Yeah, she was going to make an ass of herself. No doubt. Mason wiggled his leg against hers, and she shifted, letting him free. He pushed out all the air through his mouth.
She grabbed her margarita and took a big gulp. If Mason thought they could dance together without their parents realizing something was going on between them, he had no idea how perceptive James Easton could be. Dad had never been one to pry into her private life, and she didn’t want to shove it at him now. Her image of this holiday hadn’t included heating up the dance floor with Martha’s son.
They all chatted for a few more minutes as Amy’s dread grew. Finally the music stopped, and the announcer called them all to the dance floor. She didn’t move.
“Come on. Don’t chicken out on me now, kiddo. You know better than to run from a challenge.”
Amy straightened her shoulders and stood up. She raised her eyebrows at her dad and forced a smile. The heels wobbled beneath her feet, but she grabbed the back of the chair and steadied herself.
“That’s my girl.” He took her hand, and they followed Mason and Martha out to the dance floor. The lights over the floor brightened, shining down on them in multicolored patterns, and the thrumming of the salsa music got louder. A woman in a bright red dress and three-inch stilettos stood at the front of the group. Beside her was a man with dark skin, dark eyes, and dark hair. He was downright beautiful. Mason stood on her left, and she squeezed her dad’s hand. She so did not want to do this.
“Welcome to tonight’s lesson. I’m José, and this is Selena. We’ve got a pretty small group tonight. No one else wants to volunteer?” José’s voice came over the speakers clearly from the headset mic. He looked out at the crowd, but no one else came forward.
Releasing her grip on her dad, Amy steadied her nerves.
“We’d like all the first timers to step forward, please,” Selena said.
A hot hand touched the small of her back through the thin silk of the dress, and she tensed. Mason’s burning fingers gave her a little push forward, and she stepped away from him with her dad. The instructo
rs broke them into the two groups—beginners and everyone else. She sighed as she was partnered with her dad instead of Mason. Maybe they’d make it through this okay after all.
She listened to the teachers and tried to make her feet and hips move in the right way, but it was hopeless. She stepped on Dad’s feet four times, each time worse than the one before. He winced but didn’t say anything.
“Okay, that’s it. No more, or you’re going to end up with broken toes,” she said, stepping back from him. The last thing they needed was to spend another Thanksgiving in the hospital.
He smiled, looking relieved. She shook her head as he released her, and she moved back. “You’re much better at this than I am. Why don’t you dance with Martha? I’ll just sit the rest of this one out.” She’d tried. That was all he’d asked from her, right?
“All right, honey. Go ahead.”
Amy turned and had to force herself not to run off the dance floor and back to the table. She took another gulp of her margarita as soon as she sat down.
She smiled as she watched her dad wrap his arms around Martha. His salt-and-pepper hair glimmered in the lights from the dance floor as he spun Martha about. He’d changed into jeans and a black shirt, which made his brown eyes even darker. It warmed her heart to see the way he looked at Martha. He’d fallen hard for her. And she could see the same beginnings of the look on Martha’s face as well.
She blinked, trying to get her eyes to focus on the now darker restaurant, and Mason’s form beside the table became clear.
“Hi,” he whispered, placing a hand on the back of her chair and looking down at her.
“What do you want?” Her voice was thankfully drowned out by the throbbing music. She was sick of his shit.
He held out his hands in front of him and sat down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have tried to tease you.”
“Well, while you’re in the mood to apologize, why don’t you decide whether you want to argue with me or kiss me, please? Because it’s getting old fast.”
“I know. And I’m sorry. Again.”
“For what, wanting to kiss me?”
Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce Page 3
