Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce

by Rachell Nichole

  “For everything,” he said. He sounded sincere, but she couldn’t be certain. She didn’t know him that well, after all.

  “Martha make you come over and apologize?” she said. She knew from the way he avoided her gaze that Martha had.

  “Yes, for being rude and quiet. Not for the other stuff. She also wanted me to try to get you to come out and dance. She said you’ve seemed on edge since I showed up.”

  “You think?” She took a deep breath. “Sorry. Shit. I’m sorry too. You may have started it, but I definitely played into it. Neither of us is acting very responsibly.”

  “No, we’re not. Look, we only have another minute tops before Mom comes over here to whack me upside the head for being an idiot.” He stuck out his hand to her. “Truce?”

  She eyed the hand warily. She didn’t know if she could trust that he’d stop trying to play mind games with her. But this wasn’t the place for that discussion. If he was willing to put on a front instead of using their animosity to drive a wedge between Martha and her dad, she would have to accept him at his word. She wasn’t used to such a hot-and-cold reaction from men. They usually pursued her with a full-court press, not this back-and-forth shit Mason kept playing. But she didn’t think there was another option right now.

  She shook his hand. “Yeah, truce.”

  He pulled her to her feet. “Shall we dance?”

  “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” His fingers were too warm against hers, and he hadn’t released her.

  “Why not? You’re the one who trapped my leg at dinner. The one who put your hands all over me in the kitchen. You’ve been driving me crazy.” His voice was edged with steel. Like she was to blame for the attraction between them. Just like that, the truce was already in danger. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Shit,” he whispered.

  She wanted to argue with him but shook her head instead. They weren’t going to fight. Even if she had to bite her tongue at every turn. Mason stared at her, his eyes almost level with hers now that she wore heels. She could smell him. The way she had all through dinner, only now it was stronger, headier. She could bury her nose in the crook of his neck and be content for the rest of the night.

  “Please,” he said. That was it. One word. And her entire body clenched in response. She was leaning into him before she had time to convince herself it was a bad idea. He moved back and turned, stopping her from the stupidity of trying to kiss him. She went willingly with him, despite her trepidation. He hadn’t apologized for being angry, even though he had no right to be upset with her. But as he pushed a firm hand into the small of her back and yanked her body tightly against his, she didn’t care if he never said another word. As long as he never let go of her.

  Heat blazed through her as he took her hand in his. She placed her left on his shoulder like she was supposed to, and he stood still, holding her, letting her get used to the feel of his body against hers. Even as she relished the touch, the smell, and the look in his eyes, she marveled at how the tension between them seemed to ratchet up her desire and her indignation at the same time. Like that fine line between want and disdain had gotten all tangled up.

  Maybe it was because she’d seen a glimpse of the sweeter side of him at the store. And she’d caught the vestiges of it every time he talked to his mom. He was a good guy, despite his reservations toward her. She was sure of it. So she relaxed, letting herself melt against him. He dipped his head to her ear, and she shivered as his breath danced along her bare neck.

  “Listen to the music. Feel it. And follow me.”

  His words caressed her inside and out, and she feared she might come apart in his arms, right there on the dance floor in front of everyone if he spoke much more. Thankfully he lifted his head. She’d never really been any good at following. But Mason’s hips shifted against hers, and her legs moved with him. She stepped back, and then he pulled her to him again. He moved this way and that, and she followed every step. Never missing a beat. Never allowing her gaze to slip from his face. And she let the volcano between them smolder.

  Chapter Five

  God, can she feel that? Mason pushed the thought aside. If Amy could feel the erection growing beneath his silk boxers, she gave no indication. Her skin was flushed to a beautiful pink color against her dress, and she was pliant in his arms as he moved them back and forth across the dance floor to the pulse of the music. It thrummed in his ears, in his veins, driving him faster. His breathing was rapid, his heart dancing in time to the music.

  Her mouth was open in a soft pant. Her hazel eyes were a dark green under the lights, and the burning desire within them mirrored his. If she were any other woman on the planet, he would be taking her home to bed. She was so responsive to him.

  But every time they spoke, he was rude. Or she was snarky. Most of the time, it was both. That kind of passionate anger could easily flip into the heightened tangle of sensations now blanketing him. He’d seen this kind of angry/sexy relationship before, but he’d never felt the all-consuming burn that now tore through him. He let go of her back, and her eyes widened.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve got you,” he murmured as he pulled her out into a daring spin. She teetered for a second on her heels, but then she moved through the momentum, and her body slammed back into his. He caught her again with both hands and continued to weave them around and around the other dancers. He’d long ago lost sight of his mother.

  Would she be able to see the electricity sparking between him and Amy? If she couldn’t, she’d probably need her eyes checked. He was sure everyone around them would notice it. But he couldn’t seem to make himself care, even if he knew he should. In that moment, as the music stopped and Amy stilled in his embrace, what happened next didn’t matter. For once in his life, he couldn’t see what was coming around the corner, and he couldn’t care less.

  All that mattered was the look Amy gave him. She was only an inch, maybe two, shorter than him in the heels. And that look dared him to kiss her. How could he not rise to such a challenge? He leaned down the two inches he needed just as the others around them burst into applause, the whole restaurant closely following. Amy stiffened and shifted her body away from him as if remembering where they were and that they’d agreed they wouldn’t be kissing again. Ever. She pushed against his chest. Just as she had in the kitchen.

  He let her go before he gave in to the desire to yank her mouth to his and kiss the breath right out of her. Amy gasped, careening backward on the thin heels and knocking into the couple behind her. She slammed into both of them, falling to the floor on top of the unsuspecting bystanders.

  The applause stopped. Crap. She’d knocked them down like the head pin, her right side landing on the man and her left side on the other woman. He bent down to help her. She glared at him, but he ignored it.

  She swatted his hand away and scrambled off the other two. Stubborn woman. Amy stumbled to her feet and turned to the couple as two other dancers helped them up. He wanted to run his hands over Amy and see if she was okay, but that would be inappropriate.

  It was bad enough he’d been all over her just a moment before. But that had been under the guise of the dance. It was allowed. Acceptable.

  “Are you all right?” Mason said.

  “I’m fine,” she said through clenched teeth. “How many times a day are you going to ask me that?”

  “Well, that depends. How many times a day are you going to break your ass?”

  “Mason!”

  He turned to see his mother staring at them. He shrunk under her gaze. Even at almost thirty, he rarely swore, and that tone in his mother’s voice was the reason why.

  Amy laughed. “I’m okay, Martha. Thanks.”

  She didn’t get it. She thought Mom was yelling because he’d knocked her over, not for his language.

  “I’m so sorry,” Amy said to the woman and man she’d fallen on. “I lost my balance. I’m not used to high heels.” Her voice was thin. With pain or embarrassment? He didn’t
know how much bruising one tailbone could take without breaking.

  He wanted to pull her into his arms. It was his fault for releasing her so quickly, even if she’d been so desperate to be free of him. He couldn’t blame her, really.

  After apologizing again, Amy turned back to him and their parents. Her eyes were wide, her cheeks even brighter.

  “Where’s the restroom?” she asked.

  His mom stepped forward and took her by the hand. “I was just headed there myself,” she said. She shot Mason another dirty look before she and Amy walked off the dance floor. James cleared his throat behind him, and Mason barely stopped himself from groaning. He turned and smiled at the other man.

  “So what did you think of the lesson?” Mason said, trying to head off whatever the older man was going to say.

  “I think my daughter danced a hell of a lot better with you than she did with me. I think your toes managed not to get stepped on at all. Mine will be purple for a week.” James laughed, the lines around his eyes becoming more prominent, but the lines on his forehead disappearing. Whatever he was about to admonish Mason for, he seemed inclined to let it drop. For the moment.

  “Yeah, she seemed better on her second try.”

  “I think it had a lot to do with her partner,” James said, leading Mason off the dance floor and back to the table.

  Mason nodded, collecting his mother’s purse and coat from her chair. “I’ve been dancing for years. I do pretty well with inexperienced partners. They just need a strong frame to lead them.” Were they talking about dancing or sex? God, Mason had never met a woman’s parents in such circumstances before. And he’d certainly never said such forward things to other fathers. What was wrong with him? “How’d my mom do?” he asked, trying to get them off the subject of Amy. It was like walking through a minefield, talking to her dad. He’d put Amy in the Off-Limits category—along with his friends’ little sisters and anyone he worked with. Now he just had to convince his body that was where Amy was staying.

  James picked up Amy’s purse. “She was lovely, of course. Such a doll.” James’s eyes shimmered as he talked about Mason’s mom. It was sweet the way they acted toward each other. “I know you’re worried, son. I get it; I do. But I have every intention of making your mother happy.”

  Mason didn’t know what to say to that. Except maybe that he felt the same about James’s daughter. He froze as that thought came to him. No. Not possible. He was starting to think she might actually hate him. After his actions, she had every right to. He couldn’t want to make her happy, even though he yearned to at least make her like him.

  Mom and Amy returned, saving him from having to respond to James’s comment. He handed Mom her coat and purse. She didn’t thank him, and his stomach clenched. He owed her an apology as well. But not here in front of Amy and James.

  “After you,” Mason said, stepping aside. Amy glided past him, and they all followed her out the door. Mom and James whispered behind him. Then the sound of his mother giggling filled the air. It was delightful to hear her so carefree again.

  Now he just had to figure out what to do about Amy. He couldn’t sleep with her, even though his body demanded he do just that. He didn’t do relationships. He wanted to. Honestly he did. But every time he tried, he got so tangled in what came next that he inevitably screwed things up. Short-term flings and one-nighters were his style. That way he never had to worry about being committed to one woman and destroying her the way his father had done to his mother.

  And that wouldn’t be an option with Amy.

  As they got to the parking lot, Mason turned to see Mom and James holding hands. His mother was blushing. Jeez, they were like teenagers. He stopped that idea in its tracks. No need to think about his mother like that. He had enough issues.

  * * * *

  Mason walked into the foyer just as his mother’s car pulled into the driveway. Trying to give himself enough time to get his head on straight, he hurried into the kitchen.

  He needed to calm his mind and his libido, but every movement made the silk of his boxers slide against his sensitive skin. After grabbing a beer from the fridge, he twisted it open with menace. In one gulp, he drained half of it and listened to the laughter as the other three made their way into the living room.

  Amy’s heels clacked on the wood as she and her dad walked up the front stairs to the second floor. Only two sets of footsteps. The kitchen door swung open, and his mother pinned him with a dark gaze.

  Uh-oh.

  “Mason.” The one word deflated him. His shoulders sank, and he took another swig of his beer and sat down on a bar stool at the island.

  “Yeah?” He wasn’t going to admit to anything until she laid out her issues first. She put her hands on her hips, her mouth pressed into a line.

  “It was very nice of you to dance with Amy. But I want to make it very clear to you that that girl is not going to be the next victim of your charms.” She pointed a finger at him, her nail long and painted orange.

  “I don’t have any interest in her, Mom. It was just a dance. She just seemed so sad after she left the dance floor. You’re the one who asked me to go over and be nice to her. It was a dance. That’s it.” Was he lying to his mom? God, he hoped not.

  He vowed to make it the truth. He would keep his distance from Amy, no matter how alluring she was. Mom lowered her hand. Her eyebrows drew together, as if she was trying to sense a lie. He wanted to blame her for his actions tonight, for making Amy so irresistibly beautiful. But he knew that was a pathetic excuse. Amy could have shown up in her jeans and boots, and Mason would have conducted himself in the same manner.

  “You better make sure of that. I mean it, Mason Alexander Rider. You leave that girl alone. You understand me?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” That was it. His fate was sealed. No more Amy. He would apologize and be friendly to her. Nothing more.

  “Say it.”

  Oh, God. If he promised, she would believe him and let it drop. But he’d be forced to stay away from Amy. Forever. Because breaking a promise to his mother was the biggest sin in her eyes. She hadn’t made him promise anything like this in a long time. She knew he would mean it if he said it.

  “Okay, I promise. I’ll leave her alone.” His chest tightened, his breath held captive in his lungs.

  She walked around the counter and wrapped her arms around him the way she used to do when he was little, and he inhaled. She smelled like cinnamon and sugar. Like usual. The scent brought with it a flood of memories from a childhood spent in the kitchen with her, both of them covered in flour and frosting from baking. He pushed the images aside, focusing on the present. He had to assure her that what she wanted was paramount to him. It always had been.

  “James seems like a great guy, Mom. I wouldn’t want to screw anything up for you, honest. How are you doing?” he said. She let go and moved to sit next to him.

  “I’m good, baby. Better than I’ve been in a long time, actually.”

  He should tell her. Now would be a good time to confess he knew about the affairs. And that he’d kept the truth from her. But the words stuck in his throat. He just couldn’t bring himself to disappoint her. She’d had so much of that in her life. He wouldn’t be the cause of more pain. He just wouldn’t.

  “That’s great to hear. And I swear. Amy’s beautiful, of course, and she seems real sweet, for a Yank. But that’s about as far as it goes for me.”

  Mom nodded. “Okay, then. You know better than to lie to your mama, so that’s all I’ll say about it. I’m going to head upstairs. Tomorrow will be a very busy day.” The message was clear: go upstairs to bed.

  It should have hurt him that his mother was worried he would break Amy’s heart. But she’d been privy to his “relationships” for too many years. She’d seen the way he dated girls—on a weekly or nightly basis. Never anything serious, even if the women he dated wanted to be. He was always up-front with them, but sometimes they thought they could change his mind.


  He kissed Mom good night on the cheek, and she left him alone in the kitchen. He finished his beer as he listened to the footsteps above him. As the house quieted, he took care of the bottle and then went up. The lights in the hallway were off, but the bathroom door was open, the night-light inside enough to illuminate the familiar corridor. He went into his bedroom and grabbed his pajama pants. He pulled out his toiletries bag and made his way into the bathroom. A long, hot shower would relax his limbs, but a cold one would calm this burning desire that had taken root in his body. The urge to find out which bedroom Amy was using for the night pulled at him, but he resisted.

  He took a quick shower—hot, then cold—thinking about Amy’s long legs and sharp tongue the entire time. When he got out, he was more worked up than before. Frustrated, he went into his bedroom and grabbed his iPod. He put the earbuds in and lay down. He turned the music on and shut off his bedside light. Closing his eyes, he couldn’t help but picture the fire in Amy’s gaze as her body had moved so perfectly with his.

  He didn’t know if he’d ever had such a well-matched dance partner. She’d molded herself to his body like she belonged. Mason floated in that place between sleep and wakefulness, images of Amy taunting him. He might’ve lain there for minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure, but a crash from downstairs jolted him awake. He pulled out the earbuds and listened.

  “Shit.” Amy’s voice floated up from the kitchen.

  He looked at the clock beside him. One a.m. What the hell was she doing? She was going to wake the whole household with all that racket. He sprang from bed and padded down the stairs, careful not to make them creak under his bare feet.

  “Amy,” he whispered as he neared the bottom. The last thing he needed to do was startle her into knocking over or dropping something.

  She didn’t stop whatever she was doing. He stepped off the last stair and into the kitchen just as she spun around. And dropped the can of cranberry sauce she’d been holding. He crouched and snatched the can from the air for the second time that evening.