Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC)

by MariaLisa deMora

  “Michael didn’t say, and I didn’t think to ask. He sounded so broken on the phone, Jess. So, he is coming here. What’s that saying? ‘Home is the place where they have to take you in’? Well, that’s here; my home is now his home, I guess. He’ll be flying up in a couple of days, so I’ll need to take off and pick him up at O’Hare Monday afternoon.”

  “Who’s Michael,” asked Mason, “and who’s Emily?” He locked eyes with Jess and nodded slowly as she mouthed Monday at him. That single statement helped him set the window for how long Mica had probably been sitting here like this.

  She pulled away from Jess, turning reddened eyes towards him, realizing he was still in her home. He was in her home, her private space, and she was still in her pajamas. “He’s my brother, Mr. Mason. Emily was his fiancé, and she was my best friend growing up. She visited us, oh, probably about a year ago, but I don’t think you were around that weekend. Michael’s never really been outside of Texas, so this will all be new to him. I think new will be good.” He had worked hard to gain Emily’s trust, and after nearly thirteen years, she had finally accepted his proposal and ring. That’s all gone now, was the thought that trickled slowly through her mind. God, I had hoped for his sake this was going to work.

  “Michael is not just her brother, Mason; he’s her freakin’ twin,” Jess chortled a little, “but you’d never know it seeing them together. Oil and water, night and day—that’s the Scott Twins in a nutshell. He’s as blonde as they come, and pretty as can be…but he’s a bad dude. There’s a twist in him that comes out at the expense of others. Sorry, Mica, but seriously—truth, always.” She cut her eyes over at Mica in a half-apology.

  “It seems like I learn something new about you every time we talk, Mica. I have a new question for you, though. When you melt cheese between two pieces of bread, do you call it a toasty, or a grilled cheese?” Mason smiled gently at her without moving from his place on the window seat.

  “Um…grilled cheese. Why?” Puzzled, she was caught off-guard. Thinking it was a pretty unusual question, she looked at him as he shifted and unfolded his body from the window seat, climbing to his feet smoothly.

  He was sitting behind me a few minutes ago, with his arms wrapped around me, she realized with a start, and it felt warm and safe. It wasn’t scary; it had been comforting. She sat up straight, shaking her head slightly at her wandering mind. That is so not happening, she told herself, nothing is going to happen. Get a freakin’ grip, Mica. Get a grip, getagrip. Jess wants to talk about bad dudes? Well, he’s a biker, for God’s sake…in a motorcycle club. He’s the club president.

  He started walking across the room and into the kitchen area, and it took her a second to realize he was responding to her last question, “So I know what to call it when I hand you a ‘grilled cheese’ on a plate. Water or pop to drink, Mica?” He continued on into the kitchen, opening the cabinets with a pull of his hand to find what he needed. Quickly locating and pulling out a plate and pan, he moved towards the refrigerator.

  “Um…water is good, but you don’t have to do that. Please. I have a lot to do, so if you can please leave now…I’m okay, really. You can go. Both of you.” Flustered, she stood and walked quickly after him in her bare feet, stopping in the kitchen archway as he turned to look at her.

  One eyebrow raised, he raked her with his eyes, taking notice of every detail as he slowly looked from her head to her toes and back up again. She felt naked under his gaze, knowing the flimsy nature of her attire left nothing to the imagination. Heat rose in her face, and a heavy feeling pooled low in her belly as her nipples peaked and tightened. “Maybe you want to take a quick shower and change clothes?” he asked quietly, so Jess couldn’t hear.

  Grasping his meaning, she wrapped her arms around herself, covering her breasts and nodding. “Okay,” over her shoulder she called, “hey, Jess, I’m going to grab a shower. Where did you say Brandy is?” She was breathing quickly, closing her eyes to shut out Mason’s unashamed appraisal of her body, and to focus on the response from her friend. She didn’t allow herself to think about her reaction to Mason.

  “She’s working, Mica, she has a big cookie order. We’ll still see you at Jackson’s tonight, right? If you are okay, I’m gonna head out then. I mean, if you are really okay?” The mention of her favorite bar made Mica relax a little, and she glanced back at Jess, who looked at her questioningly, blue eyes boring deep and hard, seeing the pain still swimming in Mica’s eyes. “I can stay, hun, if you want,” she offered quietly.

  “Yes. No. I mean—yes, I’m fine, Jess. You go ahead; I’m sorry to have been a bother.” Mica turned quickly and fled down the hall to her master bedroom and the en suite bath. “See ya, and thanks for coming over to check on me,” she trilled back up the hallway at Jess.

  She closed the bathroom door and leaned her back against it, waiting until she heard her front door open and close behind Jess. Blowing out a long, slow breath, she softly bounced the back of her head against the door several times. “Emily is gone. Everything is all wrong; it should have been me.” Sliding…collapsing slowly down the door, she gathered her knees to her chest once again and huddled into herself as the first tears slipped down her cheeks. “It should have been me.”

  She wasn’t sure how long she’d been sitting like that, when brisk knocks on the door at her back roused her from her grief. The slight tremors of the wood echoed the sobs and shudders coming from her frame as she cried on the bathroom floor. Mason’s voice came through the door, “Babe, I don’t hear the shower. I’m coming in.”

  The door pushed against her firmly, slowly scooting her away from the opening and into the middle of the room. “No, please don’t,” was all she was able to get out of her mouth before strong arms scooped her up off the floor and against a hard chest. “Oh, babe, I’m sorry your friend died,” Mason said as he stood there holding her.

  She tried to twist out of his arms. “Put me down. Please, I’m too heavy to hold like this.” Mica had no illusions about her body; she’d lived within it for her 30 years, after all. She knew the curves and dips of her thighs, ass and belly intimately. She was only self-conscious in situations like this, when someone else tried to ignore what she saw as the truth.

  His chest rumbled against her, and she realized he was laughing quietly. “No, you are not too heavy. Now be still and stop squirming.” He walked back into her bedroom and sat her on the edge of the bed. “Sit and wait here just for a sec, please.” Mason walked back into the bathroom, and she heard the faucets turning, idly hoping the water would be warm enough as she sat compliantly waiting.

  Mason strolled back into the room and said under his breath, “Not how I expected the first time to go,” as he came to a stop in front of her. “Okay, arms up,” he ordered as he bent and grasped the bottom edge of her camisole. She hesitated for a moment, and then he repeated in a low, forceful tone, “I said arms up, Mica.” The command in his voice was unmistakable, and she complied without hesitation. He drew it up and smoothly pulled it off over her head. “Now stand.” And she did, slowly, as he slipped his fingers under the waistband of her shorts. He dragged the shorts and her panties down her legs, bending low and waiting patiently for her to step out of them.

  She was naked and realized he had averted his eyes, turning his head to look at the wall. “Thank you, Mr. Mason. I believe I can take it from here.” He stood, still not looking at her, and walked stiffly out of the room, turning back down the hallway towards the kitchen.

  Jeez-oh-PETE, I cannot believe that man just undressed me in my own bedroom…and I let him, she thought to herself as she moved quickly into the bathroom. She stepped into the tile shower, where the steam had already condensed on the glass door, affording her a sense of privacy. Tipping her head back under the stream of water, she thought about how she hardly knew Mr. Mason. This was soooo not like her, and then her breath caught in the back of her throat. She whispered, “Oh, my God, he saw me naked,” followed quickly on its heels with,
“No, he didn’t; he looked away.” As she poured shampoo into her palms, she wracked her memory over his behavior, smiling at how gallant and kind he seemed.

  She stilled, remembering which way his head had been turned, closing her eyes as she realized the dresser mirror was on that wall. Oh, my God, he saw me naked, ran through her mind again as she wondered how she’d get through the embarrassment. At least she had clean clothes appropriate for her mood she could put on after the shower.

  2 -

  Grilled cheese

  Mason groaned and adjusted himself for the third time since returning to the kitchen. He had been just in time to flip the grilled cheese sandwich before it burned. The hard length of his cock was so swollen it was painful, and being constrained in the tight jeans elevated it to just short of agony. If he could just get her body out of his mind, he’d be okay, but the expanse of pale skin and ample curves was tormenting him.

  He had even turned his head aside, only to find a strategically placed mirror, where he could watch himself undress her. Her hand had rested on his shoulder as she stepped delicately out of her shorts and panties, and he watched the smooth movement of the muscles in her back and ass. Fuck! He had held her in his arms briefly, and her full, soft body fit into him as if she were made for him. He had wanted to hold her softly, rock and cuddle her there on the window seat, but her violent reaction to something he did or said had put an end to that quickly.

  I wish she was mine and I had a right to have taken her there on the bed. Or in the shower. Or in the kitchen. Dammit. It felt right with my arms wrapped around her. I want to take care of her. I want her. He adjusted himself again, breathing deeply in an effort to calm down. Talking under his voice to himself, “You cannot do this to her right now. Did you see her face, you fucking asshat? She’s hurting. That’s not how you want her to remember you, is it? She’s still calling you Mr. Mason, for fuck’s sake. Get a fucking clue and be a friend, fucking asshole.”

  “Have you always talked to yourself, Mr. Mason?” came in an amused tone from behind him.

  Jerking around, he nearly knocked the pan off the stove and realized he needed to get the sandwich onto the plate before it burned with him standing there. Fuck me. How the hell long was I standing here? he thought. He turned his body around, just enough to see Mica standing in the archway idly chewing on the edge of her thumbnail. He had to keep his hips turned to hide his erection, and then had to hide a grin when he saw the pointedly unattractive comfort-wear she had put on after her shower. “Water bottle’s on the countertop,” he said roughly. He stood there for a moment, looking at her and taking in how her wet, dark hair trailed over her shoulders to cover the peaks of her breasts. His gaze then focused on her face, with its wide mouth, petite, upturned nose, and those slay-me green eyes. “Your sandwich is ready, so come sit down and eat, babe. It’s gonna get cold. When did you say your brother called? What day?”

  “He called this morning, early. The funeral was yesterday and he couldn’t sleep, so he called to talk about Em.” Her brow furrowed as she remembered the conversation and her brother’s confusion, pain, and grief. It had set off long-buried memories of growing up on the family ranch in Texas, and all the things that had happened to both of them there.

  He sighed. “But what day was it, Mica?” Mason pressed her, knowing the answer, but needing her to come to the same conclusion.

  “I said he called today, Saturday. The funeral was on Friday. Why?” she asked wonderingly, shaking her head a little as she looked towards an unhelpful, blank, wipe-off calendar on the front of the fridge.

  “Well, for starters, today is not Saturday, Mica. Come on, eat your grilled cheese. Did you grab the water?” he cajoled her into moving to the breakfast bar. Maneuvering around her, he pulled a stool up behind her as he sat a plate on the table in front of her and urged, “Eat and we’ll head out. I’ll drive you; the roads are pretty treacherous.”

  “But Michael called today, this morning, I swear. What do you mean it’s not Saturday? I’m confused; you want to head out to exactly where, Mr. Mason?” she scoffed, thinking he was being a bit thicker than usual. Sitting on the stool, she looked down at the sandwich, and then her mind set to wondering about the odd ease of their interactions. Mr. Mason was the neighbor she nodded to across the alleyway when she came in from a run, or scowled at when he brought his friends home and it got too rowdy. They were acquaintances, neighborly, but not overly friendly, not like today.

  He nodded at her. “Why don’t you eat first, and then get dressed, okay? I don’t think you want to wear those sweats to pick up your brother. It’s pretty cold out, and the snow is blowing. Do you remember what time his flight gets in?” Mason moved around the breakfast bar, hooking another stool with the toe of his leather boot and settling down with his own bottle of water to watch her eat.

  Without moving, she brought her eyes up to meet his. “Mr. Mason,” she said slowly, her eyes never leaving his face, “what day is it?”

  He exhaled noisily. “You aren’t going to eat until I tell you, are you?“ Nodding to himself, he said, “It’s Monday, Mica. That’s why Jess was so worried, because you didn’t show up at work today. You called her yesterday with some bullshit message blowing off plans you’d made, but then you called work and left a voicemail, and she didn’t get it until today. She came right over and found you zoned out on the window seat in there.” He pointed back through the archway to where she had been when he came in. “You wouldn’t talk to her, and she saw my car in the drive, so she called me. But it’s Monday, and your brother is evidently flying in today.”

  He watched her carefully, seeing emotions flit across her face nearly too fast to recognize, but he thought that as always with her, the dominant one might always be fear. It had been that way since she moved in several years ago. But, as he had closely watched over her through the months and years, he had seen—with pleasure and hope—her fear become less prevailing, a less frequent visitor. Now it nearly broke his heart to see that fear settling back in, seemingly for a stay.

  A thrill of terror went through her as she realized she had lost two days—two flippin’ days. Her features tightened as dim recollections of the shifting scenes she had watched in her mind returned to her. “Two days?” she questioned out loud. “You think I sat there in that window for two days? Mr. Mason, what kind of crazy person zones out for two whole days?” Maybe he was wrong. She rolled her eyes skyward in dismissal, because Mica wanted desperately for things to be different. Two flippin’ days?

  He said quietly, “Not a crazy person, but someone in the grip of a strong emotion, like grief or fear.” He leaned at an angle across the breakfast bar. “I saw you in the window yesterday, but I know you like to sit there a lot, so I didn’t think anything of it until I came in here and saw you in the same position. I’m so sorry I didn’t pay closer attention to you, babe. I’m sorry I didn’t come find you sooner.” He sat up, rubbing his hands briskly down the fabric on his thighs. “Now, what time does your brother’s flight get in at O’Hare? Do you remember the airline?”

  Nodding, she said contemplatively, “It’s in my phone,” still stunned about lapsing into what amounted in her mind to a weak, passive state for two days. That kind of person was something she had fought hard to leave behind in her life. This whole thing made her angry, because it seemed like anything could push her back into fearful mode. Sighing, she picked up the sandwich from the plate and took a bite. “This is good, Mr. Mason, thank you,” she practically moaned, and realized how hungry she was as she took a second, and then a third bite.

  Mason padded over to the blue French provincial table near the window seat, picking up her cellphone and quickly scrolling through her text messages until he saw the one he wanted. A startled yelp of laughter burst from him. “Babe, BastardSon is how you have your brother’s contact information listed in your phone?” He couldn’t stop another small laugh from escaping, even though he pressed his lips together to try and stop it. “Bast
ardSon, really?”

  “We have a complicated relationship.” She huffed air out of her open mouth, fluffing her not-quite-dry bangs. “I haven’t seen my brother in several years, and honestly, I never expected to see him again…ever. BastardSon sums it up, really.” If he knew the things Michael had done to her over the years, the betrayals, he would better understand her shorthand way of reminding herself that her twin had fallen far from the ideals of their Texas childhood.

  Looking at the flight details and checking the time on the phone, Mason first put Michael’s contact information in his own phone, then he added Mica’s to his phone, too. He looked to see if she had his numbers, and was secretly pleased that she did. She had his home, cell, and Jackson’s—all the important ways to contact him—and he was listed as…Biker Neighbor. Rolling his eyes, he sighed and changed it to Mason, then set the phone back down on the table to start walking quickly to the front door. “Babe, I’m getting my car. I’ll be out front with it all warmed up when you are ready. We need to go in like fifteen minutes; this snow is going to slow things down. So finish your sandwich and then don’t forget to change, if you want to—but for the record, I’m a fan of nearly anything you wear, even those anti-sex, man-armor sweats.”

  She heard the front door close. I think I’m numb. This must be what numb feels like, Mica thought to herself as she put her plate in the sink, along with the pan from the stovetop. Out loud, she said, “I’m a crazy woman in a home where I have no privacy or say in what I do. I think I must be deep in Crazytown, but I’ll go with it for once. He’s crazy, but nice, and he made a good grilled cheese.”