Another brow arch. “Would you have read what I wrote? Or answered my call?”
“Probably not.”
“Exactly.” Mason presses a hand against the doorframe. “Let me in, Mack.”
I don’t move back. “I’m really busy today. I don’t have time for this, or you.”
He lowers his head. “I wouldn’t have come if it weren’t important.”
This close, the lightning streaks of gray in his eyes flash to full effect. They’re more storm than blue today, hidden frustrations creeping through like dark clouds.
After a brief war inside my head, I say, “I’m not offering you coffee, because you’re not staying long.”
He nods, and when I step sideways, his bare arm brushes against my breasts. If it was intentional, his profile as he passes by gives me no clues. But the electric surge happens in my chest anyway, and I angrily rub at a spot between my breasts to erase the tingles.
“So?” I say, trailing behind him in the kitchen. “Why are you here?”
Mason stops at the large windows overlooking the Chrysler and Empire Buildings. “To apologize.”
I lean my elbows on the kitchen counter, cupping my half-filled, lukewarm coffee. “Let me get this straight. You flew all the way back to New York to … apologize?”
Mason Payne doesn’t say sorry. He never has.
He turns to face me. “I know who leaked the information about you, and it was in my control. I could’ve stopped it.”
I slide my index finger around the rim of my mug, pretending interest while my stomach somersaults with Mason’s confession. “Who was it?”
“Sorsha.”
I nod, pursing my lips like it’s no surprise. “I guess I had it coming.”
“Why would you say that?”
“The way she was on your arm. How she looked at me. Her use of power. People like that, man or woman, do everything they can to stay on top. And she wanted you.”
Mason doesn’t bother to deny it. “I cussed her out on the phone on the way here. Told her there’s no way we’re getting back together. Brax apparently let it slip to her what you do, but it was an idiot mistake I’ll make sure he pays for. And I’ll do what I can. Use my publicity people to spin this enough that the public’ll get bored and move on. You’ll get your life back. It’s not enough, I know, but …”
“It’s more than you’ve ever done,” I say quietly.
“Huh?”
I shake myself out of the distracted perusal of my mug. “Look, I appreciate you telling her to fuck off. But the damage is real, and I’m dealing with it. Thank you for coming by and telling me the truth.”
“You’re dismissing me.”
I straighten. “I told you, my day’s tight. I have to…” pay off my criminal blackmailer with your money “...meet someone.”
A heavy silence falls into the room. Old me might’ve shifted uncomfortably under Mason’s thick scrutiny, but this me puts my hands on my hips and waits for his inevitable temper to snap forth.
“You’re right back at it, huh?” he says.
I blow out a breath. “Leave it to you to jump to that conclusion. What I do is my business.”
“Even with everything going on, like your public demise, you can’t resist the dick?”
“That’s crass. And disgusting of you to say to me.”
“I just—I can’t—” Mason digs his fingers into his hair on a growl. “You frustrate the fuck out of me. Confuse the shit out of me. Drive me nuts. What’s going on with you?”
I throw my hands up. “Why do you keep searching for the McKenna you used to know? She doesn’t exist anymore, Mason! There’s just me, a survivor, a loner, a woman who made a damn good life for herself before you pushed back in, and now I need to clean up the shattered pieces you’ve left behind.”
Mason rubs at his chin. “Who’re you meeting?”
“None of your damn—”
Mason rushes forward, grabbing my arm and bending low to my face. It doesn’t hurt, nor does it scare me. My heart zings at the contact. “I’ll pay double for your time this afternoon.”
I shake my head, despite him being so close, his masculine scent an ambrosia flare against my nostrils. “This isn’t a meeting I can miss.”
“Miss it.”
The tip of my nose touches his. “No.”
“Damn it, Mack.” His hand tightens on my arm. “Don’t make me tie you to a chair.”
“And do naughty things to me to make me stay?”
His eyes narrow, and the lust that fills them snakes through me and coils at my core. I like baiting him. I keep daring myself to go further, to see how much I can push him, regardless of the danger.
“Is that Jane talking, or Mack?” he asks.
“You’re frustrated,” I say. “Maybe even a little sad. Your band’s breaking up, it’s getting to you, and you’re taking it out on me.”
He grinds out, “Stop trying to read me. I’m not one of your storybooks.”
“People keep leaving you, Mason. Aren’t you tired of it?”
Mason’s voice takes on a warning tone. “Don’t shrink me, either.”
“You’re angry over how well I know you. But this time, I don’t want to help you or fix you. I learned my lesson the first time. So let me be.”
His other hand sneaks up and cups the side of my jaw. He tips my face up, searching for something.
Mason’s upper lip curls once he finds what he’s looking for. “Nah. There’s no Jane here.”
I keep insisting to myself I don’t want Mason Payne. I don’t think about him, don’t need him, cannot get addicted to him again. All these years later, there’s still something about him that causes my mind to go at war with my body. My body enjoys him. My body wants him.
Mason must read my thoughts, because his eyes go black.
“Stop looking at me like that,” he warns.
I made the mistake of trying to redeem him in high school. I couldn’t accept him for what he was. Now, we’re both irredeemable. Why can’t he accept what I’ve become?
“Sweet Mack,” he murmurs, stroking my cheek with his thumb, “It’s amazing, all the naughty things I want to do to you.”
The promise makes my thighs clench. Dampness coats my underwear and all it will take is a biting of my lip or a devilish half-smile to have Mason gripping my ass-cheeks, propping me on the kitchen counter, and committing each sin listed in his stare.
I want to give him a sign. Trigger his sexual desires.
If it weren’t for a soft voice in the back of my head.
Listening to it, I lift my head enough so my lips brush his, a bare whisper, a light promise.
The butterfly touch shocks him, because he jerks back.
“What was that?” he asks.
“A kiss.”
“No.” Mason takes a step back. “Our kisses are explosive. Mouths collide and tongues claim and I do everything in my power to get you to moan. That wasn’t our kiss. That was … that was …”
I angle my head. “Gentle?”
His lips part for a moment. Mason stares at me blankly. “Yeah.”
I close the gap he’s made between us by stepping forward and tilting my chin up. “What if that’s what I want?”
Halfway through my question, my voice becomes a surprised whisper. It’s difficult to ask for sweetness from a beast, especially when his face loses all color at the request.
“I … Mack, I … don’t know how to be gentle.”
I hold a hand to the side of his face, his scruff tickling my palm with electric pin pricks, his full lower lip caught underneath my thumb. “Then let me show you.”
“Jane?” he asks, so quietly I have a hard time catching it.
I shake my head. “Me. Mack.”
I lead him to the couch and have him sit down. I’m only in a t-shirt, so it’s easy to part my legs and straddle him, underwear and jeans as our only barriers.
With both hands, I cup his face, lift his mouth t
o mine, and seal my promise with a blossoming kiss.
My hands slide down to his neck, his muscular, wide shoulders, and wrap around him as I deepen the kiss.
When Mason’s tongue tries to plunge—to take—I reel him back with soft strokes. He grunts, shifting underneath me, but reluctantly allows the kindness.
I break our connection to place sweet kisses along his jawline, to that tender spot between his neck and his ear, then tongue the delicate shell of his ear, blowing light air, and I’m smiling.
Mason groans, his hands tightening on my hips. He tries to grind, his hardness spearing against the tough denim of his jeans and feeling like the best vibrator in the world against the thin fabric of my underwear. I want to grind down, too. Rip the barricade away and have him fill me.
But, closing my eyes, I also want this.
Mason and I have never made love. Been kind to each other during sex. We’ve never been vulnerable.
I want to see if it’s possible to tame Mason Payne.
“Wait,” I whisper close to his ear as I reach down and squeeze the front of his pants.
Mason’s head falls back. “Fuck, Mack, you’re killing me with this.”
“Patience,” I say as I move my kisses back to the corner of his lips.
Hooking my fingers at the hem of his shirt, I get him to lift his arms so I can peel it off. Then I work on the zipper and button of his jeans.
Mason wants to help. He frantically tries to unzip faster than I’m doing it.
Laughing, I push his hands away. “I got this.”
“I want to bend you over the coffee table, expose those peachy cheeks of yours, and ram you so hard—”
I laugh again, then find his hot, swollen, thick shaft and pull it free.
Laughter dies in my throat.
Not from his girth or size or anything I haven’t seen before. No, it’s from the way he’s looking at me.
He says, even as I squeeze and stroke him, “I never realized how beautiful you are when you laugh.”
I scoff uncomfortably, breaking our gaze, then slide down and take him in my mouth.
I’m supposed to be the gentle one, not him.
To prove that, I lick delicate swirls and twirls, never sucking too hard and keeping my teeth at bay. Massaging, kissing, laying the balanced groundwork for an aching build-up, I enjoy every moment Mason groans, or shifts, or tries to push my head to take all of him.
I don’t.
I tease, and prompt, and play.
“Mack…”
Right when I know I have him, I stand, peel off my underwear, and straddle him again, positioning his dick so it enters me achingly slow, joining Mason in the excruciating wait.
I’m so hot, slick and swollen I almost come as soon as he buries his tip, but I bite down and endure, ever so slowly, until I come to a soft, rocking rhythm, my hands on his shoulders, my eyes on his.
His dick filling me whole.
“Don’t look away,” I say, my breaths becoming uneven.
Mason takes hold of my hips. He doesn’t break our stare. “I couldn’t, even if I tried.”
“I want you to see me come.”
Hair falls into my face. Mason pushes it back and keeps his hand molded against the side of my neck, meeting my rhythm, holding my stare.
“Come with me, sweetheart,” he grits out as my hips circle and sway, trying to take him deeper.
The clenching need comes first, the tightening of my walls that signal an incoming tidal wave of pleasure.
I tilt my head back, my hair cascading down my shoulders, but Mason directs my focus back to him.
“Always on me,” he says, when I’m finally able to make him out through the building haze. “Just like you promised.”
“Mason, I…”
“I know, sweetheart. Keep going.”
“I…”
“Yes. Fuck. Keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t stop. Don’t change. Don’t—”
Mason parts his lips on a roar and I cry out, bearing down on his shoulders and riding him until that sparkling joy at my center meets every other part of my body.
When it’s over, there’s dampness on my cheeks, and it’s not sweat. I bury my face in Mason’s neck to hide it, breathing hard.
His arms come around me, holding on tight.
I never pondered the consequences of approaching such wildness with a gentle, offering hand.
My heart answers with the consequence, and it’s too late to stop a shard of red from breaking off and landing against the erratic beats of Mason’s chest.
32
Mason
I’m not sweet or kind.
No one calls me nice.
But I’m holding Mack like she’s precious as she breathes against my neck, her body warm and supple, my dick still captured by her slick folds.
No, you fucking moron. It’s not only your cock that’s captured by her.
I frown as I nestle the top of her head under my chin. I have no clue what to do with that realization, except hold onto her a little longer.
She lifts from my neck, her features composed. “I have to get ready.”
My grip tightens at her waist. “Sweetheart, we’re not having sex like that and then you leave.”
She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and regards me blankly. “Why not? It was nice, right? Got us both off—”
“Don’t do that.”
She attempts to push off my legs. I keep her there.
“Do what?” she huffs.
“Cheapen it.”
“I’m not. I have to go, Mason.”
“To another client,” I surmise with deceiving calm. “Despite your exposure, you’re meeting a guy who’s going to touch all the places I’ve marked first, and you honestly think I’m about to let you.”
“Not that I’m obligated to explain, but you have it wrong.” Mack pauses. Calculation drifts behind her expression. She adds, too sweetly, “Besides, who are you to talk to me about what not to do? You’re the one who left your band hanging mid-tour and costing millions of dollars in lost ticket sales.”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I say coolly, keeping her steady on my lap despite her small struggles. “There’s some B-list bass player more than happy to take my place while my piss-poor excuse of a band takes the stage. How am I supposed to go up there, anyway? What face am I saving? Rex and East are checking out. This tour’s now a joke and I refuse to become the idiot punchline.”
“I see. So you left them before they could leave you.”
A storm cloud might as well have settled over us. “Watch what you say to me.”
“Let me go, and you won’t have to hear anything else out of my mouth about you running away from your problems. Again.”
I sneer. Tilt my head and give her a sidelong glare. “Be very careful, Mack.”
She lays her palms against my chest. Pushing. Digging her nails in. “We both have issues to resolve. I really need to solve mine and I’m only being given one chance. I’m not going to let you ruin it the way you ruin everyth—”
“Don’t finish that sentence.”
“Think about it, Mason! Think about what you’re doing! Any time things get tough for you, you make it worse. You’d rather someone hate you than try to help you fix whatever’s broken inside, so you do the worst to them. Like leave Rex and East in the dust during their last tour before what was probably an extremely difficult decision to focus on their family. And Wyn, who’s done nothing but be loyal to you.”
“You don’t get to psycho-analyze me when your illegal career just exploded in your face.”
Mack smacks my chest. “My lucrative career that you fucking ruined! Because you’re an asshole!”
I clench my jaw at the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.
“I’ve always thought about quitting,” she says. “You think I want this to be my life? I’m almost thirty. Too old for a lot of rich men and God, too damned tired of dealing with the risk. But I wanted it
to be on my terms. My way. And you took that choice away from me, because you could. All I’ve done since we’ve known each other is try to help you, and each and every time you’ve thrown it back in my face tenfold. Hurt me. Enjoyed inflicting pain. You’d rather destroy every single one of your relationships than have anyone get close to you.”
Mack rises, and this time I let her.
“You really don’t get it,” I say, but Mack doesn’t hear.
“If you’re here to witness my final downfall, you won’t,” she continues while standing over me. Her voice rises. “Fuck with me all you want—make me another offer I can’t refuse, ferry me across the ocean, have your ex expose more secrets, give it your goddamned all. I won’t let you take my pride. You hear me, jackass? I’ll never let you take away my dignity.”
“Sit down,” I say, reaching for calm like I would a stiff drink.
“This isn’t your home or your hotel. I’m not under your contract anymore.” Mack’s chest heaves with righteous indignation. “You don’t control what I do here.”
Leaning forward, I picture the whole damned top-shelf bottle hitting my mouth. “You still don’t get it, Mack.”
“Don’t bother enlightening me,” she snarls. “Get out. I have work to do. Plans to make. A life to rebuild.” Mack points at me and says through stiff lips, “Without. You.”
“Goddammit.” I shoot up from the couch. The sudden movement has Mack dancing back. “I didn’t fly to NYC to enjoy your humiliation in real-time. I didn’t ditch my band so I can deepen the plunge of the knife shoved into your back. I came to fix things, starting with my idiot brother and involving Sorsha’s publicist who will understand what it’s like to have dragon fire breathing down his neck until an apology and retraction is made. And ending with you. You didn’t deserve this, Mack. Even my cold, black heart understands you didn’t deserve to be outed. And you didn’t deserve what I did to you the night of prom, either.”
Mack asks, with quiet menace, “I see. You’re feeling some sort of … well, not shame. Mason Payne can never be ashamed. Why would you ever want to do something like that for a girl you thought was as good as a fast-food hamburger?”
“Because I want to help you!” I roar.
Strum Me Page 23
