by Whitley Cox
Should he tell her?
Should he come clean?
He didn’t want her to look at him differently, to feel like she owed him anything. Or to think that he gave her the money out of pity or something. She made it very clear that she didn’t want to be a charity case. In her mind, this was still a business transaction, an exchange of service for cash. He was her boyfriend for hire because he fit the bill for what she was looking for to show up her sister and ex-husband.
He wanted to be more.
He needed to be more.
He still had time to woo her and make her give up the guise of fake boyfriend and let him really be her boyfriend. But her walls, despite how many windows she had in them allowing him glimpses into her world, were still up, topped with razor wire. She was gun-shy of love. Possibly of men.
Understandable.
But he needed to change that.
“Come for dinner tomorrow night,” he said, blurting it out before he had time to second-guess himself.
She’d been busy chatting about the egg freezing procedure, and he’d cut her off. Her quick inhale of breath and surprised eyes told him he’d caught her off guard.
“For dinner?” she asked. “Tomorrow?”
He loved how flustered she got. Loved the way it made her eyes glitter and her cheeks flush.
“Yes, tomorrow. For dinner. I have a bunch of suits in my closet. You can go through them and pick out which one you want me to wear.”
The palm of her hand smacked her forehead. “Shit. I forgot to tell you.”
He lifted his brows.
She shook her head. “Bridezilla informed me the other day that it is a black-tie affair. I need to be in a gown, apparently, and you need to be in a tux.” She grimaced. “Do you have a tux?”
He flashed her his flirtiest smile and waggled his eyebrows. “You’ll have to come over for dinner and find out.”
10
Lowenna thanked her Uber driver and opened the car door, a bottle of wine, her purse and a box of chocolates under her arm. Mason’s townhouse was just up the cobblestone path, surrounded by shrubbery and trees. A small patch of grass out front guarded by a white picket fence made the whole house homey and inviting. The perfect place for a family.
And that’s exactly who lived there.
A family.
A family of two.
Two perfect people she was getting to know and beginning to fall for.
Blowing out a breath and watching it disappear up toward the stars, she flipped the latch on the fence gate and made her way toward the red front door with the porch light on.
What was she doing there?
Having dinner, that’s what.
Was she taking the business arrangement too far? Was he going to charge her for this? The lines were becoming so blurry between her and Mason, they were becoming friends, and he was so flirty and so handsome, and she liked him. She really, really liked him. Wanted him.
But she couldn’t allow herself to get distracted. She had revenge to plot.
As she lifted her hand to knock on the door, the image of him shirtless with his nipple piercings and tattoos flitted back into her mind. Would he open the door that way?
What would she do if he did?
Drool and fall to her knees, probably.
She was about to knock when the door beneath her hand swung open and a beautiful man—with a shirt on—holding a beautiful baby stood there smiling at her.
“You made it,” he said, all sexy eyes and hidden nipple rings. “You caught an Uber?”
She nodded and stepped over the threshold as he moved back and welcomed her inside.
Damn, he looked delicious. A tight black T-shirt hugged his muscles and showed off his tattoos, and a pair of dark wash jeans showcased thick thighs and that gorgeous ass.
She was in trouble. Big trouble.
“Welcome, welcome,” Mason said, setting Willow down in a bouncy chair just inside the living room before he helped Lowenna with her coat and purse.
She blew out a long, slow breath. “Thank you. Um, here.” She thrust the box of chocolates and the bottle of wine into his arms. “These are for you.”
He leaned forward and pecked her on the cheek, taking the wine and chocolate from her at the same time. “Thank you.”
The feel of his lips on her cheek left a lasting tingle that sprinted right down the center of her body and landed directly between her legs. Her clit pulsed. Her nipples tightened, and her entire core clenched.
And he smelled so damn good too.
Tonight was going to be pure torture.
She regathered her wits, swallowed and nodded. “You’re welcome. Thank you for the dinner invitation. It’s been a while since I’ve had a nice home-cooked meal.”
He cocked one brow. “Really? You’re a chef.”
“Chocolatier. But I also work a ton, so it’s usually takeout because I’m too tired to cook.”
“Fair enough.” He hoisted Willow back up into his arms and carried her, the box of chocolates and the bottle of wine into the rest of the house. “Just this way. Let’s walk and talk. I’ve got a cheesecake in the oven, and the timer is about to go.”
A cheesecake!
“You baked?” she squeaked, following him down the hallway toward the kitchen, which smelled amazing.
She loved his house. Very masculine but also warm and cozy, with dark wood accents and rich toasted-marshmallow-colored walls. The art represented his travels with tapestries and carvings, paintings and masks. It was stunning.
Mason set the chocolates and wine down on the granite countertop. “Can you take Willow for me? I just need to check on the cake.”
He passed her the baby and opened the oven. “And yes, to answer your question, I baked. I actually bake quite a bit. Prefer bread, but I’ve been known to bust out the odd cake or cookies when the person is special enough.”
When the person is special enough.
“Am I special enough?”
He hit the timer for the oven and added another three minutes before turning around to face her, a big smile on his face. “You are definitely someone special enough.”
Heat tingled in her belly and breasts at his words and the way his sapphire eyes glittered when he looked at her. She bounced a fist-gnawing Willow in her arms, then held the baby out to look at her. “You hear that, Willow-baby? I’m someone special. Well, I think you’re someone special, too.” She kissed Willow on the cheek, her baby-soft skin like warm silk beneath her lips. “Oh bunny, I could just smooch you all day.”
“That’s what I call her,” Mason said, stirring a pot on the stove. “Have you heard me call her that?”
Lowenna shook her head. “I don’t think so. She just feels like a sweet, soft little baby bunny.”
He grinned. “I agree. So, I hope you like roast chicken with veggies and quinoa.”
Lowenna’s stomach rumbled. “I do, very much.” She kissed Willow again, then turned her around so she could look out and watch her daddy cook.
“She really likes you,” he said, turning the temperature down on the stove element.
“Well, the feeling is mutual.” She pecked the top of Willow’s head, causing the little girl’s arms and legs to kick and flail around. “So, are you going to model all your tuxedos for me tonight? Do I get a fashion show?”
“Do you want a fashion show? Start with the evening wear and then move on to the underwear and swimsuits? I could peel one layer off at a time, turn it into a striptease-fashion show.” He grabbed the bottle of wine off the counter and waggled it at her. She nodded, and he began to pour her the deep, rich pinot noir she’d brought into a stemless glass. She tried her damnedest to focus on the baby in her arms and the wine being poured into the glass, but she couldn’t stop envisioning Mason shirtless with his tattoos and piercings walking up and down the hallway in nothing but a pair of tight black boxer briefs.
Yes, please.
He handed her the glass of wine, taking th
e baby from her arms. She instantly took a long sip, letting the fruity vino slide across her tongue and take the edge off her wicked and oh so dirty thoughts.
“We’ll have dinner first though. Then I’ll bathe Willow, put her down and then show you what I have.”
Show you what I have.
Was there an innuendo hidden in that statement?
It certainly made her begin to think about what he had.
She already knew he had rippling muscles, sexy as hell tattoos, nipple piercings, stunning blue eyes. What else did he have?
She was particularly curious about what was beneath those perfect-fitting jeans.
Damn, it’d been a long time since she’d had sex. Not since before her diagnosis. Because once she was told she had the big C, Brody refused to touch her. She was Cancer Girl, gaunt and bald and constantly nauseous. And by the time she went into remission, Brody was in her sister’s bed and she was focusing on starting her business. She had no time for men or sex.
But now … with Mason strutting his fine self in front of her several times a week, suddenly sex was all she could think about.
Well, sex and showing up her stupid sister and stupid ex-husband. Proving to them and everyone else once and for all that she was better off without Brody, without a uterus and that they and all the other people who pitied her could take a flying leap off the nearest building.
“I think I have two tuxes for you to choose from.” His voice, although not loud, was deep and booming enough to rattle her brain like a rock in a tin can, drawing her from her gutter-brained thoughts. “And would you prefer a bowtie or a traditional black necktie? My tie collection is a bit extreme, so if you’d like to go wild and have me wear a pop of color, we have that option too.” Comfortable doing things one-handed, he bounced a once again fist-munching and super slobbery Willow on his shoulder at the same time he grabbed a couple of plates out of the cupboard and walked them over to the table against the window. “I hope you don’t mind if Willow eats with us.”
She shook her head, her body warm and not just from the wine. “Not at all. That sounds absolutely lovely.”
“It’s just, when I’m home at dinnertime, I sit her in her highchair—now that she can sit up on her own—and she watches me eat. I’m trying to get the routine of a sit-down family dinner instilled in her.”
How sweet.
“When can she start eating real people food?” Lowenna asked, desperate to keep the topic PG-rated and drag her mind from the filthy gutter.
“Doctor said any time after four months, if she’s interested. She’s kind of interested, but any time I offer her anything, she just plays with it, then spits it out or chucks it onto the floor.”
She was tempted to take the baby from him once again so he had the freedom to use both his hands as he set the table, but she also enjoyed watching him in domestic dad mode. So instead, she leaned against the wall and sipped her wine, her nipples pebbling beneath the silk of her bra as he reached up into the top cupboard to grab a couple of napkin rings and his midriff became exposed—or should she say, his abs and a light dusting of hair disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans peeked out at her, tempted her.
Annnnd right back into the gutter she went.
She took another sip of her wine and averted her eyes, letting them roam around his kitchen. But the pull to watch him, to study him was too strong, and before long, she was once again focused on the tightness of his shirt and the way the muscles of the arm that was cradling Willow bunched and flexed.
The timer for the oven began to beep, and he quickly handed her Willow, muttering that he needed two hands. He tossed on a pair of matching oven mitts, then pulled out the cheesecake, placing it on a hot pad on the counter.
The scent that percolated around the warm, homey kitchen with its dark wood cabinets and black marbled granite counters, made her stomach rumble again. She pressed her mouth against Willow’s ear. “You smell that, little bunny? Daddy knows a way to a woman’s heart, and it’s definitely cheesecake.”
He smiled at both of them as he pulled off the oven mitts. “Raspberry cheesecake, to be more precise.”
“Mmm, I love raspberries.”
He went to take Willow back from her, but she turned away from him. “Nuh-uh. Don’t take my baby from me yet. I’m not done with my snuggles.” She squeezed Willow tighter against her and inhaled that perfect, delicious, unique baby smell, closing her eyes as it hit her square in the solar plexus. “One day I’ll have a baby of my own,” she murmured. “One day I’ll hold a baby of my own.” She opened her eyes. “You think your friend is open to doing more surrogacy?” she asked, simply trying to make conversation now. She’d revealed to him that she had frozen her eggs, and he’d gone a little weird. His eyes had gone all twitchy and his cheeks flushed.
She wasn’t sure what his issue had been, but then he’d shaken it off and seemed normal again. And when she showed up on his doorstep, he was once again fine. Maybe it had all been in her head. Either way, she felt comfortable enough with him now to discuss more of her fertility woes and hopes.
But given the way he was looking at her now, once again with that twitchy eye and flushed cheeks, she wasn’t so sure bringing up his surrogate was such a good idea.
Her brows knitted together. “Everything okay? Did I say something wrong?”
He blinked slowly and shook his head. “No … nothing’s wrong. It’s just … ”
What was going on with him?
She dug her teeth into her bottom lip, waiting for him to reveal … something.
His throat bobbed on a swallow. “It’s just I’m really happy that you haven’t given up hope on having a baby of your own. I can talk to my friend if you’re really interested. Her pregnancy with Willow went so smoothly, she has offered to carry for me again.”
Oh. Phew.
He stepped forward, bringing his scent into her space once again. Her knees wobbled slightly, but she quickly locked them into place. She was holding a baby, after all. His knuckle slid down Willow’s cheek, but his eyes remained on Lowenna. “You have a way with babies. At least my baby. Look at how calm she is, how relaxed.”
Heat raced into her cheeks, and she turned her face away to hide the blush, not to mention the fact that she had to squeeze her thighs tight when everything inside her pulsed. Forcing out a raspy chuckle, she adjusted Willow in her arms. “Are you saying babies are like animals? They can smell fear?”
He tucked a knuckle beneath her chin. The slight pressure forced her to turn and face him. “They can sense when someone is genuine, when someone is trustworthy and kind. And that puts them at ease. Willow is a pretty easygoing baby, for sure, but that’s not to say she hasn’t lost her shit when the wrong person has held her. But not you. She’s been nothing but content with you, and that says a lot.”
All the oxygen fled her lungs as his expression grew more intense by the second. A shiver dripped down her spine at the same moment a warm simmer grew in her belly. She licked her lips.
Was he going to kiss her?
She kind of hoped he would.
She more than kind of hoped. She wished. She needed. She wanted.
She wanted him to kiss her.
So badly.
So badly, the need for his lips on hers again made an ache form inside her chest that was nearly unbearable.
“Mason … ” she whispered.
“Let me feed you,” he said, his voice a rough and gravelly timbre, nothing but a baby between them now. “Then we can have some wine and talk.”
Her sudden dry mouth made it tough to swallow. “Right, wine. Talk.”
A cocky grin slid across his lips, and he released her chin. “And don’t forget the striptease.” He planted a kiss to the side of Willow’s head, then his head lifted and he placed a feather-light kiss to Lowenna’s cheek. She squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath, hoping for more.
There was no more, though. He lifted his mouth from her and stepped back toward
the stove just as she opened her eyes, lightheaded and disoriented as she leaned back against the wall.
“Um … you mean fashion show.”
“Sure, whatever. Fashion show, striptease, let’s just see where the night takes us.” His brows jiggled salaciously as he pinned her with a hungry look, like she was a tasty-looking impala on the Serengeti and he a handsome, ravenous lion ready to chase her down and consume her.
A ripple of lust made her tremble at the idea of letting her thoughts and fantasies become real. Of letting him consume her.
But first she’d have to let him catch her.
She pushed down the lump in her throat and swallowed. She’d had to set her wine down on the counter to hold Willow. Now she desperately wished she could grab it for a big, long sip. She stared longingly at her wine, and her tongue slid out and grazed along her lip.
His gaze flicked up to hers from where he was shaking what looked like salad dressing in a dressing bottle.
“What?” she asked, wondering if he could read every thought that was parading through her mind at the moment. Every dangerous, complicated, dirty thought.
He set the shaker down and grabbed her wine, bringing the rim of the glass to her lips. “Drink. Your arms are holding precious cargo, but your eyes say you’re thirsty.”
She took a sip, her eyes locking on his.
“Is it good?” he asked, pulling the glass from her mouth.
She nodded and licked her lips. “Delicious.”
His brow twitched, then he put the wineglass to his own kissably soft lips and took a sip, smiling with not only those lips, but also with his eyes. Eyes as blue and deep as the Pacific Ocean. And the man behind those eyes was just as powerful and just as complex and strong as the sea—probably equally mysterious too.