by Tess Summers
Madison let go of his index finger, and he sat back. Reagan leaned her head against his shoulder and enveloped his hand in both of hers. Kennedy continued to silently observe them.
Dante and Kennedy—er, Bella—had their driver drop Mason and Reagan at the villa where Reagan had been staying with her mother, Delilah Jones: the same location he had originally picked her up from—and had been smitten before they even reached the marina.
Once Reagan had been kidnapped, the Guzmans had moved Delilah to the pool house on their property to keep her safe. With the new threat from the Colombian cartel, they decided she’d remain at Bella’s, leaving Reagan alone with Mason in the Santa Fe style house with nine-foot walls and meticulous grounds. Well, ‘alone’ save for the security team of nine men.
“I really wish you’d reconsider staying at the house with us,” Bella sighed at Reagan as they moved to get out of the car.
“She’ll be fine here,” Dante interjected. “I’ve added cameras that will be monitored by personnel at the estate, plus the extra security. Besides, Mason isn’t going to let anything happen to her.”
That was true.
“They’ll have to get through me.”
Bella snorted in derision as Mason staggered out of the car. “That wouldn’t be too hard right now.”
“True. But I’m still perfectly capable of shooting a gun.”
He felt Reagan’s hand firmly on his back. “Let’s hope we won’t have to test that,” she said with a placating smile while ushering him toward the big wooden gates.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she called as she ducked down to wave goodbye to the passengers in the car.
“Call if you need anything,” Dante said before the door closed.
The grounds of the villa were lush and beautiful, filled with plants and trees. The lighted walkway leading to the house was lined with vegetation and flowers, and Mason felt like he was in the rainforest as he hobbled along the path with Reagan’s assistance.
“Tomorrow I need to get crutches,” he mumbled. He did not like it one bit that he had to rely on anyone for mobility.
There was a grand, curved stone staircase with a decorative wrought iron and wooden railing in the burnt-orange entryway of the house when they walked in, and he took a deep breath at the thought of maneuvering up them. To his relief, she pointed down a short hall.
“You’re going to stay in the bedroom on the first floor. It’s not as big as the upstairs rooms, but it has a connecting bathroom, so I think you’ll be fine.”
“You mean we. We’ll be staying in the bedroom on the first floor.”
A small smile escaped her lips.
“I didn’t want to assume anything.”
He reached out to pull her closer.
“Sweetheart, when it comes to you and me—assume away. I fucking adore you.”
Her arms came around his middle. “It won’t hurt my feelings if you decide you want to sleep alone. I’ll completely understand. Actually, now that I think about it, that would probably be for the best.”
He fought the growl that was coming from his throat at the idea of her in the same house and not in his bed.
“Not gonna happen.”
“But you need to rest,” she protested.
“Not gonna happen,” he reiterated.
The corners of her mouth lifted, but she kept up the façade when she grumbled, “Fine,” even as she squeezed him a little tighter.
They stood in the foyer, and she pointed in various directions to show him where different rooms were located throughout the house. Then they shuffled down the Saltillo-tiled hall to the bedroom.
He hopped inside and sat down on the purple velvet chaise lounge, relieved to be seated again. The room continued the theme of the house he had seen so far: brightly colored, ornate décor, large furniture. It was not at all his minimalistic style, but he felt comfortable here. Probably because of the company.
He sat back and stretched out, gesturing for her to join him, but she shook her head.
“I’m going to go check on things and see about dinner,” she said as she handed him the television remote. “Just lie back and take it easy. You should still be in the hospital, for goodness sake.”
****
“I need to go see my mom tomorrow. I think I’ll go when the nurse comes,” Reagan announced when she brought in a dinner tray for him as he lay on the bed in his boxers and a white t-shirt, the covers folded to the footboard. He wasn’t wild about not eating at the table, but he’d exerted a lot of energy today. Just the thought of hopping to the kitchen and back made him tired, so he didn’t put up a fuss when she suggested she bring him dinner. Dante’s other housekeeper, Maria, had sent over food for them; all they had to do was put it in the oven. “I’ll be right back.”
She returned a minute later with her own tray, and sat down next to him on the bed.
“Thanks for bringing me dinner, sweetheart.”
“Of course. That’s why you came here, isn’t it? So I could help take care of you while you heal.”
He hadn’t had someone take care of him since he had lived at home with his parents. He kind of liked the idea.
“Well, I appreciate it.”
Her smile in return made his heart happy.
They chatted about innocuous things throughout dinner. It felt as if they had both been purposefully avoiding talking about the events that had taken place the day before, but knew at some point they were going to have to. Just not tonight.
Tonight they were simply going to enjoy each other’s company. Something that was easy for Mason to do with the beautiful redheaded woman.
She disappeared with their dirty dishes. While he liked the idea of her taking care of him, he wasn’t fond of just lying in bed while she did everything. He stood to hobble to the kitchen and help her clean up.
“Do you need help getting to the bathroom?” came her voice from the doorway.
“No, I was coming to help you.”
Even her scowl was adorable. “Get your ass back in bed.”
“Yes, ma’am. But only if you join me.”
He leaned back against the pillows and winked. She sighed and walked over to tuck the covers around him.
“You need your rest, Agent Hughes,” she murmured as she smoothed the blanket.
Mason threw the sheet and blanket back on the other side of the bed and patted the mattress with a grin.
“I know, but I’d rest so much better if you were next to me.”
A tiny smile escaped her lips, and she walked to the foot of the four-poster bed.
“You’re impossibly charming for someone who was shot multiple times just yesterday.”
“It’s my superpower.”
She leaned against the footboard, standing on her tiptoes as she looked at him with an eyebrow raised.
“What is? Charming women into your bed?” She dramatically dropped her heels.
“No, sassy pants, just being charming in general. There’s only one woman I want in my bed, and she’s being cheeky because she knows I’m too weak to put her over my knee.”
Reagan smirked. “Aw, that’s a shame,” she said, then walked out.
She walked out.
“Hey!” he called after her. “Where are you going?”
No response.
“I will limp my ass all over this house looking for you, Reagan Elizabeth!” he shouted.
Still no response.
Well fuck. Now what? Mason really didn’t want to make good on his threat, but he wasn’t one to make an ultimatum and not follow through on it. Sighing heavily, he threw the covers off and swung his legs to the edge of the bed.
“You really are the worst patient on the planet.”
She was standing in the doorway again with her Kindle in her hand, now wearing a black satin camisole and matching boy shorts. She was stunning. Be still, my heart—and my dick.
“Wow,” was all he could get out.
He didn’t take his ey
es off her as she came through the threshold and sauntered toward the bed. He might have imagined it, but there seemed to be a little extra sway in her hips as he gawked at her. Is my mouth open? He clamped his jaw shut.
“I’ll sleep in here. But no funny business. You need to rest.”
Yeah, sure. No funny business with you looking like that.
“Uh huh,” was his gruff reply.
She narrowed her eyes as she got situated next to him. “I mean it. You were shot yesterday. In the neck and leg, in case you forgot.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her on top of his bruised core. Her face was inches from his, and he smirked, “Yeah, but not in my cock.” He flexed his hips up against hers. “That’s still working just fine.”
****
Reagan
“So I can feel.” She tried to suppress a giggle but it didn’t work. Since when do I giggle? Rolling off him, she continued. “But seriously, Mason, you’re not exactly in any condition to be messing around. I mean, look at you. You’re the very definition of walking wounded.”
He glanced down at his core. Although he was wearing a t-shirt, they both knew about the bruises underneath from where he’d been shot in the vest. His gaze traveled down to his heavily bandaged leg as he felt for the dressing on his neck.
“So what are you saying? I don’t turn you on, all beat up like this?” he said with a chuckle.
The sad thing was, he still did. His abs and chest were still sexy, even if they were bruised to hell, and his muscular thighs made her heart skip a beat—bandages and all. And while the dressing around his neck was concerning, it didn’t take away from his handsome face or that damn dimple that seemed to make her powerless against his charms.
“I don’t have an injured-soldier fetish,” she teased. Just a Mason Hughes one.
“Okay, okay. Point taken.” He tugged the t-shirt at the back of his neck and gingerly pulled it over his head. “Just let me feel your body against mine. You calm me.”
That might have been the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to her.
“I feel the same way,” she said softly as nestled against his side. “Actually, I think it’s more like you make me feel safe.”
“I’d never let anything happen to you, sweetheart,” he murmured against her hair as his fingertips moved up and down her back.
“I know.”
And she did. If there was anything she was sure of, it was that he’d always protect her. That was what made her brave enough to run into the warehouse yesterday—she knew he’d come back for her.
Reagan softly kissed his chest.
“Thank you for going back to the warehouse.”
She felt his soft laughter in his chest against her cheek.
“The second Jacob started cussing, I knew what you’d done. At the time I wanted to tan your ass; now I just want to kiss it. Thank you for finding Marcus. I hate to think what would have happened to him when the Colombians returned to the warehouse and found the women gone.”
“They might not have had made the connection if just the women were missing, but not Marcus.”
“Maybe not, but they might have taken it out on him.”
She winced to think of Mason’s brother having to endure anything worse than he already had over the last several days.
“Speaking of, have you heard how he’s doing?”
“From what Eddie tells me, Susana hasn’t left his side.”
“I’m assuming Susana is the girl he refused to leave without?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I hope everything works out for them. I hope she’s not with him because she feels guilty he sacrificed so much for her.”
She wondered if that might be why Mason was insisting she return to Fargo in a few weeks—so she wouldn’t sacrifice her semester, and he wouldn’t feel guilty leaving her.
“I hope not, too. He’s giving everything up for her. It would really suck if the feelings turned out to be one-sided.”
Indeed.
Chapter Twenty-One
Mason
He wasn’t lying when he told Reagan she calmed him. She did. There was just something about her: her touch, her scent, the sound of her voice… it soothed his soul.
But lying so close to her without making love to her was torture on his cock.
As he watched her breasts rise and fall under the moonlight coming in through the window, he had to remind himself not to touch her and rouse her from her slumber. The creamy mounds of tantalizing flesh peeking out from the black satin were making that difficult, and Mason found himself tracing her nipple over the material.
He was instantly rewarded with the hardening bud and her soft, sleepy moan. Feeling brave, he pulled the top down to fully expose her tits, briefly closing his eyes and smiling with satisfaction at the sight.
Mason dipped his head and circled his tongue along the outline of one rosy peak, then closed his lips around it and began to suck gently. He felt her back arch and heard her coo with pleasure as her fingers twined in his hair.
“Baby,” she whispered hoarsely. “We can’t.”
“Like hell we can’t,” he growled as he cupped her other breast. She didn’t protest further as he lavished her tits with attention.
Reagan pushed lightly on his shoulder and sat up, moving to straddle his rigid cock, bulging beneath his boxer briefs.
“Take your shorts off,” he demanded.
She quickly complied, then tugged on his underwear until it was lying next to her pajama bottoms on the floor. At his urging, her top quickly joined the pile, and she sat back on top of him, seeming to be mindful of the black and blue spots on his core as she positioned her hands on his chest.
“Are you sure?” she whispered.
He answered by pulling her pussy down on his cock until he was fully seated inside her.
“Oooh,” she whimpered as she began to rock on him.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he moaned as he thrust up.
Their bodies began to move in rhythm. She was sexy as fuck riding him with her head thrown back, and he reached between them to fondle her clit, causing her to gasp then moan softly.
Mason shifted his weight slightly when his thigh began to throb.
Not now, he pleaded with his aching leg. He knew she was on the cusp of climaxing and there was no way he was going to stop until she did.
Except.
His leg went from a throbbing pain to a stabbing one. His cock reacted accordingly, which Reagan quickly noticed, and she stopped abruptly.
“Oh god, I’ve hurt you!” she cried out as she moved off him to the side and switched on the bedside lamp.
He reached up and stroked her arm.
“No, sweetheart, you didn’t hurt me. I just moved wrong and tweaked my leg.”
“You should have let me do all the work,” she teased, then began to examine his bandages. “It doesn’t seem to be bleeding.” Tucking one pillow under his thigh and another under his calf, she murmured, “We should probably keep it elevated though.”
“My own naked Florence Nightingale,” he said with a smirk.
“Let me grab your pain pills.”
She went to walk to the kitchen buck-naked, and he shouted, “Whoa, whoa! Nuh-uh. Put a robe on. You don’t need to be flashing any of the security guys.”
“Oh, whoops. I never thought of that.” She giggled and pulled a robe on, then added, “Probably nothing they haven’t already seen then. I sunbathed topless here last week.” She was out the door before he could respond.
Mason suspected she was purposefully tormenting him and wasn’t really serious. But the thought of any other man seeing her topless made his blood boil.
“That’s not fucking funny!” he called after her.
She reappeared with a glass of water and his prescription bottle of pain medication.
“I thought it was hilarious,” she murmured as she handed him the water.
“Not even a little.”
&nb
sp; He swallowed the pills with a drink, then set the glass on the nightstand and grabbed her by the belt of her robe. Tugging her closer, he untied it and pulled the gown apart to openly leer at her naked body.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful. I’m sorry I didn’t make you come before we stopped.”
She leaned over and pecked his lips, then stood up straight and tugged on the fabric, closing it in the middle by bunching the material in her hand before walking around to her side of the bed. Bending over, she picked up their discarded clothes and acted like she was going to put them back on.
“Aw, don’t. Please? I promise I’ll behave.”
Reagan eyed him suspiciously. They both knew he was lying.
“I’ll go upstairs and sleep if you don’t,” she warned.
He didn’t want that.
“Scout’s honor,” he said, giving the three-fingers salute. She didn’t need to know he was never a Boy Scout.
She slid under the covers next to him and nestled her bare chest against his side. The pain in his leg had dulled so his dick was quick to stand up again.
“Glad to see it’s not broken,” she murmured with a grin, gesturing to the growing tent under the covers. “But I’m not kidding. I learned my lesson—what would we have done if your stitches ripped open? I’d have had to call my sister. Do you want to be the one to explain to Bella at two in the morning why you’re bleeding and need a doctor immediately?”
Mason had to concede she had a point.
“Okay, okay. I already promised I’d behave, what more do you want?”
“Um, you to mean it.”
He looked her solemnly in the eye. “I wouldn’t have sex with you again tonight even if you begged me.”
Please don’t test me. Please don’t test me.
****
Reagan
She was feeling guilty for being such a dirty girl. What kind of woman fucked her boyfriend the day after he’d been shot multiple times? A slutty one, that’s what kind.
The younger Jones sister had had her share of one-night stands in her thirty-two years, so she wasn’t exactly innocent, but she never would have classified herself as slutty before. But given how easily she had hopped on Mason at the slightest provocation, and considering he was freaking injured, she was labeling herself now.