Protector

by Lisa Renee Jones

  They began the walk to the house, Sterling taking a big part of Mason’s weight. “Be glad he hasn’t. It saved our asses today.”

  Mason snorted.

  “You need stitches to stop the bleeding,” Sterling commented as they took the first step leading up to the porch. Before they could take another, the door burst open and Holly came running down the stairs.

  * * * * *

  Holly watched out the window, desperate to know what was going on outside.

  The instant she saw Mason walking toward the house, slumped over against the strange man, her heart fell to her stomach. She ran to the door and onto the porch, desperate to find out why Mason was slumped over on the other man. Her heart beat double time in her chest. Her first glimpse of Mason confirmed her fear. Something was terribly wrong.

  Pale as a ghost with blood dripping down his side, he looked like he might collapse at any moment. “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed urgently. “You’re hurt.” She stopped directly in front of him, surveying his injury. “Bad. You’re hurt bad. We need an ambulance.”

  “No,” Sterling said before Mason could. “I can take care of him.”

  “He needs a doctor,” Holly argued as she pushed the door to the house open and held it so they could go inside.

  “I’m fine, Holly,” Mason said but his voice was soft, his energy clearly low. “I just need to rest.”

  “This way,” Holly said directing both men toward her room.

  “Damn, this hallway is small,” Sterling complained as he tried to maneuver Mason to the bedroom.

  Once Mason was on the bed, Holly went down on her knees beside him and started tearing his shirt away from the cut. After a moment of inspection, Holly looked up at Mason’s friend. “Sterling, right?”

  He nodded.

  “I need hot water and towels. Top cabinet in the bathroom.” She paused. “Quickly.”

  Her attention went back to Mason, not even considering Sterling might not do as she asked. She examined the cut. It was a deep gash, long and dangerous-looking. “Mason,” she whispered. His eyes fluttered open, his face even paler than when she first saw him outside. “You have to have stitches.”

  “You can stitch me up, right?” he half-mumbled, half-whispered.

  “I don’t keep those kinds of supplies around here.” Why didn’t he want to go to the hospital? “I’m not a practicing physician, I’m a scientist.”

  Sterling reappeared, setting the requested items on the floor beside her. Holly grabbed a washcloth and wet it before gently dabbing at the cut.

  Mason’s eyes fluttered shut again. “And you’re a doctor,” he said. “Stitch me up, doc.”

  “I told you I don’t have the supplies.” She applied pressure to the wound and looked up at Sterling. “We have to take him somewhere to get this bleeding stopped.”

  Mason grabbed her wrist, drawing her attention. “I can’t, Holly. Stitch me up.”

  “Needle and thread will do,” Sterling said from behind her.

  “Needle and thread!” She could hardly believe her ears. “Are you nuts?”

  Mason still held her hand. “Leave us alone a minute, Sterling.”

  Without hesitation, Sterling gave Mason a quick nod and walked out of the room. “Holly,” Mason said. “I know you have no reason to trust me but I’m asking you to anyway.”

  Holly leaned forward and wiped his forehead. “I do trust you. I don’t even know why. I hardly know you.” She paused and then, in a softer voice, said, “But I do.”

  “Good,” he said quietly, his eyes half-open. “I’m not the enemy, I promise.”

  She stared at him a moment, wondering at his choice of words, but dismissed their strangeness as a reflection of the pain he was in. Yet… She wondered so many things. “Who did this, Mason?”

  “Right now I need you to fix me.” He took a labored breath. “Later, I’ll explain everything.”

  “But—”

  “Please, Holly. There are…thing things about me you need to know.” He paused as if it took effort to continue. “For now, fix me. The needle and thread won’t hurt me. I can’t go to a hospital. If you do as I ask, I won’t bleed to death or get an infection. I’m not like you.”

  The implications of his words sent a chill down her spine. The unknown was becoming downright unnerving. “Not like me, meaning what?”

  He swallowed as if his mouth was dry. “Fix me first.”

  Holly studied him a minute and then yelled, “Sterling!”

  Mason let his eyes close. He knew she had agreed. “Thank you,” he whispered.

  Sterling stepped back in the door so quickly it was obvious he had been standing just outside the entrance. She looked at him and waved him forward.

  “Hold this on his wound,” she said indicating the now-crimson towel. “I’ll be right back.”

  Sterling didn’t move. In fact, he looked like he was about to pounce on her. “Where are you going?”

  “To get needle and thread,” she explained with a bite to her words. This was her house, damn it. He studied her a long moment, as if trying to decide if he should believe her. Finally, he did as she asked.

  Holly rushed toward the closet, pushed to her tiptoes, and reached for the sewing kit she kept on the top shelf. She couldn’t believe she was about to do this. To stitch Mason with sewing thread and needle was crazy.

  But he had asked for her trust and she had given it freely.

  She was glad she was cool under pressure. Panic wasn’t something that matched well in the medical or scientific world. Patience, calm and skill were traits she possessed and put to exceptional use.

  Holly crossed the room to the bathroom and gathered together several items for the procedure. Her supplies were limited but she didn’t have much option but to simply make do. Mason was losing blood far too fast for her comfort.

  Moving back to the bed, she stood looking down at Mason when a thought hit her. “This isn’t going to work,” she said. “I don’t have anything for pain.”

  Mason’s eyes opened. “I don’t need anything.”

  “He’ll be fine,” Sterling said, his tone reassuring as if he was telling her he knew something she didn’t. Holly expected he did.

  She nodded but her stomach flip-flopped. The thought of causing Mason undue pain made her sick. As if he read her mind, he said, “I’ll be fine, Holly.”

  She met his gaze and his eyes, normally vibrant and soulful, looked tired and dull. “I hope so,” she whispered as she moved to his side. Holly looked at Sterling. “Keep holding the pressure until I tell you otherwise.”

  Breathing deeply, Holly prepared the needle, sterilizing it with alcohol. “Okay,” she said to Sterling. “I need a chair. Can you grab one from the kitchen?”

  He nodded as Holly replaced her hand on Mason’s wound. Focusing on Mason, she said, “I need to sterilize your wound. It’s going to hurt.”

  His nod was barely there. Holly poured alcohol over the cut and was shocked when Mason didn’t even flinch. “I can block out pain, Holly,” he told her, his eyes meeting hers. “It’s a mental ability like the way I told Roger to go home and he listened. You won’t hurt me. I’m weak from blood loss, not from pain.”

  She digested the words, understanding them and praying he was right. Sitting down in the chair Sterling provided did little to help. The first stitch was the hardest. Her hand shook as she inserted the needle into his skin. When he didn’t so much as tremble, she felt a little more confident. With each stitch she moved a bit faster, eager to finish the job.

  When she was finally through, exhaustion etched her features and a light perspiration pebbled on her forehead. She bandaged him, dabbed antibiotic on the sutures and prayed he wouldn’t get an infection.

  She looked behind her where Sterling stood. “Can you help me change the sheet?”

  He nodded. “You did good,” he assured her. “He’ll be fine.”

  Holly looked at Mason, who hadn’t opened his eyes since she finished
her work. “I hope you’re right.” Pushing to her feet, she walked to the closet. She pulled open the chest of drawers that sat inside and removed some fresh sheets.

  Holly removed the old sheets from the empty half of the bed and put the new ones over the mattress. Sterling started to shift Mason to the clean side. The instant he touched him, Mason’s eyes darted open. Immediately, he sat up and swung his legs to the side of the bed. “We need to get out of here.”

  Holly rushed to him, squatting down in front of his knees, hands on his thighs. “Lay down, please. You can’t be up right now. You need rest.”

  Mason’s bloodshot eyes stared down at her. “It’s not safe here. We need to leave.”

  “You can’t leave now,” Holly insisted.

  “She’s right, Mason.” Sterling spoke quietly. “We’ll be better off leaving in the morning after you heal. Sleep it off and then we’ll go. I’ll watch out for Holly.”

  “I can’t risk it. What if Holly is—”

  Sterling finished his sentence. “She won’t be. I won’t let anything happen.”

  “What does this have to do with me?” Holly asked, confused.

  “It’s too dangerous,” Mason said, trying to stand up.

  “No!” Holly spat, moving between his legs and holding his arms to keep him from getting up. “Stay down, you stubborn man!”

  Mason sank back into the mattress and stared down at her. Sterling spoke to Holly. “Tell him you won’t leave the house, not even for work tomorrow.”

  She made a disgusted sound as she looked over her shoulder at him. “What does this have to do with me? And who did this to him?”

  Mason’s fingers touched her cheek. “I have much to explain.”

  She made a frustrated sound. “Sterling can explain. You go to sleep.”

  “No,” Mason said with more force than he had used since the injury. “What you learn comes from me.”

  Sterling spoke again. “Promise him you will stay inside and safe if he rests.”

  Holly let out a breath. “Fine,” she clipped out as she fixed Mason in a stare. “But when you’re better I want explanations, Mason. Lots of them.”

  He tried to smile but failed. “You’re very demanding.” He paused. “And stubborn.” This time he managed a slight, but definitive, lift to his lips.

  “Yes,” Holly agreed, “well, how would I hold my own with you if I wasn’t? Since you are feeling so superhuman, move to the clean side of the bed so I can fix the sheets.”

  Mason did as she asked, seeming far too agile for a man with sewing thread laced through his side.

  Sterling moved toward the door. “I’ll be on the couch if you need me.”

  Holly nodded but didn’t turn, thankful when she heard the door close behind him. He had loomed above her for what felt like hours. A break from his watchful eyes was welcome. Holly straightened the sheets and began gathering together all the used supplies.

  When she headed toward the bathroom, Mason half-sat up. “Where are you going?”

  She rolled her eyes. “To clean up. Are you going to sleep or baby-sit me?”

  “Maybe if you came over here and rested with me, I would relax,” he suggested, watching her through half-shut eyes.

  A pang of warmth raced through her body and wrapped around her heart. He was so determined to keep her safe from some threat she didn’t even understand, that he wouldn’t rest without her near.

  Part of her wanted to demand answers but now wasn’t the time. He needed to rest. “Let me wash up and I will.”

  Holly stepped into the bathroom and shut the door. Leaning palms on the counter, she stared into the mirror. Her insides were still quivering from stitching Mason up with needle and thread.

  Moving to the tub, she turned the water on extra hot and stripped off her clothes. But mentally, she stayed alert. She was in danger. Mason didn’t strike her as a man to overreact. If he was worried, there was a reason.

  When Holly finished showering, she dressed in the oversized T-shirt she had hanging over the towel holder and then flipped off the bathroom light. Quietly she tiptoed into the bedroom, careful not to disturb Mason.

  She was surprised to find him awake. “I can’t believe you’re not sleeping.”

  He lifted up the blanket, inviting her to join him. “I was waiting on you.”

  Holly didn’t hesitate. She moved forward, some part of her desperately wanting to feel his warmth, to know he was truly going to be okay. He pulled her tight against his uninjured side, holding her as if she was his lifeline.

  He kissed her forehead. “Now, I’ll rest.”

  Holly snuggled against his chest, soaking in the feel of safety he gave her, loving the way she felt in his arms. Even injured, he made her feel as if nothing, and no one, could harm her.

  Except maybe him.

  Holly was falling for Mason in a big way. A man of a million mysteries.

  * * * * *

  Roger took long strides across the university parking lot toward the lab. The walk from his apartment had done him good. A small portion of his tension had begun to ease. After hours of trying to sleep and failing, he had simply given up.

  Holly was on his mind, killing him with the knowledge she was with Mason. He didn’t like the man—no, couldn’t stand him. How could Holly fall for a guy like him? Couldn’t she see beyond the brawn? He’d always thought Holly was above judging a book by its cover.

  Unlocking the building door, he moved toward the lab, his eyes squinting into the dark hallway. By the time he made his way to the outside of the lab office, his eyes had adjusted enough to see the keyhole, but just barely.

  “Damn, it’s dark,” he mumbled under his breath as he pushed open the door, reached his hand along the wall and searched for the light.

  Before he managed to flip the switch, he felt an abrupt shove and he went tumbling to the ground.

  And then the darkness came again. This time, complete and all-consuming.

  Chapter Seven

  Holly was having the most amazing dream about Mason. He was kissing her and, God, could the man kiss. His tongue was demanding, yet gentle, with just a hint of spice. He tasted like pure addiction come to life, like he was drugging her, making her crazy with desire.

  She couldn’t get enough of him.

  His hands were everywhere, touching her and teasing her. His tongue, warm and greedy, slid across her bottom lip and then his teeth nipped. He kissed her with sensual, warm strokes of his tongue.

  Need built inside her like a flame that had been suddenly born and begged for life.

  His fingers touched her nipples and they ached with a pleasure that was painful in its intensity. She arched her back and murmured his name, loving the way he palmed her breasts in reaction.

  Mason.

  His hands touched her with a hunger that felt contagious. Every caress, every taste, every stroke fed her need and made her ache with a passion she had never felt before. A consuming need to feel.

  She felt him grow more intense, his desire making him touch her with heavier strokes, kiss her with deeper passion. He kneaded her breasts harder, almost roughly, but it felt so damn good…like bittersweet perfection. He pinched her nipples between his fingers and a wave of sensation rushed straight to her core. The wetness of her desire clung to her thighs, her need to have him inside her near torture. She yearned for fulfillment…wanting and needing to the point of near agony.

  But it was such an addictive pain. The kind that made her cry out with pure ecstasy. The kind that made her cling to him. The kind that felt it could never be satisfied, yet she had to try.

  Over and over again.

  She couldn’t remember taking off her clothes but she was glad they were gone. She must have missed that part of the dream…but she didn’t really care. She was just glad to be skin to skin with him. He was kissing her neck and then her shoulder, and his mouth licked and nipped its way lower. A trail of goose bumps danced along her skin.

  Suddenly his
mouth was on her nipple, suckling gently as if he had caged the animal inside. With slow precision, he increased the pressure. His teeth scraped and nipped and she moaned with pleasure. Her hands and into his long hair—she loved his hair—eager to hold him close. He was relentless with his teasing and she arched her back, yearning for more even as she thought she had had all she could take.

  She wanted what he had yet to give her. Her hands went to the sides of his face, begging him to look at her. “Now, Mason,” she cried, when his dark gaze lifted to hers. “I want you, inside me, now.”

  Her words seemed to make his eyes grow hotter. So hot that it felt he might scorch her with a mere look. She took him in, hungry with her stare, aroused by the sensual image he offered. His dark hair fell around his shoulders, sexy and dangerous-looking. It dangled against her face and shoulders, tantalizingly sensual. His lips were deliciously full, enticing her finger to run the length of the bottom one.

  Reality washed over her in rush.

  This was real.

  Remotely, her mind registered the light barely shining through the window. It was morning. “I’m not dreaming, am I?”

  He stared at her a long moment and she thought he would speak but instead he lowered his mouth to hers. His only answer was a burning hot kiss. His tongue stroked hers with fervent, hungry need. She clung to him, kissing him back with a growing urgency that seemed to consume the lines of reality versus fantasy.

  She simply wanted what he offered.

  Her nipples pressed against the hair on his chest and she arched her back to feel him closer. They pressed their bodies together, kissing, touching and tasting.

  Long minutes later, his mouth close to her ear, breath warm against her neck, he whispered, “This is very real, Holly Heart.”

  “I want you, Mason,” she whispered.

  His mouth moved to hers and, for long moments, they lingered, lips close, breath mingled. It felt as if something passed between them, a unique bond of intimacy. It seemed to build from deep inside, making her stomach get a funny little feeling.

  It was a unique experience, so intense, so complete. As if her entire existence merged with his.