I pause. “Still. Thank you for your service.”
He nods with a small and timid half-smile.
“Why didn’t you tell all those stories when you were...you know, campaigning?”
“I didn’t want to. I respect my unit too much to have ever exploited them like that. What we went through wasn’t for that.”
I feel my chest getting warm as I say, “I respect that. That was very honorable of you.”
Mason and I talk and talk for what feels like hours. I have not laughed like this in so long. I almost forget who I’m talking to until he brings up the topic of work.
“You say one joke in a room, off the record, and it makes national news the next day and you have to go out there and appease the world.”
“True. Someone like you can't afford to make mistakes, or even to misspeak,” I agree, taking another bite of my food. “Actually, I can relate in some way. In my line of work, one wrong move with your little finger and you can cause someone's death. That’s why I was so insecure about becoming a surgeon at first. As a kid, I was so clumsy, and you’d think that would change when I became an adult, but nope."
He smiles. "See? We may have more in common than you thought."
I find myself smiling back and relaxing into the chair. "Yeah. I guess we do."
“And don’t worry. You’re going to be a great surgeon.”
“Thank you.” I feel my cheeks heat again.
“I’ve never been so sure,” he replies, reaching up and placing his warm hand over mine.
I swallow abruptly as my eyes flutter.
"Pardon me, Sir," a gravelly voice says as a shadow covers us, and I wrench my hand away as if we’re two kids caught under the bleachers.
I giggle just a bit as I realize how ridiculous that was. I’m a grown woman and this is a romantic date. I shouldn’t be feeling as if I’m sneaking around behind my parents’ back.
I look up to see that it's one of the men who searched me earlier. His body is so large that it throws us both into a whole other atmosphere, revolving around a different sun. His face is blank, completely void of any expression as he continues.
"Some civilians are starting to take notice. We have to move now."
"Thank you, Abel." My date nods and shoots me a smirk, then says, "I hope you don't mind..."
"I don't mind," I say quickly, shaking my head.
He frowns. "What did you think I was going to say?"
"That the date is over? I understand. I mean, you’re...you, and if anyone’s time is valuable, it’s yours..."
"Taylor, no way. I was going to ask you to come with me—if you wouldn't mind."
“Oh.” I smile. "Where are we going?"
"Somewhere no one will find us."
A minute later, Mason and I are escorted to the back door of the restaurant and a big black, unmarked SUV pulls up. Abel hurries in front to open the door for us while the two others get in the passenger seat.
As we sit in the car, I look behind me and see that there are five other SUVs following us.
“Wow. That many? Just for a date?”
He shrugs. “Comes with the job.”
I sigh and nod in understanding, scooching myself closer to him. “So. What can I do to pry our destination out of you?”
Our faces an inch closer now, his breath warms my face as we look into each other’s eyes. “Your lips,” he whispers.
“My lips?” I whisper back, swallowing hard as I smooth my fingers over his lapel.
“They look so soft.” His thumb touches my bottom lip and I taste him, using the very tip of my tongue. “I want to taste them.”
“What’s stopping you?” My chest starts moving higher and faster as we breathe into each other.
“Sir, we’ve arrived,” a booming voice interrupts us, and again, I catch myself fleeing from my date like a teenage girl who’s been caught breaking curfew.
This time, Mason and I laugh together as the guards open each door on our sides and we get out separately, joining again after I’ve crossed over to him on the sidewalk. I take his proffered hand.
We follow Abel into a building as the two others follow behind us.
“Where are we?”
“Top secret location,” Mason replies with a smirk.
“Hiding in plain sight?” I frown as I look back to where we just came from. I can see the streets clearly as the walls are made of clear steel.
Mason looks at me with a smile as we walk. “The best-kept secrets aren’t hidden.”
“I’d beg to differ,” I say, with a smile of my own.
“Don’t worry. No one saw us come in and no one will see us get out. And this place is surrounded, even if no one can tell.”
We walk into a dim-lit lobby, decorated with maroon-colored poles that reach the ceiling. There’s a man behind the tall, round desk. He simply nods at Mason, then at me, then at the guards.
“This is my true home,” Mason adds, as Abel chooses one elevator and summons it with an ID he fetches out of his pocket.
The golden-framed doors open and we all walk in, including the three guards.
It’s a bit crowded, and I slowly look up at Abel and the other guards as they all surround us like we’re two birds in a golden cage. The tension is awkward, but maybe it’s just me, because Mason seems as comfortable as ever.
Clearing my throat and fidgeting with my earing, I look at the guards again, wondering, If Mason and I have sex tonight, will they be there looking down on us? Will they also inspect my vagina to check I’m not carrying a weapon in there? Maybe some teeth?
“Pst, Taylor, you’re staring,” Mason whispers in my ear, sounding amused.
Startled, I look quickly away. “Oh, sorry, I… I didn’t mean to be rude. I, um… I don’t think they like me very much. Look at their faces,” I say in a whisper.
Mason chuckles. “They have nothing against you, Taylor. That’s just their faces.”
The golden doors split open and we exit, turning down a corridor with polished ceiling sconces and bright diamond chandeliers.
Then we stop at a large, heavy door.
“Your turn, Sir,” Abel says, waiting.
Mason lets go of my hand and places it on a blinking screen that I realize is a biometric palm scanner. The screen lights up in bright green, and two words appear: Access Granted.
Abel pulls open the heavy door that was once locked and we saunter down another corridor toward a second chain of elevators. This time, there’s no button to press to summon the car, so Mason has to again use his hand for the elevator to work.
Finally, we step out of the elevator after another awkward ride. This time, the room that awaits us is more intimate.
An art deco-style painting hangs on the wall above a plant.
As we walk further into the luxurious residence, the guards start to scatter immediately, each one of them disappearing into the different corners of the place.
“Um…” I look to Mason as he relieves me of my purse and places it on the table beside the plant. “Where did they all just go?”
“Their security rooms, respectively. Don’t worry—we won’t be seeing them again unless I need them, or if something else arises that requires us to escape the premises.”
“Oh.”
“Drink?” he offers.
“Yes. Thank you.” I step down the stairs to a low-level room, admiring everything around me. “Wow, this place…”
“I bought it a year ago. I wanted a place to just...breathe,” Mason says from another room. I hear him pouring the drinks.
“It’s lavish, yet so intimate.”
“Yeah. I brought my life from before here with me. Everything I owned before is here.”
I can see that as I sweep my hand over a wooden grandfather clock and find that inside it is a framed photo of Mason, in his late mother’s arms. Her smile is brilliant as she holds onto her months-old baby boy. Mason’s late father is standing behind her, his hand placed protectively on her
shoulder as he smiles for the photo.
In another framed image, Mason is a young teenager, standing next to his mother, nearly at her shoulder. “These are so sweet. Your mother was so pretty. And you—I can’t believe you looked that good as a teenager. Did you miss the memo? We’re supposed to be hideous at that age. I was.”
“I truly doubt that,” Mason says from behind me, sounding closer now.
I turn to him, taking the glass of wine he hands me.
With a skeptical, half-lidded glance, he chuckles. “I bet you were beautiful.”
Something vibrates in his pocket, and he takes out his phone while holding his wine glass in his other hand. The phone screen casts a glow on his handsome face as he smiles.
“That’s Sofia. She’s, um, asking how the date is going. More like bragging, actually.” He shows me the screen and I read the text. Sofia’s message says, ‘I was right, wasn’t I? Taylor is as amazing as I warned you, isn’t she?’
He locks the phone as our eyes lock together. “She was right. You are amazing, Taylor. You are that and more. “
I’m about to say ditto but another vibration comes from somewhere else in the room, and I laugh when I realize it’s coming from my purse. “Sounds like she’s texting me too.”
“I’ll get it,” Mason says with a laugh, and he leaves me to go fetch my phone.
I turn back to the display of framed photos. There’s one with Mason posing with ten other men and women, but somehow, he manages to stand out, even though he wears the same clothes as everyone else. There’s a glint in his eyes as he tightly smiles. He is immaculately dressed in his military uniform, looking far better in it than the rest. He’s in his early twenties in this, and I can tell that this was taken before he and his team were deployed. He still looks untouched by the shudders of war. This photograph shows the man before his sacrifices, before his mother died, and then his father right after, while he was away serving his country. I decide that I like him better as he is now. The war hero who risked his life to save others—the man in the photo—is beautiful. But the man I am with right now is far more marvelous with all of his scars.
“Same text,” Mason tells me from the other side of the room as he reads the screen of my phone.
“Cheeky Sofia,” I say, as I walk now into a grand room. I trace my hand along the sculpture of an eagle. There’s a mirror next to it, and the tasteful lighting in the space nearly makes me look as if my life is playing through a giant screen in some movie-theater somewhere. Especially given who my date is. This still feels unreal.
How did I go from hoping my date wasn’t a boring loser, to him being Haroldson Ford?
This doesn’t just happen!
I have so many questions for my best friend. The first one being, how in the Holy Hell does she know Mason enough to set him up on a date like he’s just any regular guy walking on the streets?
When she told me about this date, even though she was raving about how awesome he was and how perfect we would be together, she still talked so casually about him.
After taking a long sip of the wine, I look up at the high, curved ceiling, wondering how I got here.
“What are you thinking about right now?”
I turn swiftly at the deep sound his voice, feeling his hand grasp my shoulder in comfort.
“I’m just terrified at the thought of you seeing my hideous tattoo. It’s the stuff of nightmares, I tell you,” I joke.
“Oh. It can’t be that bad, surely.” He laughs.
I nod, widening my eyes for emphasis. “Oh, trust me. It is. Sofia had an identical one and she had it removed last year. I’m doing the same next month. I have an appointment. I’m doing it.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it. And if not, maybe I’ll love the memory behind it.”
I squint at him, unable to keep my smile to myself. “You do see the good in everything, don’t you?”
“I very much do. I can’t help it. Not everything is bad. There has to be a bright side to everything.”
“Do you have any tattoos?”
“I do not, but I do have many scars.”
“Yeah.” I look at the one on his neck. It looks like the work of a knife. It healed badly, as if it was clumsily patched up. I reach out and trace my finger over it. Mason closes his eyes, leaning into my touch.
"How did you get this?” I ask, then quickly realize my invasion. “If I may ask..." I add carefully, looking down from his face quickly, feeling embarrassed as I take my hand away.
A moment later, I feel his fingers squeeze my chin, pulling my face up. My eyes meet his again.
"It’s okay, Taylor. I’m proud of these scars. I’m proud of all my scars. And please, don’t stop touching me."
A hot wave insults my cheeks and my heart pounds at our intense closeness. I swallow, my voice cracking as I go on.
“I don’t want to invade your privacy. I know your time there was awful, so I don’t want to bring up any bad memories by asking you.” I resume rubbing my finger against his scar. He relaxes into my touch again, his throat working on a swallow.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip. “I would be happy to tell you the stories behind all my scars.” His hand lowers to my collarbone and it heats me up, my skin flushing beneath his touch. “I actually got this one while being mugged. He was a father. They were so poor, and the war made it even worse for them. Poor guy had no choice but to wait outside our camp, even knowing the risk in attempting to hurt an American soldier. After he accidentally cut me, he went down on his knees and begged for my forgiveness, offering me the bloody knife so I could cut him back. My heart just...broke. I gave him all the money that I had on me at the time. I told him to run and take care of his family, then I went into the wood and patched myself up. I didn’t want to be a burden when I went back to camp. I saw him a week before we left. He and his wife had three daughters. One of them was a two-month-old baby. God, the look on his face when he saw me again. I only knew a few words in his language, but I could understand everything he was telling me just by looking into his eyes. I have never seen a man so grateful. He thanked me over, and over again.”
“Thank you for telling me that. I cannot imagine what it was like for him, having to resort to that to feed his family.” I let my finger fall onto his bicep, and squeeze a little as I say, "And you are amazing."
"Go on," he jokes with an infectious smile, making me laugh.
A comfortable silence falls over us as the air between us gets thicker. Then, Mason whispers, “Show me.”
My hand is still going back and forth, up and down his arm. He wets his lips, rolling his tongue around his now open mouth as he looks down at me.
“Show you?” I repeat, my breath heavier now as the space disappears between us. My body presses against his.
§He takes the wine glass from me, leaving it on the table next to us. “Show me the tattoo.”
My heart skips a beat as Mason now takes my hand, kissing each finger.
“Are you sure.” I swallow, pressing my thighs together. “It’s really ugly. I’m warning you.”
“Where is it?” he asks softly, nibbling on my ear now, making me throw my head back.
“On my thigh.” I moan the words as he kisses my neck.
He reaches for the hem of my skirt, bringing it up slowly, revealing my bare thigh inch by inch.
Then he pulls away and kneels in front of me. Leaning forward, he presses his lips against the sensitive skin of my left thigh.
“Mason,” I breathe as he starts sucking in, his warm mouth leaving red marks behind as he works his way up.
Finally, he sees it. A smile graces his face.
“I told you,” I say with a quiet laugh.
He laughs too. “It’s gorgeous on you. Trust me,” he mutters, looking at me with a big smile.
“Now I know you are full of shit,” I joke, throwing my head back with laughter.
Standing up, he takes my hand and pulls me t
o a door at the end of the hall. He turns the lock, leading us into a large bedroom.
“Wow,” I say as I look around. “How can you not dream beautiful dreams sleeping in a room like this?”
“I do,” he tells me, letting go of my hand to unbutton his cuffs.
“I don’t doubt it. This is a room fit for a...well, someone exactly like you.” I especially admire how the sophisticated yet natural-looking light strikes the dark-blue walls. The custom bed, dressed with creamy silk, serves as a mere addition to the whole decor. Everything falls together to create a perfect blend, pleasing to the eyes. Pleasing to the soul.
If I could, I would never leave this room.
Mason steps in front of me. His dark head hangs down in waiting. He's abandoned his jacket, unbuttoned the top of his shirt and loosened his collar and tie, leaving him wearing his impeccably tailored waistcoat, and leaving me salivating at the little glimpse of his body he has revealed so far. His muscular forearms are nearly protruding out of the sleeves of his white dress shirt. It stretches and pulls over his broad shoulders and muscles.
"Kiss me, Taylor," he grumbles.
I do. Pointing up on my tippy-toes like a ballerina, my lips reach his. They are soft, bigger than mine, covering my lips with cruel intensity.
I moan into the kiss and embrace him, wrapping both my arms around his neck as it deepens.
His hand tightens around my neck and he groans, picking me up, carrying me to the bed.
He places me down, his elbows on each side of my body, then he pulls away briefly, looking down at me as if he, too, can’t believe this night. He whispers breathily, “God, where have you been?"
"I—"
Before I can answer, his lips cover mine again.
***
The bedroom is just as stunning in the morning. I wake up feeling so fresh, as if I’ve sent the night a spa.
Is that what it feels like to wake up in a bedroom fit for a King? I just want to smile and jump up and down as if I own the world.
I wrap the silk sheet around my naked form as I pull up, looking around the room for any sign of Mason. On cue, he exits the accompanying restroom and enters the bedroom. Leaving my jaw on the floor.
I saw him in all of his glory last night, but there is something different about now.
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