by Sabrina York
Trouble was, he didn’t know what to do about it. He had no earthly idea how to proceed with her.
It was an unfamiliar situation. One that made cold claws gouge at his gut.
One that had him lying awake long after the fingers of dawn crept through the drapes.
He must have fallen asleep.
Must have, because when he woke up, she was gone. His arms were empty, her side of the bed cold.
A flicker of panic ribboned through him until he heard the TV in the next room, and smelled something…delicious. He closed his eyes with a groan and rolled over, preparing to heave his body from this warm cocoon. He froze as his nose nudged something furry.
It rumbled. A growl.
He pried open a lid and…
Shit.
That many teeth that close?
Shit.
He lurched back and glared at the heinous gremlin who had taken up residence on his pillow. Lola stood and glared at him. He couldn’t help but note that she was naked…except for a sparkly rhinestone necklace.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she made several circles on his pillow and then settled down. Right in his spot.
He growled back at her, but there might have been a laugh somewhere in it. He heaved off the bed from the other side, even though it was awkward because it was a large bed.
He didn’t mind. He didn’t want to be in bed.
Pansy was in the other room after all.
And hell, she had food.
He grabbed his discarded robe from the floor and tugged it on, and then padded into the living room. She sat on the sofa—and ah, what memories that invoked—with a tray before her; it was covered with a plethora of domed lids. One plate, with a selection of pastries sat next to a pot of coffee. He stared down at the tray and frowned. “You ordered breakfast?”
“I was hungry.”
He stared at her, tried not to be annoyed that she was dressed. It was a cute little almost-dress, and she looked adorable, but he couldn’t help wishing she was naked.
“You should have woken me.”
“You looked tired.”
He attempted a scowl, but wasn’t sure he nailed it because she seemed utterly un-phased. “I don’t want you answering the door.” It wasn’t safe. Not while someone was after her. “Promise me you won’t do that again?”
“I can’t promise that.”
Oh. His scowl was real now.
She grinned. “I order breakfast every morning.”
“Promise me you won’t answer the door without me there.” His attempt at the voice had little effect. She tossed her ponytail in a wholly insolent manner. His fingers twitched. “Pansy…”
Her lashes flickered. Okay. Maybe the voice had had some effect. “All right.” A sigh. “I promise.”
“I’m just trying to keep you safe, baby.”
She sucked in a breath at the unintended endearment. Hell, so did he. He attempted to steel his spine, remind himself who he was. Her guardian.
And also, a little voice in the back of his mind whispered, her lover.
He ignored it.
“So,” he huffed, attempting to be all businesslike and serious. “What did you order?”
“I wasn’t sure what you like so I got a selection.”
“A selection?” It looked like enough for an army, but then, he was famished.
She grinned and patted the seat next to her.
He took it. Then kissed her—though he shouldn’t have, but hell, he couldn’t resist. He was hungry, after all. She tasted like cinnamon and coffee. She felt like heaven in his arms.
He didn’t want to stop, but his stomach growled and she laughed into his mouth. One more quick buss, and he turned to the table. “So, what do we have?” He whipped off a dome and his attention stalled on the tantalizing sight of Eggs Benedict. He looked at her. “Did you order this for yourself?”
She shook her head. Oh thank God. “I thought you might like it.” It was his favorite. “I also got an omelet and French toast and pastries. Oh…” She whipped off another dome. “And bacon.”
Bacon. Excellent. She was, perhaps, the perfect woman. “One of everything?” He teased.
“Just about.”
He grinned at her and pulled the Eggs Benedict closer and lit in. Must be nice to have the world at your fingertips. But then, when she was at his side, he felt that way as well. He didn’t want to explore that though. At least, not until after breakfast.
Holy Hannah, the man could eat.
Pansy stared as he demolished the Eggs Benedict, three strips of bacon, a slice of French toast and half the omelet. If she ate like that, they’d have to roll her from the room.
She sipped at her coffee to hide her smile. “Hungry, were you?”
He looked up. His eyes glinted. “Famished. Someone wore me out last night.”
Oh my. Heat crawled up her face as she remembered…everything. She lowered her eyes, to hide the force of her emotions, but he cupped her cheek and made her meet his gaze. He stroked her with his thumb. “I like that,” he murmured in a low rumble, one that set up a quivering response at her core.
“Um…” She cleared her throat. “Like what?”
“I like when you blush.” His grin was wicked.
She straightened her spine and tipped back her head, attempting to look as prim and proper, as in control as she could. “I am not normally a blusher.”
His chuckle was soft. “Yeah. I know. That’s why I like it.”
Oh lord. Was it getting hot in here? Was the air conditioner not working?
“I really enjoyed last night, Pansy,” he said. His gaze flicked to the vee of her dress, as though he was recalling some of what they’d done.
“I…I did as well.”
“Even the, ahem, naughtier bits?”
A good thing he liked her blush. She must look like a well-cooked lobster about now.
“Pansy?”
“Yes, Mason?”
“Did you like those bits as well?”
“I did.” The confession caught in her throat, but he heard. But then, he was paying attention. His focus on her was intent.
For some reason, he seemed to collapse a little, then she realized he’d been anxiously awaiting her response. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be nervous about this unfamiliar intensity swirling around them, and somehow it made her feel more confident. Confident enough to send him a cheeky smile. “I’d like to do that again.”
He froze. His features locked. His nostrils flared. His gaze bore into hers. “Shit.”
Hardly a romantic sentiment, but she had no time to complain, because he yanked her into his arms and kissed her. It was a ferocious kiss, one that had her libido zooming into overdrive. Zero to sixty in less than a heartbeat.
He consumed her with all the passion he’d devoted to the Eggs Benedict, and more. But then, she responded with equal vigor. What was it about this man that made her mindless and crazed? His scent? The hard slabs of his body? His seething urgency? His savage beauty? Or all of it? Or something more, something intangible and untouchable, an aura that blanketed him? His soul?
He was familiar to her. Familiar in a way she couldn’t explain. In a way an evening of adventure could certainly not justify. It was as though she’d known him forever, and this, whatever it was, was simply a reunion. A glorious reunion of souls.
A celebration.
He pressed her back against the sofa cushions and covered her, kissing her, caressing her, inciting her to madness. He made her breathless, he made her wild. He made her want.
The knock on the door was an annoyance.
They both ignored it.
It came again. Harsher this time, more insistent.
Mason muttered a curse and leaned up, gazing down at her with an expression of regret. “I should see who it is.” He gently brushed her hair from her cheek and tucked it behind an ear.
“I suppose.”
With a sigh he rose and headed toward the door,
grabbing his pistol from the table on the way. It was cold in his absence.
Pansy sat up and straightened her bodice, which he had rumpled, and reached for her coffee.
Damn.
It was cold as well.
* * *
Bristling with tension, Mason peered through the peephole, then gusted a sigh as he recognized the faces in the fisheye.
He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or aggravated. Reinforcements had arrived. But shit, what lousy timing.
He shot a glance at Pansy. “We have company. They’re my coworkers. Are you ready to meet them?” She was going to meet them, whether she was ready or not, but he figured it couldn’t hurt to ask.
She brushed down her hair, though it was perfect. “Um, sure.”
Mason nodded, and opened the door.
A pity he’d forgotten how he was dressed.
Dane Coulter stepped into the foyer of the suite and stopped short. His sharp gaze ran up and down the lines of Mason’s terrycloth-clad body. His lips kicked up.
Shit.
Same response from Eli and Sander.
They all knew better than to say anything, but then, they didn’t need to. Their expressions said it all.
Mortification sliced through him and he pushed it away. He didn’t believe in regrets. A man should do what he needed to do and accept the consequences.
And he’d needed to fuck Pansy. Needed to claim her for his own.
Unwritten rules be damned.
Fortunately, the intensely awkward moment was shattered by an ominous clicking sound, followed by a barrage for furious, sharp snarly barks.
Lola, dressed in nothing but bling, skittered into the foyer and issued her complaints about this intrusion.
Mason smirked at their alarm and waved them in. “Gentlemen.” He closed the door and led them—around the slavering hound—into the living room. “Pansy Hightower, these are my coworkers. Dane Coulter.” He waved to Dane. “Dane was an Army Ranger for fifteen years. And this is Eli Cotton, former SEAL and John Sander, Special Forces. Gentlemen, Pansy Hightower.”
A chorus of ma’ams resounded. They were, of course, punctuated by the shrill percussion of Lola’s rant. She danced around the men, keeping a cautious distance, but railing at them nonetheless.
“Please have a seat and we can start the sit-rep,” Mason said, but when he sat next to Pansy, his friends stared at him. “What?”
Dane crooked a brow. “Aren’t you, um, going to get dressed?”
“Yeah, dude,” Sander snorted, the fucker. “I just don’t know if I can focus, wondering if your junk might fall out at any moment.”
Mason frowned. “My junk will not fall out.”
“Still,” Eli said with a shrug.
Mason huffed a sigh and turned to Pansy. “Do you mind?” As male snorts rounded the room, he pinned them, one and all, with a glower. “She’s understandably nervous around strange men.”
Their expressions sobered. As well they should. But Mason suspected the effort was only for Pansy’s benefit.
“I’ll come with you,” she said as she stood. And yeah, she missed all the eye-rolls.
“Don’t be long,” Dane warbled and Mason glared at him.
“Enjoy the dog,” he snipped in response.
Don’t be long.
As if.
It would serve them all right if he did exactly what they were intimating, and take her back to bed and fuck her nice and slow while they cooled their heels in the other room. The fucks.
“They seem nice,” Pansy said, as she padded into the bathroom and picked up his jeans and shirt.
Nice. Right. “They’re good guys. We make a good team.” This he said because it was important she trust them, trust them all, if they were to keep her safe. He reached for his underwear and froze. “Shit.”
“What?” Pansy whirled to him.
He pointed. “Shit.” Yeah. Right there on his briefs. A tiny steaming pile of it.
She snorted a laugh, which he didn’t appreciate.
“That was my only pair.”
She waggled her brows. “I guess you’ll have to go commando.”
Meeting with his friends while swinging low. Awesome.
But there was little choice. He dressed quickly and then led her back into the living room.
To his horror, his friends had found the breakfast tray and finished all the food. Even the bacon. To make matters worse, Dane was sitting in the arm chair with Lola on his lap. She gazed up at him adoringly.
He tried not to pout. About the bacon, or the feckless dog.
He took his seat on the sofa and Pansy sat next to him. He refilled her coffee cup—this could be a long discussion—but when he went to fill his own cup, the pot was empty. He forbore glaring at his friends, all of whom had full cups.
Pansy nudged closer and whispered, “We can share.” Which he liked. He liked it a lot, even though it made Dane smirk.
He glared at his friend. “How did you get the dog to shut up?” he asked. He had to. But what he really meant was, how did you get that dog to like you? Not that he cared. He didn’t. But it did kind of annoy him.
Dane shrugged. “It was easy.”
Easy my ass.
Eli chuckled. “She likes bacon.”
Oooh. The bastards.
Pansy yelped, not unlike a disgruntled Chihuahua. “You did not feed her bacon!”
Mason blinked. He’d never heard her use such an imperious tone. He was glad it was directed at Dane, who paled.
“Um, maybe a little.”
Her expression went ferocious. “Do not feed my dog.”
“It was just a little bacon.” Oh my. Silly Dane. Mason crossed his arms and leaned back to watch the show.
Pansy leaped to her feet and stormed over to the enormous warrior; he shrank before her vehemence. She snatched her dog from his lap. And while he did not like seeing her that close to anyone’s lap, the look on Dane’s face was priceless. “Bacon is full of nitrites. It’s not healthy in the least.”
“Yet you ordered it for me?” he asked, although he should have kept silent.
She pinned him with her stare. “You are not a tiny creature with a delicate constitution.” He glanced at Lola. Delicate constitution? Hookay. “And you are not a compulsive bacon thief.” She whirled around and glowered at each of the men in turn. “Now that she’s had another taste, there’s no telling to what lengths she’ll go to get more. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Dane shrugged. “I was just trying to make friends—”
“Do not feed my dog.” She tossed herself onto the sofa next to him. Lola, in an attempt to escape her fury, slunk on to his lap.
He shot Dane a smirk. “Don’t feed the dog,” he said.
Dane’s eyes narrowed. He cleared his throat. “Shall we get to business?”
Recalled to the purpose of the meeting, Mason straightened. “By all means. What did you find out?”
Eli pulled a notebook from his pocket and flipped through it. “Okay. Sander and I apprehended the four in the desert and we…” He shot a look at Pansy.
“We questioned them,” Sander finished for him. His smile was bright.
Mason had no doubts how that questioning had gone. “And?”
“They couldn’t tell us who’d hired them.”
Shit.
“All contact took place through a go-between. A guy named Hester. Obviously a pseudonym. He didn’t pop up on any of our searches. But we did get a piece of information that may mean something to you, ma’am.”
Pansy’s muscles bunched. He probably shouldn’t have, in front of everyone, but Mason settled his arm around her and stroked her shoulder. She glanced up at him and all his reservations melted away. She needed him, at least in this moment. And by God, he’d be there for her no matter what anyone thought.
“What is it?” Her voice trembled. He tightened his hold.
“They told us their orders had changed.”
S
ander nodded. “Originally they were to detain you until the ninth of September and then let you ‘escape’. But then new orders came in.”
Yeah. Orders to kill her and dump her in a shallow grave.
“Do you have any idea what would spark such a change?”
Pansy’s brow furrowed. She shook her head. “No. I…” She paused. Her throat worked. “September ninth? I was supposed to be released on September ninth?”
“Pretty specific date,” Dane murmured.
She turned up her chin, stared at him with wide eyes. Her lips worked.
“What is it, hon?” he asked.
“The vote. The one I told you about…”
“The one your stepfather is pushing for?”
“It’s on the eighth. Tuesday.”
“How far do you think he would go to get what he wants?” Mason had a suspicion and the thought chilled his blood.
“Have me kidnapped, probably. But killed?”
Mason fixed his attention on Eli. “Did they mention when the orders changed?”
Eli flipped a page. “Last week.”
Pansy took his hand. Her fingers trembled. “When last week?”
“That’s it. Just last week.”
“So let’s recap,” Mason said. His OCD side liked to have all the pieces in order. “Steven calls a vote to reorganize the company, but he waits until Catherine is out of country. He allegedly hires some bad guys to kidnap Pansy and keep her from the vote, but then changes his mind sometime last week.” He glanced at Pansy and stilled. He didn’t like how pale she’d gone. “What is it?” he asked.
“Last week I lost touch with Aunt Catherine. I don’t know if there is a connection but…”
Mason nodded to Dane. Can you connect with command and get a sit-rep on Catherine Hightower?”
“She’s in China,” Eli said. “Gage’s team is on her.”
“Yeah. I’ll call—just to be sure.” Dane pulled out his cell and stood, walking over to the foyer.
“So,” Sander said. “We’re working off the supposition that this Steven dude is our baddie?”
“Seems logical.” Mason nodded.
Eli pinned his gaze on Pansy. “Do you have any other enemies?”
She blew out a breath and lifted her hands. “I’m on reality TV.”
Mason frowned. “What do you mean by that?”