Maybe he should go over to her apartment just to make sure everything was okay. He wasn’t worried about her or anything, but her phone might be out of order, and she’d want to know about that, wouldn’t she? He guessed he could call the phone company to find out if that was the case, but, hey, who trusted the phone company? No, it would be best if he drove over to discover the source of the trouble. Maybe he could even repair it for her. Lou loved it when he helped her out like that. Hey, face it—Lou needed him.
In a lot of ways, she reminded him of his kid sister. Emily had gotten in over her head more than once and had to rely on Mason to bail her out. Like she had six years ago,the very incident that had brought Lou into his life. Okay, so maybe Mason had only himself to blame for Emily’s predicament then, because he was the one who’d gotten himself kidnapped by the very men he was investigating for a story, inadvertently leading them to his sister as a result. But Emily was the one who’d hired a private detective to find him. That had caused her as much trouble as anything. Never mind that she and Mick Dante, PI, ended up falling in love and living happily ever after. And never mind there was a little Dante on the way now.
That was all beside the point. The point was Emily had needed Mason to keep an eye on her and get her out of scrapes. Now she had Mick to do that for her. Which was convenient, because lately, Lou required that service from Mason. That’s how it had been since the day they met. Even if—okay, okay—it was Lou who rescued him on that particular occasion, and—yeah, all right—it was the stickiest situation he’d ever landed in. What about all those times when Mason helped her with her algebra and sociology homework? And what about all those creepy guys he’d chased off to keep her out of trouble? Hey, Lou, you’re welcome.
He looked at his watch and wondered where the woman he was supposed to be keeping an eye on was and why she was incommunicado. Yeah, it might be best to go to her place and check things out. Just to make sure her phone was working all right.
But when he arrived at Lou’s front door a half hour later and rapped three times, he received no answer. He knocked again, more vigorously. No response from the other side.
“Lou,” he called through the door. “It’s Mason. Are you home?”
What a stupid question, a voice at the back of his brain taunted him. Of course she’s not home. She’s out. Ooouuut, the voice repeated. And she didn’t take you with her.
“Come on, Lou, open up,” Mason cajoled. She was probably in the shower and couldn’t hear him. It was about the time she usually started getting ready for bed. The time he always started heading back to his place. He knocked again. Nothing. Again.
That did it. He tugged the spare keys Lou didn’t know he had—hey, there could be an emergency at some point, and he’d need a key to her place, and she’d doubtless just forgotten to give him one, and thank goodness he had it now, because this sure as hell was an emergency—and unlocked her front door. He supposed that, technically, it was a kind of an invasion of her privacy—and, okay, maybe kind of illegal—and she could maybe, possibly, perhaps have him arrested for it if she wanted to. But Lou would never do that. This was for her own good. She’d understand. It was an emergency. Hell, she’d probably be grateful.
He quietly closed the door behind himself and glanced around the room. Nothing was out of place or seemed to have been tampered with. Actually, he’d never seen her tiny studio apartment looking so clean. Not that Lou was a slob or anything, but that comfortable, lived-in look he always enjoyed had been replaced by a just-washed-and-waxed neatness that made him think she was planning to entertain royalty. The jewel-toned throw pillows that usually haphazardly dotted the claret-colored sofa were now lined up like soldiers. The plants spilling from the bookshelves almost looked combed. There was a new bedspread on the platform bed in the corner, at the center of which slept her cat Roscoe, unconcerned by Mason’s arrival. And near the closet-sized kitchen, her two-seater table held a vase of fresh flowers.
What was Lou was up to? Clearly, she was out—without him. But where? He removed his jacket and tossed it with intentional familiarity onto the sofa, then headed to the kitchen for a beer. Lou always kept a six-pack of his favorite brand in the refrigerator for him. The cold swig did little to soothe his frayed nerves, however. If she wasn’t home by eleven, he was calling the cops.
It was actually ten-fifty-eight when Mason called the police, but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway, because at eleven-thirty there was still no sign of Lou. It didn’t help his darkening mood that the policeman who’d answered the phone said there was nothing they could do until she’d been missing for twenty-four hours. After verbally thrashing the guy for showing so little concern about a kid from West Virginia who was naive and trusting and in constant need of supervision, Mason had slammed the receiver into its cradle and gone for another beer.
Now it was past midnight, and Lou still wasn’t home. He was just swallowing the last of his third beer and had his finger on the dial to call the first of many hospitals when he heard footsteps in the hall outside the door. Hastily, he rose from the sofa and stuffed the loose tails of his blue chambray shirt back into his waistband of his jeans. Then he prepared himself for battle, insisting Lou tell him where she’d gone and what she’d been doing, and what the hell was she thinking to cause him so much worry, and she better never, ever, do something like this again.
What Mason wasn’t prepared for, what he didn’t expect, was that Lou wouldn’t be alone when she came home. As the front door swung open and he heard a low chuckle unlike any he’d ever heard from her, he opened his mouth to chastise her, only to snap it shut again at the sight of the man who entered the apartment behind her. He and Lou looked as surprised and annoyed as Mason felt, and it was a long moment before he fully understood the implications of their presence. Somehow, he knew right off the man with Lou was Albert Michaud, and the realization she’d so blatantly ignored his warning to stay away from the Sonoran clouded Mason’s foul mood even more. Then right on the heels of that thought was another, even more disturbing one. Lou looked…
Wow. Lou looked incredible.
She was wearing red. Knee-jerking, heart-stopping red in the form of a tiny, curve-hugging dress that would raise the dead in a rainstorm. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d seen her wear anything other than the shapeless, baggy clothes students seemed to prefer, in pale pastels or discreet darks. This new version of Lou Lofton was more than a little unsettling. The kid from West Virginia had turned out to be one red-hot tomata.
“Mason, what are you doing here?” he heard her ask from what seemed like a million miles away.
For a long time, he didn’t—couldn’t—answer. He could only stare at the lightly made-up features beneath the boyishly cut hair that oddly only multiplied her femininity. All Mason could think was, Wow, and all he wanted to do was explore every inch of what little her dress didn’t reveal.
Shocked by the realization that the carnal thoughts he was suddenly having were about Lou, Mason could only stammer, “Uh…Wh-what?”
“Halouise, do you know this person?” the man standing beside her asked.
Mason forced himself to stop ogling Lou long enough to look at the man in the charcoal suit who was her—the word stuck in his throat to even think it—date. Albert Michaud wasn’t as tall as Mason was, he noted with smug pride. Nor was the other man’s slim build anything like his own. And he had dark hair and eyes instead of the blond and blue Mason claimed himself. At first, the recognition of their differences reassured Mason. Then he remembered Lou had never put on a little red dress like that for his benefit. Maybe she preferred the slim, dark and handsome type. Boy, did that come as a surprise.
Mason gave himself a good mental shake. That was beside the point. The point was…something else. He just couldn’t remember what at the moment.
“Who the hell are you?” he demanded of Lou’s—gah—date, already knowing the answer but wanting the other man to be on the defensive.
Unfortunately, Michaud wasn’t one to be easily intimidated. “I could ask the same question of you,” he said crisply before taking a step in front of Lou, as if to shield her from harm.
Yeah, right. Mason would show Michaud who needed protecting before the night was through. “Lou, tell him who I am,” he said.
Lou rolled her eyes. “Albert, this is Mason.”
The other man’s expression calmed,, and his body relaxed. “Oh, this is the one.”
Lou nodded in what seemed to be resignation.
Mason watched the exchange through narrowed eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, Mason, stop swearing,” Lou chided. “It makes you sound like you’re trying to be some kind of swaggering stud.”
He drew his eyebrows down in confusion. “I thought I was some kind of swaggering stud.”
She shook her head at him hopelessly. “Albert,” she said, taking the guy’s hands in hers. “I’m sorry the evening is ending this way. Let me make it up to you. I’ll cook dinner here tomorrow night for us. How will that be?”
“Tomorrow?” Mason interrupted. “But tomorrow’s Thursday. You always cook dinner for me on Thursday.”
Lou smiled at him indulgently. Indulgently. Lou was never indulgent to Mason. He was always the one being indulgent to her. “I’m sure you won’t mind fending for yourself this time,” she told him.
Albert seemed to be ignoring the exchange, Mason noted, so focused was he on Lou, oozing his charm all over her. “I will bring the wine,” he offered. “Red or white?”
Lou smiled back at him, in a way Mason had never seen before. Like she was flirting or something. Mason wasn’t even aware she knew how to flirt. Never mind that she actually did flirt. When did that happen?
“Oh, bring both,” she gushed before standing on tiptoe to brush her lips over Albert’s cheek.
In spite of the chasteness of the gesture, at seeing it, a great fist clenched Mason’s insides and squeezed hard. He opted for a more aggressive attack.
“You’re Albert Michaud, aren’t you?” he asked the other man. “Cloying diplomat and all-around friend to fascist dictators?”
Albert’s smile fell as he turned to Mason. “I beg your pardon?”
Mason took a step closer. “If I ever see you with Lou again, I’ll have INS on you like flies on a horse’s rump.”
“Mason,” Lou said in a cautious voice, “don’t start any trouble.”
Mason ignored her. “Listen up, Michaud. Maybe you can fool Lou into believing you’re some respectable diplomat, but I know all about Marco Papitou’s little private terrorist army.” He closed the distance between himself and the other man and thrust his fingers against Albert’s chest. “Don’t come near her again or you’ll have to deal with me.”
“Mason,” Lou tried again. This time both men ignored her.
“The Immigration and Naturalization Service cannot touch me,” Albert stated calmly. “A very nice little benefit known as diplomatic immunity. And as for you, I am, how they say, shaking in my foots.”
“Boots,” Lou corrected him softly.
“Yes, that is it.” Albert backpedaled. “Shaking in my boots.”
Mason smiled ferally at them both. “Yeah, well if either one of you pushes me too far, we’ll see who’s shaking in what, won’t we?”
“Albert, you’d better go,” Lou suggested, opening the door behind them. “It’s getting late.”
Albert nodded stiffly at Mason before turning to look at Lou. “I had a very nice time tonight, and I look forward to tomorrow evening.” He lifted her fingers to his lips and brushed her palm softly with a kiss. “Adieu,” he murmured.
“Goodnight, Albert. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lou closed the door behind him with a quiet click and then pivoted to scowl at Mason. “Just what was the meaning of all that?”
“You tell me,” he countered.
“I’m not the one who’s obligated to make explanations here, and you know it. What are you doing in my apartment, and how did you get in?”
Reluctantly, Mason pulled his key ring from his pocket and lifted two keys for her inspection. “I…uh…I sort of have keys to your apartment.”
Lou continued to glower at him but also dropped her hands to her hips in challenge. Unfortunately, instead of being intimidated, Mason only noticed how the gesture pulled the dress more tightly over her breasts, and how the realization of that sent heat scrambling through his midsection that zapped every nerve he possessed and sent blood zinging through his veins. What the hell was up with that? What the hell was up with Lou? When had she become such a…such a…woman?
“Mason, I think it’s time we had a little talk,” she told him.
He latched on to her announcement like a lifeline, trying to dispel the other disturbing thoughts clouding his brain. “Yeah, you’re damned right we need to talk. First and foremost, what was going through your head to be dating a guy like Michaud? And second of all, where do you get off kissing terrorists goodnight? And thirdly, where in the hell did you get that dress?”
“This isn’t just about me, Mason,” she replied coolly. “This involves both of us.”
She approached him slowly, her red, mile-high heels scraping softly on the hardwood floor. When she was scant inches away, he could smell the scent of her perfume, something spicy and sophisticated and completely inappropriate for a kid like her. Still, he couldn’t help noticing it was kind of nice. Alluring. Sexy. When she seated herself on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her in invitation, it did nothing to slow the delirium fast overcoming his brain.
“Sit down,” Lou said when he remained standing. “This could take a while.”
After a moment’s hesitation—it was that damned, sexy scent of her, dammit—Mason perched himself on the edge of the couch at the other end. God help him, but when she’d told him this—whatever this was—could take a while, a part of him started hoping it would take all night. And it wasn’t a little talk he was hoping would take that long, either. But, man, oh, man, it did indeed involve both of them.
Chapter Two
Lou studied Mason for a long time before speaking. What on earth was he doing here, especially at this time of night? She could understand his anger for her having developed a source after he’d forbidden her to do so, but to find him waiting for her here in her apartment this way? That was a bit of an overreaction. Her evening with Albert had been perfectly harmless. They’d met for dinner at a popular Dupont Circle restaurant, and then they’d gone dancing at a crowded nightclub less than three blocks from her apartment. She hadn’t been alone with him at all—not even on the walk home, because the streets were still filled with people.
Why would Mason think she was in any danger with Albert? And what difference did it make if she’d given her date a quick, meaningless peck goodnight? And when had her wardrobe become such a big concern for him? As she continued to watch the man seated on her couch where he’d sat a million times before, a steady throbbing began in the back of her brain. Because never in a million times had he seemed as quick to judge and react as he had been tonight.
Men were so confusing. One man in particular.
“Mason, what are you doing here?” she repeated when he still didn’t answer her question. “And how did you get keys to my apartment?”
Another moment passed before he responded. And when he finally did, it was only to mumble something Lou didn’t understand.
“What?” she asked softly.
He looked up quickly, his expression exasperated. “I said, ‘I was worried about you.’”
Which was no surprise. Mason always worried about her. Worried the way a big brother would worry about his little sister. Damn him. Lou had never embraced any illusions about what happened to Mason after his sister Emily married. The two siblings had always been close, and Mason had set himself up as Emily’s protector from an early age, whether she wanted or needed one or not. Now that she was married and had a
nother protector in her husband, Mason had transferred all of his protective instincts and brotherly feelings onto Lou.
She supposed she should be flattered. And comforted Mason did care for her so much. But it was awfully difficult to feel good about the fact that he couldn’t set aside the Halouise Lofton she’d been six years ago and see the one she was now—the one who could give him so much more.
Logically, she knew it was unlikely he would ever offer her the love she wanted from him, but emotionally… Well, Lou had never really been able to help herself where her feelings for Mason were concerned. Over the years, as she’d matured, her adolescent crush on him had expanded into a full-blown case of womanly love. And she’d indulged freely in fantasies that he would see past the scared little kid from Hack’s Crossing and come to love her as a woman who had adult emotions and needs like his own. Instead, Mason had installed himself as her protector—unconcerned about whether she wanted or needed one—where he could assure himself he was keeping her safe. When really, safe was the last thing she wanted to be in a world where adventure constantly beckoned.
“And the keys?” she asked again.
“That Girl’s Weekend Out you and Emily spent at Ocean City,” he replied. “You asked me to pick up your mail and feed Roscoe.”
“And you had a copy of the keys made,” she concluded. “Oh, Mason, why didn’t you just tell me you wanted a set? I would have given them to you.”
He shrugged and stared at the floor but said nothing.
Lou sighed in frustration at his uncommunicativeness and toed off her shoes. They dropped to the floor with a gentle thump-thump. The sound brought Mason’s attention around, and he seemed to recall the original subject of their conversation. Suddenly, he sat up straight and glared at her.
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