Chapter 7
Shoving aside the sudden uncertainty that was gnawing at her, Hannah climbed out of bed and pulled Mason’s T-shirt on. Since she was going to be busy in the kitchen, she opted not to wear a robe.
The spicy scent of his soap filled the air, and she fought against the impulse to go into the bathroom and join him. She was pretty certain he wouldn’t object, but it would bind them closer, and she’d just vowed not to do that.
She scooped up her discarded thong, then placed it in her tote bag before leaving the room and closing the door behind her.
Instead of going straight downstairs, she decided to explore the home’s second story. He had a guest room, with another four-poster bed. And there was another bathroom, much smaller than his, without a bathtub, but with an oversize walk-in shower. It, too, had cozy touches, candles, round cakes of soap, luxurious towels, a teak bench. The sink was glass, and the faucet would flow like a waterfall. Nearby, a vase contained fresh-cut white carnations.
When she fled from Liam, she’d done so suddenly. The need to get out was immediate, and it had demanded action. There was no way she could go through that kind of experience again.
Fiona had caught the first available flight to Austin. While Liam was at work, they rented a truck, packed up Hannah’s belongings, and locked the door on their way out.
It wasn’t until now that she realized she’d been living such a utilitarian life. Because she left so many things behind and the deposit and first month’s rent had wiped out her savings, she bought many items secondhand. Only her bed, sheets, blankets, and bathroom linens were new.
Her savings had been rebuilt, but she hadn’t focused on making her place homier.
Living in this luxury was eye-opening and addictive.
And because of it, she would always remember this weekend. And him.
That thought was an unwelcome intrusion.
A room at the end of the hallway served as a home gym, with yoga mats, free weights, an elliptical machine, even a treadmill. A large mirror took up most of the far wall. Maybe she could grab a chair and watch him pump his muscles. With the mirror, she would be able to see every part of him.
Shaking her head at her fantasy, she peeked inside his home office. The walls had a few pictures of framed magazine covers and homes that she assumed his company had built.
It seemed he placed his personal mementos in his bedroom.
Behind a door, a narrow, curved set of stairs led to a third level. From the outside, the home appeared to be a two-story, so she guessed there was an attic, rather than bedrooms, up there.
When the water that had been rushing suddenly stopped, she headed down the stairs, holding on to the polished banister.
Over the years, how many children had slid down it, only to be admonished by a parent? Even she was tempted to give it a try.
In the kitchen, she found the coffee and filters. After setting the machine to brew, she found her bag and pulled out her phone.
The red notification light blinked rapidly, so she scrolled to the message window. There was a text from Fiona.
Is it possible to die from boredom?
Hannah grinned. Since the message had been sent before eleven, maybe the evening had gotten better.
She scrolled to the second one.
For the love of God, tell me you’re having fun. One of us should be.
Then another had arrived at one a.m.
Call me when you can. I want all the details.
After responding, asking her friend if she was awake, Hannah rummaged through the kitchen, looking for something to make for breakfast.
For a bachelor who didn’t cook, the pantry and refrigerator were generously stocked. She found a bag of croissants in the bread bin. Then, inspired, she sought out eggs and cheese.
Working in here, with so much room, and high-end knives, was a dream. She hummed as she sliced the croissants, then popped them in the oven to warm. As she was whisking salt and pepper into her scrambled egg mixture, Fiona’s ringtone—a high-energy mambo—spilled through the silence.
Hannah answered on speakerphone. “Did your evening get better?”
“Tell me this, girlfriend. Why am I up so early on a Saturday?”
“I’ll take that as a no. What went wrong?”
“He keeps asking if he’s being a good Dom. Reassuring him and trying to guide him along the way tuckered me out.”
Hannah turned on a burner and placed a frying pan on it.
“But Lord have mercy, that’s not the worst. He snores. Like a machine gun, only louder. These stuttering, awful inhalations. Girl, I’m telling you, he’s so obnoxious I can still hear him, and I’m outside.”
“Can you get out of the contract for the weekend?”
“I probably could.” Fiona hesitated. “But I don’t want to. I feel kind of sorry for him.”
Hannah added a dollop of sweet butter to the pan and let it melt before pouring in the eggs. “Sorry for him?”
When Fiona replied, there was compassion in her words. “You know, maybe he’s not actually a jerk. Maybe he’s just insecure?”
“That’s a possibility.” She stirred the eggs. “I still think you like him.”
Fiona sighed. “He’s…sweet. Nice.”
“And you’re not looking for sweet?” Hannah surmised.
“I didn’t think so.”
“You like him!”
“Get out of here. He snores! And…”
Shocked, Hannah dropped the spatula. Fiona constantly flitted from Dom to Dom, seeking something newer, brighter, shinier. So the confusion in her voice was stunning. “You like him,” Hannah repeated with more force.
“I— No. That’s enough about me. I’ve been pestering you because I want the scoop on One Night Dom.”
Afraid of Mason overhearing his unflattering nickname, she snatched up the phone, turned off the speaker. She glanced around, just to make sure he wasn’t there.
“Amazing, right?”
“He was. He is.”
“I’m so envious right now, I could turn green. You’re lucky that’s a bad color for me.”
Hannah laughed.
“Seriously, I’m happy for you. You’re okay?”
Sore. Tender. Satisfied. And craving more. She settled for, “Yes.” Physically. As long as she could steer him away from probing questions, she’d get through the weekend and be happy for the experience.
“Listen, I gotta go. Mr. Snorebox is headed my way.”
“Try to have a good time.”
“I’ll forgive a lot of sins if he takes me out to breakfast.”
Fiona’s relentless optimism was one of the things Hannah appreciated the most about her friend.
Still grinning after the call ended, Hannah pulled the baking tray from the oven, then layered scrambled eggs onto the bottom halves of the croissants before adding shredded cheese. She put the tops in place, then used a potholder to slide the rack back into place before closing the door and setting the timer.
Between the coffee and the bread, the kitchen smelled delicious, and her stomach rumbled, spurring her to find a tray.
Hannah grabbed a bowl for sliced strawberries, then poured herself a large cup of coffee. After adding a huge splash of cream, she took the first fortifying sip.
With her eyes closed, she leaned against the countertop, utterly content.
At first, she didn’t recognize the feeling. She’d spent so long being unsettled, expecting Liam to find her or come after her, that caution had become a part of her life. Even after she heard he had a new submissive, she hadn’t let her guard down.
“A penny for your thoughts?”
Hannah jolted, almost spilling her coffee. With a trembling hand, she placed the cup on the counter beside her.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. I wasn’t being quiet.”
Save me. Mason looked so damn sexy that her heart lurched. His dark blond hair was wet, and his bare chest was dotted with droplets o
f water. He wore black shorts that did nothing to disguise his erection.
How was that even possible? They’d already had mind-blowing sex.
His legs spread wide, he studied her, his jade eyes narrowed, as if wanting to see past her personality to explore the essence of who she was. He unnerved her. “Coffee?” She pushed away from the counter. “It may not be as strong as you say yours is, but it should do the job.”
“Thanks.”
She grabbed a big, sturdy mug with his company logo on it. “I’m guessing cream. No sugar.”
“Astute.”
“Not really.” She smiled. “Since you don’t cook, there’s not a lot of reason for you to have an open container of cream in the refrigerator. And if you used sugar, it would be accessible instead of tucked somewhere at the back of a shelf.
“I shall dub thee Super Sleuth.”
She grinned as she poured the brew into the cup, then slid the cream toward him. He made it impossible for her to keep an emotional wall between them.
“Can I help you with anything?”
“I made some croissant sandwiches.”
“Is that what I smell? When I was in the shower, I was hallucinating that I was at my favorite breakfast restaurant.”
“That’s a good thing, I hope.”
“Yeah. Very good.” Though he accepted the mug from her, he didn’t take a drink or move away. He’d planted himself so that he was very much in the middle of her work area.
“Should only be a few minutes. I thought I’d slice some strawberries to go with them.”
“Slice? Is that what you’re supposed to do with them?”
She laughed. “Or eat them whole, I suppose.”
“That’s fine with me.”
“I was planning on drowning them in cream.”
“Even better.”
He took a drink of his coffee, then saluted her. “You can be in charge. Though it pains me to admit it, this is better than mine.”
“You’re an appreciative audience.” She wrinkled her nose as she studied him. “Or a crafty one who likes me doing all the kitchen things.”
His grin sent her into a freefall. “An appreciative one. Without a doubt.”
He sat at the counter where he could watch her work.
After washing the berries and patting them dry, she placed them in the bowl and added the cream. “I was going to bring the tray upstairs. I thought we might eat outside before it gets too hot.”
He nodded. “I enjoy watching the comings and goings in the neighborhood. Kids playing. The guy across the street has been teaching his son to ride a bike. After he fell last week, the training wheels went back on. Mom and the kid seemed happy. But I saw Shawn take them off a couple of days ago, while his kid was inside. I’m guessing they’ll be trying again this morning.” Mason grinned.
That he took so much delight in a small pleasure charmed her.
The timer beeped, and she pulled out their breakfast. “I made you two. I figured you had an appetite.”
“You should have made yourself two.” He took a drink. “You’re going to need the energy.”
How did he do that to her? Make her want to fall to her knees without even asking?
While she transferred the sandwiches onto the plates, he refilled their drinks. “Do you want me to carry the tray?”
“That would be awesome.” Someone to share the load. She grabbed the coffees and followed him upstairs and through the bedroom. He placed the tray on the dresser long enough to open the window.
“This is weird.”
“You’re supposed to walk through doors, right?”
“Yes.”
“Windows are aesthetically pleasing as well as practical.”
Once they were outside, he put the tray on a small table, and she placed the cups near it. Moments later, he flicked a switch to activate the overhead fan before heading inside to pull on a short-sleeve T-shirt.
When he returned, he took a seat on the small wicker couch. There was plenty of room next to him, but she opted to sit in a chair that was at a slight angle to him.
“I scare you.”
“Sandwich?” She picked up a plate and offered it to him.
“That was an artful dodge.”
She smiled. “Strawberries?”
“I’ll take the hint.” He accepted the plate and took a bite of the croissant. “This is better than eating out.”
“Glad you like it.” The bread was the perfect combination of crispy on the outside and warm on the inside. The cheese had melted into the eggs, so the entire thing was buttery and filling.
“Tell me we have enough for tomorrow morning as well.”
“We may have to go shopping.”
“There’s a market a few blocks away. We can go later.”
Grocery shopping? She glanced down at her plate to scoop up a piece that had flaked off her croissant. That hadn’t been part of her plan. She’d been thinking sex and submission, not relationship-type of activities.
A breeze rustled through the trees, and she sat back to relax. “It is pleasant out here.”
“Kind of day that makes people fall in love with the Crescent City.”
“Then comes August and September.” She selected a strawberry, then sucked the cream off it before biting it in half. “You were right. Leaving them whole was a better choice than slicing them,” she admitted.
“Stick with me, Hannah. I’ll show you all the good things.”
“I think that might be true.”
His grin was quick and a little too triumphant.
Just then, a dad and a young boy walked out onto the street, pushing a bicycle.
“No training wheels,” Mason observed.
A woman followed—the mom presumably. She checked the strap of her son’s helmet and adjusted one of his elbow pads. “I had no helmet. No pads,” he mused.
The dad glanced up at them and shook his head.
Hannah smiled.
The woman stepped back and lifted her cell phone. Judging by the way she continued to hold it steady, she was filming the today’s attempt.
The dad held on to the seat and handlebars and shouted, “Pedal!”
They took off down the street, dad at a run, the bike wobbling frantically. Dad let go. “You got it! Pedal!”
The boy looked back and promptly fell over.
“Good life lesson, right?” Mason asked. “Don’t look back. Keep moving forward. Get back on and try again.”
Maybe for others. She wanted to be sure she never fell again.
The mom took off running to check on her child.
Down the street, the dad stood the bike up again. “Pedal, son! Keep moving!” Dad ran alongside the bike, and then, right after he let go, another crash happened.
She and Mason watched for a minute before she returned her attention to him. “You were going to tell me more about the house.”
“The old beauty was in disrepair. But my dad fell in love.” For a moment, he hesitated. His eyes clouded like they had last night when he’d picked up the picture of his father from the mantelpiece. “He wanted it for my mom, as a surprise. I think for him, it wasn’t about status—it was about giving her something beautiful because she deserved it. She married him when he wasn’t making a lot of money, when the construction industry was in a downturn. Her parents helped them buy a bungalow, but as far as I know, it bothered him that he hadn’t been able to provide that for her.”
Mason slid his empty plate back onto the tray and reached for his coffee mug. “Anyway. In his early years, he’d had a paper route, and he’d delivered to this street. He remembered the history. About five years ago, it came on the market as a foreclosure. Nothing was up to code. Basically it was uninhabitable. But Dad was enchanted. He had this gift for seeing the possible. He became obsessed with researching the history. Fortunately a bunch of it existed, original drawings, and a magazine feature.”
“The one that’s framed downstairs?”
&nb
sp; He nodded. “As you might have noticed, the original structure was built with Grecian columns, which are more square. Sometime later, they were replaced by Corinthian ones, like you see now. The wrought iron fell into disrepair sometime in the twentieth century, and an unknown owner replaced it with wood. Dad couldn’t stop thinking about it, so he negotiated a deal with the bank. It took months before the deal closed.” He looked off into the distance. Not at the activity in the street, but somewhere unseeing. “The house was all he could talk about. And then he got the diagnosis.”
“Oh God, Mason.”
“He kept going but needed help. He was supposed to have years ahead of him. It turned out he had less than one.” The pain made his voice waver. “We worked on it together every day. At night, we’d sit on ladders or the stripped floors and share a whiskey while we made plans that never happened.”
“I’m so very sorry for your loss.” It had to have destroyed him.
“So I finished it.” He shrugged. “The irony? Mom never wanted this house. Her tastes are simpler. She likes the bungalow where I grew up. It was her home. That’s where the memories are, Christmases, birthdays. First day of kindergarten, homecomings, prom, graduation parties. Learning to ride a bike.” He chuckled. “She was happy in the bungalow and didn’t want to move. So I made some changes to the plans for this house to increase the resale value.”
“But you haven’t been able to part with it.”
He shrugged. “While finishing the renovation, I moved in. And then…”
“Like your dad, you fell in love?”
“Never meant to. But there’s something about it. I found a hundred reasons not to sell. The location is perfect. Plenty of room for my home office and a workshop out back. Investment potential. I’m too busy to look for something else. Mom sold the house to me, and I made a few changes to suit me.”
“I don’t blame you.”
“Except for the fact it’s better suited for a family than a bachelor.” He shrugged.
She finished her coffee, then looked over at him. “So, I have a question for you.” One that had bothered her since yesterday. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“True enough.”
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