by Jennie Marts
In her line of work, she was surrounded by guys in suits who got their strength from working out and eating lean. Mason had told her a little bit about what he did on the ranch, and she could tell his body was toned and muscled not from working out, but from working, period. He had the kind of muscles that came from hard hours of lifting and hauling and working cattle and horses.
And he didn’t strike her as the type to eat salads and organic vegan meals—more like a full-on meat-and-potatoes man. Heck, she’d already seen him work his way through a plate of ribs and mac-and-cheese with ease.
She wondered if he was as smooth and skilled in other places as he was on the dance floor, and the thought sent a surge of heat flowing through her veins. She could feel the strength of his hand on her back and the warmth of his breath tickling her skin as he leaned a little closer.
The song ended much too quickly, but the band moved smoothly into the next one, and she and Mason remained on the floor. Buck invited the rest of the guests to join them, and the dance floor quickly filled.
Mason pulled her a little closer as the crowd squeezed in around them. She sucked in a breath as his knee touched the inside of her leg, the soft fabric of his suit pants whisking against her bare skin. Even though they were surrounded by people, it felt as if they were the only two on the dance floor.
They didn’t speak, didn’t make stupid small talk. She didn’t apologize for clumsily missing the steps, because she didn’t feel clumsy. She felt like a princess at the ball where the handsome prince magically glides her around the dance floor until the clock strikes twelve and she makes a run for the pumpkin carriage.
But she didn’t feel like making a run for it; she felt like staying here all night.
And her shoe wasn’t the only thing she was hoping to lose.
She had a feeling if she got another chance at being alone in a closet—or anywhere—with Mason James, there was a strong possibility she would lose her shirt, her skirt, and any other piece of clothing that might get in the way of pressing naked against his hard, muscled body.
A shock of dark hair fell loose across his forehead, and she again had the urge to brush it back across his brow. His eyes were brown, the color of milk chocolate, with flecks of gold circling the pupils, and she couldn’t stop looking into them.
She couldn’t stop looking at him, period. She wanted to memorize all his features and pretend this night was a real date, and that there might be future dates, which she knew was unlikely, if not impossible. Especially after the article with her byline came out. But she didn’t want to think about that now. She only wanted to focus on him, on the details of his face. A faded scar crossed through his eyebrow, and his cheek dented into the slightest dimple when he grinned.
She’d never understood that bit about a man having a chiseled jaw—until now. Mason’s face seemed to be sculpted from a fine block of marble. Marble with a dark stubble of whiskers. And she couldn’t help but imagine how those whiskers would feel against the tender skin of her body.
He was staring at her with the same intensity, and she caught her breath as he tilted his head and leaned a little closer. Her lips parted as if offering him an invitation, but her heart thundered in her chest at the idea of him actually kissing her.
She couldn’t tear her eyes from his. Her mouth went dry as she saw his gaze dip to her lips and his eyes narrow with desire.
He bent closer still. She could feel the whisper of his breath against her skin.
Her body reacted to his, warming with need and nerves, and she hoped her hand wasn’t sweating in his.
Kiss me already, she thought. Before I die with wanting you.
Closer still.
Yes.
She swore she felt his lips graze hers right before they were jostled to the side by a red-haired guy in a badly fitting suit who slugged Mason in the arm.
“You’d better get a move on, Mace, if you’re gonna catch up to your brother. He’s getting a wife and a kid in one shot. And you’re still hanging around the ranch. I thought you were supposed to be the best man. When are you going to get your own ball and chain?”
He laughed hilariously at his own joke, but the short, dark-haired woman he was dancing with, presumably his wife, didn’t look as amused.
Mason’s jaw tightened for just a moment, then eased back into an easygoing smile. Tess wasn’t sure she’d even seen it. It was like a ripple across still water, as if his good-natured mask had slipped for just a second, then popped back into place.
She might have thought she’d imagined it, if it weren’t for the way his hand tightened its grip on hers.
“Good one, Dougie. I can only hope to be as happy as you and Kim someday,” Mason said, offering the woman a smile before he dropped Tessa’s hand and pulled away from her. Turning, he walked off the dance floor and headed back to their chairs.
He may have just been smiling, but the tension in his shoulders was unmistakable as the fabric of his coat tightened across his back. As she followed, Tess reached out her hand to gently touch his arm. Then she pulled it back, the gesture seeming too intimate for someone she had just met, even though a minute and a half ago she’d thought she might die if he didn’t kiss her. And an hour ago she had considered taking him against the wall of the utility closet.
He stopped suddenly and turned back to her, and she almost stumbled into him. Reaching for her arm, he cupped her elbow to steady her as he nodded toward the back of the room. “I think I need some air. I’m gonna go for a walk, stretch my legs a little. You want to get out of here?”
No. Of course not. That’s a terrible idea. How could she even consider leaving the party? She hadn’t even talked to Rock or Quinn. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go.”
This was a bad idea. She knew it. But really, it couldn’t hurt to get a little air, could it? And it wasn’t as if Rock and Quinn were going anywhere—it was their party. Right?
Mason grabbed his cowboy hat off the table and jammed it on his head. Pulling her bag from the back of her chair, Tess hoisted it onto her shoulder, then followed Mason out the door.
Surprised to see that it was already dusk, that the afternoon had flown by, she inhaled a deep breath of mountain air. It was cooler up here than it was in Denver, and she let out a little shiver.
Mason shrugged out of his jacket and placed it around her shoulders. His own shoulders visibly relaxed as he turned away from the party. “Come on. There’s a stream that runs down the side of town, and it’s got a nice path next to it. We can walk up a ways, then come back down.”
“Sounds good.”
“You ever been to Creedence before?”
“No, but I like it. It’s a beautiful town. Did you grow up here?” She already knew the answer, but it seemed like the logical question to ask.
He nodded as he led her onto the path. It was more like a broad sidewalk that meandered along the side of the stream. It was dotted with benches and an occasional light devised to look like an old-fashioned lamppost. With the dusk settling in and the gurgling stream and gorgeous green surroundings, the setting made for a perfect romantic evening stroll.
But I’m not here for romance, she reminded herself. I’m here to get a story.
Which meant deceiving this nice, cute guy who was reaching for her hand to help her over a cracked part of the sidewalk.
The touch of his warm, callused hand had the task slipping from her mind. There would be time for the story later.
“Yep, born and raised here,” Mason said, responding to her question. “I’ve lived on the Triple J Ranch my whole life. Which is part of why I feel such responsibility to it. After our dad died, we boys took over the majority of the work of running the ranch. But Rock always had big dreams. He’s wanted to play hockey for as long as I can remember. And he had the talent to do it. He was good even as a kid. And if there was something he didn’t know how to do,
he practiced—for hours on end—until he mastered it. That guy is one of the hardest workers I know.”
“Sounds to me like you’re a pretty hard worker too, if you’ve been helping to run a ranch essentially since you were a kid.”
He shrugged. “I never really thought about it. I just did it. We all did. That’s how our folks raised us. My dad had the strongest work ethic I’d ever seen. That’s probably where Rock got it. On a ranch, there’s always work to be done, and we needed to make sure things got taken care of. That our mom was taken care of.”
“I can’t imagine being a widow with three boys and still trying to run a ranch. Your mom seems pretty amazing.”
“She is. And she’d probably swat me for saying that we felt like we needed to take care of her. Her pride almost equals her strength, but she’s always had our backs.” His face broke into a warm smile, and Tessa’s heart melted a little in her chest. “She always knew Rock would be a star. We all did. He had the talent and the drive to create a career for himself in professional hockey. My little brother, Colt, had a good chance too. He may have been better than Rock even. His talent came easier, so he didn’t have to work so hard. He was just great on the ice and could handle a stick like it was part of his arm, but an injury in high school wrecked that for him.”
She liked the way Mason’s face shone with pride as he talked about his brothers. “How about you? Did you ever want to play? Professionally?”
“Nah. I mean, I played in high school and in the junior leagues with my brothers, but I didn’t love it like they did. And you have to love it to play it like that. Besides, I’ve always known my place was on the ranch. And I knew the only way Rock had any chance of leaving was if I stepped up and took on that responsibility.”
Tess thought she detected a hint of bitterness in his tone, but she couldn’t be sure. He spoke of his brother with respect and admiration, but there seemed to be just a whiff of animosity when he spoke about staying behind to run the ranch.
“What would you have done if you hadn’t stayed?” she asked, stopping on the path and turning to look at him. “You said your brothers had big dreams of playing hockey. What were your big dreams?”
He stared at her, his eyes narrowing as if he wasn’t sure whether she was making polite conversation or really wanted to know. “Nobody’s ever asked me that before.”
“That doesn’t mean you haven’t ever thought about the answer.”
He grinned, then turned his gaze to the rushing water of the stream. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter anyway. Ranching is in my blood. And I’m good at it.”
“You’re also good at evading the question.”
He grinned again, then cocked an eyebrow at her. “You seem to be good at asking questions but never answering any yourself. I feel like all we’ve talked about is me. I barely know anything about you.”
Uh-oh. The last thing she wanted, or needed, was for him to start asking questions about her. She hated lying to him—especially after he’d been so frank and already told her so much about his life.
If she could keep the conversation focused on him or, better yet, on Rock, she wouldn’t have to lie.
“Me? I’m boring. Your life is much more interesting…running a ranch and having a famous brother. And a wedding coming up this week too. That’s exciting. Let’s talk about that. How did your brother and Quinn meet?”
There. That ought to do it. Get the focus off her and steer it toward gaining information on Rock.
“Good try. But I’m not falling for it.” He picked up a stone and skipped it across the water. “You don’t have to tell me your whole life story. We can start with something easy. Like…where do you work, or what do you do for a living?”
Chapter 4
Something easy? Yeah, right. He’d just asked the one question that Tess was trying the hardest to avoid.
Being a reporter often involved subterfuge and investigating the facts. Which meant sometimes pretending to be someone she wasn’t. Like an innocent bystander at the scene of the crime, or a clumsy ditz who accidentally spills her wine on a key witness, or a guest at a wedding party of a notorious hockey player.
She hated to lie, but maybe she could fudge her answer a little while trying to keep as close to the truth as possible.
“Um…I’m a writer.” There. That wasn’t so hard.
Mason raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? That’s cool. What do you write?”
Crud. That hadn’t worked as well as she’d hoped. She couldn’t very well tell him she was currently writing a story on his famous brother and his quickie wedding.
“Stories. About people, sometimes animals,” she said, nodding her head and avoiding eye contact as she smoothed out a wrinkle in the front of his jacket.
“Oh yeah? You had anything published? Anything I might have read?”
“Uh…yes. I mean…no.” She fumbled for an answer. He’d assumed she was an author, and it was easier to let him think that than to stumble through another fib. “I haven’t exactly published a book yet. But the story I’m working on isn’t something you’d probably want to read anyway. It’s more of a romance.”
“Ah.”
Time to change the subject, get the focus back on him. “Personally, I love a good mystery. How about you? What do you like to read?”
He shrugged. “I like mysteries and sometimes a little science fiction. I love those old westerns. My dad had a collection of Louis L’Amour books, and I read all of them as a kid.”
The corners of her mouth pulled up in a grin. “I’ve always liked guys who read.”
He offered her a flirty smile in return. “Oh yeah? Well then, it might interest you to know that I subscribe to the Farmers’ Almanac and Readers Digest magazines, and I’ve read through numerous funny pages and comic books. In fact, I read the back of the cereal box just this morning.”
“Impressive.” She chuckled. “So, it sounds like you really go in for the deep literary stuff.”
“Oh yeah, but I draw the line at any type of instruction manuals. I refuse to read that kind of garbage.”
Her chuckle turned into a full-out laugh. “Smart. I can tell you’re a guy who knows his limits.”
“I’ve actually got a mystery novel sitting on the nightstand next to my bed, if you’re interested in checking it out,” he teased, giving her a gentle nudge with his elbow.
“Tempting, for sure,” she teased back, but the thought of being in his bedroom sent a surge of heat down her spine. She let out a grimace as she stepped over an uneven section of the sidewalk, and her shoe rubbed against the blister that had been forming on her ankle all afternoon.
“You okay?” His teasing expression turned to concern as he took in the angry red welt.
“I’m fine. But my feet are killing me. Apparently these shoes were not the most appropriate footwear for a walk.” She stopped and reached out a hand to steady herself as she pulled the heels off.
He held out his arm for support. As her palm gripped his forearm, she tried to focus on kneading her sore arch instead of the hard muscle she was holding on to.
She shoved the heels into her bag. “It’s a high price we pay for fashion.” Three inches shorter now, she had to tilt her head to look up at him.
“Doesn’t seem worth the fee. You look great to me, with or without shoes. I’d bet you could wear flip-flops and a gunnysack, and you’d still look good.”
She ducked her head, his praise making her coy. What was that about? She’d had men tell her she looked good before, and her skin hadn’t warmed with a blush. But never any men who looked like Mason James or who delivered a compliment in a low, sexy tone.
“How about soaked to the skin?” she asked, shrinking her shoulders against the sudden flash of lightning.
He narrowed his eyes, then gazed slowly up and down her body. “I’d bet you’d look good like th
at too.”
Oh my.
Before she could think of anything reasonably comprehensible to say in return, the sky opened up and let loose a torrent of rain. Letting out a shriek, she ran for cover under the nearest tree. Not that it did much good. She was already soaked by the time she got there, and the tree only offered a little protection.
Mason followed and held out his arms, trying to block the worst of it with his back as he let out a whoop. “Gotta love a spontaneous Colorado thunderstorm.”
She did not, in fact, have to love it at all. Her clothes were drenched, and droplets of rain dripped from her bangs. But this seemed par for the course, considering the way her day had been going.
“You want to try to wait it out or make a run for it?” He didn’t seem the least bothered by getting wet.
She tipped her head to glance up at the dark, menacing clouds racing across the sky. “Looks like we could be waiting a long time. Might as well make a run for it.” She looked down at her bare feet, now covered in mud.
His gaze followed hers. “I can’t have you running in bare feet.” He turned his back to her and bent down. “Hop on, and I’ll carry you piggyback.”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said, raising her voice to be heard over the rain. “No way. I am not crawling up on your back.” Although, just a few minutes ago, she had considered crawling up his front.
“Well, you can’t run back down this path in your bare feet. And my guess is those heels are too painful and too nice to put back on and ruin in the rain. So, it’s either you let me carry you, or you can stay here and wait while I run down to get my truck, then come back and pick you up.”
Neither option sounded like a great choice.
She could wait for him, but who knew what kind of weird transients might show up in the dark to attack her. That scenario didn’t seem completely likely, but she did have a writer’s imagination, which usually involved thoughts of being attacked in empty stairwells or elevators or deserted paths along a mountain stream.