“Next time I’m making an idiot of myself, just say something, okay?”
“Think there’ll be a next time?”
She waved her hand with a confidence that she knew was born of the wine, but stopping it was impossible. “Sure. Why wouldn’t there be?”
His eyes smoldered for a moment, hot and heavy on her, and she felt her knees go a touch wobbly as she could see him imagining all the filthy things he wanted to do with her. She stepped into his arms, feeling his hands rest on her hips, pressing against him. “Can I get you a glass of wine?” she asked him.
His hands were fists on her body. His fingers brushed the bare skin on her back, where her sweater pulled up as she put her arms around his neck. His eyes flinched closed tightly, held, and then opened to look down at her again. She could see some sort of fight happening in his eyes, and she didn’t like that at all. “I’m not really a wine guy,” he said.
“There’s beer in the fridge, too,” Caroline whispered, leaning up to him, letting her lips hang just a touch open in invitation. “Or you could just taste me.” She bit at her lower lip, dragging it over her teeth, and the sound he made came from deep down in his toes.
His hands tightened on her hips and she could feel him, heated and ready in his denim. He felt big, thick, huge to her, and she whimpered in anticipation of his cock filling her, of riding him, of him pushing her down into the mattress as he took what he wanted.
She rolled her hips against his, and she felt the moment when his self-control shattered into pieces and scattered all over the entryway floor. His mouth came down on hers, hard and fast, his tongue pressing into her mouth as she moaned in delight, opening for him and running her tongue over his. One of his hands fisted in her hair, turning her head to the angle he wanted and kissing her almost viciously. She could feel her body swelling, her nipples begging to be touched.
“Bedroom,” he whispered to her. “Where is it?”
“Down the hall,” she whispered back.
He swept her up in his arms, carrying her like a lady in a movie, and walked swiftly down the hall. She traced her fingers over his neck and watched him struggle with himself.
He carried her into the room she pointed at. The dog slinked off the bed, took a long look at the two entwined bodies, and shuffled out to the living room. He kissed her again, more softly, as he helped her out of her jeans. He reached past her to the bed, pulled the covers down and lifted her into the bed. He leaned over her for a moment, then pulled the covers back over her and pressed a quick, soft kiss to her forehead.
She tried to mount a protest, but she was sinking down into the pillows, falling asleep or falling unconscious. She wasn’t entirely sure.
“I’m going to crash on your couch,” he said. “I hope your dog doesn’t bite my nuts off. And in the morning, you and I are going to have a few words about consent.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Caroline woke up with a pounding headache and a twisting sense of horror at her behavior the previous night. She remembered drinking a lot of wine on the couch as she tried not to be depressed that she was, yet again, not interesting enough. She remembered Mason showing up, and things being bleary. There was a really hot kiss; she was pretty sure that wasn’t an alcohol-enhanced memory, although the only way to tell for sure would be a repeat, and from the way he’d tucked her into bed like a kid sister, she was moderately sure that wasn’t going to happen.
Dammit, dammit, dammit!
It wasn’t just the lack of sex. That was fine, that was a physical urge she could sate as needed. It was the afterwards, the part where she and her partner lay in bed, naked and laughing, teasing each other about the stupid sounds bodies made during sex, or the funny faces humans made when they orgasmed. It was having someone in the house who made her coffee just the way she liked it, and who bought her favorite cookies at the grocery store without asking if she wanted them. That was the part she missed.
She pulled herself out of bed, swapped her slept-in clothes for a cleaner version of the same basic outfit, and pulled her bedhead hair back into a sloppy bun. She hardly ever got hangovers. Of course, she couldn’t remember eating dinner. So that wouldn’t have helped anything.
Mason had said something about crashing on her couch. She could vaguely remember that. But her couch was just as neat and clean as she always left it, and Gloria was curled up on her cushion, calm and relaxed, definitely not acting like there was a stranger in the house. Caroline glanced out the front window, and there was no bike next to her car now. She heaved a sigh, half relief, and half something a lot less tangible.
“Oh, you woke up,” she heard from the kitchen, and she jumped, choking back a little scream. Mason was in her kitchen, holding out a still steaming mug of coffee. Black. “I didn’t know if you wanted cream or sugar or anything.”
“No,” she said. “Thanks.” She walked into the kitchen, hoping her eyes looked less wary than she felt, and took the mug. He was leaning against the counter, so she sat at the bar, putting four feet of countertop between the two of them. He looked amazing, like he’d slept in feathers and angel clouds and come out of it with his hair delightfully ruffled. That was new, she noticed after a moment. The braid was undone, and his hair fell around his shoulders in curly waves. The centers of her palms itched to feel that coarse hair clenched in them. She tightened her hands around her coffee mug and smiled. “Sorry about last night.”
He shook his head. “Don’t do that.”
“What, apologize for my own crappy behavior?”
“No, act like—crap.” He stared at his own coffee mug for a moment. “I’m not some white knight for putting you to bed last night. I would have been a jackass for taking advantage of you in the state you were in.” He put the mug down on the counter. He hadn’t taken a sip since she’d come into the kitchen. Odd. She’d open up her veins and pour the gorgeous liquid caffeine directly in if she could figure out how to make it work.
“I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you like that.”
He sighed and rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes for a moment. “I was delighted that you threw yourself at me.”
Was that thrumming sound her heart slamming against her ribcage, or was an airplane flying overhead? “You were?”
He nodded, his eyes sparkling with warmth— maybe more than warmth. “You do know that you’re smoking hot, don’t you?” He walked towards her, slow and steady, and she found herself turning her chair so that he could come close to her.
“I don’t know about smoking hot—”
He traced one finger down her cheek, one slow inch at a time, and she sighed into the touch, feeling him splay his hand out along the back of her neck. She looked up at him, at his eyes, as he leaned down slowly. “Do you still want me to kiss you?” he whispered into her ear. His lips brushed against the delicate skin of her earlobe, and she shivered.
“I thought you wanted to look at paperwork,” she said, for absolutely no sane reason in the world.
He laughed and pulled back from her. “Fair enough,” he said. Her whole self felt like it was dragging after him, leaning towards him. Why in hell had she said that, of all the stupid things? But his hand lingered, even as he pulled away, and there was a sense as he trailed one fingertip down her throat, as his eyes stayed locked to hers, that she was delaying the inevitable. He wanted her, she wanted him, and they would very much have each other. Soon.
Mason smiled as he pulled up his saddlebag and set it on the counter. “I got some stuff,” he said, “but I don’t think it’s as much as you want.”
She shoved the heavy curtain of lust away from her brain and tried to smile. “Well, let’s see what you have and go from there.”
He pulled out a file folder full of receipts, bills, all those papers she was used to seeing stuffed into the ledger with small businesses, and even less organized than she’d dared to hope. Caroline sifted through it for a moment, trying to get an overall sense of what she was looking at. All the bills
made sense as she stared at them, but her head was aching already.
She started sorting them into piles by vendor and then by date as she tried to think of how to ask the questions she needed answers to. “Look, I need to ask about your business.”
He nodded acceptance, pulling a barstool around so that he was sitting perpendicular to her. He still hadn’t touched his coffee. “Okay.”
“You’re a biker. Are you in a club?”
He nodded.
“Is this the club’s business?”
Another nod.
She took a deeper breath. “Is the business legitimate? Or is it laundering funds for illegal sources?”
His nostrils flared for a moment, but his voice was calm when he spoke. “The club does have off–the-books interests, yes, but the garage is legitimate and the funds are kept completely separate. I’m not showing you anything that you’d have to testify about. You could look at every detail I’ve brought you and swear in a court that you never saw evidence of illegal dealings.”
She doubted that, she seriously doubted it. No one was that good outside of the freaking mob, but she was also no forensic accountant, so if there were small details, she probably wouldn’t notice them anyway.
She put her fingers to her temples and rubbed for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. If she screwed this up, it could put the entire credit union in trouble. They were a small organization, and she was high enough up that getting caught up in something illegal could cause problems for everyone there. But there was also this guy in front of her, his posture open and honest, his hands neatly folded, and his eyes were still smoldering.
Was he looking straight down the front of her shirt? Shit, she needed to not lean over so much. Or maybe lean over more.
Caroline shook herself and forced her mind to focus a bit. “Drugs? Women?” Another long breath. “Kids?” If there were kids involved, she’d castrate him herself, and then call the police. After she’d fed him his testes.
“Absolutely not.” His eyes were burning with a different kind of heat now. “I don’t know what you think about me, or why you let me into your house if you think this shit, but no. No, we don’t deal in women, and we sure as hell don’t hurt kids.
He paused and took a deep breath. "Yeah, there’s some dealing on the side, soft shit that helps work-a-day folks get through their week, but we don’t deal to kids, and we don’t deal hard stuff that gets people killed. We sell high quality product at reasonable prices. And yeah, maybe if a guy turns up at the shop and needs to sell a bike quickly with cash, maybe my guy doesn’t ask too many questions about where exactly it came from, but if the cops come around later asking, we also give them the answers they want.”
He ran his hands through his hair, and she wanted to apologize, to kiss him again, to make it better.
“Why me?” Those were not the words she’d expected to hear coming out of her own mouth, but then they were out there. “Why the hell did you bring this to my doorstep?”
“I am almost sure that I’m getting set up. There aren’t many people I can trust right now. I asked one of them who he knew, outside of the club, who was good with numbers. He told me to find Caro Lewis at Second Chances. Said you were solid, and honest, and you’d help if you could.” He shrugged. “It took me a minute to catch on. Somehow, I thought Caro would be a dude.”
She leaned back in her chair, giving him a raised eyebrow. “Are you disappointed?”
His eyes traced over her, the feeling nearly as tangible as his hands on her. They coursed over the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the turn of her hip, and she sighed, letting her knees fall apart as if his hand had fallen heavy on her thigh. She knew just how he would feel, pressing close to the core of her, grasping her ass to pull her close. “No,” he said. “No, disappointed is not how I would describe how I’m feeling right now.”
“Tell me then,” Caroline said. “How are you feeling?”
Mason’s eyes were back on hers, burning hot again. “Horny as hell.”
CHAPTER FIVE
She ran a hand down her neck, tracing over her collarbone, catching on the v of her t-shirt and tugging it down for a moment to expose a little more of her cleavage. He made a sound as his breath caught in his throat, and she smiled. “Am I sober enough for you?”
He nodded slowly. His expression was dark, intense, and the surge of wetness in her panties confirmed that her body wanted this just as much as her brain did. He stood, slow and careful, and moved closer to her, pressing between her thighs.
He was swollen and thick in his jeans, and she traced her fingertips over the impressive bulge under his fly. He groaned, watching her, and then his mouth captured hers, his tongue parting her lips and teasing into her mouth.
She gasped as he nipped at her lip, and then moaned as he lifted her off the seat just a little, pressing his erection harder against her swelling heat. His hands were wild; one was clenched in the small of her back, balancing her weight against him, and the other was lifting the weight of her breast, his thumb flicking expertly over her nipple. Her hips were wild, surging against him, waves of want rippling through her even from that small sensation.
His mouth moved to her ear, teasing at the delicate lobe, suckling the small amber studs that she wore day and night. His teeth nipped down her neck as she whimpered and let her head fall back to give him better access. At the point of her v-neck he teased his finger under the collar, brushing over the tops of her breasts. “This seems to be in the way,” he said. “Want to do something about that.”
“I—” Yes, desperately, but— “Not quite yet? Okay?”
“Yes,” he replied, with no hesitation. “After all, we have work to do. In a little bit.” And he went to the other side of her neck, bringing the hand that had been at the small of her back to other breast, kneading them and teasing her nipples simultaneously.
Caroline sighed, wrapped her arms around his neck, and let herself enjoy the attention. His hands were amazing, sending shocks of electricity through her that were so intense and bright they made her hips rock against him all on their own, and his gentle groans and noises against her made her smile. At least she’s wasn’t the only one enjoying herself.
“Wait,” she said, thinking on something he’d said earlier. “Caro? Who the hell called me Caro? No one calls me that except—” Everything went completely still, from Mason’s teeth to her heart. “Teddy?”
He pulled back enough to look down at her again. His eyes were hazy with lust, but he shook his head. “I don’t know anyone named Teddy.”
She rolled her eyes. “Munch. Is he still going by that?”
“Munch’s name is Teddy?”
Teddy was going to kill her. He deserved it. He could have called her to let her know that he was sending this guy over with something dicey for her to look into. “Theodore Sherwood Olson. The third. I’ve called him Teddy since we were kids.”
“The Third. Three people named their kids that bunch of nonsense?”
“Indeed.”
Mason whistled. “That is a mouthful. Do you know how he got called Munch?”
For spilling the Sherwood moniker, he’d threaten her jokingly. For telling that story about her cousin, she really might be in some small amount of danger. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” she said. “Better we stick to the paperwork.”
There was a long moment while he refocused himself, and then adjusted himself physically. “Can do, boss. Mind if I grab a glass of water?”
“Not at all. Glasses are there.” She gestured at the cupboard by the sink. “I also don’t mind if you put cream and sugar in your coffee. I’m not going to judge you for that.”
He paused as he lifted a glass down. “What will you judge me for?”
There was a quiet curiosity in his tone, a soft underlay of interest and—something like concern—that gave her pause.
“I— I don’t know?” She wasn’t entirely sure why she stumbled.
Yesterday, she would have had a laundry list of concerns and complaints. Today, none of it mattered all that much.
Strangely, that seemed to be an answer that he wanted. He nodded and went on with taking down a cup and filling it with ice water.
“Can you tell me why you think you’re being set up? It would help me to know what I’m looking for in all of this.” She gestured to indicate the paperwork splayed out in front of her.
Mason sat down next to her again, and for the first time, she noticed his hands shaking, setting up a fine shimmer in the surface of the water in his glass. “There’s nothing— I can’t explain it. I can’t even really put my finger on it. After the second tour in Afghanistan, I couldn’t ever quite go code white, you know?” He glanced at her and laughed. “No, you don’t know at all. I couldn’t shake the idea that someone was watching. It’s better sometimes, worse other times, but it’s never been like this. I’ve never been like this and been wrong.”
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