Written in the Stars

by LuAnn McLane

  “Then you’re gonna love me.”

  “Oh, no doubt,” she said. “Love the pizza,” Grace added breezily, but her heart skipped like a rock across the water. She’d secretly hoped that Mason would stop in the bistro or pop over to her cabin to check up on her. The best she got was a text message asking if she needed anything. Yeah, she needed for him to press her up against the wall and kiss her senseless. She needed that sexy mouth on her neck while she slid her hands beneath his T-­shirt.

  “Yeah, you’ll love the pizza,” he said, but the low, sexy tone of his voice coupled with that Southern drawl slid over her skin like velvet. “Have a seat and try a slice.”

  “Now you’re speaking my language,” she said in a nearly steady voice.

  “I have to confess that I don’t always understand your language.”

  “It’s called English.”

  “Right.”

  “Hey, you have an accent all your own, you know.” And she could listen to it all day long. All night long...Try as she might, over the past few days she couldn’t get the sexy country boy off her mind. Well, maybe it was because she hadn’t really tried. Grace enjoyed thinking about Mason. She liked thinking about his whiskey-­smooth voice, his intense blue eyes, and his killer smile, which didn’t pop out nearly often enough.

  “Do I have sauce on my face?”

  “No...why?”

  “You were looking at me funny.”

  Oh no...busted. “That’s because I have low blood sugar and I’m about to faint.” She fanned her face.

  “Well, hellfire. Then grab a slice of pizza and sit down before that happens.” He pointed to a table attached to the deck and then turned and bent over to open a small fridge. As always, Grace took the opportunity to admire his jean-­clad butt. There was a little hole in the back pocket that intrigued her.

  When he straightened up, Grace quickly opened the cardboard box and slid a slice of pizza onto a paper plate, hoping she hadn’t been caught ogling. Grabbing a napkin, she sat down on the wide seat spanning the back of the houseboat. Grace usually wasn’t one to get so caught up in a man’s bum, but there was something about his that captured her attention. Did he do, like, a thousand squats a day or something?

  “Presenting my Belgian blonde,” Mason said, and put a swing-­top bottle beside her pizza. I’ll be right back with a glass.”

  Grace nodded, wanting so much to go into the houseboat and have a look around. She took a bite of pizza and chewed. Oh...oh yeah, this pizza was superb. The dough was crisp on the bottom and chewy in the middle, with just the right amount of delicious edge of crust. The ingredients—­a generous amount of them—­tasted fresh, and the sauce was simply divine. Oh, and the tons of cheese was the kind that stretched with each bite, so you had to roll the strings around your tongue. Yeah, her kind of pizza.

  A moment later, Mason arrived with two pilsner glasses and offered her one. “What do you think of the pizza?”

  “Brilliant. Everything. All of it.” She dabbed at the corner of her mouth, nodding before taking another healthy bite.

  “The best ever?”

  “If not, close enough. I’m going to have to work extra hours at the bistro to keep from needing elastic waistbands.”

  Mason chuckled. “And don’t forget I have dessert.”

  “No...just...no.” She polished off the slice of pizza and took a drink of the beer.

  “How do you like the beer?”

  “Excellent. Smooth...citrus and...” She took another sip and added, “Pear. Maybe just a hint of coconut? What makes it taste like that?”

  “The Belgian yeast. It actually goes best with chicken and sharp or peppery cheese, but I wanted to try it.”

  “I like it a lot.” She held up the glass, tipped her head sideways, and looked at the beer. “Pretty golden color too, if that means anything.”

  “Actually, it does,” Mason said and seemed pleased at her observation. “Thanks, I’m really glad that you are enjoying it.”

  “Why do you seem so surprised?” Grace asked. She held up her glass. “Beer as good and complex as this is an adventure in and of itself,” she said, but then hoped he didn’t think her comment was silly or that she was trying to kiss up to him or anything...although the kissing part held some appeal.

  “I agree with you.” Mason sat down across from her and propped one boot up against the side of the boat.

  “Is that the shape of things to come?”

  “What?”

  “You agreeing with me,” she joked. Although he tried to grin and his stance appeared relaxed, there was a certain tension about him that hung in the air. Maybe he wanted an evening alone and she’d imposed. The thought made her fall silent, and she decided that she needed to finish another slice of pizza and then give him room to brood. The beer really was excellent. Mason knew what he was doing, so his brewery should be a success. This was his home turf, and so far everyone in Cricket Creek seemed to like and respect the Mayfield name. Grace picked a banana pepper off her pizza and popped it in her mouth. The tartness made her mouth pucker, so she took a bite of the crust to counteract the pepper. Ah...better. She picked off a mushroom and stole a glance at Mason, wondering if she should stay silent or come up with some meaningless chatter. Judging by the faraway look on his face, she opted for chewing a bite of crust instead of talking.

  Mason sipped his beer and gazed out over the water, the pizza on his paper plate forgotten. Grace wondered if she tiptoed away if he’d even notice, but then again she wasn’t good at tiptoeing, and being on a boat might complicate a stealthy escape. Should she clear her throat? Crack a joke? Break into song? She took another bite of the crust, unsure.

  “Do you always eat your pizza like that?”

  “Like what?” So he’d been paying attention to her after all.

  “Picking off individual ingredients and then going backward.”

  Grace looked down at her pizza and shrugged. “I guess I don’t do anything quite the normal way.”

  “Interesting.” Mason slid Grace a look that made her feel the need to fan her face.

  “So what were you brooding about, Mason?” She put her pizza on the plate and tilted her head in question.

  “I wasn’t brooding.”

  “Okay, thinking about, then.”

  “How much I want to kiss you.”

  The slice of pizza slid from her plate and landed on the table.

  “Did I just surprise you?”

  “Yes.”

  Mason gave her a look that said he wasn’t sure if he was glad or sorry for voicing his desire. He scrubbed a hand down his face and then took a drink of his beer. “Sorry, but that was out of line.”

  “I like surprises, remember?”

  Mason shook his head and gazed back out over the water. “Forget it,” he said softly.

  “Why? Was it the Belgian blonde talking?” Though she asked in a joking tone, Grace was actually serious. She wanted to kiss him too, but not if his desire was fueled by the ale and any woman would do.

  “No.” Mason shook his head slowly. “It’s the British blonde who has been in my brain since the moment I met her.”

  Grace’s heart thudded. “So kiss me, then.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Mason brought his foot down to the floor with a clunk. He put his glass down on the table and finally looked over at her. “For a whole bunch of reasons. You’re my sister-­in-­law, Grace. If we start something and it goes south, it affects the whole family.”

  Okay, he had a valid point, but she still wanted to kiss him. “Go on.”

  “You’re in Cricket Creek for a visit. A visit means you’ll leave, and not just a few hours away but across the damned ocean. So we know where this will end up before we even get started.”

  He was right, but kissing
him stayed in her brain and refused to budge. “But I’m here now.”

  “For how long?”

  “I dunno, really. I’m not entirely sure if I’m going back to London or not.” She wasn’t sure of anything except she wanted to kiss him.

  “That’s even worse.”

  “How so?”

  “Because it could lead to false hope,” he said, and something in his eyes communicated that he’d been hurt before, so it gave her pause. Grace couldn’t relate, because she’d dated but never really felt as if she were in love. “And for the life of me I can’t believe I’m saying this stuff to you. I must be out of my mind.”

  “Care to tell me about her?”

  “Who?” he asked casually, but glanced away.

  “The woman who hurt you.”

  “We were engaged.” Mason shifted to look at her and lifted one shoulder. “In the end we wanted different things out of life,” he answered quietly, but she sensed there was more to his simple, direct answer.

  Grace thought of her parents, though, and understood. “But you must have loved her.”

  “I thought I did. What about you, Gracie? Have you ever been in love?”

  “No,” she said, and the admission gave her an odd feeling in her gut.

  “I have to say that I’m surprised. You seem so full of...I don’t know...big emotion? Life?” He looked as if he wanted to say more, but then fell silent again.

  Grace wasn’t sure how to respond. She often wondered why she’d never fallen in love. She supposed it was because of her need to travel—­to roam and to start new projects as soon as the previous one was complete—­that perhaps she never even gave herself a chance to experience true love. But since coming to Cricket Creek, she felt...different. Being in the same place with Garret, Sophia, and her mother made her feel settled. But how long would this feeling last before she felt restless?

  Grace knew that she needed a project or investment here or she would go out of her gourd with boredom. And it wasn’t about money. Grace never dreamed that she’d become a millionaire before the age of thirty, and now she didn’t even know what to do with it all. Working on a shoestring was somehow much more thrilling. And while she enjoyed developing the edgy makeup chock-­full of long-­lasting, eye-­popping pigment, she loved the marketing end of Girl Code most of all. For Grace, finding an overlooked slice of the marketplace crying out for a product was like panning for gold and finding a big nugget.

  “Sorry. I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

  The sincerity in his voice made Grace smile. He was truly upset. “There’s no need to be sorry, Mason.”

  “I’ve told you something that I should have kept to myself.”

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I feel the same way.”

  “That I should have kept my feelings to myself?”

  “No, silly. That I’ve wanted to kiss you since the night of the storm. It’s only been a few days, but somehow seems like ages. I suppose it’s because with the birth of Lily, so much has gone on that the passage of time seems a bit off, don’t you agree?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well then...” She nibbled on her bottom lip, waiting.

  “And we could, you know, kiss, and no one would be the wiser. Just...a little kiss. To get it out of our systems. Who knows? Maybe it will be a big dud after all of the thinking about it. You wanna find out?”

  “You make a good point,” she said in what she hoped was a practical tone, even though her heart was thumping like a bass drum. “I mean, with a kiss behind us, we could carry on and I’ll quit staring at your bum every time I get the chance. Well, I’ll probably still do that. Here’s wishing for a dud and a good laugh.”

  “Wait—­you’ve been checking out my ass?”

  “It’s a really nice one, by the way.”

  Mason tilted his head back and laughed. “Well, thank you.”

  “No problem.” She waited, but when he didn’t mention the kiss again, she felt the need to escape and stood up. “Do you mind if I use your loo?”

  “What? Oh, you mean the bathroom.”

  “Yes.”

  He pointed to the door. “To the left as soon as you go inside. And by the way, it’s called a head on a boat.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Grace went inside the houseboat and looked around. A fully equipped kitchen gave way to a dining area that expanded to a living room. Deep brown leather furniture, masculine yet stylish, seemed to fit Mason’s personality. A rustic wood coffee table was strewn with beer-­brewing-­related magazines and books. It appeared as if there was a master bedroom at the other end. A spiral staircase led to an upper deck. She wanted a real tour, but for now she needed to use the loo and gather her scattered wits.

  After washing her hands, Grace gazed into the small mirror. Should she leave now or see this thing through? She narrowed her eyes at her reflection, changed her mind five times, and then opened the door.

  Mason stood with his back to her, putting away the leftovers in the fridge. “We forgot to eat the salad,” he said.

  “I always start with calorie-­laden stuff first. Who wants to fill up on salad when you have pizza?”

  Mason lifted up a cheesecake swirled with turtle goodness on top. “Yeah, especially when you need to leave room for dessert.”

  Grace looked at the delicious work of art and groaned.

  “Would you like a slice?”

  “Yes, but I really shouldn’t.” She held her hands up to ward him off.

  “What’s the fun in that?”

  “You make a lot of good points.”

  “Thank you for noticing.” He turned around to cut a small slice.

  “I notice a lot of things.”

  “Are you checking out my butt again?”

  “Of course. Some habits are hard to break.”

  Mason laughed and then turned around with a plate and fork. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you.”

  “Is that a good thing?”

  “Yeah. And you’ve made a difficult night into something fun.” When he walked toward the sofa, she followed, knowing she was setting herself up for trouble.

  After sitting down next to him, she asked, “Want to talk about what’s bothering you?”

  “I want to eat cheesecake.” He pressed his fork through the dessert, but instead of putting it in his mouth, he offered a bite to her.

  Grace hesitated. There was something so intimate about being fed. She shook her head.

  “Go on. You know you want to.”

  “Okay...” She opened her mouth to accept his offer and let the silky texture roll over her tongue. Caramel, chocolate, and pecans finished off the bite of heaven. “Oh...mmm...” She could only shake her head and make noises of pure bliss.

  “Yeah, Reese Marino makes some kick-­ass desserts.” He put a bite in his mouth and nodded. “He and his uncle own River Row Pizza and Pasta.”

  Mason fed her another bite and then she put her hand up. “It’s too rich. I might go into a cheesecake coma.”

  “Wouldn’t want that to happen.” Nodding, Mason put the plate down on the coffee table.

  For a moment they were silent, and Grace knew why. She didn’t want the night to end, but they were sitting on his sofa in a room bathed in soft light above the stove in the kitchen. The beer and pizza made her feel mellow and a bit drowsy. She wanted to lean against him and snuggle. Maybe watch some television.

  Yeah, right.

  She wanted the kiss.

  And she wanted him to press her against the cushions and...

  Don’t go there!

  “I should whistle off.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “I should go,” she said softly.

  “Oh.” He nodded. “I’ll walk you to your cabin.”

  “Y
ou don’t have to do that,” Grace answered in a not-­very-­convincing tone.

  “I should, you know, in case the Loch Ness monster decides to make an appearance.”

  “Okay,” she said, trying to feel relief that they’d dodged some sort of sexual-­tension bullet, but longing and disappointment misted over her like the morning fog on the river. She pushed up to her feet, and they got as far as the kitchen door when Mason pulled her into his arms, lowered his head, and kissed her.

  Grace melted into a lingering, luscious kiss that had her wrapping her arms around his neck and sinking her fingers into his hair. His mouth...warm; his lips...firm; and his tongue worked a seductive magic that had her clinging to him, wanting, needing more.

  And Mason gave it.

  He pushed her up against the wall and pressed his lips against her neck, kissing and nibbling until warm chills slid down her spine. Needing to feel his skin, she tugged his T-­shirt from his jeans and ran her hands up his back. His skin felt warm and oh so smooth, and the thought went through her head that she wanted to explore every inch of him with her mouth.

  Mason eased his hand up to her rib cage just below her breasts and then kissed her again, deeply. She could feel the steely hardness of his arousal and she pressed closer, moving against him. She’d never felt such white-­hot desire, and the need to have him naked, skin against skin, was overpowering.

  But of course she shouldn’t.

  Couldn’t.

  Wouldn’t.

  Summoning up the last shreds of her resistance, Grace pulled back. She put her forehead against his chin, taking shallow breaths while clinging to his shoulders. “Well, my wish didn’t come true,” she said with a weak laugh. She pulled back and looked up at him.

  “And what was that?” Mason asked in a velvety voice that slid all the way to her toes.

  “That you sucked at kissing and I could get kissing you off my mind and be content to just ogle your bum,” she joked, but had to look down so he couldn’t see the desire remaining in her eyes.

  Mason chuckled, and she liked the rumble of his laughter against her hand. “Thanks...I think.” He tucked a finger beneath her chin and tilted her head up. “So what do we do about this, Gracie? Fight it or give in?”