Her curiosity getting the better of her, Torrance had hoped for a clear view of the Alley, but by the time they arrived, the sun had long since dropped behind the treetops. All she could make out was the outline of several large, rustic-looking cabins.
They parked in front of the nearest one, and while Mason carried the teenager downstairs, Torrance took the opportunity to look around the spacious, high-ceilinged room.
The inside of the rustic dwelling fit its owner to perfection. Rugged and intensely beautiful, with a masculine flavor that sported two sturdy leather sofas situated before a rock-walled fireplace, and handwoven rugs in deep shades of burgundy and gray scattered over the deep, luminous gleam of hardwood floors so dark, they looked black. Recessed lighting cast a low, golden glow over the warm interior, an invitation to snuggle up on one of the deep sofas before a roaring fire and enjoy the soothing atmosphere. A faint scent of cedar and wood polish hung on the air, combined with the earthier scents of the forest beyond the wide windows.
The cabin spoke of both taste and necessity, rugged and natural like the surrounding woods, but with a rich, masculine edge to it, invoking a comfortable state of luxury.
Bloodrunning was apparently more lucrative than she would have thought. Torrance grimaced a little on the inside at the knowledge that Mason Dillinger had both looks and money—which seemed to set an even greater divide between them. Even if things somehow worked out between them, she knew that trying to keep him would be like trying to lasso the moon or reach up and touch the shimmering sparkle of a star. Unattainable, always hovering beyond your reach—and yet something you couldn’t keep yourself from wanting.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured when she heard the men coming back into the room, their heavy boots thudding against the wooden floor. She ran her fingertips over the rich brown leather of the nearest sofa, enjoying its buttery-soft texture.
“Would you like me to make you something to eat, or grab you a drink?” Mason asked, his deep voice raspy, roughened around the edges, and she could feel the heat of his body at her back. “The tour can wait until tomorrow.”
“Wow, be still my heart,” Jeremy laughed, and Torrance looked sideways to see the battered blond leaning back against the wall beside an open door, a stairway lying within the shadowed recess. “An offer of both food and drink before you whisk her away. You really know how to lay it on, Mase. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this charming before, bro.”
“This is his charming act?” she gasped, trying to pull off an expression of shocked surprise.
Jeremy winked at her, earning a low, rumbling growl from the man still standing just behind her. “It’s sad, I know, but for Mason, damn. Usually he just grunts at a woman and she’ll follow after him like an adoring puppy.”
“Just what I wanted to know,” she drawled, her voice dry.
He lifted his broad shoulders in an unrepentant shrug, hazel eyes shining with laughter. “Like I said, he wasn’t exactly Prince Charming before meeting you. I gotta admit that it’s refreshing to see the new Mason. Though I’m sure his sense of humor is still warped as hell.”
“And yours isn’t?” Mason muttered with a sharp snort of disgust.
“Naw.” Jeremy grinned, waggling his brows at Torrance. “I’m an angel in disguise. All pleasure…and no bite. Unless, of course, a woman wants me to bite her.”
A hard, heavily muscled arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against the intense heat and strength of Mason’s body. Torrance automatically stiffened at the contact, but he didn’t release her. He just held her there, trapped at his front, with his body warm and solid against her back. “Stop flirting with her, you idiot.”
Jeremy whistled softly under his breath, eyeing the arm banding her middle with a speculative gleam in those smoky hazel eyes. “I forgot to add possessive to that stellar list of personality traits he’s acquiring.”
Torrance looked over her shoulder to see Mason send his teasing partner a sharp look of warning. “Now that I think about it, Burns, maybe I should give our little Jillian a call. Your neck looks pretty bad.”
“Who’s Jillian?” she asked.
“The pack’s Spirit Walker,” Mason replied in a lazy drawl. “She’s a holy woman of sorts, and their healer.”
And something more, she’d be willing to bet, based on the closed look that crept over Jeremy’s golden face at the mere mention of the woman’s name, leaving his once-laughing countenance hard and shadowed.
“I’ll live,” the blond grated under his breath.
“You sure about that?”
Ignoring the taunting question, Jeremy moved away from the wall. “I’m heading down to bunk with the boy wonder,” he muttered, before his teeth flashed in a teasing smile. “You two little lovebirds have fun.” He pulled the door shut behind him, whistling a tune that sounded suspiciously like The Love Boat’s theme song.
Torrance stared at the door until the whistling became too faint to hear. “Man, he’s subtle, huh?”
“As a freight train,” Mason grunted under his breath.
And just like that, they were alone, standing silent and still in the softly lit room, with only the ticking of the clock on the far wall to note the passage of time. A thousand thoughts and emotions swirled through her mind, urgent and soft—strangely, disturbingly intense—but all she could think to say was, “Do they have enough room down there?”
He gave her a quick squeeze, then released her. “When I moved in here, I made the basement into a small guest apartment for out-of-state Runners when they’re in the area.” He punched in a series of numbers on the illuminated alarm panel beside the front door. A short beep signaled the alarm had set, and he turned toward her, propping his shoulder against the wall, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes. “Jeremy’s got restraints in the bag he carried in, so he’ll be able to keep the kid where he wants him.”
She shifted nervously beneath the intensity of his stare, unsure of what to do with her hands. “I hope he’ll be okay.”
Mason made a noncommittal gesture with one shoulder, then turned and headed through one of the archways, toward what Torrance assumed would be the kitchen. Before she could decide whether or not to follow him, he’d come back in, carrying two bottles of beer. He handed her one, the bottle cool and damp against her palm, a white frosted vapor rising from the open neck. “Come on,” he rumbled, inclining his head toward the shadowed hallway at the far end of the room. “If you’re not interested in food right now, I’ll go ahead and let you get settled in.”
Torrance hesitated, running the tip of one finger over a dog-eared copy of Patterson’s latest Alex Cross novel that lay on one of the wide, wooden end tables. “I, um…wanted to apologize for losing my temper earlier,” she told him. “And if I forgot to say it before, thank you for not letting them have me.”
“No thanks required.” His mouth kicked up a little at one corner, easing some of the red-tinged rage left over from the fight, the hot emotion still casting that hard, fury-darkened shadow over his features. As if trying to appear nonthreatening, he leaned his shoulders back against the wall and took a long swallow of his beer. With the thumb of his empty hand hooked in the front pocket of his jeans, he made the perfect visual for the ultimate bad boy. Rugged and tough and mean, with a breathtaking edge of masculine beauty, a body that would make any hot-blooded woman melt on sight, and eyes that revealed a dangerous, predatory sexuality. And then, to top it all off, there was that wicked, mischief-made smile that did breathless, naughty little things to her insides.
She shook her head at her contrary, amazing reaction to him. “Well, I meant it. Most men wouldn’t have risked their life that way for a stranger.”
She could see the arguments that he wanted to make in the brown depths of his eyes, the words bitten back, left unsaid: He wasn’t most men; he didn’t consider her a stranger; and it was because of him that Simmons was after her in the first place. He seemed to struggle for a moment, and then, sendin
g her a devil’s grin, he finally said, “Why don’t you come a little closer and show me just how grateful you feel right now?”
“I’m not that grateful,” she retorted in a slow drawl, amazed that she could enjoy this easy banter with him, even knowing what he was.
Knowing he was one of the things she feared most.
And yet…she felt safe. Felt as if she was where she was supposed to be, which made no sense at all.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he replied with a low, husky chuckle, moving to her side and herding her toward the hallway with his warm hand on the small of her back. As if sensing her resistance to go with him, he moved in front of her, taking her empty hand to pull her along behind him.
“Mason…”
He spoke without looking at her. “You’re thinking too hard, Torrance.”
“I hope you have more than one bedroom back here,” she breathed out in a choppy rush, “because I’m not having sex with you. And I’m not sleeping in the same room with you, either.”
He stopped in front of her so quickly, she plowed into his back, smacking into a solid wall of warm, firm muscle and sending beer splashing over the rim of the amber bottle.
“Why?” he asked gruffly, his eyes burning oddly bright in the deep shadows of the hallway as he turned toward her. She had a vague impression of closed doors farther along the walls, and a wide bay window at the far end, covered by long, sheer swaths of muslin. “Because of what I am?”
Torrance swallowed, her throat dry while her mouth watered at the sight of him standing there, proud and strong in the moonlight, wearing a hard expression that didn’t quite manage to conceal a surprising edge of vulnerability. “Th-that’s part of it.”
“Bullshit.”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
He stared at her with a heavy-lidded gaze, then slowly nodded his head, as if coming to some sort of realization. “You heard me,” he said, the words soft.
Torrance returned his intense stare with wide eyes, not a clue what to say.
“You know what I think?” he asked silkily, stalking closer to her, his dark eyes burning in the thick shadows. “I think you want me, and that scares you more than knowing what I am. I’m beginning to think you’re not all that afraid of me. And even if you’re not ready to have sex with me, I think you should get in that bed with me and let me show you just how much you do trust me, Tor.”
Something trembled through her. Something that felt entirely too much like need—and she struggled to smash it down into submission. “You actually think sl-sleeping in the same b-bed tonight is a good idea?” she stammered.
Mason gave her a slow, arrogant nod, the intense look of determination stamped across his rugged features daring her to argue. “I think it’s the best damn idea I’ve ever had.”
Rolling her shoulder, she tried to hide how nervous she was—how tempted. She took a deep breath, and his scent enveloped her, like warm, summer sunshine and a deep green forest, all earthy and rugged and clean—even though he was still a little hot and sweaty from the fight with the rogues. “I’m sorry. I…can’t.”
A rough, quiet sound jerked from his throat. “You know, you weren’t this nervous around me on the drive here.”
“That’s because we were in a car,” she muttered under her breath. “Not heading to your bedroom.”
His eyes, so dark and rich and full of life, glittered with sinful intensity. “Honey,” he rumbled with a low chuckle, “I hate to shatter your illusions, but there’s nothing I can do in a bed that can’t be done in a car.”
Her lips parted, but words seemed to fail her, dissolving on her tongue like snowflakes.
“Stunned you into silence with that, huh?” He laughed, studying her as he rubbed one hand against his whiskery jaw. Finally he blew out a rough breath and said, “Look, believe it or not, I like my bed partners to be a little more willing. You don’t wanna have sex? Fine. I can respect that. But you’re still sleeping with me, in my bed. I can’t protect you otherwise.”
Oh, yeah. Torrance seriously doubted that willing was ever a problem for a guy like him. “I just…This is all…It’s just that my head is spinning, trying to understand everything that’s happened since yesterday,” she tried to explain. “I still don’t even really know what you want from me.”
“All I want is to keep you safe. Come on.” He sighed, and she followed him down the hallway and around a corner. They stepped through a door into what was clearly his bedroom, where she caught a shadowed impression of a beautiful, massive sleigh bed and sturdy wooden furniture. He turned on a low light and turned back toward her. “All you need to do is trust me a little, Tor,” he said quietly, as if trying not to spook her. “Do you think you can do that?”
* * *
The second she stopped fidgeting and nodded her head, Mason took a step closer, feeling a pull from the middle of his chest that made him want to keep going until he had her plastered against him, all warm and soft and willing. He could see the questions in her eyes as her gaze got trapped in his stare—and he knew she felt it, too. Knew that she was caught by the same glowing force that wrapped around his heart.
“Are you sure this is just for protection?” she asked softly. “You’re not afraid that I’ll try to run out on you again, are you?”
“You can try, but it won’t work,” he told her, fighting back a rough bark of laughter at her disgruntled expression.
“Would you trip me again?” she asked, lifting her brows.
A slow, wry grin tugged at his mouth. “I’ll never live that down, will I?”
“Not in this lifetime,” she told him with a crooked smile.
He gave a gruff chuckle at her drawled words, then sobered, watching her for a moment—thoroughly enjoying the view. “Yeah, well,” he rasped, wondering if she could feel the brutal heat, the sheer savage possessiveness of the hungry stare he spread across her skin, “I wasn’t letting you get away.” The air between them thickened, swollen with expectation, like the next wave of thunderstorms he could hear building in the distance. “And if you tried to run—”
Exasperation quirked the soft curve of her lips. “Honestly, Mason, do you really think I’m stupid enough to run, now that I know the score?”
“Torrance, you barely even understand the game,” he countered, his voice full of gravel and gentle bite, “and I’m not giving you the chance to bail on me again when things get…”
Russet lashes lowered over smoky green. “Scary?”
“I was going to say complicated.”
“Oh.” She laughed, and he watched as a soft wash of color crept over her face. “Sorry.”
Reaching out, unable to help himself, Mason ran the back of his knuckles against the softness of her cheek, wishing he could put her at ease. When she didn’t pull away, he brushed his thumb over the crest of pink in her cheeks, marveling at the exquisite silkiness of her skin, the beautiful arc of her cheekbones and that provocative beauty mark that he wanted to touch with his tongue. He breathed deeply and found more of her earthy scent on the air, rising with the heat of her body. It surrounded him, easing into his pores until he felt steeped in her, drunk on the hunger.
Aware that he was shaking apart inside, he lifted his other hand and ran his thumbs over the fine arching slopes of her brows, the fragile skin beneath her eyes, the corners of her trembling mouth, before cradling her throat in his palms. Slowly, giving her time to tell him no, if that’s what she wanted, he leaned down and feathered his mouth across hers. And that was all it took. She moaned against his lips, lifting her hands to clutch at the thickness of his wrists, and he was lost. The awareness of just how dangerous this was slammed through him, and he knew one kiss wasn’t going to be enough. He needed more. Needed all of it. All of her.
“Torrance,” he growled, and what started out as a slow, damp slide of lips and shared, soughing breaths, sharpened instantly into something wild and explosive. Her taste hit his system like a life-altering drug, maki
ng him tremor as he struggled to stay in control. With a rough sound of craving, Mason thrust his way into the moist, delicate silk of her mouth and tasted. Her palate. The smooth inner curve of her cheeks. Her tongue and the slick enamel of her teeth.
With the need to penetrate her in every possible way crawling up his spine, biting at him with insistence, he claimed her mouth with tender aggression, feasting on the succulent flavor, capturing her tongue when she dipped into his, sucking on it. Raw, scraping sounds of demand vibrated in his throat, while the waves of lust battered through him like the stormy surge of the tide against the fragile shoreline of a beach, reshaping him into something unfamiliar and different.
Had any woman ever felt this soft against him? This warm and vibrant and alive? This deliciously addictive, such that he craved her with every cell of his body? As if he’d never get enough of her?
“Son of a bitch,” he cursed thickly, his hands still clutching at her throat, holding her in a gentle trap, her body vibrating against his with a low, erotic frequency that nearly brought him to his knees. “It’s too good. You taste so sweet, Tor.” She moaned in response to his growled words, and he took one last hungry stroke at the slick, inner surface of her lower lip. Then slowly, because it hurt like hell to deny himself something he wanted so badly, Mason put his hands on her shoulders and took a step back. She released his wrists, and his head lowered, hanging forward, while he struggled to get a grip on himself.
Air rushed from his lungs in a jagged rhythm, like he’d just finished a long, grueling run through the forest. Putting a mental chokehold on the hungry need burning in his gut, Mason jerked his head toward the connecting bathroom door. “Why don’t you go on and grab the first shower.”
Last Wolf Standing Page 12