Make Me Believe: Unbelievable, Book 3

by Crystal Jordan

  Her brows drew together. “But…tomorrow’s Thursday.”

  His broad shoulder lifted in a shrug. “Firefighters’ schedules are weird. We go twenty-four hours on, forty-eight hours off.”

  “So, you’re there for twenty-four hours straight?”

  Amusement glimmered in his gaze, but he answered her anyway. “Yep, we eat there, sleep there. Just waiting for an emergency call to come in.”

  “Huh. You’re right. That is weird.” Even weirder was that she was having a perfectly normal conversation with him. While stark naked. It was like an erotic dream mixed with an out of body experience.

  He cleared his throat, shifting his weight. “Some women don’t like the schedule.”

  The odd inflection in his voice had her tilting her head back to look him in the face. “You’ve dated women like that?”

  “As it turns out, I was engaged to one.” His tone was easy, conveying that whatever had happened, he’d come to an acceptance of it.

  “I take it that wasn’t the fiancée who was also a firefighter.” When his eyebrows arched, she hastened to add, “Tori told me. I didn’t ask.”

  “Of course not.” He smirked at her, reaching out to run a possessive hand down her bare shoulder to her breast. “You would never ask about me—you have no interest in me.”

  “Nope. None.” She walked her fingers up his chest and tweaked his nipple. Hard.

  “Hey!” He jerked, slapping a hand over hers, a laugh rippling out of him.

  She flattened her palm, feeling the bump of his heartbeat. “But seriously… What happens if there’s an emergency tonight and you get paged to come in?”

  His tone turned matter-of-fact. “If it comes to it, I will rip that door off its hinges.”

  “You can’t do that now?” Though the question was a bit like closing the barn door after the horse had escaped.

  “Nope, I like being locked down here with you.” He grinned. “Plus, Mrs. Chambers would make me come back to clean up the mess and fix her door. No thanks, I’ll stick it out unless it becomes necessary to do otherwise.”

  She scowled up at him. “I don’t like being held hostage.”

  Taking the remainder of the strawberry from her, he slid the fruit over her bottom lip, leaving a trail of sweet stickiness. Then he bent down to lick the juices away. “Let me take your mind off of it.”

  Chapter Three

  Celia stepped out of her salon and closed the door behind her. She loved Occam’s Razor. Focusing on growing her business had gotten her through some of the darkest days of her life, so she was more than a little proud of its success. She’d bought the entire building, kept the old charm of the original barbershop on the bottom floor and, after her second divorce, moved into the apartment on the top floor.

  Passing by the spinning red, white, and blue barbershop pole, she jogged across the street to the park that made up the town square. Aubrey had called to ask her to come over for lunch, and her best friend’s coffee shop was on the far side of the square. Celia smoothed her hair and her clothes as she walked along one of the many paths that wound through the park. A quick shower was all she’d managed before she’d had to open the shop for her first customer, but she assured herself that there was nothing in her appearance that indicated she’d spent the night having a shagfest with Mason.

  Lucky for Jerry, he’d called in sick today. Maybe when he decided he felt better, she’d be less inclined to give him the boot.

  She came around a copse of trees and spotted the sign for Aubrey’s shop, Bean There, Done That. Looking both ways, Celia crossed the street, the aroma of coffee luring her in like a Lorelei. No one made coffee and baked goods like Aubrey. She’d been a pastry chef at a fancy restaurant in Portland before her first marriage crumbled and she’d moved to Cedarville. Portland’s loss was Cedarville’s gain.

  And Celia had gotten a best friend out of the arrangement, so she couldn’t complain.

  Pushing open the door, she saw Aubrey and her assistant behind the counter, a short line queuing up to order. Aubrey waved her into the rear of the shop, so Celia walked through the swinging door that led to a large room where a huge prep table dominated the space. Ovens lined an entire wall, the scent of fresh pastries filling the air. Celia pulled up a stool at the table and plopped down.

  “Hey, hon.” Aubrey hustled in, carrying a silver baking pan which had plates and cups of coffee balanced on it. She set the food and drinks in front of Celia, then dropped the pan into a huge basin sink. “All right. Susan will come get me if the crowd gets too bad, but it looks like we have a lull, so I can take a break.”

  “Great.” Two of the plates had a nice little green salad and a turkey and cheese croissant sandwich, and a third plate was piled with cookies. Celia picked up her sandwich and dug in. She moaned when it hit her taste buds. “Oh, man. This is so amazing. I swear you put crack on your food—you just can’t stop eating it.”

  “It’s the fresh croissant. Once you’ve had the real thing, you can’t go back to the processed stuff.”

  “Crack sprinkled freshness. Nice.”

  “Hey, whatever keeps the business coming in.” Aubrey laughed, sat and dug into her salad.

  “You said it.”

  “So, how did last night go?” Aubrey took a sip of her coffee, but her gaze never wavered from Celia’s across the table.

  A blush heated her face at the mere mention of the night before. Mason had been insatiable. Almost as insatiable as her. They’d barely managed to get their clothes back on in time for Mrs. Chambers to spring them from the basement. “Wh-what do you mean?”

  “The party. For Price and me.” Aubrey tucked a stray lock of her long, dark hair behind her ear and spoke slowly, as if to a mentally challenged child. “Did you have a good time?”

  “Oh. Right. The party.” Celia’s laugh was breathless. “It was great. Good food.”

  The brunette’s lips twitched. “I noticed you left early. You didn’t even say good-bye.”

  “Um. Sorry about that.”

  She took another sip of her drink. “Price also noted that Mason disappeared around the same time.”

  Busted.

  Stabbing a few pieces of lettuce from her salad, Celia muttered, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you the truth about what happened.”

  “Oh, this I have to hear.” Her best friend leaned forward, a grin curling her lips.

  Celia sighed and met her eyes. “Jerry and Mrs. Chambers locked us in the basement together.”

  “What?” Aubrey straightened, shock coloring her voice. “No way!”

  “I know, right?” Celia threw her hands into the air, the lettuce leaves on her fork fluttering wildly. She ate them quickly, then continued explaining. “We went down to bring up more champagne for the party and the next thing we know, the door’s locked shut. They left us a note saying they’d let us out in the morning.”

  “Which they did, since you’re here.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you got busy with Mason. Finally.” Satisfaction rang in her friend’s voice.

  Jesus, everyone had been rooting for her to sex it up with him. Except her. The morning had arrived to bite her in the ass, just as she’d known it would. What had she been thinking? Who was she kidding—she hadn’t been thinking. The man confused the hell out of her, made her wish for things she didn’t believe in anymore. Things she had very good reasons not to believe in. There were no fairy tales, no marriage and white picket fences and ever afters. She pushed her plate away and groaned. “Yeah.”

  “Was it good?” Aubrey propped her chin in her palm, a wicked smile flashing across her face.

  Celia sighed again, letting her head drop to the table. “Yeah.”

  “Uh, well…that’s a bummer.” The other woman reached over and patted Celia’s shoulder.

  She tilted her head to glare out of the corner of her eye. “Shut up.”

  “Have fun with it.” Aubrey shrugged and sat back. She snagged a c
herry tomato off her plate and popped it in her mouth. “I did with his brother, and it didn’t turn out too badly.”

  Celia growled and slumped on her stool, folding her arms. “It was a one-time thing. No encore.”

  Taking a bite of her sandwich, Aubrey spoke around the food in her mouth. “Does he know that?”

  “He ran out a few minutes after they sprang us.” Celia shrugged, assuring herself that she had not been disappointed to see him go. “Got called in to a fire.”

  Aubrey swallowed and took a swig of her coffee. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he comes back for seconds.”

  Leaning forward, Celia snagged one of the cookies. Moments like this called for food more comforting—and fattening—than a salad. “He had seconds. And thirds.”

  Choking on her drink, the brunette grabbed a napkin and laugh-snorted into it. “Oh-ho! Nice.”

  Celia considered throwing the rest of her cookie at her friend, but decided against punishing the poor food that way. Instead she rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

  Her heart did not flutter at the suggestion that Mason might want another night with her. Or even more than that.

  No. No, no, no, no. This was exactly why she hadn’t wanted to hook up with him in the first place. She hadn’t even been willing to go on a single date with him because she had known this would happen. She’d get all schoolgirl twitter-pated, instead of acting like the bitter divorcee she actually was. Stomping down on that sweet quivery feeling in the pit of her stomach, she reminded herself that she was just a challenge that Mason had overcome. He’d gotten what he’d wanted.

  End of story. No happy ending.

  As usual.

  After she finished up her last appointment at the salon, she closed up shop and went around to the staircase on the side of the building that led to her apartment on the second floor. A few minutes later, she stood in front of her freezer, deciding between microwavable pizza and a TV dinner when her doorbell rang. Closing the refrigerator, she jogged toward the door. Her heart leapt when she saw a tall male shape outlined through the frosted glass that made up the top half of her front door. Still, she called, “Who is it?”

  “Mason.”

  Just as she’d suspected.

  Heat raced up her face, then sluiced back down again until every inch of her skin felt warm and tingly. She swallowed, trying to come up with something intelligent to say other than do me, baby…again.

  “It’s too late to pretend you’re not there, Celia.” His voice sounded amused rather than impatient, which made her want to smile, and that made her angry with herself…and with him. He shouldn’t be able to affect her so much just with the tone of his voice.

  She yanked open the door and scowled. “Isn’t this a new level of desperation and harassment for you? I thought you were showing your versatility by not pursuing me anymore.”

  “I’m not pursuing.” His hands were tucked behind his back, and he favored her with a slow grin. “I already had you. Now I’m keeping, not pursuing.”

  “You don’t have me to keep. We had sex.”

  “I know.” He ran his gaze over her in a slow, thorough fashion. It made her body and her temper heat up even more. “I was there.”

  “What do you want, Mason? I’m busy.” She folded her arms over her chest to hide her tightening nipples. Just a look from him made her react. Damn it.

  He moved his hands around for her to see. “I brought dinner. You just finished at the salon, so I know you haven’t eaten yet.”

  “Stalker.”

  His grin widened, obviously enjoying that he got to her. “That’s very flattering, honey.”

  “I’m not your honey,” she grumbled, squeezing her thighs together to suppress the ache between them. She’d had more sex last night than she’d had in months. She should be more than satisfied, not lubing up for another round. Considering how little sleep she’d had, her body should be ready to drop from exhaustion, not humming with anticipation.

  “You didn’t protest last night.”

  Yeah, like she needed a reminder. Her stomach rumbled, reminding her that she’d been trying to figure out what to eat before he’d arrived. The way she figured it, she had a choice here. She could stand there and argue with him until she died of starvation, or she could take him up on dinner. There were definite pros and cons to both options. Another hungry grinding in her belly decided for her. “Shut up and give me the food before it gets cold.”

  He held it just beyond her reach. “I brought it to share. This isn’t a delivery service.”

  “And here I was hoping for full service delivery,” she purred in her most sex kitten voice, just to yank his chain.

  His mouth flapped open, but no words came forth.

  She grinned, snatched the bag from him and left him standing in the doorway. Darting into her kitchen, she set the paper sack on the counter and pulled out several Styrofoam cartons. “Mmm…this is from the restaurant next door.”

  “You haven’t even opened the containers.” He closed the door behind him and wandered around her living room, not touching anything, but taking everything in.

  “Please, it’s next door. You think I don’t know that smell?” She tried not to feel uncomfortable and exposed with him in her space, looking around, assessing it. Assessing her. She hadn’t thought about that when she’d let him in. She should have. Busying herself with dishing up the food onto plates, she tried to ignore how he managed to shrink the place down with his presence.

  “The waitress knew what you liked.” He settled himself on one of the stools at her counter.

  “I may have been there once or twice. A week.” She chuckled, set a plate in front of him, and went back to pour them each a glass of sparkling water. She had wine, but she figured adding alcohol to their mix was a bad idea. “They might know me.”

  “Not a big cook?” He stood and pulled out a stool for her to sit. She put the glasses on the counter while he grabbed her food and brought it to her. He resumed his seat beside her, his shoulder and thigh brushing hers.

  She swallowed a whimper and concentrated harder than she should have had to on the conversation. “I have time for cooking when, exactly?” She waved a hand to encompass her house. “Plus, I live alone. If I cook, I have to eat the same thing for a week.”

  “I know what you mean.” He saluted her with his glass. “I’ve lived alone for a couple of years now.”

  And before that, he’d have lived with his last fiancée. A twist of jealousy she absolutely refused to acknowledge wrenched through her. They’d had a one-night stand, nothing more. There was no reason for her to be envious. None. They’d never even been out on a date, and that was entirely her choice. She didn’t date anymore. So there. No jealousy and that was final. She snorted at that stupidity, but what else could she do?

  What she wanted to ask him was why he was even here in the first place. They’d had sex, they both knew he didn’t do commitment, so last night had to be the perfect arrangement for him. What was he still sniffing around here for? And why did she care anyway?

  As usual, she didn’t know if she was coming or going with him. Damn. It. So, she did the only thing she could—she plied herself to her food while he did the same. The silence was more companionable than she would have expected, and after a while, she relaxed and enjoyed her dinner. The waitress had sent her favorite pasta primavera dish, and the meal hit the spot. So much better than the frozen dinner she’d been considering.

  “You know…” He cast her a sidelong glance. “We’re eating dinner together.”

  “Uh…yeah. You did bring the food.” She arched her eyebrows and gave him the kind of pitying look reserved for simpletons.

  He ignored her sarcasm. “This could almost count as a date.”

  Yeah, like she was buying that line of crap. “This is no more a date than when I ate lunch with Aubrey this afternoon. I share food with a lot of people. That doesn’t mean I’m dating them all. In fact, I don’t date. Period.”
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  “Never?” His expression couldn’t have been more horrified than if she announced she had an STD. A deathly contagious one at that.

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed in his face. “Not since the last divorce, no.”

  “And how long ago was that?”

  “A few years.” It surprised her that she had to think about it. “It’s not like I don’t have a life outside of dating. I’m not sitting around singing Someday My Prince Will Come.”

  “As long as the prince gets to come inside you, I’ll be your Prince Charming.” His grin was sin incarnate.

  Reaching over, she poked him with her fork and made him jolt. “There is no Prince Charming. That’s the point. Why date when I know there’s not going to be that marriage and happy-ever-after ending? It’s pointless.”

  “So, if you don’t date, how do you…” He trailed off as if he had no idea how to ask the question.

  “You mean, aside from my vibrator?” Her shoulder dipped in a shrug. “I have my go-to guys and that’s it. No strings, no recriminations, no planning for some fake future. Just sex. Which is all we had last night. We are not dating.” She made the word a dirty, vile thing.

  He snorted and rubbed a hand over his shorn hair. “You know, a few weeks ago, I’d have been happy to hear you wanted a sex-only arrangement.”

  “Oh, yeah? What changed?” Not that she cared why he might not be satisfied with sex-only. She totally didn’t. Not in the least. She was just making conversation. It was polite.

  Pushing his empty plate away, he sighed. “If you can believe it, I had an interesting conversation with Mrs. Chambers.”

  “Yeah?” Her eyebrows arched. Whatever she’d been expecting him to say, that hadn’t been it.

  He nodded. “About us, actually.”

  “What about us?” There was an us worth talking about with the biggest busybody in Oregon?

  He took a swig of his water. “She asked me why I kept asking you out.”

  “I asked you that all the time.” Until he’d stopped asking.

  “Yeah, this was right before I quit coming around.”

  “So you didn’t just want to show me your versatility?”