Mason stopped to breathe. Mad Dog’s smug smile irked him.
“Rambo.” Mad Dog put his arm around Mason’s shoulders. “As I’ve told you on more than one occasion, I can’t resist fucking with you. You’re too easy.”
Mad Dog threw his head back, laughing a deep baritone that echoed among the bar. The patrons looked up, smiling as they watched. The joyous sound softened the bar’s hard, male edge.
Mason shook his head. He felt like a fool, but at the same time the vise squeezing his chest had opened. He moved into a different dimension where gravity no longer held him down. “Mad Dog one of these days—”
“One of these days what? You gonna kick my ass?” He smiled. “I suppose I’ll deserve it when you do.”
Removing his arm, Mad Dog took another drink.
“What I can’t figure out is why the hell you’re still here? I thought you’d be half way to Ellen’s house by now.”
Mason threw his money on the bar. “That’s the first intelligent thing I’ve heard you say.”
Mason slid off the bar stool and then headed for the door with a renewed sense of confidence.
***
Ellen sat out on her front porch. A beautiful evening, the neighbors mowed their lawn and children played down by the street corner, intensifying her loneliness for JD. She couldn’t wait to hear JD playing in their new home. For the past three weeks JD had been staying with his Aunt Samantha who had volunteered to take care of him so Ellen could settle into their new house, prepare for her job as principal, and look for a school for JD. By the time he would arrive they would have been apart for a whole month. That was way too long, but Ellen was proud her son was managing the separation so well.
“Only a few more days.”
She sighed, looking across the street at the large maple tree. Red specks freckled green leaves, signaling the approach of fall.
The rumble of a motorcycle as it stopped at the intersection made her look. It was Mason’s bike. Her breath caught. Heat prickled her skin. Ever since the rally, Ellen’s thoughts had been consumed with Mason Hackett. She had secretly wished he’d stop by, but then she would chide herself for being so stupid. Coming up the road, he slowed and turned into her driveway. Ellen stood and then walked to the steps, her knees feeling like the squishy toys she gave JD for sensory play.
Straddling his Harley, he looked damn sexy. Killing the engine, he dismounted and Ellen watched him go to his saddle bag.
“I found your sandals.” He smiled, pulling out the missing items.
He walked over to the steps and, like a chivalrous knight dressed in leather chaps and denim cuts, bowed. “My lady.”
He straightened, dangling the sandals out in front of him.
“I, your knight in shining armor, have risked life and limb to procure your slippers from a ferocious dragon. I expect no reward, but a cold beer would be appreciated.”
Mason grinned.
Ellen smiled and then shrugged. “I only have wine. Will that suffice, Sir Hackett?”
“If it must.”
With an exaggerated sigh, he handed Ellen her shoes. Immobilized by his eyes, she stood on the step, staring. He looked freshly showered; wet hair clung to his neck, and Ellen could smell Polo cologne.
Mason’s eyebrows arched, and he cocked his head. “Are you going to invite me in?”
“Yes, yes, of course.”
Jolted from her stupor, Ellen turned and walked to the door.
“Come in and take a look around. Have you seen the inside? I mean, Dee said you thought about buying it. So I assume you--’’
“Ellen, you’re nervous.”
Mason stood behind her, his hand on the door frame stopping her from opening the screen. “Are you still afraid of me?”
Ellen thought about lying, but the truth escaped. “Yes.”
She turned, looking at him.
“Why?” he asked.
“You’re not like anyone I know.”
He leaned in closer, whispering near her ear. “That’s a good thing.”
His warm breath caused sweat to trickle down between her shoulder blades. Flustered, she twisted and then tugged on the handle. Laughing softly, he removed his hand. Ellen opened the door, and he followed her inside.
In the foyer, a magnificent oak staircase greeted them. Perched on an ornate newel, a bronze nymph held up a rose colored globe. A red print runner bejeweled wooden steps picketed with carved balustrades that curved into a balcony above them. On Mason’s right, half-opened pocket doors revealed a cozy sitting room.
“Wow, Ellen! This house is incredible.”
Mason looked up at the ceiling.
“Look at that crown molding. It’s gotta be eight inches wide.” He whistled.
“Now you know why I bought the place.”
Mason smoothed his hand over the railing. “We have something in common after all.”
He looked at her. “We both like old homes.”
Ellen nodded. “Have a look around while I go get the wine. If you’re not in a hurry, I can give you a tour, and then we can sit out on the porch.”
“I have nowhere to be, and sitting on the porch with you sounds like the perfect way to spend my evening.” He smiled. “So where’s the man of the house?”
Ellen looked puzzled.
“Your son? I bet when he saw this place the first thing he did was to slide down the banister.”
“Oh,” Ellen sighed. “JD isn’t here. He’s been staying at my sister’s in Madison, so he hasn’t seen the place yet, except when we Skype. I wanted all the moving boxes to be long gone before he came. He’d have been obsessing over the fact that things weren’t in their proper place and driving me crazy. I’m lucky to have—’’
Realizing she was rambling, Ellen paused. Why does he make me so damn nervous? she scolded herself.
“You’re all alone in this big house?”
Mason took a step towards her.
Ellen swallowed.
The look on Mason’s face reminded her of a picture of the big bad wolf in the Little Red Riding Hood book she loved as a kid. The wolf was lying in bed, his long snout poked over the covers, his fangs were exposed, and his open mouth was salivating. It was an oxymoron—something so terrifying, she couldn’t look away.
“Aren’t you scared?” he whispered.
He was practically on top of her. His warm breath whispered across her neck.
“Okay” Ellen stammered, bouncing on her toes and then she turned and left Mason to his own devices.
He wandered around the rooms, admiring the refinished woodwork, hardwood floors, and the antiques Ellen had placed here and there. A photograph of a young man holding a baby high up in the air and a younger Ellen standing next to him caught his eye. He picked it up. The tender emotion the picture evoked made him wonder why Ellen and Mad Dog’s happy marriages had been doomed. It didn’t seem right.
“That’s Paul, my late husband, holding JD,” Ellen interrupted his thoughts. “He was killed while we were traveling on a road very much like the one you found me on. It was at night, and we hit a deer. It came through the windshield and broke Paul’s neck.”
She took a sip of the wine.
“Alone in that car, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. That’s why I was so scared when you found me.”
Mason set the picture down. “So it wasn’t me who scared you?”
“Let’s just say you added to my terror.”
Ellen grinned.
Mason chuckled, taking a drink of the wine.
“This isn’t bad. What is it?”
“Fortissimo. It’s what all the old Italians drink.”
“You’re Italian?”
“Yes. My maiden name is Dominetti.”
“Sounds like dominatrix to me.” Mason raised his eyebrows.
Ellen frowned. “Want to see the upstairs? I just finished painting my son’s bedroom to look like the inside of a castle, and I’m dying to show it off. JD loves knights that h
elp damsels in distress.”
She smiled.
Mason held out his goblet. “Here’s to chivalrous knights.”
Ellen clicked his glass and then started up the stairs.
Mason followed, admiring the slight sway of her butt, but he resisted the urge to grab it. For the time being, he needed to proceed with caution. The stairs led to a large, open space which Mason thought must have been a sitting area when the house was built. Ellen led him into an adjacent bedroom that looked like the inside of an old stone castle.
“Holy shit! Did you really do all of this?”
Astonished, he smoothed his hand over the painted wall. “How did you get this to look like stone?”
“A lot of tape and faux painting.”
At the far end of the room, the ceiling sloped downward, and painted on its surface were two stone window frames. In one, a knight embraced his lady, and in the other, a young knight knelt in prayer.
“This is Lancelot and Guinevere, and that’s Arthur.” Ellen pointed out.
“You did that? It looks like stained glass. Your son is very lucky to have a mom like you. This is really awesome.”
Mason moved around the room, marveling at Ellen’s handiwork. A chain mail tunic and shield hung from an iron hook, and a metal helmet with a large red plume adorned the bureau.
“I really feel like I’m inside of a castle.”
“Thank you.”
He looked up at the top of the door frame. A painted stone archway surrounded a magnificent coat of arms.
“How much do you charge? I want you to come to my house and paint my bedroom to look like this, but I want Guinevere to have more of her breasts showing—preferably all of her breasts showing.”
“You, sir, could never afford me.” Ellen tossed her head back.
Mason eyed her as he took a drink of wine. “So, where’s your bedroom?”
A smile tugged at Ellen’s mouth.
“Before I show you my room….” Her eyebrows rose slightly. “Don’t you think we ought to become better acquainted?”
He stepped in front of her. “What’s a better place to become acquainted than in your bedroom?”
Staring into the brown richness of her eyes, he determined to finally kiss her. He stole the wine Ellen held to her lips and then set the goblets on the bureau. Grasping the nap of her neck, he bent down to kiss her. Their lips met. He tasted wine. His tongue pricked and explored the smooth, wet, warmth of her mouth. Ellen leaned into him. Mason smelled the flowery scent of her hair, the soap on her skin. Their kiss went deeper. She sapped the strength from his knees and deprived his lungs of air. He needed to get her on the bed, but she pulled away. Eyes bright, cheeks flushed, her neck muscles moved.
“We better stop.”
Her soft voice ran down his skin like hot rain. Releasing his hold, Mason stepped back, feeling as if he had awakened from a dream.
Ellen picked up the glasses. “Let’s go sit on the porch. I need some air.”
Unfamiliar emotion gnawed Mason’s belly. He speculated on its source, and then fear washed over him in one crushing sweep. He, too, needed to escape. He blew a soft breath.
Ellen headed for the stairs and Mason followed. At the landing, she turned. “I’ll get us some more wine and meet you out on the porch.”
He made himself comfortable on one of the padded wicker chairs and watched the flag attached to one of the porch posts flap softly in the evening breeze. The quiet neighborhood helped to relax him. He noticed Ellen’s iPod. He picked it up, and then searched her music. He smiled. They liked the same bands. He selected one of her playlists and put the device back on the docking station. The Allman Brother’s Midnight Rider played.
Ellen came out on the porch and handed Mason his wine.
“Hope you don’t mind that I put some music on.”
“No.” Ellen sat on the loveseat. “You like old music?”
“Yeah. The Allman Brothers are one of my favorites.” He took a drink of wine. “Now we have two things in common. Old houses and classic rock.”
Ellen smiled and then took a sip of wine. “I love the old rock groups. My parents listened to them when I was growing up. I guess their music stuck.”
She wondered whether the wine was making her hot or if it was the way Mason looked right now. So relaxed and settled, with his long legs stretched out in front of him and his arms slung easily over the chair.
Mason looked over at the street. “The old stuff is the best. Southern rock, the blues. You like the blues?”
“Some of it.”
They listened to the music. Mason’s boot tapped out the rhythm. He looked at Ellen and smiled, but she looked down. She wished he’d go, leaving her to familiar isolation instead of this uncontrollable anxiousness his presence provoked. She finished her wine, but it didn’t lessen her discomfort. Another song began to play. Clouds blotted parts of a celestial intimacy as night copulated with day and the western sky blushed magenta.
“What’s wrong, Ellen?” Mason asked. “You look uncomfortable. Do you want me to go?”
She sighed, shaking her head. “No, Mason, the problem is I want you to stay.”
Biting her bottom lip, she rubbed the top of her thighs. “I never imagined I’d be involved in something like this and here I am… I feel ashamed and you should, too, for kissing me when you’re with Desi.”
Mason leaned forward. “I should, but I’m not.”
Ellen looked upward. What had been building between them at the rally had come to a climax, and only she had the power to decide the outcome. Should she tell him to leave, or should she allow him to stay? A melancholy rattling of piano keys floated between them. Bob Seger sang We’ve Got Tonight. The music and lyrics became tangible pieces of Ellen’s heart that created an alluring picture. She didn’t have the strength or the desire to stop what was happening.
Drums rolled, signaling the song’s conclusion. The night went quiet. She looked at Mason. Thin slices of moon light illuminated his face. Standing, he extended his hand.
“So, Ellen, are you going to show me your bedroom now?”
CHAPTER eleven
They entered the house. Rose-colored light painted gentle shadows throughout the foyer. Ellen led him up the stairs to her bedroom. Switching on the light, she sat down at the foot of the bed. Mason stopped in the threshold. His hands gripped the doorframe as his eyes traveled about the room. Anxiety knotted in Ellen’s stomach. Mason’s reluctance could only mean he’d come to his senses and was going to leave. Looking down at trembling hands, shame parched her throat.
“Should I take my boots off?”
Ellen looked up. Head cocked to the side, brows furrowed, Mason looked like a man not certain of his welcome.
“No, Mason.”
She smiled, relief bolstering her confidence.
Hesitant, he entered and walked over to the bed.
“This room…. It’s so... feminine.”
He sat, raising his eyes to the ceiling. An antique chandelier hung over the bed. Strings of glass beads and pink prisms flirted with the light. He looked at her.
“It’s beautiful. Like you.”
He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. "All these delicate things make me nervous.”
The rapid bouncing of his knee testified to his uneasiness. Ellen placed her hand over his thigh to soothe the tremor.
“It’s been awhile since I’ve had to consider a man when decorating my bedroom. I’ll turn the light off, and then you won’t see all the feminine things. Besides, I prefer it to be dark. I don’t have a dancer’s body like you’re used to.”
She lowered her gaze; sweat trickled down the back of her neck.
Mason placed a hand over hers. “Tonight is about you, Ellen.”
She reached up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear, ran her index finger over the exposed pink scar that cut across his temple, and then traced the outline of his mouth.
Parting his lips, he sucked in her fing
er… leisurely… tenderly. His eyes held her. Teeth scraped along her knuckle. The erotic warmth of his mouth personified her passion. Slowly, she pulled her finger away. He leaned forward. Short seductive kisses teased her senses.
Desperate for more, Ellen coiled her fingers in his damp hair and pulled him down. She smelled the clean, spicy scent of shampoo and tasted wine as their tongues converged, stroking, exploring. Coaxing him deeper, she rolled the tip of her tongue along his teeth and over the roof of his mouth as if to drink him in. All she had was this night—this moment. She would not hold back.
Untangling her fingers from his hair, her hands trekked across the hard contour of his chest and down the flat plane of his abdomen, pausing briefly at his belt buckle then over his fly. She kneaded the firm bulge beneath. Mason sighed. Ellen jerked down the zipper tab, but Mason’s hand caught her, halting further exploration. Before she could utter a sound, he kissed her. Slow, deep, lingering as if he had an eternity to make love. His hand caressed her check; his tongue licked her ear.
She pulled away. Breathing through her mouth, her heart beating to a 6/8 rhythm, she searched his eyes to affirm his desire.
“What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, emotions too raw, too intense for speech.
He hugged her into his chest.
“Ellen,” he whispered. “You won’t disappoint me.”
His words targeted her terror. Tears escaped.
He tipped up her chin and smiled. “You’re a very desirable woman. The way you kiss me…. I only hope I meet your expectations.”
She turned away, wringing her hands, the room suddenly unbearably hot and still.
“Mason, at the river you asked me if I felt something for you.” She forced herself to look at him. “Did you ask because you feel something for me?”
Mason lie back, cradling his head in his hands. “I don’t know what it is, but I definitely feel something for you, Ellen. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
Downstairs the grandfather clock chimed the hour.
Mason sat up, somber blue eyes interrogating her. “You said you didn’t feel anything.”
Ellen looked across the room, nervous tension prickled her skin.
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