She felt like a useless little princess set up high in the castle tower. Only brought out when necessary, for appearance’s sake, and then banished to a remote island for bad behavior. Like she was some sort of criminal.
It didn’t matter how much she loved Whitney Island, how she despised the hustle and bustle and constant speculation she dealt with in DC. It still hurt that he shipped her out here, not caring about what she wanted to do.
But at least here on the island, she could be herself and not worry what others thought.
Well, with the exception of Mason. She constantly worried over what he thought about her. Not that he cared a whit for her beyond the, “I work for you and I must protect you” mode. Idiot. Blind, stubborn idiot. He drove her crazy.
A knock sounded on the front door and then he appeared, as if conjured up from her imagination. His gaze met hers, his eyes widening in surprise when he took in her woeful state. Slamming the door behind him, his long strides ate up the floor as he approached. He stopped short, just in front of her, his gaze lingering on her face. “Are you all right?”
Blake wiped at the tears streaking down her face with the back of her hand, sniffing loudly. She sounded like a little kid, but she didn’t care. No one took her seriously anyway, so what was the point?
Oh, my. Sometimes a pity party was just what a girl needed.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” She hiccupped, not even trying to get her crying under control. “What do you want?”
Mason paused, studying her, gauging the entire situation. His agent mindset was at work, she could practically see the cogs turning in his brain. She waited impatiently for his reply.
“I wanted to check in,” he said carefully. “See if you have plans tomorrow. I have a conference call at ten.”
She shook her head, pushed her hair from her shoulder. “I’m staying home.”
“Not seeing your friend?” His lips tightened. He didn’t like Suzanne, why, she wasn’t sure.
“We’re getting together Friday.” At least she had something to look forward to.
He didn’t move and she gazed up at him. He frowned, his eyes darkening. “You’re crying.”
She wiped at yet another tear, taking a deep breath. She needed to get a grip, needed to control herself in front of this man. “I’m fine, really.” She smiled but it was tremulous at best.
Mason crouched before her, so close she could make out the gold flecks in his green eyes, the thick, dark lashes that surrounded them. Those eyes were downright girly, would’ve give him a feminine cast if not for the raw masculine bone structure of his face. The harsh lines of his cheekbones, the strong, stubborn jaw and the slightly crooked nose that he must’ve broken before, his features were so dear to her.
“You never cry. What upset you?” he asked.
“Nothing. Family stuff.” She shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand.”
Oh God, he reached out and touched her. Those long, strong fingers rested on her knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. It was as if he squeezed all the air from her lungs.
“Try me,” he murmured.
At his urging, Blake began to cry in earnest.
* * * *
Ah Christ, what did he do wrong? He didn’t know how to deal with a crying woman, especially a crying Blake. He knelt in front of her, his hand still resting on her knee, feeling helpless as she balled her eyes out.
Mason was baffled. She never, ever cried. He’d seen her angry, frustrated, antagonistic, even a little melancholy, but he’d never seen her like this.
He needed to do something, offer her some sort of comfort. Standing to his full height, he sat beside her on the couch and awkwardly yanked her into his arms, her head resting against his chest. Her tears dampened his shirt and she clung to him, clutched his shoulders with shaky fingers, her face nestled close against his heart.
Cradling her, he smoothed his hands down her back, wanting to soothe her, wanting to stop the heartbreaking crying. Because it was heartbreaking. She sounded so desolate. As if it had been pent up within her for months and the dam had finally broke.
She didn’t say a word and he didn’t speak either, just communicated his sympathy for her with his touch. He was tempted to do more.
Being around her day in and day out, seeing her just before she went to bed, and first thing in the morning, it both turned him on and pissed him off. Being with her so closely, it made him want things. Things he couldn’t have.
It frustrated her too. The attraction between them was palpable, getting harder to deny. Rather than spend time with him, Blake had avoided him as much as possible. She was cold and distant, barely speaking to him unless she had to. The disdain had radiated from her in powerful waves, smacking him right in the chest, a direct hit to the heart.
Oh yeah, and to the groin. His cock had wanted to shrivel up and die. It sucked to be on Blake Hewitt’s hate list.
Now that he held her close, her slender form pressed directly against him, he realized he needed to be in her good graces again. He wanted to touch her, offer her comfort in other closer, more feel-good-type ways.
Nothing new there. The urge was so strong, stronger than it had ever been. And he was so tired of fighting it. He always fought it.
For once, just once, he wanted to give in.
He moved his hand, resting it on the back of her head, sinking into her soft hair. The strands tangled around his fingers and he stroked down, until he reached the curling ends. Watched them fall from his fingertips to rest once more against her back.
She sighed, nuzzling her face closer, pressed against the spot where his neck and shoulder met. He could feel her hot breath on his skin, the faint dampness of her tears and he closed his eyes, swallowed hard.
Mason stroked her hair again and again, unable to stop. Loving the way the soft tumbling mass sifted through his fingers. Her subtle fragrance wafted upward, filling his senses with the scent of flowers and rain and the barest hint of spice and heat.
“That feels good,” she whispered, her warm lips brushing against his neck when she spoke.
God, so did that, he wanted to say, but he held back. Not ready to reveal how he really felt.
Eventually, she’d use it against him and sucker that he was, he’d let her.
He dropped his hand away from her and she lifted her head, her gaze meeting his. Glistening blue eyes stared up at him, her nose red, her lips puffy and swollen. She looked a mess.
She looked beautiful.
He pushed her hair away from her forehead, his fingers lingering on her soft skin. “Are you okay?”
With a nod, she smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I am now.”
This was what she’d wanted all this time. After all the flirtation, the taunting dance in the window and the frustrating, petty arguments, she’d finally landed in his arms.
And he wanted her there. Hell, he’d always wanted her there. But before it had been about her sweet little ass and the swell of her breasts and her pretty face, landing her in his bed to satisfy the sexual urges he’d fought since the moment he saw her.
Now though, after spending so much time with her, he was starting to feel something. Seeing her distressed, so upset and not know why or who made her act this way, frustrated the hell out of him. Angered him. Made him want to shelter her, and not just because it was his job.
It was because he cared for her.
“Tell me why you’re crying.” It wasn’t a question. He needed to know.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Boyfriend trouble?” He smiled, trying to make light of it. He wanted to see her smile for real, wanted to hear her laugh.
Her expression didn’t shift. She was one hundred percent serious as she whispered, “You know I don’t have a boyfriend. I don’t want any other man.”
The words except you settled into his brain, unsaid but heard nevertheless. He knew what she was saying. It was as if he could read her mind, read her eyes,
read everything about her.
Unable to resist, Mason touched her cheek, surprised at the softness, the warmth he felt there. She parted her lips, still damp from her crying, and he wanted them damp from his kisses instead.
“Mason,” she whispered. The sound aching and needy, it called to his achy and needy heart.
Leaning in, he dipped his head, his mouth hovering above hers. He shouldn’t do this. He shouldn’t kiss her, because once his lips touched hers, there was no going back. He didn’t think he’d be strong enough to stop.
She slid her hands up his arms, her palms lingering, softly stroking and he breathed deep, tried to gain some sort of control. He had no idea her touch could affect him so strongly. Had no idea she could affect him so strongly.
This little bit of a woman, with the troubled and vulnerable heart, was slowly squirming into is life. And he didn’t want to stop her.
Blake wrapped her arms around his neck, buried her fingers in his hair. Her caresses felt good, so good. He closed his eyes, his strength, his resistance slipping away with every breath he took, every tender touch she gave him.
And because he wasted too much time, Blake took matters into her own hands. Tilting her head, she brushed her mouth against his. It was as if a spark ignited between them. Harsh and bright, burning so fast he was instantly consumed.
Just like that. Overwhelmed with sensation, with the fact he was actually kissing Blake.
And as predicted, he didn’t want to stop.
Mason wrapped his arm around Blake, cradling her close with such gentleness, she wanted to weep. He cupped her cheek with his other hand, his fingers stroking, cherishing her, touching her so gently she wanted to weep. Oh, and his mouth, firm and strong and soft all at once. Coaxing her with delicious persistence, her lips parted with his every stroke until finally, his tongue touched the center of her bottom lip before it swept the interior of her mouth.
She wanted to die from bliss. Her dream had finally come true. In Mason’s arms, his mouth locked on hers, breathing his breath, touching him. His hair was silky soft, curling around her fingers and she tunneled them into the thick mass, clutching his head close.
It was as if she couldn’t stop touching him.
She opened her mouth wider, letting him in, and he took advantage. His tongue curled around hers, the kiss turning instantly deep and hot. He clutched her face almost desperately and she shifted closer, wanting to be next to him, on top of him, all over him.
As if reading her mind, he hauled her close until she toppled over him. Their mouths still fused, she slid her hands down, over his firm shoulders, his hard as granite arms. Across his broad chest, she rested her palm against the center, over his racing heart. It thundered against her hand, nearly as fast as her own, and it thrilled her. She affected him just as much as he did her.
She wanted him naked. She wanted him inside her. There was no need for foreplay, no need for the preamble that usually came with sex. Her panties were soaked, her breasts full and achy and her body tingled for more. They’d get to the good and slow stuff later.
Right now, she wanted it hard and fast.
Straddling his hips, she pushed him against the back of the couch, nipping at his lips with her teeth, her hands fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt. She made contact with bare, hot flesh and he shivered at her touch, making her smile.
Making him break the kiss.
Blake opened her eyes to find him staring at her, his lips swollen and parted, his breathing accelerated, as if he’d just run a long and exhausting race.
She felt much the same way. Her heart beat so hard, she was sure he could see it throb beneath her shirt and she swallowed past the sudden lump in her throat, trying to find words.
He found them first.
“Blake.” The tone of his voice set off about a thousand alarms, all of them clanging loudly, ringing in her ears. “We...can’t.”
Shaking her head, she rested a single finger against his mouth, silencing him. She stroked his soft bottom lip with the tip of her finger, learning the curve of it, remembering the way it felt pressed to hers only moments ago. “Don’t say it.”
Mason shifted beneath her, trying to get her off him, but she clung, curling her other hand around his shoulder as if she never wanted to let go. “We need to stop.”
“I don’t want to stop. You don’t want to stop.”
“We have to. I can’t do this.” His voice was strangled, his body tense beneath hers and slowly, silently, she gave in. Her heart sinking deep, deeper until it was as if it disappeared.
She allowed him to shift her body off him, didn’t utter one word in protest when he plopped her onto the couch next to him. Closing her eyes against the overwhelming pain, she tried to calm her racing heart. To be so close, touching him and kissing him and then ruthlessly denied, was almost too much to take.
It was too much to take. She wanted to cry all over again over this man who she secretly, foolishly believed was worth her tears.
“I’m sorry, Blake.”
“Please.” She opened her eyes, saw the sorrowful expression on his face. He looked guilt-ridden, physically pained with it, and she wanted to punch him. “You don’t need to explain.”
He stood, thrusting a hand through his hair, messing it up even more than it already was. She was the reason his hair was disheveled. Her fingers literally ached to touch him again.
God, could she deal with this? Being denied Mason? Yet spending the next few weeks with him, pretending this kiss never happened?
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Fine.” She stood as well, thrusting her chin up, oddly defiant after being nearly shattered by his rejection. “Get out.”
A shadow fell across his eyes and she noticed the tick in his jaw. Looked like macho agent man didn’t like hearing what she had to say. Or how she said it.
Too damn bad.
“Blake...”
“No. Don’t try and tell me this is the right thing to do or how you wished it never happened. I don’t want to hear it. Get. Out.”
He stared at her for a long moment, the silence between them uncomfortable, filling the house, filling her head, her heart. So many unspoken words, so many things she wanted to say, but she’d never get the chance. All because he was too stubborn, too duty-burdened to just chuck it all and go after what he really wanted.
And she knew after that kiss, their passionate embrace, how his heart had beat so fast beneath her palm, he wanted her.
It was little consolation.
His shoulders slumped, he turned and walked toward the front door, his steps slow, his appearance one of defeat. Funny, since she was the one who felt like she had just raged a bloody war and came out the loser.
He stopped at the door, his back to her. She could barely hear him when he started to speak. But then his words rang clear.
“I don’t wish this never happened.”
Shock flooding her, Blake watched Mason opened the door and walk out.
* * * *
Mason barreled down the road, running as if the devil himself nipped at his heels. Thick, early morning fog swirled around him, shrouding his vision, the damp mist smacking him right in the face. It cooled him down, calmed him, made him feel as if he was the only person awake, alive.
He knew that wasn’t true. Hell, he could see Blake moving about inside through the large windows that lined the front of the house, the lights bright in the kitchen. Even from this distance, he saw she wore an oversized T-shirt that overwhelmed her slim figure, her long legs clad in pink and green polka dot pajama pants. Her long blonde hair piled on top of her head in a haphazard knot, tendrils hanging around her pretty face.
He cursed himself. Damn, his vision was always perfect where Blake was concerned. His memory was real sharp too, since it had relived every moment of the previous night on a continuing loop. Driving him crazy, making him want to say screw it and give in to his now not-so-secret needs.
But his job, th
e vow he’d made to protect her, prevented him from doing that. Damn it, he was going to do his job even if it killed him. And he refused to let Blake distract him.
No matter how good she’d felt in his arms, soft and pliant and curving around him. Her mouth on his, how she tasted, the way she touched him. Her tongue sliding against his, her breasts crushed to his chest. Hell.
Yeah, he tried to forget, but it was useless. She had to be furious with him. He was mad at himself, but for different reasons. Pushing her away had been one of the most difficult things he’d ever done.
And he’d done a lot of difficult things in his lifetime.
He’d crawled out of bed early even for him when he’d realized sleep was futile. Taken a hot shower, turning the faucet to full blown cold right before he shut it off, leaving him gasping. The icy water hadn’t gotten rid of his hard-on though, so he’d jacked off yet again to thoughts of Blake.
This agony he put himself through was twisted. It wasn’t right. Denying himself like this, something he normally didn’t do. He wanted something, he went after it. Whether it be a job, a goal or a woman, he pretty much always got what he wanted. All it took was pure determination and a little bit of grit.
If he so chose, he knew he could walk into that house right now, press her against the kitchen counter and take her from behind, she’d let him. Hell, she’d probably beg him for it. Cry out when he entered her, coming all over his cock in mere seconds.
That image had him tripping over his own goddamn feet.
Wiping at the sweat on his forehead, he shook his head. This wasn’t his style. And it was screwing with him like nothing ever had.
He thought the run would help. Empty his brain, wear out his body. He’d circled the Hewitt property again and again, not wanting to go too far, not about to shirk on his responsibility. When really he wanted to run far away from Blake, take a breather and screw his head back on straight.
Slowing his pace, he walked down the driveway, straight toward heaven or hell, depending on his mood. Right about now, he believed it a straight descent into hell. She stood at the kitchen counter, staring with wide eyes out the large window, straight at him. Those very windows were a huge security risk.
Under His Protection Page 6