by Rush, Olivia
Mason opened his mouth slightly but didn’t speak. Instead, he slipped his tongue out and wet his lips. His gaze trailed down to my cleavage and rested there for a full two-second count.
The tension between us was overwhelming. We could hardly hold a proper conversation without ogling each other. It was awkward in the best possible way.
“No,” he said. “I won’t be here at night, but I’ll be just a phone call away.”
“I don’t have your number,” I replied and blushed. What were we, teenagers? Why was I so fucking hot? It had nothing to do with the Louisiana sun beating down on the grass or the warm breeze, and everything to do with this half-naked doctor on my porch.
“I don’t make a habit of giving it out. People call me at the practice, and that’s about it,” he said, then reached into the front pocket of his jeans and brought out his cell. He looked at me expectantly. “Your number.”
“Oh,” I replied, and gave it to him, then brought out my cell.
The exchange was just as awkward as the rest of the conversation had been, and just as hot. Sweat trickled between my breasts, my head pounded, and I reached for the lemonade instead of the coffee to cool down.
“Call me if you need anything,” Mason said and watched me drink. “And I mean anything. What are next-door neighbors for, right?”
Not for what I had in mind. I set down the lemonade and managed a smile. “Thanks.”
“I’ll get back to work,” he replied. “Those eaves aren’t going to fix themselves.” And just like that, he detached, turned, and strode off as if none of the ogling or longing or anything else had happened.
It was a good example of what I needed to do.
I didn’t know Mr. Hot As Heck Doctor, and I didn’t need to. This was a one-weekend deal, no more, no less, and it’d be over soon enough.
Chapter 4
Mason
I smoothed my hand over the head of my cock and down the base, spreading the lube over my skin.
My eyes were shut, my mind elsewhere. Not in my bedroom in the house, but back at Rebecca’s place, on her front porch.
I pictured us there, as we’d been the morning before. She held the glass of lemonade in one hand, condensation snaking down the side of the glass as her throat worked to drink it down. This time, she didn’t put the glass on the tray.
This time, I knocked it out of her hand, wound my fingers into her hair and tugged her head back, and parted her lips with a kiss that would make her pussy so wet she’d slip off the fucking porch and onto my cock.
“Fuck,” I growled. “Fuck, fuck.” I stroked harder, faster, set up the familiar rhythm I’d developed over years of doing this. What I’d do to you. What I’d fucking do to you, Rebecca. If only you knew.
Christ, I took her, slammed her against the wall and ripped those shorts down, found the expanse of warm, wet flesh I needed, and lifted her leg high. I plunged my cock into her, again and again, her velvet folds closing around me.
Her eyes rolled back in her head, her lips parted and gasps escaped. “Too good,” she moaned. “You’re too good.”
“Come for me,” I growled. “I want you to come. I want you to break. I want you to know that you’re mine and only mine, Becca.”
Her pussy closed around me, pulsed, even as she moaned and dug her nails into the flesh of my neck.
“Fuck,” I growled, opening my eyes in my bedroom. “Fuck, you sexy fucking—” My balls tightened up, and I grabbed a handful of tissues from my bedside table just in time. I squirted into them, one, two, three, fucking Christ, four times, then sat back heavily on my king-sized bed.
What the fuck.
It was the first time I’d fantasized about a woman in years. It was the first time I’d come in two minutes flat since I’d been a hormonal teenager.
Rebecca was dangerous. She was everything I couldn’t have and everything I had to have, right fucking now. Which was exactly why I’d rubbed one out that morning. In about fifteen minutes, I was due to arrive at her house with all the wood I could carry, and a suggestion.
There was something about her—some vulnerability—that had me irked. I needed her to be safe. Last night, I’d sat up after dark and watched the side of her house between the trees that separated our two plots of land. I’d fucking worried. About a woman I barely knew.
Not a year ago I’d walked in on my ex-wife cheating on me, and not a week ago our divorce had been finalized. My house was filled with boxes. I was half-packed. I had a job all set up halfway across the country.
Yet here I was whacking it over my next-door neighbor and spending nights worrying about her safety.
Clearly, I’d lost the fucking plot.
I grunted and put the doubts behind me, spent the next twenty minutes showering, dressing, and mentally prepping myself for today. It was a Sunday. It was the last day I’d have to endure the torture of being around this woman.
At least for another month. There was still too much to do on that house, and she couldn’t do it on her own.
I ignored the boxes in my entrance hall and made my way out and down the front porch to the truck. I was supposed to move within the month. I’d planned on it, and I never backed out on my plans or promises, but… Rebecca needed the help.
Wanting to help wasn’t new to me, but at this level? At the risk of losing an opportunity in another state and finally escaping Stoneport and all the gossiping cunts around here? Damn, it was something else.
I parked in front of her house and got out, scanned the eaves I’d repaired the day before, then the front door, which had yet to be replaced. It was closed, and Becca was nowhere in sight. A letter was tacked to the door.
I frowned and strode up to it, but my wrinkles smoothed out at the sight of the handwriting sprawled across it.
Back in fifteen minutes. Sorry, I forgot to buy a charger for my cell phone and it died or else I would have messaged you. Thank you again! I’ll pick up some eggs too and make it up to you with breakfast.
Becca
Even her handwriting was attractive. Kind of messy, but feminine. And the paper smelled of her perfume—rose petals, and something else—an elusive scent I wanted to explore. I removed the paper from the door, folded it carefully, and tucked it into the pocket of my jeans.
I couldn’t work on the door with her gone, but the outside of the house was fair game.
Work was fast without the distraction of her here, watching, waiting. I stripped off my shirt, and the sun beat down on my back, heated my skin as I started with measurements for the shutters. I hummed under my breath, enjoying the sensation of rough wood against my fingertips and the sweat trickling down my spine.
“You look happy when you’re doing this,” a soft voice said behind me.
I lifted my head and turned it, caught Becca in my peripheral vision, and took a second to catch my breath.
Christ, she grew more beautiful every day. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, and she’d chosen a baby blue skirt and a cream blouse for today. Her feet, broad at the front, were encased in sandals. She gripped a brown paper bag in both arms, holding it to her chest.
I scanned her as I had every day I’d seen her and exhaled between gritted teeth.
Can’t fucking do this.
I grunted and returned to my work.
“And good morning to you too,” she said and walked past me, up the front steps to her door. The jingle of keys came, followed by a creak and a slam, then silence.
Way to go, jackass. You pissed her off. But that was the point. I needed to piss her off. I had a move to make. This favor had already gone too far.
Ten minutes passed, then fifteen. I kept working in the heat, baking, dry-mouthed.
Finally, the scent of cooking wafted out of the open windows near the front of the house and I paused. Damn, that smelled good. I lifted my nose and sniffed. Eggs? Bacon? My stomach grumbled, and I dropped everything, disregarded my manners, and stomped up the front steps. I knocked once on the fr
ont door then entered, following my nose.
Noises emanated from the kitchen—the sizzle of a stovetop, music from the radio, and a pop tune I didn’t recognize. I halted in the open doorway, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
Becca stood in front of the gas plates, bobbing her head up and down. She swayed from side-to-side, twirled her hips and sang, totally out of tune, to the song on the radio. “No tears left to cry! Ooh!”
“I should hope so,” I said.
Becca shrieked and tossed her spatula up. It made one full rotation before she snatched it out of the air and spun toward me. “Hey! You scared the shit outta me.” She gestured with the utensil. “Didn’t your momma teach you to knock first?”
“I did,” I said. “You didn’t answer.”
“So you just came in?”
“I couldn’t resist the smells,” I replied. “What are you making?”
“Breakfast,” she replied, with a sigh. “I figured I owe you at least that much for helping me out.”
“You don’t owe me shit,” I said and entered the kitchen, still topless and covered in sweat. “But I won’t say no to breakfast. Good morning by the way. Sorry about earlier. I was lost in thought.”
Becca shrugged and turned back to the stove.
I stood where I was, didn’t walk up behind her and place my hands on her shoulders. “There a place I can freshen up?”
“Bathroom’s down the hall and to your right.”
I followed the instructions and washed up, studying myself in the mirror as I did, eyes narrowed. Keep it together. Don’t fuck her on the breakfast table. Don’t be a prick. Say what you want to, get it out the way, then leave.
I strode back into the kitchen, where Becca had already set the table. She sat with a plate and glass of OJ in front of her, waiting. I took a seat and gestured to the full plate of eggs and bacon. “This looks great,” I said. “Thanks.”
“No problem,” she said and cut into a sunny-side-up. “Like I said, I owe you.”
“And like I said, you don’t.” We ate in awkward silence. There was too much of it between us, whatever the fuck it was, and it clogged up the works. I had to find a way to get rid of it before it choked up my plans. “You mentioned something earlier, that I look happy when I’m doing something?”
“Oh, that,” Becca said and shrugged again. “I just meant that you looked content when you were working with wood.” Her cheeks pinked. “I mean, with the—carpentry. When you were—you know.”
I laughed. “You’re right.”
“I was curious about it,” she continued. “How does a doctor wind up becoming a carpenter too?”
“He doesn’t,” I replied. “I’m not technically a carpenter. I grew up out here, see. My mom died when I was a kid, so my dad was the only person I had. He was a gruff old bastard, but he was proud of me. He taught me everything I know, and he drove me to be a better person than he was. That was how he put it. Everything I know about carpentry, about car engines, fishing, all of that shit, comes from him.”
“Wow,” Becca said and paused with the fork halfway to her mouth. “I’m so sorry about your mother.”
“I was two when she passed. I don’t really have memories of her, apart from one or two vague ones. They’re more smells than actual memories.”
“I think I know what you mean,” Becca said and gave another of those soft, feminine smiles.
Christ, she was delectable. She was silk with steel tucked underneath, and I wanted to peel back every layer and explore her.
“Is your dad still around?”
“No,” I replied. “He passed the year before I graduated from med school.” I waved before she gave me another sorry. “It was a tough time for me, so I did what any sane doctor would do.”
“What’s that?”
“I went into the army. Served my time there, then came back to Stoneport when I was done.”
“Wow,” Becca repeated. “Ha, that’s quite a life story. I’m afraid mine is boring in comparison.”
“I highly doubt that,” I replied.
She ate a slice of bacon and chewed pensively, her head tipped to one side. Finally, she swallowed, and I watched her lips work to form a sentence. Nothing came out.
“So? What about you, Miss Starr? What brings you to Stoneport?” She’d been close-lipped about it yesterday, but that might’ve been because we didn’t know each other for shit.
Rebecca inhaled sharply, then coughed and set down her fork. “It’s—um, as good a place as any.” Silence followed the proclamation, and we returned to our meals. There was something about the way she’d said it, the way she’d avoided my gaze.
She’s hiding something.
I brushed the thought aside and focused instead on why I’d come today in the first place—apart from the proffered carpentry help. “I’ve got an idea,” I said and took charge of the situation. The sooner I alleviated the weird concerns I had about this woman, the sooner I could leave Stoneport behind without anything weighing on my conscience. “One I think you might like.”
“You do?”
“Yeah. What do you say we go somewhere after breakfast?”
“We?”
“Yes, you and me. Unless you’re hiding someone else in your closet,” I replied.
Becca shuddered and looked past me, and I instantly regretted the comment. She was definitely afraid of something. Or someone.
“Where do you want to go?” she asked, at last.
Chapter 5
Rebecca
Was it crazy for me to be here with my next-door neighbor? Totally. But was I doing it anyway? You fucking bet.
The animal shelter was just outside of Stoneport off the freeway and was more of a haven than a shelter. There were pets up for adoption of almost every kind, each cuter than the last. Hamsters, rodents, cats, dogs, bunny rabbits—the choices were endless.
When Mason had originally suggested this, my heart had skipped about twenty beats. Sure, I kind of took offense to the fact he thought I couldn’t look after myself without a guard dog, but at the same time, I’d always wanted a pet.
Kieran had insisted he was allergic to cats, dogs, bunnies, even fucking fish. Adopting an animal would be good for me. A good and final “fuck you” to my past.
I knelt down in front of one of the enclosures and eyed the Labrador puppies gamboling around inside. There were three of them, all housed together with water and kibble, and plenty of grass to roam around on.
“You know, a golden lab isn’t going to be the best guard dog. They’re too friendly,” Mason said, beside me.
I stiffened and glared up at him. “So what? I didn’t come here for a guard dog. I came here for a puppy.”
He blinked at me, expressionless now. “What about a rottweiler? A pitbull?”
Slowly, I rose from my crouch and faced him. Thankfully, he had a shirt on—he’d been forced to clothe himself when we’d left my front yard—which made it about fifty percent easier to focus on my irritation rather than how badly I wanted to take it out on him in totally inappropriate ways. “Mason, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I’m really happy to be here, but I’ll make this choice all on my own. Thank you.”
He didn’t say anything but stood there, eyes narrowed, staring at me as if that would make me change my mind. It wouldn’t, obviously. “I’m trying to help you out here, Becca.”
“You’ve helped me more than enough.”
Mason ground his teeth, but the approach of one of the owners of the shelter, an elderly woman with gray hair knotted atop her head in a bun, kept him from biting words out. Good thing too, because the last thing we needed was for this tension to spill over here of all places.
“Have you decided on anything, dear?” the woman asked. She wore a nametag that read Kathy and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The sooner you make a decision, the sooner we can come out and check your home.”
“Check her home?” Mason grunted.
> “Why, yes, Doctor Dunn,” Kathy said and turned a cool gaze on him. “We follow the rules around here, see? I’m sure you can understand that. Or maybe you can’t.” She muttered the last sentence.
Is it just me or is this lady pissed about something?
“That’s fine,” I said. “I think I have made a decision.” I opened the tiny gate that led into the enclosure and ducked inside. Two of the puppies rushed toward me, barking and wagging their tails. The third sat down, his head cocked to one side and one ear flopping up, golden and soft. I walked over to him and swept him up into my arms.
His warm, little tongue lapped at the underside of my chin, and I let out a giggle, for a second forgetting everything. The pressure of the move and the fire, the past, and the fact that Mason was still out there, waiting for me. That I wanted him, even though it didn’t make any sense. That I was angry about it, even though he’d been nothing but kind to me.
I exited the little enclosure and halted beside Kathy and Mason.
“—understand why you’d need to do that,” Mason said. “This is a small town, and I can vouch for Miss Starr. She lives next door to me.”
“Next door to you?” Kathy asked. “How convenient for you.”
“I think so,” Mason replied, his tone cold as fucking ice, his stare so hard it could crack skulls.
Kathy balked, visibly. She cleared her throat and switched her focus to me. “Ah, you’re interested in little Ty, I see.”
“I am,” I replied. “And I’m totally OK with a home check. I’ve got a lovely fenced-in yard.” Though the fence definitely needed repairs. “I’m also happy to keep him inside the house during the first few days and—”
“You’ll have to complete a questionnaire, dear, before you pay the adoption fees and vet fees for his shots,” Kathy said. “We’re very strict about the caliber of people we allow to adopt our animals. We want them going to the best homes.”
“I assure you, I can provide him with a lovely home.” Ty licked my chin again and I smiled. It had to paint a touching picture, but Kathy was definitely unmoved, and Mason’s expression was still granite on ice. “I’m happy to open it up to inspection.”