Chapter Eight
Ash
Soft music filtered into my awareness as I surfaced from one of the best sleeps I’d had in ages. Stretching my limbs, I opened my eyes, fully expecting to see the outdated sofa and worn-out furniture of my living room, but frowned, instead, on seeing new polished hardwood floors, deep squishy sofas, and pristine white walls.
I shot up to my elbows, fully awake.
“Hi,” Mason’s deep, sexy voice greeted me. He came into view, crouching down in front of me, his hand out and resting on the sofa to steady himself. He’d obviously had a shower as he’d changed into a white T-shirt, his hair damp and pushed away from his face. The faint aroma of almond body wash filled my nostrils, the same one I’d used earlier, and I suppressed a quiver knowing his scent was all over me.
“Hi.” My voice came out low and gravelly. I laid the blame for that on me recently waking up, and not for any other reason.
Lifting his arm, he squeezed my shoulder. “You were out for a while. I hope you didn’t mind me leaving you there, rather than disturbing your sleep?” Thoughtfulness and kindness, a winning combination to someone who’d received them from so few others. A weird sense of déjà vu washed over me at seeing him crouched beside me, the heat from his hand seeping into my bare skin. However, the scene wasn’t quite the same, as I don’t recall him holding my shoulder. I struggled to remember through my hazy recollection. The memory of gentle fingers came to mind, but hadn’t they been caressing my cheek?
I shook my head. I must still be dreaming, as there’s no way he’d be touching my face, is there? Mason released me, and I awkwardly sat up, the blankets dropping from around my chest, falling to my waist before I moved them off to the side. When had I pulled those over myself? I was going to get up but stopped, remembering I only wore the towel I’d used after my shower, and nothing else.
Flicking my eyes to Mason, I froze at his expression. An intense hunger flashed briefly in the depths of his eyes as they roved over my bare torso, pinning me where I sat. He couldn’t be attracted to me, could he? When we’d hugged yesterday and he’d gotten hard, I’d logically attributed his reaction to being held by someone after barely having any contact in the last few months. He was straight, right? My chest heaved as I tried to pull in some air to replace what I’d rapidly released seconds ago.
His brows furrowed. “Ash?” he asked. “You okay?”
“Yeah. Woke up too quickly, I guess,” Did he have to be so close? His normally ice-blue eyes had almost disappeared in the blackness of his wide pupils. We stayed, locked in stasis, our eyes intent on each other. I daren’t move, acutely aware of my near nakedness but not wanting to break the spell either. Mason’s eyes briefly dropped to my lips, and I thought I may pass out at the suggestion he might want to kiss me.
Please kiss me . My inner voice silently pleaded, even though we shouldn’t. He was confused. Not in the right frame of mind. The walk on the beach had likely overstressed him. I was meant to be his friend. I promised to be his friend. I needed to stop.
As if hearing my internal dialog, a slight crease appeared between his eyebrows before he looked away, blushing a delicate pale pink, and I wondered if the same shade of pink might cover his cheeks after we’d had sex.
My dick filled rapidly at the picture I’d conjured, and Mason remained close enough for me to feel the waves of heat emanating from his body. The towel wouldn’t be able to hide how solid I was getting for much longer.
“Clothes,” I blurted, while subtly trying to maneuver the discarded blanket back over my lower half without alerting him. His eyes dropped to the action anyway, following my movement, making clear I’d failed to hide my erection when he blushed harder and his Adam’s apple bobbed a few times as he swallowed. “I need clothes,” I repeated, more panicky this time.
My comment broke the spell between us, and he instantly leaned away and rose to his feet, turning away from me, putting distance between us. However, he wasn’t quick enough to hide the full erection he sported in his sweatpants—the long and thick erection.
All the air whooshed out of my lungs and my ass clenched at how much I’d feel him stretching me open when he sank deep inside me.
When , not if.
I was going to hyperventilate.
Forcing my eyes off and away from his crotch, I sucked in a big gulp of air, trying to calm the hammering in my chest as my heart pounded against my ribs.
“I left out some sweats and a T-shirt in the bedroom.” Mason’s husky voice made my dick throb.
Grabbing the towel firmly and bunching it at the front to try to hide my own hard-on, I hopped off the sofa and scurried out of the room and down the hall, needing to get away before I did something monumentally stupid. I didn’t slam the bedroom door behind me, but it was a close call as I sagged against the wood, my legs barely holding my weight as I waited for my heartbeat to return to normal and the strange hissing in my ears to dissipate. I’d been a hairsbreadth away from giving up my moral stance and jumping the guy, so desperate to kiss him my lips tingled.
Moving over to the bed, I released a frustrated groan as I collapsed onto the mattress. I was becoming attracted to Mason as more than a potential friend, and knowing I couldn’t have him, knowing how vulnerable he was and how seldom he trusted people, drove me fucking crazy.
Yes, he was a grown man who could make his own decisions, and yes, from how hard he was, his attraction to me was obvious, or at least to the idea of me. But someone had attacked and nearly killed him, for heaven’s sake. That must have changed him, possibly irrevocably, and my uncertainty about what to do next so as not to exacerbate his issues further proved my point.
I didn’t know him. Didn’t know anything about his life until a day ago. Okay, we might fool around for a while, but it wouldn’t lead anywhere, my pathetic history being a massive testament to that. Previous boyfriends had all made themselves extremely clear—my fear of commitment, of being left behind, meant I never gave them, or anyone else for that matter, what they wanted. And I got the impression Mason would want a lot. The big house, the SUV, the white picket fence, and the two kids. It’s exactly the type of guy he was, and exactly the type of guy I’d never be.
A friend. He needs a friend. I kept repeating the mantra over and over as I dressed, hoping to penetrate my thick skull, but nothing helped. I smelled of his bodywash and was wrapped up in his clothes—clothes smelling of him . Pulling the T-shirt up to my nose I let his woodsy, musky scent fill my nostrils and settle deep in my bones. It was about as close as I’d ever get to being with him, so decided to enjoy the opportunity while it lasted.
Exiting the bedroom and walking down the hallway, I watched as he moved around the kitchen, opening pot lids and stirring the contents like a pro. When did he have time to prepare food? Must have been while I lay asleep on his sofa.
“Are you a chef in NYC?” I asked, remembering how he’d sidestepped a lot of my questions during the walk, not answering much about his life before the assault at all.
I wasn't about to let it go on any longer.
He snorted his response. “Firstly, come on, NYC?” He shook his head. “Secondly, hell, no. Being stuck in a hot kitchen all day and night is not my idea of fun at all.” He dipped a spoon into a creamy sauce and, hand underneath to catch the spills, brought it to my lips. I hesitated for a split second, wondering if he realized how intimate his gesture appeared. But the smell tempted me far too much to worry about how we might look, so I leaned forward, wrapped my lips around the spoon, and drew the sauce into my mouth.
White wine and cream and some herbs I didn’t recognize burst along my tongue. “Hmm, really good,” I groaned. “Not a chef, huh? So, where’d you learn to cook like a pro?”
He didn’t answer, and when I raised my gaze to look at him, his remained glued to my mouth. Heat instantly flooded my body and had my pulse racing. My tongue instinctively slid out to glide along my lips, leaving them slick and ready. His small gasp only heightened the tension between us, making my pulse hammer in my veins, and my temperature spike.
“Mase,” I whispered, my voice wanting, my eyes locked on his. He stared at me, unmoving for so long that tension skittered nervously along my shoulders. I was wading into dangerous waters. He needed a friend, I reminded myself. A shoulder to lean on. I’d undoubtedly ruin everything if I carried on.
All these arguments went through my mind but soon faded into the background as I kept wondering, hoping he’d make a move—any move. It had to be him, his choice. But instead, he stood silently, staring intently at my mouth. My lungs refused to work, every muscle in my body tensing, locking up tight, waiting for him to do the one thing I wanted more than anything. He swayed the tiniest bit toward me, making my pulse rocket and my body tighten in anticipation as his eyes darkened to black, arousal taking over.
And I was ready, so fucking ready.
Water bubbling over the top of the pan and sizzling loudly when it hit the stove top broke the spell, releasing me, us, as Mason’s hypnotic gaze dropped from mine when he turned to deal with the issue.
“Shit,” he muttered pushing the boiling pan off the flame before lowering the heat.
Stepping out of his way, I pulled in some air: short, shallow puffs as I desperately willed my body to calm the hell down.
“Why don’t you grab the wine from the fridge and go sit on the deck,” he said, not looking at me as he moved efficiently around the kitchen cleaning up the mess, his deep husky voice reverberating into my bones. “I’ll join you in a couple of minutes.”
My throat too dry to contemplate speech, I robotically did as he asked, and after retrieving the chilled wine and grabbing two wineglasses from the countertop, walked on shaky legs outside. The midday breeze, though warm, was a welcome relief against my face, cooling my overheated skin. After placing the items on the table, I moved to the railing and, leaning on my elbows on top, stared out at the beach below. There were a lot more people around than when we’d begun our walk early this morning. The clouds and rain were long gone, and in the distance, only the rhythmic ebbing in and out of the sea against the shore remained. The sound soothed me as I tried to wrap my head around what on earth I almost let happen.
Mason came out to the deck, the clunking of crockery loud in the quiet when he placed two bowls of pasta on the wooden table. Soon he stood there behind me, his fragrance teasing my nose, the heat from his body enfolding me, making me wish his arms were wrapped around me instead.
I wanted him so much.
But he wasn't ready, and I got that. He hadn’t yet come to terms with the upheaval in his life, and adding me in alongside everything else he was going through would be one more complication he didn’t need. It sucked, but I had to learn to live with it and move on.
A hand on my arm, the grip firm but gentle, had me turning to face the man hell-bent on screwing with my equilibrium.
“Let’s eat before the food gets cold.” He led me to the table, his warm hold on my arm a comforting presence. We sat and the delicious smell of the food assailed my nostrils making my mouth water. I picked up my fork and dug into the creamy chicken and pasta as he poured us both some wine. I raised an eyebrow at him when he poured a small glass for himself.
“Only one,” he chided me gently, so I lifted my glass, the warm air already causing condensation to bead the sides, and after clinking with his, took a big gulp, hoping the alcohol went some way to loosening the residual tension in my neck and shoulders.
“So,” I said, needing a change of topic to get us back to normality. “I’m gonna make a start with the demo work on my house tomorrow morning.” I gave him a crooked smile. “I’d appreciate your help; if you still want to, that is?” He’d offered earlier, but I wanted to ensure I wasn't forcing him into working with me as he’d only mentioned it one time.
His grin went from ear to ear, warming me all the way through. “Yes, I want to, though we’ll need to check out and apply for whatever permits you need before we begin. So, any demo will have to wait until we have those.”
“Not a problem. Aunt Mary Ellen had told me she’d finally decided to renovate her home and had received all the relevant permits before she…she…before she died.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. I found saying the words out loud so hard to do. I cleared my throat, my voice only cracking slightly when I continued. “They should still be valid, but I’ll check the dates on them to be sure. All I’ll be doing is following her original plans, as what she wanted to do is pretty much the same as what I want too, so we shouldn’t need to apply for any additional ones.” When I’d lived with my aunt, we’d often discussed updating the house and what changes we’d make. Perhaps she somehow sensed her time was running out and wanted to be prepared, to give me a reason to stay rather than just sell her home to strangers.
I needed a moment to compose myself so forked in another mouthful of the delicious food, savoring the taste.
“Have you done any demolition on a house previously, since you know all about permits?” I asked, wanting to move on from thinking about my aunt.
He chewed his food, and as he swallowed, I wondered how the motion might feel under my lips. “Once or twice,” he replied airily, his comment coming across as too offhand for some reason, instantly pinging my radar.
“So, what is it you do again?” I asked, knowing full well he’d never told me what he did for a living.
He smirked. “I run a construction company with three friends.”
My eyebrows shot into my hairline at this tidbit of information. “Wow. So cool. That means I get to have my own personal contractor on hand every day. Do I need to get references, to make sure you’re legal and have your license?”
His laugh was light and carefree. “It’s always wise,” he replied, his eyes twinkling, setting butterflies off in my belly. “Otherwise, you’ll end up getting screwed.”
The very notion of getting screwed by Mason nearly gave me heart palpitations. Fuck, I could just tell he’d be amazing in bed. He gave off an innate raw sexuality and subtle dominant vibe. Nothing too overt, covering his true self with a veneer of civility, but I imagined once he got someone in bed and under him, they’d witness his real nature emerging and be in for the ride of their life.
God, I wanted so badly to be on that ride.
“And we wouldn’t want anyone to be screwed, now would we?” I’d deliberately left my response as a question to gauge his reaction, and the way his cheeks colored pleased me to no end, confirming his mind had followed along the exact same path mine had.
His gaze became heated once more, rapidly flicking up and down my body, giving me a quick once-over. “Definitely not,” he murmured in reply, leaving me unsure. His eyes were saying one thing, but his mouth something else entirely. Which one was real? Which one was true?
“Is it only the four of you working at the company?” I asked, lifting my glass to take another sip of wine, trying to get the conversation back on track.
He studied me for a while and I resisted the temptation to squirm as his eyes searched my face, like I was being weighed and measured, trying to decide if he should give me more information or not or if he trusted me enough with what he was about to reveal. A small thrill went through me when he finally spoke, as I recognized he’d made up his mind. “We have a few more people working for us,” he hedged.
I instantly deduced he hadn’t told me the whole story, so I arched my eyebrow again and waited.
His lips quirked, showing he liked the fact I didn’t let him off the hook so easily. “Okay, okay.” He inhaled deeply and let the air out long and slow before giving me another direct look. “At the last count, we employed around forty-five thousand people.”
My jaw dropped and my eyes bugged.
Holy shit!
“The numbers go up and down, and not all those are full time. We hire a lot of contractors for the construction jobs, but all those are overseen by permanent personnel.”
I sat there, dumbstruck, staring at him as he studied my reaction like a hawk.
“Mason,” I croaked. “The fuck?”
His deep laughter, rich and sexy, filtered into my consciousness despite dealing with the shock of what he’d told me.
He owns a huge ass construction company. God, how embarrassed am I, asking him to help on my crappy little house demo? I must look such a fool and so small town compared to him when he builds whole housing developments or hotels or offices or whatever he does.
“So, only the one or two demos then, huh?” I managed to add.
He held his hand out palm down and rocked it back and forth. “Give or take a few thousand or so?”
I snorted and shook my head at him. “You’re really something else, you know that?”
“Yeah? How come?”
I studied him for a few moments, trying to fit the high-powered businessman with the many facets of the man I was cautiously discovering. Currently, I couldn’t correlate him with the quiet, almost shy Mason I’d come to know. But as I’d only seen him in this one setting, what did I know? He might well be a ruthless shark when in the city.
A jolt of shock raced through me as it hit me the person living next door, the one I had a growing attachment to, wasn’t the person I’d perceived them to be at all. If ever I needed a wake-up call telling me not to throw myself at someone when I hardly knew them, this was it.
“You’re amazingly successful, yet you try to pass this off as if it’s nothing. How come?”
He sighed again and fidgeted in his chair. “Telling people about me changes them,” he explained quietly, staring into the distance. “When they find out you’re successful and influential, have money, it alters their perception of you.” He grimaced. “Inevitably, for the worse.”
I got what he meant and instantly appreciated more clearly his reluctance to reveal too much about himself. He’d undoubtedly seen reactions like mine loads of times, and it hurt he’d think so little of my intentions toward him he’d include me along with everyone else. One of the people who’d change the way they viewed him.
Extending my arm, I rested my hand on his own, curling my fingers over the top. He turned his face to look at me, his eyes darting briefly to where my hand covered his. “I don’t care, Mase,” I declared firmly, willing him to hear the truth in my words. “I don’t care how successful you are or how much money you have.” I squeezed his hand. “As silly as it might seem, I’m stupidly proud of what you’ve achieved.” I gave him a cheeky smile. “You’re what, forty?” Then I cackled when he spluttered in disbelief. “It’s a massive achievement for someone your age.”
And I didn’t care about his success or his fortune. Not at all. Had he shocked me? Hell, yes, but did it change my feelings toward him? Hell, no. Would it change them in the future? Still a hell, no. Money and status and being used by people for their own selfish endeavors was a major red flag for him, but one he’d never have to fear from me. I had no status to worry about. As long as I had enough money to live on, could pay my way, and not need to depend on anyone else to get by, I was set.
Thanks to my aunt, I had more than enough money of my own, though obviously nowhere near as much as Mason. Clearly, we were not in the same league, but that didn’t give enough reason to change how I viewed him. I mean, looking at me, my friends may say I was rich, but it hadn’t changed their opinion of me or how they treated me.
Oh shit, had it? They didn’t see me as different to them, did they? I pushed the unwelcome thought aside for the time being. I’d bring it out again later when I had time alone to think.
“I don’t care, okay?” I reiterated.
He glared at me. “I’m thirty,” he grumbled, making me crack up again.
“Thirty, wow. An even better reason to feel proud of your achievements.”
He stared hard at me. “You’re wrong, you know.”
I frowned. “About what?”
He turned his palm up, his fingers linking mine. “You’re the one who’s something else,” he said, his voice wistful as if he didn’t entirely believe he’d spoken out loud.
Scrunching my face, I shook my head. “Nah,” I replied. “I don’t have much of anything, and it’s unlikely I’ll affect anyone else’s life the way you do.”
“You affect my life,” he replied, so softly the words almost carried away on the breeze. “Don’t underestimate the effect you have on people, Ash,” he continued, his pale-blue eyes focused on mine. “I don’t.”
A lump formed in my throat, preventing me from speaking. I wanted to tell him he was mistaken, but his words sounded so sincere, I desperately wanted to believe them. Hoped my actions might help someone, anyone, in a positive way. Abandoned by my father once he got bored with me and ignored by my mother for most of my life, I desperately wanted to believe possibly, maybe, I could make a difference, even if only to one person, one man.
“Thank you. And I like having an effect on you,” I managed to reply, my voice coming out low.
He gave his sexy half smile, making my heart thud. “You’re welcome.” He gave my hand a final squeeze, released me, and reached across to pick up my empty bowl to stack on top of his. “And to show you exactly how much you can affect me, I’ll be magnanimous and relinquish all my control.” Mason’s eyes twinkled. “And let you do the dishes.”
I glowered at him.
“I’ll even dry,” Mason stated and flashed me a grin. “I can’t say fairer than that now, can I?”
I threw my napkin at him, hitting him square in the face.
“What?” he asked affronted, before rolling his eyes and letting out a defeated sigh. “Okay, okay. I’ll put the dishes away too.”