6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Bella
So close.
I press my head to the back of Nitro's neck and reach around to hug him. If he hadn't interrupted, I would be kissing Mason right now. I was so close to my first real kiss. A kiss with someone that matters to me.
Mason does. I know it's only been a few hours. There's something about him that draws me in. That quiet strength. His grumbling at Nitro, calling him a traitor, the hero I sense beneath the surface that he didn't want to talk about.
He’s a good man. I feel it.
Nitro bends down to lick my hand, then puts his head on Mason's leg.
Mason looks out the window to the dusky landscape. “Dinner time, huh, boy?”
Nitro's ears perk up.
“I'll get him. You rest. Just tell me what you feed him.” I shuffle the dog off my lap and stand.
Mason catches my wrist in his large hand. Despite the strength in his body, his touch is gentle. “I'll let you, but first we take care of you.”
“What do you mean?”
He removes a couple Band-Aids from the first aid kit, handing them to me. Then he tugs me down onto the couch beside him and arranges my legs across his lap. “You haven't treated those blisters.”
My breath catches. I look at the Band-Aids in my hand and then back at Mason. There's a large blister on the back of each heel where my boots rubbed against my socks as I walked. Somehow, Mason noticed I had them and is making sure they’re taken care of properly.
The skim of his warm palm on my skin as he pulls my socks down sends tingles through my body. My core tightens.
Mason reaches for the antibiotic ointment. “Jesus, sweetheart. Your poor feet.” He smooths some ointment on, then holds his hand out for a bandage.
I hand them back, watching as he covers both blisters on the back of my ankles.
“Are you okay?” he asks, voice low as he puts the antibiotic away.
“Surprised.” I bite my lip, wishing I hadn't said that. I should have said 'thank you' or 'it's better'. Anything other than the implied “I'm shocked you did this.”
A ghost of a smile touches his lips. Mason pulls my socks back up. His warm palm settles on my calves, the touch intimate in the darkness. “I notice everything about you, Bella.”
My heart climbs my throat, and I can't breathe. A maelstrom of emotions whirl through me so fast, I can't even name them all. Surprise. Longing. Fear and desire, certainly. I blink back the sting in my eyes and clear my throat. “Thank you.” For caring for something as insignificant as my blisters. For letting me stay.
I can't say them, but they're there, in two little words that don't convey nearly enough.
He doesn't look away from me or pretend not to understand the weight of my words. His thumb brushes along my calf once more before he lets go.
“I need to stoke the fire,” he says, pushing to his feet.
He should rest his ankle. But Mason doesn't sit around, even with an injury.
At least I can help by feeding the dog. My stomach grumbles, reminding me that the pup isn't the only one who's hungry.
I pad into the kitchen and grab the lantern to find Nitro's food. The dog leaps over the couch like a champion hurdler and races into the kitchen, sliding to a stop next to my leg. “Show off. You've practiced that.”
Nitro barks.
I laugh and put his food dish down, then search for something for us. Thankfully, Mason has a gas stove. I find a can of soup, pasta, even some bread and cheese. “I can make us grilled cheese and soup?”
He sets the fire poker aside. “You cook?”
“Enough to not starve. I probably won't even burn the grilled cheese.” I flash him a cheeky smile to let him know I'm kidding—mostly.
Mason chuckles and comes to stand beside me. “I'll make the soup.”
He's so tall, I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “You don't trust me to cook?”
Something flickers in his gaze, gone before I can identify it.
He cups my cheek, stroking his thumb across my skin. “I do. You shouldn't trust me.”
My stomach drops. “Why not?” Please don't say I've been wrong about you.
He shifts closer, and this time, heat blazes in his gaze. “Because I'm going to do this.”
Mason leans down and presses his lips to mine.
I forget all about soup and storms and dogs. Lifting onto my toes, I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him back.
He slides one hand around my waist, pulling me flush to his body, and tilts my head to deepen the kiss.
It's hot and decadent. He nips my lips, strokes my tongue, and plunders my mouth, all while holding me against his hard chest.
Lava flows in my veins, pooling in my core, and making my nipples bead. I spear my fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck, pressing as close as I can.
His shoulders are so broad, when he wraps both arms around me, I feel surrounded by him. Sheltered from the storm outside even while his kiss builds another inside me.
One large hand slides down my back to cup my ass, pressing my lower body closer, until the thick, hard length of him brushes my belly. He kisses me harder, his fingers sliding even lower until they press between my thighs.
I can't help the moan that escapes. I want his hands there. On my breasts. Everywhere.
He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to mine. His breath brushes over my lips as he pants for air.
“You're beautiful, Bella.”
When he says it, I believe him.
Mason kisses my forehead and releases me.
No. I'm burning for more.
“Soup,” he mutters, putting space between us. “Got it.”
What just happened? Why did he stop? Doesn't he want this?
I'm confused until I realize his shoulders are tense and his jaw is tight. He's restraining himself, for me. That makes me feel powerful in a way I've never experienced.
The feeling is... heady.
We spend the next hour making our simple dinner and eating in front of the fire.
Nitro sighs and lumbers to his feet, looking out the back door.
“I think he's trying to tell me something,” Mason grumbles.
“Want me to take him out?”
Mason glowers at me. “It's dark and stormy out. I'm not letting you go out there. Especially when this bonehead might decide to take off again.”
“You can barely walk.”
“I'd hike this whole damn mountain before I'd put you in danger.” He shoves to his feet, grabs his sodden jacket, and gets his boots on. “Let's go, Nitro.”
Stubborn man. I gather the dishes and rinse them off, then put them in the dishwasher. With nothing else to do, I take a better look at the cabin.
Despite its outdated furnishings, it's clean and looks well-maintained. The kitchen and living area are fairly large, and in addition to Mason's bedroom and the hall bath, there's a second room I initially mistook for another closet. Mason has it set up as an office.
I wander back into the living area and study the few pictures on the table by the door. Squinting closer in the dim light, I recognize a couple of the men with Mason. In one picture, a younger Everett squats at the front of the group, holding a rifle over his lap. In another, Mason has his elbow on Caleb's shoulder, propping himself up on the shorter man. They're grinning, as are the rest of the group, and I can almost feel the warmth and camaraderie between them. Mason looks relaxed and content, in all the photos except for the last.
I pick up the frame, studying the picture. It's in the Middle East, I'd guess, by the sand-colored buildings. He’s standing with a boy of about seven or eight. Neither of them are smiling. Will he ever talk to me about it? I want to know all about him. The backdoor opens, and I quickly put the picture back.
A blast of cold air swirls through the room as Mason and Nitro come back in. The dog shakes, water droplets flying off his fur in all directions, then flops onto his bed by the fire.
Mason shrugs out of his jacket and remove his boots. There’s a tense line to his shoulders that wasn’t there a few minutes ago and an odd look on his face.
“Everything okay?”
“One of the windows in the garage was open to the weather. I don’t remember leaving it open. Nothing looked damaged.” He runs a hand through his hair, then shakes his head.
Something in his tone makes me a little uneasy. But that evaporates when he comes closer and laces our fingers together.
“It smells like snow. I wouldn't be surprised if we woke up to a few inches tomorrow.”
His words, spoken in that husky voice, conjure a fantasy of waking in his arms, surrounded by him, my back against his chest and his hand low on my belly while he presses soft kisses to my neck.
I shiver, feeling a tug between my thighs.
“You're cold. Come on, sweetheart.”
I'm not. I'm hot all over... for him.
Mason grabs a dark green blanket off a side chair and draws me down onto the couch with him. He spreads the blanket over both of us. “This okay?”
“Yes.” I'm tucked against his side, but it's not enough. Shimmying closer, I lay my head on his arm.
He tenses beneath me.
I freeze. Is this too close? Before I can move away, he slowly lifts his arm and wraps it around my shoulder.
A small sigh of contentment escapes my lips. We snuggle together, staring at the fire. Cozy and warm and pressed up against Mason, my eyes start to droop.
“You should get some sleep,” he whispers against my temple.
“No. I can't kick you—” I yawn. “Out of your bed.”
“I'm fine on the couch.”
“It's not made for sleeping giants.”
He chuckles. “Go on, honey. The bed is yours.”
I don't move for a long moment. I'm too comfortable to get up and barely keeping my eyes open. “What... about... you?”
Mason's lips ghost across my forehead.
As sleep pulls me under, I could swear he murmurs, “I'm yours too.”