CHAPTER 8 Montana #3
Mason pulled me closer.
The kiss changed.
Heat built quickly.
His fingers tightened at my waist.
I felt his control.
Always there.
Always waiting for me.
I kissed him harder.
He made that low sound again.
The one I had remembered far too clearly.
Then he pulled back.
His forehead touched mine.
“Emma.”
“Yes?”
“We need to decide something.”
My pulse raced.
“What?”
His thumb moved along my hip.
“If you stay in this room much longer, I’m going to want more.”
I swallowed.
“I already know you want more.”
“Not the point.”
His eyes stayed on mine.
“I need to know what you want.”
Every nerve in my body came alive.
I knew what I wanted.
That was suddenly the frightening part.
Not confusion.
Clarity.
“I want you.”
Mason closed his eyes.
For one second.
Like the words physically hurt.
When he opened them, his gaze was darker.
“Say that again.”
“Mason.”
“Emma.”
I smiled slightly.
“I want you.”
His mouth met mine.
This kiss was different.
The restraint was still there.
Barely.
I backed toward the bed.
Mason stopped.
“Wait.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“Noah isn’t in your head?”
“He is unfortunately always in my head.”
Mason almost laughed.
“But not about this.”
“Media?”
“No.”
“Anonymous messages?”
I hesitated.
Then shook my head.
“No.”
He studied me carefully.
“If you want me to stop at any point—”
“I know.”
“I need you to say it.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
The word carried weight.
I nodded.
“Promise.”
Mason kissed me again.
The world narrowed.
His mouth.
His hands.
My fingers in his hair.
The warmth of his body.
Everything outside the room disappeared.
For once, there was no rivalry.
No headline.
No brother.
No dead girl between us.
Only choice.
Mine.
His.
Ours.
Later, I lay beneath his sheets with my head against his chest while afternoon light moved across the bedroom walls.
Neither of us spoke.
I listened to his heartbeat slow.
His fingers moved lazily along my shoulder.
“This is weird,” Mason said.
I lifted my head.
“That is an exceptionally romantic thing to say afterward.”
He smiled.
“I didn’t mean that.”
“Good recovery.”
He looked at the ceiling.
“I’ve never done this part.”
“What part?”
“Stayed.”
My chest tightened.
“After?”
“Yes.”
I studied him.
“You usually leave?”
“Or they do.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“And now?”
His eyes moved to mine.
“Now I think maybe I was lying to myself.”
I rested my chin against his chest.
“Dangerous amount of emotional growth today.”
“I need a nap.”
I laughed.
Then his phone buzzed on the nightstand.
He ignored it.
It buzzed again.
And again.
Mason frowned.
“I should check.”
He reached for it.
I watched his expression change.
Instantly.
“What?”
He sat up.
“Mason.”
He turned the screen toward me.
A photograph.
My car outside his house.
Taken less than an hour ago.
Another photograph showed me walking toward his front door.
The message came from the same anonymous number.
**Told you to ask about Montana.**
Then:
**Now ask Mason what happened to Travis after the blackmail.**
My stomach turned.
“What happened to Travis?”
Mason’s face went completely still.
I felt cold despite the blanket.
“Mason.”
He stared at the screen.
Then another message appeared.
**Because he didn’t disappear by accident.**
I looked at Mason.
His expression was unlike anything I had seen before.
Not guilt.
Not anger.
Fear.
“What happened to him?”
Mason got out of bed.
“Mason.”
He pulled on his sweatpants.
I sat up.
“No running.”
He stopped.
His back stayed toward me.
“That rule is getting inconvenient.”
“I don’t care.”
He turned.
His face was hard.
“Travis vanished two weeks after Noah paid him.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“What do you mean vanished?”
“No calls. No apartment. No job.”
“Did police investigate?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“Nothing.”
I stared.
“Was he found?”
Mason’s silence answered.
“No.”
My skin went cold.
“Did you have anything to do with it?”
His eyes snapped to mine.
“No.”
Immediate.
Absolute.
I believed him.
Then I asked, “Did Noah?”
Mason said nothing.
That terrified me.
“Mason.”
“I don’t know.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means there was one person who threatened Travis before he disappeared.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
Mason looked at me.
“My brother.”
I froze.
“You have a brother?”
“Half-brother.”
“You never mentioned him.”
“There was a reason.”
“What’s his name?”
Mason’s expression darkened.
“Derek.”
“And he threatened Travis?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To protect me.”
“Where is Derek now?”
Mason looked at the anonymous messages.
Then at the photograph taken outside his house.
His face hardened.
“I haven’t spoken to him in three years.”
My pulse accelerated.
“But he knows what happened in Montana.”
“Yes.”
“He knows about Travis.”
“Yes.”
“And he would know enough about your life to find me.”
Mason didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.
I looked at my phone.
Same number.
Same messages.
Same person watching.
“Mason.”
“Yes.”
“Do you think Derek is sending these?”
He stared toward the window.
When he answered, his voice was quiet.
“I think we need to find out before he decides messages aren’t enough.”