Chapter 12: Chapter 12

JAMIE

A soft moan slipped from my lips as his tongue traced a tantalizing path around my nipple. His mouth claimed it in a heated kiss, while his other hand teased my other breast.

My head tilted back, my spine curving in a wave of pleasure.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” His voice, usually a deep rumble, held a playful note. A mischievous grin danced on his lips, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle.

“Mmm.” I moaned again. “Yes… I want more.”

My eyes fluttered open as I felt my underwear sliding down my legs. The sight of him discarding them onto the floor sent a thrill through me.

My legs parted as he moved closer. His body hovered over mine, his hands braced on the pillows on either side of my head. I was acutely aware of his arousal pressing against me.

Hard and ready…

“Are you ready for me?” he asked.

It had been ages since I’d been with a man. My body yearned for him, every inch of me craving his touch. But my mind was a whirlwind of worry about what would come next.

The sudden sound of a door slamming jolted me awake. My body arched off the mattress in a reflex I hadn’t used in years. Disoriented, I blinked rapidly, fighting off the lingering drowsiness.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I wasn’t sure if it was the remnants of the erotic dream or the abrupt noise that had startled me.

“You’re awake,” Mason said.

I turned toward the voice. Mason stood in the doorway of our en-suite bathroom, his hair damp and steamy. A white towel hung low on his hips, revealing his chiseled torso.

“I just woke up,” I managed to whisper.

From a dream that was becoming uncomfortably sensual. A week of sharing a room hadn’t prepared me for the sight of him shirtless.

“I brought you some breakfast,” Mason said as he strolled across the room, seemingly oblivious to the towel threatening to slip from his waist.

I propped myself up against the headboard, the pillows providing a soft cushion. Mason carefully set the breakfast tray on my lap, mindful of the half-filled coffee cup.

I glanced down at the array of food. Toast, a selection of jams and butter, granola mixed with creamy yogurt, and a colorful assortment of fresh fruits. It was a thoughtful spread of all my favorites. A small smile tugged at my lips, pushing back the lingering unease.

“Have you already eaten?” I asked, my voice still thick with sleep.

“While you slept.” Mason poured cream into my coffee, stirring it gently. “Barbara took Penelope out to run errands for tonight’s dinner. They’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Oh, okay.” I lifted the coffee cup to my lips, taking a sip.

Mason’s gaze met mine briefly, a hint of a smile on his lips. “I’m going to get dressed,” he said.

He paused, his eyes lingering on me a moment longer than necessary. The air between us seemed to crackle. “Make sure you eat,” he added, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m taking you out.”

“Out?” I echoed, surprised. Mason and I had been roommates for a week, but we hadn’t spent any time alone together. The prospect of going “out” with him, spending an entire day in his company, sent a ripple of nervousness through me. What did “out” mean? A casual coffee run, or something more?

Mason smirked. “Don’t act so surprised. Get ready, we leave in thirty.”

Thirty precious minutes to transform from a flustered mess into… I wasn’t sure what. But one thing was clear: this unexpected day with Mason was bound to be anything but ordinary.

And it wasn’t!

Our day began with a visit to a lavender field, followed by a gondola ride along the Napa river. It was just the two of us, and of course, the gondolier.

“Do you always treat your dates like this?” I asked, casting a sidelong glance at Mason.

His eyebrow arched, a playful twinkle in his eyes. “This is a date?” he teased, his voice rich with humor.

A blush crept up my cheeks. I had assumed this was a date, it sure felt like one. A river ride with champagne and cheese, it was straight out of a romance novel. Did I even want this to be a date?

“I just meant…,” I stuttered, unsure of how to proceed.

Mason laughed, cutting me off. “Easy, Jamie,” he said, calming me. “I’d like to think of it as a date…a first date. If that’s okay with you?”

Was it okay with me?

“How about we call it a getting-to-know-you-again date?” I proposed. “We’re having fun…but I don’t want you to expect anything from me.”

Mason’s voice, deep and husky, filled the gondola. “You mean sex?” he asked, a smirk dancing on his lips.

The gondolier, taken aback by the sudden change in conversation, turned his head, his eyes flicking between us.

I averted my gaze, pretending to be engrossed in the river. A blush spread across my cheeks, a silent admission of the unspoken. We had been here before, in another time, another life. But now, everything was different. I was different.

~It’s been a while since I’ve been shopping,~ I mused, scanning the racks one by one. The closest I’d come to clothes shopping since waking up from my coma was receiving my online orders.

My eyes settled on a floor-length dress with spaghetti straps and a plunging neckline. It was a daring choice, a departure from my usual modest style. Could I pull it off? My body, once strong and athletic, was now frail and delicate. The accident had left its mark, leaving me with a weakened frame and a diminished appetite.

“That dress is something else,” Mason’s voice broke into my thoughts. I turned to see him standing next to me, a playful smile on his face. “Red has always been your color, you know.”

His words took me by surprise. I couldn’t remember a time when I had a particular liking for red. But maybe he was right. Maybe this dress could be the perfect way to reclaim a part of myself.

“You should try it on,” he suggested, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

I reached out a tentative hand, my fingers brushing against the silk fabric. A price tag tucked discreetly to the side caught my attention. I sucked in a breath. It wasn’t exactly a budget-friendly splurge.

“Did you see the price?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the soft hum of the store. I shot a quick look around, hoping the chic saleswoman with her perfectly styled hair wouldn’t overhear and mistake my thriftiness for rudeness.

Mason laughed, a low rumble that somehow eased the fluttering in my chest.

“Money isn’t an issue, Jamie,” he said, gently lifting the dress from the rack.

“Like I said,” he continued, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment, “red is your color. Let’s find you a dressing room.”

Twenty minutes had passed. Getting the dress on wasn’t as hard as I had anticipated. After months of struggling to move my legs, I had become adept at doing small tasks for myself.

Taking a deep breath, I turned to face the mirror. The dress clung to my frame, the vibrant red highlighting the hidden gold tones in my short hair. The daring V-neck plunged low, revealing a hint of vulnerability I hadn’t shown in a long time.

The thin straps showcased the newfound strength in my arms, the result of countless physiotherapy sessions. I stood, my hand gripping the cool metal bar for support. Maybe there was some truth to the saying—clothes make the woman.

It’s funny how a two-thousand-dollar dress can change a person…on the outside, at least. I was still the same on the inside, just different on the surface.

A moment of silence stretched between me and the curtain. Then Mason’s voice sliced through it, sending a shiver down my spine.

“Jamie, are you ready?”

His question stirred a flutter of unease deep within me. Suddenly, my reflection wasn’t just about how I saw myself, but how he saw me.

What was this strange sensation in my chest, this sudden need for his approval?

I took a deep breath, straightened my posture, and pulled back the curtain, ready to face him. There was a moment of silence.

Then, his face broke into a slow smile, his eyes lighting up in a way that made my breath catch.

“Wow,” he whispered, the word barely escaping his lips.

It wasn’t just any wow. It was a wow filled with surprise, admiration, and something else I hadn’t seen in him before. My cheeks warmed, the heat spreading up my neck.

Mason rose from the chaise lounge he was sitting on. He walked toward me, his hands casually tucked into his chino pockets.

“You look…,” he began, then paused, searching for the right word.

“Incredible,” he finally said in a low murmur. “Absolutely incredible.”

His eyes roamed over me, lingering on how the dress accentuated my curves before meeting my gaze. For a moment, I felt utterly exposed, yet oddly exhilarated.

“The back… I’m not sure about the back.” I turned around, showing him the open back of my dress that stretched from the daring V-neck down to my lower back. There was no hiding my scar in this dress.

Mason stepped into my space, into my dressing room. We’d had this conversation before, an understanding that hung heavy between us. Mason knew how I felt about the scars—I despised them. They were a constant reminder of the accident, the pain, and the fear.

Mason’s gaze swept over my back, over the part of me that was terrifyingly bare. I watched him in the mirror in front of me, as his hand reached out, his fingers lightly grazing my exposed skin.

The scar… It didn’t seem to bother him. He hadn’t touched me since the night he kissed me, and truth be told, I hadn’t wanted him to. But now…in this moment…I wasn’t sure.

I turned around and looked at him. His eyes met mine with an intensity that sent shivers down my spine. Suddenly, the air in the small dressing room felt heavy and charged.

He was going to kiss me!

The kiss was tentative at first, a mere brush of lips that sent a shock of electricity through me. Then, as if a dam had burst, the kiss deepened. Mason’s hand moved to cup my face, his touch grounding me as we ventured into this new territory.

This time… I was kissing him back.

His hand slid down my back, finding the exposed skin beneath the dress. He didn’t linger on the scar, but instead traced the smooth curve of my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine. My breath hitched, a strangled gasp escaping my lips.

The kiss turned into a desperate exploration, a tangle of limbs and whispered moans. He tasted of citrus and spice, a potent mix that sent my senses spinning.

The sound of a distant cough from outside the dressing room pulled us apart. Mason’s forehead rested against mine, his breath warm on my skin. His eyes, when he finally opened them, were a warm hazel, swirling with unspoken emotions.

“Maybe we should continue this somewhere more private,” he suggested with a smirk.

I responded with a nod and a smile.

“I’ll find you some shoes to match that dress,” he said, his voice thick with desire.

When I was finally alone in the small space of my dressing room, I leaned against the cool stone wall. The scent of his woodsmoke and citrus cologne lingered in the air.

My fingers instinctively went to my lips, tracing the unfamiliar sensation where his lips had been. Mason had made his intentions clear, yet there was a gentleness in his pursuit, a respect that left me both thrilled and oddly vulnerable.

But now, the question remained—had the dam truly burst, or was this just a taste of something more?

The answer, like the future, was shrouded in uncertainty.