CHAPTER ELEVEN

I had intended to dash up to my apartment by myself and return to Mason with the book, but when I glanced back and saw him following me out the back door and into the warm night, I gulped.

“Or…you could just, you know, come ~with~ me,” I revised, pretty sure I didn’t want him to come with me at all.

Mason. Alone with me in my apartment. The two together threw my breathing all out of whack and made Eva’s warning—~don’t do it, don’t do it~—whirl through my brain.

He snorted. “Hey, you’re not leaving me in there by myself with fifty other Eva Mercers lurking about. I might be molested before you returned.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh, my God. Drama much?” But really, I wasn’t all that certain he was joking.

Did ~every~ drunk girl throw herself at him?

Okay, that was a stupid question. If I were drunk right now and all my inhibitions went bye-bye into alcohol land, ~I’d~ be throwing myself at him.

“Well, just don’t expect me to jump in front of you like some kind of human shield if any frisky females come flying out the shadows to ambush you for a freebie.”

He chuckled as we started up the steps to my apartment. “I’ll be sure to toss you in front of me against your will, then.”

“Ha, real funny, smart ass.” I paused to fiddle with my keys in the dark.

To be perfectly honest, I was kind of glad to have him with me. There wasn’t a nightlight outside the doorway to my loft, and standing in the dark alone during one of Eva’s keggers didn’t sound appealing. What if some drunk Jeremy-wannabe stumbled across me and tried to get frisky?

Mason was quiet as I fumbled, and I relished the sturdy, protective feel of his presence.

“Here we go.” Finding the right key, I unlocked the door and pushed my way inside.

I hadn’t thought to clean before leaving for the party. My place wasn’t a disaster by any means, but it looked well lived in. My Brit Lit book hung open on the coffee table. Yes, I was still in Dr. Janison’s class, and passing—whew. A throw blanket lay wadded on the couch. A handful of dishes were piled in the sink, and I’d yet to toss the empty latte cup I’d run out to get this morning for breakfast.

Mason seemed to take everything in as he slowly wandered around the living room and kitchen space.

Nodding, he murmured, “Yeah, I have to say, you were right. This is pretty awesome. I could live here with no problem.” He strolled toward the table in front of the window unit and snagged an apple from my fruit basket.

I shook my head. “You just couldn’t resist, could you?”

His eyes glittered with amusement as he sank his teeth in the apple’s pulp. “What? Resist your forbidden fruit? Hell no.” Then he winked as he chewed. “What do you think of them apples?”

I snorted and rolled my eyes. “I think your pun is corny and pathetic.” And completely adorable.

He laughed and took another massive bite. “So, where’s this book?”

“In my room.” Hugging book one of the series to my chest, I left him eating and dashed into my small sleeping nook. Flipping on the light, I tossed ~The Sorcerer’s Stone~ onto my unmade bed and knelt in front of the mini bookshelf set up under my window.

Finding book number two almost immediately, I slid it free and stood. Whirling away to hurry back to Mason, I found him the doorway, still chewing slowly as he watched me.

“Oh!” I yelped and skidded to a halt. “There you are.”

Heat covered my body like a rash. I suddenly felt the presence of my full-size bed only three feet away as if it were a living thing, breathing hot air down the back of my neck to remind me of its existence. I pulled my hair into my hand only to let it go again. But the sensation remained. I think as long as Mason stood in my room, I’d be hyperaware of any available flat surface.

“Do you…I mean…” I swallowed and took a breath. “You can take the entire series now if you’d like. That way you won’t have to wait between each book until I can get the next one to you.”

“I don’t mind waiting.” His gaze was direct and meaningful. “In fact, I like building up the anticipation.”

Whoa. Were we still talking about books?

I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

As if completely oblivious to my growing arousal, Mason turned toward my dresser and examined all my personal effects on top. I felt exposed, probably more exposed than if I’d been standing in front of him naked. He smiled softly as he set his half-eaten apple down and picked up my favorite lotion.

Knees turning to jelly as he flipped open the top and took a deep sniff, I could only watch as he glanced at me. “You wore this Friday.”

No way in the world could my vocal chords work. I simply nodded.

He turned the label and read it aloud. “Sweet Pea.” When his grin broadened, I thought I was going to pass out from hormone overdose. “So fitting.”

Slowly, I reached out and slid it from his hand because watching him hold my lotion was doing wicked, evil, wonderful things to me. “I was thinking of getting a bottle for Sarah. Do you think she’d like this fragrance?”

Mason frowned and shook his head. “Don’t you dare. This is ~your~ scent. It would be too weird to smell on my little sister.”

After setting the Sweet Pea back on the dresser, I pushed my hair out of my face. “I guess I could get her some cucumber melon then. Or warm vanil—”

He caught my hand when I lifted it to my hair again. “If your hair getting in your face bothers you that much, why don’t you ever tie it back?”

Startled and pleased, I gaped up at him. “You know I never tie my hair back?”

His nostrils flared as he leaned in to smell the Sweet Pea…off my skin. “I know you’re always pushing it out of your eyes.”

My body went into a dazed kind of shock. In sensory overload, I scrambled to think properly. “I don’t know,” I said with a loose shrug. “Don’t…don’t you guys prefer long, flowing hair?”

Mason caught a strand of my hair and ran it through his fingers. “I can’t speak for other guys, but, yeah, I guess I do like it long and flowing.” He glanced at me with a disappointed expression. “So…this is to attract a guy then? Anyone specific?”

I flushed and ducked my face. “No. Not necessarily. I just…I personally think I look best this way.”

He picked up another piece of hair that had been lying on my opposite shoulder. With both hands full on either side of my face, he almost appeared as if he were holding a pair of reins, about to bridle me in close to him.

“Does this mean you’ll have caught your guy whenever you show up on campus someday with your hair in a ponytail?”

I shot him a strange look. “Well, then I’ll have to ~keep~ his attention, so…probably not.”

Mason gathered my locks at the back of my head as if preparing to put it into a ponytail. Once he had a hold of it all in one hand, he stroked a couple of knuckles down the side of my exposed jawline. “I don’t think you ever have to worry about what your hair looks like in order to attract a guy. You have too many other intriguing attributes to keep them interested.”

My lips parted and my entire body throbbed. “Mason?” I said slowly, my voice timid. “What’re you doing?”

“Something I probably shouldn’t.” His voice sounded hoarse and tender as he dipped his face and pressed his forehead against mine.

I began to tremble. I don’t know if it was because of anticipation, utter excitement, dread, or outright fear. “If…if you shouldn’t, then…don’t.”

A throaty whimper like a wounded cougar tore from his voice box. “Easier said than done.” With his fingers slipping through my hair, he curled his hand around to the back of my neck, urging my face up, probably to align me into position for a kiss. Then he whispered my name.

God, the achy, husky way he said it was like a silken caress to every erogenous nerve in my body.

“I think…I think it’d be best if you stopped.” My voice shook as badly as my limbs. But even as I spoke, my hormones cried out for him to continue.

“Okay,” he said, but his breath continued to beat against my lips and his forehead remained tattooed to mine.

I think an inch separated our mouths. I could sneeze and accidentally crush my lips against his. Damn it, why wasn’t my new nose ring making me sneeze?

But no way was I going to purposely be the one to cross the line that seemed to be drawn in that inch of space. Crossing it would change everything. He tilted his head, keeping our brows attached, and shifted to the side, but he kept that inch secure between us.

I knew he wanted to breech it as badly as I did. But the invisible barrier must’ve been stronger than both of our cravings. We feared what the change would bring.

His palm flattened on my neck, and when his touch slid over my scar, he frowned and paused. His eyes questioned me before he turned me around and gathered my hair out of the way to examine the nasty gash.

Feeling bare as a light breeze washed across my nape, I closed my eyes and tightened my fingers around the book I was holding. “So you see, that’s why I don’t pull my hair up anymore.”

His fingers were gentle as he touched the numb, deadened area. “This looks deep. What happened?”

I licked my lips. “I was cut.”

“I see that. What cut you?”

“A knife.”

Jeez. I’d already told him too much. If he asked anything else, I wasn’t sure what I’d say. My original lie was to tell people I’d gotten it in a small car crash. What was I supposed to come up with now?

An urge bubbled inside me. I actually wanted to tell Mason the whole story. Everything. But the fewer who knew the truth, the better. And no matter how much he affected me, rationally I knew I hadn’t known him nearly long enough to trust him with a secret of this magnitude.

“A knife,” he repeated. “Did it cut you on purpose?”

“Maybe.” ~Definitely~. And if I hadn’t whirled away to run from Jeremy any faster than I had, this scar wouldn’t have been on the back of my neck either. It would have been in the front, and I probably wouldn’t be standing here today.

I shuddered, trying not to remember that night, trying not to relive the fear.

As if sensing the panic that was clawing its way up my throat, Mason leaned forward and pressed his lips to the scar.

I whimpered and closed my eyes, biting my lip to stop my chin from quivering. If I started crying now, that would be it. I’d forfeit everything.

“If you don’t give away freebies,” I said, bracing myself to say what I needed to say to stop this from progressing further, “then are you going to charge me for that?”

“No.” He kissed the spot again, his lips lingering over the area. I listened to him breathe in as he smelled my hair. It sent a shockwave of awareness down my spine and cramped the muscles low in my belly. I wanted this to last. I wanted him to spin me around and give me a real kiss.

“It wasn’t mouth to mouth, so…no charge.”

I turned to face him, hating myself even before I continued. “So if you kissed me, say, on the breasts, that would be free since it’s not mouth to mouth?”

His gaze turned hard. “No. That’s part of foreplay; it’s off limits.”

“And what you just did ~isn’t~ foreplay?” I knew I was being cruel, but I also knew the fastest way to get him to retreat was to remind him of his profession. And he needed to retreat, because I was pretty sure I couldn’t.

“~That~ was a friend comforting another friend.” His eyes sparked with anger as he clenched his teeth.

“I see.” With a nod, I asked, “So, you weren’t about to kiss me—mouth to mouth—just before you discovered my scar?”

“Jesus,” he railed, swiping his hands through his hair and taking a big step back. “Yes, okay. I almost kissed you. But I didn’t. Mistake averted. No harm done. We’re good.”

“Are we?” I charged.

He stared at me, his mouth slightly fallen open. His expression looked wounded. “What’re you saying, Reese?”

I closed my eyes and groaned. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. We can’t ever kiss or anything else because you sleep with women for money. End of story.”

He rumbled out a sound of utter frustration. “Why do you always have to remind me of that? Trust me, I haven’t forgotten.”

“I’m not reminding ~you~,” I snapped, flashing my eyes open to glare. “I’m reminding ~me~.”

God, I was such an idiot. I cannot believe I just stood there and pretty much confessed I cared about him as more than a friend, and the only thing holding me back was his…job.

Understanding dawned in his eyes. They sparked with interest and joy. He took a step toward me.

I darted a leery leap back. “We’re just friends, Mason.”

He stopped in his tracks, turmoil swirling in his gaze. Then he closed his eyes. “Right.” When he opened them, the desire was gone. He reached out, tugged the book I’d forgotten I was still holding out of my arms, and waved it once. “Thanks for loaning this to me…~friend~.”

Brushing my hair to one side, he tipped his head so he could lean around and kiss my scar one last time with a brief but warm peck. Once he straightened, he said nothing and barely held my gaze before he turned away and walked from my apartment.

I waited until I heard the door close before I strayed back into my living room to lock and bolt it behind him. Then I collapsed onto my couch and buried my face into my hands.

What the hell had I gotten myself into?