Beautiful Crazy Part 18

He stopped and tilted his head. She had the funniest sayings. "What do you mean?"

"It means I won't 'what if' or worry about the compet.i.tion or next week or whatever."

Mason smiled. He liked the phrase. He liked the way she always had such an interesting take on life and circ.u.mstance. Truth be told, he liked her. A lot.

The realization should have stifled him. Stunned him. Choked him with fear. Sent him running.

It didn't. And then he knew. It hit him like the hammer he'd wielded at the housing build. He was falling in love, if not already knee-deep in it.

In fact, he felt almost...relieved. Like he'd been expecting his psyche to hand him that information at any moment.

This just in! Wait a minute, folks, this report can't be true. Yes, it looks like Mason Dillon has fallen in love with the one woman he shouldn't have.

And there it was.

He liked liked Kevan Landry. No. He f.u.c.king loved her. The warm feeling that ran through his body when she was near, the need to know where she was at all times, the constant craving to feel her skin against his, mark her when they f.u.c.ked. No. When they made love.

Holy s.h.i.t.

He really was falling in love with her. How had he not seen this coming? But, really, look at her. Who could spend more than a couple of days with her and not fall horribly, utterly, and hopelessly in love with her? She was brash and funny and beautiful. An angel, a devil, a stranger, a rebel. Like the song.

G.o.d, that was her. The sad girl. The strong, soulful rebel. Always there for whatever anyone needed, but then left alone. And a woman like her, so kind and pa.s.sionate, shouldn't be alone. She needed someone worthy of her strength and her l.u.s.t for life. Someone who would always be there, make her a priority above all else. He wasn't that guy, though.

Was he?

He was work, work, work-with a little time off to hang with the guys and a little s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around on the side. Even if they did find a way to be together, he didn't want to end up like his parents, in a cold, planned marriage fraught with terms and good manners, where dinner conversation was centered around work. Wasn't that the way it always turned out?

He wasn't good for her. The sudden realization made his blood turn to ice. He didn't know how to be anyone but Mason Dillon, CEO, and really didn't know how to give love. And there was still this thing hanging over them-the Manix Curse deal.

What was he going to do? It wasn't just his job any longer. No, it was so much more. It was her happiness. Her business and her brother's wellness. And their future. He snorted. Like Mason and Kevan could have a future. Like Kevan Landry could ever fall in love with the normal guy.

"What's wrong, Mason?" she asked, concern marring her pretty face.

"Huh?"

She squeezed his hand hesitantly and twirled a lock of blue around her finger. "What's wrong? You look like your stock portfolio just tanked, cowboy."

"I have a very balanced portfolio." He said it so matter-of-factly, she laughed. And he shook off the dark cloud that had descended over his mood. Tonight was not the night to ponder the big questions.

"Nothing's wrong, darlin'. Let's get you back before you freeze."

The doubt that had been niggling around the edges of his brain since he'd been put on notice about his job and then after meeting Kevan grew stronger, but he shoved it in with the other "stuff to be dealt with later."

On the drive back from dinner, a sultry rockabilly beat playing softly, Mason looked over at Kevan in the pa.s.senger seat. She was humming loudly and tapping her fingers on her knees in rhythm to the strong ba.s.s of the music. She twirled her hair around her index finger as she often did when she was lost in thought or in her music.

"Kevan?"

"Hmm?" She looked over at him, shadows and light dancing across her pale skin.

"Who is this?"

"Imelda May. She's an amazing singer from Ireland."

"This song is beautiful."

"Hmm. Yes. It's a little out of character, since most of her music is pretty straight-up rockabilly. It's one of my favorites."

She sang along to the ballad of a struggling couple who made it through some tough times. She had an exceptional singing voice, soft and rich. Add it to the list of features of the most amazing woman he'd ever met.

"Mo chroi? It means my love, my darling, right?"

Her cheeks burned pink. "Yes, I think so."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Can I stop you?" She looked sideways at him.

Ignoring her question, he asked, "Did your brother do your artwork?" he asked as he traced the lacy brocade pattern over her knee and on her inner thigh.

"Most of it. Nathan did the lace on my thigh, and Jax did the flowers on my foot. For the big pieces, I wouldn't let anyone else work on me." She smiled at him proudly, almost defiantly.

"No, I wouldn't either. They're really f.u.c.king good."

She looked confused. "You like my tattoos?"

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?" But he knew the answer before the words were out of his mouth. She was the edgy modern pinup, and he was the boring suit. "I think they're s.e.xy as f.u.c.k."

Her smile lit up her face. "You do?"

"You think because I wear a suit to work and went to an Ivy League school I can't appreciate heavy metal, hot women, and tattoos? Really?" That was the real reason they could never be a couple. She'd never see them as compatible.

She shrugged.

"Don't play me," he said. "If I wasn't attracted to you, how do you think I could sleep with you?"

Again, that d.a.m.n lift of her shoulder.

"Kevan, I meant it that first night when I said you are the s.e.xiest woman I have ever laid eyes on. All of you. Not just that kissable, f.u.c.kable mouth, not just your perfectly round a.s.s, or amazing t.i.ts. All. Of. You."

She looked down. Apparently fascinated by her hands again.

"I lo...like your wicked sense of humor, your creative business sense, your blue hair, your tattoos, the stud in your nose. I like it all." He'd almost told her what he was starting to feel, that he might be falling in love with her.

Might. Uh, bulls.h.i.t. f.u.c.king wussy. He was in love with her. And if he told her now, she'd run like a startled deer in the road.

"Remember when you had on your old Social D T-shirt at the housing project?" he asked. She shook her head. "The one that dips down in the back to expose part of the branches wrapping over your shoulder?" She smiled then and knew what he meant. Mason plowed on, riding on the memory. "All I could think about when you were wearing that shirt-and I could see that s.e.xy ink crawling up your back and over your creamy white shoulder-was how badly I wanted to take you from behind. I could see myself bending you over one of the work tables, cupping a breast in one hand, and yanking your pants down with the other."

Kevan gripped the door, and her legs parted slightly. He loved how he affected her with only his words. Without taking his eyes from the road, he pulled her leg out farther and stroked the inside of her thigh.

"Then what would you do to me?" Her voice was breathy and her eyes glazed.

Still watching the road, he continued dragging his hand up her thigh until he reached the barrier to his true goal. "I was so hard from watching you jiggle and bend in front of me all day, I wouldn't be able to control myself. I would pull your damp little panties to the side or maybe rip them off." She trembled as he lightly caressed the front of her mound through the thin material. Pulling her leg up against the door, she angled her body toward him.

"More, cowboy, I need more," she said, her words released on jagged sighs.

His chest tightened. If only she meant more of him. More than s.e.x. "More what? More of my fantasy? More of my fingers in your wet p.u.s.s.y?"

She moaned and pushed into his fingers. "Both, please."

He should pull the car to the side of the road and bend her over the f.u.c.king hood. Do the things he'd told her he wanted to do. He could feel himself lengthening against the zipper of his slacks. d.a.m.n woman had had him hard for days now. Like a frickin' teenager.

He pulled her panties to the side and gently stroked between her soaked folds, loving the soft velvet of her smooth skin.

"And I'd shove my c.o.c.k into you as I held your hips in my hands. I'd f.u.c.k you in front of all those workers, the band, and everyone else." She moaned, and he rubbed her hard, swollen nub in short, circular motions as she reached up and pinched her nipples through her dress.

"I'd f.u.c.k you so fast and hard that everyone would know you belonged to me." She pulsed against his fingers, her hips undulating on the seat.

"Oh my G.o.d, Mason, I'm going to come."

"Come for me, darlin'."

She cried out, and her body went rigid with the powerful o.r.g.a.s.m he now recognized as uniquely Kevan. She moaned his name and groaned loudly. He firmly rubbed up and down her soft, wet folds and put his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, savoring her tangy honey.

"Thank you." G.o.d, she said the sweetest things. She was thanking him. Incredible. He smiled around his fingers, relishing the taste of her.

"Thank you, darlin'," he said. Her bow-shaped lips turned up as she grabbed his hand in hers.

"Can I help you out with that rather ma.s.sive hard-on?" she asked.

He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed his mouth over her knuckles. "Promise me you'll help me out later."

"I promise." And her sweet little smile instantly turned wicked.

Oh, he hoped so. If he couldn't have her heart, he'd take her body. At least for now.

Chapter 19.

The evening had sped by too quickly. She could feel something growing, shifting between them, something alive and organic. She was being drawn into a silky web of trust and affection she found both comforting and oddly unfamiliar, like a cozy but borrowed sweater. It was new, but it was good. His honesty about family and work had Kevan struggling to remember why she disliked Mason so much and why she needed to keep fighting against him. Even the threat of losing Manix was starting to seem less catastrophic than spending less time with Mason.

But then there was Bowen. And she couldn't let her brother down. Better to share a good meal, have some laughs, and get this tour done and over. So when the evening came to an end, Kevan kissed Mason's cheek and said good night.

"Mason, dinner was fantastic. Thank you."

He turned her body toward his and rested his hand heavily on her shoulders. "But?"

She cupped his cheek, and he bent down, his forehead pressed against hers.

"But I'm not getting back into bed with you tonight. It's hard for me to trust. And with the thing with the band, it's too much right now. You're too much."

He drew her body against his, making it even harder to keep her guard intact. She could feel his hard chest heaving against hers as her nipples tightened. Leaning down, he kissed her crown, his lips scalding her, burning his brand into her head.

"I'm not ready to trust you yet," she lied as she pulled away.

He didn't push, and she didn't give.

Yet as she lay in bed, the days unraveled in happy snippets. All with Mason. They'd even worked as a cohesive team, like they'd been partners forever. And dinner had been amazing until she'd opened her big mouth and said things she didn't really mean. Perfect. Fantastic.

She rolled onto her stomach, punching her pillow one more time, trying to find a comfy spot.

Oh, f.u.c.k it.

"Mason?" she called out into the dark.

"Kevan." He dragged her name out in a singsong voice.

"Are you awake?" Duh. "Never mind. Can I come in there? I can't sleep."

"Please."

Decision made, she got up and walked slowly through the open door and stood next to his bed. He pulled the covers down and scooted over to make room for her, patting the empty spot. "Lie down so I can hold you." As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she realized he was shirtless, the shadowy night highlighting the strong contours of his abs and chest. He leaned up on one elbow, curving the muscles on his stomach and his corded arms. The man was delicious.

Without hesitation, she lay on her side, settling her head on his hard arm, and rolled into him. His big, warm body wrapped around her. They were like two perfectly created puzzle pieces. The muscles in her shoulders instantly relaxed, and she sighed as his arm folded heavily across her waist.

"I'm sorry about what I said tonight. Sometimes I'm so afraid someone will hurt me or figure out I don't know what the h.e.l.l I'm doing, I say things. Strike first and push them away before they can do it to me."

In the inky darkness, she felt him lift his other arm, scrub his face, and put his hand firmly over her hip, his fingers curling around her hip bone. He rested his cheek on top of her head and inhaled softly, but said nothing.

"I do trust you. I mean as much as I can, considering the situation. I don't want to, but I do," she whispered.

Still nothing. Maybe he agreed with her. Maybe he wasn't ready to forgive her lying, impulsive words. "Mason? Did you hear me?"

"Yes, darlin'. I heard you." He slowly inhaled deeply and exhaled again.

"And..."

He was holding her, had invited her into his bed. He had to feel something for her, right?

"And, I wish I could put you in front of a magic mirror and show you how f.u.c.king amazing you are. How amazing everyone who meets you thinks you are." The gruffness of his tone didn't match the sweet, complimentary words. "Did I not tell you that the next time we were in bed together and you said derogatory or untrue things about yourself I would punish you?"