Page 18 of Hidden Resolution (Stonebrooke #2)

V alentine’s Day sucked, pure and simple.

The holiday was created for saps and die-hard romantics.

Commercialism at its finest. A day to spend an ungodly amount of Benjamins in an effort to impress.

Who really believed expressing one’s emotions with a too-expensive gift or over a dinner would get and hold the girl?

It made love between couples transactional.

No, thanks!

The business line rang, jarring Mason from his righteous disdain and reminding him to focus.

“Fuck Cupid,” he muttered. Raising his voice, he called out to Todd. “Hey, how about you do your job instead of flipping through a magazine, and answer the phone?”

The meathead paled in the face of his irritation. “Sure, dude. Sorry.”

Technically, Mason should be the one apologizing, but if he gave an inch, Todd took an entire fucking football field’s worth of yards.

Since Erica’s stabbing, Mason had been doing double duty.

But he didn’t blame Zack for refusing to leave her side.

His brother was in love, and the threat to Erica still existed.

With Dane and him taking up the slack for the business, Mason didn’t have time to take a piss, much less pretend he was the romantic sort and shower anyone with paper hearts.

It was his primary excuse for not seeking out Shonda to apologize. The gentlemanly thing to do would’ve been to make sure she wasn’t suffering ill effects from last week’s mugging, but she had others, like her family… and Tommy.

The real truth lived in his ire at her relief when his cousin had hugged her protectively, as if she required saving from him .

Mason swore under his breath at the bullshittiness of it all.

As if he would ever hurt her!

Granted, he’d probably looked exactly as he felt, as if he wanted to rip Tommy’s arm from its socket and stuff it down his throat. Taking umbrage at another man touching her was to be expected, right? Shonda had been sleeping with him and should be loyal.

“Loyalty doesn’t exist outside immediate family,” Mason reminded himself for the millionth time.

Unable to remain seated, he shoved back his chair and strode to the wall of windows overlooking the parking lot.

It was pretty empty for this late in the day.

Apparently, all the saps and diehards were still smarter than he was, at least when it came to playing the romance game, anyway.

They had someone to go home to at the end of the day.

And wasn’t being alone the root of his problem?

Shonda had made him care. Made him remember how fun it was to be in love—when it was good, before the ugly end.

He didn’t love her, and maybe he wouldn’t ever catch feelings, but he did care.

Envisioning her home alone, without someone to make her day special, bothered him.

The only visual more troubling was the possibility she wasn’t alone.

She might’ve taken Tommy up on the ready invitation he’d been silently offering that day.

Perhaps a guy like his cousin was simpler, less complicated, and easier to love.

Mason scoffed at the drivel clouding his brain. If he kept it up, he might as well tattoo her name on his arm.

Having made up his mind to return to work, he pivoted on his heel.

And hesitated.

He should definitely check on her. Perhaps scavenge whatever the local florist had left, and bring her flowers. Gourmet chocolates, too. Both would go a long way toward making up for his craptastic behavior.

The sheer irony of his situation? The night of her mugging, he’d been moody with Valentine’s Day fast approaching, and although he wanted to spend it with her, he didn’t want her to get the wrong impression.

He needed a decent night’s sleep, and those only seemed to happen when he cuddled her close. He shouldn’t be opposed to using classic romantic tools to grovel, right?

Fuuuccckkkkk!

At least Zack and Dane weren’t bearing witness to his vacillating back and forth. He’d never hear the end of it.

Resolved to see Shonda, Mason hurried to his office, shut off his computer, and stepped into the reception area.

Dane was reclined with his feet up on the desk, a magazine in hand.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mason asked irritably.

“Waiting for you to come to your senses and take your smokin’-hot girlfriend to dinner,” Dane replied, not bothering to look up from whatever held his attention.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he snapped.

For the longest minute, his brother stared, his expression indecipherable, before shrugging and perusing his magazine.

“She’s not!” Mason insisted, feeling weighed and wanting.

“Then you won’t be bothered by her going to dinner with Tommy tonight.”

Mason ground his teeth against the stinging sense of betrayal. Theirs was a goddamned fling. So what if she moved on first?

“Over my dead body,” he ground out.

Yes, he’d struggled to hold his response back, failing spectacularly. But fuck it.

Dane’s laughter followed him to the door.

Mason stormed back. “What?”

“You’re in denial, bro. Besides, Tommy’s over by the free weights.”

Mason’s gaze shot to the mirrored wall behind Dane to ascertain the truth.

Sure enough, Tommy was at the start of a workout. One Mason had designed for him.

The tension eased from his shoulders, but his desire to strike Dane was overpowering.

“You’re a dickhead. ”

“And you’re an asshat,” Dane countered with the bird and a mocking grin. “We all have our cross to bear.”

Since the urgency to stop Shonda from dating Tommy was gone, Mason rested his elbows against the counter and relaxed. “Why’d you lie?”

“It was only a half lie. Shonda is at home getting ready to go out.” Dane’s smile was pure evil.

Straightening, Mason glared. “With who?”

“Me.”

The desire to rearrange his brother’s features was a visceral reaction to his taunt. Rage was eating him up and stealing his ability to reason or be civil.

Dane’s eyes were crinkled with amusement as they watched him. “I played the woe-is-me card. She decided to have pity and keep me from wallowing over my lost love.”

“What lost love?”

Dane’s wicked grin widened.

“Wait, why are you still here if she’s expecting you?” Mason demanded, his fury fog clearing. “Are you standing her up?”

With his head half-cocked, Dane shot him a “you’re the dumbest fucker on the planet” look.

Mason’s brain caught up, painfully slow. Its ability to think logically kicked back into gear, and he removed his self-disgust from the shelf, dusted it off, and replaced it in a position of honor.

“Thank you, dickhead.”

“Anytime, asshat.”

Shonda checked herself out in the full-length mirror and ran her hands down her hips, smoothing invisible creases. The dress was a scandal waiting to happen, and she loved it. A blood-red knockout designed to hug her curves and put a man’s imagination to shame.

Eva had swept in earlier, a Cat-5 hurricane in heels, pretending the months-long silence was just a blip in their otherwise glittery mother-daughter fairytale.

She’d insisted on a shopping spree, dragging Shonda to her favorite high-end boutique to make amends with someone she couldn’t quite bring herself to understand.

With laser precision, she’d plucked the stunning red number from the rack and handed it over.

The material was the answer to every unspoken desire. And the moment the sleek, silky fabric slid over Shonda’s skin, it was game over. Eva might be a master at emotional evasion, but damn if she didn’t have an eye for fashion. One win in a sea of epic maternal failures.

A knock sounded at the front door, pulling her from the mirror. She glanced at the clock.

Dane was twenty minutes early.

Luckily, she was habitually early, and she only had to slide on the matching ruby stilettos to complete her ensemble.

“A few extra seconds won’t kill him,” she said aloud.

Besides, if she had to endure the awkwardness of a sympathy date, she might as well look incredible doing it. It was doubtful he’d notice or benefit from it since he was heartsick over his breakup.

But Eva’s rule lived rent-free in her head: always dress your best, no matter what life throws at you.

Shonda fastened the tiny buckles at her ankles, took a final breath to steel her jittery nerves, and crossed to the peephole.

Broad shoulders, tailored jacket, angular jawline.

Yep, definitely Dane.

But her body didn’t quite buy it. An electric charge danced beneath her skin, making her buzz before she was halfway across the room. Shaking off the sensation, she flung the door open with a ready smile.

Shit.

Wrong man.

Her heart kicked against her ribs, half in fury, half in surrender.

“What are you doing here?” Her tone was sharper than intended.

Mason didn’t speak as those dangerous eyes swept the length of her body, lingering on every place they shouldn’t.

The passion in his gaze wrapped around her, sucking the air right from her lungs.

When his attention dropped to her heels, he smiled.

Every single one of her traitorous nerve endings lit up.

“Those are great fucking shoes,” he said roughly, as if the compliment had scraped its way out of his throat.

Her body, the traitor, reacted instantly. Warmth rushed up her neck, her thighs tightened, and a flutter began low in her belly. Either he was a goddamn wizard, or her standards were somewhere beneath a cat’s belly in a crawlspace.

“Th-thanks.”

And now she was stammering. Fantastic.

She fought to reclaim a shred of composure. “Where’s Dane?”

Mason braced his hands on the doorframe and leaned in, acting as if the space was his and she was his woman.

She sure as fuck wasn’t.

“Would you be upset if I said he wasn’t coming?”Mason asked curiously.

“A little. I went to the trouble of getting ready. The least he could’ve done was call.”

Without waiting for a response, she stalked to the kitchen. Mason could leave or not. Either way, she was parched and needed a drink. She poured a glass of water and downed half in one go.

Behind her, the door clicked shut.

She finished the rest and waited, heart pounding.

Then came the muttered curse.

The door opened. Closed again.

Her body, along with her ego, deflated.

Typical Mason. He’d probably bolted after he realized what day it was, unable to stomach the implications.

With a disgusted sigh, she refilled her water and walked toward the living room.

And promptly dropped the glass.

In the center of her space, Mason was holding two dozen long-stemmed roses in one hand and a shiny Mylar Be My Valentine balloon in the other.

Knees trembling, she lowered herself onto the couch, too dazed for words.

Her brain scrambled to make sense of the image, but it refused to compute. What was he doing? And more importantly, what the hell did it mean?

The expectant light in his eyes dimmed. With a tired sigh, he set the flowers on the coffee table and tied the balloon string to a protruding rose stem. His movements were stilted, face unreadable.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Shonda.” His tone held no arrogance, no seduction. Only the awkwardness of a man in unfamiliar territory.

As he stepped around her to go, Shonda’s heart lurched. It occurred to her that he might interpret her silence as a rejection.

“Mason.”

He paused in the foyer.

“Don’t go.” Her voice came out broken. She repeated herself, louder this time.

Wordlessly, he turned the lock.

Pulse spiking, she ran to him and jumped into his arms.

Their mouths met in a clash of hunger and regret, with noses bumping in their haste. This week had been too damn long, and only with him did she feel this alive.

Her fingers worked at his tie, tugged at buttons, pushed aside fabric.

One arm curled around his neck, her hand fisting in his thick dark hair; the other slipped inside his shirt and pinched the sensitive nub of his nipple.

He groaned and slid his hands beneath her dress, exploring until they found the lace barrier that barely qualified as underwear.

She moaned against his mouth, and her body melted into his touch.

No one made her feel as desired as Mason. Not before. Not since. Perhaps no one could. Mason’s special brand of magic was the exact reason she had difficulty letting go.

“I intended to take you to dinner,” he murmured against her jaw.

She barely registered the words. “Huh?”

“Dinner,” he repeated, tongue flicking the shell of her ear.

“I’m not particularly hungry. Are you?”

“Ravenous.”

Shonda arched back, meeting his eyes.

Pure molten lava.

Her thighs tightened around him. “But not for food, right?”

He gave a low laugh, then winced. “You might want to ease up, love. My internal organs would like to survive this evening.”

A surprised giggle escaped her. She loosened her grip.

“Take me to bed, Mason.”

“Ah, those are the sweetest words I’ve ever heard.”