Page 44 of Hidden Resolution

“It damn well is if I caused a permanent rift between you and your dad.”

“You didn’t. I did when I told him whoever I chose to have an affair with was none of his concern. He wasn’t invested in being a parent during my formative years. Starting at thirty-three is too little, too late.”

Her words were cavalier, but the crack in her voice betrayed her. Luigi wasn’t simply late in caring; he had never started, not the way a father should.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Mason asked.

Her snort wasn’t polite or delicate. It was an ugly bark of disbelief.

He scowled. “Why is that funny?”

“Seriously, dude?”

“Seriously.”

“Fine. If you want the truth, I’m more than happy to lay it out for you.” Arms crossed, chin lifted, she was a woman ready to wage war.

And he already knew the coming speech wasn’t going to be flattering.

“You want one thing from me. Every time we’re together, you’re either insulting me or trying to get in my pants. You don’t give two shits about me or my problems. Stop acting like you do.”

The impact landed low and hard. Brutal. And he couldn’t deny it. She had every right to view his behavior through bitter glasses. But it wasn’t entirely accurate.

The truth was, he did care. Only not the way she wanted.

“Why can’t we remain friends? Why does there have to be hostility between us or every conversation turn into a minefield?” he asked, despising his wheedling tone.

Mason closed the distance and braced his hands on the counter beside her hips. Her breath hitched as he filled the space between her thighs. Their eyes met, level for once, and the bottom dropped out of his stomach.

The faint dilation of her pupils, the shift of energy between them. Yeah, he recognized desire the second it hit. It was as familiar to him as his name, because his own blood surged with it whenever he was around her.

His mouth hovered inches from hers, waiting, giving her the chance to pull back.

She didn’t.

Her tiny lean forward sealed their fate. His mouth crashed onto hers with the desperation of a man making up for lost time. Three days of separation burned away in an instant. She whimpered and wrapped her legs around his waist, arms climbing under his shirt as her fingers dug into his back to pull him closer. Her hands left nothing untouched, matching his in intensity, clutching, stroking, claiming.

Her sweater made it halfway over her head when the first knock came.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mason growled, breaking the kiss. His chest rose and fell in harsh, broken bursts. “Stop and answer the door, or ignore them?”

Another knock, louder and more insistent, decided it.

“Bella!” Luigi’s frantic voice boomed. “Bella, it’s Papa.”

They exchanged a wary glance.

Mason stepped back.

“Well, I guess it’s option one,” she said, not moving.

“Think he has a gun?”

Laughter sounded through the layers of the sweater she was putting back on. Before she could finish, Mason caught her hands and held them high.

“One last glimpse,” he murmured with deep regret.

“You’re such a sweet talker.”