CHAPTER SIXTEEN

I didn’t get to bed until nearly two in the morning. After stealing a few more shots of gin, Mason passed out midway through the second movie, and since I was dead on my feet, I turned everything off. I removed his shoes, pulled his feet onto the sofa, and found an extra blanket to drape over him. Then I turned off the lights and stumbled to my bedroom.

I won’t lie. I watched him sleep for a good ten minutes before getting off the couch. But he looked so peaceful and loveable all cozied up with his head tucked down by his shoulder. Tempted to brush away the dark piece of hair that had fallen over his eye, I finally forced myself to retreat.

I cleaned up and changed into my sleepwear before crawling under my sheets, completely exhausted, and yet hyper aware of his presence still in my apartment.

Glad another person was close so soon after learning about Jeremy, I was able to drop off pretty easily. Sleep had just overtaken me when I was jerked awake by someone lifting my blankets and crawling into bed with me.

I bolted upright. “What do you think you’re doing?”

My indignant squawk only made Mason grumble. “The couch is too short. I can’t sleep in there.”

I chewed on my bottom lip as he plopped down beside me and didn’t move. There was barely enough light in the room to see his outline. And what a striking outline he made. But really, he couldn’t sleep in my bed with me.

Could he?

~No! No, Reese, no. Boot his hot, gigolo ass out. Now!~

“Want me to drive you home?” I asked, biting my lip and unable to do such a blasphemous thing as boot Mason Lowe anywhere away from my bed.

But he was already half passed out again. “Mmph?”

“Well, fine.” I huffed and lifted the sheet. “I guess ~I’ll~ sleep on the couch then.”

Being that I had such a small room, I’d pushed my bed against the wall, and my side faced the wall. So I had to crawl over him to escape. Or maybe I should say I ~tried~ to crawl over him. His arm caught me around the waist and anchored me back to the bed so that I landed on my side facing away from him.

“Don’t leave,” he slurred.

His voice was so full of wounded plea, I fell motionless, undecided.

This was dangerous territory.

Behind me, Mason scooted close, spooning.

Oh, my God, spooning was so romantic and cuddly.

“You feel good.” He rumbled out the words from a husky, sexy, sleep-clogged voice.

When he sighed, that was it. Kaput. Towel officially thrown in. I wasn’t going anywhere.

I let out a relinquishing breath and relaxed against him. In return, he hummed his gratitude.

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” I tried to keep it platonic. “But sometimes I get night terrors and scream or moan while I thrash around. I might wake you or accidentally give you a black eye.”

The muscles in the arm wrapped around me twitched. “You get night terrors? Like nightmares?”

I closed my eyes. “Yep.”

He tucked me protectively closer to him. “Why?”

“Oh…that’s another story for another day.”

Patting my hip in reassurance, he whispered, “Don’t worry, Reese. I’ll be here to keep you safe, no matter what monster invades your dreams.”

His words were so sweet, my eyes misted.

Warm fingers dusted my shoulder as if to console me, only to pause. “Shit. Are you naked?”

“What? No.” His touch suddenly felt like a hot brand on my bare skin. “I’m wearing a camisole and shorts.”

I ~was~!

But he’d already discovered this for himself when his thumb found the spaghetti strap and the palm of his other hand caught the hem of my cami and skimmed just under it to brush across my navel.

“Can I turn the light on?”

I stiffened. “Why?”

“So I can see you.” His thumb traced the camisole’s strap gently, running down the back of my shoulder blade. “I want to see you so bad.”

“Let’s not,” I said, my throat tight with the urge to mutter, ‘~Screw it; take me now!~’

It had been over a year since I’d had sex. Up until this very second, I would’ve sworn I didn’t miss it in the least. Jeremy, my one and only source of experience on the subject, hadn’t exactly been famous for his giving nature. I did not have fond memories.

But Mason barely grazing my tummy had me totally reconsidering.

He leaned his face in close to the back of my head, inhaling deeply. “Damn it, Reese. I have a ~plan~.”

His touch turned desperate and scorching hot. Catching my hip, he pulled me snug against him. When my bottom cradled his erection through all our clothes, I grasped a handful of pillows by my head and sucked in a lungful.

~Don’t grind back, Reese. Whatever you do, ~don’t~ grind back.~

I couldn’t help it; I arched my tush out and rubbed against him. Hard. He groaned and slid his hand into the waistband of my shorts, cradling me low—oh, so very low—on my abdomen as if to guide my movements.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Was he going to…?

Holy hell. His palm slid between my legs, pressing against me through my panties. My breathing went short and shallow. I panted, trying to control myself, but the tingling in my breasts and the ache he was stroking with his fingers was throwing off my concentration.

“Mason,” I choked out.

“We can’t do this,” he said, his voice full of naked need while he used the cloth of my underwear to sweep over a sensitive spot and make me cry out. “I have a plan. Don’t you ~understand~?”

When he leaned in to take a flesh full of my shoulder between his teeth and grind his hips to my ass, I squeezed my eyes closed. “Yes, I…I understand. I understand I’m not part of your plan.”

A strangled sob tore from him. For a microsecond, he clutched me tight like he was going to throw his stupid plan by the wayside and shag me silly. The way he clung to me made me feel like a lifeline for his tortured soul. And the press of his fingers about had rockets blasting off behind my eyes. I was so freaking close.

Then he let out a pent-up breath.

“I respect you,” he grated out the words. “I admire, and adore, and respect you, Reese Randall. I will not do this.”

And just like that, his body went lax and his hand eased from the waistband of my shorts.

I held my breath as his nose burrowed through my hair before his lips found my scar. He kissed it gently. “Good night, friend,” he whispered before he turned away with his back abutted to mine.

Wrung out from how taut he’d wound my hormones, I let out a hard pant.

Fudge.

Mason Lowe might be a pure gentleman when it came to not taking advantage when there was alcohol involved, but he was also a damned dirty tease. I throbbed, ~physically throbbed~ for release.

He breathed deeply behind me, telling me he’d passed out. I was tempted to elbow him in the spine and wake his drunk butt up, demand some kind of compensation for the torture he’d just put me through.

But I admired, adored, and respected him too. And I totally dug that he felt the same. Besides, I would’ve regretted it in the morning because, come on, he’d almost gotten caught by a husband tonight. He was not the kind of guy a girl could start anything with.

Eyes watering with confusion, regret, depression, and a whole lot of sexual frustration, I buried my damp cheek into my pillow and cursed when my nose ring caught on the cloth. Clamping my thighs together to ease some of the ache between my legs, I waited for the morning to come. I didn’t try to climb over him again to escape, because sadly, despite all the heartache he was putting me through, there was nowhere else I wanted to be but with him.