Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Ainsley

Mason's silence confuses me.

Is he uncomfortable, upset, or…? "If you want, we can go to my home. I have plenty of food for the two of us."

In the comfort of my house, I might be able to figure out what happened to him and make sure he healed. I'm not a doctor but I can run a full physical on him.

My mind goes from searching for old wounds to ripping the buttons of his shirt, unzipping his pants, and gorging on… I put a brake on my fantasy when he says, "Your house it is."

And that might be the worst idea ever. I should rescind my invitation before jumping him as soon as we park in my driveway.

He invited you to get a bite but not that kind of bite. Mase is your friend, not man candy, keep those thoughts clean.

I clear my thoughts and try a safer conversation. "Where have you been? Timbuktu, rescuing some lost princess from a hidden kingdom?"

I see the side of his lips crook. His hand takes mine, and he kisses it. Damn, there goes the resolution. He needs to stop using those lips on my body.

No, no. Maybe he should put them to work on other parts of my body that would like to experience the same kind of bliss my lips had—and my hands. I nod as my head flashes images of Mason kissing every corner of my body. That's what I'm talking about.

Focus, Ainsley.

Mason parks in front of my house. How the hell does he know where I live?

"I've been working on a couple of new projects." His gray eyes brighten when they look at mine. "A few thousand miles away from here. Consulting jobs I can't disclose. The usual."

He kisses my hand one last time and leaves the car. I join him, and while climbing the steps of the porch, a chill runs through my veins. My purse, my keys…

I hate you, Jacob Decker .

He shouldn't be surprised if I put laxatives in his beer. I twist my lips from one side to the other and shake my head.

"What's wrong?"

"My brother has my stuff," I confess, staring at the floor before my face falls for being so distracted . Who leaves her belongings with her brother? "Purse, keys, phone—the works."

Mason doesn't say a word, just sprints to his car and returns within seconds. He holds a small, blue case that contains stainless steel picks.

"You're going to pick my lock?"

"Unless you want to find your brother, which I don't recommend." He chooses two picks, hands me the case, and bends down.

A few moments later, after he wiggles his instruments through the lock, my door opens. The security alarm starts to beep. He goes to the keypad and turns it off. Who gave him the code?

"Why… How?" I lift my arm, my index finger pointing at the alarm then at him. "You know my password?"

He shakes his head. "Ihave one master password for all the important security systems." He winks at me.

He fucking winks as if it's cute.

"Your system?" I tap at the name HIB Securities.

There's a building downtown, a few blocks from the music school with the big HIB Securities letters.

"Your system?" I repeat. "As in you own HIB Securities?"

He shrugs.

"That company has its own building," I say. "That means they're a big company. And you own it?"

He bobs his head a couple of times.

"Who are you? And isn't it an invasion of my privacy that you can just deactivate it?"

He shakes his head. "No. If the alarm is triggered because of a malfunction, we can turn it off remotely. Plus, if you ever need me to feed the cat, I can do it."

"I don't have a cat." I look around the house, thinking this place could use a pet… or two. "But I could use one."

"Maybe that's what I'll give you as your housewarming present," he suggests, closing the main door. "You can let me visit it."

"Or you can have a pet in your house." I narrow my gaze. "Unless you still live in your office."

He rubs the back of his neck. "It's complicated."

"The universal code for you're right and I'd rather not discuss it with you."

He grins. "Probably."

"You're a loner. I feel as if you don't like relationships. Why do you avoid them?"

Oops, I turned the conversation from I should get a cat to… what is this?

I go to my kitchen. There has to be something in there that might entertain me and keep my mouth shut. Close it forever and stop getting into conversations that might send Mason to Abu Dhabi.

There's a bag of pita bread on top of the counter. I open the fridge to look for the hummus I made yesterday. I show the container and the bag to Mason. "Do you want some?"

He nods. I spread hummus on the pita bread while thinking about switching the conversation and pushing the thick awkwardness between us away from this house. As I shift the weight of my feet from one side to the other, I'm reminded of the waiting line at the DMV.

Everyone is uncomfortable.

Mason leans against the refrigerator door and crosses his arms. "What are you up to? Other than overseeing the construction of the music school."

"The usual, work as a substitute teacher. Search for a new job, which I doubt I'll get. Most schools make sure they hire their staff before the end of the school year." I shrug. "And trying to catch up with everything I missed while I lived in Austin."

I finish with the pitas, hand one of the plates to Mason, and sit down at the small table that I have in the kitchen.

"The hardest thing I've encountered is dating."

"You're dating?"

"Nope. Every time I go out, I'm with my brothers. No one gets close to me—they're scary." I roll my eyes. "They aren't but whatever. The few times that a guy dares to ask for my number I… I don't answer their calls because?—"

I chew on a pita slowly, stalling. Once I swallow, I confess, "I don't know what I'm doing."

"What do you mean?"

"My relationship with Porter wasn't normal. I've never been on a date. Dating seems hard. I've been reading a few books, and apparently you shouldn't sleep with a guy on the first?—"

Mason's cough interrupts me. I think he's choking. I rush to get a glass, pour some water, and hand it to him.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I… what were you saying?"

"Sex. I don't even know if I'm comfortable kissing a stranger much less having sex with him. But then these books tell me that I need to wait until the fifth or the sixth date. You don't see my brothers waiting."

"You're overthinking."

I glance at him. "Uh-huh. When was the last time you dated?"

He shrugs. "I don't have time."

"Because you're setting up security systems all over the world?" I narrow my gaze. "What do you do, Mason Bradley? I doubt you got hurt and almost died because you were installing an alarm at a house or a grocery store."

The corner of his lips pulls into a half-smile.

I cross my arms. "So?"

"Can you keep a secret?"

"You're asking me?" I burst into laughter. "Do you know me? I kept my identity secret for years. I didn't breathe a word that I had a boyfriend… I think I'm pretty trustworthy, don't you think?"

"HIB Securities has a few subdivisions. One of them is The Organization. It's a high intelligence private security company. We work with the CIA, Interpol, FBI, and other agencies, as well as organizations that need our help."

I'm shocked. He's serious? The guy is like James Bond, Jason Bourne, or Ethan Hunt. That's sexy, if not dangerous. "The superhero thing wasn't a joke, was it?"

"I'm not a superhero," he says. "We just try to make the world a better place."

"You almost died saving someone, didn't you?"

"I'm okay."

"Mason? How bad was it?"

"A few bullets, internal bleeding… broken bones."

He mentions it the same way a guy would talk about falling while skateboarding or being in a car accident. A few scratches, nothing serious.

I spring out of my seat, wrap my arms around him, and hold him tight. Close to me. So close he won't be able to leave.

"You stupid, man. The next time you get hurt…" I'm trying hard not to cry. Once I calm, and the tears are secured, I say, "Please, be careful. I don't know what I'll do if you…"

He hugs me back. "I'm okay."

"Promise that if you ever get hurt again, you'll let me visit you. That you'll let me be by your side."

"You don't need the burden."

"Don't be ridiculous. You're my best friend. I'd want to be there for you—the way you've done it a thousand times for me. Just promise you'll do it."

He nods, holding me tight to him and not letting me go.

"By the way, there's something I didn't want to bring up, but I need you to be on the lookout. I heard Porter Kendrick is in town," he says, breaking the comfortable silence between us.

"I know. I saw him a few days ago," I mention. "He tried to ask me for help."

He pushes me lightly away from our embrace but doesn't let me go. He stares for a couple of breaths before asking, "Did he do something to you?"

"No. I'm okay."

"Let me get you a bodyguard."

"No. I'm fine," I insist.

"Please let me help you. I can't just sit back again, waiting for him to hurt you."

Since I don't want to discuss Porter, I say, "I know what you can do for me."

"What?"

"Teach me how to date."

"What?" He stares at me as if I've just given him a math problem that's impossible to solve.

"Dates," I repeat.

Would he date me or introduce me to a friend who'd be gentle with me?