Chapter 3

Charlotte

“Charlotte,”Mason grits out again. But this one is different. Rougher. More emotional. His hands are under my armpits and he’s dragging me to my feet.

He activates the fight that’s pure instinct. Maybe the running had taken it out of me. I don’t have much to begin with. It’s why Gus can always get me to take the extra shifts.

Why I drank so much that night I wanted to end things with Leo.

But I’ve found it now, and as he pulls me up, I kick out, afraid of what he’s going to do.

What he does, is pin me to his chest. Arms around me like a vise, one around the small of my back, one across my thighs, my boobs are pressing into his face. I could scratch at his eyes, but I’ve already realized the futility of fighting.

I’m never besting this man. He neutralized me in an instant. Not that he’s hurting me. His arms are almost a comfort tonight.

My fight ends as quickly as it began and instead of raking fingernails down his face, I find myself holding his head in my hands, my fingers winding into the silky strands of his hair. I look down at him, tears filling my eyes for the first time tonight.

One slips out, balancing on my eyelashes before it tracks down my cheek.

“Fuck,” he curses.

But I only dig my fingers deeper into his scalp. The strong hard planes of his body feel ridiculously good. Maybe I’ve gone mad, but I want to sink deeper into him. “Please,” I beg. “Don’t give me to them. At least if it’s you I know—” My throat clogs and I can’t get any more words out.

“Know what?” He sounds like the crunching of broken glass.

“It’ll be quick and painless. You’d do that for me, wouldn’t you, Mason?” I think I might be getting hysterical because my words come out between little puffs of air, my lungs struggling, and I’m holding him like a raft in a storm. “Please,” I ask again. “Please don’t give me to strangers.”

His arms tighten about me, his hands spreading out on my back and bare thighs. “I’m going to put you down,” he speaks slowly, like he might be talking to small child. “And you’re going to stay right where I leave you.”

I nod. I’m not running. There’s no point. But I can’t quite let go of him either, my hands still buried in his hair. There is a second thing about Mason that is soft. His silky mass of dark, wavy hair.

Without meaning to, I curl around him, my cheek resting on the top of his head. He holds still, allowing me this moment. I think I might be drawing from the well of his strength. I’m going to need it for whatever comes next.

Finally, he loosens his grip, lightly bending to set me on my feet. I try to relax my hands to let him go, but it takes me a second, two, to unclench my fingers enough to untangle them from his hair.

When I’ve finally untangled myself, he steps over to Roman, the two of them speaking so softly that I can’t hear them. I only catch the low rumble of their voices, such a pleasant baritone that I close my eyes and just enjoy.

Men who are that devilish shouldn’t be allowed to sound like that. Warm, rich, it’s like the liquid in Mason’s glass.

I open my eyes then. How did I not notice he’d set the crystal on the table two feet to my right?

Taking a step toward it, I pick up the glass and draw in the scent. Whisky. Really nice whisky.

Without asking, I take a sip, and then another. This isn’t like me at all to just take something, but then again, today is not a normal day. It burns but in the smoothest way I’ve ever experienced, the liquid soothing my throat and spreading warmth through my body.

“Let’s go.”

I look up, Mason has joined me again, his body so close, I can feel his heat. Or maybe that’s the whisky.

“All right.” I start to set the glass down, but he reaches for my hand, wrapping his much larger fingers around mine. I wish I had my camera. The visual of his large hand engulfing my small one around the crystal snifter is stunning and I stare as he brings the glass to his lips, taking another drink.

Our hands still wrapped together, he brings the glass to my mouth. “Go ahead.”

I take another drink, the liquid sliding over my tongue as my eyes flutter closed. I’m determined to enjoy every tiny, beautiful moment as I take one more sip.

He takes the glass from my hand and for a moment we just stand there, close but still.… I have no idea what he’s thinking.

Finally, his hand comes to my back. “Let’s go.”

Do I even ask where? I don’t. I just allow him to lead me back to the elevator and down to the parking garage.

When the doors open to the parking garage, I smile. “Hello, old friend,” I whisper. He gives me a curious glare but I only shrug.

On the other side of Roman’s car, the black sedan now sporting a nice new bullet hole, Mason opens the door to a limo.

He gestures for me to step in, and I do. I don’t know where we’re going…am I allowed to make requests? “I bet the desert is beautiful at night.”

“Hmmm,” he answers, not looking at me. He slides into his seat, his eyes fixed on his phone, darting over the screen before he begins to type on the screen.

I wrap my arms about myself, sliding deeper into the plush cushions of the seat. My eyes slide closed. It’s comfortable enough that I could sleep right here. I think that whisky is taking effect, my body is so heavy.

But even at that, I’m still aware. It feels like we’ve hardly left the parking garage when we’re pulling into another. I sit up, confusion making my brow crinkle.

Mason looks up at me. “I live close to work. Keeps commute times down.”

My lips part as I stare. We’re discussing commute times? But as soon as I have the thought, I realize its completely the wrong one. “Live? We’re going to your home?”

He lets out a heavy sigh as he leans forward, his elbows coming to his knees. “You, beautiful little Charlotte, are a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

I blink, trying to decide what to say. Is there really a response for that? “Sorry?”

One side of his mouth quirks, making him look almost human. Still perfectly gorgeous but more human, as he sits back in his seat. “Until I’ve decided the best course of action, I’m tucking you in the safest place I know.”

“And where is that?”

“My apartment.”

I gasp, trying to understand that one. “I’m going to live with you?”

“Temporarily. It’s probable that the goons doing the shooting have no idea who you are. It’s less likely, but still possible, that they don’t know who Roman is. If both of those are true…”

I stare at him. The last time I spoke to this man, he told me under no uncertain terms that if I breathed a word about who owned that club or my connections to the owners, I’d be face down in a gutter. Why was he not just killing me and calling it good? “So we’re going to play house for a few days?”

His mouth hardens again. “No. We’re not playing house. You are going to be a good little guest and give me a few days to make inquiries to all the necessary parties.” He leans forward again. “And the better behaved you are, the more likely I am to forget this entire thing happened.”

I can’t control my shiver. Is it fear? Something else? I shake my head, my brown hair falling about my shoulders creating a curtain for my cheeks that are growing pink. What does he mean by those words…a good little guest? “It’s not that I don’t want to please you…”

His gaze is razor sharp. “But?”

I lick my lips, maybe I have this wrong. Maybe I don’t. “It’s just that I don’t have much experience with men. Like at all…”

His gaze narrows. “Explain.”

Didn’t I just? “I don’t really date.”

“You dated Leo.”

“Three dates.”

His head cocks the side, as he assesses me. The limo has parked but we don’t move. That’s my cue to continue.

“One dinner out and then home early because I had an early-morning photography class. One family dinner which you attended. And one trip to the club.”

“That’s Leo, but there must be other men.”

I shake my head. “A date here or there. But Leo…” I don’t want to finish. Something in the way his muscles are tensing tells me I shouldn’t. Is there tension between him and Leo? “Most men irritate me.”

“How exactly?”

I’m not sure how much to say here. “I don’t know.” I do. “They are just often so…” Weak. Insecure. Obvious.

Mason’s mouth twitches and he snaps open the door, stepping out before he reaches out his hand to help me out too.

It’s another parking garage, another elevator. But behind me, I hear the clanking of metal gates as the entrance into the garage closes.

No one is getting in and that ought to be a comfort. But I seriously doubt I’m getting out either.

We make the trip up to yet another penthouse and the elevator opens directly into Mason’s home.

I stop in the entrance of his apartment, awestruck once again.

If this is the place I’m dying in, call me happy.

It’s everything I’ve ever wanted in a space. It’s not the high-end finishes, or the amazing views, though both are out of this world. It’s the energy that flows through the entire place. Quiet, positive, clean.

It’s the way the kitchen moves seamlessly into the dining and then the living room. And the high ceilings. The absolute silence isn’t bad either, something I almost never get in the city.

Walking by the massive island, I run my hand along the cool slab of granite, murmuring, “Quartz is far more popular these days.”

“I like real stone,” he answers, barely glancing at me.

I agree. Completely. I’d like to lay my cheek on the surface, feel its strength. Instead, I follow Mason down a small hall. There are two doors on the left and one on the right. He opens one on the left, walking inside.

I follow, but stop a few feet in. It’s a bedroom. Decorated in muted creams, a large bed is in the center of the far wall, a vanity in the right corner.

“This is the closet,” Mason opens one door.

I blink at him, looking down at my skirt. I have no clothes other than my awful uniform. The closet isn’t seeing much use.

He moves to another door. “And the bathroom.” I get a peek inside and nearly gasp at the large sink with miles of counter and a high-end tiled shower with two different shower heads that I can see.

As exhausted as I am, a shower to wash the sins of the evening away, sounds amazing. “Thank you.”

He gives me a small jerk of his chin before he brushes past me, my body prickling at his proximity. Once he’s gone, I step forward, touching the coverlet on the bed before kicking off my shoes and socks, letting the carpet scrunch under my feet as I pad to the bathroom.

“Charlotte.”

I spin back around before I’ve reached the bathroom, my breath catching as Mason fills the doorway again before he pushes deeper into the room, tossing something white on the bed. “For you to sleep in.”

And then he’s gone. Leaving the bathroom, I walk back to the bed, finding a white T-shirt on the coverlet.

Lifting it, it unfurls in my hand. It’s certainly long enough to be a nightgown. Without thinking, I draw it to my nose, inhaling the fresh, clean scent. It’s a finely brushed cotton that slips through my fingers as I glide my hand over it.

I carry the shirt into the bathroom and start the shower.

Steam fills the room, the large space of the shower is only separated from the bathroom by a single piece of glass. I strip off my uniform, bringing my underwear into the shower with me. I have no idea how long until I’ll have another set, and this is my nicest pair.

Washing them out in the hot water, I hang them up to dry and then I step in myself, the rain head pouring down on me somehow makes something unfurl inside me and my legs almost give. The water feels so good on a night that’s been so terrible that I let it just wash over me as I sink to the floor, my hands spreading out on the warm tile.

Water rains down, plastering my hair to my face. I might be crying, who can tell with all the water, and I bow my head, letting it all mix together as rivulets cascade down my back and over my chest.

I don’t know how long I’m there, but I finally get my legs under me and use enough soap to call myself clean. I get out and towel dry. Shrugging on Mason’s shirt, I climb into the cool sheets of the bed.

Tomorrow, I’ll decide how to navigate this new maze of predators I’ve found myself in. It must be five in the morning, but I close my eyes and give myself over to sleep.

Which is why I only dimly hear the clicking of the door.