7. CAMI

7

CAMI

I pushed the door of my cottage open, the warmth enveloping me like a cozy hug as I stepped inside. The soft glow of the lamp on the end table bathed the living room in a golden light, casting shadows on the walls that danced with every flicker of the fireplace. I had spent weeks making this place my own—vintage finds, cozy throws, and little knick-knacks that made it feel like home. My cottage was my sanctuary, a quiet corner of Silver Ridge where I could forget about everything else and just breathe.

That feeling of safety vanished when I spotted a dark shadow looming. My heart stopped and my breath caught in my throat before I recognized the face.

Mason was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, his hulking frame nearly swallowing the room. He was all rough edges and brooding intensity, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“What the hell, Mason?” I blurted, my hand flying to my chest as if I could calm the frantic beat of my heart. My fingers trembled and I had to take a second to compose myself. “You scared the crap out of me! What are you doing in my house?”

He didn’t move, didn’t blink. He just stood there, taking up too much space, too much air, as if he belonged here. “Waiting for you.”

I dropped my bag on the floor, trying to keep my composure. My fear turned into anger as I redirected my adrenaline rush. He had no business being here, but the sight of him in my space—looking every bit the rugged, intimidating man he was—sent a shiver down my spine. “You can’t just break into someone’s house and wait for them like some kind of psycho. What’s your problem?” I balled my fists. My anger was laced with a hint of fear. He was one of Rae’s friends, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t be scary as hell.

“My problem,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, “is that I don’t know what the hell you’re doing here. In Silver Ridge. With all this… this shit you’ve been posting online.” He gestured vaguely, like the whole world was somehow wrapped up in his disdain. “What’s your angle?”

I crossed my arms, not backing down, and glared at him. If he thought he could just waltz in here and start demanding answers, he had another thing coming. “My angle ? What are you talking about?”

“All this Christmas bullshit and online posts—what are you playing at?”

I narrowed my eyes. “It’s called making a living. I know you’re not one for people, but it happens to be my job to be around them and make them happy, and I happen to be good at it.”

Mason glared at me, and when the silence stretched too thin between us, I kept talking. “I’m not sure what you think I’m doing, but I’m living my life, Mason. I’m trying to build something new here, and last I checked, that wasn’t a crime.”

He pushed off the wall, taking a slow, deliberate step toward me. His presence was suffocating, but I couldn’t look away. There was a fire in his eyes, a challenge that made my blood pulse faster.

“I don’t buy it,” he growled. “You show up out of nowhere, start posting pictures, drawing people in—people who don’t belong here. You’re drawing attention we don’t need.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Who doesn’t need attention to build a better life when it comes down to business? Being a loner has gone to your head. You might be losing it.”

That might not have been the right thing to say. His nostrils flared and rage filled his eyes for a second.

“You’re screwing with a system that doesn’t need it. You’re in a place where you don’t belong.” Despite the fire in his eyes, his words were cold, and the accusations stung.

“So what? I’m not allowed to have a life. To share things that make me happy. God, Mason, who died and made you King of Silver Ridge? You don’t call the shots. Everyone else is happy with what I do. You’re the only one bitter about the good stuff. Maybe you need to see someone about whatever’s eating at you to make you this miserable.”

He was close now, too close, and I could feel the heat radiating off his body, see the tension coiled in every muscle. “You don’t know a damn thing about me,” he growled, and there was something dangerous in his voice, something that sent a thrill of fear and excitement straight through me.

I tilted my chin up, refusing to let him intimidate me. “You’re right. I don’t know anything about you, and you don’t know anything about me. But that doesn’t give you the right to show up here and interrogate me like I’m some kind of criminal.”

He stared at me, and for a second, I thought he was going to lash out, but instead, he stood there, staring at me as if I were a riddle he couldn’t quite solve. His jaw clenched, his gaze locked on mine, and the silence between us was electric. The longer it stretched, the hotter it became.

“You’re trouble, Cami,” he finally said in a low drawl. “I can feel it. And I don’t like things I can’t control.”

“Newsflash, Mason,” I snapped, stepping closer until I was almost toe-to-toe with him. “I’m not here for your approval, and I sure as hell don’t need your permission to live my life. You don’t get to control me. You’re just another guy with a bad attitude.”

His eyes darkened. He was so close now that I could feel his breath on my skin, warm and ragged, and the space between us was shrinking with every heavy second that passed. I should have been scared, or angry, or something that wasn’t this burning, aching need to close the gap between us.

“You’re reckless,” he said, his voice low and rough, like gravel under boots. “And it’s gonna get you hurt.”

“Maybe,” I whispered, my voice betraying me with the tremble that slipped in. “But playing it safe never got anyone anything.” I wasn’t talking about work anymore.

And neither was he.

His hand moved, just a fraction, like he was fighting the urge to touch me. And God, I wanted him to. I wanted him to stop fighting, to give in to whatever this was that was pulling us together like magnets. I wanted to feel his hands on my skin, his mouth on mine, to see if he tasted as rough and wild as he looked.

“Cami…” His voice was a warning, but it was also a plea, and I could see the conflict in his eyes. He wanted this—whatever this was between us—just as much as I did, but he was holding back, and I couldn’t figure out why.

I reached up, my fingers brushing against his chest, feeling the hard, solid beat of his heart beneath my touch. His hand covered mine, trapping it against him, and the heat of his skin burned through my palm like fire.

The tension between us was suffocating, and all I could think about was how easy it would be to close the distance.

He must have thought the same because suddenly his lips crashed onto mine and my thoughts splintered apart. The kiss was rough and fierce and so damn hot I thought the air around us would catch fire. My heart thudded in my chest, and the blood roared in my ears as I gripped the front of his shirt, tugging him closer as his hand tangled in my hair.

I gasped into his mouth, and he took advantage, sliding his tongue over mine. He tasted like coffee and cinnamon and sin, and it was intoxicating. He kissed me like a man possessed, and I felt drunk on his taste and his touch and his scent, which surrounded me in a cloud of smoke and leather.

When we finally broke apart, gasping for air, I could still feel the burn of his lips on mine, and the world was spinning. He rested his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy.

His hands were still tangled in my hair, and the gentle scrape of his nails against my scalp sent a shiver down my spine. He smelled so damn good, and I couldn’t help myself. I pressed my lips to the side of his neck, tasting his skin. He groaned, the sound rumbling in his chest, and I felt it in every inch of my body. He grinded his hips against mine, and his cock was hard in his pants. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him.

I kissed him again, trailing my lips over the sharp edge of his jaw, and he tilted his head back, giving me better access. His pulse was pounding under my touch, and I could feel the heat radiating from his skin.

I slid my hand down his chest, over the hard ridges of his abs, until I found the bulge in his jeans. I stroked him through the denim, feeling his cock twitch beneath my touch.

He growled, his hand fisting in my hair, and I couldn’t hold back the moan that escaped my lips. He pulled my head back, forcing me to look up at him. His eyes were dark with desire, and his gaze was hungry.

“Tell me you want this,” he rasped, his voice raw and strained.

“I want this,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath.

“Fuck, Cami,” he groaned, and then his mouth was on mine again, hot and insistent. His hand slid onto my breast, kneading, massaging.

His tongue swept into my mouth, and I could taste his desire. He kissed me like he was drowning and I was the only thing keeping him afloat. He held onto my breast and his touch made me ache for more.

My coat was thick and in the way, and Mason thought it the same time I did. He let go of me, letting me fumble with the buttons to undo it, and when the jacket fell open, he tugged up my shirt. His rough hands were everywhere, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

My bra came undone—the man was a magician, getting me out of my underwear without taking my clothes off—and then his hands were cupping my breasts, his thumbs grazing over my nipples.

I couldn’t help the soft moans and whimpers that spilled from my lips. The sound seemed to drive him wild, and he kissed me harder, his fingers pinching and teasing my nipples.

“Fuck, Cami,” he murmured against my lips, and the raw hunger in his voice sent a bolt of desire straight to my core.

He kissed me again, and I melted against him, lost in the sensation. He was everywhere, surrounding me, overwhelming me. His scent, his touch, his taste, all of it was consuming me.

He broke the kiss, his mouth moving lower, trailing over my jaw and down the column of my neck. He nipped at my skin, his teeth grazing over the sensitive flesh, and the pleasure-pain made me gasp.

“Mason,” I gasped. “Don’t stop.”

He growled, his fingers pinching my nipple again, but then he straightened. His eyes, still intense and filled with need, had something else in them, too. We both breathed hard.

“We shouldn’t do this,” he said.

“Why not?” My body was on fire, and I needed a release. I wanted him inside me.

He pursed his lips, let go of me, and tugged my shirt down.

“You’re trouble, Cami.”

His words stung. “Gee, thanks.” I pulled my coat shut around my body, feeling suddenly cold. “Can’t get involved with a problem like me, huh? Too many social media posts, is that it?” I was laying the sarcasm on thick, trying to hide the hurt beneath it.

“It’s not you, it’s—”

“If you say it’s me, I’m going to slap you,” I threatened.

Mason let out a breath and looked dejected before he turned and walked to the door with long strides. He opened it, and winter spilled in, adding to the cold that left me shivering.

And just like that, he was gone, into the night, leaving me confused, aching for a release, unsatiated and wishing he would come back so we could finish what we started.

Even if he was right and it was a bad idea.

The only thing he had wrong was that I wasn’t the one that was trouble. Because this was what he did, this was how he made me feel… the trouble was all him.