“What about a truce?” Cari’s expression was calm, but her mouth was pressed together in a line, nervous or stressed. Her tattle-tale mouth told him she was barely hanging on.
“You need to go to bed,” he told her. Sleep had helped her every time she’d been overcome with Shadow. Maybe it would help her think.
“A truce,” she repeated. “Segue is Switzerland.”
“We’ll talk in the morning.”
She sighed, irritated. “I’m trying to work our argument around to getting you to come to bed with me.”
His heart chugged, then stopped, but it was enough circulation for his brain to last a few seconds longer.
“I’ll try one more time.” Her eyes shined, unblinking, while she flashed a falsely bright smile. “I propose a truce between Dolan House and Mason Stray.”
The implications of “truce” were beyond him just then. “I’m sorry, I’m still on ‘come to bed with me.’” He’d been working with her for seven days. Albeit, seven days backed by an obsession with her when they were younger. Did that count?
“I don’t want to be alone with Mad Mab, and I’m having a hard time pushing her out of my mind since Blake House. I’m hoping you’ll take me up on the friend thing.”
Mason was speechless. What was she saying? Friend thing. In bed? He began to shake his head no. Bad idea. No matter how pretty or wonderful or sexy he thought she was. He started forward to tell her as nicely as he could that there was no Switzerland in magic. See what a good friend he was? Only a friend would refuse her.
She understood though. She backed away a step, stopping his trajectory.
A small adjustment and she was all poise again. She’d done that before with him. “You’re right. I’d better get to sleep. Big day tomorrow. I’m supposed to attend the inaugural meeting of the Possessed by the Fae Club. Apparently, I’m going to be secretary, as I declined running for any of the official offices Custo suggested. Anyway . . .”
She went into the room, leaving the door open. Was the offer still open, too? He saw her rifle through the loaned clothing, and then a flash of her profile as she went into the bathroom and closed the door.
He couldn’t . . .
He had Fletcher to think of. Who was right now asleep elsewhere.
And he’d stolen from her, and he didn’t know if he’d do it again if pressed.
And he’d sworn never to touch a House woman again. Never a House woman.
Cari came to the door again. She was in soft blue sweats, which made her look younger than yesterday’s silk.
“Night,” she said, and closed the door.
He was still stuck in the same spot, mouth dry, heartbeat sub-standard.
Her stepmother would kill him for sure if he touched her. Somehow he knew she’d find out.
And those loyal stepsisters would carve him up in pieces for the vultures.
But if he didn’t go in there, he’d curse himself every day for the rest of his life. Who knew how long he and Cari would be here? Who knew if he’d die at Khan’s hands tomorrow defending her life?
Cari Dolan. Who hadn’t ever cared that he was stray, and didn’t seem to care that he was human. Mason, same as ever.
She really wasn’t thinking straight. She was the Dolan. Someone should remind her.
He brushed his teeth in the sink of the small kitchenette. Checked to see if he smelled bad, then washed just in case. Would she prefer he shaved? He didn’t want to scratch her perfect skin, so made quick work of his face. He nicked himself on his jaw and had to use a bit of paper towel to stop the bleeding. And then he debated what to wear—something he’d never done before in his life. But he wasn’t striding in there naked, all jacked up and rearing to poke her. Not Cari. He’d been a dad way too long to have an answer.
He was in his boxers only, a T-shirt in his hand, when the bedroom door opened again. She stood on the threshold worrying that bottom lip with her upper teeth. “You make up your mind yet? I’m getting nervous.”
“Not more nervous than I am.”
She smiled sweet relief, then her attention caught on one false plague wound after another. Her mouth twisted. “Did you even ever have the mage plague?”
He shook his head. “These”—he gestured to the itchy one at his rib—“come courtesy of the Order.”
She looked at the mean wounds again, wincing on his behalf. “You’re an idiot.”
“Human,” he corrected. There. He’d said it out loud. It was real now. Could he even still call himself Stray?
A sneaky smile. “I plan to use your humanity against you somehow.”
He loved her mouth. All he wanted to do was kiss her. He’d been waiting years to do so. “I thought you might.”
“Could I leverage it into some kind of action tonight? I’d like to see the master at work.”
“Master?” It’d been a while since he’d slept with anyone.
“You’re Mr. Experience.”
“Very funny.” An experienced guy wouldn’t have to causally cover up the evidence of his arousal. And she was just standing there, fully clothed, doing nothing anyone else would think was enticing.
“Well, from what Liv used to say . . .”
“I was nineteen. Teenagers exaggerate.” Or in his case, outright lie about the number of his conquests. “And I’ve been a single father since then.” Not celibate, but he never brought women home with him. Was he actually trying to convince her that he didn’t know what he was doing? He should throw himself off the roof.
“That’s okay. I’m not any good either. I have it on excellent authority. I don’t expect fireworks.”
Now he was mad. Erom Vauclain needed to be killed again. Cari? Not any good?
Mason dropped his shirt and strode toward her. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
She backed up, stammering. “No, I just meant that . . .”
“Because I’ll take care of the fireworks, thank you very much.” That he would see them was a foregone conclusion. He was a beggar at a feast.
“Mason.” She looked away, her face coloring. Miserable.
He kicked backward to slam the door shut and get her attention.
Her gaze snapped to him; her mouth went in that line again. Angry, maybe stubborn. He wondered what other shapes he could make her lips take. He was going to have the best time finding out. This was an inspired idea, the truce. Brilliant. Like a time-out for grown-ups.
“Should I get a condom?” Because he learned from mistakes. He hoped to hell he still had one in his wallet.
“I’m on the pill,” she snapped back. “And by the way, it’s a bad idea to use Shadow for any kind of seduction,” referring to Maeve.
“I might have already figured that out.” He hadn’t, but he wasn’t going to admit it. His pride had suffered enough tonight. “I’m going to kiss you now.”
She made a pfft sound. “I wish you’d just get on with it. I’m starting to regret—”
He was well out of practice, but he knew enough to make sure she didn’t finish that sentence.
Heat enveloped her as his mouth came down. His arms, all that muscle, took her weight in a backward lean. And she was glad she could close her eyes because it had gotten very hard to keep from staring at his well-defined shoulders and pecs, that cut six pack with the happy diagonal obliques that gestured to the dizzying protrusion behind his shorts. Even with the curtains closed on her sight, she could still picture him perfectly.
She wished she had something sexier to wear to make her seem more like a woman of the world and not some House-bred girl who didn’t get out much.
“Stop thinking,” Mason said against her lips.