Kaye’s gaze flicked between them. “I know I’d have strong resistance from Webb, who made the arrangement with me in good faith. Would I also have resistance from Mason?”
Cari gulped under the weight of Mason’s intensifying stare.
She gave him an uneasy smile. “Where Fletcher is, that’s where you are, too.” In spirit, if not in body. Once she had Fletcher, then she could discuss the rest of her intentions with Mason. Privately.
More silence. He had to have guessed she’d go after Fletcher after what she’d said to Laurence about an ongoing partnership. Dolans were nothing if not thorough. She wanted them both.
And to prove it, she added, “Webb is interested in a project Mason and I are working on called Umbra.”
Mason’s brow creased. And Cari faced him fully, while still speaking to Kaye.
“I’d be willing to share Umbra equally with Webb for Fletcher.”
His gaze burned, and she hoped it was with the promise of an end to his separation from his son.
“No resistance from me.” Mason’s voice was ruined by strong feeling.
Cari loved how his voice could stroke deep down inside her. She wanted to throw her arms around him, even swayed toward him, but barely managed to keep up her Dolan poise. Negotiations now.
“I know fire in all its forms,” Kaye mused. “I want credit for putting the raw materials for this one together. And the third?”
Yes. That. Cari shook her hair back from her face to give her tears a second to dry. “I have a serious fae issue that could very quickly become a large-scale, global, catastrophic problem. I’m”—she looked at Mason—“we’re going to need some assistance.”
Chapter Sixteen
Mason waited out the last flicker of Kaye’s transport through Twilight to wherever she was going—Brand House, most likely—before turning to Cari. “I will make the Umbra project well worth taking Fletcher and me on. It’ll be enough for two Houses.” No matter what he had to do.
He was hopelessly in love with her. He was pretty sure she knew it. He’d thought (hoped) she might claim him, after what she’d said to Laurence and after telling Liv she’d double what his little island house was worth. Claiming was huge. But that Cari would leverage Umbra for Fletcher, a vassal? Of course the kid was worth that much, but he wasn’t Dolan blood. This was generous—maybe foolish—beyond anything in Mason’s experience, but he’d take it.
Cari’s mouth screwed up a little, as if she wasn’t entirely pleased by what he had to say.
So he hurried to add, “And absolutely whatever else Dolan House needs to have done. Starting with the fae.” He’d never leave her alone to deal with Mad Mab. A plan was in the works already. Now that Cari was inside her wards, safe from any other angels who might seek her death, Kaye would inform Bastian, and he the Order. After the party tomorrow night, trusted parties would gather to make a plan.
Cari could not give her life to end this threat. Kaye even agreed that doing so would only make war with the Order certain. “I won’t leave your side,” he said. Not for a minute.
To her expression Cari added a line of concentration between her eyebrows. “Well, I’ll need a ring, eventually.”
A ring. Now he was sure he was missing something. Something Cari thought went without saying.
“And if it’s okay with you and Fletcher,” she added, “and assuming Brand satisfies Webb immediately, I’d like to formally claim you both at this party.”
Women wore rings all the time—he glanced at her hands—all women, that is, except Cari, who kept things simple. A claim and a ring. The only ring he’d ever given a woman had gone to Liv, who’d clapped with delight, but had still never married him.
Now Cari wanted one.
The blood-beat in his head became a roar.
Mason looked down at the floor to breathe deeply through the full-body ache that had overcome him, then forced himself to look in her eyes. So damn pretty. “A friend would remind you that Dolan is a pure line.”
He really didn’t want to be her friend anymore. He wanted to grab her.
But she was the Dolan. Her heritage was the oldest, strongest, best there was. Ten years into the future, when everything had gone dark, she’d be one of the leaders of the new world.
She laughed. “No. A friend would tell me that the Dolan line could use some diluting. By half feels just about perfect for the next generation, don’t you think?”
Next generation. Meant kids. Meant kids with Cari. He loved kids. And he wanted to be with her, wanted it so bad he’d kill any man who so much as glanced her way. Come to think of it, he was the only one she could marry. The world had enough violence as it was.
“You want a ring,” he stated to make sure he’d gotten it right. Would he dare this again?
Her eyes sparkled. “I do.”
Clever answer. “I’ll make it myself.”
Mason was so funny sometimes. What had he thought she’d meant? That they’d get it on until she married someone else? House women did sometimes take lovers. Emelda Walker had a longtime live-in. But that wasn’t her. Wasn’t him. Made the future seem knotted and hurtful.
But with Mason beside her, the vantage cleared. She didn’t have to face that constantly gusting storm because the wind went gentle on her skin.
He was looking at her mouth, a slow smile growing on his. “I love you.” Seemed like a weight off his shoulders.
She laughed again. “I know. Anyone else would be running far, far away.”
He stepped forward, his arm going around her waist, breath on her cheek. “There’ll be nobody else. No running.”
He was speaking from experience. Liv, who’d left him.
Cari didn’t want Liv in the room, so she turned her head to fit her lips to his mouth, spoke against them. “I’ve been counseled to put this desk to good use.” She understood the advice better now.
He took over the kiss, making it deeper and darker. He would make all her kisses.
Warmth diffused from her heart to her fingertips, tingled down her thighs, quivered her belly, and went molten at her core. This was how she was supposed to feel. And everything about Mason was why.
“Oh? Counseled by whom?” His teeth caught her earlobe, where he knew she was ticklish. Devil.
But she bravely tilted her head to give him access. All of her was his, even the sensitive bits. “That would be Stacia.”
He lifted her weight so that she sat on the edge, and she opened her legs to straddle him. His weight kept her on the desk, yet flush against him. “I like your sisters.”
“They’ll love you.” A thumb stroke at her waist sent magic rippling over her skin, the sorcerer at his work. How his big hands were capable of such precision . . .
He laid her back, setting her laptop out of the way in the same motion. A book fell to the floor. The papers simply couldn’t be helped. The glass within a falling picture shattered.
But she could barely care because his mouth was on her belly, smoking its way downward.
For the next hour, they owned that desk. He sat for a while in the big chair, working his magic until she cried out his name. She admired the creativity with which he utilized the massive wood piece of furniture.
The desk had been in the family for over a hundred years, but it now, indisputably, belonged to them.
Someone knocked at the office door.
“No damn peace around here,” Mason said into Cari’s hair. She always smelled good. He sat in the desk chair with her curled up in his lap. But upon turning his head, he found her breasts just below eye level. Perfect. He would investigate.
“Get used to it,” she said, arching to lift up toward his mouth.