Just One Spark (6 page)

“Mason, please. I want to wait for you,” she begged. And she didn’t even care.

“You go and I won’t be able to stop.” His desperate gaze showed the truth. He was right on the edge with her.

She closed her eyes and arched her back, soaking up every sensation his body poured in to her. She rode the wave as the world narrowed and darkened and then exploded into a thousand colors behind her eyelids.

Screaming came from somewhere. Her, him, she couldn’t quite make out. Her body kept reminding her to breathe, as if she were drowning. At some point, the blankets covered them as they nestled together.

As she drifted off to dream, she heard him whisper, “I knew it. I knew from the way you kissed we’d be this way.”

Chapter Six

Mason heard her moving around in the kitchen. How could Hannah function when every muscle in his body ached? He rolled, opening one eye to read the display. Nine fifteen. Late, but not too late considering he woke her up at least once last night for another round. Maybe twice. With Hannah it was hard to tell dreams from reality.

Throwing off the blankets, he sat and slowly stretched, allowing his body to adjust to the new day and work out the kinks from the most amazing night of his life. He hadn’t just dreamed her up. She was real, and if he heard right, cussing in the kitchen.

He thought about going out there naked like he would at home, but he stepped into his boxer briefs instead. He couldn’t tell just what she had going on out there.

He found her digging through the refrigerator in search of something. From the looks of the carnage in the paper bag beside her, she wasn’t having much luck.

“Need some help?” he asked, leaning over the door. She wore a different robe, a steely blue flannel one. Not a good sign.

She looked up at him with a forced grin. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

He retreated to the counter, not sure what to expect from the cool demeanor. She closed the refrigerator, walked the bag to the door and then circled back into the kitchen. She stood in front of the sink, crossed her arms across her chest and blew out a long breath.

He stared hard at her, willing her to meet his gaze. When she did he saw it—morning-after remorse. It kicked him in the gut. He stepped to her and wrapped his arms around her stiff body.

“I know what you must think of me after that little stunt I pulled last night,” she whispered. “I wish you knew me better, because I’m not really like that.”

“Like what?” He pulled back to look at her and lifted her chin from where she’d buried her face in his chest. “Sexy, confident and daring?”

“You are really being nice about this.” She wriggled free, turned and grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

“I’ll warn you,” he said and cleared his throat. “If you tell me you regret it, it just might kill me.”

Her timid gaze met his again. “I’ve never been with somebody so soon. I’m a little turned around this morning.”

He nodded, hoping to assuage her embarrassment. “Maybe if you eat something you’ll feel better. I know I’m starving.”

She smiled back. “Me too, that’s what prompted my little cleaning episode. I was looking for something to eat, but there’s nothing but ancient take-out containers in my fridge.”

He grinned, finally finding the edge he needed. “Lucky for you, I can cook, and I only live upstairs.” He took her hand and headed her to the door.

“You want me to walk upstairs dressed, or undressed, like this?”

His gaze traveled up and down the robe. It covered her more completely than anything he’d seen her in yesterday. But her nipples tented the soft fabric, reminding him she wore nothing beneath it. “I do, I really do.”

No one caught them climbing the stairs in their underwear. Thank goodness for small favors. If there
was
a kinky neighbor, cruising around in her bathrobe was asking for trouble. But she couldn’t resist as Mason dropped her keys in her bathrobe pocket and pulled her out the door.

She didn’t seem to be able to resist Mason at all, come to think of it. The man came over to try and accommodate her frenzied work schedule and she’d jumped him as soon as she’d had the chance. She hadn’t been shy about it either. Teasing and taunting and tempting.
What must he think of me?

Neither of the other men she’d been involved with would have ever played along with her little game. Or given her five orgasms before sunrise. Her body still hummed from the experience.

It gave him a power over her she wasn’t comfortable with. Now that Mason knew just how much she liked sex, would he use it to manipulate her?

She swallowed hard as Mason opened the door to his apartment. He probably thought she was a closet dominatrix, immediately tumbling into bed with any man. He might expect her to be like last night every time. She usually held back, but he fueled a fire she always tried to hide.

As he shut the door behind her, she surveyed his apartment. It seemed larger than hers, though the square footage must be identical. Instead of having a hallway and two bedrooms, his had a larger living area with open doors leading to the bedroom and bath. Two black leather sofas cornered to face an entertainment center on the opposite wall. The coffee table between them overflowed with magazines.

“You can have a seat, or you can help me in the kitchen.” He released her hand and walked into a kitchen identical to her own. Except Mason obviously used more than just the microwave.

Stainless steel pots and pans hung from a pot rack over the sink. A bowl of fruit sat on top of a large wooden cutting board covering the part of the counter she and Kate used to sort the mail. He opened the fridge and she took in the colors of the produce and containers jammed inside. Her mouth watered at the sight of milk and orange juice and bread and butter.

A person could actually live here.

“What’s you pleasure?” he asked without removing his head from the fridge. “Omelets, French toast, waffles, pancakes?”

Was this a restaurant or an apartment? “You’ll make me waffles?”

Mason turned, lifting her gaze with his own. “Anything you want.”

“My dad used to make us waffles on Sunday mornings to get us to go with Mom to church,” she said, stepping into the kitchen.

“Waffles it is.” He began opening containers and dumping powders without using anything but his hands to measure.

“Do you have peanut butter?” she asked hesitantly. He spun and magically produced a jar of creamy and a jar of chunky on the counter before her.

“Did you plan this?” she laughed, cocking her hip against the counter.

“I wish I’d thought of it,” he said with a shrug. “My mom always spoiled us with a stocked kitchen. I got a little too used to it, I guess.”

“How many of you are there?” It stung to realize how little she knew about a man she’d been so intimate with.

He turned and smiled, that single dimple melting her resolve to stay cool. “There’s just one of me. But there are five McNally boys.”

Five of them? “God bless your mother.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he said as Hannah watched his hands. Strong, skillful, purposeful hands that could pleasure, protect and provide. “She’ll never admit it, but she always wanted a girl. When my brother Ryan had Rianna two years ago, my mother nearly came out of her skin with excitement. She even retired when Ryan’s wife went back to work, just to have Rianna to herself every day.”

She didn’t want to discuss babies with him. Things were on fast-forward with them already. Back to safer subjects. “Your mother taught you to cook?”

He nodded. “I think she felt guilty about introducing so much testosterone into the world, so she made sure we all cook, make the bed and iron our own shirts. She’s almost militant about it.”

She watched him moving effortlessly about the small space. It was like dancing, the way he coordinated his movements. “My sister, Molly, she has a firehouse cookbook she swears by. Do you have to cook a lot at work?”

“Not really. We all take turns. Cooking here is easy. At work it’s harder because you have to be able to stop at any point. It’s frustrating.” His eyes met hers, realizing the connection to last night. “Challenging,” he corrected himself. “I love a good challenge.”

She hadn’t been much of a challenge last night the way she dragged him to her bedroom.

But Mason relaxed her, made her feel safe and comfortable with just a glance. He seemed to be following through on his promise that it wouldn’t be just one night. Maybe for the next six weeks she’d let her inhibitions go and be the daring sex kitten she’d been last night. She heard a spoon drop and looked up to find Mason right in front of her.

“I love it when you do that.” He leaned down and slowly kissed her neck. She could smell sex and chocolate and was that banana?

“I don’t even know when I’m doing it.” She stilled his hands as they reached for the belt of her bathrobe. “I thought you were going to make me a waffle.”

“Right.” He pulled away with a slow grin and returned to his task. She smiled at the tent in the front of his boxer-briefs. “What time do you have to be at work today?”

She technically wasn’t scheduled to start until two, but she always went in by eleven on the nights she worked the closing shift. The clock on his microwave showed half past nine. No time for anything but breakfast and a shower, alone, if she wanted to get there by eleven.

“Not until two.” The store wouldn’t fall apart without her for a few hours. She might even be more productive tonight with a spring in her step.

Mason turned arching an eyebrow. “What time are you off?”

Was he trying to keep tabs on her or just figuring out how long until he got laid again? “I’ll be done around eleven, but I work at five tomorrow morning. I need to get some sleep tonight.”
Alone. To think about just what I’ve gotten myself into here.

“I have to be in Saturday by seven. When are you off Sunday?”

“The store closes at eight. Do you want me to print you out a copy of my schedule?” she teased.

He didn’t catch the joke. “I can’t wait until Thursday,” he said, setting glasses of orange juice on his kitchen table. He unloaded more things from the cupboards and refrigerator. Maple syrup, butter, whipped cream.

Whipped cream?
Was he tempting her with condiments the way she’d teased him last night? Seeing that, she didn’t want to wait until they’d finished breakfast.

She sat in one of the two chairs at the small table and watched as Mason moved about the kitchen in his underwear. She’d never shared a more intimately domestic moment with a man. How did this happen so fast?

Just as quickly, Mason slipped her waffle in front of her and slid into the chair across from her. Hannah’s stomach growled. She focused on fueling her body. She’d need energy for all she had in mind.

She slathered chunky peanut butter across the steaming waffle just as she used to when she was a kid. Crunchy peanut butter and creamy melting chocolate chips, sweet banana and crispy waffle exploded in her mouth and an involuntary moan escaped her throat.

Mason laughed, rubbing his foot against her bare calf as he dug in to his own waffle. “I definitely don’t get that reaction at work.”

Hannah held herself in check, forcing herself to eat slowly and not seem like a starved animal. For a girl used to getting most of her sustenance from the vending machine in the break room, this was a rare piece of heaven.

“I can make you another one,” Mason offered. Looking up, Hannah noticed he’d only half finished with his. And she’d been trying to go slow.

She shook her head. “Thanks for making breakfast. It was really nice of you.”

“Anytime, anywhere, anything,” he said as he finished his plate.

“That’s quite a line. Do you use it often?”

“It’s not a line, Hannah.” He shook his head, rose from the table and took their plates to the sink. “I never pegged you for insecure.”

Hannah’s stomach sank. It was happening already. He’d gotten too close, thinking he knew her better than she knew herself. “I’m going to go get ready for work.”

He spun around, one hand clutching chocolate syrup, the other whipped cream. The man looked like an advertisement for sin. “Already? Give me a second and I’ll go with you.”

“I can make it down a flight of stairs by myself, Mason.”

She made her way to the door, never realizing his bare feet followed silently behind her. As she opened the front door, he brought his hand down on it, slamming it closed. “You’re not leaving.”

Hannah turned, pinned between his body and the door. He knew how it might look. How she might feel. But something was going on in her head that didn’t bode well for him, for them, and he couldn’t let her walk away.

He swallowed hard, watched as her breath hitched, her breasts rising and falling rapidly between them. He watched the battle behind her eyes, for the first time not loving the fire he saw there.

“Something has been wrong since you woke up and you’re not going anywhere until we fix it.”

She stopped breathing, and he held his breath too. He’d pushed her too far, too fast last night. He’d known it as it happened, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. She was just so beautiful. He moved one hand down to brush her smooth cheek and she looked up at him with wide eyes, innocent eyes.

He just needed to make her feel safe with him, and then she’d relax. A soft, gentle good-morning kiss like he should have given her earlier would do the trick. As he leaned in, she ducked under his arm and away from the door.

“Is this how it usually works for you?” Hannah snapped at him. “You make breakfast for a woman so she’ll sleep with you again?”

“Is this how you usually handle the morning after?” he replied, mocking her tone. “I made breakfast because we were hungry, no ulterior motive.”

“Right,” she drew the word out. “Like last night you just stopped by to compare schedules.”

“You want to tell me what this is about? Because I really don’t think it has anything to do with me.”

“Derek’s the shrink, not you,” she said, plopping down on his couch. The crinkle of leather filling the silence as she tucked her feet beneath her, carefully wrapping her robe around her naked body.

Mason stepped to the foot of the coffee table, sure she’d bolt if he tried to sit down. “What’s wrong?” he asked, ignoring wanting to wrap his hands around the neck of whomever hurt her bad enough to be this fearful, this suspicious.

“I don’t know you,” she almost whispered as she examined her fingernails. “I don’t know you and I had sex with you and I’m a little freaked out about it, okay?”

He cocked his head to the side as he studied her. “That’s what last night felt like to you? Like strangers having sex?” Her eyes told him it felt like an entirely different emotion, which had her running scared.

She hugged her knees tighter and looked up at him. “How many women have you been with, Mason?”