Spicy with a Side of Cranberry Sauce (3 page)

“There was probably a better way to tell you they would be here. But what the hell is wrong with you, Mason? You and Amy practically ran out of the room. I know it hasn’t been that long since your dad and I split, but…”

Ah, jeez. “That’s not the problem. I just… It was a shock, that’s all.”

She eyed him. “We’re going to go out for dinner. Together. And I need you to be nice to James and his daughter. They’ve come a long way to spend Thanksgiving with us.”

“Of course.” He had to pull it together. Honestly he didn’t want to screw things up for her, and Mom would never approve of his lusting after James’s daughter. No matter how many rude remarks came out of his mouth, his body seemed determined to seduce Amy into liking him. He had to shut that urge off. Fast.

“I’ll go change. James will be down shortly. Why don’t you get dressed and head over to Armando’s with him? Amy and I will meet you there.” Mom started up the stairs, not giving him a chance to comment or protest.

Oh, boy. Wednesday at Armando’s was Salsa Night.

An image of Amy sauntering across the dance floor, hips swinging, body sweating, flashed through his mind, heating his blood. Would he be able to resist her? He couldn’t afford not to go. His mother would never tolerate his absence. And he knew exactly what his body’s reaction to Amy’s swaying hips would be. One kiss and he was already consumed with desire for her.

After grabbing his suitcase from the truck, he headed upstairs to change. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a button-down shirt, leaving the cuffs undone and rolling them up. His mother had told him the shirt was teal and would bring out the color in his eyes. Whatever the hell that meant. He turned to look in the mirror, wondering if he should shave, trimming the day’s growth around his goatee. Would Amy like it better that way?

He didn’t need to worry about what Amy would like, but he couldn’t seem to shake images of her or erase the feel of her soft pink lips. Her upper lip was thin, perfect for licking, the bottom one thicker, softer. Her tongue had been insistent, her hands almost desperate as they clutched his short curls. She’d melted against him, igniting his soul in a way he hadn’t known in so long he’d forgotten the feeling. Maybe he’d never really had it.

And who knew his body would respond so much to verbal sparring? She’d been so pissed at him. But probably not as angry as he was. He’d reacted poorly, more like his hotheaded little brother than his levelheaded self. No one had ever evoked such a quick and furious reaction from him. He’d been downright mean to her, and that was wrong. He was a jackass.

He grabbed a comb and ran it through his curls, trying to expunge the feel of her nails scraping against his scalp. Feeling disgusted with himself, he put on his dress shoes and headed down the back staircase and into the kitchen. He picked up the keys for the rental off the island, where James sat.

“Amy and you either worked out a cover story telepathically, or you were telling me the truth.” James didn’t waste any time on pleasantries.

Guilt burned through him, but Mason refused to flinch. He hated lying, and he was never very good at it. “Yes, sir.” Telepathy didn’t have much to do with it, but he and Amy were on the same page. He kept his grip loose on the keys even though he wanted to crush them.

“Good. I want you to understand a few things before the girls come downstairs.”

“We’ve got a twenty-minute car ride. We can talk there.”

“Fine,” James said.

Mason sighed and turned, leading him through the front of the house and out to his rental pickup. They climbed in, and Mason started the truck and turned the heat on low. It was chilly, but he was sure James was used to it and worse, being from the Northeast.

James put his seat belt on and turned to Mason. “I know your mom and dad didn’t get divorced until last year. I respect the fact that you probably think I’ve come down here trying to mess with your family. You can be as mad at me as you want. Trust me, son, I can take it. What I cannot take is you being anything but the perfect Southern gentleman to my little girl. So whatever issues you have with me, you leave her the hell out of it, understand?”

Mason backed out of the driveway as he considered his response. He wasn’t really pissed at James. He knew his parents would never get back together. He wasn’t a kid, and after the way his dad had treated his mom, he didn’t
want
them to get back together.

Mom surely hadn’t told James about the intricacies of her marriage to Mason’s father, and he wasn’t going to air her private business in front of James. But the man was protective of his daughter. Mason could understand that. After going one round with her, though, he wasn’t worried she needed that protection. At least not from his suddenly appearing temper. Whether she’d need to be shielded from his desires remained to be seen. He fought the urge to drum his fingers on the steering wheel as he remembered the verbal and then physical tongue-lashing she’d given him.

“I would never take out my anger on your daughter, sir. Honestly. And truthfully I am not angry you’re here. Just surprised.” He turned onto the main road from their neighborhood.

“Your mother asked me and Ames to come down about two months back. I told her it wouldn’t be a good idea. Amy and I haven’t celebrated Thanksgiving since…well, in a long time. But they ganged up on me and convinced me to come. You know how persuasive your mom can be.”

Why didn’t they celebrate Thanksgiving? He wanted to ask but refrained. Instead he asked James how long he’d known Mom and what his intentions were. Mason had watched his mom slowly slide away from life, away from her family for two years before she’d kicked Dad out. He’d be damned if he would allow anyone else to hurt his mother like that.

“I know your dad hurt her. She’s told me pretty much everything about her life the past thirty years. And I promised her, and I’ll promise you now. I will never hurt her like that.” James closed his mouth tightly.

Mom had told him? She hadn’t told Mason or his siblings, though he’d known for a long time. He didn’t even think she’d told her sister. What made James so special?

“I know about the affairs,” Mason said.

I knew before she did
. He hadn’t admitted his failings to Mom yet. She’d be crushed when she found out he’d known since high school his dad was a cheating rattlesnake. His father had told him she knew and chose to stay. Like an idiot, Mason had believed him. He’d kept that secret for ten years.

Mom had always talked to him about the importance of marriage and vows. About sticking together through the good times and the bad. He hadn’t known that she’d been referring to his father’s work schedule and her demanding teaching job, not the affairs.

“She said she hadn’t talked about it with any of the kids.”

“I’m sure she thinks she’s doing us all a favor by not trying to turn us against our dad, but…”

“How did you find out?”

“I caught him in the act.”

James reached for the dash as Mason swerved into the left lane to avoid an SUV that had slammed on its brakes. “Ah. Does your mom—”

“No,” Mason cut him off as he moved back into the right lane.

“Right. Well, I won’t mention anything to her.”

“I would appreciate that. It’s all kind of a big complicated family mess right now.” And as far as he was concerned, none of James’s business.

He drove in silence for a while, unable to speak around the guilt weighing down on him. If he’d told his mother sooner about his father’s indiscretions, would she have crumbled all that much quicker, or would it have been marginally less horrific? He’d never know.

He slowed the truck and turned into Armando’s parking lot. After parking, he turned to James. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so abrupt. It’s just that Mom’s been through a hell of a lot, and I really would like this holiday to go well for her. Help her get back into the swing of things, so to speak. I don’t want to talk to her about my father. Not yet, anyway.”

“I understand, son. It’s all right. Shall we?” James opened the door and got out before Mason could say anything else.

He climbed out and locked the pickup and then followed James across the parking lot. They went inside the dimly lit restaurant, and Mason groaned at the hordes of people in the entryway. How long would Amy and his mother be?

Mason put on the famous Rider charm and got their name to the top of the hostess’s list, both for a table and for salsa lessons. He turned back to James, who smirked.

“What?” he said as innocently as he could manage.

“That dimple gets you whatever you want, doesn’t it?”

There wasn’t any use denying it now. “Yeah, sometimes it does. I figured it would be better than having the ladies standing here in heels for an hour.”

“You clearly don’t know my daughter. She is not going to be wearing heels. Unless they’re on a pair of enormous biker boots.”

Mason smiled, remembering the boots with the tinkling chains he’d admired in Hanson’s earlier that evening.

“Mom will have turned her powers of persuasion on your daughter for sure.”

“Amy didn’t bring heels with her.” James was so certain of his daughter and her personality. Mason had experienced her razor-sharp wit and tongue firsthand. Maybe James was right. But Mason wasn’t convinced.

“Ten bucks says your daughter walks through that door looking like a different person.”

He didn’t know whether to be excited about that or disappointed. He liked the woman in biker boots and a leather jacket. The kindergarten teacher who said
ass
and was looking for an adventure.

“Oh, a betting man, I see. All right, you’re on,” James said with a spark in his voice Mason would forever associate with Amy.

They stood in the entryway with the rest of the waiting couples and families for another ten minutes. Mason grilled James a bit more on his relationship with Mom. He didn’t think he’d have to worry much. It was clear James liked Mom a lot.

James’s glance shifted to something behind Mason. “Holy shit.”

Mason smiled, certain he knew who had just walked in the door behind him. The Yanks certainly had a penchant for cussing, or maybe it was just James and his daughter. James reached in his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed over Mason’s ten dollars. Mason liked being right, but the anticipation now clawing at him told him maybe this once he would have been better off wrong. But he couldn’t not look. He turned to see his mom and Amy gliding toward them, and he stopped breathing.

Leather was a good look for Amy, but this was so much more.

She wore a soft teal dress that danced around her knees as she moved. It wrapped around her body, hugging her breasts and her hips, tied with a small bow on the left side of her waist. The open front showcased a mouthwatering glimpse of cleavage, and her shoulders were barely covered in one-inch strips of fabric. Her hair had been pulled up, leaving her long neck bare and begging to be licked. The ensemble was complete with a pair of black strappy heels.

Frustration simmered inside him. He’d wanted Amy so much before, wanted her even more after having a taste. And now he had to give her up. Damn.

She paused and stumbled when she looked at him. He lunged forward, but his mother grabbed Amy’s arm, helping to steady her. James pounded his open palm on Mason’s back.

“Breathe, son.”

Mason gasped for air, coughing. He hid his face behind his hand as he coughed again, trying to regain his composure. He was toast.

Amy was grateful for Martha’s soft hand on her forearm. She wasn’t used to spike heels. How the hell had she let Martha talk her into this? She couldn’t take her eyes off Mason as he coughed into his hand and then looked up at her. The heat shining in his gaze reminded her why she’d allowed Martha to primp and polish her for the last hour. She shivered and tried to calm her slamming heart.

He looked amazing in the silk shirt that was almost the same color as her dress. It made his blue eyes shimmer, even in the dim light of the restaurant.

“Rider, table for four,” a woman in black announced, standing behind Mason. He blinked, as if suddenly remembering they weren’t the only two people in the room, and then he turned away from her. She wanted to hate him for being so angry with her presence in his home, but she couldn’t help admiring the way his tight jeans cupped his ass and wondering what it would feel like beneath her hands. Martha let go and took Dad’s arm instead, following Mason and the hostess onto the main floor of the restaurant. Taking a deep breath, Amy followed. She was getting used to walking in the heels and managed not to wind up breaking her ass for the second time that night.

She caught a few heated looks from men as she passed, feeling exposed. Their attention made her uncomfortable. But remembering the searing blue eyes staring back at her gave her confidence to keep her head high, even in this foreign outfit. It also made her stomach flip. The hostess stopped in front of a small round table. Martha and her dad sat beside each other, holding hands like teenagers. Mason sat next to his mom, leaving the only open chair beside him. Great. Dinner was going to be difficult enough, but now she had to sit next to Mason.

Weren’t Southern boys supposed to be all gentlemanly and everything? She’d kind of expected him to pull out the chair for her. Her bare leg brushed against his soft jeans as she sat, and he pulled his leg away as if shocked by electricity. She looked down.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“What, honey?” Martha said.

She looked up and smiled. “Nothing.” She had to play it cool. She still couldn’t believe her dad had bought Mason’s “I tripped” explanation of the kitchen kiss. She had to talk to him about it. But first she had to decide what the hell she wanted. The thought of him kissing her again made her entire body tingle, not just her lips. She’d never felt such an instant and consuming attraction. Especially to someone who presented himself as sweet but got right in her face the second he got flustered.

She opened her menu and looked through each item and its description as slowly as she could, avoiding Mason’s hot gaze. Just sitting beside to him was enough to pebble her skin with goose bumps. He shifted closer to her, and she bit her lip to keep from gasping. She looked up from the menu to find Martha and Dad staring at her.