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I’m just another girl to him. Evenifhe makes me feel like I’m the only girl in the world when he looks at me.
“What was the nightmare about?”
I freeze, my entire body filling with ice despite the heat in the garage.
I’m not goingtherewith Mason. About any of it.
“I’ll get it myself,” I grumble, stretching as far as I can to grab a bigger wrench. Mason makes no move to help me and I slide back under the car, hoping that maybe if I ignore him hard enough, he’ll just give-up.
Unfortunately, Mason’s not the give up type.
“Hannah.” His voice is laced with a heavy darkness that sends a ripple of ice down my spine. I don’t want to think about last night. How he said he can’t protect me if I don’t tell himeverything. I didn’t want to drag him into this in the first place, but I had to because he’s the only freaking person on this planet willing to help me.
It’s . . . dangerous. I know it. He has to, by this point.
As crude and grumpy as he can be, there’s a soft side to Mason. I’ve seen it a few times. When he took me home after he watched my mother bust my lip. When he picked me up that very first time on the side of the road, soaking wet and crying.
When he kissed me like I was fragile, but his to break as he pleased.
“Why do you care?” I snap, using all my might to try and force the stubborn bolt I’m working on to move. Macho man must have put this bolt on the car because it’s stuck like it’s cemented in place. Or I’m just weak.
“I don’t.”
Okay, ouch.
“Rude. Why bother asking then?”
I roll my eyes, but before they even make a complete loop, the creeper is dragged out from under the car so fast, I drop the wrench to the concrete beside me. It clambers to the floor, the sound echoing in the air around us.
The asshole justdraggedme out from under the car.
And consequently, right between his legs.
God . . . Universe . . . Mother nature? Whoever’s out there, please don’t let me make a fool of myself.
He leans forward, resting his hand on the side of the car, and for a split second, I thank God it’s painted black. Otherwise . . . what was I rambling about, again?
“What was the nightmare about?”
This time, his voice is so low, I can barely hear him over the fan. His eyes are like the storm of the century, threateningdestruction and I’m the idiot chasing it. His gaze travels over me, licking a line of heat from the center of my breasts in my tank top, all the way up to my eyes, before settling there.
His face is a few inches from mine, his breath warm on my skin and all I can think about is how that stubble on his cheeks would feel against my inner thighs.
My grandmother is probably rolling over in her grave.
“You,” I whisper, and he doesn’t move for a moment, save for the tick in his jaw.
He’s thinking.
“What about me?”
Slowly, I shake my head. I will take that dream to the grave.
Unfortunately, Mason doesn’t seem on board with that plan.
He leans closer, his lips hovering over mine. He’s not even kissing me, more like stealing my breath away until all I can taste is the mint from his toothpaste, the smoke from the afternoon cigarette he sneaks every day, and something so uniquely him, it’s addicting.
“Things I really shouldn’t be thinking about you.”
