Page 23 of His Saving Grace

He stiffened, and she was sure he was going to push her away. She squeezed him tighter. After a beat, he slid his arms around her and buried his face against her neck.

The heat of his tears on her skin elevated the ache in her heart to almost debilitating levels. He was usually such a strong, intimidating man. To witness him breaking down like this was rather humbling and left her feeling all sorts of confused.

She was supposed to be distancing herself, not getting wrapped up with him on an emotional level. The physical she could handle—who are you trying to fool? You were ready to jump his bones in the truck—but seeing this side of him…well, she wouldn’t be able to brush it off. And she wasn’t sure she wanted to, which was a whole other level of dangerous.

But she couldn’t think about that right now, because this wasn’t about her and her scary, ridiculous feelings for a man she just met. This was about being a decent human being.

Keep telling yourself that.

She ignored the snide little voice in her head and ran her hands up and down Mason’s back in what she hoped was a soothing motion. She cooed softly and tried not to burst into empathetic tears.

After a few minutes, he stopped crying, but didn’t pull away. She would never admit it, but she was glad. It felt good to be held again. It had been a long time since anyone had just held her. Or more to the point, someone that she wanted to, held her.

Not that she wanted Mason to hold her. Why are you lying to yourself?

It wasn’t a lie. It was self-preservation.

The seconds ticked by, and she became acutely, inappropriately aware of him. The hard lines of his chest pressed against her. The feel of his muscled back under her hands. The masculine scent of him. The softness of his hair where it brushed against the back of her fingers.

So much for self-preservation.

As if reading her thoughts, he slowly let his fingers trace the curve of her spine. He nuzzled his face against her throat, his stubble scratching her skin lightly. Her eyes fluttered closed. Of its own accord, her hand traveled upwards, diving into the silk of his hair. One of his hands dipped lower, his fingers brushing against the waistband of her skirt.

Oh, God, were those his lips against her neck? His tongue? Heat pulsed in her center, each move he made fanning the ember, driving it hotter and higher. Pretty soon, she’d combust.

Crap. This can’t happen. He’s drunk and hurting. It’s wrong. And if you don’t stop it now, you’re not going to want to in a few minutes. Stop. Stop it now.

She let go of him and pulled from his grasp, using her backward momentum to jump to her feet. In her haste, she misjudged her position and ended up falling on her butt. A ripple of pain radiated out from her posterior, but it was nothing compared to the embarrassment that washed through her.

Mason grinned, that same panty-melting grin all the Callahan brothers seemed to possess, and raised an eyebrow at her sprawled, rather un-ladylike position.

Her cheeks ignited. She scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirt down, keeping her face hidden.

The wetness of his tears on her neck cooled in the night air, and she tensed her muscles to stop from shivering. Whether it was because of the temperature or because of other things, she didn’t know, and wasn’t in the mood to examine it. Not in the middle of a cemetery.

Mason rolled to his feet, all graceful like, even when he was drunk. She beat down the urge to smack that stupid, sexy grin right off his face.

“Let’s get you home.” She turned on her heels and marched toward the gate. She stopped at the edge of the plot because of the pitch-blackness beyond. Mason’s gaze pressed against her back. He was most likely staring at her butt, which sent her cheeks heating another degree.

Self-consciously, she reached back and brushed any grass or dirt or leaves that possibly lingered from her oh-so-graceful slip. She was pretty sure Mason chuckled, and she wanted to punch him. But she didn’t. She decided to ignore him instead.

He came up beside her and turned on the flashlight app on his phone again. She lifted her chin and stepped out of the gate, making sure to keep just slightly ahead of him. She refused to look back. The gate squeaked and then the light was moving forward.

She made it back to the truck without any further incident. It was only once they were both strapped in and back on the road that Mason broke the tenser-by-the-minute silence.

“I’m sorry about that.” He refused to look at her, kept his gaze locked on the passing landscape. “You know, about what happened back there.”

“No need to apologize” She kept her eyes on the road. No point in embarrassing him further.

He indicated she should make a left at the upcoming intersection and she turned, finally recognizing some of the landmarks. She knew where they were now and how to get back to the ranch.

Silence settled in around them, which was fine, because she had nothing to say. She’d just witnessed him baring his soul and then let him cry in her arms. It had been a profound moment.

But it was foolish to think there could be anything more between them. It was far too dangerous—for everyone—for her to stay in any one place for too long. And, the longer she stayed with the Callahans, the more she hated the idea of leaving. They were an easy family to love.

“How did you come to work on the ranch?”

She jumped at the sound of his deep voice. Dammit, she was losing focus. And how the hell did he do that? If she didn’t know better, she would swear he was reading her mind.