Kindred (The Watcher Chronicles #2) (17 page)

My question makes Chandler shiver in disgust, and I can't help but laugh a little, relieving some of my tension.

"Never," he reassures me.  "Don't take this the wrong way but it was probably the worst kiss of my life.  It felt so wrong on so many levels."

I take a steadying breath.  "That's because it was wrong on so many levels, Chandler."

"I know.  I was an idiot.  Please say you can forgive me," he begs desperately.  "If you can't, I'll just tell the driver to take me straight to the Brooklyn Bridge so I can jump off of it because I can't live without your friendship, Jess.  I need you.  Now I know what I feel for you isn't romantic love, just friendship love.  I just suck at telling the difference."

I sit back next to Chandler and take one of his hands in mine.  "I'll forgive you this one time.  But, one chance is all you get with me, Chandler.  Don't screw up again."

Chandler sandwiches my hand between the one I'm holding and his other one.

"I promise," he solemnly swears.  "I won't act like such a stupid imbecile again.  I can't lose your friendship.  You and JoJo are the only real friends I feel like I have in this world."

"No," I say to him.  "You have at least four more."

Isaiah phases back to the limo exactly ten minutes after he left and rides with us to the airport.  He scowls his disappointment at Chandler the whole way, making my friend shift in his seat more than once.  If I know Isaiah at all, I feel sure he used his time away from us to inform Mason about what transpired outside of Nobu.  Chandler has every right to feel nervous.

As soon as we reach the airport, I see more photographers awaiting our arrival.

"Ok, I know I don't have the right to ask," Chandler says to me, "but could you please act like you're head-over-heels in love with me for the next few minutes?  Just give them something to shoot.  They need to think you've forgiven me for what happened back at Nobu and that we're jetting off for a romantic getaway for a few days."

I lift an eyebrow at him.  "No kissing."

He raises his right hand like he's about to make an oath.  "I swear, no kissing.  But we should probably at least hold hands."

"Ok."

The limo stops in front of a private jet waiting for us on the tarmac.  From where I sit, I see at least five photographers there with cameras at the ready.

"How do you live like this?" I ask.  "They're always following you around."

Chandler shrugs.  "Comes with the price of fame.  I enjoy having people hear my music too much to trade it all in because of a little lost privacy.  Besides, if you're ashamed of what you do in public, maybe you shouldn't be doing it."

The chauffeur comes to the door on Chandler's side and opens it.  As the photographers are taking our picture, Isaiah quietly slips out the other side of the limo and into the private jet.  Chandler and I hold hands and he doesn't try to do anything else, even though one of the photographers does ask us to kiss for him.

"Already got in trouble for doing that in public once tonight," Chandler jokes to the man.  "Don't get me in trouble a second time."

Chandler's attempt at damage control to cover up my earlier reaction to his kiss seems to work.  The photographers just laugh and follow us until we're safely on board the plane.

As soon as we're in the air, Isaiah phases us back to my house.

The first thing I see is Mason's scowling face.

"Enjoy your evening?" He pointedly asks Chandler, his voice so low and menacing I suddenly fear for Chandler's life.

"Take Chandler home," I tell Isaiah my request sounding more like an order.

Isaiah doesn't hesitate as he grabs Chandler's arm.

"Wait…" Chandler says but doesn't have a chance to say anymore before Isaiah phases him a safe distance away from Mason's wrath.

Mason's eyebrows lower which just deepens his scowl, making him look far too sexy in his jealousy.  "You
do
realize I know where he lives."

"Yes, I know," I say, unbuckling the belt on my jacket.  Mason's eyes follow the movement of my hands.  "But you need to calm down before you talk to him again."

"I am calm," Mason says through clenched teeth, his eyes rising to meet mine.  "Otherwise, I would owe you money to repair a hole in your wall."

I slowly undo the buttons on my jacket and watch Mason's eyes follow the movement of my hands again.

"He made a mistake," I say, letting the front of my jacket peek open while unwinding the scarf from around my neck.  I lay the scarf on the back of the couch in front of me and begin to slowly remove my jacket.

Mason watches me silently but I can see his anger quickly being replaced by something far less destructive.  I walk over to him and wrap my arms around his waist, looking him straight in the eyes.

"You didn't say how you liked my outfit," I tell him.

He reaches up and slides his right hand around my neck until his fingers are in my hair at the back of my head.

"You look beautiful," he replies, his voice now hoarse with desire, not anger.  "You always look beautiful, Jess.  And I know what you're doing."

I don't even bother trying to pretend I'm at all innocent in my actions.

"Is it working?" I ask, lowering my eyelashes as coquettishly as I can.

Mason uses the hand he has at the nape of my neck to gently grab a fistful of my hair and tilt my head back to make me look into his eyes.

"You know it's working," he says, his eyes slide from my eyes to my lips which are parted and desperately waiting for him to kiss me.

Abruptly, he lets me go and turns his back to me as he walks a few steps away.

"Was your reaction to the kiss genuine?" He asks, his back still to me.  "Did you really not enjoy it?"

"It was awful for both of us," I tell him, not having to exaggerate.  "He knows it was wrong to do."

Mason turns to face me.  "Then why did he do it?"

"He needed to know if what he feels for me translated into romantic love.  He knows for a fact now that it doesn't.  We can never be more than good friends.  I think he just had to prove it to himself.  Trust me, he knew how upset I was with him for doing it."  I shake my hand at my side.  "My hand still hurts a bit from making that point to him."

This pulls a reluctant half smile from Mason.  He walks back over to me and lifts the hand I used to slap Chandler with.

"This hand?" Mason's asks, rubbing his thumb softly across the front of my fingers.

I nod, watching to see what he plans to do next.

Mason lifts the hand to his lips and plants a small kiss on the back of it.  Not stopping there, he slowly begins to plant all too brief kisses up my arm making me instantly thankful I wore a sleeveless dress.  He doesn't stop his slow torture against my skin until he reaches my shoulder.

He gently sweeps my hair off my shoulder to my back and pulls down the side of the cowl neck of my sweater dress to expose my neck for further exploration.  He continues the slow assault with his lips causing my heart to race into my throat.  I lean my head to the side slightly to give him complete access my flesh.  He works his way up to that little known sensitive spot I have right behind my ear and I take in a sharp breath at the sensation.

He travels from that spot and whispers in my ear, "I don't want any man but me to ever kiss you."

I nod in full agreement but don't feel like I can voice my acquiescence because I'm having a hard enough time just trying to breath through Mason's slow seduction.

"Only me, Jess," he says before languidly making his way back down my neck.

"Mason, please," I'm finally able to manage to strangle out.

"Please what?" He asks against my neck, sounding content to continue his slow torture of my body.

"Please don't make me beg," I ask, even though the request ends up sounding like I'm begging him anyway.

Mason lifts his head and looks at me.  The smoldering heat within the depths of his eyes lights every nerve in my body on fire.

"You never have to beg me to kiss you," he tells me, leaning in and planting a soft, all too brief kiss against my lips.  "You have all the control here, Jess.  Whatever you want, whatever you need of me, all you have to do is say it and it's yours.  I'm yours."

My heart feels like it's about to beat out of my chest.  His words leave me breathless.  I instantly decide I want to try whatever it takes to break through my mental barrier about making love to the man in front of me.  I know there's no one in this world or any of the countless other worlds in the universe who can make me feel the way I do standing in front of him now.  Every inch of my body is crying out for his touch.

I take his hand and tug, silently telling him I want him to follow me.

I head towards my bedroom

Mason stops but keeps hold of my hand forcing me to stop too.

"Jess?" He asks.

I look back at him.  His real question is written plainly on his face.

"I can't make any promises," I tell him, wanting to be completely truthful.  "But I want you.  I don't want you to just be the only man I ever kiss.  I want you to become the only man I ever make love to.  And I can't have that unless we try.  So, I say again.  I can't make any promises.  I don't know how far this will go tonight but never have any doubt that I want you."

"I will stop whenever you need me to," Mason vows and I have no doubt in my mind he'll do whatever I ask of him.

"Am I being selfish?" I ask.  "To just expect you stop whenever I say to."

"No," he says firmly.  "If anything I'm the one being selfish letting you take me to your bed when I'm almost positive you're not ready for this yet."

I shake my head.  "Don't say that.  Don't even think it.  I'm the one in control, remember?  And I want you in my bed even if it's only for sleeping or reading a book or watching a movie.  It feels empty without you in it now.  I never thought I would feel that way but you make me want things I never thought I would.  I want you in my bed Mason Collier.  You're the only one I'll ever want lying beside me."

I tug on Mason's hand and he doesn't resist this time.

Once we reach the side of my bed, I turn to face Mason, not sure what to do next.  Thankfully, I don't have to make the decision.

Mason sits on the side of the bed and slips his shoes off.  I sit beside him and take my boots off as well.  The act is simple, something you do everyday, but in this situation, the small act of taking off our shoes together holds open a door of endless possibilities.

Mason stands up and I start to wonder if he's planning to leave.  He turns on the lamp on my nightstand and walks toward the door to flip the switch that controls the ceiling light to turn it off.  The dimmed lighting makes the moment feel softer, more intimate.  When he walks back over to stand in front of me, I look up at him expectantly.

He leans into me, pressing his lips against mine gently at first and then becomes more demanding.  Eventually, I lean back on the bed feeling weakened by his kisses and he follows.  He lies half on me and half on the bed so I'm not supporting his full weight.  His lips never lose contact with mine as his tongue continues to plunder my mouth testing my limits.

I feel his right hand come to rest on my stomach.  Never breaking the kiss, Mason's hand slowly slides down to my side and moves up until it's cupping the side of one of my breasts.  I feel myself tense slightly.  Mason doesn't move his hand from its spot for a long time, seeming content to just kiss me and give me time to get used to the intimate contact.

Once I relax again, Mason's hand moves back down my side to my hip and stops there for a while, just holding me.  After a few minutes, I feel his hand on my bare leg just below where the dress cuts off at mid thigh.  He slides his hand up the outside of my thigh, underneath the dress and back up to the side of my hip.  It's only when he tries to move his hand toward my inner thigh that I feel an irrational panic set in, causing a deep, unwanted memory of another time someone touched me there to surface.

I break our kiss and say, "Stop."

Mason immediately withdraws his hand from underneath my dress and wraps his arms around me to cradle me close to his body.

"I'm sorry," I say, feeling tears borne of frustration and disappointment in myself burn my eyes.

"Shh," Mason says, holding me to him, attempting to lend me his strength.  "Please don't cry.  I die a little inside every time I see you cry."

This sweet declaration only makes me sob harder.

Mason holds me to him and gently starts to rock me.  He begins to hum a tune I instantly recognize.  It's the same song the orchestra was playing when Mason taught me how to dance.  It brings back the memory of how gentle and patient Mason was with me that night.  He allowed me to learn at my own pace.  I realize he’s doing the same thing now, letting me adjust to the newness of our intimacy, not pushing me to do things I’m not ready for yet.

Once I'm able to pull myself together, I look at Mason and only see concern in his eyes not the disappointment I feared might be there.

"We'll get there," he promises as if sensing I'm about to apologize to him again.  "I'm in no rush, Jess.  I've waited my entire life for you.  And I'll wait for as long as you need me to.  When we make love, I want it to be a memory you cherish forever, not one you look back on as a mistake, something you forced yourself to do for my benefit.  You are the only person important in this equation.  I'm just the lucky man who gets to help you find your way there."

I start to cry again.

"Jess, please don't cry," he begs, holding me to him.  "I didn't say that to make you start crying again."

"I know," I croak out.  "Why are you so perfect?" I practically whine.

I feel him chuckle at my question.  "Only you think I'm perfect.  So I won't complain about you seeing me that way."

I finally stop crying and just lay there with Mason to catch my breath.

"Do you need to go take a cold shower?" I ask, realizing Mason may be having a hard time physically.

"No," he says, holding me closer.  "Your tears seem to have the same effect as a shower."