Mason: Fallen Angels MC (2 page)

CHAPTER TWO

Caroline caught the bus headed back towards her townhouse. She had a car, but parking was such a nightmare downtown that it wasn’t worth it; she commuted unless she knew for a fact she was working late. It gave her quiet time to read, or catch up on blogs she liked, or chat with online friends.

Jack’s comment about her track record had struck home harder than she guessed he’d meant it to. Aside from his comments about how to get hold of him, if she ever decided she wanted to be a unicorn for him and his wife, he was a pretty decent guy. He carried his share of the work in the office, and he didn’t slap her ass if she had to bend over for something. She’d vented to him at one point, and unfortunately, he had a great memory.

She’d dated three guys in the five years since college. With each of them, she’d run into the same issues. They shared her interests, they thought she was fun and entertaining, but within a few months the sex just died off to nothing.

She’d tried a million things to perk things up. She had an entire box of nipple clamps, dildos, butt plugs, cock rings,
vibrating
cock rings—anything she could think of to try and spice things up.

No dice.

Michael had disappeared into his video games, Alex had fallen down a hole chasing some jam band around the country and broken up with her via a social media post. And then there was Sam. Sam, who’d seemed like “the one,” who’d talked about family and kids and matching careers like it was a given. Sam, who’d promised her everything she’d ever wanted.

And then some chick came to her townhouse, demanding to speak to Sam, saying she was knocked up and needed him to deal with it. And Sam hadn’t denied it. When Caroline had asked him what the hell was going on, he’d stared at her blankly and said, “You’re the one I want to marry. Isn’t that enough for you?”

She gave herself credit that she’d thrown his ass out, right along with the chick, whose name she’d never actually learned. She was still ashamed of the number of nights since then she’d cried herself to sleep over it all.

And that had been the last. No one night stands, no flings up against dirty walls in bars, nothing. On the one hand, it sucked, but on the other, it was easier. Much less pain this way.

But here she was, inviting a handsome stranger home. Maybe she’d manage to be interesting before she was old after all.

Gloria went nuts when she heard Caroline’s key in the door. As soon as she got in, she dropped to her knees and let Gloria lick her face and bounce around a minute, then took the dog to the back door by the leash.

She had no idea what time Mason would arrive—
if
he arrived—and no idea if he’d want to eat, or if they’d just look at the paperwork, or if maybe he had something else on his mind just like she did. She just couldn’t guess, and if she tried, she’d be spinning in circles, chasing her tail and herding squirrels like a certain someone she could see out the back window.

She laughed, shook her head, and went to take a shower.

The hot water coursing over her didn’t do much to alleviate her tension. Since she’d felt his fingers on hers, Caroline had been imagining his fingers—tightening in hers, wandering through her hair, maybe reaching up her shirt.

Just thinking about it made her blush, but it didn’t stop her from sliding her hand low. She was wet, wetter than just the shower would explain, and she heard herself hiss as her fingers glided over her clit. She spent a minute just exploring, running her fingers around and inside her body as her other hand teased at her nipples. She left off after a moment, however. Lately playing with herself, even if she orgasmed, just left her feeling unfulfilled, desperate for more.

She washed her hair, used the fancy body wash that smelled like sandalwood, and scrunched her hair in a towel to bring out the curls in the blonde. She drew the line at putting on make-up again. That was too desperate, no matter how much she might need to scratch this itch.

She found jeans that made her ass look amazing and a sweater and bra that made it look like she actually had tits bigger than mosquito bites. She let Gloria back in, fed her, then settled in on the couch with a book. It was 6:00; he’d show up or he wouldn’t.

CHAPTER THREE

Around 7:30, Caroline gave up. She fixed herself some leftover chili and poured a glass of cheap pinot noir. She stopped posing on the couch and just settled back with her feet up. Gloria looked more relaxed; this was how the night normally went.

Somewhere after the second glass of wine, while she was debating on whether or not a third was a good idea, she heard a loud roar coming down the street. It took her brain a moment to place the sound. Motorcycle. Yes. Teddy would have been able to tell her the make, and maybe the model, without even going to the window. She didn’t give a crap. Deathtraps, all of them. Hurtling through space at 75mph was ridiculous enough when you were doing it encaged in a giant steel box designed to keep you from killing yourself. Doing it with
nothing
between yourself and certain death but a damn helmet was idiocy.

And why the hell was there a motorcycle in her neighborhood at—she peered at the digital clock on her phone—bleary o’clock? And why was it slowing down outside her house? She stood up, wobbled, and then made her way to the front window.

The motorcycle was parked next to her car. The biker swung his leg off, settled the bike, and then consulted a piece of paper that looked distressingly familiar before walking directly up to her door.

The urge to flutter nearly overwhelmed her. Her hair was still damp, her sweater was all rucked up from being stretched out on the couch, and she hadn’t bothered to put her contacts back in. Gloria was curled up in her bed, blinking owlishly at her person; Caroline was sure she was trying to figure why things were suddenly getting so excited.

Mason knocked on the door, and Caroline glanced towards Gloria as she opened the bolt. Gloria huffed a sigh and then put her nose back under her tail. “Some guard dog you are,” she said as she pulled the door open.

“I aim more for bite than bark,” Mason said, and she peered at him, trying to understand what he was talking about. “You said—the dog?”

“I was talking to my dog,” Caroline said. Her words seemed sort of jumbled, her tongue a bit twisty. Had she had two glasses of wine or three? Well, it didn’t matter now, she’d drunk them.

“You have a dog?”

She nodded and pointed.

“May I?”

“Sure, come on in.”

She pulled the door wider, hit herself in the shoulder, and stumbled. Mason caught her easily, one hand on her elbow, and a wave of the want she’d banked in the shower washed through her like the tide. An electric current, wired straight from her elbow to her clit apparently, as her nipples tightened and she stared up at him, grinning like an idiot. She licked her lips, and he made a sound. It was barely a sound, hardly more than a tiny huff of air, but she heard it. “Hi,” she said, her voice quiet and low.

“Hello,” Mason said back. His eyes were locked on hers, and he seemed to be feeling that same rush, based on how wide his pupils were, how carefully he held her arm.

“I was drinking some wine,” she said, reaching behind him to push the door closed. The door bumped against the saddlebag he’d carried inside. He stepped all the way in and shut the door, shooting the bolt for her.

“I noticed.” He smiled, but there was something a little more reserved about it now.

“I thought you’d be here earlier.”

“I’m sorry about that. I know it’s late, but I was hoping your offer was still good. I really need some help with this. I’m good with numbers, but I’m no forensic accountant.” He grinned and held up his helmet. “And I wore this, just for you.”

The things she’d said that afternoon tripped back into her brain, and she felt her cheeks heat up. “Oh, crap. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say—I’m sure you’re careful—”

He laughed, stepping away from her now that she was standing on her own. “I’m not worried about it. It made me laugh.”

“Still, I can’t believe I said all that, and you didn’t stop me!”

He shrugged. “You seemed to be on a roll.”

“Next time I’m making an idiot of myself, just say something, okay?”

“Think there’ll be a next time?”

She waved her hand with a confidence that she knew was born of the wine, but stopping it was impossible. “Sure. Why wouldn’t there be?”

His eyes smoldered for a moment, hot and heavy on her, and she felt her knees go a touch wobbly as she could see him imagining all the filthy things he wanted to do with her. She stepped into his arms, feeling his hands rest on her hips, pressing against him. “Can I get you a glass of wine?” she asked him.

His hands were fists on her body. His fingers brushed the bare skin on her back, where her sweater pulled up as she put her arms around his neck. His eyes flinched closed tightly, held, and then opened to look down at her again. She could see some sort of fight happening in his eyes, and she didn’t like that at all. “I’m not really a wine guy,” he said.

“There’s beer in the fridge, too,” Caroline whispered, leaning up to him, letting her lips hang just a touch open in invitation. “Or you could just taste me.” She bit at her lower lip, dragging it over her teeth, and the sound he made came from deep down in his toes.

His hands tightened on her hips and she could feel him, heated and ready in his denim. He felt big, thick, huge to her, and she whimpered in anticipation of his cock filling her, of riding him, of him pushing her down into the mattress as he took what he wanted.

She rolled her hips against his, and she felt the moment when his self-control shattered into pieces and scattered all over the entryway floor. His mouth came down on hers, hard and fast, his tongue pressing into her mouth as she moaned in delight, opening for him and running her tongue over his. One of his hands fisted in her hair, turning her head to the angle he wanted and kissing her almost viciously. She could feel her body swelling, her nipples begging to be touched.

“Bedroom,” he whispered to her. “Where is it?”

“Down the hall,” she whispered back.

He swept her up in his arms, carrying her like a lady in a movie, and walked swiftly down the hall. She traced her fingers over his neck and watched him struggle with himself.

He carried her into the room she pointed at. The dog slinked off the bed, took a long look at the two entwined bodies, and shuffled out to the living room. He kissed her again, more softly, as he helped her out of her jeans. He reached past her to the bed, pulled the covers down and lifted her into the bed. He leaned over her for a moment, then pulled the covers back over her and pressed a quick, soft kiss to her forehead.

She tried to mount a protest, but she was sinking down into the pillows, falling asleep or falling unconscious. She wasn’t entirely sure.

“I’m going to crash on your couch,” he said. “I hope your dog doesn’t bite my nuts off. And in the morning, you and I are going to have a few words about consent.”

CHAPTER FOUR

Caroline woke up with a pounding headache and a twisting sense of horror at her behavior the previous night. She remembered drinking a lot of wine on the couch as she tried not to be depressed that she was, yet again, not interesting enough. She remembered Mason showing up, and things being bleary. There was a really hot kiss; she was pretty sure that wasn’t an alcohol-enhanced memory, although the only way to tell for sure would be a repeat, and from the way he’d tucked her into bed like a kid sister, she was moderately sure that wasn’t going to happen.

Dammit, dammit, dammit!

It wasn’t just the lack of sex. That was fine, that was a physical urge she could sate as needed. It was the afterwards, the part where she and her partner lay in bed, naked and laughing, teasing each other about the stupid sounds bodies made during sex, or the funny faces humans made when they orgasmed. It was having someone in the house who made her coffee just the way she liked it, and who bought her favorite cookies at the grocery store without asking if she wanted them. That was the part she missed.

She pulled herself out of bed, swapped her slept-in clothes for a cleaner version of the same basic outfit, and pulled her bedhead hair back into a sloppy bun. She hardly ever got hangovers. Of course, she couldn’t remember eating dinner. So that wouldn’t have helped anything.

Mason had said something about crashing on her couch. She could vaguely remember that. But her couch was just as neat and clean as she always left it, and Gloria was curled up on her cushion, calm and relaxed, definitely not acting like there was a stranger in the house. Caroline glanced out the front window, and there was no bike next to her car now. She heaved a sigh, half relief, and half something a lot less tangible.

“Oh, you woke up,” she heard from the kitchen, and she jumped, choking back a little scream. Mason was in her kitchen, holding out a still steaming mug of coffee. Black. “I didn’t know if you wanted cream or sugar or anything.”

“No,” she said. “Thanks.” She walked into the kitchen, hoping her eyes looked less wary than she felt, and took the mug. He was leaning against the counter, so she sat at the bar, putting four feet of countertop between the two of them. He looked amazing, like he’d slept in feathers and angel clouds and come out of it with his hair delightfully ruffled. That was new, she noticed after a moment. The braid was undone, and his hair fell around his shoulders in curly waves. The centers of her palms itched to feel that coarse hair clenched in them. She tightened her hands around her coffee mug and smiled. “Sorry about last night.”

He shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

“What, apologize for my own crappy behavior?”

“No, act like—crap.” He stared at his own coffee mug for a moment. “I’m not some white knight for putting you to bed last night. I would have been a jackass for taking advantage of you in the state you were in.” He put the mug down on the counter. He hadn’t taken a sip since she’d come into the kitchen. Odd. She’d open up her veins and pour the gorgeous liquid caffeine directly in if she could figure out how to make it work.

“I shouldn’t have thrown myself at you like that.”

He sighed and rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyes for a moment. “I was delighted that you threw yourself at me.”

Was that thrumming sound her heart slamming against her ribcage, or was an airplane flying overhead? “You were?”

He nodded, his eyes sparkling with warmth— maybe more than warmth. “You do know that you’re smoking hot, don’t you?” He walked towards her, slow and steady, and she found herself turning her chair so that he could come close to her.

“I don’t know about
smoking
hot—”

He traced one finger down her cheek, one slow inch at a time, and she sighed into the touch, feeling him splay his hand out along the back of her neck. She looked up at him, at his eyes, as he leaned down slowly. “Do you still want me to kiss you?” he whispered into her ear. His lips brushed against the delicate skin of her earlobe, and she shivered.

“I thought you wanted to look at paperwork,” she said, for absolutely no sane reason in the world.

He laughed and pulled back from her. “Fair enough,” he said. Her whole self felt like it was dragging after him, leaning towards him. Why in hell had she said that, of all the stupid things? But his hand lingered, even as he pulled away, and there was a sense as he trailed one fingertip down her throat, as his eyes stayed locked to hers, that she was delaying the inevitable. He wanted her, she wanted him, and they would very much have each other. Soon.

Mason smiled as he pulled up his saddlebag and set it on the counter. “I got some stuff,” he said, “but I don’t think it’s as much as you want.”

She shoved the heavy curtain of lust away from her brain and tried to smile. “Well, let’s see what you have and go from there.”

He pulled out a file folder full of receipts, bills, all those papers she was used to seeing stuffed into the ledger with small businesses, and even less organized than she’d dared to hope. Caroline sifted through it for a moment, trying to get an overall sense of what she was looking at. All the bills made sense as she stared at them, but her head was aching already.

She started sorting them into piles by vendor and then by date as she tried to think of how to ask the questions she needed answers to. “Look, I need to ask about your business.”

He nodded acceptance, pulling a barstool around so that he was sitting perpendicular to her. He still hadn’t touched his coffee. “Okay.”

“You’re a biker. Are you in a club?”

He nodded.

“Is this the club’s business?”

Another nod.

She took a deeper breath. “Is the business legitimate? Or is it laundering funds for illegal sources?”

His nostrils flared for a moment, but his voice was calm when he spoke. “The club does have off–the-books interests, yes, but the garage is legitimate and the funds are kept completely separate. I’m not showing you anything that you’d have to testify about. You could look at every detail I’ve brought you and swear in a court that you never saw evidence of illegal dealings.”

She doubted that, she seriously doubted it. No one was that good outside of the freaking mob, but she was also no forensic accountant, so if there were small details, she probably wouldn’t notice them anyway.

She put her fingers to her temples and rubbed for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. If she screwed this up, it could put the entire credit union in trouble. They were a small organization, and she was high enough up that getting caught up in something illegal could cause problems for everyone there. But there was also this guy in front of her, his posture open and honest, his hands neatly folded, and his eyes were still smoldering.

Was he looking straight down the front of her shirt? Shit, she needed to not lean over so much. Or maybe lean over more.

Caroline shook herself and forced her mind to focus a bit. “Drugs? Women?” Another long breath. “Kids?” If there were kids involved, she’d castrate him herself, and then call the police. After she’d fed him his testes.

“Absolutely not.” His eyes were burning with a different kind of heat now. “I don’t know what you think about me, or why you let me into your house if you think this shit, but no. No, we don’t deal in women, and we sure as hell don’t hurt kids.

He paused and took a deep breath. "Yeah, there’s some dealing on the side, soft shit that helps work-a-day folks get through their week, but we don’t deal to kids, and we don’t deal hard stuff that gets people killed. We sell high quality product at reasonable prices. And yeah, maybe if a guy turns up at the shop and needs to sell a bike quickly with cash, maybe my guy doesn’t ask too many questions about where exactly it came from, but if the cops come around later asking, we also give them the answers they want.”

He ran his hands through his hair, and she wanted to apologize, to kiss him again, to make it better.

“Why me?” Those were not the words she’d expected to hear coming out of her own mouth, but then they were out there. “Why the hell did you bring this to my doorstep?”

“I am almost sure that I’m getting set up. There aren’t many people I can trust right now. I asked one of them who he knew, outside of the club, who was good with numbers. He told me to find Caro Lewis at Second Chances. Said you were solid, and honest, and you’d help if you could.” He shrugged. “It took me a minute to catch on. Somehow, I thought Caro would be a dude.”

She leaned back in her chair, giving him a raised eyebrow. “Are you disappointed?”

His eyes traced over her, the feeling nearly as tangible as his hands on her. They coursed over the curve of her neck, the swell of her breasts, the turn of her hip, and she sighed, letting her knees fall apart as if his hand had fallen heavy on her thigh. She knew just how he would feel, pressing close to the core of her, grasping her ass to pull her close. “No,” he said. “No, disappointed is not how I would describe how I’m feeling right now.”

“Tell me then,” Caroline said. “How are you feeling?”

Mason’s eyes were back on hers, burning hot again. “Horny as hell.”