She relaxes even more. I didn’t think it was possible, but there you have it.
I hold her like that. Her head on my chest. My head pressed against the couch cushions. And I don’t ever remember being so relaxed myself.
Her breathing evens out before mine does, letting me know I won. She’s relaxed, and calm, and satisfied too.
This is such a mistake. I know better. I might not be very experienced in this whole wild-thing-taming profession, but I know better. Damaged people are easy to hurt. You just give them attention. Show them kindness. Be understanding.
That’s all they want. That’s all they crave.
And it’s wrong. I know it’s wrong.
I just don’t care at the moment.
I close my eyes and fall asleep with her.
Dreaming about what my life would look like with Lyssa Baylor in it.
CHAPTER TWLEVE – LYSSA
When I wake up I’m alone on the couch. There’s a blanket over me and I’m warm.
“Lyssa,” Mason says.
I realize he said my name a few times and that’s what woke me.
“Hmmm?” I mumble.
“I found some ointment.”
“Mmmm,” I grumble, too tired and too relaxed to move.
He pulls the blanket off me, takes a seat on the couch, and begins to rub the welt.
“Ow!” I say.
“Sorry.”
“You should be. You left marks.”
“We already talked about this,” he says. “Should we talk about it again?”
“No,” I mumble. “I don’t want to talk.” Mostly because the ointment feels kinda good. And his hand, and his attention, and the way he’s careful… all of that feels good too.
“We’re not gonna make it to the mall today.”
“No?” I ask. “But you don’t have clothes.”
“I can make do. I was looking forward to grabbing some food. I’m fucking hungry. But then I realized your stepfather said the kitchen was stocked. And I have another lesson to teach you.”
“What lesson?” I ask, turning my head so I can look at him. Jesus Christ. He’s so fucking handsome, I never want to look away. He’s not as put together as he was last night in the club. Shirt untucked, a few unbuttoned buttons so his chest is partly visible. Lips that beg to be kissed and eyes that transfix. This man. How is it that he ended up here with me? What does he do, really? Is this just another typical job for him? Does he tame other girls for money? I have so many questions.
“Cooking,” he says. “Do you cook?”
“What?” I say, annoyed that he’s thinking about food when I’m thinking about him.
“Good wives cook, Lyssa. So you’re gonna make me dinner tonight.”
“Are you fuc—” I stop and take a deep breath. “Are you serious?”
“Very,” he says. “You must be able to make something, right?”
“Ummm… no. I’ve always had a live-in chef.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Yes. I did.”
“At your apartment right now. Wherever you’re living. You have a live-in chef?”
“Yeah,” I lie. But only a little lie. I have had a personal chef most of my life. I’m just tired of admitting I’m wrong here. I’m not wrong. I’m right about everything and no one cares. So why not lie about something stupid? Why not make him squirm and deal the way I have to?
“Oh, well.” He shakes his head. “That’s gotta stop.”
“Why? Believe me, Dickerson the Third won’t be asking me to cook.”
“Doesn’t matter. Cooking is something you’ll learn before the wedding. So what would you like to cook?”
Before the wedding. Ugh. God, I want to barf. I hold up a finger and say, “Just so we’re clear, I’m not marrying that man. I’ll hang out here with you until the wedding planners show up, but after that I’m done.”
“Lyssa.”
“Mason?”
“You have to be here for the wedding.”
“No, I don’t. And I won’t be. Believe me. If I really wanted to leave right now, I could find a way.”
He rubs the side of his finger across his forehead and sighs. “How is it that you’re engaged to this man?”
“I’m not, I told you that. I never said yes. Do you see a ring on my finger? My stepfather is making this all up.”
“Why do you think he’s doing that?”
“Why?” I ask.
“Yes, why?”
“I mean, there’s a million reasons,” I say.
“So give me one.”
“Well, he hates that I’m a free spirit.”
“Is that what you call it? Because everybody else is calling it Wild Thing.”
“It’s kind of a cool name though, right? Makes you sing that song in your head, doesn’t it?”
He smiles at me. “Explain why he hates that you’re a free spirit.”
“He wants me to shut my little mouth and do what he says. This isn’t rocket science.”
“He seems to care about you.”
“You would think that,” I say. “My stepfather is a complete jerk. And my mother was going to divorce him before she died. They had lawyers and everything. So if she had done that before she died, I wouldn’t be forced to bend to his will.”