Resolution (Mason Family 5)

It’s like an appetizer before the main course. Because when he faces me with his hand running through his hair, it’s a whole damn feast.

My knees wobble, making me rethink my shoe selection.

He runs a hand down his jaw. His lips—those full, kissable lips—part. Those gorgeous eyes widen, and for the first time since I’ve known him, he doesn’t immediately catch himself.

“Hi,” I say, my voice breathier than I’d like.

His hand falls to the side, and he clears his throat.

“Hello, Dara.”

The huskiness of his voice is too much. I grip the side of the door.

He takes me in, his chest shuddering in the slightest way beneath his vaguely silver shirt. Everything else in black—his jacket, long tie, and even his pocket square—and it paints one hell of a picture.

“You look very nice,” I say, my voice getting stronger.

His eyes sparkle, but in typical Wade fashion, he doesn’t smile.

“You look lovely,” he says.

Lovely? My brain scrambles to put the word lovely in a box.

You say lovely to your grandmother or a child. You don’t say lovely to a woman who’s picked a dress with the care of a heart surgeon to impress you even if she won’t admit it.

“Thank you,” I say instead.

Our eyes perform a dance, searching one another over the threshold. I would look away—I probably should look away—if I wasn’t so determined not to wither in front of him.

I’ll do that in the restroom on my own time, thank you very much.

“If you’re ready, let’s be on our way,” he says.

“Absolutely.”

I step into the late afternoon. The air is warm, the breeze minimal, and the sun hangs lazily in the clear sky.

Wade waits patiently as I shut and lock the door.

I deposit the keys into my clutch. With my heart racing, I pivot to face him.

“All set,” I say.

He holds his hand out to me as he descends one of the four steps to the sidewalk. I know I stare at it a moment too long, unable to prepare myself for the feeling of his skin against mine because he clears his throat. When I flip my gaze to his eyes, a shot of amusement fires through his features.

“Thank you,” I say, pretending that all didn’t just happen.

I place my palm in his and, just as expected, a zip of fire burns through my body. He wraps his fingers around my hand. I take the first step and then the second, letting him support me as I move. I catch a breath of his cologne—the same peppery amber scent that I’ve come to associate with him—and laugh to myself.

Here he is, trying to keep me from falling while his cologne threatens to knock me on my ass with my legs wide open.

“You okay?” he asks as I get to the bottom of the steps.

“Yes. Why?”

He makes a face, removing his hand from mine. I miss it immediately.

“No reason,” he says.

We start toward the street. I look up, and my eyes nearly pop out of my head.

“You have a Mercedes GLS?” I ask.

“Well, I didn’t steal it on the way over, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Oh, I see,” I say, grinning. “It’s going to be like that today, is it?”

His lips twitch as he opens the passenger’s side door.

“This just happens to be my dream car,” I say, taking his hand again and sliding into my seat. “I’ve never been in one, though.”

He rests one hand above the door and lets his attention rest on me. “I guess it’s your lucky day then.”

My body floods with the heat of his gaze. I hold my breath, certain that I’m going to be blessed with one of his rare smiles … but I’m not.

He shoves away, grips the door, and swings it shut.

I watch him walk around the front of the deep blue vehicle. He moves in such a confident, almost arrogant way with his chin up, shoulders back, and purposeful strides. If I didn’t know better, I’d expect him to get in, turn on some music, and talk my ear off.

I do, however, know better. And I wonder if I’ll ever get to know what makes this mystery man tick.

Probably not.

He climbs in, buckles up, and pulls into the street.

No smile. No music. No, “Hey, how’s the family?”

“So, how’s the family?” I say, grinning at the line I just plucked from my thoughts.

He furrows his brow. “The family?”

I laugh. “You know—the brother with the baby? The brother getting married? The … other brothers? I can’t remember how many, but there were a lot.”

He taps his finger against the steering wheel. I’m not sure he’s going to take the bait and converse with me, much less tell me about his family. But if he’s expecting me to throw him a lifeline and change the subject—he’s wrong.

I’ll wait him out all night.

Finally, he sighs. “I suppose I should tell you a little about them since, in all likelihood, you’re going to meet them tonight.”