Resolution (Mason Family 5)

Wade places my stolen glass of champagne on a table behind him, casting me a pointed look before settling his gaze on Rosie again.

“Who is supposed to be watching you right now?” he asks her.

“I am.” A regal woman stands next to Wade and grabs Rosie’s hand. “You, little lady, just got yourself no iPad this weekend.”

“Iggy!”

“Don’t Iggy me.” She gives her a stern look before affixing her gaze on me. “Pardon me for the poor introduction. I’m Sigourney Mason. You must be Dara.”

“Yes. It’s so nice to meet you,” I say, my heart kicking it up a notch again. “I was honored to score an invitation.”

She beams. “We are thrilled to have you join us tonight.”

Wade shifts his weight. I can feel his uneasiness, and I clamor to help diminish it.

“When Holt asked me to come, I couldn’t believe it,” I say, much to her confusion.

She looks back and forth between us curiously.

“I basically invited myself as Wade’s date.” I laugh. “He was kind enough to let me tag along.”

“Oh.” Sigourney’s features soften as she looks at her son. “I’m sure he’s enjoyed himself too.”

Wade tucks his chin and watches me. I grin, knowing it makes him want to say something, but he can’t with his mother and Rosie close by.

“I think he has,” I say sweetly. “He’s about to dance with me, so I’m sure he’ll enjoy that as well.”

Sigourney nearly explodes with joy. “Well, I’ll leave you to it then. It was such a pleasure to meet you, Dara.”

“You, too, Mrs. Mason.”

“Please,” she says, waving a hand through the air. “Call me Siggy.”

Wade exhales, making me giggle.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Siggy.”

She laughs. “Perfect. Now come along, Rosie. Let’s go have a chat about you running off.”

As soon as they’re out of earshot, I look at Wade.

“Seems like your mother loves me,” I joke.

“She loves everyone.”

“Really?” I make a face. “I’m not sure about that.”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “And how would you know? You’ve just met her.”

“It’s a feeling. Women’s intuition.”

Soft, jazzy notes whisper through the air. Norah Jones’s purposeful yet breathy voice breezes between us. I unknowingly hold my breath as I watch something filter through Wade’s eyes.

“Do you want to get a drink?” he asks.

It’s a deflection, a mode to fill the space between us with a method of his choosing.

“No,” I say.

“No?”

I reach out with more confidence than I actually embody and take his hand in mine. To my surprise, he lets me without a fight.

“We, Mr. Mason, are going to dance.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “Now?”

“Now.” I grin at him. “You do know how to dance, don’t you?”

He rolls his eyes.

I hold his gaze and ignore the warmth and steadiness of his hand in mine.

“Prove it,” I whisper and pull him toward the dance floor.

TWENTY-THREE

DARA

The commotion of the room disappears around us.

I pull Wade toward an open spot on the dance floor between couples swaying to Norah’s sexy croon. I lead him near the edge and look at him over my shoulder.

My heart lodges in my throat.

His eyes are deep—hooded even, and sparkle with something akin to trust. Wade doesn’t do things like this. He doesn’t dance with women at family weddings. I didn’t expect him to dance with me either and figured that he’d make an excuse or pull away.

But he didn’t.

He follows me without a word. There’s a slight hesitancy in the way he moves, a slight vacillation, but I can work with it. His fingers flex. His eyes are glued to mine as though if he blinks, I might disappear.

Silently, we pick a spot, and I turn to face him.

He slips his hand from mine, trailing his thumb over my palm. A spike of adrenaline fires through me, and my gaze flips to his.

A smile ghosts his lips as if to say, “You asked for this.”

Yes, I did.

I can barely breathe as he presses his hand against the small of my back. I shudder as his other hand wraps around me, boxing me in. His fingers lace together just above my behind, and he drags me closer to him.

I blow out a shaky breath, wishing for the confidence Larissa said that Wade always has, and move my arms over his shoulders. The motion is smooth and easy and without evidence of the chaos that’s taken up shop inside me.

There are too many details to categorize and file away for later.

His chest against mine is more solid and muscular than I imagined. The ridge in his shoulder feels like a tease. The skin on his neck is hot to the touch, and his hair is silkier and softer than it was in my filthy dreams last night.

“See?” I ask, needing to break the ice. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You make everything hard, Dara.”

He grins, turning me in a half-circle so that I’m facing the open doors to the garden.