The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

Their father and mother had been less successful at the parenting thing. The old man had been in and out of jail for petty crimes, and their mother was a functioning alcoholic. While Mason’s parents had cared about their children in their own dysfunctional way, the boys had been left to their own devices much too often. And after their mother’s death, money was scarce, and both Spencer and Mason had been guilty of shoplifting food because there often wasn’t enough money for basics like bread and milk. They were lucky not to be caught; their lives would probably have turned out quite differently if they’d been arrested for shoplifting.

Mason shrugged off the sudden bout of melancholy, tucked his hands into his jean pockets, and turned to face Daisy. She had her back to him as she moved around the kitchen, and he found himself absently checking out her round, lush ass in those slightly-too-tight blue jeans. She was also wearing a simple long-sleeved black top, nowhere near as baggy as the other stuff he’d seen her in so far, and he was surprised to see the distinct nipped-in waist that gave her a full, curvy hourglass figure. She was built like a fifties bombshell—a particular weakness of his—with generous extra padding distributed attractively in the butt, thigh, and boob area.

She turned to face him, and he noted, for the first time, that the front of the top was some kind of V-neck wraparound thing that tied around the waist. It did fabulous things for her cleavage. Man, Daisy McGregor had killer tits, and Mason shifted uncomfortably when his cock went unexpectedly hard at the sight of her plump chest. She had a magnificent body, and he didn’t think Daisy or anybody else really appreciated that fact. He walked toward the island that separated the kitchen from the living room and placed himself behind it, grateful that it was high enough to keep his crotch out of sight. He was stunned by this unexpected development. He liked the woman, but he hadn’t expected to find himself turned on by her. He needed time to process this information and time to get his rampant dick back under control.

“Sugar or milk?”

“Black. Thanks.” Thankfully his voice was passably normal, just a little gruffer than usual. “You look nice.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She blushed, and he was fascinated by the way the color crept up over her chest, into her neck, covering her cheeks and tinting the tops of her ears. A full body blush. He wondered where the rosiness originated from and figured that the only way he’d ever know was if he made her blush while he had her naked and pinned beneath him. He choked a little at the thought, which wasn’t helping his hard-on go down in the slightest.

She placed a mug on the marble countertop in front of him, and he sat down on one of the high barstools, still careful to keep his lower body out of sight. She had fixed herself a cup of tea and stood awkwardly on the other side of the island, fiddling with the infuser.

“I like your hair like that,” Mason observed and was delighted when the comment caused another one of those all-over blushes. He did think her hair looked pretty. How did women achieve that effect? It wasn’t up, it wasn’t down, but it was somehow both. It was a mystery to him, but it looked good on her, and the wispy tendrils that framed her face and trailed down her neck suited her.

“Thanks.”

There was a long, awkward silence while he sipped his hot coffee and she continued to nervously dip the infuser in and out of the hot water in her mug. She didn’t seem to know what else to do with her hands, and she had her gaze fixed on that tea as if her very life depended on it.

Mason kept his attention on her downbent head and wondered what it would take to get back the relaxed, charming Daisy of last night.

“You going to drink that?” he asked after a few more moments, when it became apparent that she wasn’t going to be the one to break the silence. His voice startled her into dropping the infuser, and they both watched it plonk into the hot water, chain and all.

“Damn it,” she whispered and sighed deeply before raising her wary eyes to meet his.

Here it comes. Mason braced himself for the words he could practically see forming in her head.

“This is not a good idea.”

“We’d better get going,” he said, ignoring her statement and keeping his voice jovial as he handed the coffee mug to her. “I made reservations.”

“You did?” She seemed flummoxed by his words, but he didn’t give her time to think about it, and before she knew it he had her bundled into her coat with her handbag over her shoulder. Mason waited by the front door while she settled Peaches. He had swiped an umbrella from the stand in her foyer and courteously escorted her to the sleek and sexy BMW i8 crouched like a waiting leopard in the driveway behind her Renault.