The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“Did you love her?” Daisy asked breathlessly, and he shook his head.

“I don’t know. Maybe. It felt like I should. I cared about her.” He didn’t know why he was revealing so much. He was telling her stuff he’d never actually even acknowledged to himself. It was unsettling. “How do we ever really know if what we’re feeling is love?”

She shifted her gaze, and the deliberate furtiveness of the movement caught his attention.

“What about you?” he asked. “Have you ever been in love?”

“No.”

“So much certainty,” he observed. “Your ex-boyfriends couldn’t have been very noteworthy.”

“You could say that.” She was hiding something. He could tell from her rigid posture, her averted eyes, and the tension that radiated from every pore. He didn’t like it. What if she still carried a torch for some past lover? The thought of her in love—whatever the hell that meant—with some undeserving bastard didn’t sit well with him at all. What if it was some guy in town, someone she saw every day? How the hell would she get over him if she saw him all the time?

“Are you still in love with one of them?”

She looked startled by his question. “No. I just told you I’ve never been in love. Why would you ask me that?”

“You’re hiding something,” he pressed, and she threw him a disbelieving glare.

“And that’s the conclusion you’ve leapt to?” Her color was high, her eyes huge as they scowled at him over the rims of her glasses, and even her curls seemed to crackle with annoyance. He beat back a smile; she looked like a hissing kitten.

“So what are you hiding?”

“Nothing.”

“Daisy.”

“It’s none of your damned business.”

“Yes, it is. I’m supposed to know this shit. I haven’t been here for thirteen years, everybody else knows your business, and they’ll know when you’ve kept something from me, and I don’t want to be blindsided with the news that you were once involved with a groomsman at the wedding or something.” It was a paper-thin excuse to pry into her business, but it made her pause for thought.

“I wasn’t,” she said, and he clenched his teeth in frustration.

“It was an example.”

“Mason, there is nothing you need to know, no nasty surprises that will be sprung on you unexpectedly. Okay?”

“You can’t be sure of that.”

“I can.” She pushed her chair away from the table and got up, clearly dismissing the topic. Frustrated, Mason rubbed his hand over his short hair and squeezed the nape of his neck in an attempt to ward off an incipient headache. God, she was infuriating.

She started to stack empty plates and dishes, and he sighed impatiently.

“Leave it.”

“It’s no problem . . .”

“I said leave it,” he growled, and she jumped, nearly toppling the growing stack of dishes in her hands. She pursed her lips and carefully placed the crockery back on the table.

“I’m not in the mood for dessert, and I have an early start to the day tomorrow, so I think I’ll go. Thank you for dinner. It was really delicious.” She could barely meet his eyes, and Mason sighed, admitting defeat. Daisy McGregor was a tough nut to crack, and frankly, it wasn’t his job to crack her shell. He was just along for the very short ride, and then he’d be out of her circle of acquaintances and friends again. The thought made him feel somewhat melancholy, but that was the reality of their situation.

“I’m sorry for prying,” he said, watching as she pulled on her coat and called Peaches to her. The little dog was still curled up in Cooper’s bed, while Cooper was lying in front of the fire. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the small intruder, seeming simultaneously confused and intrigued by her. When Peaches didn’t even lift her head to acknowledge Daisy’s summons, Mason snorted and strode toward the bed to scoop the dog up with one hand. Peaches growled and bared her sharp little teeth at him, but he lifted her to face level and growled back, which shut her up immediately. He handed the dog to Daisy, who tucked her beneath her coat again, before grabbing her bag and heading for the front door.

Mason beat her to it and had the door unlocked and opened seconds before she got there.

“Thanks again for dinner,” she said, meeting his eyes reluctantly.

“No problem. Tomorrow night? Dinner at MJ’s?”

“I have plans.” He could tell she was lying but didn’t call her out on it.

“Let me know if they fall through or change.”

“Yes.”

He leaned down to kiss her good night, but a firm hand on his chest stayed the movement.

“No.”

“Somebody could be . . .”

“There’s nobody out there,” she interrupted, impatience lacing the words. “It’s after nine, cold and wet. And this is the only house up on this godforsaken hill. Why would anybody be out there?”