The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“She is a useful daughter.”

“I agree,” her father said with a grin.

“We’re not getting married, Mr. Mahlangu. So there’s no need for lobola.” Her protestation fell on deaf ears as her father and Mr. Mahlangu continued to discuss her worth in cattle. She gave up and summoned her next patient. Soon all of Inkululeko would think she was dating Mason too. Talk about a situation getting more and more ridiculous.

Mason escorted them back to town as promised. What he had done all morning while waiting for them to finish was anyone’s guess. She didn’t want him to have lunch with her family; things were already problematic enough, especially with her mother and Lia singing his praises after his “help” last night. Both had contacted her after she got home to thank her for bringing Mason, to say how wonderful he was and how happy they were for her. And yet, the reality—and inequality—of their deception ate at her more and more each day. The man had her entire family, with the exception of Daff, wrapped around his little finger while she had barely exchanged a single word with his brother.

The guilt, fear, and frustration continued to wrap around Daisy like an ever-tightening shroud, and she couldn’t wait for the next two weeks to just be over.

“Why did you really come out to the township today?” Daisy asked Mason hours later, after what seemed like an endless lunch. The family had tactfully retreated while she walked him to his car to say good-bye.

“I really want to make a donation to the clinic,” he said sincerely, and she lifted a brow, waiting. His lips quirked. “And I wanted to see how safe it was.”

“I told you it was fine,” she said, aggravated that he had deliberately ignored her. Again.

“I don’t think it is,” he said.

“It’s none of your business,” she flared, infuriated, and he brushed her cheek with his knuckles. The infinitely tender gesture made her pause.

“On the contrary, it is my business. I know more about danger than you ever could. Trust me when I tell you it’s a disaster waiting to happen. I can protect you; please let me.” It was hard to resist him when he was so obviously sincere about wanting to keep her safe. It made her feel . . . cherished. And she hated that. Hated that he made her feel so special, when it was all just pretend.

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“Mason, your performance needs extend only so far,” she said, forcing a laugh into her voice. “As method acting goes, this truly exceeds all expectation, but it’s really better to keep things superficial. Just enough to make it credible.”

He swore, the expletive ripe and vicious, and she jumped in fright.

“Fuck that, Daisy! This is your life we’re talking about. It has nothing to do with this stupid game you’re playing with your family.”

“Why do you care?” she whispered, and he reeled back as if she had hit him.

“Why do I care?” he repeated in disbelief. “You’re an unbelievable piece of work, aren’t you? What kind of prick do you think I am?”

“Mason, I didn’t mean . . .” He made a slashing motion with his hand, shutting her up.

“You want ‘credible’? Fine. Here’s something for your family to speculate over.” He grabbed her face between his palms and planted his hard, angry mouth over hers, painfully grinding her lips against her teeth before gentling the kiss. His tongue plunged between her lips and stroked the roof of her mouth, and she groaned and willingly acquiesced to his touch. She locked her hands behind his neck; his hair had grown just enough for her to run her restless fingers through. The intensity of the kiss was both shocking and welcome, and it allowed Daisy a brief moment of respite from her usual turbulent thoughts. A peace within which there was nothing to do but enjoy his closeness, his scent, and his taste. She was dangerously close to allowing him to breach her defensive walls again. It was a sobering realization and one that finally drove her out of his embrace. He resisted her retreat, his hands refusing to release her until she pulled her head back and her lips away from him.

“Stop.” The word was breathless, husky, and reluctant.

“I want you.” The words were hoarse and sounded like they’d been tortured from him.

“You don’t. You can’t,” she protested.

“Why the fuck not?” She flinched, but his gaze remained fixed and unrepentant.

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” she whispered. “You’re not supposed to want me; I’m not supposed to like you. It was all supposed to remain neat and clinical.”

“Where do you come up with these bullshit rules?”

“They’re not my rules. They’re the dictates of modern society. You’re supposed to be with someone like Shar,” she burst out desperately, and he reared back in horror.