The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“And you think you’re the man for that job?” she asked incredulously. He didn’t reply, merely stepped out of the car and rounded the front to open the passenger door for her. When she stubbornly refused to move, he sighed impatiently.

“If you don’t get out, I’ll pick you up and carry you to the . . . fuck it, never mind.” He slipped one arm behind her back and the other beneath her thighs and very carefully lifted her out of the car.

“Mason, I’m too . . .”

“If you say ‘heavy’ again, I’m going to drop you on your butt,” he promised grimly, and she prudently shut her mouth. He carried her to his front door without breaking a sweat and carefully lowered her to the doormat while he reached above the doorway and lifted down a key.

“That’s so unsafe,” she observed, and he let out a sharp laugh.

“Says the woman who just drove into a township alone at night?”

“Touché.”

The dogs were both going crazy, and when he opened the door, Peaches made a beeline for her while Cooper happily greeted Mason. He patted his dog affectionately before moving to pick up a wriggling Peaches just as Daisy was leaning down to get her.

“You want to bend down with those stitches? And you wonder why you need a minder?” He handed her dog to her, and she glared at him before limping her way into his house, while murmuring little love words to Peaches. She spared some love for Cooper too; the bigger dog seemed more relaxed around Peaches, so maybe they had come to some kind of canine truce in the short time they had been left alone together.

“Are you hungry?” Mason could see Daisy was exhausted and—despite her defiant front—in some serious pain. He should probably just have let her family take care of her, but—and even though it had seemed like the wisest course—he just couldn’t stand the thought of not being with her right now. He was angry with her, sure, but he also wanted to cling to her with every fiber of his being. Just hold her close and never let her go.

“Not right now,” she said. “I just need a really long shower.” He nodded.

“The bathroom’s upstairs; I’ll help you.” He settled a hand around her waist, taking Peaches and putting the dog back on the floor in the process. She went rigid beneath his touch and stepped deftly away from him.

“I’m sure I can manage.”

“I told Daff to put your bag on the bed.”

“You only have one bed, don’t you?” she asked wearily.

“Yeah.”

“Are we sharing?”

“I—” He should have thought about this earlier and felt like an idiot for never considering the obvious flaw in his plan. “I can take the sofa.”

“Hmm.” She sighed tiredly and started to drag herself up the staircase, leaning heavily on the banister. Mason followed her closely, worried that she’d lose her balance.

“Stop hovering,” she snapped uncharacteristically when she finally got to the top. “It’s annoying.” Her gaze started to rove around the loft. Mason was happy with the airiness he’d achieved in this space; from the tall, panoramic windows to the skylight and the gigantic bed, everything just felt roomy yet at the same time—because of all the wood—cozy and warm. The loft overlooked the living area of cabin, but if one glanced up from below, the tucked-away aerie could barely be seen.

“Shower’s through there.” He pointed toward the frosted-glass double doors leading to the massive full bathroom and clenched his hands to prevent himself from reaching for her as she limped her way toward it. “I’ll get some dinner on. Your appetite may come back a little later. Call if you need me.”

She didn’t respond, and he reluctantly turned away and left her to it. The dogs were stretched out on their tummies in front of the cold hearth, facing each other with their wet noses touching. Coop looked smitten but confused, while Peaches looked smug.

“You too, huh, boy?” Mason said in quiet sympathy. “Trust me, it won’t get any easier. She’s going to drive you completely crazy.”

Neither dog acknowledged him, and he left them to it.

Nearly an hour later, Mason stepped out of the kitchen and listened for any signs of activity from upstairs. The shower wasn’t running, and the light was on, but everything was silent.

“Daisy?” No response. Concerned, he rushed upstairs only to halt on the landing. She was stretched out on her side, wrapped in nothing but one of his massive towels, fast asleep. His eyes tracked over her bare skin, inventorying every little scrape and bump and bruise. The mark on her jaw was now a livid purple and was starting to swell.

Her knees were badly scraped; had they dragged her? A sob caught in his throat at the mere thought of it. Finger marks on her arms and around her wrists, a massive bruise on her left thigh, all of which made him feel physically ill. But none of them compared to the sizable knife wound that he knew was hidden beneath that massive dressing. He had nearly thrown up at the sight of it and had hated himself for not being there to protect his woman. The terror she must have felt. It killed him to know that she now understood what that kind of fear felt like.