Reckless (Mason Family 3)

I snort. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re very welcome,” he says.

Rosie looks around the room. “I have to potty.”

“The bathroom is down the hallway,” I tell her. “Come on and I’ll show you.”

She reaches for my hand as I approach, and I give it to her. Her round little cheeks ball up with a grin.

“You know what?” she says as we walk down the hallway.

“What?”

“I’m hungry too.”

“Okay. We can get something. Is there anything you like best? Or don’t like?” I flip on the bathroom light. “Anything you want specifically?”

She walks into the bathroom and turns around. “I pacifically want cake with Boone. Chocolate, ’kay?”

I grin at her. “Okay. Do you need help?”

“Nope.” She starts unbuttoning her pants. “Mommy said I’m a big girl now and can do it myself.”

I look around the room and spy a wooden crate for holding magazines. I pick it up. It’s empty.

Turning it upside down next to the toilet, I give it a shake. It’s sturdy.

“Can you use this as a step stool?” I ask. “Or do you want me to put you up there?”

“I can do it.” She gives me a look like a warning.

It’s very Nettie.

I grin. “Okay, Little Miss. I’ll be right out here if you need me.”

I close the door. Boone is still standing in the foyer. I shake my finger at him.

“Did you tell her we’d have cake for dinner?” I ask.

“I’m just trying to make friends here.”

“Well, I think you did.”

I stop in front of him. He looks down at me, pinning me in place with his bright, mischievous eyes.

There is so much I want to say to him, but I don’t know where to start. I’m afraid if I open my mouth to say anything at all, my voice will crack.

He’s so handsome with his unshaven face and heart of gold. It would be amazing to be standing here with him if I wasn’t such a mess.

“Stop it,” he hisses playfully. “You’re overthinking everything. Again.”

“How do you know?”

He grins. “Because you’re awake, for one.”

I laugh.

“And, for two, the lines between your eyes form when you’re thinking,” he says. “Like that.” He points at my forehead. “See?”

I can feel it. It’s true.

“I just don’t fly by the seat of my pants very well,” I admit. “And I know you’re doing me a tremendous favor here, but I just need to know how long you’re thinking. I don’t want to overstay our welcome, but I need some time to figure out where to go—”

“You are going to faint one day when you do this, and I’m going to humiliate you when it happens. I’ll call the ambulance and say, ‘Come get this chick. She wouldn’t stop talking and just gassed herself out.’”

I hit him in the chest. Instinctively, he grabs my wrists. We stand there, his hand clasped over mine, and look at each other.

“You want a time limit?” he asks softly. “Six months. If we haven’t revisited all of this in six months, let’s do it then.”

I raise my brows. “Six months?”

He releases my wrist. “I don’t know what’s happening either. It’s not like I woke up this morning and thought, ‘Man, I’d like to have Jaxi and a child I don’t know come live with me.’”

“I—”

He presses a finger to my lips, quieting me.

“But,” he says, looking me straight in the eyes, “I think it could be fun. The kid loves me. Loves me. And you? Well, you’re not bad to look at either. If I have to wake up every morning to you hanging out around the house, I could suffer through that.”

My cheeks heat.

“So does six months work for you?” he asks. “Because I’d really like to put this all to bed.”

My gaze skims over his chest and up his muscled shoulders, across his jawline, and to his eyes.

Me too.

“Jaxi?” he prompts.

“Yes,” I say, nodding. “Six months works. But you have to accept rent.”

His shoulders fall, and he turns around and walks into the kitchen. I, of course, follow.

“I’m not taking no for an answer,” I tell him.

“Are you hungry?”

“Boone.”

He stops at the island and plants his palms on the marble. “I don’t want your money.”

“I want you to have it.”

He rolls his tongue around his cheek. Finally, he sighs.

“I’m going to say this, and it’s going to sound like a dickhead thing to say, but I don’t know how else to put it. I don’t need your money. I have a lot of it. More than I’ll ever use.” He forces a swallow. “And I’m not saying that because I’m special or proud of it even. It was given to me by my family. I didn’t even work for it, okay? But I have it, and I can use it to help you, and that’s what I want to do.”

A hesitancy drifts across his features, and I can tell he’s not sure how I’ll take that. I’m not sure either, to be honest.