Relentless (Mason Family 4)

The idea that she’d want to protect herself from me does something I don’t expect—it hurts. A physical pain rips at my chest as I take in her resolution not to let me do any harm.

What did her ex do to her to make her so guarded?

I have so many questions. There are so many things I’d like to know about the woman who sits in front of me without any idea how hard it is not to touch her.

I don’t want to rip her clothes off. Well, I do. But it’s more than that. It’s strangely so much more than that.

What’s going on inside her head is just as interesting to me as what’s going on under her dress. I want to know her past, what makes her laugh, and why she’s so scared of getting involved with me.

Is it just me? Or is it everyone? Does she let anyone in?

“Truthfully? I’m sitting here wondering if all of our interactions will be as awkward as this one,” I say.

She smiles as her shoulders sag. “Me too.”

“I don’t want it to be.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

I nod. “Sure.”

“Have you been avoiding me today?”

“What? No.” I halt the rest of my sentence before I lie to her. Instead, I take a deep breath. “Yes. I have.”

Her smile wobbles, and I instantly regret saying that. But it is the truth.

I clear my throat. “You’ve got me in a bit of a bind, Shaye.”

“How’s that?”

She has no clue what she does to me—how she twists me up and hijacks my thoughts.

I clear my throat again as I contemplate how to progress this conversation. I could tell her how interested I am in her, which would be the easy, mature thing to do. And the honest one. But if I do that, will it make things muddier? Will it put the two of us in this same space days, weeks, months from now—or worse?

I’m not sure. And I’m not entirely sure it matters.

My mom’s advice trickles through my mind. Sometimes you have to go with your gut, Oliver.

My gut, so to speak, is contrary. It’s all mixed up about what I should do, and I’m certain, very certain, that I could sit in this chair all afternoon and not be confident about the right way to handle this. To handle her.

“I’m going to be frank with you,” I tell her.

She nods in agreement.

“I’m insanely attracted to you.” I watch as a myriad of thoughts dance across her pretty face. “If you were a random woman, I’d beg for you to let me take you to dinner.”

The smile that slips across her face is priceless. It’s pride and shock and excitement all wrapped in one. It’s a humility that’s touched with joy. It’s not having a freaking clue. It’s guileless, and that is rare. Welcome.

“I’ll be honest with you too,” she tells me as her voice waves in the slightest way. “I’m attracted to you. But I’m sure you know that.”

Her chin dips as she looks at me through her lashes. It’s not a move, a trick to make her seem more innocent. It’s a glimpse into her vulnerability, and it’s so damn hot.

She shifts in her seat before raising her chin again. When she does, I can see a marked difference in her eyes, a look of resolution.

“I’m not sure what you meant by that kiss, if anything at all,” she says. “I can’t imagine that you go around kissing your employees. That should make things easier to understand, maybe, but all it does is confuse me more.”

“I assure you that I’ve never kissed, touched, even winked at another employee in my entire life.”

She nods and swallows hard. I’m not sure if my response helped or hurt the conversation, so I decide to answer her question—the one she didn’t outright ask.

“I didn’t kiss you with an intention in mind,” I say. “There is no plan. There was no plan. It wasn’t a step on a critical path schedule to get from here to there.”

She watches me but doesn’t say anything.

“It just happened,” I admit, filling the space between us. “It was just a natural course of events—at least to me.”

Shaye looks around my office. It’s clear that she’s thinking. She doesn’t look bothered or scared … or regretful, which is good. I sit quietly, my stomach in a tight knot, and try not to get ahead of myself.

I’m not sure how this will end or how I even want it to end. But if she’s not in my life somehow in a week’s time, I’ll blame myself.

And be pissed about it.

Finally, Shaye looks at me again and smiles.

“My best friend tells me to be open to the gifts of the world,” she says, amused by her own statement.

I smirk. “Are you calling me a gift?”