The Price of Mason (Forbidden Men 10)

When he finally stepped away, his gaze locked on mine, gauging my reaction. I blinked at him before swerving my attention toward my dad, who was completely ignoring the screen of his phone and was watching us, his eyebrows raised in questioning surprise.

Tucker glanced over as well. “Is he going to kill me for that?”

I turned to look up at him, blinked once, then scowled harshly. “I think you should be more concerned if I’m going to kill you for that.”

His expression bloomed into an immediate smile—a stunning, breath-stealing masterpiece that had me gaping at it in awe—before he reached out and caught a long feather earring dangling from my ear. “Nah,” he murmured. “You won’t.”

Gah, I really wasn’t comfortable with how well he knew me. Me. Not my mom or dad or my overall family. This guy’s central focus was me.

“But if you were going to hurt me,” he added, his grin turning playful, “you probably shouldn’t have kissed me back.”

I blinked at him, completely unsure how to react. I kind of wanted to lift up on my toes and kiss him again. But he irritated the hell out of me.

Didn’t he?

This was so confusing. Why was he changing the game like this? I wasn’t sure if I could keep up. And I’d always been able to keep up with everything. Heck, I was used to running things. But I definitely wasn’t running this show.

“You threw that contest on purpose,” he said softly, not asking this time but stating, as he let my earring fall from his fingers where it drifted back down to tickle the tops of my shoulders.

“You sound pretty confident about that,” I returned, talking just as quietly as he was.

His smile was slow and cocky. “Oh, I am.”

“Then why even bother confronting me with it?” I charged, shaking my head. “You got what you wanted. What’s the purpose of—”

“Because I can’t figure out why. You’re incredibly competitive. You don’t just concede defeat. And there was no way I would’ve beaten you out there if we’d both played our best. So, why did you let me win?”

With a nervous laugh, I started to back away from him. “Well,” I said, shaking my head, “as nice as it is to hear you confess I’m better than you, this conversation feels like it’s going nowhere real quick, so I’m just going to…”

He stepped toward me, his gaze intent. “Rory?” he said softly, his eyes full of confusion and question. “Just tell me why. Please.”

“Look,” I started, shuffling uncomfortably. Then I glanced away. “It was just your night, okay. You needed the money. I didn’t, so…”

His mouth fell open. Then he shook his head slightly. “How did you know about the money?”

I lifted one shoulder before mumbling, “I might’ve, I don’t know, overheard you and your mom talking in your changing room earlier.”

“Dammit, Rory,” he swore under his breath before ripping off his hat, running his hand through his hair, and then stuffing the Stetson back onto his head. “I didn’t want you to do that. I didn’t…”

His eyes went a little moist, and he stopped talking, too choked up to continue. Wiping his hand slowly over his mouth, he watched me as I silently watched him. Then he shook his head. “That still doesn't answer why. So what if I needed something more than you did? You hate me. Why should you care what I do or don’t get?”

“I don’t hate you,” I blurted, glaring at him for even suggesting that. No one put words into my mouth, especially untrue words.

He stepped close, towering over me, making me gulp because of his overwhelming presence. “Then what do you think of me?”

His voice was so quiet and compelling, I floundered. “I…” Choking in the spotlight—for real this time—I didn’t know what to say. The sarcastic instinct in me wanted to lash out with something scathing and mean, and yet, I kind of wanted to tell him the truth more.

“Don’t be a coward,” he coaxed softly, his eyes begging for honesty. “You’re the bravest spitfire I know. Just say it.”

Dammit, he’d turned this into a dare. I could never resist a dare.

So I growled, “I like you. A lot. Okay?”

His chest heaved as he drew in a long breath. Then he exhaled before admitting, “Well, I like you a lot too.” Eyebrows furrowing in question he asked, “So then, why are we mortal enemies?”

I sent him a small smile. “Because I’m rock and roll and you’re country.”

His lips twitched into its own smile. “I still think that’s the stupidest reason for us to fight. Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Seriously, it’s driving me crazy.”