My twisted heart beats for his words, hisneed. “That’s not fair. Don’t put that on me.”
“Nina, please. I didn’t mean what I said, I just wanted you to let me in.”
“Let you in? Do you even hear yourself, Mason? You couldn’t even tell me where you were going last night. You took what you wanted and left me alone with your friends. Are you going to let me in? Tell me? Or should I have you looked up? Just take the information without any regard or thought for your feelings?”
The razor-sharp cut of his jaw flexes at my words, and he pushes his hair off his face as he stands, quickly closing the distance between us.
My heart lurches in my chest as I hold my breath, already afraid of what he will say.
Choose your words, Mason. Don’t get this wrong.
“I took what I wanted, and I make no apologies for that. You want to know where I was last night?” he asks, looking down his nose at me. “My father likes a drink. Mysister, Scarlet, struggles to help him through what I can imagine is fucking hell. It’s no big secret, Nina.”
He throws his arms out wide, stepping away from me. “Anything else you want to know?”
“He’s an alcoholic too?” I mutter, surprised.
His features tighten, his face contorting into a frown. “What? No. My father is nothing like your mother.”
I blink slowly, dumbfounded as I step back from him. “You’re really fucking bad at this.”
He tips his head to the ceiling, blowing out a breath. “Nina, please. Can you just stay the night? We can talk about this tomorrow. Please, I’m fucking this up.”
“I’m going home. And I wouldn’t worry, there isnothingto fuck up.” I go to his en suite and find my clothes.
He’s hot on my heels, anger radiating from every inch of him. “Fucking fine! But I’m driving you.”
“I’ll call a taxi,” I shout back, searching for my dress. “Where are my things?”
He points to the door. “The wardrobe. I’m driving you home.”
He follows me into the ridiculously large walk-in wardrobe. It’s bigger than my entire living space. My annoyance at him has me seeing it all so differently. His money is such a turnoff.
I don’t bother to correct him, reaching up on my tiptoes to get my dress from the hanger. I spin with it, clutched in hand, only to come face-to-face with him.
There’s so much anger in his stare, but it’s not for me. Sitting in the lines of his handsome face, I see something else. Something I can’t pin down. Fear maybe? His own pain? I don’t know, but it irks me, because I don’t want to stay, and I don’t owe him a thing.
“I don’t want you to go.”
“I can’t stay.”
“You can.”
Can I?
My heart feels like a baseball that’s been pummelled by so many swinging bats. My whole life I’ve fought to keep the stitching together, tending to the battered edges. Yet, Mason Lowell shows up, and I allow him to hit a home run straight out of the gate.
Why am I still here?
“Sleep in my bed. I refuse to leave you alone after...” His pity sears into my skin, making me want to claw at the flesh. “Sleep in my bed, please. I will stay in the spare room and drop you home first thing. Just don’t leave.”
Pride is a funny thing. It’s restricting, suffocating, and at times has held me back from making life choices.
Always refusing to leave myself open to any more hits. Everything insidemetells me to go, and it’s not my pride or morals or stubbornness that stops me.
I’m at war with something else.
It’s the soul-deep pride in the blacks of his eyes that bleeds out between us.
