A smaller half wall is full of books that a man would like, such as maps, horses, fence making, cars, and other masculine things.
If this were my house, I would spend all day in this room. It would be my sanctuary with a large reading chair next to the window, soft pillows, and crocheted throws draped over the chair. I would take my morning coffee here and read by the rising sun.
If I had trouble sleeping, I would turn on the soft light behind the chair and read until I fell asleep nestled in its soft cushions next to the warm fireplace.
Even though it’s not my house, I’m happy to keep the room beautiful and all the dust off the books that, in my opinion, don’t get enough attention. That’s why I take a new book to my room every few days and read in bed until I fall asleep.
Last week during dinner, Marley was talking about one of the rescue horses she is working with and its mannerisms when men are near, and I wished that I knew the horse lingo she was using. I have been reading some books on horses in the evenings to be able to follow the things that are important to her.
Marley has always been nice to me and makes a point to include me in conversation during meals. She was the one who noticed that I came into the house with a minimal amount of belongings and clothes, she gave me some weather-appropriate clothing when I first started working in the house that I could wear until I was able to buy some of my own.
Sliding my duster across the books, I notice a small book pushed to the end of one of the shelves. It’s tucked in behind alarger book and the pink spine draws my attention,The Secret Garden. It’s worn and the paper cover is frayed around the edges, on the inside of the cover is written ‘To my beautiful girl, remember to always look the right way, love Mom’.
Tears prick my eyes, and I wonder which girl this was written to, it would be Marley or Kinley since they were both reading age before their mom died. My thoughts turn to my own mom and how I don’t have anything of hers to hold onto since I had to run and leave everything behind.
She had the warmest hugs and I miss being held in that soft warmth. I remember her calling me her beautiful girl, at the time I didn’t think much of it, but now I would give anything to hear her voice again.
I sniffle as I let my fingers slide over the elegant script.
“That was my mom’s book.” Two strong arms cage me in as large hands lean on the bookshelf.
I nearly jump out of my skin; I was so distracted with thoughts of my mom that I didn’t even hear Mason come into the room. I snap the book closed and bat away the tears sliding down my cheeks.
There is no way I could mistake those arms or that voice, especially the thick, sexy wrists that go with them. His flannel shirt is rolled up to his elbows, the fabric is tight around the muscles of his biceps, and the cords of his forearms are standing out from the exertion of working outside, flakes of grass and hay are stuck to the recently sweaty skin.
Everything about him is sexy.
Briefly glancing over my shoulder, I sniff and say, “Don’t you have anything better to do than sneak up on people?”
As I slide the book back into the spot I pulled it from, he says, “You’re awful jumpy.”
I huff out a breath as I turn inside the space of his arms to face him, “Anyone would be jumpy when someone sneaks up on them.” His ballcap is turned backward making hisface look younger and his jaw sharper.
Seeing him like this makes it easy to imagine the young Mason who used to work the farm as a teenager. Except for the close-cut beard across his jaw, which in the bright light of the south-facing window almost looks red like Gray’s.
My back is against the shelves, but he still feels too close. His spicy cologne mixed with man, sweat, and hay is all around me and his cool blue eyes are a little too close. His warmth is like a fluffy blanket and I’m fighting the urge to purr and let myself lean into him.
One side of his mouth tips up, and his eyes dip to my lips and back up, “You’ve been avoiding me.”
Yes, I have. “I barely notice you’re here.” I try to sound dismissive and matter-of-fact as I look over his shoulder, but even I can hear the weakness of the statement laced with the words.
His smile spreads across his face, “Liar.”
Lifting my chin, I lock eyes with him, “It’s the truth, Mr. Conceited. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m far too busy around the house to think about distractions.” As soon as the words leave my lips, I realize what I said and try to stop myself from showing my frustration.
He can’t know he frustrates me.
Bending his elbows slightly, his body leans closer to mine, and it takes all I have to push my back tighter on the shelves instead of listening to my body screaming to be touched. With him this close, my head is tipped back, and I remember the feel of those lips and all the things they made me feel.
“Am I a distraction?” His deep voice has dropped an octave, the vibration tickling places that shouldn’t be waking up right now.
Every. Single. Day.
My eyes volley between his and I shake my head once, “Of course not, I only meant in regard to the extra work I have todo.” My voice is just above a whisper and I could kick myself, if I can hear the lie in my words, I know he can, too.
He lifts one hand from the shelf, and his palm cups my cheek. It’s warm and rough, and my chest lifts a little faster with each breath. Sliding his thumb under my eye, he wipes the wetness of my tear from my skin.
It’s an intimate gesture, one that warms something deep inside me, and heat rushes to my core. Would it be so bad to kiss him just once?
