Author: Cheryl McIntyre

“You put a vegetable in the bread? That’s just sick.” I pluck it from his fingers and smell it uncertainly. But it smells incredible. I take a small bite. It’s almost gooey and tastes more like cake than bread. It’s so good. “What the hell? You’re a wizard.”

“I prefer warlock,” he says leaning in for another kiss. He apparently wants to taste everything on my lips. “I brought your grape juice as well.”

“Not homemade? I’m so disappointed.”

“Maybe next time. I’ll buy a juicer first thing tomorrow.”

“Where did this come from?” I ask between bites. “The cooking, I mean.”

He shrugs. “Mom’s Italian. She loves Italian food, but she can’t cook to save her life. Dad and I used to find recipes and try them out. Some of them I’ve made so many times I know them by heart.”

“Like mushroom ravioli?”

“No. Like homemade sauce and noodles. Mom hates mushrooms.”

I shoot him a look. Funny. Jerk. “Do you cook a lot?”

He looks out at the water and shakes his head. “Not a whole lot. I’ve taught Kel how to make a few things. Mom does most of the cooking now. Our menu is pretty small. We’re restricted to the few things she doesn’t burn.” He chuckles and finishes his last bite.

“Thank you for cooking for me,” I whisper. “I love everything. I love the food. I love this place. I love this whole night.” I tuck a curl behind my ear and glance down at my now empty bowl.

His fingers brush my cheek before lifting my chin. He caresses my lips with his thumb. I open my mouth enough for him to feel my tongue as I kiss his smooth skin. “I love your hands.” Mason’s body trembles in a way I’ve never seen, encouraging me to continue. I work my way over his palm, then wrist, leaving kisses up his arm. “I love your arms.” When I’m cut off by his shirt, I move to his neck. He growls and I feel it against my lips. “I love your neck.”

He shifts, taking hold of my head, fingers tightening into my hair. He brings his mouth to mine and kisses me with urgency. I lean into him, pushing him back until we’re lying down. “I love you,” he breathes. “I love you. I love you.”

I feel a drop of cool water hit my shoulder. And then another. I ignore it, too absorbed in the way Mason makes me feel. More drops hit my skin, picking up speed and I finally pull back. Rain hits my face and I hold my hands out.

“Of course,” Mason groans, “it would rain.” He sits up and starts shoving everything back into the box while I blow out the candles. By the time we get the blanket folded, thunder rumbles in the sky. He takes my hand and pulls me toward the car. “I’m sorry. I should’ve checked the weather.” He shakes his head as he opens the trunk.

“Hey,” I say grabbing the side of his shirt. “I like the rain.”

He slams the trunk closed and turns to me. It’s raining hard now, soaking my hair and running down my face. “I had this all planned out. We didn’t even have dessert.” He blows out a frustrated breath, sending a mist off his lips. All I can think about is how the rain will feel on his mouth. Against my mouth.

“Shut up,” I say as I pull him against me. “You can be my dessert.”

One of the things I love about Mason, he just goes with it. He embraces me, lifting me onto the top of the trunk and stepping in between my legs as our mouths come together once again. He moves to my neck and I let my head fall back. The rain cools my face and my hair clings to my arms. I push my knees into either side of his waist. His warm hands slide over my wet body and he moans loudly.

“Jesus, Hope. You have ruined me. I love you so much.”

I find his lips again, desperate for his kiss. His closeness.

Our eyes meet, gazes locking as the water plasters our clothes to us. Lightening illuminates the sky as more thunder shakes the ground, ending our moment. He takes my hand and we stumble into the car, drenched from head to toe. His white shirt sticks to him like an extra skin, revealing every defined muscle in his arms and abdomen. His dark hair lies across his forehead, dripping over his eyes. He’s never looked more gorgeous.

Mason grins widely. “All right. I can officially say I love the rain.”

Chapter 31

Mason

God, Hope looks amazing wet. And that little white dress—yeah, I’m having a hard time keeping my eyes on the road. She smells so good too. Her raspberry scent mixed with the rain fills the car. I can’t tell if I’m in Heaven or Hell. I’m fighting the urge to pull over and find out.

Hope turns the heat on. Her teeth are chattering and that helps sober my desire some. But she looks damn good shivering too, so not by much. I take her cool hand in mine. “I’ll get you home,” I assure her.

“I don’t want to go home.”

I glance at her. “You’re freezing. You’re soaking wet. You need to get something warm and dry on.”

“Take me to your house. I can throw my dress in the dryer.”

I suck on my lip for a moment while I try to think. “Yeah, okay. Mom probably has something you can wear,” I agree.

Hope looks down at herself and laughs. “I’m going to make a great first impression.”

“My mom is going to love you. You could be wearing a garbage bag and she wouldn’t care.” My eyes linger on her wet form and I bite down on the inside of my cheek. I have to take her home. I cannot pull over. Hands to yourself, Patel.

“What’s she like?” Hope doesn’t look at me; instead she keeps her focus on the tress outside the window.

I scratch my head and sigh lightly. “She’s cool. I mean, I hate the way she can’t deal with shit and keeps moving us around. Like running from state to state will keep her from feeling the loss of Dad. But I get why she does it. She’s easy to talk to, and works her ass off to make sure we have a roof and food.” I smile and glance at Hope. She’s watching me carefully as I continue. “She loves music. Just as much as Dad did. We’ve had the cops called on us for noise disturbance. They come out thinking it’s kids having a party and it’s my thirty-nine year old mother blasting the radio.”

“Does she play an instrument?”

I shake my head. “Nah. Mom’s a listener.”

“What’s her favorite band?”

I chuckle. “Why do you always ask that?”

“It’s a good question. You can learn a lot about someone by the music they listen to.”

“Like what?” I ask curiously.

“Well, like, if someone listens to only one kind of music that says to me they’re probably a black and white person. You know, everything is either one way or the other. No in between. They’re most likely someone that’s set in their ways and I probably wouldn’t get along with them. Someone who listens to a broad assortment of music is more open to different things. Sees there’s more than one way to look at things. Therefore, a person I could possibly relate to. A person who likes music focusing on the lyrics is most likely deeper than someone who wants to dance to techno. Again, my kind of people.”

I smile. Leave it to Hope to sum up personalities based on their taste in music. “So, what about people that like, I don’t know…jazz?”

“They’re a musical people, which mean they’re sensitive and creative. They like a variety of sound, so they’re probably harder to satisfy.”

“Hmm. What did it say to you when Kellin told you his favorite band is Green Day?”

She looks at me for a moment before turning back to the window. “It wasn’t that he liked Green Day that said something, although Green Day is a good band, even though they’re overplayed, so I knew he had good taste. It was the admiration on his face when he said you’re teaching him to play the guitar. But that said more about you, I guess.”

That throws me off. I gaze at her profile, feeling my brows pull together. “What did it say about me?”

She clears her throat, still not looking at me. “Playing an instrument says you have passion. Taking the time to teach someone else, especially someone younger, says you’re not only sweet, but patient. It told me you obviously like music. Musicians typically appreciate all music, so it told me you were more open. The fact that your little brother thought you were good meant you’re dedicated. And the way he looked at you, like you hung the moon, spoke loudest of all. It told me that someone loved you. That you had to be a good person to have so much respect from your brother when most brothers can’t seem to get along. It told me you were special.”

I don’t have a response to that. I’m torn between arguing with her that that’s not who I am at all and hugging her for saying those things. I don’t think anyone’s ever said anything so nice about me before.

“Then I got to know you and now I know my theories were right.” She finally lets her eyes settle on mine. “You’re fucking awesome, Mason Patel and I’m grateful you’re mine.”

I pull in the driveway and practically pull her out of the car. I just want to touch her. My mind’s reeling. I love the way she called me hers. But at the same time I’m starting to get scared. Like something is going to happen because the universe can’t allow one person to have this much happiness. Like it’ll decide it has to set things right by taking it away.

The wind picks up, making it rain sideways. I drag Hope through the side door and straight down to the basement. “I’ll get us some towels.” I run back upstairs, checking each room for Mom and Kellin. I fish my phone out of my pocket hoping it’s not waterlogged. It’s damp, the screen fogged, but it works and I call Mom’s cell.

“What’s wrong?” she asks panicked.

“Nothing. Calm down. I came home because we got caught in the rain. Where are you?”

“Zack is taking us to dinner,” she says.

“Who the hell’s Zack?”

Her voice is quiet, her tone irritated. “Our neighbor. Kellin is at his house all the time playing with his son. You should know this, Mace. He asked us to have dinner with them. Do you need me to come home?”

“No,” I say slowly. “Is this a date? I don’t even know this guy.”

“Mason Xavier, your brother and I are on our way to share a meal with friends. I’m trying to enjoy our evening. I suggest you go do the same.”

“When will you be home?”

She sighs. “I’m not sure. A couple hours maybe.”

I grunt and she sighs again. “We’ll talk when I get there,” she says. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I throw my phone on the table and grab two towels. I stop at the bottom of the stairs, my breath hitching in my throat. Hope’s back is to me, her dress a soggy pile at her bare feet. She’s twisted her hair to one shoulder as it drips down her arm, her bare back smooth. Round, purple bruises dot her spine. I move tentatively, opening the towel and wrapping it around her, in no hurry to cover her up, but wanting to hide the reminder that flashes like a neon sign across her back. She leans into me and I press my lips to her neck.

“Your mom’s not here?”

“Hm-mm. Just us.”

She turns around, letting the towel fall to the cement floor. I move to kiss her, but she puts her hands on my chest, unbuttoning my shirt. She slips it over my shoulders, her fingers sliding over my arms. I go in for a kiss just to be stopped again. I groan and she strokes her hands down my stomach, stopping on the button of my jeans. I stare, fixated on her fingers as she works the button loose. My jeans stick to me as I help her maneuver them off my legs. And then she picks up our clothes. I rub my face as I watch her bend over to put them in the dryer.