Page 17 of A Little More Hope

I gave another shrug. “You do what you need to do to get by, right?” I smiled at him. “But I’m good, really. Besides the house, my aunt left me some money too, so I’m all set.” When I say some money, I mean it was actually quite a lot. Aunt Mary Ellen had been a pretty shrewd investor.

His look turned inquisitive. “Are you planning on renovating the house, or are you going to sell it?”

“I want to keep it. I’ve never had somewhere to call my own before so want to enjoy living there as much as possible. Plus, being in her home will help me feel closer to her.” I smiled wistfully at him. “Why? Are you thinking of buying me out and flipping the place yourself?” I nudged his shoulder. “Fancy yourself as a bit of a property tycoon, do you?”

The wide grin reappeared on his face, making my stomach flutter. “Something like that,” he answered. He stayed quiet for a few moments, his expression turning hesitant, thoughtful, before he spoke again. “If you plan on keeping the house and doing the reno yourself, maybe I could help, ya know, if you want?” Embarrassed, he glanced away, his eyes searching the empty horizon, and his coyness was the sweetest thing ever.

In the short time since we’d met, I’d started to understand him a bit better. A man of few words, he tended to shy away from the spotlight, making him even more attractive to me, this quiet man. He’d never be unassuming. With his thick, dirty-blond hair, movie star looks, and muscular body, he’d always stand out in any crowd. I suspect he rarely asked anyone for support, or offered his help, preferring to do all the tasks himself and keep control.

Case in point. Holed up here, away from everyone, alone, as he tried to figure out how to move on with his life. To take back the control he’d had ripped away as he tried to put the horror of nearly being murdered behind him.

So his offer of help wasn’t the throwaway comment he tried to make it appear, but another way for him to push himself and become more comfortable around other people again. Force his demons into the shadows. I’d be a fool not to take him up on his suggestion and be at least a tiny part of his recovery.

“Thank you. I’d really appreciate your help.” The look of gratitude on his face had my heart trying to break free from my chest, it was such a beautiful sight to see.

I scanned the bay, noting a few people in the distance looking to be coming our way. “Why don’t we begin right now?” I urged, wanting us to return to the beach house while at the same time not giving him any reason to feel nervous. We needed to move anyhow as light drops of rain had regularly begun hitting the top of my head over the last few minutes. “Come on.” Turning around toward his home, I placed my hand on the back of his neck to get him moving. “I’ve got all these ideas for the place I’d like to discuss with you.” I lightly massaged his nape, unable to stop touching him, and liking how he relaxed into me.

“Okay,” he agreed, his voice husky as he stepped up to my side, my body brushing against his, sending sparks of electricity through my sweater and under my skin.

We’d almost gotten to the bottom of the steps when the light rain turned into a downpour, the clouds ripping open and the droplets turning into a full-on deluge. We were soaked in seconds when the wind picked up, gusting around us and chilling me to the bone. We bolted up the stairs, trying to hasten our journey to the house by taking two at a time. When we reached the deck, both gasping for air, Mason’s hair was already plastered to his face, and his clothes clung to his body, highlighting every one of his gym-toned muscles. He was just so sexy and like a scene straight out of a romantic movie. If I hadn't been so unbelievably cold, I might have done something monumentally stupid, like reach for him and kiss him senseless.

He yanked open the door to his house and ushered me inside, not caring in the least about us dripping all over the expensive hardwood floors. He toed off his canvas deck shoes, grabbed his sweater, and hauled it up, struggling to get the garment over his head.

I’m sure he didn’t mean to, and I’m sure it was only due to the wet material of his sweater adhering to his T-shirt, but both items came off at the same time, and I stood frozen to the spot as acres and acres of olive-toned skin came into view.

Fuck.

I’d already deduced he had a good body, but nothing prepared me for the reality of seeing him closeup in the flesh. My mouth went dry, and my pulse hammered as I openly stared at him. There wasn't an ounce of fat anywhere on him, and I watched, fascinated, as the play of muscles under his skin tensed and flexed with each movement he made. His biceps straining made me dizzy as he fought with the sleeves of his sweater until he managed to force them down his arms and throw the sodden mess on the floor.

Dear God, I needed to sit down, as all the blood drained out of one head directly south to the other, filling my cock rapidly. When my short-circuited brain registered the dusting of dark blond hair covering his chest, my eyes automatically followed a path down, down, down, past his taut abs to the treasure trail of hair from his navel that disappeared beneath the waistband of the jeans currently stuck like glue to his big thighs, the wet denim highlighting the impressive bulge behind the zipper.

“You want to get out of your clothes?” he asked, the question instantly sending X-rated images racing through my brain. Us, standing there, both naked, Mason stepping in close like he had last night, his cold hand wrapping around my hot and hard cock, the sensation as he jerked me off making me shudder. “Ash?”

“What?” I squeaked, struggling for air, my voice way too high for a fully grown man to have.

“I asked you if you wanted to get out of those wet clothes, before you freeze to death?”

I nodded dumbly as the bone-deep cold finally intruded on my senses, making me shiver from head to toe.

“Your lips are turning blue,” he said, panicked. Grabbing my hand, he pulled me through the living area and into the hallway. As my concentration remained solely on not freezing to death, I didn’t notice the similarity of the layout to my own house. Otherwise, I might have speculated how mine might look once my renovations were done. “We need to get you in a hot shower.”

“What!” I squeaked again. Why couldn’t I stop squeaking? He’ll think I’m a damn mouse if I keep going.

He dragged me into one of the guest bedrooms to the right of the front door, not stopping until we were both in the attached bathroom. Letting me go, he then leaned around the glass panel to turn on the shower controls, he flicked the dial to hot.

“Get out of your clothes,” he ordered, “and I’ll get you some towels, okay?”

He darted around me and into the bedroom, leaving me to sort myself out. Steam filling the room reminded me of what I was supposed to be doing, so I hurriedly began pulling off my clothes. The struggle with my own sweater and T-shirt, identical to Mason’s, and my numb fingers were making it difficult to open the buttons on my jeans quickly enough. Eventually managing to prize it open after several clumsy attempts, I struggled some more as I bent over to push the soaking material, including my damp briefs, down my cold legs. I twisted and turned as they got stuck on my thighs and around my knees until they cleared my shins.

A noise, suspiciously like a moan, caught my ears, and I whipped my head around but didn’t see anyone.

“Mase?” I called. “You there?”

Nothing.

Deciding the cold had turned my brain to mush and my ears to icicles, I decided I had to be hearing things, so continued struggling with my clothes.

Having toed off my shoes, I used my feet to stand on the jeans, underwear, and socks, all pooled at my ankles, then lifted my leg to get them off. I repeated the move with the other leg until I was clothing free.

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