Page 142 of The Spare
A quick look at Mason's phone log shows dozens of missed calls from Hendrix and even Richard along with fifteen voicemails from Richard that Mason hasn't listened to. My fingers itch to play one; however, there's only so much sleuthing that I feel comfortable doing. And though I believe Mason shares everything with me, this is a horrible invasion of privacy.
No, we'll tackle this together when he's ready.
I place the phone down gently onto his nightstand, giving him a kiss to his lips before tiptoeing out of our suite and heading to the kitchenwhere I go into the big walk-in pantry and grab a mason jar. Spying a giant bag of M&Ms, I pour them all in the mason jar before sealing it with the aluminum lid and then make my way back to our bedroom, seeing him stirring.
It's five minutes to five, about the time we normally wake up and start our day.
I crawl back into bed and have almost just managed to slip completely under the covers seemingly undetected when Mason's voice rings out.
"Melly? Why are you up, baby?" he rasps.
I bite my lip and flop to my side on a huff of breath. "Because I've been thinking."
He groans lightly. An intimate, deep sound that causes heat to curl tight in my belly."About what?More baking tips?"
I giggle, circling his nipple with my fingertips. "No," I breathe, leaning in to press my lips to his chest and up to his lips where I give him a smacking kiss. "I've been thinking about sweets."
"Same difference." His eyes pop open, and he scrunches his nose at me.
I laugh. "No, listen. Sit up." I scramble to my knees and click my nightstand on low and grab the jar of M&M's and face him, sitting back on my heels and biting my bottom lip.
He sits up slowly, the sheet falls away revealing ripping muscles. His eyes are hard on the jar nestled between my breasts, and he holds out his hand. I take it, shuffling forward.
"Are we starting a new tradition of sharing a jar of M&Ms before we get up for the day?"
I laugh. "No, silly. But, uhm…" I trail off, glancing down at the sheet between us and lowering my voice. "I'd like to try something. Something just for me and you?" My eyes go up to his, and I see him watching me carefully.
He reaches forward and tucks my hair behind my ear.
"Go on."
"I've been thinking about what you said. How you don't like me to cut you off emotionally, and…" I take a deep breath. "I was thinking, during the times when you and I are mad at each other, we go to the M&M jar and each feed one to each other, to remind us to be sweet."
He tilts his head, giving me a sexy grin. Reaching forward again, he slides his hand up my forearm until he grabs my elbow and pulls me even closer. His eyes go hooded, the sheet tents with his erection, and it in turn makes me aroused that he doesn't think my idea is silly. Rather, he likes it.
"M for Melody?" he rasps.
I nod."AndM for Mason."
He chuckles, taking my mouth in a deep kiss and then lowering me to the bed and placing his hard body on top of mine. The jar falls to the side as my legs wind around his hips, and I kiss him back with everything in me, sinking my hands into his hair and rolling my hips into him.
"I love it, beautiful," he whispers. "Thank you for being so sweet to me."
The day is a bright one full of sunshine and chirping birds.
A few hours later I find myself walking through the massive Italian villa on the Scognamiglio estate. I glance nervously at Dad who looksat ease and in command as we journey through the hall flanked by security. I look over my shoulder, seeing Stephen trailing the two other men, feeling bad for him.
I actually want him closer.
Stopping Dad with a hand to his arm, I turn and look past the two men that are always with him. "Stephen, please come walk next to me."
"Yes, ma'am."
Dad arches a brow but waits patiently while Stephen eases between the two mafia guards and stops at my left-hand side. Trying to get used to the amount of security that's been an ever present nuisance since our plane touched down three weeks ago has taken a lot out of me, and instead of wishing Stephen gone like I had while we were in New York, I crave the familiarity of him by me.
We continue on past wooden doors flanked by gas lantern sconces until we get to an arched recessed double door at the end of the hall. Dad pushes us through, and then ushers me in ahead of him. I smile, seeing Mason sitting in the seat across from the big desk, but draw up short at the incredibly intimidating man on the other side who cuts his eyes to me and gets a devilish grin.
"Ahhh, cousin," he says, standing up.
