“Jolene said she’d asked you to come.”
“Yes.”
He cocked his head to the side. “Didn’t think you would.”
“Why not?”
“Because you couldn’t wait to get away from here. And when you left you said you’d never be back.”
Damn him for remembering. “I’m here for the funeral.”
“You hated Ronald.”
“I’m here for Jolene.”
He arched a brow. “Seems to me that Jolene asked you plenty of times to come. And you didn’t. Why now?”
She shrugged, clasping her hands together so he wouldn’t see them shake. “It’s time Jolene and Brea and I settle a few things about the ranch.”
“You could do that by phone and mail.”
She circled around him, moved toward the window, needing some air to clear her head. Being near Mason jumbled her brain cells, made her think of the past, of what she’d missed. She finally turned to face him. “I didn’t come back here to argue with you, Mason.”
“No, you never liked doing that, did you? God forbid you should say what was on your mind.”
He moved in on her again, trapping her between him and the window.
She lifted her gaze to him. “I’m not going to do this with you.”
He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, then, “So you’re finally a doctor. It’s been a long time for you.”
“Yes it has.”
“You worked hard for it. I guess you’ll get exactly what you wanted, won’t you?”
Not everything. “Yes, I will.”
They used to be married. She used to throw her arms around him whenever she saw him, kiss his neck, feel the beat of his heart as he pressed against her. She loved when he held her. It made her feel safe.
She’d never have that feeling anymore, would never feel his body slide against hers in the darkness, would never see his naked silhouette walk across the bedroom at night.
Funny that she never had to think about those things, never had to miss them—until now. Which was why she avoided coming home. Too many memories. Too much pain here. Too much Mason. She inhaled, the scent of leather and horses and him filling her, reminding her of what she’d walked away from.
She shouldn’t have come. She was weak where Mason was concerned, always was. And the way he looked at her. She knew he hated her for what she’d done, for walking away, and yet passion raged in his eyes as he bore down on her.
“Valerie.”
He took another step closer. She laid her palm on his chest. The contact was electric and her knees went to jelly. “Mason. Don’t.”
He slid his arm around her and jerked her against his chest. “Don’t what? Don’t hate you for leaving me? Don’t hate myself for still wanting you? You swore you’d never come back, but here you are, and I see the look in your eyes. You want this as much as I do.”
His mouth came crashing down on hers and she whimpered, didn’t so much as offer up a weak resistance. Her hand curled around the nape of his neck as she fell against him, opened her lips to him, found his tongue and nearly wept with the joy of it. Every single damn reason for how wrong this was fled, replaced by need and rampant desire for the man she’d hungered for these long two years.
His hand found her breast and latched onto it, tweaking her nipple through her shirt and bra. She damned her clothing and moaned against his lips, arching against his hand, aching for his touch. His erection, hard and insistent, pressed against her hip. She slid her hand between them, palming his cock until he groaned and slid his hand under her shirt, under her bra. And when his fingers found her nipple she cried out against his mouth.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.” She wanted them both naked. She wanted him hard and heavy and thick and pounding inside her right now.
“Goddammit, Valerie.” He was panting as he dragged her over to the bed and threw her on it. She’d always loved his passion and his driving, can’t-wait-for-it need for her. She pulled off her T-shirt and swallowed as he reached for his belt buckle.
A door slammed downstairs, and like a cold bucket of water thrown over her, it slapped her back into reality.
And he knew it. His hand stilled. She scooted back on the bed, put her shirt on.
“No. I can’t do this.”
Mason’s eyes drifted shut for a fraction of a second, and when he opened them again, fury blasted her.
“Did you do this on purpose?”
Her eyes widened and shock spread through her. “Are you serious? Why would I do that?”
He grabbed his hat and took a deep breath. “I don’t know, Val. I’ve never been able to figure out why the hell you do anything. But it wouldn’t surprise me for you to throw yourself at me, fire me up, then douse the fire just like that.” He snapped his fingers.
“Oh! Are you out of your friggin’ mind? Or possibly just plain stupid? Couldn’t you feel my reaction?”
He shrugged as he reached the door to her room. “Hell, for all I know you always faked it.”
Fury made her blood boil. She grabbed a pillow from her bed and threw it at him. “You son of a bitch.”
His lips curled. “That’s more like it. Welcome home, Val.”
After he left, she stared in shock at the closed door, unable to fathom what had just happened.
Passion had always flared hot and heavy between them. But so had anger. And now she was riled up, horny and felt wretchedly guilty for having stirred up the hornet’s nest.
Shit.
She knew she should have never come home. This was going to be a disaster.
mason parks let the screen door bang shut behind him, the sound echoing in his ears as he hopped on his horse and rode the pasture, letting the cool spring breeze clear his head.
Stupid move.
He’d been riding near the fence line, had seen the car pull up. His horse just found its way to the front of the house. He should have known better than to go in, to walk up those stairs, to go into her room—what had once been their room.
To see her standing beside that bed was like tumbling back to the past. Time had frozen.
She’d lost some weight. She was still beautiful, her golden brown hair teasing her chin, her green eyes still wary. Valerie had always had secrets. The one thing that had kept them apart was her inability to tell him what was really on her mind, to open up about how she felt—about anything—but especially about him. In the end he couldn’t live with that silence, figured he deserved better.
And yet there he stood in her room, welcoming her back with his mouth and his hands. He’d been all over her like a goddamned dog in heat. Thinking what, that maybe she’d changed? Not fucking likely. He knew better. She was incapable.
Maybe he’d expected that after two years he wouldn’t care anymore, that seeing her wouldn’t be a gut punch of emotion and need. That time would have healed his desire for her, his love for her.
For Christ’s sake, he was a man. Nothing weakened him. He hadn’t cried since he’d broken his arm when he was four years old. He was the toughest son of a bitch on the Bar M. Nothing brought him to his knees.
Except this one woman. The one woman he’d loved since he was sixteen years old.