He’d signed the commitment letter with the historical society, and the clock on his year in the house had started ticking. In one year, he would have to move out. He’d assumed he would find a place to rent while the house was being built, but Gregory had explained that based on the value of the land and the agreement with the historical society, Mason could get a construction loan, allowing him to start building now.
He’d researched the topic and had discovered the lawyer was correct. All Mason had to do was pick out the plot of land, get house plans approved by the city and hire a contractor. He’d gone so far as to hire someone to survey the acreage. That was happening next week. As for the rest of it, he wasn’t sure he could pick out a house design. Not yet. Not when he’d secretly been hoping he wouldn’t be living there alone.
He carried his coffee into Leo’s office and set it on the desk, but instead of sitting down, he walked to the window and stared out at the view of the ocean.
He ached for Robyn, and not just in his bed. He missed her everywhere. He wanted to talk to her, hear her laugh, watch her hug Austin. He longed to hold her, just hold her, not have sex, although he wanted that desperately. She had become the best part of him, and without her he was becoming less by the day.
He knew at some point she was going to have to come back to deal with the inventory. So he would have her back in his life, but as what? A former lover? A distant acquaintance? He wasn’t sure he had the strength to be around her and not be in her life.
Sometimes he tortured himself with the thought that she’d gone back to Jase. That when she returned, she would be engaged and that on weekends the asshole cardiologist would fly out and screw her right next door. The thought of that nearly made him lose his breakfast. Only steely self-control kept down the food.
He pushed away those thoughts and all the other ones of her, which left his mind blank. After seating himself at his desk, he forced himself to describe the use of mules to transport mountain howitzers in the mid-1800s. While mules didn’t deal with the rigors of battle well at all, they were strong and could handle uneven and steep terrain.
Four hours later, he had written and deleted at least twenty pages, leaving him with a scant two that were passably readable, if not scintillating. He carried his now cold coffee into the kitchen and told himself he should eat something for lunch.
Before he could work up any enthusiasm, he heard a car driving around to the garage. Probably one of the workmen who appeared to take care of something going on with the house, he thought as he stepped out back, grateful for the distraction.
But instead of a work truck, he saw an unfamiliar SUV with Florida plates. His heart jumped into hyperspeed, thudding against his ribs so hard, he was pretty sure something was going to snap. Hope tried to spring to life, but he squashed it, knowing Robyn showing up wasn’t necessarily good news. After all, she had a lot of work to get done. He’d always known she would come back—what he didn’t know was if completing the inventory was the only reason she’d shown up.
The driver’s door opened, and she stepped out. Wanting, love and a sinking sensation battled for dominance within him as she saw him and came to a stop.
She looked good. No, better than good. Her long blond hair fluttered in the breeze, and her mouth was exactly as he remembered. She was still the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He thought she was a bit thinner, as if she hadn’t been eating enough. He would prefer her to put on a few pounds, but knew the most important thing was that she was here.
Sunglasses hid her eyes, so he had no idea what she was thinking. There was tension in her body, which didn’t bode well for him. A sense of dread killed the last whisper of hope as he realized he had his answer. She wasn’t here for him.
“Welcome back,” he said, careful to keep his tone neutral with a hint of casual welcome. “How was the drive?”
“Long.”
She pulled off her sunglasses, allowing him to see her stunning blue eyes. Emotions chased through them, but they were moving too fast for him to know what she was thinking. At least there wasn’t a ring on her finger, so that was something.
Her mouth curved into a smile. “I’ve had three days to think about what I wanted to say when I saw you, and now that I’m here, I can’t remember any of it. Which is probably for the best. You’re the writer in the family, not me.”
What the hell did that mean? He stifled his impatience and forced himself to pretend to relax. “I’m not writing as much these days. This morning I managed two pages about nineteenth-century cannons.”
“Sounds interesting.”
“Not really.”
Could this be any more awkward? he thought desperately. Before, everything had been so easy. He hadn’t worried about what to say because when he was with her, he’d been free to be himself. He’d been secure in his love for her, but now he was a mess.
“I can help you with your luggage,” he said, mostly to distract himself from how awful this was.
She tilted her head as she studied him. “Mason,” she began, then shook her head and walked toward him.
He didn’t know what she was going to do, so he didn’t move. He half expected her to go around him and into the house, but she didn’t. Instead she stopped in front of him, grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him toward her. He was so surprised, he let her tug him close, then nearly lost it when she raised herself on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.
She was kissing him, he thought in amazement, before the reality of her mouth on his caused his brain to shut down as his body demanded that he simply feel what was happening.
Her lips were warm and just insistent enough to make it clear what she wanted. He wrapped his arms around her so they were body to body. Her hands moved up and down his back before dropping to his ass, where she squeezed. Hard.
Wanting exploded, fueled by her heat and the way she was grinding her crotch against his suddenly rigid dick. Her mouth parted, and he pushed his tongue inside. She met him stroke for stroke before sucking on his tongue in that deep “take me now” way that always had him desperate for whatever she was offering. Was this really happening?
As he was trying to decide, she was pushing him into the house. Once they were in the kitchen, she maneuvered him into the breakfast room, where she drew back enough to start taking off her clothes. Responding in kind seemed like the most sensible course of action, he thought, nearly ripping off his shirt. He toed out of his shoes and shoved down his jeans and briefs, only to stop and stare at her.
“I don’t have a condom on me,” he said, barely able to speak through the haze of wanting. “They’re in my room.”
She gave him a slow, sexy smile that nearly drove him to his knees, before pulling one out of the back pocket of her jeans and waving it.
“I thought you might have less of a need to have one on you,” she said, her voice teasing. “I got the extra-large ones. They seem to fit better.”