“The bookshelves,” I say, fighting the urge to ask him to touch me again. “Law books. Are you studying something specific?”
Mason pauses in his dishwashing, his shoulders tensing. “International maritime law. Jurisdictional issues. Extradition treaties.” He doesn’t elaborate, but I catch the implication—and the danger that still surrounds him.
“Preparing for something?”
“Always.” He meets my eyes, and there’s something in his expression that makes my pulse quicken and my thighs clench. “A man in my line of work needs to understand the legallandscape.”
The reminder that he’s dangerous, that he lives in a world of violence and shadows, should frighten me. Instead, it intensifies the ache between my legs. After Steffan’s weak cruelty, after Drake’s mindless brutality, there’s something intoxicating about Mason’s controlled strength.
Exhaustion is creeping back in, but underneath it is something else, something that makes me want to stay awake, to explore this connection building between us. My eyelids are growing heavy, but I’m fighting it, not wanting to break this spell.
“Rest,” Mason says, noticing my drooping eyelids. His voice is gentler now, but there’s an undercurrent of command. “I’ll keep watch.”
“I should help with?—”
“You should rest. That’s an order.” But he moves closer, and when he adjusts the chair so I can recline slightly, his hands linger on the armrests, caging me in.
The position should trigger every alarm in my system. Steffan used to trap me like this—hands braced on either side of me, using his size to intimidate, to remind me how small and helpless I was beneath him. Drake’s version was worse—pinning me down while I fought, holding me captive while he took what he wanted, my struggles only feeding his excitement.
But Mason’s cage feels nothing like theirs. Where Steffan’s proximity felt like a storm cloud ready to break, Mason’s presence is steady warmth. Where Drake’s weight was crushing, suffocating, Mason’s body creates a shelter rather than a prison.
His arms aren’t bars—they’re walls protecting me from everything beyond this moment. I should be panicking, should be flashing back to all the times being trapped meant pain was coming.
Instead, I feel safe. Cherished. Like something precious being carefully contained, not to control, but to protect.
For a moment, we’re frozen like that, his face inches from mine, both of us breathing a little too hard.
The scent of his skin, the heat radiating from his body, surrounds me. My lips part slightly, and his gaze drops to my mouth. The moment stretches, taut with possibility. My body leans forward before my mind catches up, wanting…
He pulls back abruptly, but not before I catch the hunger in his eyes. “Sleep, Willow.”
The command in his voice makes my body go pliant, makes me want to obey in ways that have nothing to do with exhaustion. I settle back in the chair, and someone—Bear, probably—has arranged himself so I can rest my feet against his warm bulk. But it’s Mason’s presence I’m most aware of as my eyes drift closed, the way he watches over me like a sentinel.
Just for a moment, I tell myself. Just until the storm passes.
But sleep claims me anyway, deep and dreamless and safe. And in my dreams, it’s Mason’s hands on my skin, Mason’s voice commanding my pleasure, Mason claiming what Steffan broke.
I wake to the sound of Mason moving quietly around the cabin, checking locks, monitoring his security systems. The fire has been stoked, casting dancing shadows on the walls. There’s a blanket draped over me that wasn’t there before—soft wool that smells like him. Outside, the storm still rages, but here in this fortress of warmth and safety, it feels like nothing can touch us.
For the first time in three years, I’m not afraid. But I am aware…
Of Mason’s presence.
Of the way my body responds to his nearness.
Of the attraction that’s been building since the moment he touched me.
I shift slightly, and the movement makes me acutely aware of how ready I am.
Mason catches me watchinghim and offers a small smile that does dangerous things to my pulse. In the firelight, he looks like something out of a dark fairy tale—beautiful and dangerous and mine.
“Feel better?” he asks, moving closer.
“Much.” I stretch deliberately, knowing he’s watching. “Thank you. For everything.”
“Don’t thank me yet. We still have to figure out how to get you somewhere permanently safe.”
The reminder of the outside world, of the danger still lurking, should terrify me. Instead, all I can think is that leaving here means leaving him, and that thought is almost unbearable.
