Somewhere across the Great Room, someone whistles, followed by a familiar voice shouting, “Get a room, Ghost!”
When Mason finally pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, both of us breathing hard.
“Miss me?” he murmurs, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly.
I try to laugh, but it comes out as a gasp when his hand skims under the hem of my shirt to rest on bare skin.
“I wasn’t sure I’d ever see you again,” I whisper, my voice raw.
“You’ll always see me again,” he says, pressing his forehead to mine, breath ragged. “I’ll always come for you, Willow. Always.”
Behind us, Bear lets out an impatient huff, nudging Mason’s thigh as if to say,Alright, alright, now pet me again.
Mason chuckles and glances down, scratching the big dog’s ears. “Jealous bastard.” His mouth brushes mine again—softer this time, full of promise. “I’ll never let you out of my sight again.”
“Good.” I kiss him this time, short and hard.
From behind us, Bear gives a louder grunt, clearly annoyed to have been displaced. I laugh, pressing my face to Mason’s chest as he leans down to give the giant dog a consoling scratch.
Mason straightens, scanning the room with a slow, predatory smile. “I think someone mentioned a room?” His steel-gray eyes drop to mine, heat flaring behind them. “I like that idea.”
Before I can react, he wraps an arm around my waist and lifts me clean off the ground. I yelp, laughing as he hauls me up and over his shoulder like I weigh nothing at all.
“Mason!”
He smacks my ass lightly. “No talking.” Then heturns, striding toward the hallway while Bear trots happily behind us, tail wagging like we’re all playing the best game ever.
“Anyone disturbs us,” Mason calls over his shoulder, “they die.”
Laughter breaks out behind us, but I barely hear it—because Mason’s hand slides higher up the back of my thigh as he carries me away, and my heart is already racing for what comes next.
NINETEEN
Willow
Mason barrelsdown the hall like a man possessed, his stride long and loaded with intent. I’m slung over his shoulder, laughing breathlessly, the steady bounce of his gait sending blood straight to places that are already pulsing with need.
Bear trots ahead, tail wagging like this is his victory lap. Chaos flanks us with the focused contentment of a soldier on leave, his tongue lolling out in doggy delight.
Best. Day. Ever.
Mason doesn’t stop until we reach the suite at the far end of the hall—the one I’ve been calling mine since they brought me to Guardian HRS’s mountain retreat. Bear noses the door like he means to open it himself, but Mason plants his feet and sets me down, one palm on the doorframe.
“Not today,” he says, not unkindly, but with enough steel in his voice that both dogs immediately obey. “You don’t get to watch.”
Bear whines in protest. Chaos lets out a resigned huff. But they retreat without argument.
“Sorry, boys,” Mason mutters as he opens the door and nudges me through.
The second the door clicks shut; I’m pinned.
His hands are on me before I can breathe. One tangled in my hair, the other gripping my waist as he slams his mouth down on mine with no warning, no hesitation, no gentleness.
Heat erupts under my skin like a brushfire. I gasp into him, fingers clawing at his jacket, trying to get closer, always closer. He backs me into the wall with a growl, his body pressing hard against mine, all rough lines and pure male heat.
Clothes are the enemy now.
I yank his shirt over his head. He tears at the buttons of mine with zero finesse, fabric ripping under his hands as his mouth never leaves mine. His tongue claims me, wild and hungry, like he’s been starving for this—for me—and I kiss him back with equal desperation.
